In the frozen wasteland of Northern Equestria, the last survivors will stand against a zebra Centuria.
Balefire bathed the land.
There were, of course, survivors…
The cities were scorched with weapons of untold power, the very land was soaked with poison, but the world was not destroyed, just a way of life. The first deaths numbered in the millions, but the death toll during the next year was even more staggering as ponies struggled to find water, food, and shelter amidst the ruins of the civilization.
In what had once been North Equestria, the survivors fought to prevail in a new age of sickness, balefire, barbarism and desperation. There were days of seemingly endless night, eerily lit by the glow of the pegasi’s cities burning in the sky. And then the sky was closed, blanketed by thick clouds that heralded an endless winter. Fetid swamps infected with magical radiation created new and terrible life forms. Windigo’s storms hurtled across the landscape with enough strength to level entire cities, and when by some freak chance a storm cloud swept in from the sea, it was warped, putrid rain that fell—balefire tainted water that stripped a pony to the bones in seconds of shrieking agony.
In isolated pockets, ponies survived and struggled against terrible odds.
Underground, ponies retreated into the safety of Stables and hoped to outlast the apocalypse.
That cruel and remorseless spirit of things to come,
Dreams and wishes burned in a moment,
Because of us, the future is a cold nightmare.
Unathi knew that somewhere far to the west of them was a range of mountains, including several new volcanoes, and beyond that the ruins of what had been a fine city that he had once called home. Called Kisiwani, it was near the left bank of the Zebra River and had been home to almost a million zebras. Intercontinental balefire missile bases near it had sealed its fate, the ponies had used their own megaspell to wipe the city. He had heard the propaganda before about how it was a “clean” spell that left no contamination, but he also had seen the slaughter that came from the sky like a thousand suns shinning all at once. Even to this day, if one walked into the city, they would still see the charred shadows of zebras impressed on the concrete walls. Slowly the city was being devoured by the inclement and cold weather that had settled after the skies were covered, soon it would be nothing but a vague memory in the mind of old zebras. Unathi had been there three times, once when he was only fourteen and it was still a beautiful and exuberant city, the perfect place for a young zebra to find love and fun. He would come back in his twenties, an adult with his glyphmark and the rank of officer in the zebra’s legions. The last time he had walked into the city had been just after the end, when the city still burned.
He had seen how the land had changed after the war. Lakes had become cesspools of corruption and plague. Entire valleys had been covered by poisonous snow. And everywhere the searing light touched, new smoldering volcanoes sprouted. And everywhere the searing light of the pony's megaspell touched, new smoldering volcanoes sprouted.
Angrily he tugged his thick scarf over his mouth and pulled down his fur cap so that only his amber eyes faced the gusting snow. Sitting on his haunches, waiting while the stragglers in the Centuria crossed the trackless terrain, he took out a hoof-rolled cigarette and pressed it against the amber stones of his rifle to light it up. His rifle was an old and well-maintained Dragunov-571, the weapon of choice of the Special Forces and infiltrators, Unathi’s version of the rifle had lost its suppressor a long time ago, but the legionnaire had replaced it with a muzzle break for better accuracy. Built into the factories of Kinsagani, the weapon was the pinnacle of zebra’s ingenuity and technology, capable of imbuing its bullets with magical fire and capable of a staggering rate of fire in full auto or three rounds bursts.
The veteran legionnaire closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the mix of herbs calming his nerves even as the memories of the plump pony with the strange blue suit reemerged.
The strange pony had been too well feed, too clean, and so happy. He seemed almost like a relic from a distant past, something too beautiful and pure for the world they now lived.
Unathi caused him pain, he cut and prodded with the precision of a surgeon, until finally the pony revealed the secret of his wealth in a stammering rush of tears.
“Much farther, Unathi?” asked Tariro, walking closer to Unathi. Tariro was the oldest zebra in the Centuria and a graduated doctor from what once had been the prestigious academy of Assuan, but that now had been reduced to a community of deranged cannibals. She could have chosen some glorious assignment in any of the capitals, could have lived a life of luxury, but instead she had joined the Legions as a medical auxilia.
“No,” Unathi replied, offering her the cigarette. The fat little pony had told him of shelters built deep underground, stocked with the resources and magical medallions to survive for centuries.
Though the day was bleak, with flurries of snow reducing visibility, they had seen much worse. Occasionally a cursed tornado came screaming from the north, the spirits of cold and wind strong enough to drive a zebra crazy or peel the flesh from their bones. Biggers creatures had been seen rounding the poisoned forests even as the trees died, demons and abominations that devoured whole zebras in a single bite. The ragged Centuria had seen the remains of dozens of villages and outposts, zebras that had been devoured by the inclement weather or the deadly Winter Wolves.
Unathi’s ragged Centuria had managed to survive so far by scavenging old military bases and outposts, but even though they carried enough provisions for a couple of weeks and enough ammo and weapons to fight a small war, there was no doubt that eventually they would all perish in the cold like so many others. The veteran knew that this fabled Stable was the only chance of survival in this bleak world.
And so, they trotted trough old trails and forgotten roads, challenging the foul winds and radioactive snow to cross into Equestria via the north, a place where millennia ago had existed a bridge of ice connecting both continents and, Unathi hoped, the cold weather had remade it once more.
They kept walking for weeks, travelling the maddening white plains with only an old compass to guide them and their fiery determination to keep them moving. Unathi knew that they never would survive the trip once more, once in Equestria they would have to succeed at any cost or they, and probably the entire zebra race, would be doomed to a slow, agonizing death.
Unathi peered through the gap between his hood and the scarf around his nose and mouth. Night wasn’t far off and without shelter to protect them from the lethal drop in temperature they would have to start digging emergency shelters. Already he could feel the extra bite in the wind. He lowered the scarf from his nose and mouth, his breath pluming out around him like a ghostly trail, the weather had been constantly deteriorating. Three times Unathi had ordered emergency shelters to be dug in the packed snow in the last week.
Imani, the youngest zebra in the Centuria, saw the first of the blocky little houses, which were so covered in snow that they were almost invisible. “There,” he said, pointing ahead of them to what had once been called Stalliongrad. Now it had no name at all.
To Unathi and his Centuria, the country that lay hidden in the acrid fog was the promised land, their last chance to survive the harsh winter.
