Chapter 2 - New place

I open my eyes, my frightened gaze flitting over my surroundings, while my head is in complete chaos.

What the fuck has just happened? Where have I gone? How long have I been out?

It take a while before my thoughts return to normal and I am able to assess the situation I am in. A lot of it is because I try to focus on my surroundings.

The interior of an abandoned two hundred year old wooden house. The roof has collapsed in many places inward, and from the holes formed, I can see the sky, densely covered with gray clouds. In the room, almost all furniture and decorations have turned to dust and mold, making it difficult to determine even the original color of the walls. The smell wafting around, I suppose, is not the best.

I feel as if I've just gone through some kind of whirlpool into the abyss. I feel different, my body feels like it's not mine. It's a familiar sense of self. Once, in the distant past, before I was in the Mojave Wasteland, I was treated to an unusual mixture of various drugs. I'd seen a lot of things in my delirium. I left my body, disintegrated into particles, felt unity with the cosmos, reached the depths of the universe, became a brahmin being gently and affectionately milked... In general, crazy ride of absurdity and incomprehensible images.

I don't seem to have used anything like that now... though perhaps that sphere had a similar effect on my brain and nervous system in general. The only thing is, how did I get out of that cave and into that abandoned house? I don't remember a thing.

Anyway, nothing for me to chill on the floor.

I make an attempt to get to my feet. First I roll over on my stomach and get on all fours to make it easier to get up and... I fail that part of my plan with unprecedented shame. The alienity of my own body affects the control of movements more than I had expected. I try to stand on my feet, but instantly lose my balance and, waving my arms haphazardly, fall back onto my back with a heavy sigh. The backpack cushioned my fall—hopefully nothing cracked or deteriorated in it. That shouldn't happen to a gun.

What was that just now? I've never had a problem like that... unless I'm high on some kind of substance. Maybe Pip-Boy will analyze my condition...

I look at my wrist computer and... I stare at my left hand... and it's missing!

Panic is rising in me.

"Where's my hand?!" burst out from me with fear.

I can feel myself starting to choke. Instead of a hand there is... nothing. The skin is covered with some kind of thick and short beige fur. The color is almost identical to my skin. My left limb feels like it has been chopped off, and now it looks like a beige round stump from the side. I turn the front toward me and see a solid formation of the same beige color making an almost complete circle, about the shape of a 'C'. Inside this circle is a small depression with soft looking skin.

I tap them. There is a thud, as if tapping on wood, and images from the past come to mind. When I first arrived on the West Coast, I had seen horses more than once in the territory of the New California Republic. They made a similar sound as they were walking. Before that, I had seen them in holotape-movies and books in Vault 101.

Wait... Wait a fucking minute. Did I turn into a fucking horse?

The next moment the name of what I'm looking at now comes into my head. A hoof. Now I have hooves instead of arms!

It take me a few more minutes to process this information, and as soon as the shivers subsided I start clacking on the Pip-Boy. I notice that it has changed slightly too, the buttons are bigger, but so... 'cups' instead of hands and fingers it is still uncomfortable to click on them. I want to see how Pip-Boy is evaluating my condition now. I probably picked up some kind of mutation from the sphere, but... It doesn't explain the external changes of the wrist computer itself.

Pip-Boy does not detect any deviations from the norm. At that moment I notice that the smiling Vault-Boy now look not like a cartoon man, but like a cartoon horse with big eyes. Out of disbelief and incomprehension, I involuntarily tapping the slightly flickering green screen to see if it's okay with the device.

I look at a few other sections of Pip-Boy and make sure my gear is all right. Nothing is missing. At least something positive.

I look down and see a similar picture... I can't see the outline of my feet, and it isn't because of the shoes, which has also changed. The ends are the same as my altered forelimbs. I move them around.

During my examination and reflection, I am not aware of what is going on around me, as if it isn't there at all. All my attention is focused only on my body.

Okay, Daniel, think with a cool head. Don't jump to conclusions. First, get up off the floor. You're gonna have to get down on all fours this time. I suspect that the cartoon horse in my Pip-Boy is standing on four legs... or hooves, for a reason.

I try to stand up, my knees in all four limbs are trembling a little, but I manage to hold on. I'm standing paralyzed for a few minutes, getting used to my new position and the sensations that followed. I seem to be closer to the floor now. Perhaps I am shorter, though I remember that horses in the NCR were taller than humans.

I try to concentrate on one thing and nothing else: walking. I lift my left front leg and feet like an astronaut stepping on the surface of the moon for the first time. I've forgotten the name of that famous astronaut. I remembered him well in Vault 101, but what is happening in the Wasteland unwittingly supersedes everything you knew about some distant past. I have no time to think about it in the harsh conditions of survival.

The first few steps are difficult for me, because I don't know in what order to move my legs. A couple of times they hit each other, and I fall. It's a pity that the images of how horses move have gone out of my head. It would have come in handy now. I am nearly overcome with despondency from helplessness, I remember how, as a child, I used to climb through the ventilation shafts of my home Vault. Remembering my movements, I make attempt to repeat them now. I am partly successful. I stop falling, but something telling me it still isn't the same.

It take me about an hour, experimenting with all the different variations of movement that popping into my head, but I am able to find the best option. A great relief go through my body, and I smile with joy.

"Yes!" I rejoice.

In a moment of drunken joy, something unusual has happened around my butt. A completely new sensation. The dark blue cloak is getting in the way of something, especially in this moment. I pull the cloak away and... I don't know what I am expected to see, but the presence of a black tail throw me into a stupor. Then come the realization that I can partially control it... and the hunch is right. I can wag my tail from side to side like some kind of dog.

This sight gives me mixed feelings. On the one hand it looks funny, but on the other hand it's too weird. The black color of the tail matches the color of my hair on my head... Speaking of looks: how do I look now?

Thinking about my new appearance make me fear mixed with curiosity.

As I look around, I notice a dirty and dusty mirror on the wall. I approach it with an uneasy sense of dread, the wooden floor creaks with my footsteps, and scrub it gently with my right hoof. It is ineffective, and the glass squeaks nastily. I turn my hoof to the side and wipe the mirror with my fur a few times. Visibility is shitty, but I can make out the illuminating red lenses of my helmet, as well as the beige thing sticking out of it above eye level.

I touch the thing on my forehead with my hoof in confusion and feel that it is my body part, and a rather sensitive one at that. It is unclear how the notch for this part of my body has came to be... Though my Pip-Boy has changed in appearance, why should that surprise me? That's not what interests me at all. What is this beige spiral spear sticking out of my head?

Staring at the mirror, I try to remove my helmet. I succeed on my fourth attempt. It is awfully uncomfortable to work with my hooves, and it is so annoying that I want to kick something with all my might. How am I going to deal with this from now on?

In the dirty reflection of the mirror beneath my helmet, something remotely resembling a horse is looking at me. The muzzle is shorter than I've remembered, and the overall shape is not as sharp. But big eyes with blue irises are peering out at me. The strands of black hair dangled slightly in front of me, and my hairstyle has changed from back to front, slightly raised. The same beige horn on my forehead. Long ears, standing upright.

I touch various parts of his face and head with vivid interest and excitement, like a child exploring a new and awesome toy from every angle. Unfathomable wonders and metamorphoses that can only be seen in a drug-induced delirium. The new appearance is not easy to accept.

Whatever has happened to me, I can only say one thing with certainty...

"I'm in deep mystical shit..."

***

For some reason the global map of my Pip-Boy isn't working, unlike the local map. «Communication with satellite lost», and nothing else. With all other functions in my Pip-Boy there is no problem...

Except for those damn hooves! I hate it!

I am boiling with anger when I miss the buttons a few times. I tackle the issue of self-defense and come to the disappointing conclusion that I have no access to firearms. My hooves unable to pull the trigger. At this point, I am completely ineffective in combat, which begin to bother me greatly. I'm totally helpless.

For fuck's sake!

I can't stand the despair and anger that is enveloping me, and I kick the poor brown chair with my front hoof as hard as I can. I am so overcome with emotion that I ignore the pain of the blow.

My inability to use my hooves, my bubbling thoughts, and my heated emotions eventually exhaust me, and I become thirsty. I uneasily retrieve a bottle of water from my backpack, set it down in front of me, and stare with weary chagrin at the cap, near which my hooves are frozen on both sides.

How am I supposed to open it?

I can't open it with my hooves, and it fall sideways several times. Putting it back upright is an excruciating task for me. The unsuccessful attempts make me desperately angry, and the anger grow stronger with each failure. The dam finally burst, and I freake out: I clamp the bottle between my two front hooves, bring it to my mouth, and... and I sink my teeth into the cap. I want to fucking chew off this obstacle to my coveted and clean water!

Like an animal, I clawe my teeth into the unlucky cap. I want to rip it out! I hate that little metal thing!

Of course, it doesn't budge.

At some point I realize the stupidity of what I've done, and thank myself that no one has seen it. In one moment, it is as if I have been hit over the head with a bottle—one idea occur to me. I grab the cap again with my teeth, and then begin slowly turning the bottle with my front legs, and, oh wonder, I succeed. With joy the bottle nearly fall out of my feet, I spit out the cap on my backpack and greedily suck on the bottle's neck, lifting it above me. The cool and clear liquid moistens my parched mouth and pours further into my stomach. This fabulous bliss make me mumble with pleasure.

As I swallowed the lovely liquid, I feel relieved, my lips stretch into a contented smile. My head is in order and my heart is at peace. Now I can think things over in peace.

I lean toward my backpack, grab the cap with my teeth, and close the bottle with it. My device, which condenses moisture from the surrounding air, will make up for some of the water I drank.

After taking a little snack, I think hard about what I will do with my body, how to be in combat. Can't use firearms, can't hold a sword... My pensive gaze rest on the same dusty brown chair that I've recently kicked angrily.

That's right! I have Pushy! Fortunately, unlike the rest of my weapons and equipment, it has been altered: the gauntlet is missing, and the speaker that reproduced the blow has shifted to the hoof area. How has it changed? Probably because it was on my hand the moment I was dragged into the orb... But none of that matters now. At least I have some tool for self-defense!

"Oh yes!" I exclaime, raising my hoof with Pushy on it. "You and I are going to kick ass."

I spend the next hour mastering the energy knuckles in close combat. Of course, my new physique make my limb swinging skills do nothing more than make my opponents die laughing, but I have a tangible advantage on my side... the stealth field! I will be difficult to hit with the stealth field on. Thanks to my previous experience in such 'intimate' fights, I will get away with no damage, because my opponent simply wouldn't know where to hit.

However, in addition to Pushy combined with invisibility, I have two more aces up my sleeve... and that's two implants: one that deals pulse damage to robots, and one that sets its target on fire. They work well in my transformed body, just like all the other implants. I have to learn how to use these two aces in combat, though, because I used my fingers to activate them, and here I have to rotate my hoof in a special way.

After gathering all my belongings, I leave the building with excitement and enthusiasm.

***

Outside... the usual picture of desolation. The horizon stretched to all sides, deserted plains, with a little wind blowing in and picking up the sand.

I am standing on the porch of a two-story house; from my view of the plains, my gaze drifts to the stone-paved walkway that ends at the house. The wooden fence, the flowerbeds, the garden furniture, the stone path... all weathered, crumbling, and worn. There are no other houses to be seen nearby.

I didn't find anything inside this house, except for some shabby furniture, so I spent very little time looking around. Apparently, it was a country house that was abandoned before the war or something like that.

As I stepped off the porch and away from the building, I look at it. There is nothing unusual about it, an abandoned and dilapidated wooden house. All the paint has crumbled away, leaving no hint that it has been here. The only question I am curious about is...

"What's so special about you? Why am I suddenly your guest?"

There is silence in response.

It is to be expected. I turn my back on him... or my ass, which, given my body part, is closer to the object... Why the fuck would I think of such a little thing? I've got better things to do.

I walk past the collapsed fence. There is no gate at the entrance. No, they hasn't been blown away by the wind; they has never been here at all. The stone path ended... and then there are traces of the once-traveled road. I stare at it.

Where are you taking me?

The global map doesn't work, so this well-trodden path is my only clue as to where I should go. I have no other option, so I follow it.

As I'm walking, my mind is racing through a whirlwind of questions. There are too many of them, all equally interesting to me, but I cannot hold on to any particular one. Thinking about it all without facts doesn't make any sense. One thing is clear... It's not worth sitting in one place. It is necessary to find someone else and find out as much as possible about what has happened with me. And here is an important question: how would people react to someone like me? As usual, they will think I am some kind of special mutant or something like that.

Now the shuffling sounds are coming from under my feet twice as intense as I used to hear. Meanwhile, the thoughts in my head calm down after I concentrated on observing the surrounding terrain and signs of warning danger. Behind every rock can be a threat—the Wasteland never lets you breathe a sigh of relief, so you strain to peer into almost anything that can serve as shelter. My helmet's thermal imaging and Pip-Boy's radar will allow me to track danger up close, no matter where it lurks.

I'm completely focused on seeing and... feeling. In addition to my physique, which I'm slowly getting used to—the new clothes doesn't make me uncomfortable anymore—I've noticed a new feeling. I've never experienced it before, but it never leaves me. At first I didn't notice it because of my emotions and thoughts. It was as if there were barely perceptible streams of air around me. Not the ones that are rubbing my cloak right now, but as if... mystical ones that possess no matter. These mysterious streams cannot be confused with air, for they permeate me, I feel them with every part of my body.

I stop and begin to move my front foot in front of me in different directions, trying to feel it or push it away, but in vain. The streams of something incomprehensible move with the same speed and intensity... though I have no idea how I can determine the 'speed' and 'intensity' of the streams. I am intrigued by these... invisible and barely perceptible streams. I pay attention to them as much as... to my own breathing. When the air is inhaled, but it goes unnoticed until you focus on the process. That's about how I became aware of these piercing currents. I was concentrating on what I was feeling and... I noticed it at a certain point.

I continue walking and ponder the discovery of the invisible streams. Even though I can't physically interact with them, it is as if I can do it... but in some other way. I even looked into the Pip-Boy to see if it detected anything unusual, but nothing important or distinctive.

Eventually the dirt road come out onto a paved single-lane road, running from northeast to southwest. I step onto the hard and weathered, sand-covered asphalt in places, and look back at both sides of the road in confusion.

Both paths are now on equal footing for me... maybe a cap tossed in? Although, in that case, with my clumsy hooves, I aren't able to lift them. Oh... what the hell? I don't mind If I lose three caps!

I take out one of the bags with the caps, scoop three off them onto my left hoof, and flip them up in the air. I'll go northeast if the Nuka-Cola sign end up on top of most of them, and southwest if it end up on the bottom. The caps hit the pavement with a clang. One cap lie title down almost immediately, a second one jump high and fall to the ground—the sign Nuka-Cola is looking up into the cloudy sky. The third roll and... stuck in a crack in the road, stand on edge, and then swaying under light wind. I can't hold back a smile from such a result, which is immediately followed by a short chuckle.

"What a luck..."

The position of the cap will allow me to grab it with two hooves. I approach it, stretch out my hooves to it and... a sharp gust of wind yank the cap out of the crack, and it immediately fall upward. Out of surprise, I staring at the red cap with the frayed writing 'Nuka-Cola'. A sudden gust of wind influenced my choice. It feels as if it was waiting for the moment, since only a gentle breeze has surrounded me before.

"Well... I guess I'll head northeast."

As expected, I can't pick up the caps, so, not to spoil my mood, I left them lying on the road, heading in a northeasterly direction. Eventually the wind would blow them off the road.

***

Halfway through the day. An old prewar bar called the Speedy Pony appeared on my horizon. I stop, step off the road, get my rifle, which I did with difficulty because of my clumsy hooves, and then put it on the edge of the cliff for extra stability and look through the telescopic sight.

I can' t shoot, I wish I could: I would have had the advantage of shooting from a distance.

Nearby are two tethered brambles, two trailers, and some kind of trailer, which is half a car. The two trailers are loaded with worn metal containers and wooden crates. The half-car trailer is noticeably different, as if it's deliberately meant to stand out: it is additionally armored with thick sheets of metal and covered like a cactus with sharpened pieces of junk.

A guard dressed in spiked armor is strolling across the roof of the bar. It is an artisanal armor made of various steel junk, which is studded with sharp metal 'spikes' in the likeness of a half-car trailer. The helmet is matching the rest of the armor in style and materials. A rifle with a scope dangle from a belt on the side of the guard as he's strolling around the perimeter of the roof. His peculiarity is that he isn't a human. He looks just like me. A horse.

I was about to rejoice that I've met one of my own kind, but something about the setting don't appeal to me. I have to make sure it isn't a raider gang guard.

Following the principles of prudence and caution, I choose a route with as much cover as possible, like small rocks, bushes... and only follow it when the guard isn't looking in my direction. If I can't make it to the next hiding place in time, I use the stealth field.

In all the time I've been hiding, not once have I been spotted. I breath a sigh of relief as I press myself against the brick wall of the bar. There are no loud noises from inside, but I can hear the horses talking. I go to the window, turn on the stealth field, and peer slowly through the soiled glass. There are holes and cracks in some parts of the window, so I have no trouble hearing the talkers inside.

The visitors turn out to be three other horses sitting at a table on stools about the center of the room. Their faces are in my line of sight. They are all clad on the same principle as the guard above—the armor also consists of all sorts of junk and is dotted with pointed pieces of metal, like spikes or needles, at varying concentrations. On the table are their spiked helmets, and under one of the legs of the table lies some kind of considerable device, which I understood by its shape to be mounted on the back—to it are attached barrels on either side. Their shape is unusual; I've never seen anything like it before, so it's hard for me to estimate their killing power.

In front of those seated are plates with pieces of fried appetizing meat. But one of the three plates is already empty. Nearby, a fire is lighting in the middle of the room, with the carcass of a two-headed brahmin roasting over it. The sight of it make my stomach growl.

The broken wooden tables and stools of the bar are burning and crackling in the fire. The remaining vacant tables are converted into a barricade at the entrance. The shelves behind the bar are emptied and the decor elements are marred by time. To the right of the bar counter, wooden steps lead up to the second floor.

It becomes apparent that the bar is clearly not serving its purpose at this point. I suspect it is being used as a temporary resting point. And those horses with their spiky armor look more like bandits than travelers, for what good would it do them to eat one of their pulling brahmins? This must be one of the trophies from the recent attack on the caravan. It is not for nothing that I have decided to keep a low profile after all. My fears are confirmed. I must observe them and assess the situation. Besides, it is curious to see how the likes of me behave.

"Delicious!" a man's voice mutters. The color of the horses' fur and hair is markedly different from each other, which is rather unusual. "The meat is fucking great," he add, and once again sink his teeth into his piece of meat.

His contented face, with its dark red fur, indicate his enjoyment of the process. He obviously likes to stand out, judging by his straw-yellow hair, sticking out in different directions like pieces of metal on his armor. Speaking of which, there's an area near his back where there are no 'spikes'... just about the size of that device with the two guns attached. I think it belongs to him.

"That's the tenth time you've said that, Needle. Shut the fuck up," a woman's voice comes. It's a gray horse with short blond-brown hair sitting next to him that said it. Unfortunately, the others obscure the view, and I can't get a good look at her weapons.

Did she call him Needle?

"I can't help myself," Needle says, not looking at the indignant companion.

A third horse with a woman's voice intervene, "When you fucked me last night, you don't throw that kind of compliment at me."

That's the one with the empty plate in front of her. Apparently, by the time I looked out the window, she has already eaten her portion. This horse has a soft yellow coat, blond well-groomed hair... but what makes her stand out the most is that her face, including her ears, is pierced with shiny, colorful jewelry. Also... she has a twisted horn on her forehead, just like me.

Hmm... What's the difference between having or not having a horn on forehead? What does it do?

Attached to her front legs is a holster, each containing a pistol... or something that resembles them: instead of handles, there are some holders shaped for a mouth and teeth. It's not immediately clear that it's a weapon. Interesting.

Needle has chewed his meat enthusiastically, ignoring the horned horse's playful envy. Gray horse smiles and answers her:

"You're just not that juicy."

"I would," Needle interrupts, "gladly tastes other kind of meat in other way. It's a pity that Pin is enjoying it now." There is envy and irritation in his voice.

Pin... Curious, already two names or nicknames have something to do with something sharp.

Gray horse has already devoured her piece of meat. Wasting no time, she gets up from her wooden stool, takes her empty plate in her teeth, and walks over to the fire. Near it, she lifts her front hoof and places the plate on it, brings it under the roasting brahmin, and says, "Thanks to Pin's new plan, there are no dead bodies."

Then with her teeth she grasps the knife and deftly cuts off a piece of meat. It fall onto the plate with a delicious slap...

I'm so goddamn hungry! The smell of roasting meat would drive me crazy if it aren't the helmet on my head.

"So?" Needle asks indignantly. "All trophies are shared!"

