> Anywhere But Here: Odds and Ends
>  by Pacce
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Good Help is Hard to Find
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


~~~|*/\*|~~~


And a little twist here and...

Oh! It’s whirling! Hello Mr. Recorder, can you hear me? 

Ooooh, where am I? Who am I? Who are you?

Oh no! YOU HAVE... AMNESIA! You’ve been in a terrible accident! My Name’s Paharita, your best friend and supreme ruler, but you can call me Rita.

Oh dear, what happened to me?

I have no idea! You were nearly dead when I found you, so you’re lucky that I came along! Anyway, I guess let’s just take it slow since you’re still recovering.

As you wish Rita. And may I just say if I had the function to record video, I would say you are looking lovely, simply radiant. Easily the prettiest griffon I’ve seen all day!

Oh fuck me, she’s talking to it again.

Again? Is this a regular occurrence?

Oh Mr. Recorder, you don’t remember a single thing from before a minute ago! You’re right though, and I appreciate your honesty and good taste! MWAH!

Oh my!

This is great! Let me tell the others. Hey, guys, I think I got this thing working again! The light’s on and everything!

Oh, that’s just lovely!

Rita, if you’re done playing with garbage and making stupid fucking voices, we could use some help.

I’m sure it is such a chore keeping your new best friend from eating you alive, but I’m sure you’ll manage. I’m rooting for you!

There’s no need to be rude, silly goose. I’m not trying to ruffle your feathers.

That’s racist!

Oh, I’m sure. But really, if you’re so worried about your partner’s burdens, perhaps you could contribute more than silly voices and insults.

So he’s got a lot on his plate these days. Not nearly as much as you, of course.

But can you waddle off now? You’re making me feel claustrophobic.

Hmmm....

Maybe I should be nicer to her, Mister Recorder. She’ll probably die soon. Die horribly. Cursing the day she ever crossed me. That’ll be nice.

But do you want to know a secret?

I’m just happy to hear your sweet voice, Empress Rita. Please caress my microphone and data tapes with your soothing words.

Oh, you little flirt!

Seriously though, I don’t like her very much. But that’s not the secret, she is horrible and ugly and only a truly diseased mind could find her anything but entirely repellent.

No, the secret is, she kinda worries me. She’s totally screwing with the dynamic of my personal narrative. I have my story all planned out. It has a beginning, middle, and end. And then she swooces in and starts rewriting as though I weren’t the main character. 

Doesn’t she know who I am?!

Anyway, I gotta go for now, Mr. Recorder. Bye-bye!


~~~|*/\*|~~~




Chapter None - Good Help is Hard to Find





--[///]--





FOUR YEARS EARLIER


Paharita ran her scaled fingers over the warm, glowing tubes of the jukebox. She brought her talons down to the controls. On the screen, at the face of the device, the display flipped through pages of different artists and songs. She stuck her tongue out at the “S” page.

“Why is Sweetie Belle so popular?” she asked, turning to an older unicorn sitting on a small barrel chair, enjoying a pipe. The pony took the pipe from his mouth to speak just as she turned back to the jukebox. “Her songs are so gloomy!”

Rita reached her claw into her Stable-Tec Security flak-jacket, feeling for the pockets in the stained and oversized work shirt which hung off her tiny frame. A smile curled the corners of her mouth as she withdrew a small cable.

With an edge of mischief in her voice, she murmured, “Time to add a little flavor.” She jammed one end of the cable into the face of the jukebox and the other end into the small computer on her left wrist. The griffon’s eyes lit up past her dark-pink eye markings. “Here we go,” she chirped, rapidly raking her talons across the buttons of her modified PipBuck.

She took the cord from both devices and slipped it back into a pocket, giving her PipBuck a celebratory slap and watching it spin on her wrist. With a push of a button, the new songs showed on the screen. She clutched the machine with both claws, her smile blinding, her wings giving a quick flap, all while her tail twitched expectantly as the machine whirred.

When the jukebox purred out a booming bass riff, Rita turned back to the rest of the saloon. Several patrons looked up from the drinks on their weathered, but clean, tables. Rita dropped back to all fours and began to strut her way to the bar, bobbing her head with the beat as she slid across the creaking floorboards. The long green bag she had strapped to her shoulder wobbled far past her head, jabbing a chatty mare in the hindquarters who had failed to get out of the griffon’s way. She whistled to a clean looking mare being lead up the stairs on the far wall by a stallion wearing a series of leather straps which clung to his trunk and rode up between his haunches. Rita knew the lady would be having some fun with that one.

A pair of earth ponies at a nearby table had lost track of their dice game, staring intently at her. The one furthest from her was covered in scars, tribal paint crisscrossed his face in a pattern identifying him as a member of a nearby raider tribe called the Piranhas. At the other end of the table sat a rough-looking farmer, his weather-beaten face making him look much older than his youthful eyes which were focused on her swaying hips.

The Piranha looked up at her hungrily, his grin wide as he ran his tongue over his filed teeth. Rita dropped her elbows heavily on the table, rattling their beer bottles, and propped her head up on her claws. She winked at the Piranha and ran the tips of her talons down the fluffy feathers of her cheeks and neck, gently clicking them against the thick metal ring of her slave collar. The pony slid back in his chair, his face full of confusion as she tugged at the collar of her vest, showing off more of her puffed-out chest feathers.

“You fellas want to dance with the prettiest griffon in the house?” She grinned, shaking her tawny, feline rump closer to the farmer’s face.

The tattooed pony scratched at his spiky mane, shifting in his chair. “This is awkward, but, I wasn’t flirting. I was actually trying to be threatening and scary.” He gave a lopsided smile. “The implication was more ‘I will kill you and eat you’ and less ‘we should get to know each other better and maybe I’ll buy you a—”

Rita whipped her head around her shoulder to the farmer, still staring in a trance at her constantly shifting hindquarters. “How about you hay-seed? I’ll let let you give my hiney a smack!” She put a talon against her teeth, smiled, and batted her eyes.

The farmer looked down at his forehoof and lifted it, glancing nervously towards her shaking rear. Rita dug her talons in the table’s surface in anticipation. Her beak fell open as he drew his hoof back and set it down.

“I-I don’t know if I should,” he stammered. “My mamma always said that I should treat a lady—”
Rita puffed out her cheeks and stomped away from the table, whipping both ponies with her tail as she went. She bounded the rest of the way, her small leaps timed to the beat as she approached the heavily stocked bar in the back. With a small leap, she landed in a perch atop the bar stool, spreading her wings proudly. The griffon shrugged the long, thin duffel bag from her shoulder and caught it by the strap before letting it drop softly to the floor. She straightened back up in her seat and looked at herself in the large mirror; the feathers from the top of her soft peach-colored head were squashed and tangled around the welder’s goggles strapped across her forehead. She reached up and swatted at the prominent feathers that dangled limply against her face, the dyed tips hovering by her beak.

Just as she prepared to shriek along to the closing wails playing from the jukebox, the song ended sharply and was instantly replaced by the sad sounds of a mare singing. Rita looked back, her mouth hanging open again. An old unicorn in straw hat shuffled in place, looking embarrassed to be caught.

“Really?” Rita called back to him across the room. She flopped her butt down on the stool, letting her hind legs sway freely. “Some ponies are just rude,” she muttered to no one in particular.
When the griffon looked up, she was staring into face of the oldest earth pony she’d ever seen. His wrinkles were so deep they looked like canyons etched into his face.

“Hey again,” she said brightly. “As you can see, I’ve not only fixed up your box back there, but I took the liberty of increasing the selection.” The old pony slowly craned his neck to look over at the jukebox. After several long seconds he looked back to the still smiling griffon.

“Now, as per our agreement, the drink I’d like is called a Raspberry Rickey.” Rita reached into her jacket and produced a faded piece of paper; her eyes followed the paper as she spoke. “You’re gonna need three ounces of raspberries, an ounce of lime juice, a half cup of mineral wah-wah, not just purified mind you, mineral—”

She was cut off as the bartender dropped a small glass from his mouth, it landed under her beak with a loud klak. He quickly went to the heavily stocked shelves and grabbed up the cheapest looking brown bottle. Holding it in the crook of his foreleg, he yanked out the cork with his teeth and spat it to the floor before taking the bottle in his mouth and pouring what could generously be called a double shot into the glass.

Rita stared down at the glass. She shoved the piece of paper back into her jacket and retrieved a small bit of wood with a pink paper top, holding it delicately between her thumb and index talons. With a slight flick of her wrist, the tiny umbrella unfolded and she dropped it into her glass. At last looking up from the glass she gave the bartender an acidic, “Thank you.”

The grumpy griffon held up the glass, tsk-ing at the lip marks and drool stains from the bartender.

She brought the glass to her beak and tipped it back, letting a bit slide into her mouth. She swallowed with a sputter, and her long tongue hung from her mouth as she set the glass back down. Bored already, she looked around at all the pretty, colorful bottles she’d rather be drinking from. Her eyes ran across a sign by the mirror, it was identical to all the others she passed coming into town and plastered around the bar: Salt Lick City was re-founded in blah blah blah by a pony with a simple dream of whatever and to ensure peaceful cohabitation, he buried a series of explosive devices around the entire town, etcetera, he’d rather kill himself and everypony else than give up on ponies being able to act civilized.

It was all summed up nicely, in Rita’s opinion, by the simple phrase at the bottom: “When the staff says to take it outside, you better damn-well do it.”

What caught her eagle-eye most was that this sign had a little bronze portrait next to it. It showed the oldest earth pony she’d ever seen, his wrinkles were so deep, they looked like canyons etched into his face. Underneath were the words: Old Hops is the re-founder, mayor, and brewmaster of Salt Lick City.

“Oh wow! So you’re the bartender and mayor of this entire city! That's so great for you!” Rita shouted into the weathered earth pony’s face. She never had much of an “indoor voice” and the alcohol had removed her already lax volume control. “Although, I guess Salt Lick City isn’t really that much of a city. It’s pretty much just this bar and a bunch of tents and shanties!”

Rita waved her forelimb at the room, sloshing her drink and nearly tipping the umbrella out of her glass. She rolled back into her seat staring at the stone faced pony glaring at her. “But this is the nicest bar I’ve ever been to and I’ve been to some nice bars. Well, it’s in the top ten anyway. Top three if I don’t compare the actual drinks served.” She leaned in candidly and cupped a claw next to her beak. “And between you and me, you need to really work on your customer service skills.”
The bartender made a noise between a grunt and a growl and ambled down the bar, far away from the chattering griffon. Rita drummed her talons on the bar to the rhythm of the sad music crooning from the old jukebox as her eyes drifted over the nearby patrons. To her left, a tough- looking unicorn in a bulky black jacket sat slamming shot after shot of whiskey. But what caught her eye wasn’t his alcohol tolerance or his muscled physique, it was the patch on his right shoulder depicting a lightning bolt coming from a cloud.

Rita’s eyes lit up like sparklers and she immediately began jabbing the pony in the side with a curled finger. “Excuse me,” she said quickly, poking with each word. “You, sir, hey, you. Hey, Sir. Hey.”

With all the speed of mountain erosion, the horned pony, turned to look at her. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Hi,” she said, sitting back and giving a warm smile. “Are you a fellow fan of the fastest, bluest, and coolest pony to ever dance on clouds?”

The pony stared at her slack jawed and bleary eyed. Rita reached out and tapped twice on the patch. She spoke fast, excitement raising her voice, “This here. This is the mark of one of the six Ministry Mares, Rainbow Dash, head of the Ministry of Awesome and the first recorded pony to perform a sonic rainboom.”

Rita’s eyes rolled up as she went through her mental index, counting on her talons. “She was the last captain of the stunt flyers, the Wonderbolts, before the group was dissolved and reformed into the elite tactical strike force known as the Shadowbolts. Of the six Ministry Mares, she was the only one to see front-line combat. She had the most confirmed kills of any pony during the war and that was before she went into the more hush-hush kinda jobs! Just her name was enough to strike fear into the hearts of zebra scum.”

When Rita stopped to take a breath, the dazed unicorn spoke up. “Lady, I have no idea what the fuck you’re blathering about. I bought this jacket from a merchant years ago. The patch just shows that I strike fast, ya know, like lightning.”

“Oh.” Rita slumped on her bar stool, her entire body deflating, the light going from her eyes. She perked up instantly as a thought popped in her head. “Do you remember the merchant’s name or description, or their route, or where they are now?”

“No.” The unicorn tilted back his head and let out a harsh laugh. “It was fucking years ago, and whoever he was, he’s probably dead by now. What the fuck do you—” When he looked back to Rita, she had turned away from him and was back to sipping her drink, as if she’d never noticed him. His face went red. “Hey, I was talking to you! You bothered me, ya fucking chicken puss!”

The sound of the front doors slamming open quieted the bar. The ancient looking bartender looked to the source of the disturbance and then went back to tending the bar with something resembling a smile on his face. The brutish unicorn looked back to the door with a sneer on his lips. His eyes went wide and he grabbed up his last shot in a levitation field and gulped it down. He hopped off the barstool and all but galloped away, leaving far too many caps on the counter.

Heavy hoofsteps echoed through the bar, accompanied by the sound of rattling chains. Rita kept her eyes on her drink as a shadow fell over her. The barstool next to her creaked loudly as the large, armored individual took his seat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rita looked over the newcomer; more than half of his body was draped in heavy iron armor that was held together with a series of chains. What drew her attention most was the helmet topped with two branching spikes, swept back and stained red. What little was visible of the pony underneath was coated in brown with patches of white, his uncovered tail was hay colored, matching the few errant strands the escaped his helmet and clung to his lantern jawed face.

His dark, deep-set eyes turned to her. “I’ve been told that a short griffon with a PipBuck and a bomb collar is looking for me,” he said evenly. “I was told that she has need of my services in removing some raiders. Are you she?”

“You’re the Iron Stag?” Rita asked the armored pony who only held his gaze. Rita tossed back what was left of her drink, scrunching up her face at the taste. She daintily set the empty glass on the bar and rotated on the squeaky stool to face the stallion. She looked him over for a moment before settling back, claws in her lap and head cocked at angle. “You’re not a stag at all,” she said, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Your name is dumb,” Rita looked up and away, tapping the side of her beak with her index talon, deep in thought. “You should be called the Big-Pony with the Stabby-Horn-Hat.”

Rita turned her face back to his, not a twinge of either humor or annoyance showed on his chiseled features. With a only a slight slump of the shoulder, the griffon put on a smile that was all teeth and extended her claw. “Yes, I’m Paharita, but you can call me Rita. Nice to meet’cha!” Her eyes darted from his still face, to his still lowered forelegs, and back to her unreceived claw. “Right to business then,” she said, giving his armored shoulder a pat. He looked down at where she had touched, as if to make sure she hadn’t left anything there.

Rita looked around to make sure no curious parties were paying attention; half the bar was still staring at them. With a roll of her eyes, the petite griffon leaned forward and the large pony did the same, his chair groaning at the weight being shifted.

“There’s a raider den,” she said in a hushed voice, “a little over a day’s trot from here. Inside the building there’s a...” Rita paused and clicked her tongue, thinking on the right word. “Treasure. One that they’re not likely to realize the importance of. I was only able to get close enough to see that it’s still mostly intact, but with raiders that could change very quickly.”

“How many raiders?” the Iron Stag rumbled.

“Thirteen. My lucky number,” Rita said with a wink.

“Their ‘den’; what is it?”

“A one story building, wholly intact. The insides are mostly open with only a few doored rooms inside. I made a sketch...” She flattened out a crumpled up napkin. The interior was mostly one big room, with walls separating it into sections, the doored rooms all towards the rear, off to the side of what was marked the entrance, was a large room circled in red ink. Rita tapped the circle. “That’s where the prize is. I need somepony who can kill them all and not cause a lot of collateral damage inside, the treasure is delicate.”

The Iron Stag stared at the crudely drawn floor plans for several long seconds. “I can do this,” he said without uncertainty. “You know my fee: a thousand caps, plus supplies. All upfront. I’ll need the exact location and—”

Rita smiled and waved a talon in his face, “Ah-ah-ah, no dice.” The stallion tipped his head forward, his eyes disappearing in the shadow of his helmet. “Oh don’t get all sulky on me. You’ll get fifteen hundred caps after they’re all dead and the prize is secured. And I’m coming with you. That’s the deal.”

“In my experience,” he said, looking her hard in the eyes, “such a deal is usually a guarantee of betrayal and an attempt on my life.”

Rita met his gaze and stared at him, the corners of her mouth twitching. She snorted before bursting out in laughter. “Like I’m going to overpower you.”

She held her belly and rocked back and forth on the stool, peals of laughter spilling from her beak. The Iron Stag only glanced at the other staring patrons who quickly returned to their own business. After nearly a full minute of this, she quieted to just the occasional cough of a laugh.

“Hoo boy,” she gasped and wiped the tears from her eyes with her knuckles, “and here I was afraid you didn’t have a sense of humor. Anyway, silly, that’s why I brought this show of trust and good faith.”

Rita reached a paw down from the rungs of the bar stool, pressed it against the duffel bag on the floor and slid it under the Stag’s hooves. “Inside, you'll find a high powered, point-three-oh-eight caliber rifle, in pristine shape, fitted with a scope and a silencer." She grinned, kicking her hind legs a bit. "I call it the Head-Hunter! Also, I've included twenty-six claw-crafted F-M-J rounds. I gave them all a little dip in some zebra hoop-a-goop from the war. It’s supposed to make it hard for healing potions and spells to plug up the wound." Her tail twitched in anticipation as he set the bag on the bar and flipped open the flap. "Oh! And one more thing!"

“What’s this?” he asked, peering into the bag.

Connected at the trigger was a series of thick panels held together with hinges and a thin cable all coming to end in a harness. Stag lifted the rifle and the panels moved freely in the air.
Rita smiled, chewing the corner of her mouth. “This is something special.” She reached out and pushed the small lever by the trigger bit, the whole contraption went rigid. “It’s called a steady arm. You strap it to your back and then if you push on the trigger bit, it locks in place, freeing up your mouth except when you need to shoot.”

At the push of the lever, it went limp. She folded the contraption in half, the front panel locked together with the back with a loud click. Rita watched as Stag strapped the contraption under his chest and over his withers, with the rifle folded securely against his side. Rita pointed at the button on the panel extending just past his shoulder. With a tap of the button, the rifle sprung forward, the trigger bit level with his mouth. One of the patrons whistled.

Rita smirked. “How’s that for a down-payment?”

Iron Stag pushed the Head-Hunter back against his side until the arm locked. “I accept,” was all he said.

Rita clapped her claws and leapt from her her stool, landing with one paw and forelimb stretched in air. “Excellent! Now let’s—”

She went quiet as he held out a massive hoof. “There is one more piece of business I have to conduct. You may accompany me if you wish. It shall not take long and will make for a demonstration of what you can expect from me, but you must remain silent.”

Rita held her index talon and thumb pinched together in front of her beak and made a sideways zipping motion. The Iron Stag stared at her for a beat before walking to the front entrance with Rita skipping close behind.


--[ //]--


The pair marched down the broken road, through the wreckage that the inhabitants called a city. Through either some cosmic jest, or just really good construction, the saloon was the only pre-war structure that had been left standing by the final day of the war. Every open space they passed was inhabited by ponies crowded around burning rubbish bins to keep warm from the pre-dawn chill.

As Rita and her conspicuous partner continued towards the edge of town, past the tents and thrown together shacks, she was unsurprised to see that all eyes were on the Iron Stag. Many of the locals, especially those with the telltale markings of various raider tribes, either tried to act inconspicuous or flat-out tried to hide. She had expected that. He was a bounty hunter, after all.

There were others, though. The common citizens had a wholly different reaction. The few foals they came across looked up at him with gaping mouths and faces full of awe. She heard whispers of thanks to him for removing this threat or avenging that loved one. The Iron Stag seemed to take notice of neither their fear or admiration.

From one of the tents, a filly ran toward the pair before her parents could reign her in. When she stopped in front of them, Rita noticed that the pony’s back left leg stopped below the hock. In her mouth, she held a bruised apple. She extended her neck as far up as she could towards the Iron Stag. He regarded her without expression, but gently took the apple from her.

“It makes me feel safer, knowing there are ponies like you out there,” she said quickly before running back to her parents.

The filly’s parents held her tightly until Rita and Stag turned past the next street corner. Once out of the girl’s sight, the Stag turned around and held out the apple to Rita. She snatched it and devoured it in seconds, core and all.

“Thanks!” she said, rubbing her stomach. She followed her gratitude with a wet burp.
The tents and shacks thinned the further they got from the saloon, until there were only scattered ponies sleeping on the ground, and then the two were alone. They kept walking for several minutes until the Iron Stag held up a foreleg, halting her. The ground gave way to a sharp drop-off ahead of them. Following his lead, they both crept up to the rim and peered over the edge.

At the bottom of the hill sat two emaciated ponies; one with a horn and one without. The pair sat quietly around their meek campfire, sharing a small bowl of what appeared to be a form of porridge. It took Rita a moment to realize that they were dug in. The hill was too steep to descend without making noise, and the surrounding terrain was open and flat as far as she could see. The three bedrolls spread around the fire suggested that they had been staying there for a while. Besides the ponies and their campfire, a lone, gnarled tree was the only thing that stood out against the bleak landscape. Rita spotted a combat shotgun propped up against that tree, well within the reach of either pony and capable of filling the air full of flesh-rending pellets in seconds.  She backed away from the ledge with a grimace.

Rita only heard a small click before she turned to see the Iron Stag with the Head-Hunter locked and aimed, the trigger in his mouth. He stood rigid, only making small movements with his head to adjust the trajectory. As the seconds ticked by, Rita started getting antsy, shifting her weight between her limbs as he refused to take the easiest shot ever with the prettiest gun she’d ever constructed. With a click, the aiming rig locked in place and the Iron Stag waved her to step aside.

Staring down the scope, the Iron Stag circled to the side. There was a single thump and a puff of smoke, followed by a short scream from the bottom of the hill. Rita puffed out her chest with pride to see her baby in action, only for her jaw to go slack as the Stag pushed the rifle to his side and jumped over the edge.

The griffon danced in place for a second, unsure which direction to go; her head whipping from the cliff’s edge, to the sky, and back towards town. The sound of a shotgun blast made her mind up and she peeked over the edge. The Iron Stag was running down the near vertical drop, his head bowed, and at the bottom stood the unicorn with the shotgun in his levitation field, firing wildly. The pellets panged loudly against the Iron Stag’s armor, but did not break his stride.

The unicorn’s shotgun clicked empty and his eyes went wide as he saw the horns of the Iron Stag heading straight for him. He only had enough time to drop the gun before he was struck with all force of a train. Rita heard as much as saw the horns punch straight through his lower ribs. He vomited blood over the Stag’s back as he was carried forward. The grisly ride continued and the Iron Stag lowered his head further to drag the unicorn’s hindquarters against the rocky ground.

The Iron Stag leapt into the air and dipped his head even lower. He planted both forelegs on the unicorn’s distended belly before landing with a wet crunch. Another mouthful of blood and bile spilled from the unicorn's mouth. He lay with his back on the ground struggling to breathe, still impaled, and with the crushing weight of the armored pony pressing on his belly. Rita saw him try to whisper, his eyes drifting to the Iron Stag’s face. That was when the screaming started.

The Iron Stag visibly shifted his weight forward, pushing his bloody, armored hooves deeper into the screaming unicorn’s body. At the same time, the stag slowly raised his head. The sound of flesh and muscle wetly tearing joined with the sound of crunching bones. The unicorn’s scream never stopped. The armored pony turned his head sharply to one side, then the other, and the scream became a horrible croak as the unicorn’s vocal chords gave out. With one last, loud crack, the Iron Stag raised his head towards the sky, showering himself in the gore that poured from the half of the unicorn still skewered on his helmet.

With a shake of his head, the half-a-pony was thrown from the Iron Stag’s horns, and he slowly approached the camp. Only then did Rita bother looking for the other pony. He was lying in a small pool of blood where she had seen him sitting before, a bloody hole on his the back of his neck. No, not a hole. A gouge. What really surprised her, though, was that he was breathing. His eyes darted around, entirely alert, as he tried to talk with his face planted in the dirt. Then he saw the Stag walking slowly towards him.

The blood drenched, armor clad pony stopped by the downed pony and yanked his head up by the mane. “You fucking animal,” the stallion screamed before he was dropped back to the ground, his chin striking a rock. He spat up a mouthful of blood.

“What did you do to me?" the pony demanded. “I can’t move,” he screamed as his head was barely able to twitch on the ground.

Iron Stag kneeled down low, and pulled up the plate of armor on the side of his haunch, showing his cutie mark to the pony on the ground. Rita could make it out clearly; it was a small rock striking a boulder, and the boulder was shattering from the impact. He let the plate drop.

“This is my talent,” the Iron Stag spoke evenly. “I look at something, and I know how to break it. In your case, I’ve blown out a chunk of your spine and severed the nerves.” He raised a foreleg and brought it down quickly, tearing a chunk of skin from the crippled pony’s cheek. When he opened his mouth to cry out, Iron Stag kicked forward, sending shards of teeth into the dirt.

The broken pony sobbed into the dirt. “I’m sorry,” he bawled. “We were just gonna ransom the girl! We didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident!” The pony’s scream ended in a wet cough, more of his blood spattering the ground as he strained to look up at his tormentor’s face. “You gotta believe me. I’m so sorry...”

The Iron Stag stared down at the bleeding and sobbing pony at his hooves. “I believe you,” he said simply. He brought his hoof down again, catching the tip of the pony’s ear. He ground it into the dirt until it was nothing but a ruined flap of skin and blood.

“But that what you did was an accident, I do not believe,” he said walking to the pony’s side.
The pony on the ground just cried, whimpering over and over that he was sorry. Rita cocked her head as the Iron Stag pulled four pieces of rubber tubing from a satchel he had beneath a plate of armor. It was only when the snap of rubber echoed into the early morning that the battered pony tried to look behind him.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I’m tying off the circulation to your legs,” the Iron Stag replied. “I’m going to cut them off and I don’t want you to bleed to death.”

The pony screamed and pleaded, getting louder with each snap of rubber. “Please! Please don’t do this! In my bag, I got over a dozen things of Dash. They’re yours! You don’t even to take me to a doctor, I’ll just scream until someone comes, just please. Please! In the name of Celestia, don’t do this!”

The Iron Stag reared up and brought his hooves down well below the tubing. The bones crunched loudly, and he repeated this on each leg. After the bones were shattered, he drove the spikes of his helmet into each mangled leg in turn, twisting until there was a sizable hole. Finally, after biting down on a fetlock while holding the torso steady with his foreleg, he would yank. As each leg gave way, he stacked them in front of mutilated pony’s face.

His work done, Iron Stag lay down on his belly, his chin over the pile of legs. “This was how they found her,” he said in his deep, emotionless voice. “I want it to be the last thing you see.”

The pony laughed as he sobbed. “It was an accident, she ran off in the night and fell off a cliff. We tried to hide the body, and so we... we cut her up and put her in a bag. We got attacked by raiders on the road and we lost the bag getting away.” He looked at his legs piled in front of him and forced himself to stop crying. “It doesn’t matter anymore, just kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you yet.” Iron Stag bowed his head, one of the horns coming to rest against the other’s cheek. “I just said that this will be the last thing you see.”

The pony’s eyes went wide before the Stag turned his head sharply. When he stood, Rita saw a deep bleeding gouge across the ruined pony’s face where both eyes used to be. He was now just moving his mouth in an endless babel; she couldn’t pick out the words anymore.
The blood drenched stallion grabbed the wreck by the tail and dragged it toward the small campfire. He dropped the tail into the fire, then watched the flames catch and climb to the coat. He stood entirely still, watching the fire crawl across the body, until the fire blackened lips stopped moving.