“That’s our path, legionnaires,” shouted Unathi, waving his Dragunov above his head.
There was a bellow of support from the stallions and mares at his heels. Their prize was withing reach.
There she stands, staring into the heart of a burning city, her coat matted with ashes and blood. Some of it is hers, most of it is not. The singed feathers of a thousand dead pegasi float in the air.
Only her jade-green eyes stand out, almost like a reflection of the green flames that envelops the city. She stares with great fervor at nothing.
The mare isn’t the only ash stained pony, she is surrounded by ponies covered in dirty, dressed in ragged suits and broken armor, almost every one of them has burn marks. Some of them will start coughing blood very soon, these will not survive to the end of the week.
***
Somewhere off to the east a terrible storm is brewing amidst the cloud cover, blood-red lighting punishes the earth, attracted to the rusted, melted remains of a city that no one knows the name anymore.
The weather is getting colder by the day as the old engine moves relentlessly trough snow covered tracks, going North through rocky passes and under the shadow of ice cliffs, under a sky perpetually covered in clouds, chasing the fragmented remains of faint radio transmission that promises the Cristal Empire haven’t been hit, that in the high north there’s safety and shelter. Midnight Reverie is perched on the small watch tower built in the last wagon, her right hoof rests over the handles of her submachine guns that rest across her lap. The big MS-7 10 mm submachine gun had been part of her standard gear in the night guard, but like all of her gear it has gone through rough times in the last years, being repaired with any parts available and weathered the harsh conditions of surviving in this new world. Not so unlike herself.
Besides the weapons and armor common to every member of the Night Guard, Midnight Reverie carries a sturdy pack marked with three pink bats, their own version of the Ministry of Kindness’ symbol, the pack once contained a selection of sedatives, antibiotics, warding medallions, and even a portable surgical kit, but the long years had reduced it to a variety of scavenged medicine and a selection of medicinal herbs that she learned to use in her practice as medical officer of what remains of her battalion.
She keeps an inconstant vigil to the south, looking over the desolate landscape while she reads fragments of “Supernaturals: natural remedies and cure-alls”, the book has proved to be a priceless artifact as regular medicine dwindles or expires.
Not two days ago, a swarm of ghouls had chased them and almost managed to overwhelm a couple of wagons before they could be put down. A week before that, it had been bandits with sticks of TNT taped to the point of makeshift spears. Now, it seems there is only desolation surrounding them. The eternal winter that blanketed the northern Equestria.
When at last there comes a sound from the speakers above, it startles her, her leathery wings flaring open as she reaches for her gun. All of the crew of the Heart of the Night has been waiting for the alarm. A crackling boom. Then from the intercom comes the exclamation: “Station ahead!”
An instant frantic readiness spread through the wagons as their inhabitants abandon their tasks and hurry to their postings. Mops are abandoned, tools dropped, snacks are thrust into pockets. They clutch their weapons and blades close to their bodies and mutter prayers to Luna asking for protection and deliverance.
The crew squints into the frigid wind, stare into the swirling mists to catch any glimpse of what lay ahead. Amid mountains of strange shapes and stubs of ruined skyscrapers, stands a blocky construction of grey concrete in a small hill. The station’s stockpiles should still have stacks of coal and water they could use to refuel their train, with some luck they can even find food and ammo.
Something roars over the dark clouds, a beast of incredible size plunges under the clouds. A manticore that had grown beyond what any pony could believe is possible, its wings as big as any two of the wagons put back to back, the claws like gleaming scythes. The fur is covered in scars that tell a history of violence and death.
“Tartarus take me,” Midnight Reverie curses under her breath, they usually had to deal with raiders of ghouls holed in the station, once they had even fought some crazy cultists, but this was a first.
Ponies hung from the wagons with knifes and shivs in their belts, hurry between carriages carrying crates of ammo, and in the viewing platforms, the best shots take their places.
The Heart of the Night is a train forged in the Wasteland. The engine is old and patched in several places, mixing parts from other trains and carriages, the colors had been scrubbed by the unrelenting sandstorms of the South. Some of the wagons are old train cars that had somehow survived the Bombs. Others have been constructed by whatever they had at hand, pieces scavenged from wherever the train stops to resupply.
Captain Black Dahlia patches in trough the haphazard communication system, the old speaker crackling and sparkling as she speaks.
“Ponies, we have a hostile coming to us. Loaders and Mechanics get to your positions. Night Guard, check your weapons and stay at the ready. Increase speed.”
The Heart of the Night accelerates, sputtering black smoke from the double chimneys. Midnight Reverie can feel the entire train sputtering and trembling with the increased speed, the bat pony had grown accustomed to the constant motions of the train by now, but the high-speed stuttering still feels uncomfortable, the prelude to a fight.
Crews scrambles on walkways carrying harnesses and guns to the bat-ponies of the Night Guard, the only ones aboard that have any kind of military training, the rest of the ponies aboard are survivors collected in each stop.
“I got your usual load, the tracers are hand-loaded, but the airburst is the real deal,” Ivory Spark says with her usual efficiency, floating a leather harness with clips for Midnight Reverie’s submachine gun.
A lifetime ago, Ivory Spark had been a wealthy pony, born in a noble family of Canterlot and educated in the best schools of Equestria. How she ended working in one of the farms of Appleloosa, with festering wounds covered in dirty pieces of cloth and her once pristine white coat marked with strange, sinuous and winding scars was a mystery she hasn’t shared with no one. She was not tall but she drew the eyes. Her long grey mane was braided back. She stood quite still while her age-mottled brown overcoat wind-shimmied around her. Lights wink in her bulky, mechanical left hoof. Its metal and ivory tick and flicker.
Midnight takes the harness and locks it over her armor, committing to memory the position of each clip so she can reload without looking at them.
“You need to go down, go to the front cars and hide until its all over,” Midnight advises.
The Heart of the Night rattles through snow-flecked steppes, by rock, crack and shallow chasm, past scuffed patches of arcane salvage. The manticore dives under the clouds for a moment, turning his eyes towards the speeding train.
The captain gives crackling instructions and as one, the six bat-ponies of the Night Guard spread their wings and takes to the skies, quickly taking point at the sides of the train, a loose formation that will keep them out of the dark smoke and allow them to respond quickly in case the manticore attacks.