The gray horse says, "That's right, and that trophy stays with us. We'll only sell the prisoners in the cellar... Well, except for the colt. Don't forget that and don't fuck my brains out again."

The gray horse returns contentedly to his seat at the table. Indignation continues to pour from the impatient Needle's lips, "We could have had a threesome, but he got her alone! I mean, he's been having his fun with her for hours!" His tone becomes dreamy. "As soon as I saw her pretty and beautiful face, my armor became tight at once! I just wanted to stick my dick in her face, rub... and cum on it! Several times!"

The gray horse rewards Needle with a sudden and unexpected smack, like thunder.

"Fuck you and your fantasies!"

Needle nearly chokes on his surprise, and coughs. A third horse with soft yellow hair and two unusual pistols begin tapping on his back, helping him cough. The gray horse, however, is not going to stop.

"I don't want to think about your dick and... uh... cum while I'm eating. If it makes me vomit, you can be sure I'll 'cum' my vomit on your fucking face!"

The gray horse's tone oozes anger and rage. If I be in Needle's shoes, I'd moderate my desire to talk about my fantasies. The gently pierced yellow horse watches the other two closely, chewing its meat slowly. She is clearly calmer than her companions.

"Fuck, Thorn! I almost choked," he says.

"Your own fault," Thorne hums. And indeed, their names correspond to something sharp. She adds, "You know I can't stand stallion dicks".

Stallions? Is that a description of the male specimen of a horse?

Needle smiles lustfully. That horny smile gives me a bad feeling. Something is about to happen. Whatever he's up to, he'd better bite his tongue. Thorn is clearly not in the mood.

He says, "Just so you know, when you're dead and your body is left defenseless, I'll be sure to take advantage of him, fuck him all over..."

Thorn kicks her front leg into the stallion's face; the blow is so hard that he fall backward off the chair. There is a brawl between the two of them: thuds, heavy sighs, and plenty of swearing.

The same behavior, the same impulsiveness... Horses are not so different from humans. The only thing missing is energetic music. Wait... I just now notice that they speak English! Does this give me hope that I'm still somewhere in the USA?

"Overfuck!" the third horse shouts with the piercings, getting up from his chair. "There you go again!"

My eyes nearly pop out of my head as the gentle yellow horse's horn glows with some kind of silver glimmer, and the glimmer of the same color envelops the fighting horses... And then they fly into the air, away from each other.

I stare in amazement at what is happening.

They. Are. Soaring. In. The air.

Meanwhile, they aren't paying much attention; they don't care. Their menacing gazes are aimed at each other, Needle's nose is bleeding, and Thorn's mouth is bloodied.

"What the fuck is going on here?" A new male voice emerges, which partially bring me out of my stupor and catch my attention. The horse... the stallion with light purple hair is standing in front of the stairs on the second floor to the right of the bar. It is that guard from the roof.

"Thorn and Needle," the pale yellow horse says, looking at each of them disapprovingly. They're still hovering in the air and shrouded in a silver glow, and I still can't pick up my jaw with surprise. The guard with the rifle sighs wearily and rolls his eyes doomfully. He staggers down the wooden steps while Thorn and Needle slowly land at the wooden floor of the bar. The silver glimmer around them evaporates, as it has around that horse's horn.

Something clickes in my head.

Wait... One minute. They went up with the appearance of a flicker around them and a horn... and then the flicker disappeared the moment after they hit the floor. This cannot be a simple coincidence. What is this silver shimmer? What is its nature?

While my mind is bubbling with emerging hypotheses, the light purple-haired rooftop guard removes his rifle from his back and, deftly holding it with one hoof, pokes it sideways on Thorn's armor spikes. She lowers her gaze questioningly, then looks up at the guard.

"Yes," he says, "go get some fresh air."

She reluctantly picks up the rifle, tosses it onto her side, grabs her helmet from the table, and go upstairs. She spits blood on the way up. Now I can see her personal means of protection: a pistol with the same unusual mouth and teeth holder... and a dangling metal chain wrapped tightly with barbed wire.

Thorn... No wonder she has such a name. She's bound to pounce on his victims surreptitiously and strangle them whenever she gets the chance. That's not very effective in a firearms fight, unless she has a fetish for it. Based on her reaction to Needle's words, she doesn't like stallions... perhaps she likes strangling them with this particular barbed-wire chain.

At this distance, I notice that this rifle has a much larger trigger, which can be pressed with the hoof. Of course, there are a few other nuances in its shape, like places designed to hold it with hooves. I think, with the right training, I can shoot from it.

Needle wipes his nose sullenly and returns to the table.

The light purple stallion shakes his head and says, "So many years together and still looking for a reason to kick each other's asses." He looks around bewildered. "Where's Slaughter?"

"Off to the cellar," the horse with the horn responds . "Went to make cuts on the foal, as usual, to jerk off to his torment."

Surprise finally wear off my mind, and the Pip-Boy's charge on the stealth field is almost depleted—I turn it off and duck down, immers in thought.

A colt? It's mean little...? And he's tied up in the basement right now, in agony, writhing in sharp pain with his mouth gagged shut so as not to be deafened by his cries, while raider enjoys and satisfies herself by the spectacle. My hooves itch, I want to wring that sadistic bitch's neck right now! She even has a name... Slaughter... I need to step in and...

I get turn on to other things to think about.

Should I even try to get involved? There are thousands of victims in the Wasteland suffering in this way now. Could my taking out this gang have other repercussions? What if the gang is really bigger and only a part of it is here... and the rest will take revenge on them? Not necessarily me, but other Wastelanders, satisfying their anger by causing more and greater suffering? Some villains are replaced by others, and worse... this has happened many times before because of my actions.

Besides, I'm not in the kind of physical shape to stand up for myself...

While I pondered the consequences, the charge of the Pip-Boy is partially restored. I turn on the stealth field and go back to watching. The rooftop guard has already cut himself a piece of meat and is thoughtfully nibbling on it at the table. He just holds the meat in his hooves, not letting go, and gnaws at it like a predatory beast. Needle chews his meat with a dejected face.

"Not so enthusiastic about meat now, are you?" the gentle yellow horse with the horn grins.

He is silent.

The guard chews and gnaws at the meat in silence for a moment, then his face begin to frown, his eye twitching. Finally he hits the table with his hoof in an irritated manner—the two raiders and everything on the table jump from his hard blow.

"Fucking Stable Dweller, fucking Calamity!"

The gentle yellow horse responds with a sour smile. She asks, "Are the thoughts of what happened still haunting you?"

"I hope someone has already posted a reward for their asses!" the guard continues, ignoring her comment. "The two of them covered up all of Old Appleloosa! Good folks got killed! Fucking bastards!"

What's so special about this Old Appleloosa that he's so angry?

"Remember, Sharp takes the news calmly," the horse with the horn says, "and you should take his example. You should always take an example from the boss."

Sharp is their boss... Well... but where is he? My Pip-Boy only shows six red marks and five neutral marks. From what I've seen and heard, it's Pin, Slaughter, Thorn, Needle, the rooftop guard, and the horses with the horn and piercings.

The guard chuckles contemptuously.

The guard from rooftop says, "He's calm as long as he doesn't get fucked up. That's when he has even less patience than when the stallions mess with Thorn. Remember what he did to that new mare who made that joke about the size of his dick?"

Her pierced face contorts in cold terror.

"Well?" he demands answer.

The mare—I think that's a better name for a female specimen—speaks in a quiet voice, "He raped her with blades... everywhere he could..."

"Exactly! And she was one of us! A member of the Porcupine! So cruel to execute her because of a silly joke... That's why we shouldn't make an example of him. We lost the only place where we sold prisoners. We're fucked because of it. Unlike Sharp, I understand the consequences. I also want to know how the fuck they managed to cover the whole fucking Old Appleloosa?! It was a wonderful place with awesome dudes, I heard they even got a sexy singer, and I was so excited to see her!"

That's why. He likes Old Appleloosa, and not just because they regularly sold slaves there. He likes the slave traders who lived there. I wonder how those two had managed to cleanse an entire settlement. What exactly did they do?

Judging from the guard's reaction, many of the gangs or loners who sold slaves there are now forced to look for another place to sell them. The consequences of this act have affected everyone in the area, and I still intend to step in and add my own?

I don't want to take responsibility. I'd rather stay out of it and leave these... Porcupines. They'll sell the slaves, they'll be alive... and if I try to save them now, someone is likely to be hurt or killed...

I've completely forgotten about the foal. He will not be sold, and neither will the attractive mare-slave. They are both in the spotlight, they won't be left alone so easily...

I sit down from the window and look helplessly at my trembling hooves.

Should I mind my own business? They're not the kind of people you can change your mind with words. They have a calm and mundane attitude toward cruelty amongst their own kind. Sharp, Slaughter... If I kill them... others will take their place. Usually the factions influence each other to some degree, hold each other back... The territory the Porcupines control will be appropriated by other gangs, and probably worse.

What should I do?

From the window come the angry voice of the guard and the sound of a broken plate. Still can't get over what happened to Old Appleloosa.

"Shit!"

"Look," the pony with the piercings, judging by her voice, delicately intervenes, "you need to relax.

"You're right... We should try out our new fuck toy."

"Hey!" Needle says with concern. "I'm next in line!"

"Why don't we compromise? When Pin gets enough fucking, we'll go do her together? How's that sound?"

"Sounds fair to me!"

I heard the mare's upset voice. She says, "You don't want to do me? I am, unlike her, interested in fucking."

"You don't want to be beaten," the rooftop guard says in a snide tone. "I want to imagine our prisoner as that bitch Littlepip. Let all my anger out on her!"

Needle's worried voice speaks loudly, "Just don't touch her pretty face!"

"Relax... her face won't be hurt by my hooves. I like it, too."

All three of them laughs. I find my teeth clenches tight with anger and my hooves trembling with fury, as if they are thirsty for the bastards' blood.

Okay, Daniel, we don't need emotion! Think coldly, pull all the information together, and make a plan of action. We need to free them, and they have information about the area we're in. The members of the Porcupine gang, though they told us a lot of interesting things, unaware that they might be overheard. It's rare for such scum to be chatty and generous with information about themselves. I am extremely grateful to them. They've given me more motivation... So...

Even though their leader's gone—he's probably on a reconnaissance mission—it's for the best. Fewer opponents. Then I can give him a warm welcome in the form of an ambush.

The next thing to decide is the mare with the horn and the piercing, she must be neutralized first. The silver flickering, the flying in the air... it's obviously all her tricks. I wish I could ask her how she manages to do it. I could really use it. I don't know if Slaughter and Pin are horses... or ponies, as the guard put it—judging also from the name of the sign, that's a common definition of them as a species here—that have a horn that has potential danger to me. Unfortunately, all paths except the main entrance are blocked: sneaking in unnoticed won't work.

The hornless ponies aren't as dangerous. They'll be a lot easier... unless they've got their own tricks.

I have the surprise factor on my side. I got two fragmentation grenades on me... one I can use to neutralize the three at the table at once. That will be hard to do with hooves, so I have to be prepared beforehand and learn how to throw it and unplug the pin. The others will run in on the explosion, and I'll activate the stealth field and deal with them with Pushy. If I can't get close enough to them, I use the implant 'Hyperfrequency Emitter'.

Sounds good. I hope everything goes according to plan and not fucked up.

***

I spend a few minutes learning how to throw a grenade, trying to simulate a successful throw. But I am wary of throwing it, because the Porcupines inside could hear the sound of it falling.

I turn on the stealth field, hide my backpack and the rest of my equipment securely between the rocks, so it won't interfere with the fight. Quietly I get close to the front door of the bar and get ready to throw my lucky grenade. They just can't miss the opening door.

To the left of it, the first window is missing glass—apparently it fallen inward. Air is circulating through the resulting hole with a howl. Standing beside it, I peer inside. The three sitting raiders are facing me.

Great!

I clutch the grenade with my front hooves and bring it up to my helmet. To remove the pin from the grenade, I use one of the helmet lugs to hook the pin on it. All that remaine is to yank at the right moment, wait two seconds, and throw the grenade onto the table of the raiders.

Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing myself, I remove the pin and throw the grenade inside.

Have some hot potato!

The 'potato' successfully fly through the window, heading in an arc toward the raiders, but it doesn't hit the table as I've planned. It flies higher... meet Needle's right cheek, goes tangentially, and falls behind him. That unexpected slap makes him flinch and he jumps up on his stool. The grenade end up behind him, between Needle and the rooftop guard, and before anyone can shout anything, it explode deafeningly.

The whole thing blows to hell. I can clearly hear the debris of the furniture crashing into the wooden door on the back side.

I push the door open loudly, and then rush inside, heading for the epicenter of the explosion.

The wooden table at which the three Porcupines were seated is shattered along with the plates, the roasting brahmin flipped on its side along with the creche. The guard is dead, and Needle's breathless and bloody body fell right on top of the mare with horn. The spikes of his armor made extra piercings for her face.

It was Needle's corpse that saved the gentle yellow mare from the blast, but it also crippled her... She's howling in pain and can't see a thing. I walk over to her, throw the piled up body back, and strike Pushy in her bloody face. A blue flare engulfs her head, there is a sound like the deafening vibration of tight rubber, followed by a nasty smacking noise—her face turns into bloody mincemeat from the specific sound of the shock wave. The face that has been ripped open gives me a clear indication that the horn connects directly with her skull.

I lift my hoof with my Pushy. The bloody bits have stucked to it slams back onto her head. I just throw the rest away.

There is the clatter of hooves on the wooden floor from above. I waste no time in lurking behind the bar and getting ready to use 'Hyperfrequency Emitter' on one of the Porcupines. It will be the one with the horn, as it is a potential threat because of its unknown flicker or glow. Thorn is immediately out of the picture, leaving only Pin and Slaughter.

The first to appear is a stallion with brown hair and a gray mane. He is unarmored and wet with sweat. There's horror and shock on his face at the devastation and the corpses he seeing. I am instantly drawn to the faint dark orange glow on his forehead. A pistol with a long magazine is floating beside it, surrounding a shimmer of the same color as the horn. Presumably it is a pistol with a machine-gun firing principle.

The horn... My heart is beating madly, and my body is shuddering with excitement. I'd better not miss!

It is too risky to wait for Slaughter to find out if she is a horned pony. I unleash an incendiary charge at Pin. The reddish halo of energy reaches the stallion in less than a second, setting him on fire from head to hoofs. He is completely armorless, which only assists in the full effects of the charge, which in turn maintains the blaze of fire on the victim's body. The shrill howl of agony must be hearing from miles away.

I should put an end to this suffering... No one deserves it, but I think that the prisoner he raped for hours would be glad to see him die a painful death. And it is not for nothing that I'm staying behind the bar, because the others show up.

Thorne stays on the second floor, standing on her hind legs and aiming down with her rifle. She begin to look out for the attacker. Her stance is confident and reliable. It wouldn't hurt for me to learn something like that.

A second later, a cherry-colored mare runs past me... also without armor and... hair on her head and tail. There's no fur on many parts of her body, indicating numerous deep wounds in the past.

Slaughter...

I am lucky she is not a pony with a horn. I would have kicked her right in the face, but then Thorn would have seen it from the stairs.

The cherry mare runs up to Pin who is burning and running around.

"What the fuck? Water! Where is it?"

The heart in my chest feels like it's clenching into itself. My body goes numb, and I glance frantically at the metal bucket standing next to me...

Slaughter rounds the bar and trips over me.

"What the...?"

I must act instantly. I swip Pushy on the back of her bald head. A blue flash engulfs the cherry-haired mare's head, and blood splatters on my helmet with a clucking sound. I hear Thorn's angry voice in the screams of a torch-burning Pin.

"You're using StealthBuck, scum?"

I try lift my head and look up the stairs, in that moment Thorn fires. The bullet whizzes over my head and punchs a hole in the wall behind me. Obedient to instinct and an acquired reaction, I duck out of the line of fire and hide behind the corner of the bar. The second shot, however, get me at the last moment. My back leg is pierced with a sharp pain.

Ah... S-shit!

Looks like the bullet is in deep. Doesn't appear to have hit any bone. Which I can tell by looking in the Pip-Boy.

"Get out!" she yells. "You'd rather die from a bullet than be strangled by me! Although... You know what? You'd better stay there. You killed my mates, and you don't have to die so easily!"

"I'm not happy about that," I tell her.

Pin, meanwhile, has fallen to the floor, still burning, screaming hoarsely and calling desperately for help.

I need to come up with a plan to get out of this confusing situation alive. After all, the stealth field doesn't completely hide me from the enemy. Besides, I can't run with a shot leg. There's no point in using the stimulator; I need to get the bullet out first.

Well... I have no choice but to move on three legs. I have trouble getting the hang of four legs, and I can't fight her in close combat on three. And, judging by that chain and her passion for strangling stallions, she can stand up for herself in close combat. To get close to her would be like signing my own death warrant.

I look at my right hind leg. Oh, crap... it hurts so bad.

I have only one 'trump card' up my sleeve, but to use it, I need to distract the enemy or talk to her. I'm looking around distractedly, as if searching for an answer. My gaze lingers on Needle's dead body. I feet myself smiling involuntarily.

A dirty method... but I don't see any other way right now. I don't think it will work, but why not try it?

Thorn probably knows she shot me, since there was no ricochet against the wall, but she won't risk approaching me, because she doesn't know where she shot me or how serious it is. And she also probably realizes that if I haven't taken any action so far, I'm not a serious threat. Sooner or later she will make the first move.

"Hey, dickhead! You got some kind of broken StealthBuck," Thorn snickers. She didn't react in any way to the death of Pin, who at this point has gone completely silent.

"You think so?" I ask.

"Of course, you're not completely invisible!"

StealthBuck can make person completely invisible? Such a device would not be superfluous for me! If I survive, of course...

"Why are you afraid to come near me?" I try to keep my voice smooth and calm. She mustn't think she can get rid of me easily. "You told me not to come out. I'm waiting for you."

"Do I look like a fool?"

"Yeah."

My answer confuses her and silences her for a few seconds. She quickly picks herself up.

"Oh, you... Rest assured, I will cut off your tongue!"

"And will you satisfy yourself with it?" My rhetorical question messes with her head. "Or aren't you into stallions?" No reaction. She mustn't guess that I'm eavesdropping on them, or the dirty method wouldn't work. "Oh, you're silent. So I guessed it."

"So what of it?" There is anxiety in her voice. The bait's taken, all I have to do is pull.

"I just like fucking mares that aren't into stallions," I say in an arrogant tone. "The thought of my cock deep inside you already makes me horny."

"You... " she's trying to hold back her anger. "All you studs are fucking the same! And you all deserve to be strangled!"

I try to speak in a muffled and slightly dramatic voice.

"Oh, so many words, and she's afraid to come near me. Afraid of a stallion who takes whatever he wants from life... Afraid that such a stallion will come up and fuck her helpless in all her holes again..."

I can only hope that she does have some trauma associated with it in the past. Again, a dirty method, but all means are good in battle. She must react to what I say as Needle's horny fantasies.

"And will choke on the cock deep in her throat..."

Her desire to strangle stallions cannot arise out of nothing. It must be revenge for similar abuses in her past. From my hiding place I hear her breathing loudly through her nose because of the rage that overwhelmed her.

"She'll be nothing more than a cumbucket."

A furious scream is heard, followed by intense and furious rifle shots at my hiding place. In between shots, she shouts one word at a time, "I! Will! Never! Again! Let! A Stallion! Use! Me!"

The gentle clicks of the emptied magazine reaches my ears. This is my chance. I am ready to use 'Hyperfrequency Emitter' by this time. I rise from cover and swing my right hoof, launching a halo of red energy at the gray mare. It quickly reaches its target; Thorn is squealing from the fire that engulfed her, and then she starts running at me.

Wow, her anger is so strong that she's still able to move consciously!

I barely manage to get away, and Thorn can't stop or turn around because of her speed, so she hits the brick wall behind me and falls down. She looks unconscious. The yellow-red fire is slowly burning her body under her armor. Some of the energy just dissipates into the void, and the remaining charge energy inside her body won't be enough to kill.

In any case, she doesn't deserve a painful death. She could find only one way to numb the heartache of constant humiliation in the past. Revenge was the only thing that allowed her to somehow come to terms with what had happened.

I feel sorry for her... But she has cruelly strangled quite a few stallions who, though not always decent and kind, were someone's sons, lovers, husbands, and fathers... Thinking about her victims slightly dull my pity, allowing me to finish her off without much remorse.

The cycle of hate will never end... It's scary to think about.

***

I sit down... or rather, painfully, I flop on my back on the wooden steps leading to the second floor. I struggle to get my helmet off, and the disgusting smell of burnt bodies reaches my nostrils. Fortunately, I hardly pay attention to it, as my head is occupied by a painful wound in the leg. I must to get the bullet out while I still have a chance... but how can I do it with my hooves?