Rita jumped from the cliff, spreading her wings to glide down. She landed next to the Stag, giving her wings a flap before tucking them at her sides. He said nothing, and just stared at her, blood dripping from his heavy armor.

“So, you done?” she asked brightly.


--[  /]--



Hello there children, it’s me, Dj Pon3, your voice of reason in this world gone mad. Now, what tiiiiime is it? News time!

You know him, and, if you’re listening to me, you either hate him or work for him, iiiit’s Red Eye!

Our little mad mustang of the airwaves has a whole new message for you good people of the Equestrian wastes, "give me your kids."

Yep! Nuclear winter has long past and it looks like Nuclear Summer is over too because school is back in session.

That wacky Red Eye is reaching out to all you parents out there and just offering to take that pesky family of yours off your hooves. You can rest assured that your little filly or colt will grow up safe and educated and won't be brainwashed into his cult at all!

And if you believe that, then I'm surprised you were able to figure out which hole to stick it in to get kids in the first place.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; Red Eye is BAD. NEWS. STAY. AWAY.

Now when I first heard Red Eye with his soothing voice and gentle words, I'm sure I was thinking the same thing as you. "Oh boy, can I mail this guy my erotic stories to read on the air?" And then he kept talking. Started making ‘promises’ vowing to make things "better". And, like the rest of you, I wrote him off as an optimistic kook.

The humor became less charming when he began going on about the glory and magnificence of the Goddess and "Unity." Which just happened to be the same stuff that those freaky-deaky mutant Alicorns would spout endlessly at the drop of a hat. Ya know, when they weren't abducting ponies or flaying them alive.

Then the lights came back on in Fillydelphia and I started to really listen to him. And children, I was scared of what I was hearing. He spoke of "sacrifices for the greater good." Then the slave trains started chugging his way.

In the last year, he's been making offers of comfortable living and piles of caps to any pony who can shoot straight and follow orders as well as anypony with enough brains to put their horse shoes on straight. I've seen some of Equestria's most dangerous mercenaries, including a whole clan of griffons, disappear into that city. Most terrifying, is that dozens of our most brilliant minds minds have bought into Red Eye's bullshit.

Children, this guy is not your messiah. Those guns he's hired are being turned against you, used to round up slaves to fuel the furnaces. Hell, from what I've heard, they might well be throwing the slaves straight into the fire. And to you brainiacs out there, we need you. Without you, there is no good fight. Please, just stop and use those great minds of your's to think, before you go signing away your souls for a little bit of comfort.

Thaaaanks for listening Children! Next up is a favorite of mine from that old gal Sweetie Belle—

Rita clicked her tongue as she took out her earbuds and let the cord yank them back into her Pip-Buck. “Bleh.” She gave an exaggerated gag. “What is the deal with Sweetie Belle? How can somepony who grew up with one of the Ministry Mares as her sister sound depressed all the time? Doesn't she have any happy songs about kitties or pretty dresses or anything? And if she has to sing about each and every gripe she has, couldn't she put a little energy in it and give me something to dance to?"

"You don't like Sweetie Belle, do you?" Rita called to the fenced in stall, idly tracing the piping that trailed from the stall back into the Salt Lick City Saloon. As Rita had swiftly come to expect of the Iron Stag, the walk back to town was one without much said on his part.

"I tend to avoid the radio,” he said, raising his voice over the sound of sprinkling water. “It's a distraction."

"I can't believe that bartender likes you enough to let you use his shower for free." Rita dropped onto her haunches and pressed her back against the fenced wall, crossing her forelimbs and puffing out her cheeks in a pout. In front of her stood a line of ponies, waiting with family or friends to wash off a layer of Wasteland grime.

"A few years ago, he hired me. A group of a dozen anarchistic raiders wanted to detonate the explosives he'd buried throughout the town,” the Stag explained through the door. “He was pleased with how I dealt with them."

Rita thought of the big billboard she'd passed coming into town from the north, the one with six cages dangling from it. She hadn't paid too much attention to the bodies inside, but one of them had still been moving on its single hoof. The billboard had read: "Salt Lick City Jail."

"How much longer are you gonna be anyway? This is torture, it's been more than three minutes," Rita whined, stamping her paws in the dust. She turned around and put her face against the wall, trying to peer between the fence boards. "Do you need some help with those intimate hard-to-reach areas?" she fiddled with the clasp on her vest with a grin. "I can be very handy."

"No, I'm done," he said at the same time the water shut off. "I just need to dry off my armor to prevent rusting. It should only take a few more minutes."

Rita groaned and slid to the side, her head landing on the satchel the Iron Stag had taken from the kidnapper's camp. With a cautious look to the shower door, she dug her claws in the bag and came back holding the small blue inhaler. She tucked the mouthpiece behind her beak and gave the lever the tiniest squeeze.

The world around the griffon came to a satisfying crawl. A young pony in line for the shower shifted his weight impatiently, Rita mentally drew pictures in the dust he kicked up for a second. She gave the inhaler a gentle toss straight up and watched it spin through the air for an eternity. Her eyes traced over the scars on its plastic body, the semi-transparent gas bottle seemed to glitter in what sunlight made it past the clouds. She duly reached out and plucked the bottle out of the air with two fingers an instant before it struck the ground.

“Good call on taking the Dash from those chem dealers,” Rita called at the shower stall as the world returned to its normal speed. “Nothing like a little slow-mo to help tip the scales in a scrap. Especially with the up close and personal stuff.”

“I do not poison my body with such chemicals,” the Stag rumbled just past the door. “Nor do I trust anyone who does so.”

“Oh, I see.” Rita hastily shoved the inhaler into a shirt pocket. The sound of rattling chains and metal banging plates told her that he was getting dressed. “So then you’re going to sell these, make a few extra caps to keep your armor nice and shiny?”

The door to the shower flew open, slamming hard against the wall. Rita scrambled away from the door, tangling her legs in the bag as she tried to get on all fours. With a clatter, she tumbled back to the ground, Dash inhalers spilling from the bag. The Iron Stag stood over her and she saw the first hint of emotion in his eyes: anger.

"Are you accusing me of being a drug dealer," he rumbled, his eyes narrowing.

Rita laughed too loudly as pulled her legs free of the bag. She rapidly gathered up the inhalers in her forelimbs as she spoke with the voice of a child caught misbehaving. "No. No, of course I would never suggest such a thing. Though, I mean, if you're not using these then the only reason to take them would be to sell them, right?"

"You are correct." A long pause followed before the Stag begins to speak again. "I am going to sell these, but to doctors who can use them to make medicine or otherwise use them to help others, not to line my saddlebags from the weakness of the desperate."

"Well aren't you just a big old sweetie bear," Rita said with a wide smile as she tossed the last of the Dash back in the bag.

The Iron Stag looked Rita over from tail to beak. He stopped at her mouth, his gaze drifted down, not quite looking her in the eye. He took a single massive step towards Rita and put a heavy hoof on her shoulder. The griffon froze in place in the middle of securing the bag's top flat. She could still see flecks of blood on his horse shoes.

"I'm sorry if I scared you."

Rita's eyes darted left and right before coming back to his. "Huh?"

"It was not right for me to get mad at you for asking a logical question. You just wanted to know more about the stallion you hired; there is nothing wrong with that." The Iron Stag's eyes dropped in shame. "And more than that, my behavior on the whole has been most disgraceful. I have tried to intimidate and scare you since we met. And while it is certainly not in my contract to be your friend, there was no reason for such rudeness. Especially not to somepony in your position."

Rita sat completely still for a beat before coming alive with a bursting smile. She slid his hoof off her shoulder and poked him on the nose. "No harm, no foul, big guy," she said crinkling her eyes. "Just don't let it happen again.”

The Iron Stag’s eyes flicked over, looking past Rita’s shoulder. In the next instant, she had a beakful of sand and his hoof pinned her down. Rita rolled her eye to look up and saw the Stag move his armoured head to the side, a yard long metal pole sparked against the side of his helmet as it slid by and into the shower stall. Rita heard it pierce the network of pipes. The line erupted in screams.

Released by the Stag’s hoof, Rita looked back to see ponies running in every direction. All save one; a unicorn mare with coloration like sand and rocks. She stood entirely still, her head bowed and her horn glowing. Tin cans and random scraps of metal surrounded her, suspended in the air by her levitation. The pony looked up, giving a distant stare with her cold, amber eyes. With a horrible screech, the garbage around her warped and twisted, becoming deadly blades in the blink of an eye.

Rita was on her feet and running before the first projectile made contact, shrieking at the shower of dirty, sharp metal that peppered the ground all around her. She didn’t dare to look back until after she dove for cover behind the heavy wood panels of the shower stall.

Peaking from behind cover, Rita saw the last of the metal shards spark harmlessly off of the Iron Stag’s armor. A few bits of shrapnel had found the small gaps in his armored plates, but he took no notice of them. The mare in front of him had his undivided attention.

“Hello Sandy,” he said calmly. “So you were involved.”

“Murderer,” Sandy screamed, throwing another barrage of scrap shurikens. She sprinted forward, surrounded by the metal daggers.

The Iron Stag nudged the panel of the steady arm, his head lowered to guard his face from the assault. The rifle snapped forward from his side. He lifted his head and grabbed the trigger bit, firing without pause. With a thump a fist sized hole was punched through Sandy’s right foreleg, spraying blood and bone shards.

Without missing a step, the unicorn threw herself into the air with a burst from her horn. A nearby shack’s rusted, tin roof was enveloped in the glow of the attacking unicorn’s magic field and was ripped away. In the instant it took to join her side in the air, the sheet of metal folded in on itself, becoming a mighty blade. She howled as she descended upon the Stag, the blade flying towards his neck.

Rita held her claws in front of her face, peering between her talons. The Iron Stag only had time to take a single step. There was a loud crack as the make-shift sword struck the side of Stag’s face. The blade split against his helmet, with the top imbedding itself in the dirt while the hilt went across his face, a ribbon of blood following it.

Sandy finished the arc of her descent an instant later. She never made it to the ground. With a wet noise, the mare came to a swinging halt in the air, her hind legs striking against the Stag’s chest. She stayed in the air, thrashing, her eyes wild. The only sound she made was a choking gasp, blood seeping around the metal horn lodged in her neck.
With a toss of his head, the bleeding mare was flung over the Stag’s back. Rita saw the ragged hole in the mare’s throat before she struck the ground. Before Sandy could even raise her head, the Stag turned around and leapt. His front hooves came down on her back with a crunch.

As the Iron Stag ground his hooves deeper into the would-be assassin, Rita saw the damage the sword had done. His face was laid open, a deep gash ran just beneath both eyes. Through the red that gushed around the wound, his face was entirely passive and neutral.

“I had suspected that the girl’s bodyguard may have participated in the kidnapping,” the Iron Stag said as he used his spiked horseshoe to snap the unicorn’s horn. “Your employer refused to entertain the possibility. I see that my instincts did not lead me astray.” The Iron Stag kicked the pony hard enough to roll her onto her shreded back. “I wish it were otherwise.”

“But the moment I recognized your friends, I knew that you would not be far behind.” the Stag said before grabbing the pony by her mane. He dragged her past Rita, into the shower stall.
“Though he only meant the two chem dealers, my contract was to bring justice to those responsible for the death of my employer’s daughter.” The stag put a hoof on her jaw, halting her thrashing. “Goodbye Sandy, it was good to see you again.”

The Stag looked at the spike that impaled the main pipe to the shower, water seeped out around the pole. He jerked the spike free, releasing a thick stream of water onto the mare’s face. The water turned pink and foamy as it poured into the hole in her throat. The Stag held Sandy’s head head between his forehooves as she attempted a burbling scream. In less than a minute, she was still.

The Stag looked to Rita, still huddled by the doorway to the stall. “So as I was saying,” he said as he stepped over the corpse of the unicorn, “there’s no reason why we can’t be civil. The Wasteland is ugly enough without such needless cruelty.”

Rita stood on her hind legs and spread her forelimbs wide. “Took the words right out of my beak,” she shouted happily. The griffon leapt over to the armored pony’s side. She wrapped one forelimb over the back of his neck and rubbed the knuckles of her other claw on the top his helmet. “Staggy, I think this is the start of a grand partnership.”


--[   ]--




Bat. Low.


> Good Help is Hard to Find: Part 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


~~~|*/\*|~~~


Hey there Mr. Recorder. You know what I can not stand?


It’s not me is it? I’m recording as best I can, but I can try harder!


Oh no, don’t be silly. You pay way too much attention to me for me to hate you. 


No, what I hate is hidden depths. And I don’t mean those giant ant hills ponies step in and then die screaming as they get eaten from the legs up. Oh no, I fly over those! I’m talking about those jerks who feel the compulsive need to flip the script on you.


I’m not necessarily saying that everypony should introduce themselves like, “Hi, I’m Ponyface McStupidname. I have a deathly fear of snakes and I like having things put up my butt.” Though that would make things go a lot faster for me...


Do you have any idea how much time I could have saved if guys would just tell me which hole they’re most interested in at the moment. It’s supposed to be sexy fun times, not “guess the fetish, win an orgasm.”


Empress Rita, you were saying something about—


Right! See, paying attention, keeping me on track. That’s what I love about you.


Anyway! I’m just saying that if you come up to me being all “Hey, I’ll kill guys for you for caps and we’ll have fun and go on adventures and stuff,” then you should actually do that! I don’t want to put time and money into you only for you to turn around and suddenly have “issues” and “moral reservations” and whatever when it comes time to stab someone in the face.


Maybe you shoulda brought that up in the interview before you took the job?


I mean come on, you guys wear your skills on your butts, is it that hard to also have a little bit of your heart on your sleeve?


But Empress, what about ponies without sleeves?



Did you just sass me Mr. Recorder? See, that’s another thing that’s great about you! I firmly believe that communication is important in any kind of partnership and that means a fun and sassy back and forth.


It all comes down to trust, Mr Recorder. If I can’t trust you to be honest with me, if I can’t trust you to not take my jabs about your weight seriously, then how can I trust you to not try to murder me in my sleep or take all my stuff?


Rita! Where the fuck are you!? We’re ready to move!


Case in point. Anyway, gotta get moving. I’ll talk to you again soon my whirling tape-filled companion. Bye-bye!



~~~|*/\*|~~~







Chapter Next - Conflict of Interests






--[////////]--





Pincers longer than the Iron Stag's face were wrapped around his neck, the ridges digging into the unprotected front of his throat. The armored pony stared into eight black, soulless eyes that bulged from the monstrous sand-colored face, each incandescent orb shining in the stray streaks of sunlight. With a hiss, the giant scorpion tried to squeeze through his armored plates and snap his neck. The stinger repeatedly whipped over Stag’s head as it tried to find a soft spot to deliver its deadly venom. Despite not being able to break through his armor, every jab brought his knees that much closer to buckling, and then it would be all over.

Crack

The scorpion slammed the pony sideways into the wall of boulders that surrounded them. Something popped in the Stag’s side and it became agony to breathe, but he remained defiantly standing. Insultingly close by, his rifle, the Head-Hunter, lay in the sand.

Stag lashed out with his forhooves, striking the pony-sized arachnid in its face. Its chitinous mouth splintered and snapped from his repeated kicks, light-blue blood spattering against the sand. The scorpion reared up, pulling itself away from Stag’s counterattacks. The change in posture loosened the pinchers hold on his neck, and he lunged forward with a roar, raising the scorpion higher until its front set of legs were lifted from the ground.

The branching spikes of Stag’s helmet hovered beneath the dribbling mouth of the enormous arachnid. With a grunt, he let his knees give out, and the weight of the creature did the rest. His horns erupted from the carapace of the scorpion’s head, its pincers going slack as it became nothing but dead weight.

Digging his hooves into the sand, the Iron Stag pushed back. The scorpion’s face exploded with a wet pop, shards of exoskeleton scattered into the air. The body tumbled down the hill and landed on two similar corpses; one had a large caliber bullet hole punched through one of its eyes while the other had its carapace caved in with horse-shoe-shaped indents scattered across what remained of its face. The pony stood, bloodied and bruised, but victorious.

Nearby, the ground stirred. Stag turned his even gaze to the shifting sands as a figure burst from beneath. A mirrored visor covered the figure’s eyes, and a hose extended from the center of its face. Paharita ripped the mask off her beak and coughed out a dust cloud.

“Well, on the plus side,” the scrawny griffon wheezed, “my snorkleoscope works!” She gagged and spat out a wet mouthful of sand. “Barely. I thought I was gonna suffocate for a minute there.”

Rita tugged on the glowing metal ring of her bomb collar to knock out some sand from her neck. Stag flinched as she did so. Ignoring him, she dusted off her shirt and Stable-Tec flak vest with her claws. 

“So giant bugs,” she said and poked her tongue out. “Blech!” 

Rita splayed out her wings and twisted her body to the side. “I actually read a case study that said the mutant bugs and stuff weren’t accidental.” The poof of hair at the end of her tail busied itself cleaning her feathers. “So that means the zebras built their megaspells to not just kill everyone and destroy cities, but also to make monsters. What jerks!”

“You’re unharmed?” asked the Stag as he nosed into his armored plates and tugged out a rag. He laid it across his fetlock and wiped away the blood smeared across his face.

“Oh yeah, totally fine,” Rita replied. She gave a wing-aided hop and glided to the fallen Head-Hunter. “This darn buckle shouldn’t have just popped open like that. I’ll need to work on it.” She scooped up the gun and harness and went about strapping it back on the Iron Stag’s side.

Stag opened his mouth to speak, but Rita turned away, fidgeting with the PipBuck that sat loosely on her wrist. The computer let out a burst of screeching static and she leapt back with a squawk, her feathers and fur puffed out. She slapped the device with the flat of her palm, shaking loose bits of sand until the static was replaced with soft piano music and a singer crooning out a sorrowful tune. She quickly turned a prominent red knob and the sound clicked off. 

“Ew, Sweetie Belle. I preferred the static,” she muttered to herself. “But yeah, no, I buried myself as soon as I saw big nasty tails snaking through the rocks.” She held up a talon, curved like a scorpion's tail, and danced it in front of her face. “You did great, by the way,” she hastily added, shooting the pony a beaming smile. “Also your nose is bleeding again.”

Narrowing his eyes, the Stag looked down to see the splotches of red mixed in with the light blue already staining the rag. With a snort of dissatisfaction, he let the rag drop to the sand. His nose continued to stream down his mouth as he went back to his bags, retrieving a mostly empty vial. He held it in the crook of his fetlock and plucked out the cork before draining the softly glowing liquid. Within seconds, the bleeding had stopped.

“Guess that crazy Sandy lady did more damage than you thought, huh?” Rita asked as she plucked the filthy rag from the ground.

“Her makeshift sword tore into my nasal cavity,” Stag said as Rita grabbed his canteen from his saddle bag. “The potions healed it well enough, but the capillaries will be weak for some small time.”

Rita stood on her hind legs as she cycled between wetting the rag and wiping his face. “Eh, healing potions are overrated; they leave you all spic and span. Gimme a sexy scar any day.” She finished wiping the blood from his face and grabbed both his cheeks. With a smile, she gave them a squeeze. “Not that you need any more sexy.”

Only the slight inward motion of the Stag’s brow showed his annoyance, his gaze was as passive as ever. Rita slowed her cheek-play, her expression falling to a grimace as she took her claws from his face. 

She tilted her beak down and lowered her eyes away. “Sorry about leading you into a nest of giant scorpions.” She wrung her claws as she spoke. “I guess I maybe could have scouted ahead a teeny bit more.”

The wind whistled between the close-knit boulders as the two stood face to face. A moment passed and the Stag’s brow relaxed as he stepped around Rita. Rita let out her held breath and clutched her chest as she collapsed in on herself. A second later, she had turned around and was skipping merrily alongside the stone-faced pony.

“Perhaps,” the Stag began, giving her a brief glance, “you’d have an easier time spotting incoming threats if you spent more of your energy paying attention to the surrounding area and less speaking about—”

Rita clicked her thumb and middle talon together. “Right, the MMs! Now where did I leave off?” she puzzled, tapping her beak.

“That’s not—”

“So Rainbow Dash swoops down, zoom,” Rita yelled as she belly flopped onto the Stag’s back, her wings spread and claws held out straight in front of her. “And just before she hits the ground, woosh, she pulls up! That’s when she opens fire with two machine guns!” Rita balled up both fists and held her thumb and index talons out and ratcheted her forelimbs back and forth while making machine gun noises and kicking her back paws.

“This isn’t—” The Stag sighed, then abruptly stopped, looking back at her over his shoulder. “Did you say she fired two machine guns? At the same time?” His usually monotone voice had the slightest edge of curiosity.

With a sigh of ecstasy, Rita rolled onto her back and let her paws and claws dangle inches from the ground while her tail twitched in the air. “Yeah, she’s the coolest,” Rita said dreamily. “Of course, the vibrations knocked out or broke, like, all her teeth, but Twilight made her some new ones after. And that was the last time the zebras tried to attack a major pony population.” She paused, then added, “Well, ya know, until the megaspells.”

The heavy sound of the Stag’s hoofsteps echoed as the narrow rock passage opened up. “How do you even know such details of a battle almost two hundred years ago?” the Iron Stag asked as she slid off his back and into a crouch on all fours.

“Rainbow Dash was the war hero,” Rita explained, falling back in step. “Rarity, the Ministry of Image’s head,  published some of her less classified punch-ups as a way to help pony morale. I guess the civilian populace was still a bit freaked at so many folks getting fragged.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re so obsessed with these ponies.” The Stag shook his head. “And the last six hours of stories about them hasn’t made it any clearer.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I mean, duh,” Rita rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “These six ponies made the world what it is today!”

“Destroyed?” the Iron Stag arched his eyebrow.

Rita gave an exasperated sigh and slumped her shoulders, nearly stumbling over the claws. “Always with the negative world view! Yeah, Equestria’s got a little wear and tear on it, but it’s the only world we got. And these gals brought about technological and magical breakthroughs that had never even been dreamed of before their lifetimes.” She gave a little harrumph and added, “Besides, the zebras were the one’s who blew up everything.”

“I mean, there was a war on!” Rita brought her PipBuck up to her face and clicked the screen on with her beak. “Who knows if anyone would have even survived without the Ministry Mares and the things they did and created.  It’s my dream to one day make a museum so that everyone in the Wasteland can learn about these amazing mares and maybe one of these ponies or whatever will get inspired and be all: whoa, I can change the world too! You gotta look at the big picture.”

With a quick tap of a few buttons, the screen on the PipBuck changed to a map of Equestria. “Speaking of big pictures,” Rita muttered. She stopped her stride and yanked the computer off her forelimb, flipped it around, and put it back on. “Oh dear. Um, whoops.”

“Whoops?” The Stag broke pace and turned around to face the griffon who was backpedaling with a forced smile on her face that was all teeth. “Have we been going the wrong way this whole time?”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” Rita said and laughed too loudly with her head thrown back. “This is actually a more direct path. It’s just that, well...” She made a looping gesture with her index talons. “I was kinda sorta trying to go around Piranha territory.”

The Stag blinked twice. “How deep are we—”

Ka-chik

On the tall rocks above stood two ponies, their bodies covered in red tribal markings, necklaces adorned in bones and teeth hung around their necks, and rifles held in their mouths. From the spaces between the surrounding rocks stepped a half dozen similarly dressed, but unarmed ponies. They showed their mouths full of razor-sharp teeth as they approached from all sides.

Rita rocked back onto her hind legs and put her open claws in the air. “I’d say we’re in pretty deep.”


--[ ///////]--




Darkness and hoofsteps had become Rita’s world for the last hour. The blindfold did its job, but wasn’t tied so tight as to actually hurt. The gag was another story; she ran her tongue over the thick cords keeping her beak and teeth spread open and she had to wipe the drool from the underside of her chin every few minutes.

The world became louder. She heard voices, distant at first, but then they were all around her. Sounds of dozens and dozens ponies moving swarmed around her. There was a the soft crackling of fires and the hollow clunk of wood being chopped.

“Stop,” a voice commanded.

There was a tug on the back of Rita’s blindfold and she was briefly blinded by the nearby torches. After her vision cleared, she saw the Iron Stag standing in front of her, flanked on either side by Piranhas; one of them was nonchalantly leaning against the Stag’s armored side. The face she made must have been hilarious because all, save the stoic Stag, burst out laughing.

All around Rita were earth ponies painted with tribal markings. They came and went from seemingly sturdily constructed wooden huts. There were stands where sharp-toothed ponies argued with other sharp-toothed ponies about the cost of tomatoes. She saw rock walls all around them, stretching yards above them and closing overhead with only cracks of sky visible.

With a loud snap, Rita bit through the cords in her mouth. “What?” she stammered first pointing at the Iron Stag. “With them?” she babbled, gesturing at the Piranhas and the village surrounding them.

The pony leaning against Stag tapped his armored breast. “Brother Flint has been an honorary Piranah for some years now,” he said.

“Okay,” Rita said, nodding slowly. “That actually makes for more questions. Like why were you intimidate-y to me and what was with the bondage gear you slapped on me? I thought you were about to cook and eat me!”

The same pony spoke up, “You are not one of us and this camp’s location is a secret.”

“Okay, but then what was with the gag? Afraid I’d use griffon echolocation!?”

The Iron Stag stepped forward. “That was my idea,” he rumbled. “I thought that perhaps your tongue could use an enforced rest.”

A smile twisted up from the corners of Rita’s mouth. “Was that a joke?” She leaned back to point both index talons at the Stag. “You used a gag on me as a gag!” She broke into peals of laughter, clinging to a nearby stand selling eggs and banging on the counter with her fist as she continued to laugh. The salespony gave an uncomfortable smile as he tried to laugh along with her. Once her laughter became snorts he backed away.

“Brother Flint,” called out a voice that sounded like ground glass. Rita looked up to see a much older pony step from a hut at the center of town that was elaborately decorated in murals, the other ponies gave him a wide birth. His mane was long and grey, but well kept. He had the same markings and filed teeth of everypony in the village, but what made him stand out was that he appeared to be wearing an entire Timberwolf.

“Big Kahuna, it’s good to see you well,” the Stag said as the elder pony put a hoof on his shoulder.

“If we had known you’d be coming, we’d have prepared a feast,” Kahuna said with bark of a laugh. He looked Rita over. His gaze locked on the slave collar on her neck and he arched a brow at Stag. “You starting a collection?”

Stag gave the pony elder a hard look. “I’m under contract with the griffon, Rita,” Stag replied and the two began to walk away from the group. “Truth be told, I didn’t know I was coming this way, she was simply not paying attention to her map.”

When the old pony let out a hearty laugh, the Timberwolf jaws that surrounded his face shook and appeared to be devouring him. “Well, let us catch up a bit as you pass through. That’s a fancy new shooter you got there,” Kahuna said, tapping on the Head-Hunter.

“Thanks, I made it,” Rita said, springing between the two. She fixed her eyes on Stag. “Since when are you so chummy with raiders?” 

Another laugh burst from Big Kahuna and the Stag lowered his head just slightly. “The Piranhas aren’t raiders,” the Stag explained patiently. “They’re descended from survivors of the megaspells who were not put in Stables. They instead went underground until the above ground was less irradiated. They till the land, drive off raiders, and keep much of the wildlife under control. I think they are well within their rights to charge a toll to travelers.”

“You didn’t see it that way when you first met our like,” the elder pony cackled. “You beat tens tons of shit outta six of my boys when they asked for the toll.”

“Well you do rely on intimidation to keep this land clear,” the Stag said without humor. “Maybe if you were more open with the rest of Equestria, there’d be less misunderstandings.”

"You're one to talk, Mr. Leave-Some-Blood-On-My-Horns," The Big Kahuna said  and rolled his eyes. “Besides, then everypony would know we got gardens and farms and not enough guns to protect them.” He stopped and turned to Rita. “You didn’t hear that, by the way.”