Midnight assumes her position, feeling the enchantments on her night guard’s armor touching her body, making the armor itself as light as a feather and protecting her from the cold that surrounds her. She keeps an eye on the train even as she tries to follow the giant manticore flying high above, the creature seems curious about the train, trying to figure if it is food or danger. With some luck they can slip into the station without a fight, in the worst case the manticore will decide they are food.
The manticore dives, claws reaching towards the train, dark mouth full of fangs.
Nightmare takes my soul!
It is big, and it comes towards them with hungry intent.
With sudden violent percussion, the machine gun nest in the third wagon opens fire, twin streams of tracers arch in the sky and peppers the creature’s hide, slamming against the thick hide and doing little more than anger it.
Instantly the Manticore roars loudly, deafeningly. Night Tinker and Frozen Wind bank left in a rising turn, using the hot, black smoke of the train to help them rise quickly towards the creature, their saddle mounted submachineguns at the ready. The two bat-ponies fly in a precise, coordinated manner that has come with the years of training and even longer on the battlefield, they had honed their skills against the strange zebra’s flying machines and their mercenary dragons before.
Night Tinker comes straight for the manticore, his dual submachine guns firing at once, the tracer ammo like a torrent of light against the darkened sky. The manticore leashes against it with a powerful paw, but Frozen Wind comes from behind and hit the manticore with a long stream of bullets that dazes the creature enough to miss Night Tinker.
Then came the big Tropical Breeze, before enlisting with the Royal Guard he had lived in the tropical southern Equestria, had learned to hunt with javelins dangling upside down from trees. He usually told tall tales of his exploits back home, but truth be told he was one hell of a good shoot.
Tropical Breeze carries three big enchanted steel javelins on his back as he flew upwards in a steep rise, he takes the first javelin, heavy as it was, his muscles straining under his skin, as he comes closer to the behemoth. He closes his wings and allow himself to fall back, eyes right on the prey, he twists his body with the throw, putting all his strength behind it as he hurl the javelin straight at the manticore.
The manticore roars in pain, the javelin pierces his rough skin and dig deep into the flesh, the barbed point lodges itself and digs deep as the manticore moves. The beast thrashes, hot blood rains on the frozen soil.
Night Tinker and Frozen Wind quickly reload their guns with incendiary ammo and strafe the giant manticore. Fire spreads through the beast’s back, consuming the fur even as the creature twists in midair, flapping its powerful wings and lashing with the deadly tail against Tropical Breeze. His claws reaching for Night Tinker and Frozen Wind. Fury and pain fill the sky.
Carrion birds peek from their nests.
Tropical Breeze comes ready with another javelin, flapping his wings with more strength than skill to get in a good angle, he throws it with all his strength even as Night Tinker and Frozen Wind comes for another strafing run.
The manticore dives hard, closing its wings and letting gravity pull it down, dodging the deadly javelin even his tail leashes against Tropical Breeze, the bat-pony is thrown to the ground with a sickening crush.
Frozen Wind manages to follow the creature in the hard dive, but is bludgeoned by a mighty paw, the veteran thestral is sent spiraling to the ground without control, dripping blood.
Midnight Reverie rushes to the rescue, diving after Frozen Winds even as the rest of the team goes to help Night Tinker. She skillfully matches their speed and slow him down before he crashes to the ground. She gives him a shot of painkillers and quickly dresses the wound with bandages coated in alchemical healing salves. Later she can give it a proper examination, but for now it would be enough.
She dashes ahead, looking for the fallen Tropical Breeze amidst the snow-covered ruins even as she hears the staccato of the guns followed by the deafening roar of the manticore above her, barely sparing a peek to make sure the creature wasn’t coming for her.
She finds Tropical Breeze impaled in a piece of rebar, his last remaining javelin fallen at his side. The piece of metal had pierced him in the lower abdomen, fortunately missing his spine. She knows that moving him is a bad idea, but dozens of tiny, hungry eyes of carrion birds looms nearby. She quickly pulls him out, administering a quick dose of hydra and painkillers to keep him stable while she closes the wounds. With a bone needle and some sewing string, she gets to work mending the flesh back together as the hydra keeps him from bleeding to death.
So focused, she barely notices the encroaching roar as the manticore comes for her. She feels the warm, noxious breath of the creature on her back more than anything, almost instinctively she grabs the fallen javelin and dashes ahead, beating her wings as hard as she can to propel herself ahead of the creature.
She feels the fangs closing just behind her, the monstrosity reaching for her with a desperate hunger, his back charred and marked by the guns of the bat-ponies, but nothing that seems to slow him down.
Midnight flies fast and low through the ruins, wishing for any solid piece of cover under which she can hide from the beast, but the inclement weather had reduced most buildings to derelict remains, crumbling under their own weight.
She dives under an ancient skyway, but the manticore plows trough it without even slowing down, plaster and concrete rain on the streets below. She banks hard left, turning around the ruined remains of a skyscraper, desperately trying to look for help or any way to signal the rest of the team. Their last flares had been spent almost a month ago.
The train should be safe at the station by now, but with the manticore flying around they wouldn’t be safe for long. She still has all her ammo, but there’s no way she can hurt the creature with her guns, the enchanted javelins seem capable of piercing the tough skin of the creature, but she has only one and doubts she can throw it with enough force.
It’s then that she notices the faded pink butterflies that marks the remains of a skyscraper, she knows precisely what that means and how she can use it.
She takes a small inhaler from her pack and takes a long, energizing breath, chemical energy filling her veins as she throws the inhaler away.
The creature comes for her and she flies trough the double doors of the ancient hospital, trotting trough the cluttered ground even as she uses quick bursts of her guns to break the locks of any door that stands in her way. Her eyes are quickly to adapt to the darkness, showing the tale of starvation and slow death that came to those that sought shelter in there, just after the bombs had burned the land.
That was a history that repeated itself all over Equestria, ponies had converged to hospitals in the hopes of finding any semblance of help and order. The hospitals tried to take in everyone they can, tried to help everyone, but as the resources dwindled and the wounded survivors kept coming in they devolved into chaos. In many of those places the ponies hadn’t been trained in how to deal with the balefire radiation poisoning.