My distracted gaze falls on the body of a light-yellow mare with a horn.

How do you manage to manipulate objects from a distance? Could it have something to do with the surrounding energy flows I've noticed earlier? However, I still have no idea how to interact with it.

I tap my horn in frustration.

Ugh... I'll have to find another way. Perhaps one of the prisoners will help me? They might wonder why I didn't use my horn. Welll... First it is important to stop the bleeding.

I pull out a bandage in one of my armor pockets. It takes a few minutes before I can bandage the wound with my clumsy hooves. I have to get creative, using my free hind leg to get a good grip on the bandage. I end up wrapping the edge of the bandage under the applied layers. The main thing is to hold and retain the blood inside.

I struggle to get up and look helplessly at the stairs.

I never thought that the stairs would be a serious obstacle for me. A Deathclaw seems easier than that.

Without my boots and helmet on, I climb the stairs to the second floor with only three legs. But it costs me ten humiliating and agonizing minutes. It seemes like it would be a great method for torture.

On the second floor, I feet like I am on top of the world. I want to scream with joy! But I will be misunderstood by the other prisoners, saying, "What was I cheering about?"

I waddle toward the room with the door open. I cautiously peer inside and see a very... disturbing and sad picture. It isn't the first time I've seen anything like this, just unusual to see a rape victim in front of me... and it's not a human being. The mare, with her four legs tied together, is lying sideways on a single, dirty old bed. A disheveled mane with a mixture of hair in light shades of purple and pinkish-purple. Her tail matches her mane in color set, and at the moment it is pulled to the side and tied to her legs so it doesn't get in the way. Her purple hair is slick with wet sweat and... white translucent fluid, mostly in the inner thighs.

Her mouth is gagged with some sort of rag. There is tear-stained mascara under her eyes, her makeup is ruined, and... Well, Pin has done to her face what Needle has longed for.

She reeks of salty sweat and cum. Her pained and desperate gaze make my heart squeeze. A spark of hope flashes in her amber eyes as she looks at me. I am speechless for a moment, as I have no idea what to say or how to respond. For some reason I begin to feel a pity that reverberated with weakness in my four knees.

She has a horn... with some kind of ring on it. Curiosity helps me out of my stupor, and I ponder for a while that the ring is probably meant to block magic.

The purple pony stays still, silent, and keeps her amber eyes on me that fills with the desperate hope that her torment might be over.

"I'll help you in a minute," I say.

I don't know how to remove the ring or what the consequences might be, so I try to untangle the ropes and leave her to herself. I get them off, and I, not forgetting my shot leg, immediately retreat to a safe distance. Just in case. Once a rescued prisoner attacked me instantly, I don't want to make that mistake again.

The purple-haired mare tiredly and with trembling knees try to get up. Silent and speechless, she seemes afraid to even take a breath. Soon she hesitantly crawls off the bed and slowly approaches me. I should assume a fighting stance, but I don't... I just let her come to me. Her lips are trembling... she is about to burst into tears.

She throws herself into my arms and cries softly. I don't expect her to hug me... I can't stand like a pillar, so I hug her back. I try to calm her down and reassure her.

I say, "Hush... It is all over now."

It takes about a minute before she puts me down and sits on the floor. She looks down at herself and... after that she is afraid to look up at me. She clutches her front legs bashfully to her chest, as if she wants to close herself off and hide from me. With trembling hooves she awkwardly removes the ring from her horn, stand up, and walks past me with a stiffened pace.

Well... Those who have survived this kind of humiliation react differently to the release. Their emotions jump incredibly, like voltage from bad wiring.

Her retreating footsteps fall silent for a while, but I hear the clatter of hooves on wood again. She begin to descend the stairs... and most likely goes outside.

Where exactly is she heading?

I get up and follow her, still feeling a pain in the back of my leg. I need to forget about my injury, so I have to concentrate on walking again with my three legs.

What have I worked so hard to get up here for? What have I climbed such a "peak" for? Now I have to free the prisoners in the basement, so they can help me with the treatment.

Limping, I go down to the first floor, clumsily pick up my helmet and boot, and then make my way out of the bar. Outside, I see the freed pony digging into one of the three makeshift trailers with her unusual shimmer. It's amber in color, like her eyes.

I wonder, if I could use that kind of shimmer, would it also match the color of my blue eyes?

I waddle toward her. She is using her amber shimmer to wipe herself with a wet towel, occasionally dipping it into a metal bucket of water. When I approach her closely, she is almost finished with her water treatment. I notice that the sight of a wet and damp mare is mesmerizing and hold my attention... Drops of water is glistening on her purple coat, her pink-purple mane sagging under the weight of the water. I feel a rush of lingering excitement.

Something is wrong with this... ah, yes. There is no woman in the object of my arousal! What the fuck?! What is my body's sudden reaction to a creature I haven't seen before? Perhaps because I look like that very creature, my body's reaction is quite natural. However, the arousal to fully soaked and wet bodies is part of my personality... part of my character... my tendencies... and only applied to wet women's bodies...

The violet mare slightly keeps away grom me, the towel hovering between me and her... like a shield. I feel myself staring thoughtfully at her ass... As I ponder, I also don't notice that her wet rounded side bore some kind of drawing in the shape of a gold-plated bottle cap. A tattoo? There's hardly any fur in that area of her body. Interesting...

I am stuck in the maze of my thoughts again, staring shamelessly at the rape victim. Shaking my head, I look into the amber eyes of the worried blue pony.

Water is dripping slowly from her pink-purple mane...

Daniel, keep your shit in line!

"Excuse me," I say, smiling embarrassedly at the resulting awkwardness. Considering what she's been through, I feel like a moral freak. "I just... My thoughts are confused by wet and moist bodies. It's my kinks. Don't take it personally."

The mare sighs quietly in relief. She clearly isn't in the mood for conversation. I'll have to get her interested if I'm going to heal my wound. I can't do it myself.

"How do you feel?"

"Disgusting," she answers in a hoarse voice. Her horn glows an amber shimmer, and she continues to rub herself with the old towel, absorbed in that glow. She glances sideways at me. Then, with her mystic glow, she use a brush and tidies her rosy-purple hair.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She stars at me thoughtfully and smiles bitterly.

"Only if you have a time machine so you can go back in time and prevent an ambush on us."

"Once I find it, I will certainly use it to do so."

The purple horned pony humms with a smile. She relaxes a little after my response to the joke, and isn't as aloof and wary of me.

"Thanks for... freeing me."

"You're welcome," I smile softly. At this point, I focus all my energies on ignoring the pain and concentrating on being as friendly and welcoming as possible. She needs to feel comfortable and safe.

"My name is Daniel... and you?"

"Daniel? Hmm. That's an unusual name."

Unusual name? I've never heard that before in my life. Apparently pony names have other origins. I'm not surprised... Needle... Thorn... Pin... Slaughter...

"And my name is Bluerise."

"Bluerise? You look like an early morning in the sky yourself. Pleased to meet you."

The pony smiles softly at my compliment.

"In my case... I have no words for how please I am to meet you. Hmmm..." She looks up at the sky, draped in gray clouds. "Sunrise. It's almost impossible to see clear skies and sunshine in the interior of the continent... But on both coasts you can."

"Born on the coast?"

"Yes, on the east coast... But enough about that. Where are my other friends?"

"Prisoners? In the basement. I haven't had a chance to see them yet... But be sure there's no one else around." I scrolls on the ground with my left foot with Pip-Boy, drawing her attention to it.

"Oh, PipBuck. Rare and expensive stuff... I certainly wouldn't be in an ambush like that with him."

What did she call him? PipBuck? Why exactly that?

"Oh..." she sighs with horror. I realize she has noticed my back foot without a shoe. The layer of bandages around the wound is "soaked" with my blood. "You're hurt!"

"Yeah... so I went looking for someone who could help me get the bullet out."

"Sit down, put your wounded leg forward... I'll take care of it." she says. I obey. "Why didn't you pull it out yourself? You're a unicorn, after all... With your telekinesis, you could have pulled it out safely."

A unicorn? Like in fairy tales? I've had enough surprises today to last me a lifetime. And also, that mystic flickering is... telekinesis? Oh, I remember what that is. Scientifically speaking, the manipulation of objects at a distance in such a way has not yet been confirmed, and its presence in the world is extremely unlikely. I'm not sure how to tell her I can't use telekinesis just because I don't know how it works. Apparently it's a common thing for a pony with a horn. Should I tell her the truth about my body metamorphosis? Or wait with her after all?

"During the fight with the Porcupines, I... got hit on my horn. Until I get checked by a specialist, I don't want to risk using my telekinesis."

"I see," she says, pulling the bullet out. I stoically endures the pain. "PipBuck must have notified you if there is any damage related to the horn... "

She throws away the bloody bullet.

Uh-oh. I screwed up... I need to get out of this somehow.

A memory flashes through my mind of testing my device for possible malfunctions when I woke up after I had touched the sphere, but not yet doing a full inspection and diagnosis of all systems and subsystems.

The mare turns to the wagon and begin to rummage through it.

"You see, it's not quite working. The global map doesn't work at all, the other modules are slightly damaged... including the module responsible for analyzing my condition. So I'm not sure about the true state of my horn."

She comes back to me with a new bandage and a bottle of disinfectant alcohol.

"I don't know about these devices... So I don't know exactly what or how it's supposed to work." The purple pony shrugs her shoulders.

That was lucky she tought in that way.

She removes the previous bandage, soaks a new one in alcohol, and wraps it around my leg. I feel a sharp pain in the wound, but again I hold myself together and don't make a sound.

"So... The wound has been treated, now the healing potion can be applied."

"What?"

"Well... you saved my life. I don't mind spending a healing potion on my savior."

The pony clearly misunderstood my confusion. She thought I was surprised by her generous gesture, not by the very existence of the healing potion. Though, judging by her tone, it is some sort of rare and effective medicine. I am about to object and say something about my "PHOENIX" implant, but she holds some sort of opaque bottle corked with a wooden stopper to my face.

"Yes, I know. It tastes disgusting, but the wound will heal before you notice."

For some reason I don't want to refuse her... She looks at me with almost pleading eyes, sincerely wants to help. And it's true, it's better to take the treatment now. I never know what the Wasteland will bring me next.

"I can't use telekinesis... Can you help?"

"Of course," Bluerise replies, and using her amber telekinesis, she uncorks the cork and bring the neck of the bottle to my lips. The pungent smell of the bitter liquid hits my nose, and it almost make me grin. The purple unicorn begin to slowly lift the edge of the bottle as I swallow the nasty liquid. Not only is it disgusting in my mouth, it is also scalding!

"Thank you," I say after I take my last sip. Bluerise puts the empty bottle in one of the drawers on the cart. "Oh..." I sighs involuntarily.

The effects of the potion gives me a ticklish sensation, especially around the wound area. It is quite pleasant. The usual stimpacks only made me want to scratch the wound while it healed.

After ten seconds, I stop feeling pain. I peek under the bandage and I see no trace of the wound there. I can now safely step on that leg. I am lucky that the bone was intact, otherwise the medication wouldn't have helped me, it might have done me harm: the bone might not have healed properly because of its own fragments.

While the wound is healing, Bluerises steps back to the brahmin tied nearby. She strokes her with care. I approach her after I recovered and struggled to put on my shoe. I didn't tie the laces, but I shoved them inside the shoe.

I don't envy ponies without horns... how do they tie their shoelaces? Apparently, they have a knack for using their teeth. You have to know how to use your mouth.

Sounds... controversial.

I stand next to Bluerise. She speaks grudgingly and bitterly, "There is only Betsy left... Spot was burned... I saw her body as I was leaving the bar, but I was like in a trance... walked by. I longed to wash that... abomination."

Her body begin to shake, she looks like she feels bad at the memory.

It's hard to stand by when someone needs support and care. I reach out my front leg and put it on her shoulder. She flinches in surprise, but doesn't turn around. Unobtrusively I'll distracte her with a little chitchat, if I can.

"There are three trailers..." I say and look at the objects I mentioned. "I doubt everything can fit in their spiky half-car trailer. How did the Porcupines plan to haul all their trophies and their own trailer of supplies?"

"With the help of prisoners. They'd harness them and make them drag them behind them."

Oh... I haven't thought of that. Ponies are, after all, in a certain degree of intimacy with horses, as humans are with monkeys. The purple pony, meanwhile, was gradually calming down and relaxing.

"And where to? To Old Appleloosa?

"Yeah..."

"What kind of town? I've never been there."

"Located north of here. A dangerous place for those who value their own necks. It was one of the closest towns where the slave trade was openly welcomed. The raiding gangs there were like their own. Selling loot to each other, having fun, getting fucked, reveling in liquor. But as soon as the Porcupines heard from us that two ponies had defeated Old Appleloosa... Anyway, the chief must go exploring ways to other, more distant towns and settlements, where they could sell or trade trophies."

"I think these Porcupines were a threat to the caravans. Why wasn't someone hired to catch or kill them?"

"Raider gangs aren't stupid, after all. They move from place to place all the time, hiding. Usually pick the perfect places to ambush caravans or travelers, hide somewhere. Which makes them hard to spot, and if someone accidentally or intentionally happens to be near their temporary lair... they'd never come back alive. They were lucky if they were sold as slaves. Sometimes the raiders pretend to be common travelers. You were lucky enough to stumble upon a little stopover by chance."

So I was right about the Porcupines temporarily occupying the Speedy Pony bar building.

"How do you know their tactics?"

"Often the mercenaries who went in search of raiding gangs disappeared without a trace. Or from slaves who once went in search of gangs under contract. And more than once caravans encountered travelers who later turned out to be raiders. One is hard to distinguish from the other when they don't wear specific armor, and cleanliness and hygiene are almost equally lacking in raiders and travelers alike. I've been driving caravans for years, I must be aware of such dangers... You know, you should know this yourself, you travel too."

"I'm not from around here. I don't know how things are in this region. Thanks to you I now know that there are the same problems here."

"The Wasteland is indeed everywhere. It has established its own order in every corner of the continent. And where do you come from?"

"From the west," I answer without thinking. Bluerise came from the east, so it will be easier for her to lie about what goes on in the west if she asks... She does lead caravans, though, and should know something about a lot of places around here.

"Hmmm... There are a lot of religious cults and factions on the West Coast near Hoofland... Yeah, it's hard to envy you, the religious weirdness up there, and the uncomfortable recriminations about you being a lost soul and needing to be purified and stuff like that. No wonder you wanted to get out of there. Though we have enough religious cults of our own, like The Unity..."

She looks at her shoulder, where I've put my hoof. She smiles softly, looking at it.

"Okay, you're good to talk to." Her amber eyes make direct contact with me. "Thank you, Daniel, for... trying to help me. I appreciate that." She gently removes my beige hoof from her shoulder. "But I'm not the only prisoner here. Come on, let's go free my friends."

Bluerise goes to the bar, and I follow her.

Once again I'm amazed that the way ponies live isn't much different from humans. Pony raiders are no different in behavior from human raiders. They still move from place to place to make it harder to spot, look for places with a good opportunity for an ambush, try not to reveal the true "field" of activity. It even kind of scares me that the Wasteland has done to such cute creatures what it has done to humans.

Hoofland, as I understand it, is some huge prewar city or metropolis, but I've never heard of it, even though it's on the West Coast. Then again, ponies speak English. According to Bluerise, I can also deduce that I am somewhere in the interior of the continent, as evidenced by the gray clouds that completely cover the sky. The sun can only be seen on the coast. From this there is only one disappointing conclusion... I'm on a completely different continent, but somehow, by some miracle, English is spoken here.

Perhaps the ponies are the result of some kind of experiment or something. Who knows. I'll figure it out little by little.

***

In the basement, the first thing that catch my eye is a foal tied to a wooden table, its body completely covered with thin and shallow cuts. In his mouth is some sort of rag. He's staring at the ceiling with an aloof look and a weeping face.

I feel a keen desire to smash that sadistic Slaughter's head one more time.

There is a lamp on the table, a yellow light illuminating the basement. Next to the table with the foal lay the yellow stallion, securely chained to the concrete floor. His head is closest to the table and secured face up, and it is wet for some reason. No damage or signs of abuse are visible on it.

Did the raider make him spit in the ceiling?

Bluerise follows me down into the basement. She rushes first to the stallion and then to the two ponies tied to the pipe. One of them has turquoise fur and the other has orange. All of the captives are dressed in some sort of rags, and none of them are horn-bearers like me and Bluerise. All but the foal on the table have joy and happiness on their faces.

"Oh, guys, how are you?" Bluerise asks.

"Fine..." the turquoise pony replies. "And how are you?"

"I feel like crap. But thanks to him showing up." Bluerise turns on me with a shadowy smile on her lips. "Eventually the worst is over."

Bluerise begin to untie them. I go over to the stallion and start to unchain him. I wonder what Slaughter was doing to him.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Gravity, my friend."

I smirk.

"But seriously?"

"The sick bitch was too lazy to masturbate, so..."

"Oh..."

"Yeah." He grimaces, and stick his tongue out in disgust for a while. "Licking an unwashed, dirty and smelly raider... I'm gonna throw up."

"How did you manage to make it through without throwing up?"

"That sly-ass bitch found something to motivate me with. If I just... distract her well with my tongue, it would make it harder for her to torture the foal. His painful mooing distracted me from the nasty stench, so I could..."

"That's... commendable," I say in all sincerity.

"Yeah, well... I'm going to rinse my mouth for a week. I hope I won't have nasty nightmares."

At this point, I completely release the yellow stallion and concentrate on the foal. He is completely unresponsive to me. Bluerise joins me almost immediately, as soon as she freed the turquoise and orange mare and asked them to bring medicine.

In addition to Bluerise's request, the three captives left us almost immediately for several other reasons: to drink water, to change clothes, and for the stallion to rinse his mouth thoroughly. Before they left, they all thanked me. The turquoise pony hugged me vigorously, and the orange mare expressed her gratitude with words and a respectful nod. As for the yellow stallion, he patted me on the shoulder and told me he would set me up with a good drink sometime in New Appleloosa.

I am surprised that none of the prisoners were killed in my surprise attack. That's good.

"That is just awful..." Bluerise says. She looks sadly at the numerous cuts on the brown colt's body.

"I take it he is not yours? And your caravan doesn't know him?"

Bluerise shakes her head negatively, adding, "He was already with them, tied up, lying in their spiky trailer. He had the same blank look in his eyes."

I try to touch him, but he flinches violently and mumbles painfully. I back away with fright, and Bluerise squeals in surprise. Could it be that he is reacting this way because of his wounds? Or is it a reflex of sorts?

"Probably..." I begin to ponder aloud, "He's only been touched to hurt... and he developed a reflex, a painful expectation of torment."

"What a monster these raiders are!"

"It seems to me that it was only Slaughter who tortured him like that. I overheard them talking. They are indifferent to her perversions."

"All raiders deserve to be punished..."

"Of course. But it's worth remembering that they too are victims of the cycle of hate."

Bluerise looks at me with interest.

"Raiders breed violence..." I remember Thorn, who was regularly raped by stallions and strangled by them for even more pleasure. "And the victims who survive the torment go a little nuts, become raiders themselves... and the torment of others makes them feel good... depending on their own trauma."

My gaze involuntarily focuses on the foal's cuts, both fresh and old.

I say, "I suspect Slaughter was once abused in a similar way. In no way am I making excuses for her, but it's important to understand where most of the abuse comes from."

"Hmm... I've never really thought much about it."

"It's natural. And it's kind of normal. Survival is paramount in the Wasteland, but... but at the same time, the worse we live, the worse we treat each other... so we think less of others..."

"Here's the medicine!" comes the voice of the turquoise pony behind us. She leaves a yellow metal box with a pink cross and three pink butterflies in the center. Then she kindly leaves us again.

"You like to talk, I see," Bluerise tells me.

"When you travel alone for a long time, sometimes you just want to talk about things for hours."

"I see... I like a good conversation with someone, too." Her amber eyes look kindly at me. "Especially with ponies who think of others at least sometimes, even if it's... raiders, who shouldn't deserve that."

I feel a rush of blood to my cheeks. It's nice to meet someone who appreciates understanding and empathy for others, doesn't consider it a weakness and doesn't sneer. It's uplifting, and it lifts my spirits.

"Speaking of others," I say, turning to the brown colt with the disheveled mane of pale yellow. "Not only do you have to think about them, but you have to do something for them."

Bluerise's pink-purple mane sways with her determined nod.

***

For about half an hour we've looked for a way to approach the foal's treatment. During that time he managed to realize that he was not going to be harmed. Bluerise spoke to him in a truly maternal and affectionate voice, stroking him gently. Such a tone and voice would melt anyone's heart; it was as if she had forgotten what she had experienced an hour ago.