Rita reached up a talon and rubbed it inside her earhole. “Could you speak up there, chief?” she mock-shouted. “Got some waxy build-up here.”

After the chief finished laughing Rita spoke up again. “So how did horn-hat here go from kicking you guys’s butts to being your b-f-f?”

“Our town is actually open for anyone to join,” Kahuna began. “You just have to first go through an initiation trial, fighting a half dozen of our hunters and surviving. So when I got there along with my rifleponies and found six of my boys being crushed under his hooves, I figured it was either let him in or waste a bunch of bullets trying to bring him down. Thus Brother Flint came into our fold.”

“About that,” Rita said and flicked one of the Stag’s metal antlers, “why do you call him Brother Flint?”

Bemused confusion swept across the Kahuna’s face. “Because he’s our brother and his name’s Flint? Not too swift are you.”

“I can run when there are bullets flying,” Rita said distractedly. “Your real name’s Flint?” she asked the Stag.

“Yes,” he replied. “My family were rock farmers. The name ‘Iron Stag’ was given to me with the armor.”

“Oh!” Rita clicked her talons together. “That’s why Pone Three calls you ‘rocky’ on the radio! I thought it was because you were tough, like a rock!”

Kahuna joined in with Rita as she laughed and Stag seemed to be struggling to maintain his stoic demeanor. “So wait.” Rita tilted her head towards the elder tribal. “Does this mean that all that cannibal stuff and you guys eating your enemies is just like rumors you spread to scare ponies?”

“Perish the thought,” the Big Kahuna laughed. “Of course we eat ponies, these teeth ain’t for show! It’s tradition to eat our honored dead and to ensure that our enemies help keep us strong. We just don’t, ya know, hunt.”

Kahuna waved his hoof covered by timberwolf claw at a stew pot with two ponies in chef’s hats busily adding in spices and taking out bones. “Just last night we caught some drugged up fuck-o’s trying to snatch some of our brahmin brothers,” Kahuna explained.

One of the chefs grabbed a large spoon as the Kahuna approached and filled it with stew and held it out. The elder pony slurped down the concoction and licked his lips, his eyes rolling back. “Add a couple more peppers and you’ll have outdone yourself,” Kahuna said to the chef who puffed out his chest proubly.

Rita ran her tongue over her beak and cozied up next to Kahuna, rubbing the top of her head against his neck. “Earlier, you said you’d have made a feast for my good friend Stag,” she purred. “It’s not too late for that is it?”

“Well, uh, I thought you both were in a hurry,” the Kahuna stammered as the little griffon cooed and rubbed his chest with her claw.

“We are,” the Iron Stag rumbled.

On all fours, Rita padded over to the armored pony. She looked up at him, her lower beak trembled and her eyes glistened with held back tears. Stag let out a heavy sigh.

“Big Kahuna, may I trouble you for two thermoses of stew?” he asked the elder. Rita’s eyes lit up as the pony nodded with a laugh. “And make mine vegetarian,” he added.

Scaled forelimbs wrapped around the Stag’s neck as Rita gave him a brisk hug. The Stag was very stiff and unyielding even as Rita pushed off him and sprung at the Big Kahuna, almost knocking him to the ground. The griffon proceeded to rub the corner of her mouth against the protesting pony’s cheek.

“What in the name of Celestia is she doing?” Kahuna pleaded to Stag as the griffon nibbled lightly on his cheek.

“Kissing you,” Rita squealed in between rubs and nips.

The increasingly blushing pony looked to the stoic Stag. The armored pony shook his head somberly. “I’m sorry, but kissing attacks fall outside my vow of fighting injustice,” he said with an entirely straight face.

“Are you ever gonna stop,” pleaded Kahuna. The chefs and every pony within sight of the scene burst out laughing.

“Never!” Rita wrapped her forelimbs tightly around Kahuna’s neck and increased her rate of griffon smooches.




--[  //////]--


The modest campfire crackled and popped. The warm glow of the fire served as the only light for miles. In the absence of any animal noises, it was as though the world had ceased to exist. Equestria devoured by the night.

"Don't build the fire too high," said Iron Stag pointedly to Rita from across the fire. "We don't want to be too visible."

A clatter sounded as Rita dumped the pile of sticks to the ground. She stomped over to the opposite side of the fire as hard as her padded paws would allow. She sat with a pout on her face and rubbed her forelimbs with her claws.

"Not like it's freezing or anything," the griffon grumbled to herself.

The Stag gave no indication of whether he heard her, but a moment later he said without trace of emotion, "To keep warm, I'd suggest we sleep together. Share body heat."

With a grin that quickly became a beaming smile, Rita bound around the small fire and collapsed against the upright seated pony's chest, tucking her wings under his right brisket. She immediately tugged the thermos of pony stew out of her vest and unscrewed the lid; the soup inside still steamed.

“Pony blanket and pony soup,” Rita said dreamily. “It’s been a good day. You gonna eat any more of yours tonight?”

“No, I feel it’d be wise to ration—”

“Psh, forget that!” Rita tipped the thermos back, draining it all in one mighty swallow. “I’m sure we’ll find some food with the raiders after you give ‘em the Iron Stag treatment.” She belched and scratched her fuzzy belly. “And if not, I can always get seconds from your chummy chompy tribals chums.”

Rita sighed happily and intertwined her limbs with his stiff and unyielding forelegs. The only concession made on his part was to lower his head onto her shoulder. She quickly smooshed her cheek against his. The metal of Rita's slave collar clicked against the armor on the Stag's neck as she shifted around. 

The Stag inhaled to speak and paused for an instant, as though unsure if he should. The pony stared out into the seemingly endless darkness and asked, "How long do you have?"

Rita looked over at him and cocked her head to side. "What do you mean?"

"How much time were you allotted to complete this errand?" the Stag asked slowly. He blinked twice and his gaze drifted down only slightly. "No, that's not actually what I want to ask."

He turned suddenly to look at Rita, with an intensity in his eyes that made her seize up. "If I take you back to the Piranhas, they have ponies there that can safely remove your collar. I can report to your master that you were killed by a landmine or some other hazard. It'd be hard in most places for a griffon to hide, but out here, I think—"

A snort from Rita cut him off, she followed up with a burst of laughter. Still laughing, she shook her head, "I'm sorry, I'm not laughing at you. It's the situation and you in the situation that I'm laughing at." She took a moment to compose herself, and spoke calmly. "I'm not a slave."

Click! Rita pulled open the collar with both claws and held it up front of her face. “The explodey-mo-jigger wasn’t turned on so I took out the explosives and just left the little lights in there.” She stared at his expressionless face and played the glowing red lights down her chest, unzipping her bulletproof vest with her free claw, her talons only barely touching the zipper. “See how it makes my feathers look really pink? I love that! Especially on my chest floofies. And look!” She held out her open claw by the collar, her pink-painted talons glittered in the glow. “Look how shimmery they are! It’s so shimmery!”

With a ratcheting series of clicks, Rita clamped the collar shut over her neck. “But my favorite thing about the collar...” Rita touched lightly touched the metal ring with her talon. “Is how it brings focus on my neck and that’s totally my best feature.” She gave a smirk, “Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of good features. Really,” she clicked her tongue and winked, “I just think it makes me look pretty.”

Rita looked, unblinking into his eyes and ran her claws down the Stag’s chest plate. “So,” she breathed, sliding down his covered stomach. “Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked, rubbing her knuckles against the plate armor between his legs.

The Stag did little more than shrug and Rita was on the ground. “I think the rifle was sufficient down payment.” His voice had lost what little trace of emotion it had.

Talons raked across the ground as Rita looked up, her head slightly tilted. Her words were a pur, “I promise you I’d be getting at least as much out of it as you.”

“I’m not even sure ponies and griffons are compatible,” the Stag countered.

“Believe me,” Rita purred with a wicked smile, “I’ve tested that out many times.”

“Enough.” Stag turned away and lay down on his belly. “We’re not doing this. The offer to lie with me was only a courtesy and I rescind it.”

In a flash Rita hopped on all fours. She zipped up her vest quickly, snagging several feathers in the zipper. “Fine,” she shouted. “It was getting too cold here anyway.”

She began to walk away and then turned back to Stag. “You know what? I’m going to go over there and diddle myself before bed and you’re not invited. That offer is rescinded!” She stuck out her tongue and marched away.

Rita flopped to the ground and shouted, “I hope your woody doesn’t get chafed rubbing against your codpiece when you hear the noises I make! I’m really loud, ya know!”

Not getting any response, Rita rolled to her side so that her back was to Stag. Her tail slapped at the ground in frustration. She brought one claw to her beak and stuck her tongue out, wrapping it around each talon. She gave every digit several laps until they were nice and slick, then she curled in on herself and brought her claw to her the hot dampness between her hind legs.

She rubbed hard with her palm, spreading her juices around. ‘Better safe and lubricated than having a talon get caught in your pussy,’ her papa always said. She teased herself, pinching and kneading the skin around her slit.

Her free claw went underneath her chin and slid down her neck, digging in under the feathers. By the time her one claw met her fur, the underside of her talon was sliding along her slit, the curved tip of the talon catching at her hood with each pass. The crook of her thumb pinched her clit at the same she slid two talons carefully inside.

Rita squeezed her eyes tight and lost herself in memory.

She could clearly picture the dingy hotel room with its dim lighting and its half broken furniture. The mostly clean mattress she and the neebish pony lay on was surrounded by their empty liquor bottles and a pair of discarded Dash inhalers. 

The pony trembled as Rita brought her beak to his groin. She giggled and moved to straddle his hock, letting it vibrate against her.

“I’ve had these parts all my life,” she whispered, trailing her beak down from his navel. She slid her claws up his forelegs, pinning him at the knees. “I know how to be gentle. When I want to be.”

She let her tongue drift out, inches and inches of it. She kept her eyes on his own and brought her face to the base of his tail, only lightly touching his pucker with the tip of her tongue before tracing up to his scrotum. A tiny, breathless sound escaped his throat as she pressed the length of her tongue between his balls. He shuddered and she cooed, sliding onto his hind hoof and began grinding it into her crotch.

By the time Rita’s tongue slid along the underside of his shaft, he was already leaking. She waved her head side to side, her tongue tracing lazy circles and coiling around his ring. At the top, she swirled her tongue over the the head, gathered the leaking beads of semen, and brought them into her mouth. She gulped loudly.

“You taste sweet," Rita sang, still grinding on his hoof.

"I want you on my face," she whispered breathlessly as she glanced up from his throbbing length to his face. She watched thoughtfully as he writhed on the ground, fascinated with the way his sweaty mane moved along the shabby, rotting carpet.

"I want to make you whimper," she said, nodding in thought.

The young stallion only had time to make a small, questioning noise before Rita’s beak was clamped on the flared ridge of his dick. He choked out a gasp as she gave a tug. One claw went sliding from his butt-hole to his balls, while the other caressed the shaft. Any attempts from him to move was met with another tug and her biting down slightly harder.

She experimented for a few minutes; squeezing here, rubbing there, scratching anywhere that caught her eye. It wasn't until she pushed her thumb hard over his pucker that she got the whimper she'd been looking for. Her smile was brilliant and wide behind her beak as she crawled her talons up his shaft. Her index talon spiraled from his outside flare to the center. He looked up at her, eyes streaming, as she held the point above his leaking hole. He nodded, and she knew that she had picked the right guy for the night. She slowly plunged her talon down.

His reaction was everything she had hoped for. He shook like a broken air conditioner and whined like motor about to burn out. When she saw how his veins throbbed, she angled him painfully back and removed her talon.

He gushed straight into her face and she relished in it, simultaneously making a much smaller sticky mess on his hoof. She was quick in her next movements. The little combat training she remembered guided her in grabbing his shoulders and flipping herself onto her back while putting him upright. He seemed dazed, looking for the floor that was under his head only a moment ago; then she took him into her mouth and he seemed to lose interest in where he was.

With his head tucked deep in her cheek and her beak open wide to avoid slitting him open, he continued to come. He pumped his hips in a steady rhythm with his ejaculations. She let him pour down her throat until his knees began to buckle, then slowly pulled the still dribbling slab from her mouth.

Sweat covered his face as he looked down at her. His gaze shifted about, afraid to look her in the eye, just as he had been when she picked him up at that dingy hotel bar downstairs.

In that instant, Rita adored him. She grabbed his face with both claws and tugged it towards her. Her head shifted well to the side and she opened her beak wide. Her mouth engulfed his, with her beak on either side of his muzzle, and she caught a glimpse of the shock in his eyes before closing hers in ecstasy. The muscles of her throat shifted and she returned the seed to its sender.

When she finally released him, he stumbled away from the bed and galloped to the bathroom, his own fluids dripping from his lips. She regarded a thousand different pieces of her face in the nearby broken mirror. Her scaled talons ran through her sticky, dangling head feathers and, with a flick of her wrist, she sent fat white droplets into the air. She marveled at how they twirled and shimmered as her date gagged loudly in the next room.

Back in the middle of nowhere, Rita was starting to get sore and was still nothing more than damp. Chewing the corner of her mouth, she went through her greatest hits collection: the cyborg with a pistoned hoof; the raider who had forked her own tongue and put studs in both pieces— nothing worked.

She withdrew her claw from her chafing nethers when a huff of breath well behind her caught her ear. Her eyes drifted closed and her mind filled with the Stag's dark eyes. She felt his stringy hair in the back of her her neck, his weight pushing down on her back, her claw stroking his fetlock. Then she felt him pushing against her and then he was splitting her like a railroad spike through a peach.

She shot him cautious glances all the way through. Her feathers prickled every time he stirred, she held her breath waiting for him to join her, but he only did in her mind. She came resentfully, sucked her talons clean, and went to sleep.


--[   /////]--


Hey, hey kiddies! Your old buddy P0n3, has decided to mix things up a bit and bring you some lighter, softer, and friendlier news for a change.

Nah, I’m just kidding, it’s about gruesome murder, same as always!

This story comes from Equestria’s favorite literal powder keg, Salt Lick City.

You may recall my report a few weeks about the big time merchant Stripmine and his daughter who was abducted for ransom by some skeevy chem dealers. You may also recall that the story ended in tragedy when the local bounty hunters found the filly's body.

It seems that ending wasn’t good enough for Stripmine. He wanted the ponies responsible to pay for their crimes and hired that mysterious pony in the fancy hat.

No! Not that one! The other one! The bloody one.

And from the reports this morning, it seems that the Iron Stag has put a few more notches of ‘justice’ on his helmet with his usual gusto.

Messy work there, Rocky. Try not to spend it all in one place.

The familiar, barely audible, click told Rita that P0n3 had switched from live broadcast to prerecorded messages. She half listened to the message about Red Eye recruiting mercenaries and scientists as she stared at the back of Stag's helmeted head. His ears twitched as he listened out for possible attacks. Neither of them had spoken all morning. For hours they had walked in silence, the sandy dunes were giving way to more solid ground which meant they were getting close to their destination.

Rita hesitated to pull out the earbuds. She waited until the DJ mentioned the brilliant minds that had been taken in by Red Eye and she clicked off the radio with a satisfied smile.

While switching over to the map, she called to the Stag to wait. "We’re getting close to the raider den." She pointed at her PipBuck and held it out for him to see. "There's a cave just over this way, it'd be a good place to get set up."

"Lead the way," he rumbled.

Walking backwards, Rita stared curiously at Stag. "I was listening to the radio. DJ Pone Three doesn't like you very much at all."

Stag looked past her as he spoke, "He's an idealist. He disapproves that I only work for pay and of my more extreme methods. But what he somehow fails to realize is that in order for both me and my equipment to remain effective I need food, lodgings, ammo, and routine weapons and armor maintenance. None of these things are free."

"And your," Rita paused and opened her eyes wide and spoke dramatically, "extreme methods?"

"Why do raiders exist?" Stag asked, at last looking Rita hard in the eye.

The seriousness of the way he asked and the increased intensity of his gaze cause Rita to stammer briefly. "I guess," she paused in her tracks and tapped her beak. "I guess because ponies need or want stuff and they figure it’s easier to take it."

"Fear." The Iron Stag spat and tromped past the griffon, forcing her to scurry ahead. "It's fear that makes a raider. A foal fears dying of hunger, so he starts stealing food. Then he fears being hurt, so he steals weapons. He fears those stronger than him, so he steals chems to even the field. He fears punishment for his crimes, so he murders those that would seek vengeance if left alive."

"A raider is a simpering coward lashing out to protect itself." The Stag bowed his head, his horns forward. "Now I have made something new for them to fear: judgement."

He raised his head to look down at Rita. "You saw it in Salt Lick City, swaggering villains cowering in the garbage because the Iron Stag is there to make them pay for their crimes. The fear of me and what I will do to them just might make a pony think that taking whatever he likes isn't worth the danger.

The pair walked in silence as Stag seemed to relax. He looked past Rita, off to the horizon. "You know, I met Red Eye once." Rita's head bobbed back and she gave him a quizzical look. "It was years ago, there was only talk of a pony clearing out the slums and gathering groups to himself. The lights had yet to come on in Filly.

"I had only just adopted this armor, but I too was beginning to make a name for myself. I had received word that a client wanted to meet me and there he was. Just sitting at a bar table in the corner, looking at ease as though he were at home. His machine eye glowed brightly in that dark corner.

"He spoke first, inviting me to sit down. I sat, he talked. He told me about the Stable he grew up in, the work he was doing, his vision to bring industry back to Equestria in full force even if it meant doing so on the backs of slaves. He told me he was in talks with the Goddess and that, in time, the mutant Alicorns would serve his goals as well.

"Then he asked me to join him. He said that in the coming days and years he'd need ponies of exceptional skill. He told me that, allied with him, I could well and truly wipe Equestria clean of the filth that had seeped into every corner.

"I remember my exact words. I told him that peace through tyranny is worth less than nothing and that I would sooner die than serve the likes of him. He gave me a smile and a nod before departing.

"I recall every detail of that encounter because it is the moment of my biggest regret."

Rita tipped her head to the side. "You wish you'd said yes?" she asked.

"I should have killed him where he sat," Stag almost growled. He became more animated than Rita had ever seen him, slamming his hooves with each step, and nostrils flaring. "I thought he was delusional at the time, but I had no idea how large and powerful he'd become. If I had, I would have smeared him all over that bar. The things I would have done to him would only be spoken of in hushed, terrified whispers."

With a great sigh, the armored pony deflated, returning to his emotionless demeanor. "Even if I could somehow get to him in his fortress and kill him, I don't think it would matter. He's become too large for me, he's as much an idea now as a pony. He will survive his own death, this I believe."

As the Stag fell silent, Rita could only stare with just a twitch of a suppressed smile at the corner of her mouth. A beep from her PipBuck pulled her from her secret thoughts. They had arrived at the cave.

The mouth of the cave was barely larger than Stag and half buried in sand. Rita clicked on her PipBuck’s flashlight and the two stepped into the gloom. After the narrow, steep incline, the cave opened into a more expansive chamber. Stag set about dropping glowsticks around the cave. The stalagmites hung dry from the ceiling and tunnels too small for either of the pair pock-marked the walls. On the floor was the remains of a small campfire; tiny bones were scattered among the ashes.

The Iron Stag touched his nose to the plate by his shoulder and the rifle attached sprung forward. "How close are we to the raider den?" he asked as he unhitched the small bags from under flaps of armor.

Rita looked at her PipBuck and walked her talons across the screen. "About half an hour's gallop and we'll come to a cliff; from there you should be able to put your sights on them."

Stag spoke as emptied out his bags, scattering potions and ammunition across the cave's floor. "I'll prepare myself. You'll fly out there and then report back to me."

Rita stepped forward, waggling a talon. "Now I never agreed—"

"You insisted on coming along; you will scout out the area," Stag said without looking up.

Rita clicked her tongue and turned towards the cave exit. "Fine," she said through clenched teeth. "But I don't know what you expect me to find. Do you think they had raider babies and trained them on anti-sniper combat in the week since I was here?" She grumbled as she ascended the passage.

Warm desert winds rustled the feathers of Rita's face when she poked her head out of the cave. After fully emerging into the open air, she spread her forelimbs and sunk her claws into the sand. The muscles of her hind legs coiled and she spread her wings. With a pounce and a flap, Rita was airborne.

She flapped hard, gaining altitude until she could see for miles. Beyond the rolling dunes and just past a small cliff, stood the ruins of a town. The tallest building still standing was four stories and half collapsed. The sign for the restaurant stood out brightly against the cold, gray skies. Even from here, she could see figures moving about the area.

"Please don't look up," she whispered to no one at all and flew on.


--[    ////]--




Her eyes wide and the corners of her mouth set in a deep grimace, Rita descended into the cave. "Hi," she called down with a jagged and unconvincing smile.

The Iron Stag stood in the center of the cave, the Head-Hunter in the firing position, the majority of his bags pushed off in the corner. The only things left on the ground were three vials of healing potion. He looked as though he'd been waiting for at least a few minutes. He said nothing.

"We've got a teeny, itsy-bitsy problem," she said, holding up her claw with her thumb and pointer talon held close together. She paused and mid-stride and scratched the back of her head. "Now I didn't see any raider babies or anything," she said with a forced laugh," but there were a few more of them than when I was there last time."

"How many?" he asked with no expression.

Rita tapped her beak and looked away. She spoke rapidly. "Well I didn't get an exact head count or anything, but, ya know, I mean you're a really good shot, I'm sure you could get more than one of them with each shot and then do your little horn thing once you're out of ammo. I could make you a little hat with the healing potions attached so you could be getting healed up at the same time, not that I think you'll get hurt or anything. You're really tough after all and—"

Rita's back left was knocked out from under her. She struck the cave floor hard, and landed in a heap. “Real effin’ mature, kicking me,” she shouted in a daze. “It’s not like I put the friggin’ raiders there—”

Rita stopped and stared at her hind left paw; she had landed with her face near it. The angle was wrong. She moved to pull her legs under her, her toes twitched, and she screamed. Her leg flopped hideously to the side and the blood poured into her view. She slapped her claws against the ground and continued to scream in agony. From the corner of her eye, she saw the edges of ragged hole just above her knee, and she began to hyperventilate.

The Iron Stag stepped in front of her face with the barrel of the Head-Hunter still faintly smoking. “We need to talk,” he said loudly and evenly, “and you’re bleeding to death.”

From his face, Rita could see that he was shouting, but she could barely hear him. He touched the burning hot barrel of the gun to the root of her right wing, she could barely feel it. Rita sobbed so hard her body was clenching.

“To your right are three healing potions,” Stag shouted down to her. “Use only one hand to grab them or I fire.” He pushed barrel harder for emphasis. “Drink the first two and then pour the third on the wound itself.”

It was hard to move. Everything swirled when Rita turned her head, and she had to choke back to keep from throwing up. She tried closing her eyes, but very nearly passed out. Her leg stopped hurting and panic seized her. With a burst of adrenaline, she grabbed the first vial and poured it down her throat. She let it drop and nearly knocked the second over in her rush to snatch it up.

The second vial empty, feeling and awareness began to return to her. The pain of her leg came back with all the subtlety of stepping into a meat grinder. Her claw shook so hard, drops of potion spilled from the top. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the wound and felt for the edge with her thumb.  She dumped the contents and let out a long, high cry as it worked into the injury like thousands of red-hot needles.

Panting and sweating, Rita struggled to sit up. She looked up at the pony standing over her, with a gun of her own making still pressed against her wing. “You have my undivided attention,” she said between labored breaths.

"I need to know what's waiting for me out there." The Stag took the barrel of the gun from the base of Rita's wing and put it against her head.

Between gritted teeth, Rita growled, "I told you already! It's thirty-some raiders—"

Thump. 

The Head-Hunter fired off right next to her ear, the muzzle flash singed her feathers. Stag pushed the barrel down on Rita's right paw. The hairs smoked from the heat and she dug her talons into the ground.

The Stag's face was so close she could feel his breath on her face. "Your leg may yet recover, but lie again and I'll destroy your foot."

"I don't know what you want!" she shrieked.

Looking her dead in the eyes, the Stag rumbled, "I want to know what Red Eye has waiting for me out there."

For a moment, Rita forgot her injuries. The corner of her mouth curled up and her brow raised. "Who said anything about Red Eye?"

With a heavy sigh, Stag released Rita's paw from under the gun, but he kept it pointed at her face as he spoke. "Your mannerisms are not like somepony who was raised in the Wasteland, hygiene aside. This, along with your PipBuck and Stable-Tec body armor would suggest that you were Stable born, but you don’t have their naivete.

“On top of that, your PipBuck fits too loosely to have been yours nor does it have the glove that fits over a griffon’s hand. Ergo, you got it from a pony. You also wear a slave collar that was never armed. This could suggest any number of slaver outfits, but your body armor is numbered with Red Eye's Stable number."

Rita grimaced and gave a pained smile. "Well look at Mr. Detective here. Yeah, I used to work for Red Eye’s science team, but I left him, like, months ago." She waved a claw dismissively. "Way too big an ego on that guy. Anything you do, he gets all the credit and that's just not how I roll.

"And speaking of big egos, what makes you think he'd devote any resources to taking you out? You're sort of just one guy who runs around torturing nasty-wasties to death. You're not exactly any kind of threat to him."

The barrel of the Head-Hunter was thrust over Rita's right eye. "Fine, then what does he want?" Stag asked. "At first I thought it might have something to do with the Piranhas, but you never asked for information regarding the whereabouts of their town nor did you ever touch your PipBuck while in their town."

With the one eye she could see out of, Rita looked defiantly up at her possible executioner. "Like I told you, there's a treasure down in that restaurant. And like I keep telling you, this has nothing to do with Red Eye. This is for me."

A hoof the size of a can of beets slammed down on the hole in Rita's left hind leg. She cried out and curled up on herself but was shoved onto her back immediately. The Stag lifted a forehoof onto her belly and put some weight on it, just enough for the spikes on his horseshoes to dig in.

"I don't believe you," he said slowly. "What is the treasure?"

Trembling and panting, Rita lifted a claw towards her vest. "I'll show you," she said. Stag pressed down harder with his hoof. "Cirminey!" she shouted. "What do you think, I'm gonna pull a rocket launcher outta my shirt pocket?!"

Stag lifted his hoof from her belly. Rita gave him a forced, sweet smile and reached into her vest. She withdrew her claw holding a series of papers. When she held them up for Stag to see, his scowl only deepened.

“I see,” was all he said.


--[     ///]--





SIX WEEKS EARLIER


Kicking her paws and humming a tune to herself, Rita looked around the dark and grimy bathroom stall while seated on the toilet. Taking her eyes from the standard graffiti of penises and suggested times and locations to meet aforementioned penises, Rita saw a rack mounted to the stall wall with light reading materials. She grabbed up the nearest two-hundred-year-old magazine and flipped through it, uninterested. 

The corner of one the books stuck out past the others, it showed the back half of a pony. A blue pony. A blue pony with a rainbow tail. Rita gasped and yanked the book from the shelf. The cover showed the blue pegasus decked out in combat fatigues with a rocket launcher mounted to her back and a dragon above her, belching fire. Across the top was written, “Rainbow Dash’s Tales of Loyalty and Bravery.”

Page after page showed full color drawings of Rainbow Dash fighting against zebras with magically created bat wings in the skies above Manehattan. It was a comic book. A comic about Rainbow Dash. In a two page spread, Rainbow Dash took up two machine guns in her mouth and shouted, “Time to be awesome!” Rita’s heart was racing and her excitement was reaching its peak when she looked at the cover again, on the upper left corner was written, “Issue four of ten.”

The door to the bathroom was nearly knocked from its hinges as Rita slammed it open. The merchant behind the junk shop counter jumped for his gun as the wild eyed griffon lunged at him. Before he could grab his shotgun, Rita slapped the comic on the counter.