They were aroused of their slumber by the thestral’s noises. Their corrupted minds reduced to a single mindless goal, their bodies dried and infused with the same eldritch poison that soaked the land.
Ghouls.
They rush to her from everywhere, their groans echoing through the room and halls of the old hospital as they try to reach for the bat-pony. Midnight runs and keep running through every floor, two times stopping barely a moment to take in more stimulants. Floor by floor she makes as much noise as possible and they come by the dozens to her.
The manticore keeps prowling around the hospital, clawing at it with furious intent, the claws digging deep into the crumbling concrete, bending the weakened steel. Midnight Reverie shoots the last door open and is blinded for a moment as the dim light from the outside reaches her, without stopping she keeps running, jumping to the skies with a strong beat of her wings, reaching as high as she can as the dozens of ghouls erupt out of the building.
They reach for the manticore with their broken hooves and rotten teeth, swarming over the creature even as he tries to fly away.
Still high on stimulants, Midnight Reverie fly as high as she can, her wings beating fast and hard, propelling her ever higher, above the cloud cover and until the air becomes thin, the sun shining brightly over her. She dives, holding the javelin in her hooves as she plummets under the clouds once again, straining against the speed, screaming madly as she approaches the fallen manticore.
The ghouls can’t hurt him, but can pin him down for long enough. She comes at high speed and launches the javelin at the same moment she spreads her wing to break her fall, the strain of it coursing through her very bones, pain coursing through her body like wild fire.
Propelled by her velocity, the javelin pierces the rough skin, cut through the flesh and break the bones to hit the soft grey matter under it.
Midnight Reverie stands in front of a massive steel door.
They have found the station completely deserted, the main platform littered with ancient trash, bags that had been abandoned for more than twenty years now, mold has covered entire walls. They were scavenging the place, taking anything that could be burned or have any value when she was attracted to a small light that still shone in front of a massive double gate, a faded symbol marked it as the entrance to Stable 273. With three of the Night Guard wounded, Midnight Reverie had been sent to scout the location for medicine they so badly needed. Ivory Spark was sent with her to look for spare parts and ammo, and Iron Sunrise followed them for protection.
“Welcome one and all,” says a rasping voice through a speaker in the wall. “The Guardian spares you for having killed the Demon.”
The ponies look at each other in confusion and back to the massive door. This wasn’t by far the strangest they have encountered in the Wasteland.
“You ain’t sick?”
Midnight Reverie answers it. “We have wounded, but no infectious diseases in our group.”
“The unicorn looks funny. Ain’t natural.”
Midnight Reverie looks at Ivory, the unicorn lowers her eyes and try to hide herself behind Iron Sunrise.
“No, she is fine, just some scars.”
The crackly voice resumes. “The Guardian says he wants to know how you got in here?”
“Long story,” says Iron Sunrise.
“Got time. Guardian’s got all the time in the world. Nobody never got in this Stable. Never in a hundred, never in a thousand, never in a million years. Doors sealed tight. Guardian don’t allow it until Stable-tech sends the order.”
Midnight Reverie glances sideways at Iron Sunrise, a Stable was bound to have huge stockpiles of resources they could use. Back in Maretania they had even meet with remnants of the Solar Guard that had been living around a Stable, waiting for it to open.
“We come from the Ponyville,” Iron Sunrise replies, not entirely a lie.
A cackle of laughter. “That’s a long way from here.”
“We have been traveling for a long time. Where are we?”
“Guardian has the Stable in his charge. Keep it safe. Let no pony enter with darkness in his heart. You got hate?”
Midnight Reverie shook her head. “No. We come in friendship.”
The tension around them is palpable, this seem to be going nowhere and they can’t keep the wounded ponies back at the train waiting forever.
“I have to search the books for word on what to do. Guardian has to take care. Move not, friends. I’ll be watching.”
“We should run,” whispers Ivory. “This seems like too much trouble.”
“We need the supplies” retorted Iron Sunrise “Unless we get more coal, we are going nowhere.”
“The Guardian has consulted the holy books of Stable-tech: No unauthorized ponies are to be allowed in Stable-tech property!”
“We are Royal Guard, Night detachment!” Iron Sunrise protests. “We operate under direct orders of Princess Luna!”
“The Guardian cares not for your princess!” his voice cackles. “They are fake goddesses that misled ponies! Only Stable-tech saves!”
The three ponies look at each other in despair, but Midnight Reverie suddenly smiles.
“But we are authorized,” Midnight Reverie replies quickly.
“Then show your authorization to the Guardian!”
“Of course,” Midnight says, digging amidst her pack frantically. “I’m a certified Stable-tech Medic!”
The mare produces a small plastic red heart badge with ‘certified Stable-tech Nurse’ written with bleached white letter. It is nothing more than a toy that she had found along the ruins of Hollow Shades so many years ago.
“Come forward, let me see it.”
Midnight Reverie approaches the faded heart to the camera, there is a long and tense silence and then with a screech of metal against metal, the big door slowly moves out of the way.
Midnight Reverie leads them through an ample hall.
“Midnight? What is this place?” asks Ivory.
The unicorn is silent, gasping in awe at the building that seems fit to house an army, the clean and sterile interiors are in starch contrast with the rest of the world.
“It’s a Stable, an underground bunker built and stocked to survive for centuries. Once the radiation clears down, the ponies inside will come out.”
Even as she speaks, a burst of laughter splutters from the loudspeaker.
“Do not blaspheme,” the voice of the Guardian comes more clearly trough the speakers. “This is not the Stable, but the home of the guardians!”
Iron Sunrise moves closer to Midnight Reverie, and tries to whisper, but he is interrupted by the door ahead of them beginning to slide slowly upward, revealing the hooves, then body, then head of a pony standing facing them.
The pony dresses in a bizarre assortment of rags and flashy attire: a saddle that bears sparkling sequins, the hoofs covered in mismatched and raggedly hacked pieces of leather, the face is old enough that he must have been alive before the bombs feel. Numerous medals on scraps of iridescent ribbons, jingle on the chest.Abandolier that crosses his chest contains an extraordinary range of ammunition. Even at a snatched glance Midnight Reverie can make out five or six different calibers.
He carries an assault rifle on his saddle, the kind normally found amidst private contractors and cops. He stands with a tense posture, obviously not accustomed to carry guns.