The colt gradually began to realize what was happening, but remained stubbornly silent. Bluerise was sympathetic to this. The rest of the time, when he began to walk, he was beside her.

Upstairs in the bar, the rescued caravaners has already had time to change and arm themselves. And just as I thought, that construction with the two guns is attached to their backs—all three of them have them attached there. At this point, the caravaners are examining the bodies of the raiders, removing their armor. The energetic turquoise pony, who hugged me after my release, repeatedly kicks the dead body with cherry hair in anger. I share her feelings; I find it hard to be indifferent to those who inflict suffering on others for pleasure. When I was younger, I was noticeably less restrained than I am now.

Speaking of youth. The turquoise hornless mare is clearly younger than the orange. It can be seen in her energetic and cheerful demeanor, in her voice, in the liveliness of her movements. She might be about seventeen or so.

I walk past them outside to get my backpack, sleeping bag, and weapons. I follow them, and I hear their voices.

"Oh, baby... Are you okay?" The voice of the turquoise mare is impossible not to recognize. "Hey... don't be afraid of me. I'm not as mean as that raider!"

"Dash!" Bluerise's soft but judgmental voice comes. "He's having a hard time adapting."

There is a brief pause, but Dash's perplexed voice says, "Adapt?" That is followed by a heavy sigh from Bluerise. I get to my gear in the meantime and slip it on.

"That means getting used to it. It's not easy for him to get used to after what happened."

"Ahhh... I see."

"Blue," the yellow stallion's voice intervenes.

"What?" Bluerise asks.

"I looked over the two our trailers and the trailer of the Porcupine. The only thing missing is the StealthBuck ordered for New Appleloosa."

"Hmm. Maybe one of the raiders appropriated it?"

"No. I've already looked over their bodies. The whole bar, too. Dash and Juice say they didn't take it."

"Weird... Oh, listen. When the fight started downstairs, one of the raiders once told Daniel that he had a broken StealthBuck. That he didn't become completely invisible..."

"It's hardly him..." the stallion objectes . "I was checking to see if he was functional. It was fine, running like clockwork. I doubt our friend broke it."

"Or ended up damaged in the fight. There was a grenade explosion..."

The missing StealthBuck? Well, I certainly didn't take it. The yellow stallion said he looked all over... Who could've taken him? Of the remaining Porcupines I know, only the ringleader went on a scouting mission...

Scouting... When it's important to be undetected...

My heart falls into a void, my legs buckles.

Oh... no...

I lift my left foot to look at Pip Boy's compass, and a metallic clang rumbles from inside the saloon. Screams and gunfire follow.

"Gold!"

"Everybody upstairs! My telekinesis isn't working on him! Run!" Bluerise shouts.

I rush to the entrance. I burst inside, and see something huge and metallic disappear into the second floor with a clanking sound. No doubt it's Sharp. The leader of the Porcupines. Apparently, he has been following the escapees. I throw off all my gear again and ran as fast as I could after the ringleader. Running in this body I'm still not used to, so it turns out slowly.

I wish I could make it!

I'm trying to run, and I catch a glimpse of Gold at the wall... with his neck stabbed through. His body breathless. Lying there because I let my guard down and didn't look in PipBoy...

No, shit... No...

Through sheer force of will, I overcome my self-deprecation. Next time I'll think about it, I need to do my best to save the others right now!

I go to the exit to the roof... It's a ladder in the form of metal rods nailed to the wall. All of them are slightly bent... probably from the sheer weight of Sharp's armor. From up here, I hear the gunfire on the roof.

"Pointless!" Sharpe's low gruff voice comes. I have my helmet on. "Surrender and stay alive!"

"O-okay..." Bluerise says frightenedly.

My new physique make it hard for me to get up to the roof.

"My whole gang got slaughtered... You're all going to answer for this!"

"I did it," I says, climbing onto the roof.

A huge metal tank, dotted with spikes, slowly turns toward me. It's completely encased in metal... No wonder it's an impossible task to penetrate it with bullets. There's a pointed blade sticking out of his helmet... with the blood of the stallion he just killed. He just rammed it.

How did he manage to get inside without being seen? Do StealthBucks also suppress the sound coming from inside the stealth field? Moreover, why did he turn it off? It's quite possible that it had run out of power by then.

"Really?" he asks. The openings for his eye are protected by a dense grid. I wonder how limited his field of vision is? Or it doesn't matter to him. He's like a rhinoceros ramming everything and diverting firepower, and the rest of the Porcupines have his back.

"Sure. So let's fight." I tap my front hooves against each other. My right hoof is still wearing Pushy. My 'Hyperfrequency Emitter' implant won't have much effect on it... the armor will block the charge... I'll be lucky if some of it gets through the bars on his eyes and blinds him. I need to remember everything I know about the leader of the Porcupines.

I turn back thoughtfully, and then look at the frightened and resigned slave caravans. They obviously seen him in battle before, so they are sure it is useless to fight against him. Bluerise, at some point in his sudden appearance, shouted that her telekinesis wasn't working on him. Most likely, she wanted to lift him into the air, as that delicate yellow pony with the piercings did when she separated the fighting Thorn and Needle.

"Why fight? It's better to surrender. I'll sell you as a slave and you'll live."

"Chickened out? I thought you had big balls. Look, maybe you wear that big junk on your head, too, as compensation for your little cock."

Sharp stops talking abruptly. I prepare to use 'Hyperfrequency Emitter'.

"You son of a bitch...!" At those words he rush at me. I swing my hoof, aiming for the bars protecting his eyes. A red halo of incendiary energy crosses the air and hits the head area. As I expected, most of the energy ignites and dissipates outside, but...

"My eyes!" Sharp cries painfully.

...The plan for his eyes went well.

His speed don't allow him to stop in time. I dodge the rushing metal machine. I almost do... but I miscalculate my odds. The spikes of its armor snag on my cloak, drag me down with them. The last thing I feel is a sharp, piercing pain all over my body.

Chapter 3 - The City of Metal

View Online

My vision is clearing up. I see the ceiling with peeling plaster. I turn my head and look carefully at where I am, trying to understand what had happened. As I'm looking around, images of horse-like creatures are appearing in my mind. I am one of them. A pony.

I am surrounded by metal medical tables, with syringes, tweezers, bandages, and other medical supplies lying on them.

A hospital. Or what's set up as one. And why am I here?

Falling off the roof...

A sharp pain is echoing through my body. I shudder, realize that most of my body is bandaged. The unfamiliarity of my body sensation quickly makes me aware that horse-like creatures and that I one of them are not a dream. I'm sure of that, because I look under the blanket and see the bandages on my body.

Looks like I don't need them anymore. I am feeling great.

I lay back for a few more minutes, gently moving my limbs, turning from one side to the other. I pull back the blanket; get out of bed, and walking around the room, stretching all four of my limbs. Behind the glass window I see densely packed railroad cars and shacks of all sorts of metal junk. Ponies are occasionally passing between them.

So I'm at least in a peaceful settlement. That's good.

In the corner of my room I spot an old metal cabinet. Look inside I find almost all of my gear, including bloody armor and the cloak with a card pike and the number '21' in the center, pierced in many places.

I need to spend a lot of caps to repair the armor and stitch up the cloak, since I don't have hands. I can't do anything without them. Also... all of my weapons were taken from me, judging by the piece of metal with the number "14" scratched out on it that laying inside cabinet.

In large settlements with walls at the entrance, near the guard post, visitors always deposit weapons and explosives. Some give keys to the locker where they put the guns... others hand out license plates, like my piece of metal. Visitors are allowed to leave mostly edged weapons with them. The guards do this for their own protection.

Still, there's a disadvantage to this system of protection. People with Stealth Boy. They don't need firearms, just a good knife with which to slit someone's throat unnoticed in a dark alley is enough. On the other hand, is impossible to guard from everything, and Stealth Boy are incredibly rare. Nevertheless, there are settlements where Stealth Boys are also seized if they are not for sale, as are many other materials. Caesar's Legion cities and settlements come to my mind with their strictest customs restrictions.

I slam the door shut and climb onto my bed—it's creaking quietly and unpleasantly.

I'm not a prisoner here, not if they left my equipment in my own room, and not under lock and key. At least, I hope not. But how long have I been here? According to the clock and the calendar in Pip-Boy, I am in my fourth day in a place inhabited by ponies whose behavior is no different from humans.

The door to my room is slowly opening. It's creaking as badly as the bed. A hornless pony with a pink mane walks in. She's wearing a yellow robe. She notices me, her light blue eyes expressing surprise.

"Wow, " she says. "I didn't expect you to wake up so soon. Surgery wasn't easy after all."

"Really? What did I look like?"

"Like a sieve."

I can't hold back my giggle.

"How did I end up here? And where am I, anyway?"

"A caravan led by Bluerise brought you in. Right now you're in the hospital in New Appleloosa. Or rather, in the old service quarters at the railroad connection station."

New Appleloosa... It was mentioned more than once by that yellow stallion I had rescued, who was then killed by Sharp. He said he'd bet me a drink for his rescue in this town. I hate when someone died because of me and my mistakes... And now I make an effort to shift my focus to something else because I could reflect on this again.

"Now I understand why I saw so many railroad cars outside the window. Apparently, they serve as housing."

Surprise flashes in the white pony's hornless eyes again. She comes closer to me.

"Have you gotten out of bed and walked over to the window yet?" she asks.

I nod contentedly and enjoy the pony's reaction.

"Your implants are stronger than we thought. No wonder you survived a fall from the roof of a two-story building onto Sharp's spiky armor."

"So what happened to me?"

"The damage was severe. The ponies who brought you in gave you first aid. The usual healing potions and magical bandages only stabilized your condition and stopped the bleeding, but surgery was still needed to set bones and heal deep wounds. The fact that you woke up the day after the surgery is... surprising. You do have powerful implants in you."

The pony in a yellow robe approaches me. She takes to examining me carefully. The astonishment on her face doesn't seem to go away. Her mouth drops open, and she says enthusiastically, "Amazing..."

"Yes, I am," I say with playful conceit.

She suppresses a chuckle.

"I... know that such technology exists, but... I've never seen their effects in person. I've only read in pre-war books." She distracts herself and she's looking at me with eager curiosity. "Where did you get them?"

"Some I bought myself, some were implanted by force... Well, it's a long story. I wonder why you didn't take them out of me. You would have had a great opportunity to earn..."

"We have no reason to ruin our reputations. Besides," she's smiling softly at me, "it wouldn't be polite to do that to someone who got rid of The Porcupines."

I feel a little uncomfortable. I hadn't wanted to get involved in the first place for fear of making things worse. Not to mention the fact that I didn't save everyone.

The pony continues to examine me, removing the bandages at the same time.

"Also, thanks to you, we have new ingredients for potions we can't get around here."

"What do you mean?"

"The caravan you saved brought them. If it weren't for you, we would have had to wait a month or more for the next caravan to take the order. So... in addition to those caravans, you saved potential patients from death. You can be proud of yourself."

I choose to be silent, waiting for the pink-haired pony to take off all the bandages.

"Well, don't be silent. I like to talk to my patients. My name is Candy, what's yours?"

"Daniel."

"Nice to meet you. You have an unusual name. Are you from far away?"

"Yes."

"From where?"

"West."

"Oh... Is that where the herds of various religious fanatics live?"

Thinking back to what Bluerise said, I mumble an uncertain 'yep'.

"I can understand why you got out of there... Oh, your condition is wonderful! You can be discharged."

"I am extremely grateful for your treatment."

"That's my job. And treating those who have given so much help to New Appleloosa is also a pleasure!"

I can't hold back a smile. She's nice.

"I wanted to ask..."

"Yes?" she's looking at me curiously. Her lovely light blue eyes are looking at me intently, which made me forget what I wanted to ask.

"Um... I..."

"What, you want to ask me out?" she bits her lip seductively. For the second time in less than a minute, I'm confused.

What the fuck?!

Okay, Daniel, focus. She doesn't know I'm not a true pony. To her, I'm just a normal stallion. Maybe she's joking and she's trying to get back at me for my joke comment at the beginning. Apparently, she's been asked out more than once by her patients.

I'm completely naked, we're obscenely close to each other, and it puts pressure on my... lust, which is reflected in my behavior. First the wet Bluerise, and now this. My prolonged lack of intimacy and female company is taking its toll.

But these aren't people! They're ponies! How can I even think about it?!

"I never really thought about it."

"Really? Well, your embarrassment told me that you wanted... Well, I guess I was wrong. I wouldn't mind having dinner with someone after my shift, someone from afar. Especially from Hoofland. That's where a lot of interesting tales and stories come from."

"I... I'm not much of a talker, anyway," I lie.

I don't want to talk about a place I haven't even been to yet. And I don't want to reveal my origins. That would only make it more interesting for her.

"Candy... aren't there any more stallions in town that you're interested in?"

"Not anymore."

"Why?"

"There was one ginger pegasus... Calamity. He left with a young mare. Also distinguished herself by helping the city."

Pegasus? What kind of pony is that?

"Well, did you try to ask him out?"

"Try to catch him first," she laughs. "He's a free bird. I've offered to take him out to dinner more than once, but he refused."

"Why?" I ask.

A free bird... I get the impression that the expression was chosen for a reason. It's a common way of referring to the female... and not about men. They say, for example, "lone wolf".

"He says he doesn't want to make connections with anyone in New Appleloosa. Sometimes there was an unpleasantness in his voice."

I wonder... why didn't he like that town? Did he know some terrible secret about it? If that's the case, I should stay away and be more careful.

"That's why I even once thought I should move from this town to another. And then show up here as a guest to ask him out." She laughs again. She has a nice laugh. I almost regret refusing to have dinner with her. I would still enjoy that laugh again.

"What's the reason he doesn't want to be related to anyone in this town?"

"As far as I know, he's pretty principled. He's allergic to slavery."

"The city trades slaves?"

I easily keep my dislike of the slave trade to Candy. I am used to the slave trade as a phenomenon, but I am still uncomfortable in places where it is allowed.

"No. We just trade with slave traders from Old Appleloosa. That's probably why he doesn't trust the people of New Appleloosa. You know, I'm beginning to doubt that you don't like to talk."

Oh... There's obviously something wrong with me, since I've so easily begun to behave contrary to my legend. Or she's nice, particularly her charming laugh. I've got to get out of this.

"I don't like talking to anyone. Just being careful."

"Even with those who cured you and could take apart not only your organs but your implants?" she's smirking slyly.

She has a good mind. She's smart. I like those kind of people... pony. I'm even more sorry I'm turning down a date... Okay, Daniel. No pony dates. We're not from here, and we're not a pony either. You'll do something stupid.

"Let's face it, I like you," I say. She's smiling modestly. "But, alas, I have too much to do. Speaking of business... I remembered what I wanted to ask."

"And what's that?"

"Where are my weapons? Who's in charge of fixing armor? And, if I were to ask you to dinner, where to? I'm terribly hungry."

***

After getting the answers and instructions, I pick up my gear, say goodbye to Candy and the hospital staff, and go outside. Naked. Quite unaccustomed. Passersby don't stare at me. The multicolored ponies are walking their way without a glance at me. Most of them are wearing almost no clothes. Their fur protects them from the faint cold. They have a body structure that allows them to walk around unclothed, with their crotches hidden beneath their tails. It is only the stallions that are unlucky—if anything happens, their erection will be visible a mile away, like a raised white flag.

From this circumstance, for me it's best not to think about wet bodies while naked.

My stomach erupts again with a hungry rumbling. Hush, my beast. I remember when you almost went crazy at the sight of a brahmin roasting at Porcupine's. We'll have some well-cooked brahmin here... just got to get there. Be patient.

I take a walking gait to a place called 'Big Carrot'. The biggest dining spot in the town.

The fixed gear dangles from my back, swaying muffled from side to side. The ground beneath my hooves is hard, and around me the neatly arranged boxcars stand in rows, most mounted on top of each other. Steps of scrap metal lead to the second and third floors. The bases of the boxcars are covered with rubble so that they won't sag into the ground when it softens during the rains. Poles with hanging wires stretch to all the wagons and shacks.

Electricity is wired into every house. A centralized system. A rarity in the Wasteland.

In the distance, lazily spinning wind turbines loom behind the wagon towers. The question of the source of electricity vanished by itself. However, there are such windmills almost everywhere.

I wander between the rows of freight and passenger cars like a tumbleweed for about ten minutes, pondering life in the Wasteland, and I finally find a signpost. It stands in the middle of the road and is an array of painted railroad signs that says what and in what direction. I pause and begin to read.

Hmm... The Turnpike Tavern... 'Absolutely Everything'... which I intend to visit after a satisfying lunch. The hospital... The main gate... The railway station... 'The White Thread'... the sewing master, as I understand it... And all sorts of other craftsmen... or craftspony.

As expected... not a word about the guns anywhere. Such information is withheld, but everyone already knows where it is sold. Usually the places where guns are sold or bought are in the same place as the guards' barracks. They are kept under close supervision so that it is clear who needs weapons or explosives to keep a better eye on them by the guards of the city. They don't sell weapons to strangers unless you're trustworthy. That's where all my firearms are, according to Candy.

Uh... What was I looking for?

My stomach rumbles irritably.

Oh, right.

Let's continue... Oh, here it is. 'Big Carrot'... is on the east side of the Main Gate.

My attention is drawn to the signpost by a passing earth pony. She gives me a leering look. She turns away as our gazes crossed, and with a sullen expression moves on.

The natives' natural suspicion of strangers. Again the similarities between the behavior of humans and ponies. I find myself in an interesting place on Earth... I must move on, so as not to attract too much attention.

I come out to a large square filled with tables and furniture made of all sorts of junk, some of it red, time-worn seats and beds ripped from passenger railroad cars. Most of the tables are empty. Residents of the city have long since eaten breakfast, and lunch is not yet on the clock.

The food is arranged in open metal containers along several tables. They are covered by a glass display case. The containers are filled with food, brought from the kitchen by Earth ponies in food-soaked aprons. Preparing the food for dinner, I understand. The containers are covered with a lid to protect them from the pesky insects that are regulars in such places.

I inhale deeply. A mixture of the smells of the various dishes wafts through my nostrils with tickle. My stomach feels like a magnet reaching for those tables.

I walk past the empty tables and approach the diner worker. I feel pity for this cream-colored earth pony for her tired look. Without any enthusiasm, she looks at me expectantly. I stare at the list of dishes, feeling that I am about to pounce on these containers like a madman. The work of the implants, especially the regenerating one, is incredibly debilitating and draining. I need to choose something calorie-dense.

Meat from predators, animals, mutants, birds. It's boiled, fried, baked, cured. It makes me unusually happy that meat eating is considered normal for ponies. Yes, Porcupines ate meat, but they may have done so for lack of food, whereas this kind of meat eating is not natural. There are plenty of vegetable dishes in the canteen, too. Most of the names are unknown to me. The floral names of the dishes on the list aren't figurative. I'm surprise, because I see the dishes with floral plants. There is even hay! What strange things these ponies are... like real horses.

"Are you planning to choose something?" the cream pony says impatiently, with a tired look in her eyes, snapping me out of my musings.

"Um..." I stretch out, feeling like a foolish ignoramus. Mostly among the familiar things here is only brahmin meat cooked in various ways. "I'd like something with brahmin meat, please... and something as hearty and nutritious as possible!"

The creamy, apron-clad mare begins serving up chunks of roast meat with tomato sauce and mashed potatoes on a large plate. It is curious to see how she handles the cooking utensils with her mouth. I couldn't have done that. Not without training and practice, at least.

She moves plate with food closer to me.

"That'll be eighteen caps."

"And a glass, please."

"Purified water? Diluted carrot juice? Or..."

"Nah," I interrupt politely, lifting my front leg, "empty."

Surprise flashes across the cream mare's face, but she complies with my request.

I grasp the bag of caps with my teeth and toss it to her on the table.

"Count it down, please."

She dolefully rolls her eyes, saying, why I can't, but begin to count the caps. Meanwhile, I look helplessly at my front legs: I have no idea how I'll carry a plate of food and a glass at the same time. Only one object can fit in my mouth. Without thinking long, I tilt my head and prod the glass with my horn to put it on. It works with difficulty.

The mare counts out the necessary amount and returns the pouch. She notices the glass on my swirled horn with bewilderment. I see from the tense corners of her lips and cheeks that she is holding back a smile.

It's embarrassing. On the other hand, I've... at least brightened her day somehow.

She nods to the side, pointing to flat planks and old trays where I can put everything and take it to the table.

Now I feel silly.

I pick up the caps, walk over to the tray table, tilt my head and lower a glass onto it. Gently grab it with my teeth, bring it to my plate, set it down on it, and go looking for a place where I can get my ass warmed.

Looking out for a table with an adorable view, I notice a familiar purple unicorn leaning over a bottle of beer. Sitting next to her is the same brown colt who screamed at the touch. He's sitting with a dejected face over an empty plate. Without a moment's hesitation, I move in their direction.