“Sir, where did you get this?” she demanded.

The merchant pony took a moment to calm down and looked past Rita. His face fell and he looked back at her. “You pissed on my floor.”

Her features contorted in confusion, Rita looked over her back at the wet trail from the restroom. “Oh, that. Some things can’t wait,” she said impatiently.

“I spent weeks working on getting the plumbing working,” the pony said, tears forming in his eyes. “I had never worked harder on anything or been prouder at achieving it. And you choose to disregard all that effort and use my nice, clean floor as your toilet.”

Rita slammed a clawful of caps on the counter. “Forget about your stupid floor! I’ll buy you a new floor,” she squawked with a maniacal smile on her face. “I need to know where you got this book. I will make it worth all your whiles!”

The teary eyed earth pony looked down at the book. "Oh my." His face lit up. "I didn't know we still had any of those." He wiped away his tears as he spoke.

Rita slapped another clawful of caps on the counter. "So you have more of these around here?" Her voice was all but cracking.

"No, not around here," the old pony said. He gave a little laugh and touched the comic with his hoof. "This one musta been grabbed by my daughter. She's a big Rainbow Dash fan, you see. Always saying she's gonna grow up to be a big, tough hero like—"

Another pile of caps were dropped on the counter. "That's totally awesome, I'll bet she's super hot," Rita said rapidly through gritted teeth. "Where did she grab it from?"

"My family reclaimed and rebuilt a restaurant," he said with the mist returning to his eyes. "We were making a little farm in the back, getting all set up to re-open them doors for all the hungry mouths we could—"

"Oh sweet Hearth’s Warming—" Rita clawed at her headfeathers. "I do not care about your life story! Just tell me where it is and if there's more!"

"I'm trying to tell you! I don't know if those books are still there," He said dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief draped over his hoof and sniffling loudly.

Talons dug into the merchant's moldy jacket collar, Rita tugged with all her might and succeeded only in pulling herself halfway onto the counter. "How can you not know?!" she screamed into his startled face. "Don't you realize how important these are!? They belong in a museum!"

The merchant broke out sobbing. "A band of rotten raiders took over," he cried. "This was almost a year ago, but last I heard, the bastards were still held up in there, making life miserable to any who get in their sights." His shoulder shook as he went on, "My brother and his son were killed holding the hoodlums off so the rest of us could escape."

"Then I will avenge them!" Rita shouted, still not releasing the pony.

The merchant pony looked into Rita's insane face with awe. "Do you mean it? You'll make those criminals pay for their crimes and bring justice to—”

Rita let go of his collar and grabbed his tear slicked face with both claws, her beak pressed against his nose. "I have never meant anything more in my whole life, I swear deep deep down from the bottom of my heart that I shall see these ner-do-wells dead at my paws. Now just tell me where to find them!"


--[       //]--




"Comics," the Iron Stag rumbled, looking at the book held in Rita's bloodied claw. "That's the treasure."

"See?" Rita coughed as she stuffed the book back inside her shirt. "This has all been a silly misunderstanding that I for one am willing and ready to put behind me."

"You're willing to have over two dozen ponies killed for comics." Stag's face was blank.

Rita rolled her eyes. "They're raiders, they killed that guy's brother and puppy and whatever."

“And you hired me to kill them just to take property. If the merchant’s family had not been chased away, would you have hired somepony else to kill them?” Stag asked quickly.

“Of course not,” Rita waved her claw dismissively. “I’d try to negotiate with them first—” Rita suddenly stopped and continued a moment later, careful to not look at Stag as she resumed. “Then I’d just see if they’d be willing to sell. The books couldn’t have had that much value to them.”

Cautiously, Rita chanced a glance at Iron Stag, but found his face as unreadable as ever. “One last question,” his voice had a finality to it that made Rita gulp. “What if the merchant and his family had made the books available for any and all who came to them. Would that have been acceptable to you?”

“No!” Rita blurted, slapping her claws against the cave floor. “Those ponies don’t know the things I know about the Ministry Mares. They’d just be giving them away as trinkets or toilet paper and once they were gone, that’d be it! Ponies need to understand what those girls did and I’m the only one who knows how to really tell them so that they can learn something and better themselves from it!”

There was a heavy silence in the stagnant air for almost a minute after Rita finished her rant. The silence was broken by Stag. "I see you now. You're manipulative and a liar and you care nothing for the suffering for others. You would use me to destroy life, not for justice, but for your own ambitions. You would create monuments to past icons and present your ideas for the future of Equestria using these icons as your avatars.

"No, you do not work for Red Eye and this is not a trap for me. You would make yourself into another Red Eye and are having me help you with the foundation." The Stag cracked his neck from side and angled his horns towards Rita. "I'm going to start killing you now."

A sound erupted through the cave chamber. It was the last sound Stag had expected to hear and it made him freeze up. Rita was laughing.

"Do you wish to deny my allegations?" the Stag asked, an edge of uncertainty in his voice.

"Oh no," Rita laughed and then gritted her teeth at the jostling of her leg. "Well, for one, I don't think I actually ever lied to you, but that's not what has me with down with the giggles. No. What I'm laughing at is the amount of farms you could start with the fertilizer you're dropping from your mouth."

The Stag raised a brow. "But you just said that you do not deny—"

"Yeah, yeah, congrats figuring out my aspirations of global domination within a day and a half of meeting me. Pinkie'd be proud. But that's not why you're going to tear me to kitty bitties."

The Stag tilted his head to the side curiously. Rita only laughed harder. "Oh, come on, Rocky. We're both adults here. Just you, me, and the wasteland. You can drop the act for a few minutes."

"What—"

Rita balled her claws into fists and bounced her forelimbs stiffly, as though she were marching. "I'm Iron Stag," she said in a faux deep voice. "I'm going to punch all the bad guys in the face and save the world. I don't like tearing ponies to pieces for hours and days, but I do it because if I act worse than the raiders, that'll show 'em. And then everyone will love and respect me, the tortured hero."

Rita relaxed her forelimbs and waved a claw in a circle. "Ya know," she said in her normal voice. "All that stuff."

Stag's eyes had narrowed and his nostrils were beginning to flare. Rita took one look at his face and fell backward laughing. "Oh man, you're not serious." She cackled. "You actually believe what you're spouting?"

Rocking from side to side on her back, Rita was laughing so hard tears were forming at the corners of her eyes. "Oh mercy, you really are killing me over here!"

In a flash, Stag brought down his massive hoof on top of Rita's right paw. She screamed as he ground it against the rock floor. When he lifted up, Rita's paw was a twisted bloody mess.

"I have dedicated my entire life to stomping out injustice," Stag said, his voice back to its eerie calm. "I do not appreciate your mockery."

"And I thought you had a sense of humor," Rita gasped through clenched teeth.

"Doesn't change what I said though," continued Rita as she sat up with a shudder of pain. "If you cared about fighting 'injustice' then you wouldn't waste time with this sort of crap. I mean, the ponies you’re torturing are usually so stoned out of their skulls that you could feed them their own wing-wang and they wouldn’t notice anything was wrong until they went tinky.

“Just look at yesterday! You spent almost an hour on two ponies when you had a sniper rifle and line of sight. If you hadn’t been so intent on showing off, you could have put a hole through that super stabby-cutty lady’s head or chest and then your nose wouldn’t be bleeding right now.”

The Stag took no notice as the blood leaked steadily from both nostrils, drained over his mouth, and poured from his chin. His eyes were locked on Rita's. His body and features were so still, one would be forgiven for mistaking him for a bleeding statue.

Rita went on, "You talk like you're making such a huge difference because dudes hide from you. Big shocker! A bunch of cowards are scared of a big guy who might hurt them. You're basically on the same level as say, a bear, or I dunno, anyone with a gun. They're not going be good because they're afraid of you hurting them, they're just gonna hide until you leave and then go right back to raping all the puppies at the orphanage for the blind or whatever.

"You're not gonna fix the world yourself and you know it. You just spout off all that bull-hooey so the little mangled girls who give you presents don't realize you're just a sadist who loves attention. And you've been saying it for so long that you've actually got yourself believing it. I mean, that's just hysterical!"

Looking up, Rita tapped her beak with a talon. "Sorry, I got off topic. Anyway, yeah, you're not about to rip me apart for some crazy justice thing that you don't really believe in anyway. Nor are you gonna tear me apart to sate your murder-boner."

Leaning in, Rita put her beak right up to his nose. "You're going to kill me, because I embarrassed you.

"You spent, like, all of yesterday trying to impress me. Little tip for the future: standing around bleeding through a hole in your face isn't cool. It just makes it seem like you're too stupid to take care of your boo-boos.

"Anyway, off topic. Back on topic! You take me to your big deal village of tribals and show me what a big shot you are and how much everyone loves you and lines up to smooch your hinder. And just really really playing it up for the 'plucky damsel in distress', moi.

"And I know, I know I should have played along, but last night when you were talking about freeing me." Rita chortled and held up a talon, asking for a moment. "I just, I couldn't. I mean, I just saw what you were imagining so vividly! You, the big burly hero coming to visit me in your secret village of good-natured tribals, we'd blah and blah and then you'd be all, 'I must go' and then I'd be all 'sniffle' and then you'd trot off to another adventure until the day came where I would tell you, the tortured loner, how much I need you to stay with me and that I love you—"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT," the Iron Stag roared, spattering Rita's face with saliva and blood. With a wordless yell, he smashed her across the face so hard that the griffon went limply tumbling across the cave floor, striking her head against the far wall.

"I am sick of listening to your shit," Stag shouted at her prone form. "I will not be judged by somepony who wears a fucking tool of torture and murder as a fashion accessory."

A tremble ran across Rita's body and she spat out a mouthful of blood. "Yeah, I'll bet that's annoying, like walking into a party and seeing someone wearing the exact same outfit except it looks ten times better on them," Rita said rapidly. Unseen by Stag, using a single talon, she slid back a small panel on her PipBuck, uncovering a tiny green button. "And it's funny you should mention my little bomb collar." The button lit up. "Did you ever wonder what I did with its explosives?"

Time came to a crawl. With a jab of her talon, Rita's PipBuck beeped once. Across the cave, the steady arm secured against the Iron Stag's neck made a similar beep. Rita only saw his face for an instant; his eyes were wide, his mouth was hung open slightly, and his brow was furrowed. In that instant, he was pleading, not like this. Rita gave him a smile before she looked away and put her claws over the back of her neck. 

The crack of the explosion would have been smaller than a grenade’s, but it was amplified by the tight cavern. Rita stayed on the ground until the ringing in her ears stopped. She looked over to where Stag lie on the ground, blood pooling around his head and wisps of smoke curling from the side of his face she couldn't see.

“Wah-Wah!” she shouted, tilting her head from side to side.

With a grunt and a hiss, Rita rolled onto her back and sat up. She grimaced looking at the still oozing hole in her left leg and her smashed right paw. “Couldn’t you have focused on one leg, you big cheesebread?” she shouted angrily at Stag’s body.

Rita looked to the cave entrance and counted the tiny tunnels until she saw the one with very faint scratch over the top. She grabbed the ground with her claws and began scooting her butt across the cave floor. Each time her her wounded leg touched the dirt, it brought a fresh wave of pain.

“For a minute there, I was actually really worried, “ she said to Stag. “I was pushing all the buttons; vanity, your healthy helping of hero’s guilt, inner turmoil, loneliness, I thought you’d never lose your temper. I didn’t want that bomb popping off next to my head.

“Kinda bites that I had to boom you at all, really. You were a pretty cool guy; now I need some other chump to get my books and I don’t have any hardware to offer up.” She stopped mid-scoot, horror swept over her face. “Now I’ll never get any more of that yum-yum Piranha soup.”

She grabbed a tiny rock and lobbed it at Stag. It bounced to the ground three feet anyway from him. “This is all your fault. I had them trusting me! Do you know how useful they could have been! Gah! Why did you have to have a Red Eye hate-boner; why couldn't you be cool for just a few more hours?!”

The rump-based journey complete, Rita reached into the hole. She felt along the inside for the dangling strap and jerked it down. Her little green duffel bag dropped to the dusty floor. She opened the bag and began rummaging inside. She dug through the dozens of rattling bottles of nail polish and her claw shut on a fat, rounded bottle.

The green glass bottle had a piece of paper taped to it with a little doodle of Rita giving two thumbs up. She stuck her talon in the cork and pulled it out with a pop.

“Come to mama,” she whispered before draining the contents into her mouth. She gulped and gave a satisfied sigh. “Painkillers, extra strength healing potion, and a dash of Dash!”

A pleasant numbness washed across Rita’s body. The cut on her face became just a warm spot and then nothing. The middle toe of her right paw untwisted and settled back into place as the cuts and burns faded into thin, furless lines. Her smile was beaming and she gave her toes a celebratory wiggle. Her smile faded when she looked at the other leg; the hole had not diminished and continued to bleed.

“Well, poo,” Rita grumbled. “Gotta take care of this the hard way.”

"Let's see... if I knew how, I could sew it all up and clamp off each individual vein. Of course with the tissue infected by the zebra crap, all it would take is a good poke and it would open right back up." Rita looked at the hole, still big enough for to stick in a talon. "Or I could cook the whole thing and kiss my tap dancing days good-bye. Swell."

Digging into the bag once more, Rita pulled back the foam bottom and took out a metal case.Inside the case was a variety of tools and materials for gun maintenance. Among those was a jar marked "gunpowder." It was empty.

"One of those days, I see," Rita sighed and put the case away.

Rita looked over to the still smoking Iron Stag and gave another sigh. "Welp, time for you to help me out big guy. I think you kept your ammo on the left side of your hip."

Carefully, Rita rolled to her belly and stood up, keeping her back left tucked and raised. With slow, staggered steps, Rita made her way to the body. She kneeled down and flipped up the armor over his haunch. The hinge had been damaged by the blast and the plate popped off in her claws. She tossed the piece of armor aside and went for the saddlebag beneath. She stopped short of opening the flap.

"Now what are the odds that a kooky guy like you would booby trap his bags?" she asked the smoking pony.

Using a single talon, Rita cut through the bottom of the satchel and let the magazines and loose bullets spill to the ground. She picked up two of the bullets and stuffed them inside one of her shirt pockets.

Curiosity got the better of her and she pulled open the tear she had made in the bag. "Oh my," she whispered after peeking inside. "You were a kooky boy." Inside that satchel, wired to flap, was a little metal tube with a picture of fire on it.

"Running around with a bomb strapped to you." She giggled. "How irresponsible. Man, I could sell a thermite grenade for a very shiny bottle cap, but I think I'll leave well enough alone. I'd rather not add 'having my claws melted off' to the list of things that could have gone better today."

A whiff of smoke went up Rita's nostril as she stood up. Her eyes rolled up and she licked her beak. "Maybe it's just that I missed breakfast," she murmured as she looked at Stag, her eyes dilated, "but you smell delicious. You wouldn't mind if I just took a little bit of you for the road would you?"

Rita leaned back and answered herself in a deep voice. "Go right ahead, Rita. I figure I owe you for shooting you and torturing you and stuff. I'm a big stupid jerk, please, eat all you like."

She leaned down to his exposed neck, salivating. "Now, now don't be so hard on yourself we all make—"

The Iron Stag's left eye opened and locked on to her. Rita fell backwards with a squawk and he stood with a gargled roar. The right side of his helmet was mangled, his right eye was burnt and lidless, tiny fires still burned on the coat of his face. But it was his jaw that made Rita shudder, what little was left of it hung loose in the left socket and his tongue dangled down, twitching.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Rita shrieked as he began his charge. “It was supposed to kill you, not maim you!”

The Stag’s steps were shaky and stumbling, but he still swung his horned helmet with deadly force. Rita tried to hop backwards and tripped over herself, tumbling to the ground as the bladed horns whistled overhead. The Stag’s hoofsteps became stomps as he aimed to grind her into the ground. Shrieking and panicking, Rita rolled away and onto her belly. She scurried away on all fours, ignoring the fresh gout of blood that seeped from her wounded leg.

The Iron Stag turned toward her, blocking the only path out of the cave. He pawed the ground lowered his head, his horns less than a foot from the ground. Stag charged. 

Rita danced in place and shouted, her voice cracking, "Time to be awesome!"

The griffon leapt forward, flaring her wings and with her claws outstretched. Her leap had no strength behind it with her wounded leg and there were no winds to catch her in the cramped cave. She landed with a painful flop on her belly and Stag only a body length away. 

The instant the branching blades passed overhead, Rita reached up and grabbed the base of the blades. She was jerked forward, her body curled under her and towards the spiked hooves. With a tug and a hop, she pulled her butt off the ground and she grabbed the Stag's breastplate with her paws. She was now nose to nose with the enraged, wounded Stag and clinging to him desperately as he tried to shake her off while continuing his charge.

The wall erupted in a shower of sparks when the metal horns crashed against the stone at full speed. Rita slid back, cutting open her palms, but she held tight. Stag brought his face forward and slammed his mouth into Rita's neck.

"Are you trying to eat me!?" she screamed. "You don't even have a jaw, you nutbag!"

The Stag continued shaking his head, pressing down with what was left of his mouth, and kicking out with his forelegs. Rita let go with one of her claws and slashed at the exposed and burned side of his face. She scratched over and over and over until strips of skin and muscle peeled away, but he refused to fall.

One of Rita's flailing scratches went across his burnt eye and it burst. Stag made a gurgling howl and shook his head from side to side, but continued to heavily stamp the ground. Rita’s remaining claw slipped off the metal horn. She grabbed wildly for anything to keep her from falling under his hooves, she caught what was left of Stag's lower jaw.

The reaction was instant and powerful, his viscous screams intensified as he tried to scrape Rita off. With both claws she wrenched the bloody chunk from side to side. Smiling insanely, she threw all of her meager weight to one side and, with horrible rip and snap, the jaw gave way.

At long last, the Iron Stag fell.

Though Rita was panting and exhausted, she was also still a little bit stoned from her medical concoction, and she pulled herself up. Limping, she walked to her bag.

"Now that you’re calmed down, just wait there," she said to the heavily breathing Iron Stag. "I can fix this."

Once more she plunged her claws past the nail polish bottles that filled the bag to the brim. She peeled back the bottom and wrapped her talons around a small metal handle. What she pulled from the bag looked to be little more than a tube with a gun's handle attached to it, but at the back, with thick, glowing wires running from it, was a dark purple crystal embedded in a dial. Rita turned the crystal with her mouth until all four of the dial's yellow lights were glowing brightly.

"Now just hold still," she said to Stag and took aim. Holding her forelimb out as straight as she could, she closed one eye and lined up the other with the gun's barrel. She stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth in concentration and squeezed the trigger.

Bzat!

The red laser beam may have struck the Stag directly in his remaining eye and burned straight into his brain, ending his pain and life, except he moved right as Rita fired. Instead, the beam went through his saddle bag and left a shallow burn across his left haunch. It also detonated the the thermite grenade inside the bag.

"Why did you move?!" Rita shrieked as flame erupted from the bag and rolled down the Stag's leg.

Rita grabbed a plastic water bottle from her bag and clipped off the top with her beak as she hobbled to the burning pony. She spattered some of the water across his leg, but it did nothing to stop the chemically fueled flames. Underneath his left hind leg, a flaming bead bubbled through his leg and dropped to the ground where it continued to burn.

"Now you know how I feel," Rita shouted as she continued to futilely throw water on the chemical fire. More spots burned through his leg, the droplets of fire splattering on the ground. "Okay, fine, make a competition out of it!

"You have to move your leg or it's gonna roast your tummy," Rita shouted. She grabbed his, thankfully not yet on fire, hoof with both claws and tugged. There was a sound like wet tar and Rita fell on her butt, still holding half of the Iron Stag's back left leg.

"I'm getting quite the collection here," she muttered to herself and cast the leg aside.

The rest of the chemical fire either burned through or rolled off to the ground where it died out moments later. Stag was still kicking in the air and still gurgling his screams of pain.

Rita grabbed her head with both claws and rubbed her temple. "Um, okay, you're in pretty rough shape and I can't help but feel a little responsible for that." She stumbled to the side of the cave, hoisted her duffle bag, and moved towards the incline leading out.

"So, yeah, I'm just gonna go. I'll see if I can spot any of your sharp tooth-ed buddies. You just, um, smolder here and try not to die for a bit."

The Iron Stag stopped thrashing and looked at Rita. The familiar calm came back to what was left of his face. He brought his head to side and then whipped it back towards Rita. His helmet flew at her like a spiked cannon ball.

With a squawk, Rita dived to the side. An instant later, the helmet's horns embedded themselves deep in the ground where she had just stood.

Her wings spread and her tail lashing, Rita screamed as loud as she could, "You mother-loving A-HOLE!" She re-shouldered her bag. "I was gonna get you some help, but never mind! You're clearly doing just fine on your own!"

She reached down and grabbed the Stag's still smoking leg off the ground. She waved it at him and said, "I'm keeping this! Nice knowing you, chuckles!"

And with an exaggerated salute, Rita turned her back on the Iron Stag for the last time and limped out of the cave. She was flapping her wings as soon as she felt wind on her face and, with the weakest jump she could manage, she made herself airborne.

The skies of Equestria were cold and grey. The heavy clouds hung still as far as the eye could see, shrouding the whole of the land below in gloom. The ceiling of the world.

"And not a rain cloud to be found," Rita grumbled, searching for dark spots in the sky. "Then again, with the kinda day I've been having, I'd probably pop in for a quick wash only to find some jumpy Enclave pega-sickos with a million, billion guns."

Frowning, Rita checked her PipBuck's map for the nearest running body of water. She found Kimblewick River wasn't too far and changed course. In less than an hour's flight, she was within sight of the river. She gave a check for anything that might wish her harm-of which the list seemed endless-and began her descent.

Rita settled carefully on the bank, being sure that her right hind leg took the brunt of the landing. Her PipBuck gave barely a tick from the Geiger counter, so she plunged her bloodied claws in without a thought. The running water went pink as it washed away the remains of Stag and over her own cut up palms.

Reflected in the water, Rita saw her face; she was spattered in blood both foreign and domestic, the feathers on her cheek were matted around the cut, her eyes were red from crying, her eye marking had smudges from the trail of tears, and there was dried snot all around her beak. She gave the rest of herself a quick survey and other than a few chipped nails and talons and the cuts on the palms of her claws, she was doing okay considering. She stared at the lightly bleeding hole in her leg; on the plus side, the bone seemed to have healed straight—this was of little comfort as she could actually see the bone.

From out of a shirt pocket, Rita pulled the two bullets. She once again took the weapon's kit out of her bag and fished out another bottle with a picture of herself on it, along with a roll of bandages. Lastly, she took out her laser pistol and set it aside. 

Using a tool from the kit, she removed the bullets from the casings and unceremoniously threw them in the river. She carefully poured the gunpowder into wound, making sure it wasn't packed too tight and that it was even distributed on both ends of the hole. Lastly, she uncorked the potion and sat it down.

Holding the crystal at the back end of the laser pistol, Rita gave it a twist and only one of the four lights on the back faintly glowed.

 "This is gonna suck balls," Rita said to herself optimistically. Eyes squeezed shut, she stuck the barrel of the laser pistol against her wound and fired.

Many miles away, a little filly was getting water from her family’s well. The sound she heard on the wind would haunt her nightmares for the rest of her days. Years later, she would tell her own children terrifying stories of the desert banshee to keep them from wandering off at night.

At least, that was the story Rita told herself, lying on the river bank and shaking in pain. As the pain killers and narcotics mixed in with her potion coursed through her system, she found enough strength to sit back up. She looked at the reflection of the small, bloodied, and crying griffon and slapped it away. She scooped up the water and forcefully scrubbed the blood and filth from her face and and neck. A number of pony teeth had been tangled in her feathers. She stuck out her tongue and threw them to the side.

By the time Rita’s reflection had reformed, she had taken a jar of makeup from her bag and was touching up her eye markings. “Today has been a little rough,” she said to the pretty griffon she saw reflected in the water. “Now let’s just ask, what have we learned and how can we make the rest of this day go better?”


--[        /]--


Inside the Salty Trough, New Appleloosa’s local watering hole, it was business as usual. Ponies from various walks of life talked and laughed and drank as the waitresses went to and from the bar at the back. The bartender was a tall and tidy looking pony wearing a classy green vest and a matching derby. The waitresses wore great puffy dresses their manes were a pretty mess of curls.

The sparse lights left many a table in heavy shadow in the late afternoon sun. This seemed to suit many of the quieter bar’s patrons just fine, who watched the more chatty patrons for trouble or opportunity. A shoddy staircase lead to the floor above where well dressed stallions and mares looked over the railing for any interested eyes.

“Howdy-do, New Appleloosa,” Rita shouted loudly as she strode in through the swinging doors as confidently as her limp would let her.

All eyes stared at her either with either amusement or suspicion. She gave them all a smile. “I just flew into town and boy are my wings tired,” Rita said stretching out her wings. “Ya know, because I literally flew here. With my wings. This isn’t a joke, they’re really tired.”

Rita reared back, putting most her weight on her right leg, and clapped her talons together. “Anyhoo, I’m here offering employment to a lucky pony. Now, how many of you like caps?”

Hats were pushed up, chairs scooted as ponies turned towards the loud griffon; one of the stallions on the floor above gave her a whistle. Rita gave that pony a wink. “I see that’s most of you. Now how many of you would be willing to rid Equestria of a few mean-ol raiders and join me on a fantastic adventure to recover some very important historical documents in exchange for said caps?”

Many ponies turned away and went back to what they were doing before the interruption. Those still paying attention to Rita stood up; some took out either guns or other types of weapons to show off.

“Excellent,” Rita squealed. “So many socially conscious citizens!”

Rita held up a talon and waved it at the assembling crowd. “Two things though, that few raiders is actually about thirty or so raiders and the caps I’m offering will come from whatever you can get from them. All yours either to keep or to sell. Oh, and I get a twenty-five percent cut, since finders fee and all. Oh hey, that’s three things!”

Most of the crowd of ponies dispersed as Rita spoke, some grumbled insults at her as they went past. One pony, an exceptionally large stallion with a grizzled beard and a bandana, made it a point to bang into her as he walked past and sat down at a nearby table.

“That’s fine,” she said to the passing ponies. “I know that such a daunting task is not for everyone. There’s absolutely no shame in being a scaredy-pants who goes to sleep crying and sucking their hoof, none at all.”

Two ponies remained standing in front Rita, she eyed them both over carefully. One was an earth pony with a long ragged mane and a patch over his left eye. He had a heavy-looking revolver strapped to his side, a cigarette on his lips, and a cockatrice tattoo on his neck. The other was a unicorn with most of her mane shaved off save for a few wisps of blonde hair at the front and several small bandages on her face. She wore what looked to be a military uniform from the war. The uniform was full of bullet holes and more recently applied decals; she had a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and double-barreled repeater-rifle strapped to her back.

Rita clicked her tongue as she tapped the side of her beak. “Hmmm, you both look really tough and cool and all.” Rita smiled and scrunched up her eyes. “I’m just so bad at making decisions, I just want to take both of you and keep you all to myself.” She followed with a laugh that neither joined.

Pointing a talon at both, Rita’s eyes lit up. “Tie breaker question time.” She looked at the ground, scratching her chin as she muttered rapidly to herself. “I got it,” she announced after several seconds of deliberation.

With a raised brow and a coy smile, Rita asked, ”Do either of you,” she paused dramatically, “think I’m pretty? Now if you both do, and I wouldn’t blame you, then you can tell me how pretty you think I am and then I’ll pick the winner.”

The two ponies looked at Rita, then at each other. Without a word spoken, they turned and walked back to the bar. Rita watched them go with a trembling lower beak and her eyes shrink wrapped in tears.

“That’s so mean,” she sniffled.