“Greetings from the Guardian, strangers,” croaks the pony, his voice is old, but energetic. “Never have there been such outsiders here.”
“I’m Midnight Reverie,” she introduces herself with a respectful bow, “This is Iron Sunrise, we are from the Night Guard and she is Ivory Spark, a civilian technician.”
“You best come with me. That is the invite of the Guardian. There is food,” the barrel of the machine gun swung toward a door to their left.
“We have wounded…” Midnight started.
“Later, my pretty little bat. All things later. First come and eat. There’s plenty for us all for all of eternity.”
The old stallion makes the three of them walk ahead of him towards the cantina.
“This place is enormous,” says Ivory, walking beside Midnight Reverie. They walk another nine or ten minutes, moving into a part of the bunker with several side rooms, to the left of them stands a long corridor that takes to the giant form of a Stable door, the giant metal cog seems to have been painstakingly scrubbed and polished until it almost gleamed under the weak electric light. A few flowers and pieces of papers have been deposited in front of it, not unlike offerings in a temple.
The floor is a patterned mosaic of soft tiles. At the center of the hall, which is two hundred paces long by a hundred wide, is a glittering fountain shaped from curves of polished metal, with water burbling and chirruping from level to level. And on every side, were stores still decorated with colorful advertisement to a myriad of discounts and promotions.
Midnight Reverie looks around, her jaw sagging, eyes dazzled wherever she stares.
“Blessed Luna,” she hears Iron Sunrise whisper.
“Halt. The Guardian commands obedience. Beyond that portal is food and rest for the weary traveler. Not that we’ve ever had a traveler before, weary or not.”
They stop in front of a sturdy metal gate and Midnight Reverie watches the doddering old stallion aim a small black remote-control device at the top of the closed door. It is obviously a simple sonic switch that activates the opening lock.
“Move forward and enter the lair of the Guardian.”
They step through into a small industrial cantina, two machines rest in a corner and a pile of trays are just to the side, the long tables seem fit to dozens of workers. The three of them watch as the guardian kneels in front of one of the machines and prays to Stable-tech, praising the company for saving his life from the lies of the fake princesses and the zebras’ wrath. After the long-winded prayer, the machine sputters two colored pastes into a tray and bright orange juice into a cup.
“The Guardian will allow you to reconnoiter the parameters of the Bunker once you have eaten.”
The strange bunker, with its incorporated shopping mall, is one of the biggest building that Midnight had ever laid eyes on. The shopping mall alone would have put to shame even the biggest shopping malls of Canterlot and Fillydelphia with its maze of interconnecting passages and stores.
The survivors and remnants of the Night Guard had been more than happy to come inside if for nothing else then to escape the cold outside. The Guardian had consulted his holy books and decided that since she was a medic, Midnight Reverie and her group could stay there until the wounded were healed. Their enthusiasm, however, is curbed very soon as they find that every single store is tightly sealed and locked. Ivory organizes a small party of technicians to work on the locks, the Guardian keep following them around, laughing as they keep failing to open the locks.
The Guardian keeps to himself most of the time, spending most of the day cleaning and patrolling the giant structure. By the second day, Ivory Spark found him prostrated in front of a Stable-tech vending machine, praying to Stable-tech until the machine releases a pair of canned meals. The unicorn tries to do it himself, but the machine remains completely unresponsive.
Midnight manages to organize a small clinic in a corner of the food plaza, at least the faucets are a source of pure water. The rest of the survivors cluster around the bathrooms, taking turns to wash themselves on the sinks and use the toilets.
As far as they can determine, there are only two entrances to the bunker. One is the double steel doors they had used and the other is a series of loading and unloading doors in the back of the complex, but without a manual control on the inside. Midnight believes it had never been opened since the day the bombs fell.
Ivory Spark walks with Midnight Reverie down through the long corridors of a library, the ancient books sealed behind thick panes of transparent plastic, with ladders to reach the high shelves and a balcony.
“It’s a shame all of this is locked so thoroughly,” says the unicorn, running his hoof over one of the locks, as if he can unlock it by sheer force of will.
“I wonder why they built this,” Midnight says. “This is not a regular bunker, it looks more like a shopping center.”
Ivory looks over the book titles. “I wonder what kind of pony will come out of the Stables, they will have spent several generations living underground. Maybe they will even have forgotten all about life on the surface. I fear that no matter what we do, life will never be the same.”
“Perhaps, its better that it never goes back. As perfect as things looked back then, we still ended here. Maybe this time, things will change for the better and whatever pony comes out of the Stables will not allow the world to be destroyed a second time.”
They stand on the balcony for a moment, wondering what secrets and promises lay behind the sturdy Stable door.
“I think she’s getting worse,” Midnight announces. Black Dahlia slows his pace and takes a long breath. Of course, she was getting worse, everything seemed to be getting worse all the time.
Scavenging for medicine had been impossible so far, with every store thoroughly sealed and locked behind sturdy doors. Even when Ivory Spark had managed to pick the locks, they discovered all the supplies sealed in sturdy boxes. Ivory and his small team of technicians were still working on unlocking those, so far, the rest of the team had been managing to live on their own supplies, but those were dwindling by the day.
Black Dahlia watched over the three convalescent ponies, Midnight had been managing to keep them stable for now, but unless they can start opening those boxes, they would have to ditch most of the wagons and cargo to try and make it to the next station, with some luck they would find some supplies there.
Ivory Spark bursts into the room, out of breath and sweating.
“We have trouble,” she manages to speak.
Trouble. That is the watchword. That is the heart stopper. Black Dahlia knows how to deal with hostiles, lack of food or water, and even radiation poisoning. But trouble is an entirely different problem.
Dahlia helps the unicorn to some water from his canteen as they walk closer to Midnight Reverie.
“Take a long breath and tell me exactly what is happening.” Dahlia orders.
“Back in the workshop we were messing around with some old radios, trying to use them to hack into the digital locks,” the unicorn tells him. “We think we can trigger the welcome protocol.”
Dahlia looks at the three wounded ponies.
“This get us medicine?” he asks.
“More than that, it will unlock all the stores!” Ivory replied animatedly. “The protocol is supposed to activate when the Stable’s door opens, but we can trick the internal clock to think we are about a hundred years in the future.”