"Enwoy youf meaf," I say.

"Oh..." she stretches out and looks up at me. "Who...?"

"May I foin you?"

Bluerise's absent-minded gaze narrows on me.

"Oh, hi. Glad you're... better. Yeah, better."

I nod at the empty seat next to the unicorn.

"Do you want to sit down? Yes... you can..."

Putting a tray of food and a glass on the table, I sit down in the red shabby seat from the passenger railroad car. The purple pony pulls away from me slightly. The brown colt with the yellow mane treats me as if I'm not even here, lost in thoughts. Poor little pony... And I don't even know his name.

"What is your name?"

Silence is his answer. But Bluerise decides to answer for him.

"Rusty. That's what he said when doctors are examining him."

"What are they say about his condition?"

"His health is now fine. What cannot be said about his mental health."

My stomach is rumbling unbearably.

"And how do you feel?" I ask Bluerise, grabbing a piece of roasted meat with my teeth. Thoroughly savoring and enjoying the moment, I swallow it and sigh blissfully. I drown the next piece in the tomato sauce. Using one mouthful is awfully uncomfortable, but I am too hungry to look for other options.

Bluerise is silent. Her light pink mane hangs back over the bottle of alcohol. And then she speaks up.

"The doctors said that... I'll be fine. Nothing serious is happened to me."

"That's good to hear," I say, after chewing on my third piece of meat already. It's hard to show sympathy when I'm hungry. Still, her tone isn't encouraging. "And yet you feel like shit..." I nod toward the bottle of beer.

She throws a quick glance at me and then sinks back down to the bottle. Her horn glints, an amber glow enveloping the bottle, and she takes a sip of alcohol.

"I thought then that now the rest of my life would be like this... When the raiders get tired of playing with me... They would resell me further... and then further... and so on for the rest of my life... At best, they'll put a bullet in my head."

I look away from my meal. I take out a device that condenses moisture from the air, put a glass under the tube and turn it on. Crystal clear water pours into the glass. I turn to Bluerise.

"But that didn't happen. What do you worry, then?"

A pause. I wait patiently for something from her side. The glass fills to the brim with water. I turn off the device, grab the glass with my two front legs, and sip half of it.

"Heaviness."

"What kind?" I ask, setting the glass half full.

"I don't know... It's a combination. Shame, fear, anger, despair... That the rest of my life would consist only of this kind of humiliation. A plaything to satisfy others... no more, until I am disfigured and killed."

"What can I... Uh... Is there anything I can do for you now?" I extend my hoof to her with the inside up. She slowly turns her head toward it. A long, thoughtful look. Obviously, she herself doesn't know what will help her right now. Depends on what she's experiencing most.

No response to my gesture.

Well... I tried.

She moves just as I am about to remove my front leg. Her purple foreleg hesitantly reaches for my beige hoof. Gently she touches me, our hooves join together. Her amber eyes lift to me. A sad and ingratiating look. She hopes to discern an answer in my eyes. I think hard about her words and try to find words that might help her.

"Life," I begin, "is changeable, fickle. Yesterday you are a prisoner of raiders, today you enjoy the most exotic dishes, and tomorrow you meet the love of your life. In the darkest of times, think of them as passing. Dark times will pass even faster if you make the effort to change. Wait, be patient, look for opportunities... and take action. Yes, I understand how hard it is to keep your spirits up, but the rewards will be great."

Her amber eyes brighten, and then sink into thought. I decide to add, "You're a beautiful and kind pony. I would like to see your future achievements as a merchant. Maybe you'll start your own big caravan company, and use it to change the whole Wasteland. There are many possibilities. Think about it, but just don't give up."

The purple pony is silent for a while, lowering her gaze. She returns it, the shadow of a grateful smile looming on her lips.

"I'll try..."

I smile slightly and nod.

"And don't forget to ask others for help. Don't be alone with this."

Bluerise is looking in my eyes. Her gaze drifts down to our hooves, a faint smile again on her lips. She put her hoof away and turns to the bottle.

The Wasteland is brutal... Almost everyone is physically or sexually abused. Everyone takes the experience differently. Almost everyone is resigned to the circumstances. I don't like to get involved in other people's lives and become responsible for them, at the same time I can't stand by and not help for long. Conflict.

I look at Bluerise.

What would have happened to her if I hadn't intervened?

My gaze shifts to the brown colt with the lost look.

Or with him?

What would their lives have been like? Would they have tried to make a difference if I had stayed away?

Our lives are in our hands... or hooves. I wish I could inspire more people... ponies... that they can change their bleak lives if they learn not to give up. Then I wouldn't have to get involved, but it all sounds too good to be true. Those two would probably give up and break down. And I wouldn't blame them for that, because it's common—the vast majority sooner or later get tired of struggling.

I finish my meal and take another. As I ate it and drank another glass of water, I notice that Bluerise is behaving a little more freely. I don't know what had influenced her more, the alcohol or my words about the impermanence of life? Probably both, as she leans against me and hugging my front leg.

"If it weren't for you, the nightmare wouldn't have ended so quickly..." she says in a muffled voice over her tongue sluggish from the alcohol and hugs me even tighter.

We sat in silence until she talked about my device that condenses moisture from the air. She questioned me about it, openly marveled and admired what she heard... largely because of her drunken state. The silent Rusty paid us occasional attention, peering at the device with a little interest.

After I answered all of the purple saleswoman's questions, she gives her final opinion while her mouth is reeking of alcohol, "A delightful thing... It's worth stealing... And the Steelheads won't steal it, as usual... they'll just take it from you..."

What the Steelheads? I get the hint, though. I've forgotten about caution. It's better not to flash that kind of technology around in public.

***

Bluerise pressed tighter and tighter against me, rubbing her nose against my leg, giving me a slight tickle. I didn't know how such... intimate social behavior was considered among ponies, but something told me I'd better go about my business.

Which I do. I'm going to Ditzy Doo's.

She is the biggest trader in town. She has seen a lot of interesting things in two hundred years, met hundreds of ponies. She is also a ghoul. That's what Candy told me about her. Ditzy has made a lot of connections, especially with other merchants and caravans. Such connections have allowed her to become extremely effective at trading. She can get her hands... hooves on almost anything.

This, however, is the state of affairs of many of the city's merchants.

In addition to trading, she fixes things, which, in turn, is extremely useful in the Wasteland. Those with knowledge of technology or weapons will not be poor. Even a slave with such knowledge will have a better life than an uneducated free roamer or wastelander. I learned this the hard way, in the Capital Wasteland, when I didn't know how to stand up for myself and knew little about life on the surface. I haven't been a slave since, except when I broke into Pitt.

With my engineering and repairing skills, I was not lost.

I've made my way to the Absolutely Everything store. This imposing store consisted of many boxcars that are safely connected to each other. The central wagon serves as the entrance, with a metal gangway running to its side retractable door. Nearby is an empty wagon. Not far away is walking an earth pony in dark green battle armor with the same device and firearm on its back that I've seen on one of the Porcupines. I've already forgotten his name... but I remember that he was eager to have fun with Bluerise and do something to her face.

The familiar orange earth pony comes out of the store and walks toward the empty cart. When she saw me, Juice waves at me with a demure smile.

"Daniel!"

I respond with a welcoming smile and walk over to her. The orange pony in the light work overalls gives me an appraising look.

"Did you get discharged that fast already?"

"Yeah."

"To shrivel me up in the desert..." Juice says with a gasp. "I saw you yesterday."

"I know how to surprise."

"Yeah... you do."

"What are you doing here?"

"Work," she glances briefly at the empty cart. "Delivering goods Ditzy Doo ordered, like spell books, rare tools, that sort of thing."

Spell books? What are they? Sounds interesting. Since they are ordered and spend a lot of caps on them, they must be considered rare and useful. Need to know their purpose. It will come in handy for understanding the place I find myself in.

I find myself staring at her jumpsuit for a few seconds while I thought about it.

As far as I remember, she's had strong protective armor. Where has it gone?

"Where is your armor?"

"And why would I need it in a secure city where guns are turned in at the door?"

She glances at the pony in combat armor on patrol. I've noticed the guard hasn't strayed far from the store. There are always guards around important places like stores, in cities and towns.

"The protection here is solid, if you ask me."

We are looking at the armed guard.

"Indeed..." I say.

"On the whole, it's better to appear harmless. If you attempt a robbery, you have a better chance of being left alive, because they won't consider you a threat. If the robbers see you can fight back, they'll cut you down right away."

"That makes sense."

The orange earth pony turns to me.

"Okay. I won't interrupt." Her sympathetic gaze goes over my gear. "I take it you have things to do. Your armor needs fixing."

Juice hooks the cart behind her and walks slowly. The wheel axle groans and creaks. I hear the pony begin to mutter regarding these «pleasant and affectionate» sounds.

"Discordish damn thing."

***

I stare at the plaque. It has the words 'Welcome!' written on it in chalk. My surprise gaze goes back to the yellow slanting eyes of the pony holding it in his teeth.

"Hello..." I say, feeling perplexed about the plank. "I assume... you're Ditzy Doo?"

She nods vigorously, and the rest of her yellow mane ripples in unison. The smile is causing me to have mixed feelings. I redirect my thoughts to the fact that this is the way she communicates. Perhaps she is mute?

"I hope this doesn't sound rude. But it's important for me to know so there won't be any awkward situations in the future... Can you talk?"

The pony with the remnants of gray fur releases the plank and puts it on her hoof, and unashamedly opens her mouth wide. To my surprise, there is almost no familiar bad breath. Though the rest of my body faintly reeks of foul odor.

I can't help wondering how she was able to become a successful merchant in the presence of the constant smell of decay. For this reason, and not just because of her decaying appearance, ghouls rarely become merchants among non-ghouls.

On reflection, I come back to why the pony ghoul shows me own mouth. It is missing a tongue.

"You have..."

She erases the writing on the plaque, takes the chalk in her mouth, and writes the following: 'Raiders cut it out'.

"Oh, I'm sorry..."

I wait while she erases the previous writing and writes a new one: 'On the plus side, I learned how to write'.

"Wow..." I say, feeling admiration for her optimistic approach. Here's someone who truly hasn't fallen off the wagon. "That's impressive. You are good. I've rarely seen such positivity in the Wasteland, to take something positive out of an obviously shitty situation."

The gray pony's smile grows even wider. The sight of a smiling ghoul is also a rare sight.

"So..." I mutter as I slip my armor, cloak, and punctured backpack off my shoulders. "It all needs to be repaired and stitched up."

She squints her yellow slanted eyes and scrutinizes my items in their sorry state. Or rather, only one of her eyes is scrutinizing, the other is looking away. At one point her eyes open wide, and then she looks up at me. One eye stares at me in wonder. A moment, and she picks up a plaque where she writes: 'Is your name Daniel?'

"How do you know me?"

'Juice told me.'

I feel uncomfortable. The damage to my gear unequivocally refers to the fact that I had landed on sharp metal spikes. Given recent events, it's no wonder she guesses who I am. Once again, my actions have been noticed. I just hope it doesn't lead to any appreciably bad consequences.

"I was just passing by and... Well, yes. Did Porcupines give you much trouble?"

Ditzy Doo takes on a sad look and nods. The remaining curls of her yellow mane bobs lightly with her head.

'I'll fix your armor for free.'

"But..."

She puts her hoof to my lips, silencing me. The chalk slides muffledly across the plank.

'Thanks to you, pony lives are saved. Her orders, too.'

Not all ponies are saved... I decide not to talk about it, however. I already know roughly what she will say to my doubts. I don't want to argue and spoil the nerves of myself and others.

"Are you really going to do it?"

She nods vigorously, and then writes something on the board again.

'You remind me of the pony. You did what she did for me recently.'

"Are you saying this is important to you?"

The gray mare nods so confidently and forcefully that she can smash through a wooden wall with her forehead.

"Thank you very much. You're generous."

'It will take the rest of the day to fix. And maybe even tomorrow.'

"Well... then can I walk around and have a look around and then go?"

Nodding affirmatively again.

The store is spacious on the inside. I think it's made up of at least a dozen wagons. At least the first floor. Their walls, which happen to be inside the melded structure, have been torn down and cleared for space. I haven't gone up to the second floor, but I believe it serves as Ditzy Doo's living quarters.

Shelves and racks of scrap metal are littered with various pre-war junk. A lot of the stuff is barely familiar to me, and the purpose of the rest is completely unclear to me. Quite a number of devices and hand-made items, made from various junk. I examine them with interest, trying to understand their purpose. It's even a bit of fun.

"I came..." the mare's timid young voice says behind me, "...for StealthBuck. Has he been brought in yet? I heard that a caravan had recently arrived in town..."

This is the StealthBuck that Sharp used to take us all by surprise. I can't help but look at the one who ordered it.

I glance without much interest at the source of the quiet voice. It's a young, judging by its size, earth pony with lavender fur. She stands uncertainly in front of Ditzy Doo. When the gray pony-ghoul nodded, the small pony smiles embarrassedly.

A few moments later, the ordered item is in front of her eyes.

"That's wonderful. So... I've already paid the advance, now here's the rest."

She turns to her bag and takes out two boxes. They jingle as she sets them on the floor.

"It's all there."

Based on the size of these boxes, there are at least two thousand caps. The gray pony grabs the boxes, brings them to the scale, opens them, and pours out the contents. The caps jingle sweetly, dropping onto the tray. The arrow moves to the side and stops at a mark I can't see.

The sight of Ditzy Doo's nodding head indicates her satisfaction with the amount.

And here, among the ponies, large amounts of caps are weighed, not counted. Merchants sometimes end up undercounting ten or twenty caps, but with large sums this is an acceptable margin of error. However, the exchange of caps in such quantities is in itself a rare occurrence. Some goods are exchanged for others, and the conditional prices are compensated with the caps.

An impressive number of caps... This young mare must be from some rich family, since she exchanges expensive goods for just caps.

The young pony thanks Ditzy Doo, takes the two emptied boxes, and left the store, casting her unsure look at me. The shopkeeper goes off with the caps, and returns with an empty tray, which she puts back on the scale. She sits down at her workstation with its incredibly functional devices and continues fiddling with the armor.

I appreciate it. Even power armor can be repaired with these tools and capabilities. The gray pony thanks me for that compliment.

My look around continues. A lot of pre-war clocks, some of them working and showing the same time... The strange thing is that they have thirteen numbers or divisions instead of the standard twelve. So somehow they don't count off the twenty-four hours of the day here, but... twenty-six? I take a look at my Pip-Boy and it shows a completely different time than what's on the clock.

"Um... does this watch show the correct time?" I ask loudly.

The gray ghoul-pony turns to me and, without taking the sewing device out of her mouth, nods confidently.

Has my Pip-Boy's chronometer gone off? The connection with the satellite had been lost before, and now it appears to be telling the time incorrectly? But... I'm halfway around the world. It's a different time zone... Yes... Surprisingly, I still remember this nuance. Nevertheless, that doesn't explain the extra two hours. At all points on Earth, time should go the same way. The speed of rotation is the same.

The time-worn calendar... Twelve months, all twenty-eight days. Three hundred and thirty-six days a year?

First the clock... and now the calendar confuses me. I am not even particularly surprised by the names. The seven days of the week, with names corresponding to the seven colors of the rainbow: Redday, Orangeday, Yellowday, Greenday, Cyanday, Blueday, Violetday.

"Ditzy... What day and month is it today?" I ask in amazement. There is a knock, which bring me out of my reverie. I turn to it and remember that Ditzy Doo doesn't know how to talk. She nods at the wall in front of her workstation. There hung a cleaner calendar with a movable bookmark that is now at...

22nd Linden, Redday.

Each month is perfect in terms of the number of days of the week. There are exactly four weeks in each month.

The month of Linden... judging by the style of the letters, is the second month of summer. The first is Field, and the third is Bread.

My Pip-Boy shows that it's the fourth of August, the eighth month.

I stare at the calendar, trying to understand the local chronological system. Winter includes Wind, Oak, and Pearl. Spring includes Earth, Flower, and Grass, and Fall includes Heather, Rain, and Leaf.

What the hell is going on here?!

Like a madman, I looking for a map or a globe. The first thing I find is a map. It is hanging on the wall behind some junk, so I couldn't see it right away. I gently pull the goods aside and look at a continent I've never seen before.

'Map of Equestria'

What's an Equestria? It takes up quite a bit of space... More than half of it resembles South America—elongated, convex in the center, gradually narrowing toward the south and stretching into a tail of islands. The central part is the least populated, judging by the presence of cities, and it's also rocky, with deserts and such. My shock gaze is caught by the name 'Hoofland', and then by 'Appleloosa'... just Appleloosa, without 'Old' or 'New'». Nearby for sale are lying post-war drawn maps of the Wasteland with caravan routes and settlements, some marked with danger zones.

What the...

My mind reels with all sorts of assumptions and hypotheses about what I've been seeing. Nevertheless, I am not able to think clearly, so I continue looking for more... And find the globe.

Everything is falling into place. The continents on the globe are not familiar to me at all. It's definitely not Earth... Some two continents, Eclipse and Solstice.

I'm not on my home planet... I... I... have no idea...

All sorts of emotions come over me in huge waves, beating against the walls of my mind. I stare in shock at a globe with two continents unfamiliar to me. My shock reaches its peak, the strangeness I've encountered jigsaw puzzle together into a single picture. The new and unknown kind of creatures, the calendar, the division of thirteen hours on the clock, the mystical properties of unicorns, the transformation into one of them... I try in every possible way to avoid such a conclusion, my mind desperately searching for an adequate justification for what has been happening. But all of them do not go beyond hypotheses and suppositions. Only one conclusion has the most plausible outcome.

I'm in another world...

For about half an hour, which last like an eternity, I've stared at the globe in utter shock. I try to cling to something comforting and soothing, but nothing comes to mind. My mind is bursting with bubbling thoughts and emotions. I need to clear my head... I cannot... it's beyond my comprehension.

I struggle to get up on my four legs and walk out of the store. I stare blankly into the gray cloud-cloaked sky. I hear growing thunder. It might start raining soon. My mind has been wandering, lost as to what I should do next. A distracted glance falls downward. It is getting darker outside, and the lights and bulbs begin to turn on and illuminate the rows of freight and passenger railroad cars.

My aimlessly wandering eyes catch a signpost with local landmarks that I've already knew existed. Only one name catches my eye: The Turnpike Tavern.

***

A favorite spot of all travelers and caravans at all times. The bar is adorned with a huge floodlit sign made of metal sheeting and paint: 'The Turnpike Tavern'. It resembles an Absolutely Everything store in its structure. With two dozen cars connected together, the walls that ended up inside the structure were torn down. All the furniture is seats and tables dismantled and taken out of the passenger cars. The space is filled to overflowing with visitors, of whom there are at least a hundred. The bar is occupied by carefree laughter, casual and easy conversation, the clinking of mugs and glasses... In the midst of all this, I can barely hear the music pouring out of the old jukebox that has speakers set up all over the bar.

These are the best places in the Wasteland. They reek of fun and excitement. They attract the people of the Wasteland like a bloatfly attract a pile of shit. A respite from the eternal struggle to survive in this harsh and merciless world.

No one pays any attention to my coming. And I am absorbed in my own turmoil, to pay attention to what the locals and travelers are talking about. All the tables and seats are occupied. Those who didn't have enough seats are standing near the tables and laughing casually.

There's my body at the bar. And there are all the seats taken, some of them already drunk and passed out right at the table. I stand there with an indifferent look on my face, staring at the local bartender... or barpony, whatever... is trying to please all the customers with his assortment of drinks. Young mares and stallions are serving drinks to the customers. They, in turn, make offensive comments.

Replace them with people and there's no difference in behavior.

This is not Earth...

"Hey... bu-u-uddy..." I hear the voice of a drunken mare. I turn slowly at the sound, and see a light gray earth pony with a steel-colored mane. "I'm out of caps. Ca-a-an you get me-e-e a drink?"

I don't feel up to answering that. I am not in the mood for friendly behavior.

There was a sound of irritation from the gray mare's drunken lips.

"Did you lo-o-ose your tongue?" she says.

"No..."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

I can't remember what she asked ten seconds ago. I'm completely distracted.

"Oh..." an exasperated and tired sigh escapes her mouth. I am standing about a foot away from her, and already here I can smell her breath. "What a jerk you are..." Suddenly her annoyance fades and she smiles strangely. "Look... how about I suck your dick for a drink?"

Her provocative and uncontrollable behavior is noticed in time by the barpony.

"You have enough for today. Go home"

The gray earth pony ignored him, as well as the visitors sitting next door. Her head staggers and her tongue slurs.

"And for three-e-e-e bottles you can fu-u-uck me..."

"Okay, that's it," the barpony sighs heavily. He shouted loudly, trying to shout out the noise of amusement that surrounded him, pointing with his hoof at the gray mare who wants to barter her wet places in exchange for a drink. "Guys, get her out of here!"