With slumped shoulders and a lump in her throat, Rita brought up her PipBuck and looked up other nearby settlements. She nearly jumped when she felt a hoof come to a rest on her butt. She looked over and saw a drunkenly smiling unicorn, struggling to stand. He was an average height for a stallion, with an olive coat and a mess of an auburn mane. His face and body were crisscrossed in an obscene number of scars, and he even had a chunk missing out of his horn. He wore a simple red sweater with roughly repaired saddlebags on his hips.

“I kill raiders,” he announced proudly. A bit more quietly, he added, “You say something about killing ‘em for pay?”

A smile slowly spread across Rita’s face. “I prefer to talk business over drinks,” Rita batted her eyes. “Buy me one?”

“Sure,” he said distractedly. The unicorn was staring down at her twitching tail, more specifically at where the tail met her backside. 

“You’re so sweet,” Rita cooed. 

She headed for the bar and the unicorn’s hoof slipped off; he staggered at the loss of his perch. About two steps later she felt something warm and wet around her tail. She looked back to find his lips around the tuft of her tail, grinning back at her as if it were perfectly normal. She shrugged and led him to the bar. 

When they had arrived, she put her talons up on the counter and lifted herself onto her hind legs, very briefly coming to eye level before she turned and leaned back against the bar. The scar covered-stallion unceremoniously draped himself against the bar, settling like melted wax. A handful of caps floated out of the unicorn’s bags. Rita snatched the floating caps and slapped them on the counter. 

She twisted her neck back and called to the bartender. “Raspberry Ricky over here. You’re gonna need three ounces of raspberries, an ounce of lime juice—”

Clink!

The bartender dropped martini glass containing the rosey drink by Rita’s relaxed claw.

“Now that’s service!” she said with an appreciative smile. 

Rita grabbed the glass in one claw and dug into her vest with the other. She pulled a small paper umbrella and unfolded it before plonking it in the glass while the unicorn watched her with a dazed awe. Two empty bottles of whiskey had mysteriously appeared next to him.

“You a slave?” he blurted, reaching out to touch her collar.

“Do I look like a slave?” Rita asked back, giving him another dose of eye lashes and running her talons over her puff of exposed chest feathers.

The unicorn fell silent for a time, as if in deep contemplation. “Kinda,” he said, scratching his chin.

Rita blinked twice, not breaking her flirtatious expression. “Well I’m not,” she said simply and took a gulp of her drink. “Refreshing. Now, onto business. Do you have any weapons?”

“I got, uh, a bunch of knives,” he said slowly as a series of different types of blades floated from one of his bags. He tapped different spots of his body concealed by his sweater, each tap made a metal clinking noise.

“I also got a bunch hidden all over here,” he explained.

Rita nodded and rubbed under her chin. “Hmm, yes I see. Do you have a gun?”

“Sure do.” The pony grinned in a way that Rita was almost sure he meant to be flirtatious. A rusty nine millimeter pistol floated out of the same bag as the knives. There were chips and minor dents all over the body.

Chewing the corner of her mouth, Rita asked, “Does it, ya know, shoot?”

“It was shooting just fine last month.” The pony curled his lip at her tone as he put the gun back. The unicron’s ears perked up as he added, “I got buncha grenades and stuff too.” His saddlebags glowed faintly and a single object floated from within: a metal pin. “Whoops.”

Rita inhaled sharply, eyes wide, and the unicorn burst out laughing. “I’m just fucking with you,” he chuckled, putting the pin back. “Haven’t made that kinda mistake in months.”

Tapping his chest with a talon, Rita looked the unicorn in the eyes and gave him a wry smile. “One last question. How do you feel about Sweetie Belle?”

“I can’t stand that whiny bitch,” he said with a disgusted sneer.

Rita stared at the unicorn for a long pause. He uncomfortably looked from side to side. She turned towards him and wrapped her forelimbs around his neck in a tight hug.

“You’re perfect,” Rita cried. She reached up and ruffled his already tangled mane. “Welcome to the team buddy!”

“Hey, what were some of the other things you said earlier?” he slurred. “I kinda blacked out a little I think.” 

“Oh, nothing important.” Rita leaned back so he could see her face. She touched a talon to the puff of feathers that were pushed out of her shirt’s collar. “I’m Paharita, but you can call me Rita. Nice to meet cha.”

The drunken pony reached out a forehoof and rubbed it on her beak. “Good knowing you, Paw Rita. My name’s...” He stopped suddenly and looked down with an intense, focused expression. “Shit.” He stamped his hoof. “I knew it this morning.”

The bearded pony that had knocked into Rita earlier began laughing and pounding his hoof against the table. “Oh great escort you got there, birdie. I just wish I could see the look on your face when that drunken loser tosses you to the raiders and bolts to save his own cut-up ass.”

The scarred unicorn turned away from Rita and stepped over to the much larger pony. The bearded pony stood up. “You got something to say, tough guy?” he asked as he loomed over the unicorn.

The unicorn turned to walk away. The other pony laughed and looked back at his table-mates. That was when the unicorn reared, striking under the large pony’s chin with both forehooves. The big pony barely had time to blink before the unicon brought his hooves back down on top of the bearded pony’s bandana covered skull. His jaw struck the table’s surface and both cracked.

The unicorn spat on the downed pony. “Yeah, fuck you too!” he shouted. He turned back to Rita, and she realized he was smiling. His smile wild and dangerous. “And that’s my fucking name.”

Rita curled the corner of her mouth and tilted her head to the side. “Kick-kick?”

The pony on the ground stirred and the unicorn stomped on his face twice. “Double Tap,” the violent unicorn grunted.

ka-chick

From behind the bar, the dapper barkeep produced a shotgun. Tap glared at the pony, but didn’t move. Rita made quick work of her drink and moved slowly, but steadily, away from the vicinity where the gun was aimed.

The bartender spoke clearly and calmly. “Young ‘un, that was your last warning. You and your loud little griffon pal best get. And I don’t want to see either of you here again until you have the caps to pay for that table and his face.”

Double Tap sneered at the bartender and turned his backside towards him. He gave his tail a crack as he walked to the door. “Eh, this place is a shithole anyway. Come on, Parrita.”

Rita turned to the bartender who aimed the gun square at her forehead. “Thanks ever so much for the drink,” she said hastily. She dropped the glass to the floor and hurried after Tap, catching him just as he went out the door.

Dusk in New Appleloosa was cool and quiet. The train cars that encircled the town killed much of the wind and cut off the view of the surrounding plains. There were no stars to be seen in the cloud-locked skies and the lights in town were spread thin.

Double Tap stared off in the distance, towards the open gate way of the town. He turned to Rita, his eyes looking lost and irritated. “Where are we going again?”

With a smile who’s sparkle made up for the absent stars, Rita threw one forelimb over Double Tap’s neck and pointed a talon off to the horizon. “To adventure, Tap-y Tap. Let’s not leave it waiting!”


--[         ]--


Bat. Low.

> Sex, Blood, and Bottlecaps
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


~~~|*/\*|~~~





Sometimes I envy you, Mr. Recorder.


Why is that, Empress?


Because you’re not alive.


Oh dear, is something wrong?


You see, you’re just an object, nothing can actually hurt you. Heck, you’re a genuine Applejack product, you can and have survived a Megaspell being dropped on you. But it’s not really your durability I’m envious of. It’s that you never get scared.


I get scared.


I’m scared now. It’s a very nasty world out there.


Is it really such a nasty world out there?


Nastier than you can ever dream.


Hey now, I was in a war.


Yeah, but war sorta has rules and safe zones. There were places in Equestria that were never touched by the war physically until the Megaspells hit. But here, if you go to the bathroom without a gun, they’d say it was your own fault if you got killed or whatever.


On top of that, there’s monsters out there. They’ll attack you from up above or beneath, with nasty jaws and claws and teeth.


Is that why you’re scared, is something out there? Is that why you’re whispering?


No, I’m whispering because everyone’s asleep, doi.


What’s got me rattled is... I know I haven’t got a chance on my own. I mean, I can talk circles around nearly anyone, but if the doodie hits the fan, all I can do is scream and hide. I can’t even really run any more!


For the last several years, I’ve profited by getting those stronger than me to fight my fights with all their fighty-ness. And I’ve always known that it’s bad out there. I’m not dumb.


Of course not, you’re smart and beautiful and—


Kiss my fuzzy butt later, I’m trying to make a point.


I’m saying, I know it’s dangerous and scary and I’m always an unlucky toss from being just another sexy skeleton in the wasteland, but that’s no reason to be depressed. I mean, there’s a lot of fun to be had out here.


You gotta be a little crazy, sure, but if I’m still alive I’m going to try to enjoy every second of it that I’m not hiding from some crazy tentacle monster. I’m out there, ya know, fooling around with ponies, learning crazy factoids about the MM’s, designing weapons and stuff.


But that stuff is just what you do to fill the day. You need something more, I need something more. You need a goal, a dream, something to keep you getting up day after terrifying day. A purpose.


I see. So why are you scared?


I don’t know what I need anymore.



~~~|*/\*|~~~







Chapter This - Sex and Violence






--[///]--


The narrow open passage of the cave loomed in front of Rita and Double Tap like the mouth of a great serpent. Rita stood behind Tap and nervously played with the zipper of her flak vest. The wound on her hind left seemed to flare up.

Rita spoke quickly, not taking her eyes off the cave. "Ya know, on second thought, maybe we should skip the cave. Just head on and get the job done without any time wasted. I'm sure they'll have much more comfortable places to rest in town after you kill all the raiders."

At a glacial speed, Tap turned to face Rita. "We have been walking all night and by 'we' I mean 'me' since you were either flying or riding on my back. Now you're saying you want me to walk into a town full of raiders and kill them all before I’ve even had lunch?"

"Well of course it sounds bad when you say it that way," Rita said with a shrug.

"Get fucked, feather-face," Tap said and descended into the cave, his horn lighting up in the darkness.

Rita watched him go with gritted teeth. With her wings spread and ready for flight, she waited. Tap's hoofsteps became fainter and fainter until they were gone.

"Fucking hell," Tap shouted. "What the fuck happened here?!"

Rita sighed with a smile and brushed at her head feathers. She figured if Tap was still alive to be surprised, then a big, angry, bleeding, armored—did she mention big and angry—pony wasn't waiting for her inside. She entered the cave with a light step and humming a little tune.

"What?" Rita called down, all smiles. "Is there a messy, jacked-up corpse in here?"

"No," Tap called back. "But something sure got beat to shit and back."

Rita's smile was gone. So was Iron Stag. There was every sign of what had taken place; scorch marks on the floor and ceiling, blood everywhere blood could conceivably be thrown, and even bits of metal and bone, but no body or blood trail leading out.

"So," Rita began casually as she shined her PipBuck in the deep shadows, looking for a mutilated, murderous marauder, "You ponies don't, I dunno, disintegrate on death now? Like that isn't some new thing that you're all into? Disintegrating?"

Tap was in the middle of taking a hearty swig from his canteen. He stopped and looked at her with a curled lip and cocked eye. "What the bibbledy-fuck are you yapping about?"

Rita laughed far too loudly. "Oh you know, things not being where they're supposed to and maybe being somewhere else and hating you. Are there any nasty, horrible animals that could devour as much meat as could be found in, let's say for the sake of argument, a large pony? And would these animals then take the bones and any other items in the area to build a nest with? That happens right? Butterflies totally do that, right?"

"I am way too sober for this shit," Tap muttered as he floated the water bottle back into his saddlebag and replaced it with a bottle of whiskey.

"What's gotten into you anyway?" he asked before downing a generous portion of the bottle. "I hardly hear a word out of you all day, I hardly even see you with you constantly flying off to check ahead and behind us, and now you're squawking like a fucking chicken with a stick up its ass."

With a huff, Rita stamped over to Tap and put a talon under his chin. "I'll have you know, all that 'flying off' ensured that we avoided four ant hills, seven giant scorpions, a good half dozen grumpy raiders, the entire Piranha tribe, and a very confused and trigger happy robot." Rita dropped her talon. "Also your 'chicken' and 'feather-face' remarks were very racist and hurtful."

Tap looked down at her very stern face with tears standing in her eyes and he burst out laughing. "Oh come the fuck on," he chortled. "That's a pile of bullshit and you know it."

With a blink, the tears were gone and Rita rolled her eyes. "Hmph. Be that way then." She said sourly. Like a flipped switch, her sunny smile returned and she raised a talon in the air. "But I did help you avoid some scary looking raider guys a few hours back."

Tap sneered and took another swig. "You should have let them attack. Would have given me something to fucking do."

Rita waved her talon dismissively, "While I'd love to see you try to stab someone trying to shoot you with a long range rifle, I really didn't want to have to hire a third mark for this job."

"What was that?" Tap asked as the bottle popped from his lips.

"I said, I don't want to hire another merc—"

"Whatever," Tap belched. "I thought you hired me to kill raiders and now you're trying to say, what, that I'm not good enough to take on six?"

Rita sat down and rocked back onto hind lings, steepling her talons in front of her beak. "No, I hired you to kill some specific raiders at a specific location and I'm providing you with intel and and an eye in the sky to help you get the drop on them. You can get yourself killed trying to show the wasteland what a tough guy you are by trying to stab bullets out of the air or whatever on your own time."

Double Tap grunted and proceed to magically push all the bloodied dirt and dust off against the wall. Since her sour faced companion didn't say anything back, Rita declared herself the winner of the discussion as she happily pranced to remains of her old campfire. From her bag, she pulled the sticks she'd collected during the trip and made a pile.

"Spark it, big guy," Rita said with a wink.

Tap's chipped horn glowed as he retrieved a book of matches from his pocket, striking one against a rock and tossed it into the kindling. He floated off his saddlebags and sat them by the growing fire, then he unceremoniously sat down on top of them with his eyes towards entrance, keeping his pistol by his side. Rita dropped her bag next to him and flopped down with her hind legs stretch toward the fire.

A magical glow enveloped Tap’s saddlebags, and a cloth feedbag floated from within. The scarred unicorn fastened it to his face. Rita cocked a brow as she idly watched him chew the bag’s contents, until a gurgle from her belly pulled her away.

After digging into the bag under her rump, Rita pulled out a clear plastic bag containing strips of meat, she quickly skewered them on a  nearby stick. Licking her beak, Rita pulled out the kebab and held it over the fire.

“What’s that you got there,” Tap asked from behind his feedbag.

“The best kinda meat in Equestria,” Rita sighed, eyeing the smoking bits as the natural greases dripped off. Satisfied that they were cooked enough, Rita ripped a piece from the stick and chewed slowly. Her entire body shivered in ecstasy and a slight moan escaped her as she held off swallowing.

“Sounds good,” Tap said, shifting on his haunches and noticeably squeezing his knees together. “Trade you some oats for a couple pieces,” Tap offered, hopefully.

Finally swallowing, Rita looked over to Tap. She thought about the effort she had gone to stripping the meat from her former partner's severed leg and how long it might be until she got her claws on some more pony meat. She shrugged and yanked off two slivers of meat, figuring she could do without if it meant more trust from her partner. Tap tipped his head back and pulled the feed bag open with his magic, dumping a mouthful into Rita's open claw. He tipped his head back down and she dropped the cooked pony bits down the side.

Rita downed her oats and Tap chewed on his new meaty treat, both of them mmming their approval. Not long after, the remains of Iron Stag had gone to their second-to-final resting place and Tap was straining his tongue to find more oats. In short order Tap's bag was put away and Rita's bloodied stick was tossed in the fire, leaving the pair in an awkward silence.

"So tell me, Double Tap." Rita tugged her vest’s collar loose as she spoke. "Is that your real name? Sounds a bit too cool for a stupid pony name. No offense"

"I answer to it," he grunted. "It's real enough."

Rita chewed the corner of her mouth gave a harumph. She did not relent.

"So where you from?"

"Outside this cave."

"Any family?"

"Probably not."

"You got a girlfriend?"

"Fuck off."

"Boyfriend?"

"Fuck off."

“You got a goatfriend?”

“Fu— Wait, what?”

"What do you do for fun?"

Tap sucked his whiskey bottle dry and replaced it with another. Rita took that as his most honest and open answer so far.  She tapped the side of her beak and decided to switch tactics.

“So who’s your favorite Ministry Mare?”

"Who?"  Tap asked, popping the cork of his latest whiskey bottle. "Oh right, those old, dead broads you see on posters and shit with those stupid fucking slogans."  He sat quietly in deep contemplation.

"I'd fuck the one with the hair," he said finally.

"Oh wow, me too," Rita chirped. "I just bet that hair feels so-"

"Brap!" Tap belched loudly.

Tap pulled a knife from his sleeve with his mouth. He tossed his head back, releasing the blade in to the air and watched it twirl before catching it in his magic. Rita watched him continue in his knife play. He balanced the handle of blade on one forehoof and passed it the other. She got bored of it quickly.

"So how did you get those scars," she chirped, causing him to drop his knife.

"I got shot," he said with an edge of aggravation in his voice.

"Oh yeah,” Rita chimed in merrily, “that's the worst," 

Silence followed on both sides. Rita watched the fire light play over her painted talons and Tap swallowed another mouthful of whiskey.

Rita grabbed her paws and rocked back and forth. "So, do you want to bump uglies?" Rita asked, not breaking her rocking rhythm.

The mouthful of whiskey Double Tap spat erupted into a rather impressive fireball. Rita took the moment of increased lighting to admire her painted hind nails.

"You wanna repeat that?" he choked.

"Well," she exaggerated the movements of her tongue as she spoke. "I'm bored, it's been a long couple of days, you're a lousy conversationalist, and neither of us has a deck of cards. So..." Rita tugged down the zipper of her vest and shrugged her shirt down her back. "Unless you have a better idea..."

Tap was on her without another word. Rita squawked as they both tumbled backwards to the earthen floor of the cave. He started kissing right on the corner of her mouth, sliding in his tongue and finding her own. His tongue was smoother and wetter than hers, both were plenty mobile and lengthy enough to explore the whole of each other's mouth, tracing the strange landscapes of their teeth.

Rita crawled her talons under Tap's sweater, feeling his heartbeat against her palms. Her claw slid out from under his collar and she began caressing the front and sides of his neck. She broke away from the kiss, his tongue sliding out of her mouth wetly, and she ran her beak over his newly exposed chest.

"You're a good griffon smoocher," Rita cooed between nibbles. "Most ponies have to ask first. Experience?"

"Good imagination," he panted, burying his face in the top of head, inhaling her scent.

From under the tangle of Tap's sweater, Rita's claw slid down. Still kissing and biting his chest, she groped blindly for the object of her desires. She found him already stiff and engorged, and she started moving him into her.

Without warning, he slipped from her grasp and went sliding down her leg. Tap gave a sly grin as he went on down. He kissed down her neck and and chest.

"No need to be polite," Rita whined as his dick got further away. "Really, I'm already ready already, you can stick it in whenever."

"Who said I was doing this for you,"  he whispered before trailing his tongue to her belly. His lips wrapped around one of her nipples and he looked back up at her.

"And do you really want me to stop?" He asked, each move of his lips tickled her tit, sending shivers up Rita's spine.

Rita's toes curled, nails scratching at the air, as Tap began to lightly nibble. Her eyes rolled back and she mumbled, “No, you can just keep doing what you’re doing...”

All six nipples were given special attention before Tap moved his mouth lower. Rita was writhing in anticipation, her claws rubbing hard against her own face and neck. She felt his breath between her hind legs, he held his nose just over her and breathed deep.

Patience gone, Rita wrapped her ankles around behind Tap's head and pulled, arching her back slightly. He didn't resist. His muzzle ground into her and his tongue slid deep.

Coos became gasps as Tap tended to her, gently but thoroughly. She reached down and squeezed his ears, kneading them between her talons. He slid his hooves from her  paws up her legs.

Rita's little noises turned into a single sharp cry of pain as Tap's hoof went over her still fresh gunshot wound.

Tap yanked his head away. "Shit! Sorry!" His hoof receded and he looked to her. "Fuck, that was stupid of me... did I reopen it? Do you need some potion?"

Rita readied her paws to kick him back with a biting comment, but stopped. Tap's eyes were wide and searching, his teeth were clenched, and his ears were plastered to his skull; he was genuinely concerned.

There was a grin on Rita's face as she put a claw on his cheek. She slid her claw from his face, down his neck and shoulder, to his right foreleg. She grabbed his hoof and lead it gently to her bandaged leg, directing it to her wound and then slowly pushing down. Her breath came in hisses through her clenched teeth and she dug her talons into Tap's fetlock. He only stared as she reached out a talon and touched it to his nose. She pushed firmly and he followed down below her belly until his muzzle disappeared between her hind legs.

Tap's eyes peered over the small furry hill of Rita's belly and stayed fixed on her own. He watched as he applied more pressure to her leg. She watched him in turn as she dug her talons deeper. All the while, he worked his tongue.

Rita's talon had half vanished into the meat of his legs by the time she was panting in pain of her own. With a cry she pulled her bloodied talons from Tap's legs and pushed his hoof away.

"You win," she panted.

After one final, slow lick across the nub of Rita's clit, Tap raised his head. He licked his lips clean as he sat up, giving his bleeding legs no heed.

"What do I win?" he asked with a slow smile.

Rita's smile was all teeth as she lurched forward. With a firm push against his shoulders, Tap rolled from his haunches, onto his back. Her palms flattened against both hind hooves and splayed them wide, eyeing his erection hungrily. She curled back and sprang between his legs, straddling his belly when she landed, her claws on his chest. 

Tap stared up at Rita before busying himself kissing her wrists. She raised herself up and ran the puff of her tail along the underside of his shaft, then she scooted back and rested her tail lightly on top of his dick, lowering herself. When the head touched her sex, she let her tongue loll out and out until it hung against her neck. Achingly slow, she slid down his length.

Once she came to a rest with him entirely inside her, Rita leaned her head down and flicked her tongue across Tap’s lips. He pushed his face towards hers, but she leaned back swiftly and pressed her palm against his throat. She raised herself back up to the top of his flare, leaving his cock shining in her juices.

This time, as Rita slid down, Tap bucked his hips up. Rita cried out before bringing her beak to his mouth. He hastily kissed up her beak to the soft flesh of her nostrils before she pulled away and went back up.

The rules were set and the games began. Rita would lock eyes with Tap and slide down faster and harder. Tap was only allowed to move his hips and face, but had to keep his neck still. Each thrust, he’d kiss somewhere else; the underside of her jaw, between her eyes, using his tongue he was even able to catch her by the headfeathers and yank her down to get the top of her head.

Each time, Rita came down harder, until she was slamming down on top of him. She didn’t have much weight, but the base of her tail knocked straight in between his balls. He didn’t react beyond grunting with each thrust. 

As her slams got faster, the intervals Tap had to kiss her got shorter. When Rita pulled away too fast for him to do more than graze her cheek, she saw determination in his eyes. The next descent, he broke from under her claw and wrapped both forehooves around the back of her neck, holding her tight. They both rocked their hips as fast as they could while they kissed with increased fervor.

Tap jammed his muzzle into Rita’s open beak. His nose was scratched by the points her teeth, but he pressed on so that his tongue plunged into her throat. Her eyes went wide, with his tongue pushing into her throat and his dick deep inside her, she could do nothing but to react his every move. His hooves were rough against the back of her neck and she found herself crying inexplicably. He paused when a tear spattered against his face, but she held him tight, squeezing her hind legs and gripping him behind the ears.

The pair rocked in sync, getting more frenzied. Rita’s teeth dug further into Tap’s muzzle as her talons scratched his scalp. The nails of her hind paws were embedded firmly into his haunches. The pressure became too much, and Rita pushed tap’s mouth away from hers and she let out a long screech. They came together, the combined fluids seeped from Rita’s sore privates and down Tap’s belly as she pulled away.

With a heavy, contented sigh, Rita collapsed against Tap. He slowly took his hooves from around her neck and put one under her beak. He lifted her face up slightly and kissed the tear-slicked feathers under her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

Rita sighed and reached her claw between them, slathering it with the sticky mess she found. Breathing heavy, she slid her tongue over her palm and each talon. Finally, she looked at Tap in the eyes. She crawled forward, hugged his head, and whispered into his ear.

“That was a really, really good first round.”


--[ //]--


Lying flat on the cliff just outside of the crumbling town, Tap and Rita watched through the same pair of binoculars. Down below, they saw ponies in armor made of thrown-together scrap metal patrolling the streets in the late afternoon light. Some wore bits of ponies around their waist. One was using the open mouth of a severed head as an ammo tote. All were well armed; pistols, shotguns, rifles, and even a flamethrower were held aloft in angry mouths or floating in a unicorn's levitation.

Rita turned and punched Tap lightly on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, killer!"

After a few seconds of glaring, Tap replied, "I’m thinking I shouldn’t attack a force that outnumbers me thirty to one in broad daylight. I work nights, using the shadows, not being shot in the face. That sort of thing."

"So what do we do until then?" she asked with a wink and a grin.

"Go fly around and see if they're moving in any sort of pattern, also see if you can spot any nasty surprises from the air," Tap whispered. He pulled the binoculars over both eyes. "I'll see what I can see from here."

With a disappointed sigh, Rita deflated and slowly scuttled back from the cliffs edge. With a flap of her wings and a small hop, she was airborne. Circling, she pounded her wings for altitude until she was all but touching the cloud layer. Only then did she begin her fly over of the nearby, occupied town.

"One nice thing about the cloud layer," Rita chirped to herself, "don't have to worry about throwing down a shadow." She kissed her palm and slapped it against the nearest cloud. "Thanks, pega-sisies."

On the streets, the raiders scurried like ants. Well armed ants that scurried very slowly. Boring ants, Rita concluded finally.

The raiders patrol pattern could be summed up as: walk up the street, turn around, and walk back down. They'd obviously been in control of the area for so long that they no longer expected any form of resistance. Rita had a brief arial freakout when she saw a rifle barrel poking out by a hole in the only tall standing building, a hotel from the looks of it, but a fly-by revealed the sniper was sound asleep.

Her interest waning and hours to go before sundown, Rita turned to her PipBuck. Using the graph function, she began coming up with mathematical equations that formed doodles of herself wearing various fashionable hats. After careful calculations, she determined that fedoras were far too casual, sun hats made her look old, and that she looked drop-dead gorgeous in a flapper hat.

After killing an hour with that, Rita's focus shifted to two raiders in the wheat field behind restaurant. To be exact, her attention was drawn to what they were doing in the wheat field. With a wicked smile, Rita grabbed a hunk of cloud and tore it loose. Slowly, she pushed the chunk closer down, stopping well above the eye line of the anyone in the hotel.

Making herself comfy on her little couch in the sky, Rita watched the two raiders go. They were both stallions and Rita could tell right away that this was not just a casual hook up; it was very intimate.

Using two talons, Rita poked a hole through her little cloud mattress and she laid on her belly. With one eye on the hole and two claws between her hind legs, she watched.

The one on top had a dark brown, stringy mane that fell over his pale gray face. He was kissing the neck of a pale blue unicorn with a spiked, green mane. The earth pony worked his hooves across the unicorn’s sides and they disappeared under his belly. The unicorn moaned and turned, looking back over his shoulder to kiss his lover.

"I love you so fuckin' much," he said after breaking the kiss.

The earth pony raised his eyebrow. "Is that the best you can do for romance?" He deepened his voice and unfocused his eyes. "Aw yeah I love it when you touch my penis and stuff."

"Hey, fuck you," the unicorn said bitterly. "You told me you like the dirty talk—"

The unicorn stopped talking and moaned as his dick was caressed by the unkempt fetlock of the other stallion. Rita was panting along with him.

"I'm teasing you," the earth pony hissed  into the unicorn's ear. "But if you want me to cut to the chase..."

The earth pony pulled his hips back slowly, dragging his erection against the unicorn's. Rita chewed her shirt collar to keep quiet as the earth pony thrust into the unicorn. 