“So why are those bad news?” Dahlia asks.
“To do it we will need more tools and at least one functioning terminal,” Ivory replies quickly.
Dahlia paces around, eyes closed as he speaks. “By the state of the ruins outside there must have been a military base on the city, take Midnight Reverie and Iron Sunrise with you to scout around.”
“I should stay with the patients, sir,” Midnight protested.
“They are stable enough for now, I want you on the team in case they find any medicine,” Dahlia replied. “Go put your armor and take any supplies you want, I want a full report of the surroundings as soon as possible.”
The secondary entrance to the Bunker slides soundlessly open.
Midnight’s nostrils are immediately filled with the stench of the burned city, a combination of rot and old death that seem to have soaked into the very bones of the city. Outside, hail and snow whirl across a flat paved area about fifty paces square. Ivory Spark takes a step ahead, covered in borrowed furs and coats, the unicorn carries a sawed-off shotgun by Dahlia’s insistence.
Iron Sunrise comes just behind, pulling a sled packed with the necessary supplies for their trip.
The landscape is as bleak as anything they’d ever seen around the Wasteland, walking through what little remains of the city, getting deeper and deeper into the ruins as they seek the remains of military base. There is no sign of vegetation anywhere.
Midnight is glad for her armor, the enchantment straining to keep her warm against the snow storm. Ivory struggles with her layers of clothes, trudging with great difficulty through the snow. Iron Sunrise is always a few steps behind, his eyes always scanning the horizon for possible threats.
There are jagged peaks layered with snow all around them, vanishing into the murk. She eventually glances at the sky, cursing the cloud cover that blankets Equestria.
In a shallow valley almost on the flanks of the high mountain is a huddle of blocky buildings. Some of them look desolate and ruined, but among them there are a few tents and a thin wisp of black smoke comes out of them. Among the buildings stands a small group of about a dozen ponies, shrouded in dark clothing.
Oddly, none of the waiting group moves as the three of them comes closer, Midnight and Iron Sunrise approaches with the trigger bit far from their mouths as a gesture of peace, but the group seems unfazed. The strangers don’t seem to have any weapons with them, their clothes too flimsy to resist the snowstorm for too long.
An extremely tall pony, his face obscured by a black hoodie, strides toward them with an ease smile, barely bothered by the snow.
It is then that Midnight notices the bright, yellow eyes. She has seen mutation and taint before, but this isn’t it.
“Welcome,” calls the tall stallion, showing sharp teeth. “Welcome to our humble village, we would like to offer a proper welcome, but, alas, you meet us in a time of strife.”
Midnight offers a hoof. “My name is Midnight Reverie, officer in the Royal Guard.”
“My name is Silver Spirits,” he replies, but don’t extend his own hoof in return.
Midnight looks around, beckoning Ivory to come closer. The sight of the unicorn’s mechanical hoof causes some of the tribe to chatter and stare, to her annoyance.
“This is Ivory Spark,” Midnight says. “The stallion over there is Iron Sunrise.”
“Please, come to our village so we can offer you at least a meager meal to warm your tired bodies and then we can talk properly,” Silver gestures towards the blocky, concrete houses.
Silver Spirits leads them to the largest construction, and orders two young ponies, also covered in black cloaks, to fetch some warm food for the visitors. A table is hastily put for them and turnip stew is brought in small plastic bowls.
“You have been living here for long?” asks Ivory.
The tall pony nods. “We have been here so long that sometimes the life before the bombs appears to be a fevered dream. It makes us happy to receive visitors, besides those foolish Guardians we haven’t seen any other pony in many moons, we were beginning to believe no one else had survived the bombs.”
Midnight lowers her scarf, taking a long breath, she smells wet fur and a strange tinge in the air. “You know the Guardian?”
“Of course, they worked security to Stable-tech during the construction of the Stable. When the bombs fell they barricaded themselves inside of the station. We begged at their door to be allowed inside as the city burned behind us.”
Midnight exchanged a worried look with Ivory. “They? We saw only one Guardian.”
He nodded. “Back then, they were a small army, with the weapons and gear to back it up. We used to see them amidst the ruins of the city, living like princesses as we scrounged a meager existence out the poisoned soil. Not so many moons ago they came to us, begging for our help and telling tales of a deadly disease that had spread through their bunker.”
“They died?”
The tall pony shuddered. “We never knew for sure. We stopped seeing them among the ruins, but we never knew what really had happened. We tried to communicate with them a few more times, but they never answered back.”
“And for how long have you been wearing it?” Midnight asks abruptly.
The tall pony’s eyes go wide, he chokes loudly on his stew. “I beg your pardon…”
“We are Royal Guard,” Midnight interrupted him. “We fought against the zebras in the front lines. I have seen eyes like yours before, the zebras used to call them Minzi.”
Silver looks over the rest of his village with a defeated look before undoing his cloak to show his form. He is more lupine than pony, with clawed paws and a thick, bushy tail, his fur had grown around his chest and back. In his chest there is a zebra medallion carved from wolf’s fangs, fused to his skin.
“I knew you smelled like wet dog!” Midnight quipped.
“I don’t think I can say that I wear it anymore, by this point this thing wears me,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m sorry.”
“No hard feelings,” says Iron Sunrise as zebras steps out of the shadows, their rifles pointed at the trio. “We do what we need to survive.”
Midnight takes a long sip of her stew, the silence heavy in the room.
“Take us to your leader?” Midnight says in broken zebrish.
The legionnaires don’t bother to tie the three ponies, they are guided through the snow and the ruins to a big encampment on the shadow of a snowy mountain. They are taken into an improvised cell made with steel bars and the ruins of a couple of walls, the door is closed with a simple lock and chain. The Legionnaires pat them down with trained meticulously, taking their weapons and gear before locking them down.
Iron Sunrise sits himself against one of the walls, feeling strangely naked without his armor or guns. He looks at Midnight without expression. “They say anything?”
“Not well—I think they’re remnants. Have you seen their guns?”
A big zebra with piercing green eyes and the markings of an official watches over them through the metal mesh, the rifle on his back is the kind seem amidst special forces, trying to catch what they were saying.