Not a minute later, a large earth pony with metal weights on his front legs shows up. The local equivalent of brass knuckles, I think. He deftly grabs her with both forelegs and throws her onto own back.

"Don... don't touch me... bitch," she says angrily. "Asshole!"

When she found herself on his back, indignation continues to pour from her lips. She struggles clumsily to get out, kicking and punching the guard who has been carrying her.

"Let me go-o-o-o! He-e-elp... Ra-a-ape!

None of the customers pay any attention to her. I glance at the departing guard with the drunken, kicking mare on his back. Eventually, they disappeared into the crowd.

I sit down tiredly at a chair in front of the bar. Barpony, with an apologetic look, tries to speak to me.

"I apologize... for the incident."

I don't care. Frankly, I don't care about anything at all right now. I feel lost and incredibly alone in this new world. I'm scared.

Barpony interprets my condition as unsatisfactory.

"Heh..." he grins awkwardly. "The first mug of selected cider is on the house!"

A few apples in the mug turn into a yellowish liquid in the blink of an eye.

I no longer know how to react to this incomprehensible to the mind event. I wanna get rid of my thoughts. I don't want to think or feel anything at all.

I dry the first cup... and then I order a stronger drink... and I start drinking more and more of it. I lose the flow of time and awareness of what is happening.

It's wet... and cold... rain... a wet purple mare... light pink mane... railroad car... wet again, but warm this time... a pleasant sensation in the pelvic area...

***

Where am I?

It seems like I'm in the mess of something again.

I feel like I'm lying on the bed with my stomach. My back legs are hanging off it. It's an uncomfortable sleeping position, which affects my body. It looks like I had too much to drink last night. 'PHOENIX' implant handles the effects of poisons and other toxins, and alcohol is no exception, so I don't have a hangover thanks to it. It's for the best.

Except... Whose bed am I in?

Vague images of strong and cool moisture, purple fur, and a pleasant sensation... What did they mean?

I look around and see a pony with purple fur on my right. The sight of her light pink mane instantly relieves my drowsiness. I jump off the bed and find her asleep in the same defiant pose as I was.

I blink in surprise, unable to believe my eyes.

Oh, no... did we...

There is no point in arguing with the remaining stains on the bed and on the floor under Bluerise's hind legs. I... really did sleep with her while I was drunk.

How did I manage to sleep with a member of a species I've seen for days?! Why did I get so drunk in the first place? I usually watch out for...

Oh.

Images from Ditzy Doo's store appear before my eyes. The clock... the calendar... the map... the globe...

These things affected my mood yesterday. I clearly wanted to forget myself to death, at least for a while, to calm my resentful mind and my emotions bubbling like boiling water. They still are echoing through my body. It's easier for me to face these realizations now, but it's still scary...

Thinking about it makes the fact that I've slept with a pony... Well, at least I have slept with a female and not a male. However, it still makes me feel wild to think that I've slept with someone who isn't a human!

I find myself staring at Bluerise's purple butt and her crotch covered by her tail.

What was it about her that attracted me so much that she could get me into bed? I'm not so careless as to stick my dick anywhere!

I look around the room. A freight railroad car converted for housing. At the opposite end of the freight car are a curtain and a bathroom. I go to the door and try it. It turns out to be unlocked. Have we even forgotten to lock ourselves in? I hope no one saw or heard us...

On the nightstand I see a glass bottle of some kind of white liquid. The dried remains of this white liquid are on the purple unicorn's crotch, under her hind legs and... I look down at her lower abdomen...

Oh, wonderful. I've even had time to try the local lovemaking remedies. The last few days... it's been some kind of theater of the absurd. I would like to believe that I am in a coma or a simulation, but these hypotheses cannot yet be disproved, and therefore they are best discarded until there is at least circumstantial evidence.

I've heard of hypotheses about the existence of a multiverse... but only in sci-fi holofilms. In another form, I don't think I've ever seen one.

There is a heavy and tired sigh. I turn around to see that the purple pony is moving.

"Where am I? What's happened? Why am I lying like this..."

She gets up from the bed, turns around and... she shrieks in fear.

"What are you doing here?" she asks me.

"I want to know that too..."

The sleepy veil from her eyes dissipates. She regards me with surprise and concern, then, with interest, she feels something strange behind her... In the butt area, I assume.

Her gaze indicates that she has an epiphany.

"Oh..." she sighs embarrassedly. "You and I..."

"It looks like..." I turn to the nightstand with the white liquid. She follows my gaze, and suddenly she seems to feel a little better.

"Oh... I used a contraceptive potion..."

Contraceptive potion? Now that's interesting! Sounds pretty convenient, if I understand its purpose...

Her face turns back to me.

"I hope no one heard us... how did this even happen?" she asks.

"The last thing I remember... was when I started hitting the alcohol at the bar."

"As we were talking in the cafeteria, I started to forget myself. You were telling me about your device that collects water from the air... Then you left... and then it started to rain and... I don't remember anything."

I feel like I've been doused with cold water.

The rain! Cold water... So that's what it was! Bluerise must have gotten completely soaked in the rain. And my attraction to wet and moist bodies made all the difference.

"Blue... I guess my attraction to wet bodies was one of the reasons I ended up in bed with you."

"Oh... I remembered that when you rescued me, you glared at me, for I was wet then. I wanted to wash off all the effects of being a prisoner of the raiders... So it was your fault..."

The last words came out not so much in reproach as in relief. Nevertheless, I feel resentment.

"Hey! I wouldn't force someone to sleep with me, even when I was drunk. So... even though I was attracted to you, you ended up agreeing to it yourself."

"Well... Let's find out" She's blushing. "Maybe Juice or Dash knew something about what happened."

"So... shall we?"

"Let me take a shower first... and then you can do it."

"All right, but I better wait outside. Just in case."

She nods with an understanding expression on her face.

***

Outside, there are really signs of yesterday's rain. Puddles, slightly wet ground...

While I was taking a shower, I looked at myself with a bored look and noticed a mark on the outside of my thigh. On the opposite thigh is the same one in the same spot. An ace of spades with a crossed wrench and screwdriver in the center. I have no idea what it means or what it serves, but at this point I have no desire to ponder it. I've entered another world and managed to sleep with a pony... I have to deal with these things first.

After the shower, we go to Bluerise's friends from her caravan. They are in the next passenger railroad car... There are two seats in each compartment. It's a tight squeeze...

We knock on the right compartment.

The door is opened by the orange pony.

"Oh, hello, lovebirds," Juice grins at the sight of us. The young light blue earth pony appears from the upper bed.

"Oh, good morning, folks!" she waves cheerfully at us.

"May we come in?" Bluerise asks embarrassedly.

"Sure." Juice steps back to the window. "You two can still fit in our small compartment."

Blurise sits closer to her, and I sit on the edge near the door, which I slide closed just in case. I feel out of place, so I seem to be huddled against the wall near the entrance.

"What happened yesterday?" the purple unicorn asks in a quiet and awkward voice. Juice is about to answer, but the young and energetic Dash on top beats her to it.

"You got fucked!"

Just like that, huh? I don't envy Bluerise, even though I don't feel the best myself. Having sex with a non-human... it's beyond my imagination. Although there have been all sorts of persons in the Wasteland... who have fucked not only humans, but robots too... or the robots fucked them. In New Vegas for sure. Yes, and there's always someone who would take a chance and stick his dick in some mutant. People did what they did out of desperation.

Bluerise is tactfully silent.

Juice shakes her head and she looks at Dash. She continues, turning to the most confused pony in the compartment, "Yes... dear, you rushed toward Daniel without any hesitation. You were in the rain... You were soaked... and decided to hide under Daniel's belly."

The awkward pause lingers. I can't stand the concentration of awkwardness.

"And then what?" I ask.

"I heard about it from the diners. They said Blue suddenly started giggling."

"What do you mean?" I burn with impatience and embarrassment.

" It was like something tickled her."

Given that she was wet, my interest in her must have increased dramatically and I can already guess what started tickling her while she was under my belly. Yeah... that's definitely wonderful place to hide from the rain.

"And then what?"

"I don't remember word for word, but I was told she said something like that: Will you tickle me in my wagon with this?"

Dash laughs from above.

"I wish I'd been there!" Dash adds sadly.

"H-how many ponies have s-saw us?" Bluerise voices, wanting to squeeze into the railcar bed.

"All the diners at the restaurant... And then you were heard, despite the rain, in the neighboring carriages... and..."

"...even I here heard someone's muffled scream of pleasure," Dash says. Every word like wood that threw into that purple fireplace of embarrassment.

Of course it did... the whole town had heard about her behavior in the dining area... and another part of town had even heard.

"I-I-I..." she begin to stammer, and she hugs herself, squeezing harder and harder into the bed. "Let's get run out of town... And don't come around here anymore..."

Juice smiles sympathetically and caresses her mane with her hoof.

"I understand how you feel, Blue... but we still have to sell what we got from the Porcupines. We've only got one brahmin."

"Buy some more," she squeaks. "And I'll hide in a box and never come out."

"Well..." she hugges Bluerise. "It's not that bad."

"No, it is. It's a shame..."

There is another pause.

I didn't expect her to start reacting this way about the incident. She was worried yesterday that the rest of her life would consist of satisfying others... and then she actually jumped into bed with the stallion herself. Seems... a bit hypocritical. At least that's how others might perceive it. I, on the other hand, find this behavior inconsistent, but who knows what bouquet of emotions is going on in Bluerise from her captivity and what exactly prompted her to sleep with me.

Perhaps her alcoholic intoxication last night reinforced some kind of connection with me because of the fact that I saved her from the nightmare. Probably she feels safe with me.

Juice interrupts the silence, addressing the unicorn.

"Look... stay here... or in your railroad car. You're getting too nervous right now."

"Uh-huh... okay. Better with you." She snuggles into the embrace of the orange earth pony. I find it quite a sight.

"Well... then I'll go?"

"Can I come with you?" the voice from above comes with signs of shyness. For the first time I sense any uncertainty in her tone.

"What for?"

"Well... I... I'm curious to ask you what you did yesterday..."

"Dash!" Juice hisses indignantly.

"What? I was hoping I'd get some of it, too..."

"I'd better go. I'm not in the mood to even think about it. So, don't get your hopes up."

***

Outside, some ponies are paying attention to me. Most of them are smile slightly, making me feel even more ashamed.

It's a small town, everyone knows about each other. Of course, it isn't uncommon for them to hear ponies having a great time in bed, or even around the corner, after they'd sat down at the Turnpike Tavern. Our behavior among the sober dining area crowd, especially that of Bluerise, made us the topic of discussion rather than anyone else who'd managed to pick up the company that night.

I discover that my bag of caps is gone. There were about a hundred and fifty caps in there. Either I had drank them away, or I had lost them somewhere, or it had been stolen from me... or I gave them away myself. When I'm drunk, I can often go out and buy a drink for everyone in the bar... It's happened to me more than once. Generosity will get me into trouble.

The first thing I decided to do is to check my gear. Most of my caps were left at the store with Ditzy Doo before I went to the bar. I hope she didn't steal some of the caps I left there without asking... though that's unlikely, since she decided to fix my armor and sew up my cloak and backpack for free.

At the Absolutely Everything store, I am already greeted by the owner with a cheerful smile.

"Good morning, Dee."

She smiles even wider. One of her eyes is looking at me.

Please don't ask me what happened yesterday.

'I got it all sewn up and fixed.'

With her front hoof, she points out where all my stuff is. Blissful relief—she's not interested in hearing rumors about how Bluerise and I got the attention of half the town.

"Oh, nice! You did a good job."

Something flutters happily on her back, catching my attention... which changes to surprise. A gray sprout. Soft in appearance... remotely reminiscent of wings, or more accurately, the plucked wings of some bird.

How in heaven's name did I not see that yesterday?!

I quickly hide my goggling eyes and turn away, pretending to have a coughing fit. The trick hasn't worked; Ditzy has noticed my gaze before my fake cough, she is smiling politely. I hear the quiet rustle of chalk on the chalkboard.

"I'm sorry..." I begin, while she is writing something. "I didn't want to be indelicate."

'I'm a pegasus. I'm used to us being rare in the Wasteland, and the newcomers gawking at me.'

"It didn't bother you that I was staring at you so openly?" I ask.

'Not at all. Truth be told, others are more interested in the fact that I'm a ghoul than that.'

"You can understand them. Ghouls can lose their minds sooner or later, and they become feral, lovers of living flesh."

'It usually takes a lot of stress to do that. Feralism is heralded by seizures. But in 200 years I haven't had a single seizure.'

I feel myself staring at that gray pegasus again. Only a handful of ghouls have been able to live that long, keeping their mind stable.

"Wow... impressive."

She nods appreciatively and finishes writing.

'I don't let myself get discouraged. There's always something to be happy about. I especially enjoy muffins!'

No sooner than I read what she has written, she erases the inscription and shows me the next one with a burning look in her eyes.

'By the way, would you like some?'.

Such an enthusiastic and energetic look. It's hard to resist.

"Won't that distract you from your work?"

She shakes her head negatively, and scribbles something with chalk again.

'I put them on to cook. It's almost ready. Time for a tasty snack. And sweets help you think and work better.'

Can't argue with that.

The gray mare with the plucked wings treats me to fresh muffins and grabs a couple for herself. A few minutes later another little mare join us, probably smelling the fresh muffins. She is happily, as well as Ditzy Doo, showing off her drawings. For a Wastelander, and for her age, she draws quite well. She's quite good at it. Too bad there's no place in the Wasteland for such creative talents. Except for drawing maps and depicting creatures and plants in travel guides.

This filly also has no horn. She is not an earth pony. She is a unicorn, but... the horn is sawed off. Not broken off. That is to say, the loss of the horn was not accidental. I don't want to ask about it for fear of causing sad and painful thoughts in the little one.

I shove those thoughts away and focus on the sweet and fresh muffin, on the pull of the silver-gray filly, and on appreciation of her skills. And I remember again about maps and guidebooks. She will draw them for Ditzy Doo. Guides and maps are always mottled with simple and clear illustrations, and she will be able to supplement or enhance them.

After thanking her for the treat, I pick up all my allowed gear in town, as well as the maps and guidebooks I has purchased. I ask who here can help me with my magic, who I can check with to make sure there is nothing wrong with my horn.

I go outside and see it's a gray, cloudy day.

Is it always this gloomy and cloudy here?

I look around and realize I forget something. Turning on Pip-Boy's recording device, which instantly translates voiced words into text, I start:

"The day I arrived was the 20th of Linden, Blueday. Faced with a local gang of raiders, the Porcupines. In the fight with them I was badly wounded, but rescued by the caravan led by Bluerise, who had freed by me. Apparently, I was unconscious for two local days. On the fourth day of my stay, the 23rd of Linden, Orangeday, woke up in the hospital of New Appleloosa, this city of metal, and realized that I..." I look around cautiously, hoping that no one is overhearing me. "...very far from my home."

End of recording. Pip-Boy converts the audio recording into text. I haven't been taking notes like that lately, unless there are too many things going on in my life at once. That's how it is now. I would also put a mark on the map, but I don't have a global map. Only a local scan of the area, taking into account the surrounding terrain.

Day four in a new world, every day of which lasts two hours longer than on Earth. It will be interesting to see how much of an effect this will have on my perception of time going forward.

Oh... I remember something else. I turn on the reorder.

"Purchase guidebooks and maps from Ditzy Doo and pick up your weapons at the guard post."

I turn off the recorder of my Pip-Boy. It's a reminder for me. I will purchase maps and guidebooks next time. Otherwise, I'm definitely going to sink into them, I know myself. It is impossible to resist such useful information for survival, not taking into account my irrepressible curiosity.

At the moment, I have one main goal that excites me: learning magic!

***

After an awkward—because of last night's incident with Bluerise—breakfast in the common dining room, I went to the New Appleloosa train station. I look out at it. Reconstructed railroad tracks and restored concrete and metal platforms, the latter littered with barrels and crates. On one of the tracks stand a train of steam locomotives and two dozen freight and passenger cars. Earth ponies are leisurely loading crates into the freight cars.

I walk up to one of them.

"Excuse me, where can I find Crane?" I ask.

"He's in his wagon. Over there."

"Thank you."

At the direction of the working earth pony, I make my way to the wagon he indicated. The side door is wide open. I climb the metal steps and see a yellow unicorn with an orange and beige striped mane dining at a table. On his plate is roast meat of some kind of animal and a couple of tomatoes. He immediately notices my appearance, and my attention is instantly focused on the way he telekinesis the cutlery with unprecedented dexterity.

"Hello."

"Well hello," he says softly and tastes the red tomato. The clear red juice runs down his chin, which he picks up without delay. Not a drop is spilled. Thrifty and unsparing. Praise.

"I'm not distracting much?"

"A lot? No, but I don't have much time for conversation right now. What do you want?"

"I'm here..." I can't help but watch him work his horn. Or rather, magic. I still have mixed feelings about magic. One part of my mind says it's unnatural, and the other part says I should learn how it works and learn it immediately. "I need help from an expert in magic. I recently hit my horn hard against a hard surface. Since then I have been afraid to use my magic. I want to make sure he's okay first, start with the most innocuous manipulations of magic."

He gives me an appraising look.

"What's the occasion?" he asks. Cutting off a piece of meat, he swallows it and snacks on the tomato again.

I have to come up with a decent answer quickly.

"I'm... I'm a little embarrassed to talk about it," I say tentatively, which could be interpreted as embarrassment. I want to buy myself some time to make up a believable story.

"Hohe oh," he pronounces with a stuffed mouth. And yet he hasn't lost a crumb. "Flit ih ouh. I'h inferesheh."

"I... hit my horn hard against the wall when I got carried away with the music and tried to dance in the shower and ended up slipping."

He laughs so hard he almost chokes. Crumbs and drops of food fall on the wooden floor of the wagon.

"Fuck..." he coughs. "There's something embarrassing about it... but not as embarrassing as your duet with that purple unicorn."

Damn it, he knows! Now I'm really embarrassed.

"All right... all right, I'll help you, but not for free."

"How much?"

"Three hundred caps."

"Why don't we settle on two hundred?"

"Why should we?"

"You said you didn't have much time, so let me pay two hundred caps and help you with your work."

He hesitates, glancing at his food. There's one last piece of meat and some tomato left. His head with its short beige-orange mane shakes as he raises his gaze at me, a sense of doubt in it.

"Do you have any knowledge of home maintenance, plumbing, electrics and whatnot?"

A perspective from my long ago youth, when I lived in the Vault 101, flashes through my mind. I was one step away from becoming the chief engineer of the entire Vault. When I was even younger, I studied the entire bunker out of boredom, all of its utilities, including the secret sections with forbidden things... every corner, every bolt and wire. Electricity, ventilation, heating, plumbing...

I can barely contain a smile.

"Yeah... had to read books and do that sort of thing," I reply with restrained pride. I don't want to arouse suspicion about the origin of my experience. After all, I am a unicorn, and as I understand it, I must then possess my own set of magical tricks. I deeply doubt that in this world, magic would have hardly escaped the realm of technology. If that were the case, he might ask for even more help, and I know absolutely no tricks involving the use of magic in repairs.

"Excellent. I'll settle for two hundred. I need the caps and the extra horn now like a mare needs a stallion in heat."

"What's the matter, if it's no secret?"

"There's been a sudden influx of new mouths. They need to build some kind of housing, electricity, heating, and plumbing."

"That's... generous of you."

"Well, not leaving the foals outside, is it?"

He swallows the last piece of meat and eats the rest of the tomato. The orange color of his magic merges with the orange helmet he puts on his head. He gets up and walks out. I weave after him like a dog.

"Where do these foals come from?"

There's a look of wariness in his voice, "You seem curious..."

"It's my nature..." I decide to answer without deceiving myself. "It's gotten me into all sorts of trouble. If there some kind of secret, you don't have to answer."

He sighs heavily.

"Look... you seem like a nice guy to me. All because some unicorn has made a difference in the life of the Wasteland. She managed to exterminate everyone in Old Appleloosa and freed the young slaves by bringing them here. We had no choice but to shelter these orphans. However, all this entailed one extremely unpleasant circumstance..."

"Surely there are bound to be those who will want revenge or to return the slaves stolen from them?"

"Exactly. All of Old Appleloosa's citizens are never in the city at the same time. As with many settlements and towns, though. Some are out scouting, some hunting for meat, some for new slaves. So they will want revenge, because their slaves were with us, and we tried to be neutral with them... We had to beef up security. Some of my workers were taken for security. Anyway, anyone can snoop around about our situation, capabilities, armed guards, and so forth..."

The Porcupines probably weren't residents of Old Appleloosa, but it's clear from their tone that they loved the place.

"How did she ever manage to exterminate the inhabitants of Old Appleloosa?" I ask with perplexity.