--[  /]--


Humming a jaunty nursery rhyme about how to cook ponies, Rita circled in for a landing well away from the cliff where Double Tap was pacing impatiently. She made sure to have what drearily passed for sunset to be at her back because she thought it made her look cooler.

"What did you find out?" Tap demanded as soon she touched down.

"Oh hi, Rita," Rita replied in a light, conversational voice. "I'm glad to see that you weren't shot out of the sky and brutalized by the nasty criminals." Rita stepped sideways and looked over to where she was a moment prior, she gave a short curtsy. "Why thank you Mr. Tap, your concern is appreciated."

Tap screwed up his face and rubbed his forehead with a hoof. "Are you crazy? I mean, really crazy?"

Rita looked over to the unicorn and her feathers and fur bristled. "I'm saying that a little politeness would be appreciated. We're working together."

With a snort, Tap answered back. "You want politeness, hire a hooker. I just shoot ponies." With a magical flick, he tossed Rita her binoculars and she fumbled to catch them. "Now what did you see?"

Sourly, Rita smacked a couple buttons on her PipBuck and held out her forelimb for him to see. "Their patrol pattern is boring and stupid and I hate it."

"The fuck am I looking at?" he asked and tapped on the PipBuck's monitor.

Rita brought the computer in front of her face and giggled. "Oh, that's me in a fancy hat." She pushed a button below the screen and the image changed. "And this is me in a bowler hat. And this is me in a stetson. Oh and these are some gay raiders, or gayders, I saw doing it in the wheat field. Look! I gave them a baby! Note the foal-skull rattle."

Tap had stopped looking at the screen and was staring at Rita with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. "You do remember that you hired me to kill these assholes, right?"

"Duh," Rita said sticking out her tongue. Her eyes lit up and she clicked two talons together. "Hey! Do you think you could kill both of them together and like, lay them together? It'd be so romantic!"

"Lady," Tap said shaking his head, "you are fucking sick."

Tap's horn glowed, ensnaring Rita's PipBuck and he yanked it from her forelimb. Floating it in front of his face, he pushed random buttons until it switched back to the actual maps and charts Rita made. He stared at the patrol patterns, clicking back and forth between pictures.

"Rude," Rita snapped, snatching the device from his magic field with both claws.

Trotting over to the cliff, Tap took a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. "Okay, I've got it. Run some numbers for me."

"Beg pardon," Rita said as she slid her PipBuck on to her right forelimb. "What numbers?"

"My odds of success," Tap nickered.

"Oh," Rita stared at a spot somewhere behind Tap. "Right. The numbers. Let me do that."

Shuffling, Rita turned her back to Tap. She chewed the corner of her mouth and pushed random buttons on her PipBuck. "Beep," she said out of the corner of her mouth. "Beep-boop. Boop. Beep."

With a shaky thumbs-up and a too-wide smile, Rita faced Tap. "Numbers are good. Real good. Go get 'em."

Tap's smiled the same kind of smile a timberwolf would give a cute little bunny. "Time to go to work."

He waved his hoof down at Rita. “You stay here, out of sight.” He stared out at the town. “Some of them have rifles and you’re a griffon with pink glow-in-the-dark nail polish.”

“You noticed!” Rita squealed, wiggling her pink painted talons and toe nails.

Tap looked disturbed as he looked back at Rita. “Yeah, you’re not coming with me. I’ll whistle for you when the area’s clear.”

“Pbth!” Rita raspberried. “Anypony can whistle, you just put your lips together and blow.” Rita reached into a shirt pocket and withdrew a small silver cylinder. “Here, take this and flash it back over here when you’re done. It’s a laser sight thingy-do, so I’ll be able to see it even way out here.”

The laser pointer was enveloped by Tap’s magic and hovered into his bags. He nodded and started down the incline. Something tensed inside Rita. She didn’t really count on him making it back, but she wanted him to have a chance, she figured he had earned that. Also, more dead raiders made it easier for her.

“Hey, D.T.!” she hissed. He stopped and she hustled over to him, pulling out an inhaler from her shirt with her beak. She tossed it and it spun in the air towards him before coming to a stop in his levitation field. “Take this, too. It’s Dash. It speeds up your perception and stuff. Might help level the playing field if it gets rough.”

“I know what Dash is,” he bristled. “I’m an adult!” He floated into his saddlebags and turned away. “Thanks.”

“Remember, there’s a lot more of them than you,” Rita said to the back of his head as he descended. “You should try playing this quietly!”

Rita watched him go, silently galloping down into the ruin of a town. He slipped into the shadows of the rubble and alleyways. Rita sincerely believed he'd kill a lot of them before he died. She just hoped it'd be enough for her to slip in during the confusion.

Through the binoculars, Rita saw Tap climb up through the collapsed section of the hotel and disappear through one of the more intact rooms. Almost a minute later, the nearest sentry on the road ambled by, obviously drunk or stoned. Rita felt her cautious optimism rising, they were complacent. Tap was no Iron Stag, but judging from the scars, he could take some punishment. So long as he was quiet, she figured he could do a lot of damage before he was brought down.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

Rita jerked her binoculars to the side in time to see a free-falling pony splatter across the pavement. She flicked her eyes up in time to see Tap before he vanished away from the window, looking quite proud.

"So much for playing it quiet," Rita muttered to herself.

A half dozen sentries ran to the front of the hotel, gathering around the chunky salsa that used to be their sniper. She only barely noticed the small, round objects that landed in the middle of them. The explosion that followed, however, was hard to miss.

Rita's beak fell open and her neck slumped. The entire population of the town was flooding into the streets and headed straight for the hotel in a river of little lights, all screaming and taking pot shots at the open window. Almost half the mob kicked the front door to splinters and charged inside.

"Well, there's confusion alright," Rita griped, shoving her binoculars inside her vest. "But they're so worked up, that they'll probably scour the town for any others after they kill you, you jerk.” She threw her bag over her shoulder and it slapped hard against her back. “Thanks for sticking to the plan!"

An explosion inside the hotel drew Rita’s attention. She glanced over her shoulder, her wings already spread for flight. She saw Double Tap leap off the ledge from the half-collapsed section of the third floor. She starred in mute shock as he landed on a bed on the second floor. He bounced straight to his hooves and found cover in the rubble.

Rita sat back down slowly and took out her binoculars.

A line of four raiders marched into the blown open side of the building where Tap was hiding. Rita reached into her duffel bag and pulled out a claw full of oats she had swiped from Tap’s saddlebag earlier. She munched them as she watched Tap fall in step behind the raiders.

Two of them fell without a sound, their throats cut. The third must have made some noise, because the fourth turned around and sprayed with a machine gun. Tap used the third raider’s body as a shield and chucked a knife at the last raider’s forehead, burying it to the hilt. The earth pony died a unicorn. Rita almost choked, stifling her laugh.

Rita was transfixed now. She’d watch Tap disappear into the shadows and lure another raider in, then he’d come out alone. As this cycle repeated for the next hour, she actually forgot why she was there in the first place until he made his way to the restaurant. Her heart clenched in her chest: she had won.

Bullets blasted through the door and Tap jumped to the side. Rita screamed when Tap threw a grenade through a hole in the door. “Don’t hurt the comics, you bumbling—”

She didn’t get finish as the grenade was thrown right back out and she heaved a sigh of relief. Tap was less than thrilled to have his un-pinned grenade resting at his side and he gave it a magical kick into the air where it exploded harmlessly.

“It’d serve you right if you got blown up,” Rita muttered. “I said not to use explosives inside the restaurant, you dingus.”

Pressed against the wall, Tap pulled something out of his shirt. Rita zoomed in a little and saw that it was the Dash inhaler. He sucked it dry. And then he was gone.

Tap wasn’t really moving any faster, but was suddenly a lot more methodical in those movements. He went at the doorway high and from the left but ducked and went in low on the right side, bullets flying around him. Several shots followed, and then silence.

Rita held her breath, clutching the binoculars tight. She silently prayed that Tap had at least wounded the last raider before dying.

Rita noticed a tiny, red dot just to her right. Instinctively, she slapped at it with her claw, only for the dot to suddenly be on on the back of it. Slowly, it dawned on her what she was looking at. She turned her gaze to the roof and there he was. Tap stood on top of the restaurant, a smile on his face, and the laser pointer in his mouth like a cigar.

“Mine!” Rita shrieked and jumped from the cliff, her wings catching air.

Rita flew fast and low; a furry, feathery missile streaking towards the restaurant. She rolled back and flapped her wings hard to break her momentum right as she got to the doorway. She was careful only to the point of landing so her uninjured leg took the brunt of the impact.

Now grounded, Rita was running as fast as her limp would allow. She paid no mind to the pony by the concierge desk, lying on his side with his throat cut open. She turned sharply left into the 'treasure room'. 

When Rita had been casing the place a few weeks back, she'd seen shelves full of food and medicines. More importantly, there were wire racks along the wall and a turnstile in the middle of the room. All of them had held glossy comics with different pictures of Rainbow Dash on the cover. There was even several life-sized cardboard standees of the heroic pony in various poses.

This was not what Rita saw when she entered the room.

"No," Rita whimpered. Her teeth were clenched and her tail dragged as she surveyed the damage.

The wire racks were heaped in the corner, torn apart and made into an impromptu gun-rack. The books were gone. There was the remains of a large bonfire, tiny pieces of paper showing bits of rainbow maned pegasus were all that remained. Even more horrifying was what she saw in the corner; the raiders had been using that part of the room as a toilet. There were torn pages in the filth, ruined beyond any chance of recovery.

The remains of the front door creaked as Tap pushed them open. "Raiders are dead," he said dully.

Rita turned and stormed past him into the main dining area.

"I'm fine, by the way," Tap called after her grumpily.

Grabbing a clawful of mane, Rita jerked the dead raider's face up to her her eye-level. She shook the raider as she yelled into his face.

"Do you have any idea what you've done!?" Rita shrieked. She dug her talons into the corpse's cheek, his tongue rolled out of his mouth. "You've taken an extremely valuable historical find and used it as toilet paper you evil, evil pony!" 

Something black leaked out of the hole in his throat and Rita threw him back down. His chin struck the floor hard and his teeth clicked shut, severing his tongue. Rita picked it up and used it to smack him in the face.

"This is your lying tongue," she shouted before shoving the bit of meat into her pocket. "I deny you it! You're a jerk and a creep and I'm sure your mother was very disappointed in your life choices!"

"Hey, they got some good shit in here," Tap shouted from the befouled gift shop.

Wiping the blood off her claws on the dead pony's shirt, Rita hurried back into shop. Maybe she'd overlooked something, she thought as she turned the corner. Her hopes were shattered at the sight of Tap loading up guns and pieces of body armor into a large bag.

Rita made a noise somewhere between a roar and a shriek as she dove at the nearest shelf. She slapped cans of food, both empty and full to the floor. There were coffee cans full of ammo magazines. She upended them and dumped them to the floor, then she rifled through medkits and threw them against the wall after finding only medicines.

"Hey, watch it, that's my pay!" Tap shouted.

Rita glared back and shrieked as she put all her weight against the shelf. It crashed to the floor, crushing potions and cans of food.

Tap burst out laughing. "That's coming out of your cut," he chuckled.

Shrieking and laughing, Rita ran to the next shelf. She once more threw the contents around the room, only half looking for the books. Her priority had become destruction. Again she pushed the shelf to the floor, all while Tap laughed and stamped his hooves approvingly.

"Why don't you check for a wall safe?" Tap asked in between fits of laughter. 

After throwing down four more shelves, Rita decided Tap's suggestion was the best idea ever.  Step one was to yank down everything hanging on the wall. Step two was tearing at the peeling wallpaper. Step three was tearing at the walls themselves. Finally, step four was crying because there wasn't anything thing behind the walls.

With a roar of frustration, Rita leapt at the last standing shelf off to the side of the room. She was no longer looking at what she threw to the ground, simply breaking things just to break them. The shelves empty, she put all her weight against the frame itself.

It refused to budge.

The last strand of stability snapped inside of the little griffon. Rita yanked her head feathers and slapped her tail against the floor. She jumped on the face of shelf and bucked her hips to pull it down.

"If that thing falls on you after you destroyed most of the medicine," Tap said, laughing so hard he had collapsed against the far wall.

His words were meaningless to the crazed griffon. She kicked the shelves with both paws at once, spreading her wings and flapping hard while tugging with her claws. It didn't move.

I'm not gonna get what I want here, Rita thought miserably. She arched her back as she heaved one last time, practically hanging upside down. If I can't even knock down a shelf, why do I think I have what it takes to topple—

Her thoughts were interrupted by her comic slipping from her vest and sliding open across her face. Slowly, Rita lowered herself to the floor, making sure the book stayed on her beak. She sat with her back against the shelf and her hind legs spread out in front of her.

Maybe I need to aim smaller, she thought as she flipped through her comic for the hundredth time. What I have here and now is valuable to me, maybe that's enough. I could clean this place up, hire some more goons like laughing boy over there to keep it safe. I could read from this book to visitors and make up my own stories too. I'm sure I could find artists to help illustrate. I could teach future generations all from right here. Just a small, happyish life. What more do I need?

Rita sighed, tipping her head back. On the underside of one the shelves was a small green button.

"Everything!" Rita shouted. She threw her comic violently into the corner and hopped to her feet. Wearing a mad smile, she pushed the button.

Narrow strips of floor slid away with a mechanical whir, revealing tracks leading under the shelf. There was a clicking noise from beneath, and then silence.

Rita gave the shelf a light push on the side and it slid down the tracks. Where the shelf used to be was a staircase leading down to a heavy metal door. Tap had stopped laughing.

The unicorn raised his gun and stepped towards the new passageway. Rita pushed past him, ignoring his pointless words of caution. She knew neither hoof or paw had touched these steps in two hundred years.

The heavy metal handle of the door was cold to the touch. She tugged, and it opened with a hiss, fog and cold air spilling out around her paws. 

The interior was a giant walk-in freezer. There were ten pallets inside. On top of the slabs of wood, stacked higher than her eye level and wrapped in clear plastic, were issues one through ten of “Rainbow Dash’s Tales of Loyalty and Bravery”.

Rita's smile was cruel and sharp as she ran her talons across a cardboard standee of Rainbow Dash rearing up with her wings spread. A small, happyish life? No thanks, you can keep your runner-up prizes for the losers. I'm a winner, and it's all gonna be mine.


--[   ]--


Bat. Low.


> Sex, Blood, and Bottlecaps: Part 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


~~~*|/\|*~~~


Do you know what I don't get?

Well there seems to be—

I was speaking hypothetically, Mr. Recorder. I wasn't going to wait for you to answer. You're just a device that records me that I like to talk back for with a funny voice.

Ah jeez. That was rude, I'm sorry. I'm just under stress.

I'm so sorry to hear that, Empress. And don't worry about my feelings, for I have none! Tell me, what is it you don't get.

Nah, it's dumb.

Nothing you say could ever be dumb. C'mon, tell me.

Well, okay. Since you seem to be just dying to know.

What I don't get is scavenging. Or rather I don't get the enthusiasm for it.

I mean, I get that sometimes you need stuff and that sometimes you gotta go rubble diving for it. But there are ponies out there, and griffons no less, that make this into a lifestyle.

They think it's cool to be all, "I'm gonna go into this building and nearly get killed by monsters, robots, booby traps, raiders, other scavengers, and zombies. But it's all gravy since I found some stuff that's not as good as the stuff I'm using but I can sell it to pay for the ammo I wasted and to patch up all the owies I got from the aforementioned hazards."

And then everyone is impressed by this! They go all, "Woo-hoo! Amazing work! I wish I could look as cool as you do while rooting through centuries-old trash!"

I just do not get it!

You know what I think's cool?

Shopping. Going into a merchant's shop or approaching one on the roads and being all like, "Hey buddy, you want thirty caps for this can of 200-year-old dog food. Have you even opened it? How do you even know that there's even any dog food in there? What if I buy this from you and a bunch of springy snakes jump out at me? Could you live with the guilt of me starving to death with only novelty gags to give me comfort?"

And then I get the can for five caps! No one applauds that! They don't say, "Wow, excellent consumerism! You're an inspiration to us all!"


No, all they do is yell at the merchant asking why they had to pay full price. And then the jerk junk dealer has the gall to get mad at me. Maybe you should try ripping off your customers less, guy.

But empress, don't merchants get nearly all their goods from scavengers?

That's a very good point Mr. Recorder, but let me counter with—

Oh wait, what's that over there? Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! I gotta go, bye-bye.

Guys! Guys! Get in here!

What's with all the noise? You want to bring every fuck in the area down on us?!
What is all the ruckus?

Looky, found it! I was all, "Hmm, I wonder if its in here."

And then I searched with my keen griffon eyes and dug around with my powerful griffon talons and I found the very object of our quest with great skill and cleverness.

Great. You want a fucking medal?

Really, it's so unattractive when you gloat over the tiniest accomplishments. And you do it so often.

You guys suck...


~~~*|/\|*~~~




Chapter That - Wasteland Economics for Dummies



--[///////]--


Rainbow Dash's rear hooves struck the attacking zebra, sending her flying back. The zebra's knife, along with a couple teeth, went skittering across the floor. Rainbow Dash was wearing the body armor and uniform expected of a soldier, but it hugged her body in a way that was likely not historically accurate. The zebra’s outfit was equally cartoony with bones dangling from its belt along with stripes painted on top of the uniform. Rita traced her talons over the raised parts of the card-stock cover. She was careful not to tear the plastic wrap. Not yet.

"What the fuck?" Tap asked, his eyes darted across the ten pallets stacked with shrink wrapped comics.

With a heavenly sigh, Rita lightly stepped to the nearby cardboard standee of the rainbow-maned pegasus. She wrapped her forelimbs around the two-dimensional pony. "This is Rainbow Dash," Rita said and nuzzled against the paper chest. "I spent months working on a time machine so I could marry her and have time-displaced gaybies."

Tap stared at her for several seconds. "What if she wasn't gay? Or wasn't into griffons? Or crazy?"

"What!?" Rita shrieked.

"I'm just saying you can't control—"

Rita paid him no mind as she leapt to a pallet of comics. She jabbed an accusing talon at the cover showing Rainbow Dash passionately kissing another pony in a military uniform.

"What is this?" she demanded. "That's not who you're supposed to be kissing, Rainbow Dash! This makes, like half my fanfiction A.U. now!"

A half empty whiskey bottle levitated from Tap's saddle bags to his lips. Only after it was completely empty did he say, "I'm going back up."

"See if you find something to weld this fridge shut while you're up there," Rita called without looking at him.

"Sure thing," Tap muttered, going up the steps. "Wait what?!" He turned around too fast and banged his horn against the wall and stumbled down the steps. He ended up on his side, staring up at Rita's behind.

"I can't very well take all these with me," Rita chided over her shoulder. "And I don't want anyone else finding them. They wouldn't appreciate them like I do, they must first be educated on their importance before they can be entrusted with—"

"So after all this, you're leaving your 'treasure' behind," Tap scoffed after reluctantly looking away from under Rita's tail.

"Of course not," Rita said as she rolled her eyes. "I'm taking one copy of each book for myself."

Tap's brow furrowed. "Why not two?" he asked. "Ya know, in case something happens to one of them."

Rita's eyes went wide and she dipped low to kiss Tap on the nose. "You're a genius!" she squealed before turning away.

After taking one last good look between Rita's haunches,  Tap pulled himself back to his hooves. "Right," he said and headed back up the stairs. "I'm gonna get back to taking shit."

Rita watched Tap tromp up the steps. She tilted her head to the side as she appreciated the dangly parts between his hind legs. With a smile on her face, she went back to the books.

A quick slash of her talons slit each of the stacks' wrappings. After extracting two books from each, she grabbed a roll of plastic wrap from the corner of the walk-in fridge and wrapped her twenty comics up tight. She stuffed the stack down her shirt and pulled her flak vest closed. 

Rita pressed her forehead against the cool metal of the freezer wall and whispered, "Thank you for holding this treasure for me. And I ask that you continue your cool vigil over these wonderful tomes a bit longer so that I may share them with the world."

Rita leaned back and puffed out her cheeks. She spoke in a heavy voice. "It was my pleasure Rita. Sorry about being hidden so well, I didn't mean to make you lose your cool."

Back in her normal voice she said sharply, "That's a terrible pun."

Heading for the stairs, Rita spotted a glint out of the corner of her eye; something shiny was hidden behind the Rainbow Dash standee. Rita carefully moved Dash aside and her eyes went wide. There, on the wall and in an ornate frame, was a letter from the Minister of Image herself, Rarity.

Dearest Minty Condition,


I want to thank you again for agreeing to buy up the entire stock of Graphic Novels.


I must say I was surprised to be contacted by you. Mostly because this endeavor hadn't been announced to the public yet. A little digging cleared that all up though, be sure and let Stable-Tec CEO Scootaloo know that her scheme has been successful and Equestria shan't be completely denied the tales of Rainbow's death-defying heroics.


I don't know why Rainbow Dash felt the need to demand that I cancel the wide release after Pinkie and myself worked so hard to create these stories glorifying her deeds, but there it is. I'm just glad I could convince her to let me sell off all the "comics" we'd already printed so at least it won't be a financial loss to us.


Her decision however, may come to benefit you. As a collector of niche items yourself, I don't have to tell you that rare equals valuable for the right customers. Were I the type, I'd hold onto a few issues myself to sell a few years down the line for a nice tidy profit.


Were I the type.


I wish you and your business all the best,

Rarity, Minister of Image.


The note wasn't typed-out, it was quill written, the signature alone took up a quarter of the page. Rita could only stare dumbstruck until the full effect hit her. She bounced on her talons and screeched out a giggle.

Logic told her she should take the whole frame with her. Her grabby mits told her to smash the glass, yank out the note and wrap it with the comics.

Rita left the freezer with shallow cuts on her claws, shards of glass on the floor, and a vintage, authentic, Ministry Mare-signed note tucked against her breast.





--[ /////]--


The kitchen of the restaurant was in shambles. The metal doors of the cabinets had been torn off, most likely to make weapons or armor. The stove too had been gutted, a small campfire had been made on the floor where it used to be. The nastiest part was the preparation counter; Tap figured that live ponies had been chopped up on it by a chainsaw. The biggest hints were all the blood, meat, and a gore covered chainsaw in the corner.

"Jackpot," Tap shouted from inside the vandalized refrigerator. He stepped back with a jug of moonshine in his magical field. "Hey Rita, I got a wheelbarrow out back already full of shit. We're gonna need a cart before I'm done."

Rounding the counter, he asked, "What did you do with your funny books?" 

Rita dug into her duffel bag and pulled out a metal medkit. "Medical Waste" was written sloppily across the cover in nail polish.

"I disguised it," she announced proudly.

"What if they look inside?" Tap asked with a head tilt.

"I hid it under a bunch of used bandages, some broken needles, and some gooky stuff I scraped up from around the room," Rita said buffing her talons against her chest. "No one would ever think to look for ancient, valuable artifacts hidden in actual medical waste."

Double Tap couldn't argue against that.

From the corner of his eye, Tap saw one of the metal cabinets had been locked up with chains across the handles and a padlock. He gave the lock a magical tug to test it out as he walked over.

"I know what you're about to say," Rita piped up, sauntering next to him. "You're gonna say we need to search the raiders for the key. But, I'll have you known that I have, like, mad lock-picking skills."

Tap gave the little griffon a sideways glance. His horn glowed and a shotgun came hovering into the room from his bag outside the door. Rita grumbled to herself as he bashed the lock open.

The chains dropped along with the lock and Tap allowed himself a satisfied smile. The cabinet handles glowed with his horn and went downwards. Tap's smile vanished at the sight of the heavy safe inside.

"You want to try hitting that one too?" Rita asked with the sweetest voice and smile.

"Alright smart-ass," Tap growled. "But if you fuck up then you have to go corpse diving for the key."

Rita placed a claw on Tap's chest and pushed as she stepped forward. "Make room for the princess of picking. And try not to be too impressed." Rita said and gave her neck a crack. "And when I get this open, I claim half the swag."

Rolling his eyes, Tap stepped back and let Rita past him. She hunkered down so that her eyes were level with the keyhole in the middle of the dial. She ran two talons down both sides of the dial. She was purring.

"Shhhh," Rita whispered intimately at the safe. "You don't have to say anything,  I feel it too."

Rita twisted her body and curled her tail until the tuft of her tail was by her face. "Don't worry baby," Rita cooed as she pulled a bobby pin from the tuft. "I got what you need."

The little griffon moaned as she put her head against the flat metal surface. With the bobby pin pinched tight in one claw and an outstretched pinkie talon from the other, she fiddled with the keyhole. With every twitch she made small gasping noises and Tap found himself shifting uncomfortably in place.

After roughly a minute of fiddling Rita began panting as she went deeper into the lock. "Yes," she squealed. "I'm about to—"

Rita shuddered as she pulled her claws from the lock and yanked the handle of the safe. It opened without resistance and she fell onto her side with a dramatic squeal.

"Was it good for you?" She whimpered, looking up at the open safe.

Tap craned his neck to peer inside their newly opened treasure trove. Rita immediately sprang up and put her feathery cheek against his and grabbed his other cheek with her claw. She cooed her approval.

Inside the safe, there were three shelves. On the top shelf were two odd machine pistols; they were a lot boxier and smaller than the others Tap had run across in the past, the trigger-bits were stubby and off-center, and the magazines extended oddly from the body in such a way that they'd run along the shooter's cheek. The next shelf housed a half dozen Dash inhalers. Finally the bottom shelf housed the most obvious of prizes: a sack full of hundreds of bottle caps.

"Well this will be a nice easy and even split," Tap said, a smile curling across his face.

"Yep," Rita said and gave his chest a light slap with the back of her claw. "I get the guns and two of the inhalers and you get the other four and the caps."

Tap slapped her claw down as she reached for the twin guns. "I think we need to discuss your math," Tap said, stepping between her and the safe.

The little griffon rubbed her wrist and looked up at him ruefully, the corner of her mouth pulled back to show sharp teeth. "I'm great at math," she growled indignantly.

"You sure about that?" Tap snorted. "Cause I see two guns, two of us—"

"Did you even look at the guns?" Rita interrupted jabbing his chest with an outstretched talon. "They're customs. Everything down to the magazines were made just for them. So you take one, you blow through the ammo, and then what? Are you gonna reload with loose ammunition under fire? No you're gonna drop them and run."

Rita rocked back onto her haunches and crossed her forelimbs. "I said I was getting half and you didn't argue. I'm giving you enough dash to take out a small army or to have a very relaxed weekend and all the caps. Now are you going to accept this or are you gonna shoot me and take it all?"

Tap's glare became daggers. "Fuck you, I'm no raider," he spat.

"And I'm not a cheat," Rita shot back, stretching her neck so that she almost appeared taller than Tap. Almost.

Tap nickered and stepped aside. Rita kissed him on the cheek as she went past to the safe.

A neuron fired in Tap’s brain as she dropped the guns into the her bag. "Wait a second," he barked. "I could have just sold the gun!"

Rita quickly zipped her bag shut. "Too late," Rita sing-songed.  "No take-backsies."

"You are a fucking cheat," Tap grumbled as he gathered up his caps and Dash inhalers.

Rita gave Tap's mane a slight tussle. "Next time, don't bet against me. I always get what I want," she said proudly and stuck out her tongue.

"I'm going to check the main area of the diner," Tap grumbled, avoiding Rita's eye. "I want to see if they hid anything under the tables or whatever."

"Be sure to get everything," Rita said, her face buried in her bag as she looked over her new pistols. "Because we're burning down the building after."

Tap didn't even pause his stride. "Of course we are," was all he said.


--[ /////]--





The meager campfire did little to combat the chill of the night. They had made camp between two hills in order to stay out of sight from any roving marauders. The desert had been left behind not an hour ago and the pair were now in the vast grassy plains leading up to the murderous Everfree Forest.