“Yeah. They all got Makarov 9mm pistols. Lot of Kalashnikovs and Kiparis, even a few Dragunov rifles. Those are no common raiders, that’s military gear.”
“But how they could have crossed?” Ivory ponders. “I know we are close to the zebra lands around here, but…”
The zebra approaches them, he carries a worn-out book in his left hoof, flipping quickly through the pages, he points his own chest and says: “Unathi.” Then, widening the gesture to include the rest of the zebras, he adds, “We are Legionnaires.”
“I’m Midnight Reverie and this here is Iron Sunrise, we are with the Night Guard. The unicorn is Ivory Spark, she is a civilian.”
“It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance,” says Unathi, stumbling over the words.
Unathi puts on the ground a ragged Stable jumpsuit. “Good,” he says. “I wish a further information, if you please.”
It is one of the most bizarre episodes in Midnight’s life—a life that is well studded with bizarre experiences.
“We don’t have any of those.”
There is a delay while Unathi translated and digested that. “Nyet,” he says, shaking his head. “How enter… Stable?”
“No,” replies Midnight, standing up. Ivory and Iron Sunrise also rise. The zebras are over them in a moment. Gun muzzles points in their direction without a moment hesitation.
Unathi clenches his teeth and throws the small book away. Those weren’t poor and starving ponies like those that had lived in this village, they had suffered the harshness of this new world, but they hadn’t been destroyed by it. Their gear and weapons are too shine, too well cared; their bodies and mind are still sound, they haven’t been infected by the despair and sickness that ravages the land. To bribe the locals with medallions and rations had been easy, but they would have nothing that could spark the greed of those bat-ponies if they really had access to the Stable.
He curses under his breath; the zebra had known that this mission wouldn’t be accomplished without bloodshed. He had hoped he could, but deep down he had known it would come to it. He beckons for Tariro to come to him.
“Old friend, it saddens me to ask you, but the very survival of our kind is at stake.”
“Choose one of the bats, the unicorn is a civilian,” the old zebra says with a deep sigh. “Let’s try to have some measure of pride to make us worth of salvation.”
Midnight and the others watch the exchange, guessing from the expressions on the zebra’s faces and their simple understanding of the zebra’s language what is going down. The gray-clad zebra with the soft voice approaches them, he carries a doctor’s pack at his side.
“Bad news time,” says Midnight.
“Yeah,” agrees Iron Sunrise
“Tell us where Stable is” Unathi points at the Iron Sunrise and his zebras take him out of their improvised prison and bind him. In moments Iron Sunrise’s hooves are tied tightly, and held firmly by two strong zebras. Half a dozen guns cover Midnight and Ivory.
“Are they going to torture him?” asks the unicorn.
Midnight only nods.
“Beautiful Luna, protect me from the evil that lurks in the night,” Iron Sunrise prays “Watch over those that are lost, and as the moon changes, so shall I be reborn.”
The old doctor moves in close to the kneeling pony, looking down into his eyes. He touches Iron Sunrise on the side of the cheek with cold, clinical hoof, and the pony winces despite himself.
“Stable,” says Unathi.
“We won’t let you get in there,” shouts Midnight.
Unathi nods to Tariro.
Midnight watches, her face set like stone; Ivory looks away. Tariro begins gently, almost caressing the helpless Iron Sunrise. He puts his surgical tools one by one over a metallic tray, the blades and needles kept impeccably clean despite all the adversities. He reaches for a long scalpel and slowly traces a red line over Iron sunrise’s chest as if to test his skin. Then comes the pain, the doctor prods and cuts with precision, causing just enough pain to make him scream, but not enough for him to pass out.
“Where Stable?” asks Unathi.
Midnight looks at him, her face showing all the hatred and anger she feels. “You bucking barbarians, we should have burned every last one of you!”
Unathi steps in and swung a hoof across Midnight’s face, knocking her on her back. Midnight sat there a moment, her head spinning from the blow, she feels a loosened tooth. As Midnight get up, a lopsided smile came to her angular face.
“You hit like a little foal.”
“Talk Stable! Or Pain.”
“No,” says Midnight. “We will not betray our friends, Luna protects!”
Unathi raises his hoof in rage, poised to strike, but the sudden crackle of an explosion interrupts him, the entire building shudders under the impact. The concrete, weakened by years of exposition to the elements is brittle, cracks under the explosion.
The report of gunfire comes from the outside, Midnight recognizes the sound of MS-7’s shooting in synchrony that is quickly answered with the louder sound of the zebra’s rifles firing in three round bursts.
Ivory takes the moment of distraction, as zebras hurry to man the defenses outside, to free herself of the odious cold-iron ring around her horn. She puts her horn trough the metal mesh and with a quick twist of her head she breaks it by the half, pain flares through her entire body, spreading like electricity, magic sputtering uncontrollably from her stump. The iron ring falls harmlessly to the ground. The pain threatens to overwhelm her rationality, invite the sweet release of unconsciousness, but she forces herself awake, force any figment of magic she can summon to break the lock of their cage.
Midnight dashes ahead to free Iron Sunrise from the two zebras holding him down. She hits the first with a spinning buck, two hooves to the face. A satisfying crunching sound as the zebra is thrown to the ground.
The second has time to react, parrying a punch, only to be overtaken by the bloodied Iron Sunrise, the bat-pony gets over the zebra and punches with savage glee, again and again, until his hooves are covered in blood. Iron Sunrise screeches angrily.
Unathi turns his rifle towards the two bat-ponies, trigger bit in his mouth. Crackling magic hit him, the chaotic stream of Ivory’s warped spells sets off the medallions on his rifle, swallows him in an instantaneous conflagration. The zebra screams, a normal pony would have been swallowed by the pain, but his alchemically enhanced body keeps moving. He charges towards Midnight.
The thestral tries to dodge out of his way, but the zebra tackles her, throws her to the ground even as he delivers punch after punch with mad strength, pounding his bare hooves against the pony.
Midnight spins on the ground and kick the zebra back, hurls him against the wall, and gets her whole weight behind the next punch, driving it between his eyes and smashing his headback against the hard stone, leaving a bloody stain as he slumps to one side.
Midnight swings around to dodge a furious punch, dancing nimbly to the left. With a quick jab she hits the zebra under his left shoulder.