"Littlepip and Calamity happened to be there when the city was weakest. At the time of their arrival, there were mostly merchants, guests, and only a few guards left."

"Still, it's not a small town after all... several hundred ponies... at least..."

"The bulk of their guards were turrets... and Littlepip knew how to work with those things. She sneaked into the city, hacked into the control terminal, and reprogrammed the turrets. The carnage began. Calamity, an excellent markspony, finished off the remnants. And Littlepip had no trouble killing the guards and guests distracted by the turrets."

"So that's it..."

"Yep. As they were riding the train back, a group of slave-traders returning to town saw all the chaos they'd caused. They chased after them... In the course of which most of my guys, the train workers, were killed."

"I'm sorry."

He sighs bitterly, "Thank you..."

"So Calamity and Littlepip were the ones the Porcupines were talking about..." I wonder aloud, remembering their indignation.

Those two ponies were just lucky that they picked the best time to attack. Usually the information about the city's security is deliberately exaggerated to discourage attackers. They talk about idle reserves and the like. And in general, the state of security is constantly changing. By the time you know one state of affairs and plan actions relative to it, as it is already outdated, and the situation is turned upside down.

"Porcupines?" Crane realizes with surprise, pausing. "Wait, so we owe it to you for exterminating them?"

"You could say that..." I turn to him and shrug. "I was there by accident. As you can see, my curiosity led me to them..."

"Lucky it led you," he says, shaking his head with a slight smile. "One less vigilante group... It can't help but feel good."

That's one reason why even saving slaves can lead to more death and torment. The slave traders won't let it go that easily. A good cause, but sad consequences. Almost two years ago, after meeting Ulysses, I had an epiphany, and my desire to meddle in someone else's affairs fell away. I wonder if the pony who saved them realizes the consequences of what she did. The mess had to be cleaned up by others while she went about her business.

"While we're at it..." he continues. "I'll reduce the amount by a hundred caps. You're a capable and bright pony, I see, if you can handle them. You're useful, and I don't particularly want to deprive you of your caps."

"Thank you very much... but you need them more now, given recent events, and I'll get by somehow."

"I didn't expect generosity from you either," he pauses again. And looks me in the eye. "That's respectable." He looks around casually. "Here we are. The workshop of New Appleloosa. Let's get to work."

***

Learning the basics of magic is an incredible pleasure. The more Crane tells me about the principles of magic, namely spells, the more possibilities for its use arise in my mind.

It's extremely hard to hide my delight in magic... and the fact that I can manipulate it! I can feel it flowing through my body. I remember the strange streams of energy when I came out of the house where I woke up already in the body of a pony. That's what they are. They are magical streams. When I use magic, I feel them even more strongly. Like a stream of water running down my skin, only running through my whole body, through every cell in my body.

I can practically mentally control objects at close range. The farther away the object, the harder it is to manipulate. Masters of telekinesis, which Crane is, can manipulate several objects at a decent distance, in most cases without regard to weight.

I can do magic tricks! How fucking awesome is that!

"I hope you remember to eat well?" the yellow unicorn, master of telekinesis, asks me. "The quality of nutrition determines the effectiveness and accuracy of spells."

Before these words, I thought the unicorns here were like gods, capable of many things. As it turns out, this is not entirely true. The same principles work in magic as in keeping the body in good physical shape. We may all be, to varying degrees, intelligent, fast, strong, and nimble... but not all of us are. It all depends on training, practice, and proper nutrition. In the Wasteland, the latter is beyond the reach of many. Even I have had problems with it, and it affects how I feel and my mood.

Unicorns, with their manipulation of magic, are no stranger to this. Most of them are capable of telekinesis and a few weak spells... depending on what they do. For example, medics know a few tricks that help them heal better, and a repairpony, respectively, knows magical tricks for fixing things.

I was furtively delighted that I could bring a glass of water to my mouth with my eyes closed with telekinesis... Yes! I can do that!

In the course of the consultation and communications into the new dwellings, Crane told me that magic and spells are used in the technology. That is, he confirmed my hunch. Mostly magic is used in high-tech devices, like my PipBuck, power armor, and energy-magic weapons. In general. Except for the use of magical spells, local technology works along roughly the same principles as it does on Earth.

With my telekinesis, I was able, without looking, to retrieve the cap on the bottom of my backpack. It was awesome! I can't stop thinking about it...

The curious thing to me is that my magic is the color of my eyes. It's blue. Crane's eyes are orange... and so does magic. It is unlikely that the color of my magic correlates with the quality of my spells, just as, in fact, the color of my hair correlates with my mental abilities.

My magic teacher knows from me that I'm from Hoofland, but he's not really interested in what's going on there. That's fine with me.

I ask how well the railroad tracks is restored and where they lead.

"There are a lot of railroad tracks around here," he explains, "but only a few of them are more preserved than others, so we've patched them up a bit and are using them now. One leads to Old Appleloosa, a second and a third to the northeast and east to other settlements. Along the last two directions, New Appleloosa farms, smaller settlements, and lonely shanty towns have turned out relatively recently."

"Relatively recent? I think it has something to do with the fact that Old and New Appleloosa are not far from each other..."

"You have a good point. It used to be just Appleloosa. There's plenty of fertile land around it, and we used it for farming. A tidbit... Through clever manipulation and subterfuge, the supporters of the slave trade came to power. They wanted to make full use of the land..."

"I suppose there weren't enough ponies willing to work the land for that?"

"Exactly. They wanted to employ forced labor. That is, slaves, as in many settlements and cities in the south, beyond the Great Deserts. I don't know about you in Hoofland, but on the East Coast slavery is rare and openly frowned upon, while it is rumored to be actively practiced in the Southern part of pre-war Equestria..."

"So what about New and Old Appleloosa?" I remind him, sensing that Crane is getting distracted. We are wiring one of the dwellings, and I watch in awe and delight as my blue magic envelops the wires and tools and lifts them into the air.

How delightful it is, a loose bolt up my ass!

"Anyway, this state of affairs did not please the residents of Appleloosa and the nearby farms, so they left. Nearby, a railroad depot was discovered, littered with railroad cars. They decided to use them as material to build a new city. The farmers went further in search of fertile land. And they found it. We reconnected, fixed the tracks, helped set up farms for them, and... named the town New Appleloosa."

"What happened to Appleloosa?" I ask. Like a child at the sight of a new toy, I twirl the screwdriver enthusiastically in front of my eyes.

"The slave trade has begun to flourish... and the empty, fertile land was filled with slaves. We could not compete with them... so we formed a mutually beneficial relationship with them. Eventually, most of the craftsponies in various fields, like repairpony and medicine pony, left with us. They needed our services... wouldn't have a claim on us in return."

"What about the Porcupines and the like?"

"They're just guests..." He hushes up, seeing me playing with my tools. "It looks more like you're playing than working and practicing..."

"Sorry..." I say and guiltily press my lips together and go back to work.

"So... what was I saying? Oh, yeah. Bandits and raiders come to our farms, wait for one of our patrols to leave, and attack. At best, they take some of the produce and leave. At worst, they loot the farm, rape the farmers, and take them as slaves to Old Appleloosa."

"So you don't mind that Littlepip and Calamity freed your own farmers this way?"

"There were very few of them there. Our farmers and foals we traded in exchange for our services. Most of their slaves were from the western and southern territories... I wonder how you managed to get past Old Appleloosa in the first place, since all the routes from the west go through it."

"I'm always wary of caravan routes." I shrug. "It's easier for me to avoid animals and mutants, since they don't sit in elaborate ambushes and set traps."

The power of Old Appleloosa has settled in quite nicely... it milked the people of New Appleloosa by stealing their farmers. Not by its own forces, but by free gangs and mercenaries. Perhaps Littlepip had the same idea, so she decided to stop this milking scheme as well.

"How often do the gangs visit the farmers?"

"Depends on luck... Once a month, on average. Some farmers get lucky and don't get harassed for years."

"So... why is the release of your farmers... at least their foals, is such a problem?"

The yellow unicorn with the orange helmet on his head wanted to answer, but a pony brings us more consumables to install the electrical wiring. When she left, he speaks up.

"Liberation makes sense... But not in defeating Old Appleloosa. The farmers who will be taken into slavery in the future, we won't find any more. They will be taken elsewhere..."

Wow... I hadn't even thought of such consequences. A noble cause turned out to be a disaster. I can see why there was bitterness and fear in Crane's voice. He understands that in the future there will be many problems for the city... Perhaps they have already begun, but he has tactfully chosen not to speak of them.

***

Training has taken me all the way through the evening, not counting the little break.

I'm going to the bar to clear my head. Although I can go to the dining area 'Big Carrot', I prefer the bar with its fun atmosphere. I also want to try the local equivalent of whiskey. I still have enough caps.

At the bar I am greeted by the same noise of fun and clinking of mugs from last night. I feel an involuntary smile and calm on my face. I am instantly spotted by the familiar orange pony. When she sees me, she waves to me affably and invites me to her table.

"Good evening, Juice."

"Good evening to you, too... I see your armor and gear are in good order now." She looks me over from head to tail.

"Not a word... How's Bluerise doing over there?"

"You just missed her a few minutes ago. I tried to drag her out into the pony crowd, just to show that a lot of ponies don't care about what happened to you with her."

I glance around at all the visitors for a look.

"They didn't care," I say what is already clear. "They'll talk for a couple of days, laugh and forget."

"That's right, the locals get drunk, too, and then stay in bed one night."

"You never know when you'll end up dead in a ditch somewhere, so if you just want to get laid, the bar is the place to start looking."

"That's true... but it's still indecent," she depicts air quotes on the last word with her front legs. "That's why they only want to talk about what others have done, not themselves. Anyway... what are you drinking?"

"The best... Only I'll be paying."

She chuckles.

"Sorry, but not this time."

"Oh... I'm already getting handouts..."

The orange pony raises her hoof, forcing me to look at her carefully. Her yellow eyes are serious, with a sense of sadness in them.

"Gold once told you that he would put a drink for you in New Appleloosa... I repay his debt."

Oh... The yellow earth pony... I feel a little uneasy. He didn't survive the rescue. He died because I didn't keep track of my surroundings.

"But he..." I begin.

"Yes, he didn't survive in the end, but, thanks to you, his suffering ended quickly."

"You... didn't just decide to pay off that... debt?"

"I knew him well. He wasn't a bad, resilient stallion."

"I'm sorry for not being able to save him."

"You don't need to apologize, you did the best you could. And you don't need to torture yourself with thoughts of his death. After all, all the other prisoners survived, myself included."

I look around at the cheerful and drunken visitors. They are laughing, gossiping, joking, and having a good time.

"If I'd paid more attention, Gold would be among them..."

"So do it instead of him. Get a drink—he'd be glad you marked release for him."

Her words... The way she said it. I fall out of reality a little, but I still say, "Okay."

And absent-mindedly I sit down in part of the passenger seat.

The orange earth pony whistles and calls the waitress and orders the best drink for us from her.

As we wait to order, I realize that I need to distract myself from thinking about Gold's death. My gaze wanders until my attention is drawn to the two mares. They are openly and unashamedly cuddling and kissing each other passionately. The stallion sitting next to them clearly feels like a white crow in their company, stiff and modest in appearance. All three are sitting in the passenger seats from the wagons at the next table, so I can hear them talking, but I don't look directly at them.

"It's only fun for you... " he mutters. It sounds like they were having some kind of conversation before that.

"Come on," the green-tinged pony distracts. The other continues to lay kisses on her pale green neck. "Uh-oh..." a blissful exhale comes from her mouth. They look tipsy and ready to lick each other off right on the table they're sitting at.

"You're the one who has it easy with these dating things... not me. I don't drink," he says.

He reminds me of the mare who approached him in his coloring set. This leads me to believe that they are kin, perhaps siblings.

"You don't need a drink either..." the green mare continues, openly enjoying the light pink pony's kisses. "You buy a drink and give it to the mare you like."

"And if she refuses?"

"Look for another... Someone will say yes. Relax. That's what they come here for. Besides, it's time for you to wean yourself off me, old enough for strange mares," she says and turns to the light pink mare, beginning to nibble on her ear.

I shudder as if a bottle has uncorked over my ear, and listen more closely to their conversation. I didn't hear that, did I?

The stallion blushes and shushes contemptuously at her.

As I understand it, I was not imagining it... Their family ties are stronger than most people usually are.

"Watch your language..." he adds.

She sniffs away from the lips of the light pink earth pony with a smack and turns to the brother.

"What do you think I do?"

The stallion blushes even more. He sits and is silent... Silent... Clearly holding back... He watches as his sister is in the embrace of the light pink mare. Reacts with envy to the wet sounds of her kisses, languid sighs...

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he resents, and stands up. "In front of me? And yet you don't share..."

Hears the voice of the light pink earth pony, still tucking her nose into his sister's neck, "If you were a mare, I'd share my tongue with you..."

"So, brother, I'm sorry... Oh..." the green pony emits and turns to the light pink one. "Let's go somewhere more private. I want you to fill me with kisses like that between my thighs."

"If we had StealthBucks, I'd do it right here..." she says.

They giggle and walk away, helping each other walk evenly without crashing into anyone. My brother leads them with a resentful look and walks away annoyedly somewhere in the depths of the bar. Juice has noticed me watching them.

"Brother and sister..." she says with disgust. "I've never understood how siblings could..."

"And you don't have to," I say. "You wouldn't understand anyway. Just like anything that's foreign to you."

"Maybe, but to me it's disgusting and unnatural."

I don't care who sleeps with whom, as long as it's consensual. There's enough crap in the world as it is to think that getting sincere pleasure between two mismatched individuals is something nasty and wrong.

I am about to reply, but at that moment a bar mistress bring us a drink. I lose all desire to engage in conversation on this topic. Without wasting time, the orange mare uncorks the bottle and pours the translucent yellow liquid into our glasses.

"Here's to you," Juice says.

"To Gold," I say, lifting the glass with my telekinesis. The whiskey is excellent and rich in flavor. It has a pleasant and delicate aftertaste. I can't stand it and take another sip. No wonder it costs so much.

We sit in silence. We stare into our glasses, looking for... something.

I see the green stallion again, with another familiar pony.

"That was quick," Juice says, noticing him with me. "She's almost twice his age, too. She's old enough to be his mother."

It turns out she is older than me, too.

"But she's got... experience," I say. "That's what makes like her attractive. Though I doubt he was the one who suggested she go to the secluded place..."

"Why?"

"The same mare offered to put a drink on her yesterday in exchange for me being able to sleep with her. And all I did was stand next to her."

"Ah..." Juice snorts. "Then it's easy prey."

"And how do you feel about young studs?" I smile.

"Never had any interest in them. I prefer stallions my own age. They're also... With experience. I want to enjoy myself too, not teach a young and youthful stallion. You're a stud to me, too."

I'm completely new to pony anatomy, I don't know anything about it, but the emotion on the ponies' faces I've seen is enough to suggest that Juice is telling the truth. Nothing about her gives away the lie.

"Too bad," I say with non-seriousness. "I liked you."

She rolls her eyes defiantly and smiles slightly.

"Your behavior after one event, the rejection of Dash who showed interest in you... You're obviously joking."

The orange pony unequivocally refers me back to Bluerise. She realizes that Blue was remembered, and the smile disappeared from her lips like a blown out candle.

We are silent again. Juice runs her hoof over the edge of the glass.

"And yet," she says, "Bluerise is grateful to you. She's not that giddy, and she wouldn't go to bed with you just for fun. She appreciates knowing you, albeit briefly. You have spared her the humiliation, she can no longer remain indifferent to you. She... trusts you more than anyone else in this town."

"Not counting you and Dash."

"We're just contract employees," she excuses herself. "We're new to her. You saved her from trouble... when we couldn't keep her safe."

"I'm surprised the Porcupines didn't touch you and Dash."

"Blue... was much more attractive to me and Dash, and there was no interest in us... I'd say I was lucky, just don't tell her that. She'll take it the wrong way."

I nod understandingly. She might hate herself or Juice... I don't know.

Loud laughter erupts behind me. Juice's ears perk up at its source, mine too.

"Wait, wait, wait..." the mare's intermittent post-laughter voice comes. "Then Sunny leaned over and started throwing up, and she lifted her long orange mane up so she wouldn't stain it with her vomit."

Another burst of laughter erupts. Juice chuckles demurely.

"What a concern..." she adds, staring thoughtfully into her glass.

"How long will you be here?" I ask Juice.

"Until we sell off all the surplus or until the customers' interest dies down. Tomorrow, Bluerise will take over the business and start selling the trophies we acquired from the raiders. She's the only one in a position to bargain a decent price for them."

"Won't they make jokes about what happened to her with me yesterday?"

"They'll get a punch in the face from me in return."

I can't hold back a smile.

"I don't envy them. Anyway, I'm glad she's getting back in line. To Bluerise," I say and raise my glass.

"Here's to Blue," Juice encourages, raising his own. And we take a sip each.

"Good whiskey this... What's it called?" I ask.

"The Sunburst."

"That's an interesting name... Oh... I forgot all about Rusty. How's he doing over there?"

"Oh, well... All day long he sits on the roof of some wagon near large groups of ponies and stares at them."

"Has he tried to talk to the other foals?"

"He is afraid. Only us he's more or less used to, especially Bluerise, but he still flinches when we touch him. At least let him get used to society that way."

"He needs a place to go." I drink to the bottom of my glass. "If he doesn't turn out to have acquaintances, then... maybe... I'll try to get Crane to take him. He's setting up the foals' living quarters, and he needs to know who's going to look after them."

Juice grabs the bottle with her teeth and already tilts it over my empty glass as I gesture with my hoof to stop her.

"I've had enough. I don't want to risk getting drunk again after last night. I might wake up cuddled up with you," I joke. "I'd better go... Take a hot bath... if there are enough caps."

"Thanks for keeping me company. Well, if there's a need for caps, we can help."

"And you, it was nice talking to you... Thanks for the drink and for the offer. I'll keep that in mind."

I go to the dining area 'Big Carrot'. After dinner, I head to the hotel, take a hot bath for half an hour, and make my way to the compartment, which I paid for two seats at once, since I want to be alone. The magic wore me out; it feels like I'd been unloading barrels from freight cars at the station all day. I complete my record of the events of the twenty-third of Linden and instantly fall asleep.

***

The 24th of the Month of the Linden, Yellowday. Day Five.

I spend breakfast in the dining room, thinking. I think better in the morning, with a clear head. Still not believing my eyes, I twirl the cutlery with my blue magic and ponder my position in this new and... frighteningly familiar world. All the same Wasteland, all the same principles of its life...

These thoughts... make me feel insane and my body shudder. A bone-chilling terror at the unknown... along with an irrepressible curiosity and a wondrous excitement about what awaits me. I need to learn more about the world around me. It's time to buy maps and guidebooks, too. I can't wait!

After breakfast, I head to Ditzy Doo.

My cartographer in Pip-Boy isn't working due to a lack of communication with the satellite. This is a problem I understand I can solve if I can find some PipBuck with the proper working module that will allow me to establish a connection to the local satellite system. If there are any... there should be, but in the meantime... I'll navigate the terrain the old-fashioned way.

Aside from the cartographer, the radio receiving module isn't working either. Another confirmation that I'm on at least another planet, since my Pip-Boy can't establish a connection with any of the satellites. It also can't tune in to local radio stations... I am, after all, in another universe. I doubt there is a special kind of energy on another planet that we don't have on Earth.

Arriving at the store, I see Ditzy serving a few customers. Being the polite pony I am, I decide not to interfere. I patiently wait my turn. I watch without much interest as others choose their merchandise and haggle hard for it. Ditzy smiles as charmingly as the goose can, refusing to accept their price. She forges another compromise.

She is only generous with those she respects. Glad she's not such a simple-minded, naive pony. Otherwise she wouldn't have survived two hundred years in the Wasteland.

Now it is my turn.

"Good morning, Dee."

'Morning, Dan', she grins, showing me a plaque with the inscription on it.

"I need a map... And also some sort of guide to the surrounding flora and fauna."

She instantly brings me hand-drawn—if that definition is appropriate in the case of a pony—maps with varying degrees of accuracy and elaboration. I choose a map of the northeastern part of the Equestrian Wasteland made by professionals, not amateurs. However, it also costs more. It shows key settlements and towns that are connected by caravan routes. It also depicts the locations of the various mutants most found in a particular area.

Useful for various meat and hide hunters.

I chose the northeast for several reasons. Nothing particularly interesting in the north, there are hardly any settlements or towns, too wild places, pre-war reservations, and then solid mountains. The west is drowning in fanatical groups, so I don't really feel like going in that direction. To the south are the Great Deserts, incredibly difficult to cross, and there are too many myths going around, which suggests a huge amount of danger. Given my current skills in my new body, I can't survive there. That leaves only Manehattan, Fillydelphia, and Trottingham.