Rita had repeatedly made sure Tap understood that they would, under no circumstances, be entering the forest.

"It would be a lot faster to cut straight through the forest," Tap piped up after draining another bottle down his throat.

From across the fire, Rita looked up from the disassembled Dash inhalers and smiled sweetly before raising her middle talon.

"I don't know what that means," Tap said while cracking open another bottle.

Rita sighed heavily and dropped her head back, raising her beak to the sky. "It means that the forest isn't frozen over and that means there's a chance of butterflies, and that means I'm not setting one paw in there unless there's a very good reason to."

After a third of the contents disappeared in several burning gulps, Tap belched and looked back to the griffon as she took some sort of needle and jammed it into the bottle of the Dash inhaler where the chemicals were housed.

"Does that mean you'd go in Everfree if it was snowing?" Tap asked.

Rita didn't look up as she spoke. "Gracious, no!" Rita said and gave the bottle a shake. "I don't want to get eaten by Timberwolves."

Tap stared at Rita across the fire. Seeing her through the crackling flames reminded him of the destruction they had left behind in the dead raider-town. A cold shiver crawled up his spine and Tap shifted on his haunches.

"So...” Tap started, unsure of how to broach what was on his mind. “Did we really have to—"

Rita cut him off, "Did we have to burn not only the diner, and all the standing buildings, but also the wheat field?" A smile oozed across her face as she filled the hypo with a blood red chemical.

"Did we have to gather up all the pony pieces and drag them into the center of town? Did we have to take rubble and spell out 'stay away' next to the pile of rotting horse meat?" Rita jammed the needle into the bottle and squeezed the release.

She looked up at Tap, her smile was all teeth. "Absolutely."

Tap gave his flank a scratch. "No, I get all that," he said with a shrug.

He looked back over his withers and his gaze was returned by the painted magenta eyes of Rainbow Dash, He shuddered and looked back to the griffon who was vigorously shaking the chem bottle again.

“But why that thing?” Tap suppressed a shudder, he could feel it looking at him. “Do you even have a place to put it?”

Rita clicked her tongue and snapped the second inhaler back together. "No," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Once I've got my cut of the caps, I'm getting me a nice little place where me and Dashie can be alone." Rita gave the standee a dreamy look.

Tap cleared his throat loudly and took another swig from the nearest bottle. It turned out to be vodka.

"So about those caps,"  Tap said doing his best to not think about what Rita had planned for that piece of painted paper. "Are we close to this guy of yours?

Coming out of her trance, Rita put the modified Dash inhalers back into her bag. "Oh yeah," Rita chirped.

Rita took a small blanket and unrolled it on the ground. She placed three rifles, all the same basic make, atop the blanket along with her maintenance kit.

She started disassembling the first of the rifles, setting each piece on the blanket as she went. 

"At this rate we should be in Mustangia around," Rita paused and gave her beak a tap, leaving a smear of gun grease before continuing. "Well before sundown tomorrow so long as nothing goes horribly wrong. Like a raider attack or a Hell Hound ambush or if we catch the eye of Ranger patrol or —"

"Why's your guy in Mustangia anyway?" Tap interrupted.

"That's where his shop is," Rita absently replied as she checked between two bolts.

Tap barked a laugh. "What kind of dumbass sets up a tent in a pile of rubble? Mustangia isn't even on the way to anywhere."

"It's not a tent, it's a full building," Rita said as she set one of the bolts next to a pile of parts in the middle. The other two bolts she set to the side. “He and his family built it.”

Tap set aside his bottle and tried his best to catch Rita’s eye. Failing that he spoke hard and gruffly, “Are you fucking with me or what?”

“Exsqueeze me?” Rita asked looking up from the parts she was arranging in the middle of the blanket.

“My dad was a traveling merchant,” Tap explained, his voice terse. “I’ve been all over anywhere in Equestria where there are ponies willing to trade since I was born. And I’m telling you, Mustangia doesn’t have a building standing. Whoever told you there’s a shop there is playing you and is probably going to shoot us or some shit.”

Rita sighed and dropped her head back. “What is it with you tough guys and being all paranoid?” she grumbled.

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you get some face-time with the guy?” Rita said jabbing a talon at the hill behind her. “He’s right over the hill.”

Tap leaned back and curled his lip at Rita. She shushed him with a waggle of her talon and waved her claws at the hill. Shrugging, Tap pulled himself up to all fours. Not to be caught by any surprise, Tap’s horn popped with light and his gun hopped from the holster allowing him to catch the pistol in his mouth.

His horn lighting the way, Tap made his way up the hill. He wasn’t sure what to expect, he doubted the merchant would come this far out in the middle of nowhere just to meet some prospective purchases. Come to think on it, how would he even know when and where to meet them? Tap filed all this under his rapidly growing “Rita Is Insane” file and focused on keeping his eyes peeled for danger.

Despite Tap’s caution, a giant pony with three-yard long teeth still managed to surprise him.

With a yelp and shot, Tap fell back onto his side and was greeted by a laughing Rita. She quickly shined her PipBuck’s light over the massive billboard showing a pony in a checkered, blue jacket and a hat that would have looked colossal at regular size. He was smiling wide enough that his white teeth reflected Rita’s light to the cloud layer and he was pointed east with a square concrete building painted in the background, painted to glow amongst the dark ruins. All this was under the large letters spelling out: Chatterbox’s Safe Sanitary Swap and Shop. Along the bottom it read: Located in picturesque Mustangia.

“Fuck you, bird-cunt,” Tap spat after he looked away from the sign.

Dusting himself off, Tap looked again to the sign. “Did he paint that? All the way out here?” he asked with just a trace of awe.

“Mmmhmm,” Rita nodded. “Well him or one of his brothers or sisters. He’s got, like, a hundred of them.”

Rita snorted before bursting out in overly loud and nasal laughter. “Oh jeez-louise, you shoulda seen your face,” she cried, slapping at the ground.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Tap said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Then why are you smiling?” Rita sing-songed.

Tap sat quietly for a moment before deciding to answer honestly. “My dad used to do stupid pranks and shit like that all the time.” He wasn’t really looking at Rita as he continued with a relaxed smile on his face. “Once we were staying in this settlement where a friend of his had a stuffed Hellhound. He paid the guy fifty caps to put it next to me while I was sleeping. I’d like to say I didn’t piss myself in the morning but...”

Rita let loose another shower of laughs, falling onto her back. “Oh wow,” she managed to talk in-between fresh bursts. “Your dad sounds great.”

“He really was,” Tap agreed joining in with Rita’s horrible laugh.

“So where is the old man?” Rita piped in, looking up from the ground. “Did you decide to break from the family business or is he dead or something?”

Tap stopped smiling immediately and his laughter died an equally sudden death. “He’s dead or something," he said as his face went to stone.

"That sucks," Rita replied, playing with her head-feathers.

Through clenched teeth Tap growled, "You know how you winged fuckers can sleep in the clouds? Why don't you go do that?" He turned his back to her and stomped back down the hill.

"Rude," Rita called down and went to the sky with hop and a flap.

At the camp, Tap crawled into his recently acquired sleeping bag by the campfire. Restlessly he struggled to get comfortable. After several minutes he gave up and stared at the fire, watching the wood blacken to ash and crumble.

There was a soft thump behind him, he didn't bother to turn around.

"What do you want, Rita," Tap barked.

"Feeling restless and agitated? I know something that can help you take the edge off."

"If you're horny," Tap growled, "why don't you go fuck yourself?"

“You dropped something.”

“Yeah,” Tap twisted around to yell in her face, “I’m about to drop—”

There was no one there. Just empty shadows cast by the dying fire and whispers from the the wind.

“Oh, it’s you,” Tap said to no one at all.

On the ground, a yard from him, was the cause of the thump he’d heard. His gun was lying in a shallow patch of grass. He pulled it close with his magic as he climbed out of his bedroll and checked the magazine. The shot he'd fired had been replaced.

"Not that it's any of your fucking business," he shouted at the shadows. "But that's a good idea. I could use some killing."

Grabbing a shotgun and a belt of ammo as he passed, Tap left the camp behind him. He crossed the field of brown grass and entered the dark and deadly Everfree Forest looking for a fight.

He did not have to look for long.


--[  ////]--


The well traveled main road had been left behind hours ago and Tap was glad for it. They had drawn more than a few looks from other travelers with a shot-to-pieces unicorn wearing a red-dripping feed-bag over his face. Add to that a griffon perched on top of a pile of blood stained implements of violence as though it was her nest and throw in a cardboard pegasus propped against her to finish the sight. They got looks, but no one offered any trouble.

Tap hoped this streak of boredom would break soon.

To amuse himself, and because it had been half a day since he last ate, Tap once more refiled his feed-bag with shreds of meat. He moaned his approval far too loudly as Rita bristled behind him.

"I can't believe you won't share," Rita whined. "As Pinkie Pie says—"

"As Double Tap says," Tap interrupted, "get up and catch your own fucking cockatrice if you want it so bad."

Deep down, he really hoped she would. Mostly because he wanted to see her face when she bit into that meat that was both too dry and tough on the outside and oily on the inside. He was glad that she hadn't been awake to see him find out that neither end tasted like chicken.

Rita snatched up two empty cola bottles and held them in front of her eyes. With a gasp, she let them drop back onto the pile and she leapt forward. Rita gave her wings a flap and landed almost gently on top of Tap's back.

"Mustangia, dead ahead," she shrieked into his ear.

“My damn eyes work, Rita,” Tap shouted over his shoulder and into the griffon’s face.

One good buck later, Rita was off Tap’s back and fluttering back to her perch in the cart as they continued down the road. Tap kept his eyes on the sickly trees on either side of them as they narrowed tighter on both sides of the road.

The road opened up to the ruins of Mustangia. Rubble from the crumbled buildings covered the area with support beams jutting skyward like the bones of a long-dead whale. From the elevation of the hill, the crater of the bomb which leveled the city was still apparent two hundred years later.

This was all familiar to Tap. He recalled with a smile that he and his father had tried to salvage near the crater.  He figured with only a little searching, he'd be able to find the lampshade his dad had worn while chasing him around. They had come back with nothing except mild radiation poisoning, but Tap wouldn't have traded that day for anything.

He was shocked from his trip down memory lane by the large slab of concrete that now stood at the edge of town, one story tall and stretching out a ways. It was windowless and unpainted, but what Tap guessed was the front was decorated with a colorful awning covered in declarations of safe shopping, fair prices, clean water, and flushing toilets. On top, there was a large billboard matching the one from the road. But what there wasn't, was a door.

"The fuck?" Tap asked Rita as she carefully climbed down from her perch. 

"Just follow me, silly." She giggled and sauntered by, sliding her tail over Tap's muzzle and leaving him to unhitch himself from the wagon.

"Hello," Rita sang as she she went under the wide awning with Tap just behind.

A series of metallic clicks sounded. A half dozen energy cannons lowered from above and locked on to the pair.  Without hesitation, Tap's horn lit up and his pistol snapped into the air, aiming from turret to turret.

"I told you Talon hooligans not to come around here anymore," a voice shouted.  "I told you, I am an independent buisnesspony! I will not be bullied or bought-out by the messenger pigeons of Red Eye."

Tap followed the voice to a speaker stuck in the wall with a small camera positioned next to it. His  first thought was to shoot out the camera and hoof it before the turrets opened up. He paused, looking at the shivering Rita. He didn't know if he could get her away fast enough.

"I'm not a Talon," Rita blubbered, waving frantically at the camera. "I don't even like Red Eye!"

"That's what a Red Eye spy would say," the voice on the speaker rumbled.

"I've been here before," Rita shrieked. "You know me!"

"All you griffons look alike to me," the speaker shot back.

"That's incredibly racist," Rita sobbed.

Just as Tap prepared to grab Rita by the neck and start running, both she and the speaker laughed. The turrets hissed as they slid back up into the awning. Rita wiped at her eyes while the laughter from the speaker relaxed into a long sigh.

"That was fun," the speaker said with a giggle. "Tell your chopped-liver friend to stand close."

Without warning, Rita threw a forelimb around Tap's neck and yanked him forward. Tap found himself muzzle-deep in the feathers of her neck. She had not bathed recently.

"Give us a wink, Chatterbox," Rita chirped.

Tap pushed his face free, gasping in a breath of non-musky air. "Wink!?" Tap gasped. "Just wait a fucking—"

Bzat


"-second..." Tap trailed off as he looked around. They were inside. A few wisps of smoke and a slight tingle in his teeth were the only indicators that he'd been brought in by a spell. Tap was impressed; last time he'd been teleported, he arrived with his tail on fire.

The shop around Tap felt entirely alien. The walls were windowless and painted a very relaxing blue. The floor below his hooves was slick and shiny and tiled. The bank of lights above hummed softly and spread the light evenly over the rows of shelves.  Each shelf was marked with a sign showing a cartoon pony holding up the type of item labeled next to it. 

They weren’t alone either. The other wastelanders, most with at least a layer of dust, shopping the pristine aisles only added to the other-worldly feel. Tap took a strange comfort in the energy turrets that hung from the ceiling in the corners of the shop; the threat of violent retribution making him feel more at home.

"Welcome friends, new and old," a smooth voice called behind them. "Welcome and spend heartily."

Against the wall was a pony behind a polished wood counter and encased in a transparent box made of thick-looking plastic. The pony’s appearance was immaculate as far as Tap could see. His dark mane was perfectly combed, his blue checkered suit jacket, which looked like it just came off the rack, draped down his back and covered his haunches. It took Tap a few looks before he noticed the boxed-in pony was a unicorn since he kept getting distracted by Chatterbox’s colossal wide brimmed hat.

"I'm afraid I'm not for sale, friend," Chatterbox said with a pearly white smile. "At least, not at a price you can afford." 

The pony laughed loudly in his box and slapped the counter with his hoof. It was, as Tap would have guessed, perfectly filed and cleaned.

"Chatter," Rita squealed and threw her forelimbs open wide as though to embrace the encased pony. "It's been too long!"

"Three months, seventeen days, and six hours," said Chatterbox wistfully. "But who's counting?"

Merchant and griffon both broke into loud and phony laughter. Tap decided it was a good time to exercise his wasteland discount. Making sure that Chatterbox's eyes were on Rita and nowhere else, Tap tugged his saddle bags so they hung open and stepped around the corner, into the nearest aisle.

Confusion and disappointment competed for dominion over his mind. Anger won.

"What the fuck is this?" Tap shouted at the rows and rows of picture cards that dangled on metal hooks all the way down the aisle and back up the other side.  On each was a picture and description of the item along with a list of prices at varying qualities.

"Efficiency lad, efficiency," Chatterbox said with a bright, toothy smile. "We sell hundreds and hundreds of quality items here. We got the inventory of a shopping mall under the roof of a convenience store." Chatterbox tipped his colossal hat back and smiled. "It also helps to cut down on, heh, shop-lifting," he said with a wink.

A filthy pony grabbed a card with a picture of an apple pie on it. He ran to Chatterbox excitedly.

“Can I have a slice, fresh?” he asked, all but stammering in excitement.

“I dunno,” Chatterbox said smoothly. “You got twenty caps?”

Still stewing at his lost chance to take part in his four-hoof-discount, Tap slid next to another customer. While she was frantically recounting a small pile of caps she had laid out on the floor, Tap made like he was very interested in the rack of cards for watering cans. He threw a quick look at Chatterbox who was preoccupied with his pie purchasing pony.

There was a flash of light and a clean, flower themed metal table appeared in a nook next to Chatterbox’s counter along with a cornflower blue bean bag chair. On top of the table was a steaming hot slice of apple pie, just like the picture had shown. The pony stumbled over himself running to it.

Tap looked back to the bent over mare, she was counting the caps a third time after the last count showed her still a few caps short of the cost of the medkit shown on the card in front of her. Tap’s horn sparked and a bundle from inside the mare’s bag leapt into the air and landed in Tap’s. He guessed it was her lunch.

“I saw that,” Rita whispered, stepping next to him. “Be sure and split it with me.”

"Where did all this come from?" Tap asked.

"Chatterbox and his family built it," Rita said impatiently. "I told you this already, you should pay attention—"

"Yeah, but where did Chatterbox come from?" Tap poked at one of the cards. "I never heard of him before today and this shit's a bit crazy."

"They're all Stable-born,"  Rita recounted, drumming her talons on the floor. "They opened up their little underground shelter about six months ago, but they’re keeping the location a big, fat secret. They'd been trained for generations on how to, like, literally rebuild Equestria by rebuilding big business.

"In fact, basically all his family is still in there, learning about how to build what you ponies need to get by in this kooky world. All the stuff he sells here is built, maintained, and kept there until he winks it over.

"So yeah, I'm afraid there's totes no way for you to steal from here," Rita said with mock-sympathy and ruffled Tap's mane with her talons. He slapped her claw away.

The pony with the pie gave out a contented sigh and relaxed into his bean bag chair. His plate stood empty on the small table in front of him save for a few crumbs.

"And how was the pie?" Chatterbox asked, moving closer to the pony from inside his booth.

"So good," the pony moaned.

"Well then I'm glad you have enjoyed shopping with us," Chatterbox said brightly. His horn glowed brightly and the wide-eyed pony vanished in a burst of light.

"You be safe out there," Chatterbox said into his mic. "And come see us again real soon.”

"Oh robot," he called out. "Please see to our customer's dishes."

At the rear of the store, the mares' restroom door flung open with a bang. Floating out on a softly glowing little magic engine was what appeared to be a dark green, giant, metal spider. It's many spindly limbs ended in a variety of tools ranging from buzz-saws to a torch, to simple metal clamps. In one clamp it held a plunger, in another was a scrub brush. From the middle of the round metal body extended another flexible arm that ended in a glowing, orange eye. The other customers gave it a wide berth as it floated forward.  Its arms pumped in an imitation of annoyance.

"Coming, Master Chatterbox," it said in a posh tinny sounding voice, throwing the plunger and scrubber into an internal compartment on its body and pulling out a damp sponge and dry rag. "Not like I was in the middle of your last assignment, not like any of your brothers or sisters can't wipe off a few crumbs."

It rounded the aisle and stopped in place, its eye locked onto Rita as its sponge slipped from his claws and splattered on the floor. She gave it a wide, toothy grin.

"Empress," the robot shrieked.

"There's my buddy," she shouted, pointing a talon.

Rita ran with her back left tucked up under and slapped her claw against its metal pincer. She rolled back onto her haunches as he spun left and right clapping the flat of his buzzsaw and one of his claws against Rita's palms. This continued for several seconds until its eye reared back at the same time as Rita's head, the two bobbed forward and clunked together.

"You two know each other?" Tap asked, feeling his hangover flaring up.

"Know each other?" Rita shrieked while giggling grabbed the bot by the eye and it obediently floated along with her as she rubbed her knuckles on top of its eye. It flailed its limbs as though to resist, but never actually striking at Rita. "I built this metalhead from a pile of scrap in 'Filly.  Oh, me and Handy go way back!"

"Handy," Tap asked, pulling a bottle from his bag and popping the top without even looking at the label.

"Ya know, because he's handy to have around," Rita said. She grabbed one of his claws and wiggled it around. "And ‘cause he has hands."

Tap responded by downing half the bottle. It turned out to be rum.

She looked the robot over and then shouted at the businesspony in the plastic case. "Hey, where do you get off changing his paint job?"

Chatterbox's ever present smile parted to show teeth. "I'm afraid Shocking Pink just didn't go too well with the rest of the shop," he replied.

"Along with anything else pretty," Rita grumbled. "When I came here last time I thought you were still painting. What's with all the grey and green?"

"According to customer survey, too many colors left our typical wasteland customers disoriented and confused," Chatterbox answered. "So we chose to keep it simple."

"And boring," the Handy bot replied. It and Rita slapped claws.

Tap found the situation to be much more tolerable as he tucked the mostly empty bottle back into his bag.

"Well hasn't this been a sweet reunion?" Chatterbox said with a voice liked a greased snake. "But I'm afraid my robot has work to do. And as nice as it has been visiting with you, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you both to make way for paying customers."

"And I'm afraid my robot won't be cleaning anyone's dishes but mine," Rita said raising her head to it's full height. "And you'll be the one doing the paying, we got a wagon full of high-class goods to unload."

The floating robot looked as excited as a robot could as it embraced Rita with as many arms as it could. Chatterbox stared hard at Rita and Tap for a long pause. His grin seemed to burst with light as he called, "Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?"

An actual burst of light enveloped Tap, Rita, and the robot. Once Tap finished blinking his flash-blinded eyes, they were all again outside.  Handy's eye blinked from orange to blue and pulled itself away from Rita to inspect the wagon.

"You sure do have quite the haul," Chatterbox's voice crackled from the robot's speaker. "Any of it any good? Looks a bit second-hoof, what with the blood and all."

"You insult me with your implications," Rita said, holding a claw to her chest as though wounded.

She grinned wickedly and, with a hop and a flap, returned to her roost on top of the wagon. She gathered up the rifles, shotguns, pistols, knives, and the grenades that she'd been tinkering with throughout the trip. She laid them all out on the ground along with a small case of ammunition and her share of the food and medical supplies. Tap noticed her modified Dash inhalers were absent for the pile.

Handy floated down the line of goods, occasionally picking a gun up to give a closer inspection. It let out a whistle at the end of the line.

"You've certainly been a busy little thing," Chatterbox said through the robot. "Some these weapons look fresh off the factory line."

"Darn right," Rita said while puffing out her chest. 

"What about this," asked Chatterbox, the robot scanning the Rainbow Dash cutout.

Faster than Tap thought she could move, Rita went behind the cutout and threw her forelimbs around the midsection and her her head over the “shoulder”, her chin pressing against the chest. She made a long, high whining noise that might have sounded like a “No” to a dog.

“Ministry Mare Memorabilia goes for quite a bit with the right customer,” he continued.

She clutched the cutout tighter and whined louder. Chatterbox burst out laughing over the mic and went about scanning the other items again.

"So I'll be taking my robot and my axe," Rita said, reluctantly pulling herself off of Cardboard Dash.

Tap cocked an eyebrow. Rita didn't seem like much of a melee-fighter to him. In fact, she didn't seem like any kind of fighter.

"Hey now," Chatterbox said with a tone of annoyance. "I haven't even quoted a price."

"You don't have to," Rita waved a claw dismissively. "I checked your prices on this stuff, subtracted what I think is a fair trade-price and after my property is returned to me, you'd still owe me roughly three-hundred-fifty-seven caps. But I'll let you keep the change since you did such a nice job keeping my things safe."

Tap imagined Chatterbox was sputtering inside the shop.

A laugh popped over the robot's speakers. "You win this round, kitty-hawk," Chatterbox chortled. "I never could figure out this hunk of tin beyond what you told me anyway."

"I know," Rita beamed. "Handy's my bot-ty forever and always. You were just holding him for me."

"Guess I can't play a player," Chatterbox continued to giggle.

"If you two are finished dick-sucking," Tap interrupted loudly. "I have some shit to sell too."

Rita puffed out her cheeks, bared her teeth, and shot Tap a glare that he happily ignored.

The Handy Robot looked at him and then the wagon. "Are you serious?" Chatterbox asked.

"Yeah, I'm fucking serious," Tap shouted indignantly. "I mean, look at all this shit."

The robot's eye scanned over the wagon's contents. "You picked a good descriptor, son," he said as the claws picked through the various bits of clothing and weaponry. 

"Don't call me son," Tap grumbled.

"These clothes here,” Chatterbox continued, “are so ratty and filthy that I wouldn't want to even burn them in fear of releasing a toxic gas. And these weapons are in such a sorry state that I'd have to part them out to get any value out of them."

"What? No! This is great stuff!" He climbed into the wagon and sifted through with his magic. "I got armor in here!"

"Made from pots and pans," Chatterbox said dully. "Wouldn't stop a twenty-two."

"I got some books."

"Half-burned."

"I got grub."

"I'll take the cans, you can keep the moldy sandwiches."

"Chems!"

"I'll have to verify that they've all been safely mixed in a clean lab."

"Look at this fucking hat, it's fucking stupid," Tap said putting on a baseball helmet with antlers taped to it.

Chatterbox sighed through the robot. "I approve of your entrepreneurial spirit, but you're hardly selling me on this one.

"I'll tell you what," Chatterbox continued, "I'll take the healing potions and ammo and then I'll toss in two hundred caps for everything else. I'll even take that wagon off your hooves and save you the trouble of dragging it into a ditch."

"How's about you get fucked," Tap offered cheerfully.

"I think we're done here," Chatterbox said. Handy turned back to Rita. "Now where were we?"

"You were gonna give me three-fourths of her sale," Tap interrupted.

"What?" Rita and Chatterbox asked in unison.

"You forgot you were supposed to pay me?" Tap asked Rita as he leered down at her from the wagon.

Rita acted shocked and danced about in place. "No," she said with a fake-friendly laugh. "I mean, you're standing in your payment."

"So you're planning on fucking me over?" Tap asked, a sneer on his face.

"It's not my fault you don't know how to haggle," Rita clucked.

"You said three-fourths of everything sold," Tap said, dropping to the ground and putting his face to Rita's. "Not three-fourths of the junk. I don't remember much from the other day, but I remember that I was getting paid for this."

Rita stared at Tap and then backed up with a unintelligible shout of annoyance. "Fine," Rita squawked. "Chatterbox, get my axe and give the rest of the caps to the minced-meat cry-baby."

"And I thank you for your business," Chatterbox said brightly. "It's been a pleasure."

The light of Mister Handy's eye switched from blue to orange and it snapped back to looking at Rita. It reached out a claw to her and Rita took it.

"Empress," it's tinny voice was barely more than a whisper. "Will I," it paused, "not be joining you?"

Rita put the claw against her cheek. "Not yet," she said, her voice choked. "But I'll come back for you soon. I promise."

In a series of pops of light, the items Rita laid vanished one by one.

"Don't look at them," Rita said to Handy as it turned its eye. "Look at me."

"I'm scared," it whispered. "I don't want to be without you.”

"Hey," Rita reached out and tapped the sphere of his body. "I'll be right here, so long as you keep me in your robot heart."

There was a flash and Rita was standing alone. She gently touched her chest and turned to face Tap. His jaw hung open.

"You programed your robot to give you a dramatic goodbye," Tap said curling his lip in disgust.

"Cool, huh?" Rita said, all smiles.

"Why?" Tap asked as a twitch developed in his eye. "What's the fucking point? Would it do that even if there was nopony watching?"

Rita snorted and clicked her beak mimicking him derisively and making high-pitched babbling noises. 

"Are you a fucking foal?" Tap asked, exasperated.

"No, I'm a griffon," She said and stuck her tongue out. "You're just jelly of my mad science and bartering skills. Get on my level!"

Two flashes occurred inside the wagon, depositing a sack of bottle caps and, to Tap's surprise, a guitar. It was white with a black neck, and black flames painted down the body. Rita snatched it as though terrified someone else would take it. She fell to her back, clutching the instrument to herself.

"Grecotch," Rita squealed. "Oh I'll never sell you again!"

"Your 'axe'?" Tap asked, rolling his eyes.

"Yep," Rita answered as she righted herself. She slipped the strap over her chest, securing the guitar between her wings. "Now my legendary image is complete!"

Tap grunted and buried the sack of caps under the filthy raider clothes.

"So what now?" Rita asked Tap. "Do we wander the back-roads finding merchants to sell your crappy stuff to?"

"Nah, fuck that," Tap answered. "I know somepony, she'll buy anything. Only she's back in New Appleloosa."

Rita released a long high-pitched whine, stamping her claws all the way. "That's over three days back the other direction!"

Tap's ears folded in on themselves as she let out another whine. "Believe me, I'm not that fucking thrilled to have to cart all this shit—" Tap stopped mid-sentence, his ears perking up.