There’s a faint rumbling of the earth, a tremor as bombs hit the ground, spilling liquid fire around the camp. The flames dances and spread even as the zebras move to extinguish them.
Unathi charges with abnormal speed, throwing the thestral outside of the building and into the snow.
Midnight rolls away of a stomp and with a beat of her wings was on her hind hooves, front hooves ready to strike.
Around them battle rages with the thunder of gunfire and explosions. Somewhere above, Dahlia and the remains of the night guard flew just under the clouds, dropping bombs and strafing the zebra’s positions in quick dashes, never stopping for even a moment.
Unathi clenches his teeth, the pain consumed his reason. He took to his hind legs, front hooves raised in the kokawa style, zebra boxing.
“You ruined it!” he screams, his bloodshot eyes afire with fanatical hate, his face pock-marked with burn marks.
The zebra punches with strength and speed, moving fast on his hind legs, but the bat moved fast with a combination of hooves and wings, half walking, half flying. She attacks with a combination of kicks and fast punches.
Unathi punches her hard upon the jaw, the blow connecting with a satisfying crack. Midnight flinches under the unexpected force of the blow, but manages to stay on her hooves. Unathi hits again, knocking her back, but by the time he closes in on the bat-pony, Midnight responds with a spinning kick, keeping out of his range.
“Go back to your land,” she shouts. “There will be only death for you in Equestria!”
Unathi stands for a moment, his breath coming fast and short. “It’s all right,” he says at last. “There’s only death for us anywhere.”
He surges forwards swiftly with a quick combination of punches to Midnight’s chest, stealing the thestral’s breath. Midnight reeled back, coughing spastically.
“You will never succeed,” Midnight coughs. “Even if you find the Stable, all of your army can’t break inside, the whole place was made to survive a balefire bomb!”
Unathi charges and Midnight sends him stumbling back with a back kick, blood comes out of his nose.
“We will die here!” Unathi screams in rage. “All of zebra will die here!”
Unathis strikes with a feint to the left only to come with a jab from the right, Midnight turns with the attack, throwing her hind hooves to Unathi’s chest. Before the zebra can recover she jumps over him, locking his arm and forcing a hoof against his neck.
To end it would be a simple question of putting enough weight against the hind hoof, his neck would break in a moment. The moment stretches into infinity, she looks over the zebras, over to Dahlia in the sky still harassing them.
And still, those weren’t simple raiders, they were soldiers looking for a place to survive and thrive, they had already faced incredible odds to make it into Equestria. In many ways they weren’t so different from her own group and the path they had traced since they first departed from Ponyville twenty years ago.
She can see herself in the snow-covered zebra, his singed fur and determined eyes. And just like her, she knows he will not stop at anything to guarantee the survival of his soldiers.
“I have seen the Stable’s door,” she declares. “You will spend every bullet, every gram of explosive, break your hooves against it and you will make not a single scratch on it.”
The zebra shook his head. “Then we are good as dead, we crossed the great white to seek salvation.”
“It doesn’t need to end like that,” Midnight retorted. “You and your zebras can still survive.”
“We have not enough food or supplies,” Unathi replies. “If this is to be our last battlefield then so be it.”
Midnight Reverie releases him and takes a step back.
“You never wanted to survive,” she states as fact. “You just wanted to find some place to go out in a blaze of glory, isn’t it?”
Unathi gets up on his hind hooves and raises his fists in combat pose, but Midnight shakes her head.
The gunfire dies down, the zebras and wereponies all focus on the two of them.
“We will not help you die, go and take a long walk on the wastes if that’s what you want, but every zebra that wants to live is welcome to come with us, we have place for everyone in our train.”
Unathi looks at her in confusion, taking a moment to understand her words.
“You want to survive, then lower your weapons and come with us,” Midnight says almost like an order. “Keep fighting and you will all perish here, a long, slow, and pointless death!”
Unathi looks from his legionnaires to the bat-ponies, he felt so tired. After thousands of miles and dozens of different battlefields, now he felt truly and completely tired. Midnight Reverie extended her roof, an inviting smile on her face.
The station and the Stable were left behind, soon being enclosed by the cold mists. Midnight Reverie watched it from her perch atop the last wagon, the speaker system crackling with news and postings for the day, but most ponies around seem more captivated by the spicy smell that now comes out of the kitchen.
Ivory Spark had managed to hack open a few of the boxes, especially needed had been the coal reserves and the medicine. Not so much needed, but much more appreciated had been the food stores, specially the seasoning. The new zebras working the kitchen also brought new and interesting recipes with them.
Who knew that manticore meat could become so tender?
The Guardian had decided to stay behind, he declared that he would never abandon his post without express orders from Stable-tech, and so the lone Guardian stood in the platform watching them go before going back to his post.
Led by Unathi, the wereponies and some of the zebras had chosen to try their luck going south, they were too weary of the cold and desolation, eager to find anything that wasn’t the unending whiteness. Dahlia presented them with a few hoof-drawn maps the Night Guard had done along their trip, so they would have some help to traverse the Wasteland and a small measure of supplies.
The stripes that decided to remain on the train were becoming a common sight around, they still mostly kept to themselves in their allotted wagons, but slowly they were intermingling with the other survivors, running through wagons, climbing the rope harnesses, and lending their accented voices to old pony songs.
Language was still a barrier between the two groups, the zebras were struggling to learn some of the pony language, but for some time yet most of the communications was being done through exasperated hoof gestures. The ponies had been catching a few words of the zebra’s language, especially for swearing.
Ivory Spark was still recovering from her wounds, her horn was growing back and even without coherent magic she continues commanding their small radio post. The ghost signal coming out of the Crystal Empire was still a constant presence with its automated message promising food and shelter for everypony that could make its way there. Besides that, she had managed to find a couple of faint signals, most of them were too garbled to understand, but strangely enough one of them seemed to be a constant repetition of numbers without reason or pattern to it.
Iron Sunrise still isn’t too comfortable close to the zebras, but he’s enough of a soldier to ignore his preferences and follow the orders.
Midnight Reverie was more than happy to have some help on their small clinic, and the old zebra doctor seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of herbs and medicinal plants that surpassed anything she had read on the book.
The thestral looks over the horizon, there will be at least one more week until they can finally catch any glimpse of the Crystal Empire.