“The train,” Tap muttered. He turned quickly to face Rita. “New Appleloosa’s train runs to Fillydelphia once a week and then back the next day. The tracks are not too far from here we could hitch a ride.”

Rita grabbed Tap’s collar, her smile wild, her eyes gleaming. “Are you saying today’s the day the train will be coming back?” she asked, all-but-giggling.

Tap’s brow furrowed. “I dunno.” He said and looked down, as though the answer was written on a piece of paper he had dropped on the ground. “What day is it anyway?”

Rita released Tap’s collar and threw herself against the waggon. “It’s gonna be another three days before I get any caps,” she sobbed, far too loudly. “We’ll have to buy supplies from Chatterbox and he’ll talk me into selling him my guitar again and then...”

As Rita counted off various horrible things that would no doubt happen to them on the road, Tap banged his forehoof against his head. “C’mon think,” he muttered to himself. “I used to be on guard duty for that fucking train so I know the fucking schedule."

Around the third different scenario Rita brought up concerning Tap being eaten by the local wildlife, he slammed his hooves on the ground.

"Fuck! Why can't I fucking think straight?!" he roared.

"I can help with that," Rita said, suddenly appearing in front of him, dry-eyed and holding a small tin.

"Party Time Mint-Als," she explained as she opened the tin, revealing a small pile of what appeared to be candy coated mints. "Good for the thinking good. Now open wide and say 'ah'."

"Wha?"

"Close enough," Rita said and tossed three of the mints into Tap's hanging-open mouth. The mints tasted sweet as he swallowed them down.

The effects of the drugs were quick and dramatic. In seconds, the world became sharper and more colorful. All the little details that his eyes would slide over suddenly popped into full relief. The sound of the wind shifting about dirt and bits of debris became a kind of music.

Most jarring was the effect it had on his mind. Years of alcohol abuse, days spent without sleep, and even the new and growing need for Dash was wiped out. His thoughts clear for the first time in years, memories resurfaced and were examined by his newly sharpened mind. Questions bloomed like flowers across the fields of his brain with possible answers dancing across each to form a great web of action and consequence. Realizations both amazing and terrible washed over him.

"This is horrible and I want it to stop," Tap said quickly. "Now."

Rita gave her beak a tap. "Well, okay, two hits of Dash, a bottle of whiskey, and maybe a shot of Med X should bring you back to stupid." Rita rattled off. "But it might make your heart explode."

"Acceptable," Tap said, hitching himself to the wagon with his magic as Rita fluttered back into it. "Mix that shit up and hook me up on the run. The train will be passing near here in a couple hours and that doesn't give us any fucking time to catch up."

"I'm charging you for the chems, by the way," Rita said and dug into her duffel bag.

Tap started moving at a full run, sending Rita rolling to her back with a squawk.


--[    ///]--


The sun was setting on the Wastes, which meant it was already pitch-black beneath the cloud-locked skies. Tap had set up a few lanterns he'd found in the wagon and had put together a few torches alongside the railroad. He and and the wagon stood in the middle of the tracks, ready to stop a train.

"For fuck's sake Rita," Tap said for the dozenth time since they set up at the tracks twenty minutes ago. "They're not gonna run through a fucking wagon. They haven't had coal for the engine in years, so it's a safe fucking bet that it's gonna be pony-pulled. "

Rita peeked her head out of a nearby tree. "I never gamble, unless I rigged the game," she said and then disappeared back into the tree.

"Just be sure you come out where they can clearly see you," Tap shouted. "Otherwise they might think you're part of an ambush and fire a rocket up your ass."

Rita climbed down from the tree.

Not too much later, lights appeared on the horizon. Tap’s horn ignited with magic to try and make himself extra visible. Rita cozied up next to him, waving her forelimb with the PipBuck in the air.

"Now remember, let me do the talking," Tap said to Rita as the sounds of the ponies pulling the train came within earshot. "I know these guys. You gotta show ‘em who’s boss and not take any shit."

Rita rolled her eyes and made a zipping motion in front of her beak.

The train was already slowing when Tap could start to make-out the dozen ponies pulling. He could see from where he stood that those pulling were heavily armed with battle-saddles carrying weapons ranging from automatic rifles to rocket propelled grenade launchers.

The train itself was a fearsome sight, the once-bright colors faded and burnt into a candy-coated nightmare. The engine’s cowcatcher had been modified with barbed wire and various sharp objects on the smooth rounded edges, making it into more of a cow-grinder. Directly behind was a car that had been shaped like a cupcake, but was topped with a mounted machine gun instead of a cherry. The majority of the other cars were boxcars; good for transporting items, but made for cramped and uncomfortable pony transportation, as Tap recalled. Many of those cars were barred with heavy locks on the doors, for the more unwilling passengers.

"Why the fuck are you parked on the tracks," shouted the lead pony as the train crawled to a stop. He was a muscular earth pony with a brown coat, dark hair, and a pair of assault rifles mounted to his saddle.

"Get fucked," Tap shouted back, "We need a ride."

Tap could feel Rita shrink behind him, a small whimper eeking out of the corner of her mouth.

"Does this look like a train station to you?" the lead pony asked as the train came to a full stop.

"Don't be an asshole, Rail Spike," Tap spat. "You know me, I've been on your guard crew for more trips than I can remember. You let us on and I’ll blast the fuckers off your back if shit gets hairy."

“Yeah, I know you will,” a pony growled.

The earth pony who spoke pushed forward to the front, his off-white coat was covered in dust from the journey and his mane was long and wild. He was less than a head taller than Tap but about twice as thick.  His cutie mark of a spool of duct tape was pockmarked with bullet wounds. His face was worse with an ugly scar across his jaw and a matching exit-wound on the opposite cheek. His saddle mounted shotgun aimed at the ground, but a grab of the trigger bit could change that real quick.

“You still got your tits in a twist, Patch?” Tap sneered. “That raider on your back would have done a lot worse to ya, you should be thanking me.”

To Patch’s credit, he didn’t shoot Tap where he stood. Instead he gave an acidic smile. “We’ll let you on.” He said with all the sweetness of a salted lemon. “But you’ll give us all your caps and everything in that wagon.

“‘Course if you don’t like that, we could set fire to your stuff and maybe only beat the shit out of you for wasting our fucking time,” He finished and put his hoof on Tap’s chest. “How’s that sound, buddy?”

Tap readied himself to spit in the pony’s face when Rita stepped in front of him.

“Hi Patch,” Rita said, her voice sunshine and rainbows. “We have not been properly introduced. I’m Paharita, but you can call me Rita. Nice to meet‘cha.” 

She grabbed his hoof and gave it a shake before he thought to yank it back. She gave a quick smile and hello to the other ponies in the line.

“Who’s this?” Rail-Spike asked, looking over Rita at Tap. “You buying sex slaves now?”

“No, silly,” Rita said with a laugh and gave the pony a glancing pat on the shoulder. “Hah, you blue-collar ponies with your lewd jokes.”

She sighed and continued, “I’m his partner on an little expedition.” Rita put a claw tenderly on her bandaged leg. “But I’m afraid we had a nasty run-in with some raiders and it left Tap on edge.” She put her palm against Rail-Spike’s chest and leaned in. “You know how he gets about raiders, I’m sure.

“And of course we’re sorry to have stopped you,” Rita pulled away from Spike and addressed the entire line of ponies. “But, as you can see, I’m in a bit of a bad way with my leg and poor Tap’s been having to carry me for a couple days now. It’d really help us out if you could give us a ride.”

Patch opened his mouth to speak, but Rita piped up before he could get a word out. “Naturally, we’ll be paying you twice the normal ticket fee for the inconvenience and we’ll add twice the fee again once we’ve conducted some business in town.”

Rita touched a talon to her beak and her eyes drifted to the side as she continued. “There’s also a more personal service I could do for you all. Something to take the edge off after such a long, hard trip.”

To Tap’s great surprise, Rail-Spike laughed. “Listen lady,” he said with a smile. “I like to get my dick wet as much as the next stallion, but for one, you’re a griffon and that’s just a bit weird, and we really don’t have the time to stand around out here and give you our best, so unless you’re going to try and give us a blow on the run—"

Rita laughed and slapped her good knee. “There’s more of that lewd-humor I love,” she giggled. “But I’m talking about music, you big goof. I can hook the train’s speakers to my PipBuck and play you all a bit of heaven with my instrument here as you run.”

“Are you any good?” another pony in the line-up asked.

“Give me half a minute and decide for yourselves,” she said as pulled the guitar from her back.

Tap grit his teeth and flattened his ears as she plugged the cord from the guitar into her PipBuck. He’d never heard griffon music before, but after the last few days with Rita he was certain there was no way she could produce anything but obnoxious noises.

“Now my PipBuck by itself isn’t the best amp in Equestria,” Rita explained apologetically. “And I’m a little out of practice, but...”

Rita sucked in air through clenched teeth and let out in relaxed sigh as she rocked back onto her haunches. The back of her talons flicked the strings on the body while her thumb held them at the neck. The sound that came was like nothing Tap had heard in his life. It was was hard and soft at the same time, each note trailed off with an edge of an electronic echo. As she worked the strings faster, her other claw traveled the length of the neck, producing the most wonderful tingling feeling down his spine. Rita didn’t look at any of them as she bobbed her head to the beat she made.

All too soon, she let the last strummed note fade into the night air. She took her talons from the strings with a shuddering breath. She strapped the guitar back between her wings before she looked up at the ponies facing her.

Patch was the one to break the silence. “Twice the cost up front and twice again once we reach town?” He asked.

Rita nodded.

“And you’ll play the whole way?”

“Most of it,” Rita said with a smile. “Girl’s gotta rest sometime.”

Patch looked to Rail-Spike. He gave a nod and Patch looked back to Rita. “Leave the caps here,” he said. “You got five minutes to load your shit in a boxcar in the back. And I get that fuck’s gun, I’m not gonna have him jumping at shadows and helping anymore.”

“It’s a deal, train-runner,” Rita beamed.

She squealed with delight and ducked past the stunned Tap to rummage in the wagon. After a minute of splitting up the caps, she tossed a sack of the shinier and rarer ones at Rail-Spike. Tap was hitched up and already pulling the wagon towards the back of the train when she finished.

Reluctantly, Tap pulled out his pistol with his magic as they passed Patch. The earth-pony snatched it out of the air with his mouth and tossed it into a pouch on his saddle. Patch gave a sneer as Tap went past.

“What’s with that?” another train-pony asked, pointing at the cardboard pegasus. “You found love at last?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking your old girlfriend,” Tap shouted. “I hope that’s cool.”

Tap went around the corner to the sound of raunchy laughter. After a moment, Rita hopped down from the wagon and strut by his side. Her smile was proud and her brow waggled at him when he looked her in the eye.

“Rita,” Tap began.

“Nah, you don’t have to say it,” Rita said loudly. “I know I’m amazing.” 

After a brief, thoughtful pause she seemed to change her mind. “So which was more amazing, my defusing of your pee-pee contest with scarface back there or my killer guitar licks?” She asked.

“That was my gun you gave away back there, you stumpy douchebag,” Tap growled. He let out a disgusted sigh and added, “But yeah, I guess. Good work.”

“I know, right,” Rita shrieked and hopped into the first open and empty boxcar, Tap noticed it was one of the barred and locked cars that had likely just been emptied of its crying and pleading cargo in Fillydelphia. Rita went straight for the intercom box on the wall and yanked it open. She did not offer to help load in the wagon.

Tap's horn glowed and he flung weapon, after filthy set of clothes, after medkit, and so on until the wagon was empty. The train was already starting to get moving as he hauled in the wagon itself. He fell back on his haunches amid the loose junk rattling around on the floor. 

Rita turned away from the intercom, a cable running from the box to her PipBuck. She clicked her tongue distastefully at the mess. “Jeez, just put that anywhere, why don’t ya,” Rita chided and set the Dash standee off in the corner.

“Well maybe if somepony lent me a hoof I wouldn’t have just had to throw the shit before the train took off,” Tap shot back.

“I guess,” Rita shrugged. “But why waste time on hypotheticals?”

Tap tried to figure out what a “hypothetical” was as Rita slid the door shut. He decided she had made it up so he called her a “chicken cuntlet” and went about putting all the junk back in the wagon. After he’d cleaned up he looked to see Rita curling up against her duffel bag.

“Don’t you got some guitar-playing to do?” Tap asked, trying to keep his own eagerness to hear her again out of his voice.

“Oh right,” Rita replied lazily. She sleepily slapped a talon against the controls of her PipBuck and the sounds of her guitar poured out of the speakers. Tap stared at her, he was somewhere between aghast and amazed.

“Like I’m going to play for those jerks for hours,” Rita yawned and rolled over. “I’m planning on sleeping until we get to N.A."

"Why do you have these tapes of yourself?" Tap asked after the recording gave one of Rita's not-swears when it hit the wrong cord.

Rita snorted a laugh. "This isn't the first time I've wanted someone to think I was somewhere doing something I'm not," Rita answered.

"Now, if you don't have any more dumb questions, I think it's sleep-o-clock," Rita said and flopped her head on her bag.

After a few seconds of silence, Tap fished in his bag for the first already-open bottle. Finding a half-drank bottle of hard cider, Tap went to work killing the other half.

"Hey aren't you going to sleep?" Rita asked, her head popping up.

"Nah," Tap grunted.
 
"In the days we've been traveling, I think you've slept, like, three hours," Rita said and tapped her beak. "What's up with that."

Tap's horn sparked and the newly empty bottle was smashed against the far wall.

"I don't like what I see when I close my eyes," Tap said without emotion, his eyes looking far-away and too old.

"Oh," Rita said and cocked her head to the side. "That's messed up."

She was loudly snoring before her head dropped. Tap celebrated the bit of peace with a few gulps of vodka and a hit of Dash.

As Tap put the inhaler away, something felt off. The boxcar began to feel a lot darker and colder than it had been moments earlier. The shadows in the corners of the room felt bottomless as they stretched up to the ceiling and Tap had a sudden impression of sitting in the middle of a slowly closing toothy maw. Rita's snoring and the music on the intercom became muted and distant along with the clacking of the train. Soon, he sat in complete, oppressive silence.

If this had been the first time this had happened, he'd have wondered if he had overdone it on the chems and booze. Instead, he sat very, very still and kept his eyes in front of him.

From behind him a whispering sound grew, like the bristling of thousands of tiny legs. It built to a whisper, rapid and indecipherable. It came close and spread out, coming from everywhere he wasn’t looking.

Dots of cold creeped up Tap’s back. His teeth clenched as the cold settled around his neck like long, spindly fingers. A bit of warm air touched his ear, as though someone was leaning in to whisper a secret.

“Hey Rita,” Tap said loudly.

Rita spasmed awake, her claws unsheathing and digging into her duffel bag. She looked around in a panic. Her eyes settled on her PipBuck and then turned to Tap with a glare.

Sound, light, and warmth had returned to the boxcar. Tap couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s only been three hours,” Rita growled. “We’ve got at least another six before getting to town. What is it?”

Tap couldn’t think of how to begin to answer that question.

"Look," Rita said sleepily. "If you're really hard-up, you can do me while I'm sleeping. It's totally fine. Just no monkey bites and either finish in me or on the floor. I don't want to wake up to a back of sticky and matted fur."

“I was just thinking,” Tap interrupted. “What’s so special about that rainbow pony? I mean you went to a lot of trouble to—"

Rita’s eyes became wide and sparkling, her teeth gleamed.

“Let me tell you about Rainbow Dash,” Rita said, she was vibrating.


--[     //]--


Tap used his magic to yank open the boxcar’s door.

“And that was only the seventh time Rainbow Dash was wounded in battle,” Rita exclaimed, clapping her claws together and pressing them to her cheek. “Sometimes I stay up at night pretending I’m the doctor who got to pull the shrapnel from her haunches.”

Tap’s eyes were sunken and dark, but he still had the same small, odd grin that he’d had since he woke Rita up the previous night as he stepped down into New Appleloosa’s train station.

Behind the train, the heavy scrap metal-gates rumbled shut through a combination of machinery, magic, and good-old-fashioned ponies kicking it. They were inside the trainyard of New Appleloosa, though it was more a garbage dump. There were enough cars and engines around to make up a fleet of trains, but, except for the one they stepped off from, they were all jammed, nailed, bolted, or welded together to make the wall encompassing most of the city.

Getting the wagon down was a much easier affair. Rita pushed the cart out and Tap simply used his magic to slow the descent. Rita went to the harness to help strap him in, but looked up to see him trotting towards the front of the train. Towards the pull-crew, to be exact.

“I gotta settle up with Patch Job,” Tap called over his shoulder.

Rita cringed. If Tap died now, after all they had been through, in a stupid macho show-off contest, she didn’t know what she’d do. She couldn’t pull that heavy wagon by herself, after all.

“What the fuck do you want?” Patch asked when he saw Tap approaching. The other ponies were content to watch the scene unfold.

“I wanted to say ‘sorry’,” Tap said as he got close.

“Oh fuck you,” Patch sneered.

Tap looked down and pawed the ground with his forehoof. “No, I’m serious,” he said earnestly. “I mean, I remember how hard-up you were before to find somepony to fuck your ass-ugly self and now you got a fucking hole in your face. So I’m sorry.”

Patch was faster than his size would imply. Tap only had enough time to rear up, slapping his forehoof against Patch’s bag-covered flank, as Patch spun around. He delivered a full buck straight to the side of Tap’s head and sent him sprawling to the ground.

“Now go get our fucking caps before we cut your balls off and sell you in ‘Filly,” Patch said and spat on the bleeding Tap.

Rita waited until the other ponies had dispersed before approaching Tap. He was curled in on himself with his forehooves tucked beneath him and he spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. Rita lay down in front of him and crossed her forelimbs before setting her down on top to look him in the eye.

“So what did that accomplish?” Rita asked with a crooked grin.

To Rita’s surprise, Tap smiled. It was the kind of smile a shark would give to a sea lion as the sea lion was stealing a penguin’s lunch money. He pulled his forehoof out from under him, the underside was covered in tape and his pistol was stuck to it.

“When you’re a unicorn known for stealing shit,” Tap explained as he stood up with several loud popping noises, “ponies tend to watch your horn and not pay any attention to your hooves.”

It was several seconds before Rita got over the shock and let out a harsh laugh. She got to her feet and skipped up next to him as he went down the main road of town with the wagon harnessed to him.

“You know, Tap,” Rita said with a warm smile. “I’m starting to think you’re not completely retarded.”

Tap looked at her, his lip curled in disgust while his brow arched with a hint of amusement. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me,” he replied.

The rest of the trip through town was dull in comparison. Some ponies, mostly mares, greeted Tap warmly, the rest either glared at him, crossed the street to avoid him, or told him to pay the caps he owes already.

They came to a stop at a pile of three different kinds train cars well away from the other homes and businesses with a bunch of a junk scattered around it. Rita bounced on her claws as Tap unhitched himself.

“Are you taking a potty break?” Rita asked impatiently.

“No,” Tap answered and pointed his hoof at a pile of lumber leaning against the train cars. “We’re here.”

What Rita had mistaken for lumber, was a sign that looked like it had been painted over repeatedly. In large, sloppy letters it said: “Absolutely Everything, please stop vandalizing my sign”. The train cars had actually been welded together, Rita noticed on a second look. The large sliding door on the closest train had a smaller sign on it reading, “Always Open, except when closed.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Rita asked, hope fading from her heart that she’d ever turn a profit.

“Rita,” Tap said, as he yanked open the door to the shop. “Try to be cool.”

The inside of the shop was lit by bulbs on strings of wires taped and stapled across the ceiling. The interior walls of the other train cars had been knocked out and replaced by sheets of roughly nailed together plywood to make other “rooms” towards the back. The main body of the shop was made of a maze of shelves of all kinds of designs and makes from wire mesh to stacks of cinderblocks, all were decorated with scribbled signs describing the knick-knacks adorning them; each sign had been painted over several times. Behind a large counter was a locked, barred case with guns, blades, and anything that could loosely be described as a weapon. Above them was a large sign: “Please Don’t Hurt Anypony Nice With These.” A smiley face was painted underneath.

“She redecorated since I’ve been here last,” Tap said, nodding his head appreciatively. “Really cleaned the place up.”

“Yeah, it’s really pulling in the crowds now,” Rita jeered as she walked through the empty shop. “Maybe it’s the lovely aroma of meat left out in the sun keeping them at bay,” she added with a sniff.

"Hello," she called out, putting her elbows on the counter. "Anybody home?"

There was a shuffling from behind the counter. A stringy blonde tail flicked into view, followed by a grey backside. The coat was patchy and the skin beneath fared no better with bits of muscle in plain view, shining under a thin layer of mucus. Fully raised on the back were the horrid remains of wings where few feathers could be found. The head was the last to raise above the counter. What little of its blond mane were left came in individual strands and clumps. One ear was perforated with tiny holes as though some rodent had tried chewing on it. The nose had rotted back, leaving a single obscene nasal cavity. Around its mouth full of yellow teeth, the lips were smeared in goopy red. The faded gold eyes rattled around before one locked onto the pair while the other remained fixed on the ground.

Rita's scream was high and piercing. The ghoul's eyes bugged and it let out a dry and throaty roar, revealing its half-cut-out tongue, before it dropped to the floor behind the counter.

"Zombie!" Rita wailed.

Ears flat, Tap tried to shout over the shrieking griffon. "Rita, calm the fuck down."

Rita crawled in between Tap's forelegs as he stared, in shock.

"Shoot it," she screeched. "Aim for the head, that's where the evil lives!"

Rita dared to look back and saw the rotting horror directly behind her, a small sign was hanging from its neck: “Please don’t shoot me, I promise not to eat you.” Beneath the words was a big pink heart.

Above her, Tap was grinding his hoof against his forehead. “Hi Derpy,” Tap said and stepped aside so that Rita was no longer under him. “This is my partner, Rita.”

The ghoul trotted over and grabbed Rita’s claw between two hooves and shook it. 

“She’s pleased to meet you,” Tap said with a grin.

Rita looked away and cried harder until her claw was released by the cracked and sticky hooves.

“You still enjoying that jam we got you last month?” Tap asked, pointing at the red goop around her mouth.

Derpy nodded her head rapidly and ran behind the counter. She dipped her head low and brought it back up with her muzzle stuffed into a glass jar. Her stump of a tongue scraped at the red goo on the sides. Rita clamped a claw over her beak to fight back the bile.

Derpy gasped and let the jar fall from her muzzle with a clatter. She glared at Tap who touched his chest as if to say, “Who me?” She grabbed a thick marker from the counter begin scribbling on the back of her sign, keeping one eye on Tap. After a minute of furious scribbling, she held up the sign.

“I’m still mad at you.” It read. “You took a bunch of stuff from my shop again without paying again. Please stop that!”

“Did I fucking forget to pay again?” Tap said and scratched the back of his head, like a scolded foal.

Another sign was popped up by the decayed pegasus. “Don’t swear,” it read with an angry face beneath it.

“Well look, how about I make it up to you,” Tap said stepping forward. “I got a wagon full of shit,” he stopped and hastily amended, “stuff outside that I got back from raiders. Got guns, food, clothes...”

Derpy squeezed her rotten cheeks in surprise and dipped her head under a cord attached to a blank sign, letting it hang around her neck. She leapt into the air and flew, literally, out the door. Tap gave the frozen-in-horror Rita a shove and walked towards the door. He grabbed a cracked snow-globe, three spark-batteries, and a candy bar on the way out and dropped them in his bag.





--[      /]--


Outside, Tap and Rita stood in front of the door to the shop. Derpy was flying back and forth over the wagon, picking over the items with the same excitement as a foal at Hearth's Warming. She held up a ventilated and stained red shirt, giggling at the light passing through the holes.

“So pegasi can fly even as skinless, featherless, radioactive zombies?” Rita whispered at Tap. “I did not know that. Nor did I want to.”

“She’s not a zombie, you racist fuck,” Tap hissed back. “She’s a perfectly normal pony, except kinda nasty.”

Derpy rolled to her back in the air and dropped into the wagon. She popped  back into view a few moments later with a handkerchief tied over her mouth, sunglasses over her eyes, and two machetes clutched in her nearly-naked wings. She made a growling noise and nodded approvingly.

“Okay,” Tap admitted. “She’s also a little fucking weird.”

From the bottom of the wagon, Derpy pulled up the Rainbow Dash cutout. Both eyes locked on the printed face. Tap thought she'd fallen into a trance. Or a staring contest.

"Hey that's not," Rita began, but fell into a dry heave.

After a few seconds, Derpy's mouth set into a heavy frown. She threw a sheet  over the standee and her smile returned immediately.

"I can taste her smell," Rita coughed as she righted herself.

Tap nudged her hard in the ribs. "Where did your fucking bartering charm go?" Tap whispered. "Do you want to make her cry or something?"

Unable to hear the two, Derpy sat down and rapidly scribbled with her marker. 

"But it’s so nasty," Rita whined.

Derpy flew to the pair holding up the sign in her mouth. “I want it, all of it,” it read. “With a bit of work I can have so many new things to sell.”

Rita choked at the smell of Derpy hovering so close to her, she held up a talon as she turned to the side to suck in fresher air. “Now hold on,” Rita gasped. “We haven’t talked about price and—”

Derpy flipped the sign over. On the back was written a number. Rita shut up immediately. Tap whistled.

“Okay, that’s a deal,” Rita said, her voice cracking.

Derpy smiled wide, showing off all her yellow teeth, and dashed between Tap and Rita and into the shop. Several loud bangs and crashes followed.

“See, I told ya,” Tap said grinning at Rita. “Ditzy will buy anything and everything.”

“I thought its name was ‘Derpy’,” Rita replied.

“Derpy’s a nickname,” Tap explained as another loud crash sounded from inside the shop.

“So you gave a pony whose name means ‘retarded’ a nickname that means ‘retarded’,” Rita said and clicked her tongue, “Very clever.”

“I didn’t fucking make it up, she already had the name even back when I was a foal,” Tap shot back.

A jangling sack of caps dropped between the two. They looked up to see Derpy happily hovering above the door. She gave a smile and a wave before drifting over to the wagon where she hitched herself up. When Tap looked back, Rita was already dividing up the caps before Derpy had finished dragging the wagon behind the shop. The sounds of an industrial elevator sounded moments later.

“And that squares us up,” Rita announced as she stuffed her share of the caps into her bag.

Tap looked down at the largest single pay-day he’d gotten in his life. “It hasn’t been completely fucking terrible working with you,” Tap said with a dark laugh. “We make a good team.”

“Oh yeah,” Rita said with a slow smile. She grabbed the Rainbow Dash cutout and folded it in half and again. Despite himself, Tap felt horrified.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tap all-but shrieked.

Rita cocked a brow at him and shook the cutout like a rug. It popped back to it’s original shape. Tap’s hangover flared.

“It’s made of enchanted paper,” Rita explained. “It’ll never crease.”

“Then why the fuck did we have it out the whole time?” Tap pleaded.

Rita finished folding Rainbow Dash into a size the she could shove down her vest. “So I could show it off, duh,” Rita said with a shrug.

“Anywho, see ya,” Rita said loudly and clapped her claws together.

“What, that’s it?” he stammered in disbelief.

“Yeppers peppers,” she sing-songed. “You did good work. A solid six out of ten. I’ll totally write you a recommendation if you need one. Ya know, if we bump into each other again.”

Rita stuck her bottom in the air and gave a wiggle before she hopped into the air. She soared skyward without looking back. Tap stood silently for a moment, staring after the rapidly disappearing griffon into the grey skies. He looked at his sack of caps; it was enough to keep him fed, drunk, and with a place to sleep for months if he played it right. The thought didn’t enthrall him.

“So now what the fuck am I supposed to do?” he loudly asked no one.


--[       ]--


Bat. Low.