Having decided on a map, Ditzy Doo offers me one book as a guide. The cover and title of the book... drown me in nostalgic memories.

When we first got the Wasteland, my beloved and I didn't know much about it. And Moira Brown from Megaton was eager to gather as much useful survival information as she could into one book. I was looking for my father, but to do that I had to learn how to survive... Anyway, our views were the same. With what diligence, cunning, and persistence Brisa and I gathered all the useful information from others, bit by bit. Moira also gave us tasks to assimilate and check the information in practice.

The situation here is similar... Only for key survival knowledge I don't have to spend whole months again doing fieldwork and experiments. Wasteland Survival Guide has long been written.

A mind-boggling coincidence throws me out of reality for a few minutes. Ditzy Doo is bewildered but patiently waiting and studying my reaction.

"Did you... did you write it yourself?"

She brightens her smile and nods happily.

It's... can't help but be delightful.

"Considering how much you've lived and seen... Anyway, it's very cool that you decided to keep your experiences and acquired knowledge of the Wasteland in this form. Good for you! Though not everyone can read in the Wasteland."

This is one of the problems why such a book did not have the expected effect in the Capital Wasteland. Those who could read learned to survive better. For those who could not, which was the majority, the book was useless until they turned to others for help.

Ditzy Doo demonstrates the contents of the weighty book. It is replete with simple and intuitive images, like faces and cartoonish drawings of ponies. Far from a masterpiece of art, but nevertheless not a bad way to supplement and diversify the text. It will also be of interest to the youngest of us. That little filly that lives with Ditzy... I forget her name. I remember that she is an artist with a passion for her craft. She'll have something to do... for example, to complete and improve the simple and clear illustrations in this book. Ditzy will find something for her to do.

"Hmm. That's an original move. You thought of that flaw, too."

Another cheerful nod. So much joy and positivity reeks from this pony that it almost drowns out the smell of rotting flesh. Now it's clear how she became a successful salespony. Cheerful and positive personalities are like a magnet to others.

If the raiders hadn't cut out her tongue, it's unlikely she would have learned to write and subsequently created a large and voluminous book on survival. Her book saved many lives, as it cost practically at cost price. For a merchant, such generosity is good PR... No wonder how a ghoul like her could become a successful and popular merchant, not to mention the fact that her writing has changed the Wasteland for the better. Truly the consequences in life are astounding.

"You're just wonderful... The best pony I've ever met."

She jumps happily in place, dropping the plank, and throws herself into a big hug.

This is... unexpected. I have very mixed feelings, but her enthusiasm suppresses my discomfort, allowing me to enjoy the hug. It feels good.

«You're such a cool pony. Take the card and the book for free.»

"What?" I am perplexed. "That's too much on your part."

'You made my day. You can't buy that for the caps.'

"Yeah, I felt a rush of energy too..." I do feel a smile on my lips. Charged with positivity, like a glowing goole with radiation. "So this debt is paid."

She laughs.

'Take it. You deserve it.'

"Well... that's a smile I can't say no to anymore. Thank you so much."

I leave the store in the most positive frame of mind, except for the thrill and excitement of mastering magic. I haven't had that since time immemorial. Thank you, Ditzy Doo. I hope you do well and still have time to please many ponies.

I've updated my reminders in the Pip-Boy, removing the mention of maps and guides.

***

It's so unaccustomed to using telekinesis. I walk on four legs, and with blue magic I hold on to a new yet familiar book. I flip through the pages and enjoy Ditzy Doo's cute and childishly naïve artwork. And yet they give me a clearer idea of what the future holds for me. A bunch of titles that tell me nothing. So far. Hopefully I'll figure out the really important stuff while I'm finding my way home.

That's my primary goal. The way home. No need to even write it down.

I decide to walk to the main gate of the city and check my firearms. I was unconscious when it was taken from me, so I want to make sure it's safe. I also want to look around and see the local city defenses. Magic is present in this world, and I wonder if it is used for defense in any special way other than just being present in technology.

The wall that protects the peace of the inhabitants consists of wagons lined up with superstructures and small fortifications from which it is safe to fire. Guards walk along the wall. The main gate near the railroad tracks, it is suspended: a huge and massive iron plate welded from the walls of the freight cars is held up by a low freight crane. On top of the crane is a modest turret-shaped superstructure in which a pony with a sniper rifle nests. He's keeping a watchful eye on the situation below.

Near the gate there is a sort of paddock where the brahmins graze. Nearby is a parking lot for various carts and vehicles. Of course, it's all guarded... not for free. Working vehicles are always and everywhere highly valued, so there are always those who would like to steal them. The owners pay a pretty penny for guarding them. Among the carriages and working vehicles, I spot the familiar spiked trailer of the Porcupines.

Passing them, I walk straight up to the gate. Up close I see that it has one retractable door. This entrance is for the passage of ponies and small vehicles. There are about a dozen guards nearby. There are two more turrets on each side of the gate, probably firing large caliber rounds. Two unicorns are among the guards, but without heavy weaponry, and one I see has some oddball weapon... probably energy-magic.

I understand the two unicorns use defensive or attack spells during combat. I'd ask what their duties are as unicorn guards, but, remembering Crane's suspiciousness, I doubt I'd get an answer. They are all extremely suspicious now. I have only stood for a few minutes, peering at the protection on the main gate, for the guards have already cast oblique glances at me. I'd better get along the wall before anyone pays any attention to me. I head for the gate on the railroad tracks.

They're the same suspended ones, with special recesses at the bottom so they can lie on the rails. There are also guards and turrets.

There is a barely audible click from behind, followed by the steady characteristic hum of complex technology.

"Good day," a mare's voice follows. Somehow imperceptibly she gets close to me.

I turn around and see the same light gray unicorn with the energy-magic weapon pointed threateningly at me, which is what's making the humming noise. Her horn glows purple, as does the levitating weapon beside her.

"Don't make any sudden movements," she says. "If I see your horn flicker, you'll turn into a pile of ashes."

This isn't the first time I've been threatened, so it's not hard for me to keep my composure. Besides, I'd really better keep my cool and calm if I want to stay in one piece. The prospect of becoming a pile of ashes to be scattered around by the wind doesn't appeal to me at all.

"Good day," I smile cheerfully.

"What were you looking for at the gate?" her demanding voice and stern eyes make me shiver.

"Just curiosity."

"Curiosity... for what purpose?"

"Well... I'm new here."

"I noticed that."

The guards of the railroad track gate occasionally glanced at us. One of them has prepared to cover the unicorn. The others are watching on the other side of the gate.

"So what's the purpose of your interest in the defense of the city?"

"I want to know how much different the defenses of the towns here are from those to the west around Hoofland."

Her gaze softens visibly.

"Wow... you're from so far away?" she pleasantly wonders, flipping with telekinesis a strand of purple out of her face.

"Yes... I came to this town badly wounded. I wonder where I got to... and to whom."

"That's it... wait. You said you were badly wounded?"

"Yes. A caravan brought me here three days ago. They also had a spiky trailer of the Porcupines."

Her violet eyes widen with realization.

"So we owe it to you for exterminating the Porcupines?

"Well... you don't owe me anything personally," I smile slightly.

She hums with a smile and puts away her energy-magic weapon, hanging it on her back. With her gray front leg she makes two circular movements. The guards around us lose interest, including the one covering the unicorn. I take it she's called off the alarm.

"I didn't recognize you. You looked awful on the carriage."

"And now I'm cute?"

The gray unicorn smirks.

"Your hair isn't my type at all, but I like your smile. Let's go for a walk."

"Why?"

"You got our guards fucking nervous. Walking around, examining, studying... Let them see that you're fine."

"Well... then lead the way."

"We'll go back to the main gate, and then we'll see."

We walk toward the main gate. That's where I want to go anyway. There must be an armory there somewhere with my weapons.

"So you're from Hoofland?"

"It's a colorful place," I decide to elaborate on all the information I've heard from the others, especially Bluerise. "But I didn't like it there, also sick of every settlement and town having principled bigots and sectarians fighting each other. One wrong word or move and you risk losing your life."

"Were you one of them?"

"Nah, I was lucky to be born in an adequate place."

"In a Stable?" She looks at my Pip-Boy meaningfully.

"Bull's-eye. The Stable made contact with them. After a while, the roots of their crazy ideas took root in the Stable itself... It was dangerous to be there, especially when the supporters of different ideas were in conflict with each other, so I bailed."
"What were you in the Stable?"

"A guard."

"As I am now... Now I see why you reacted so calmly to our suspicions. You understand."

I nod. We reach the main gate, the gray unicorn approaching the brahmin paddock. There are about two dozen of brahmin in it. Roughly the same as in my world, but some are different in shade, others a different color altogether. We watch aimlessly as they leisurely chew the yellow grass, drink water, and eat food from the trough.

The guard sighs. She stands up so that her turquoise mane hides the emotion on her face. And she says, "Because of the impending attack and possible siege, we have to stock up on food and produce from local farms."

"Are you sure there will be a siege?"

"Honestly? I don't know... All I know is that the slave traders won't leave us that easily. We've remained neutral, but one unicorn got a shred of nobility up her ass and got us into this conflict."

"With whom?"

"With Red Eye."

This was unexpected. Crane told me that they were in conflict with Old Appleloosa. Or maybe Red Eye is the mayor of the city?

"By whom?"

"He is... How can I put it more simply... In a nutshell, he united the disparate factions of slave traders near Fillydelphia into one army." Fillydelphia. I remember the name from the map. It's east of here, near Sunny Bay, which is part of the Sapphire Sea. "It is gradually expanding its influence to the north, east and south, actively using slaves and promoting social equality. It's funny how it turns out, you're fleeing the West from the fanatics, and some are fleeing the Red Eye from the East. Are you sure you'd be better off here? What is your purpose in traveling?"

Unexpected question. I'm eager to find a way back home, and also to figure out how the fuck I ended up here.

"It's hard to answer. In a nutshell... I want to find my place of peace in life."

"Don't look for place of peace in here. If Hoofland is overrun with religious fanatics, the East Coast will soon be practically a state with a centralized slave trade. That hasn't happened in the Wasteland yet. I think so. I don't know much about what goes on to the south, beyond the Great Desert, but I doubt there's anything like that... or was. You should have gone straight south, along the West Coast, not east. The Great Deserts can only be bypassed along the West Coast and the East Coast. So, since you got that far east, you might as well try your luck and go south along the East Coast."

Useful information.

The Great Deserts. I remember that on the globe they cross the country from west to east in the widest part of the country. It's also too dangerous even by the standards of the Wasteland.

I wonder what kind of ideas this Red Eye promotes? The mare unicorn mentioned some kind of social equality, which immediately reminded me of the ideology of the countries that fought before the war with the United States. The USSR as a major country deflated in the twentieth century, and a similar ideology was already carried by the Chinese. But what does Red Eye have to do with Old Appleloosa? They were considered free slave traders, for the Crane said nothing of their connection to anything larger.

One of the brahmins moozes longingly.

"Then why did the city get into conflict with Red Eye?" I ask. "Old Appleloosa is a long way from Fillydelphia."

"Red Eye is expanding. He sends his representatives to other slave-trading groups and whole towns with a permitted slave trade, inviting them to join immediately, or at least trade with him. Many agree, as it is profitable. He pays well, access to resources and great opportunities. I am more than sure that he has set his tentacles into the bosom of Old Appleloosa, one of the great centers of the slave trade around here after all. If we are at war with Old Appleloosa... we're probably already at war with Red Eye."

I have some doubts about her. How does she know so much? The average wastelander doesn't know much about what's going on in the next town; he only cares about getting through another day in this harsh world.

"You know a lot about his plans, I see..."

"I used to live in Fillydelphia. I'm running from there, and it's... it's like it's reaching for me."

"Why?"

"My stallion... my special pony," she sighs bitterly, "was running a successful business. When Red Eye showed up with his ideas and fucking proposals, he joined him. I didn't like the fact that he was involved in such in the slave-trading business. Soon he started using slaves himself for various purposes. That was the last straw. I couldn't take it anymore, took the caps," she casts a glance at her energy-magic weapon, "bought myself some gear, took my three-year-old daughter and took off. Ended up getting here... and lived here all right for two years, but I guess I'll just have to move on."

"Because of the Red Eye expansion?"

"And because of him as well..." She lowers her voice, glancing faintly around. "But at some point I found out that this city had trade relations with Old Appleloosa. That is, they were involved in indulging in the slave trade by offering their services. By this they were in fact helping to practice their trade. And I realized that I should move on..."

"I see... What should I do now? Where do I go?"

"My advice... either return to the West and go south from there, or continue to the East Coast to bypass the Great Deserts there. There's nothing waiting for you here but a thriving slave trade."

"I'll keep that in mind."

We are silent. It gives me a chance to rethink what she said. And I remember the original reason I came here. My horn flickers blue, and from my pocket I retrieve a piece of metal with a number scratched out.

The gray unicorn turns and stares with purple eyes at the retrieved object.

"Are you going to leave town yet?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Not yet; I want to see if my gear is in one piece."

"I bet all your lead-spitting babies are in safe hooves."

"Still, I at least want to know where they're resting."

The guard takes the hint and leads me to the armory.

There is... nothing of interest here. Literally. They don't display their weapons. They're hidden under seven locks and seven protection spells. No thief can get to them. The armory is near the guards' barracks. It follows the same principle as I've seen before—soldered wagons stacked on top of each other.

To pick up my weapon, I have to go to the guard on duty in one of the wagons and show a piece of metal with a number on it.

"Name?" he asks.

"Daniel..." I answer slightly uncertainly. After a while it dawned on me that in addition to the license plate, they write down the name of who they issued it to. Doesn't help much against theft, but increases the burden on the thief.

I am escorted to the freight car where the guns are stored for safekeeping. Inside, the red freight car is littered with lockers and drawers. Approaching one of them, the officer on duty opens the metal locker, giving me access to my weapons.

At the sight of them, I now feel sensibly relieved.

"Shall we take them away? In that case, someone should be there to escort you to the exit."

"No need, just wanted to make sure everything was in place."

The pony on duty locks the locker and mutters something indignantly under his breath. We leave the freight car, he slides the door shut and locks it securely. I've picked enough locks for this to have the skill to judge their degree of security from sight. The gray unicorn has been accompanying me the whole time, so the pony on duty sees no need to stay to keep an eye on me and leaves. And why keep an eye on me? There are enough turrets with cameras to keep things safe.

"You simply wasted his time," the gray unicorn says to me. "Answer one... question, please."

"What is it?" I turn to her.

"I've noticed it before... when we were putting your babies in that locker, and it wasn't until now, after a second glance, that I remembered it. It surprised me that the shape didn't fit the pony at all."

Oh... Her powers of observation have caught me off guard. I never thought my weapons would seem completely unfamiliar to the locals. Nothing comes to mind, no decent answer. I am stumped.

"Let's just say," I smile, turning to her in a low voice, "you wouldn't want to know the origin of this weapon."

"Why not?" she asks. For the first time I can see the confusion in her eyes with a thin layer of fear.

"There's a reason for that. That knowledge won't do you any good anyway."

She gazes intensely into my eyes, pondering whether she should be persistent or reasonable and back off.

"Either way," she sighs, "I should get back to my duties. Let's get out of here."

The gray unicorn walks past me. I sigh softly, feeling relieved, and follow her.

I don't want to reveal who I really am for many reasons. I am not willing to reveal who I really am, for many reasons. Let them see me as a member of my own species... which I am physically considered to be, since I can control magic like a unicorn.

She's gone on her own business, and I'm alone near the Main Gate.

I realize now that I didn't get her name the whole time we were talking. And it doesn't matter. She wouldn't have told me her name anyway, not since she's on the run from Red Eye and since I didn't mention the origin of my weapon.

The legend about me being a guard from the Stable, wanting to avoid the religious fanatics, I see, went over well... even though I made it up as I went along. It will come in handy in the future.

***

I walk around and digest the information I have received from the guard.

At a certain point of reflection, I feel the need to rest and sit down on the first metal bench I can find. A lavender earth pony is already sitting on it, passionately reading some pre-war book. So young and already educated, using her reading skills to their full potential. Praise.

She looks at me indifferently, and as soon as she gets a better look, abruptly jumps up like a shot, and walks away in quick strides. A StealthBuck falls out of her bag onto the dry ground under the bench. I stare at it dumbfoundedly in surprise. It's like everything in my head is shaking. I remember this pony... I saw her the day before yesterday in the store. It's a shy pony. How could such a young pony have the caps for such an expensive treat?

Coming to my senses, I use magic to pick up the StealthBuck and run after the earth pony who lost it.

"Hey, you dropped something!" I yell after her.

She stops and takes a quick look around, wanting to keep running. What she see makes her completely turn around, and she runs in my direction to quickly grab it.

Terribly shy and timid, insistently avoiding eye contact, not saying anything. Am I that unpleasant to her? For some reason, though, she doesn't call out for help because a stranger has taken her precious possession.

I decide to hold off and not give her the StealthBuck right away.

"What's wrong with you?" I lift it high enough that she can't reach it. "Oh, calm down, will you? I'll give it to you. Just calm down."

A few failed attempts apparently force her to realize her helplessness before the unicorn. The lavender pony stops and stares into the ground beneath her hooves.

"Good. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

There is a sepulchral silence. Not a sound. She doesn't even seem to be breathing.

"What's wrong? Is there something wrong with me?"

She shakes her head negatively.

"So why are you embarrassed by me?"

Her body tenses.

"So tell me, why are you avoiding me? What have I done to you?"

She slowly lifts her gaze and the next second she lowers it. In that instant I've had time to make out her face: she looks extremely ashamed and... guilty?

What had she learned about me that made her react to me this way? Really, it's not like she found out about my incident with Bluerise.

That... would explain her behavior. Still, how does hearing about something I was involved in make others so uncomfortable? Unless...

My gaze slowly focuses on StealthBuck. An overheard conversation in a bar between two mares comes to mind...

...I want you to fill me with kisses like that between my thighs.

If we had a StealthBuck, I'd do it right here...

That's an interesting way to use a device like that. It has come to my attention many times in the past that Stealth Boys have been used for the purpose of peeping...

The puzzle is adding up.

The realization of this egregious event makes me want to fall through the ground beneath my hooves.

Is she really...

I make a volitional effort to keep my composure and not draw a premature conclusion.

No, it's too far-fetched. It can't be. It just can't be. It shouldn't. I need to be sure of that!

"I won't do anything to you..." I say softly and decide to turn this into a joke. I need to see her reaction to my hypothesis. "Even if you were peeping at me."

Her body feels like it's being pierced by a shock. She twitches frightened and looks like a petrified statue.

Oh... Scaring cactuses with my ass... She saw it!

"I'm right, aren't I?"

Her confused face lifts up at me. Her gaze still avoids direct contact.

"Looks like I accidentally hit the bull's-eye..."

I lift my gaze to the sky and sigh.

"Look... I really won't do anything to you for what you saw. What's more, I promise not to tell anyone." Not even Bluerise: she wouldn't stand for it if she knew anyone had seen us together in bed. Especially by young. "If you tell about what happened then... When it was a rainy night."

She looks me in the face for the first time. I try to look as friendly and welcoming as possible. However, she still hides her guilty and embarrassed look. She drives her hoof on the hard ground with such concentration, as if she's deriving some new mathematical formula that promises a huge breakthrough in science.

"I agree," I continue, "the situation that occurred is awkward, but there's nothing fatal or catastrophic about it. How did this even happen?"

"I... I..." she utters in a quiet, frightened voice. "I-I-I was looking in ad-dult magazines..."

Оh... now I see how she could have gotten into the Bluerise number wagon. Is that why she ordered a StealthBuck?

"And that's why you need a StealthBuck?"

"N-no, I... w-was just trying to avoid the c-constant oversight of my guard once in a while. All the time around me..."

"Personal security... are you from a rich family?"

A different kind of fear runs through her eyes. For own life. It is only in this situation, when alone, that she realizes the usefulness of having guards. She could be kidnapped and held for ransom or blackmailed by her parents.

"Just wondering: where do you get the caps for this pleasure?"

Her voice trembles, she stutters with worry that makes me feel sorry for her, "My p-parents are in charge of the Alliance of New Appleloosa Farmers. ANAF. They g-gave me caps for small expenses... and I saved them up to order a StealthBuck."

The chance of spitting in the sky and accidentally hitting a bird is higher than meeting a person so important to the city, alone, without security. Her guards should keep a better eye on her. The young mind does not yet fully understand that the city with which her parents cooperate actually hides many threats. What she's been driven to by such strict security... I'm guessing they almost follow her into the bathroom. I'd go crazy if that were the case, too.

It wouldn't be out of place if I try to ease the tense atmosphere of such... awkward and unusual encounter with a simple question.

"What does the ANAF do?"

However, I'm already guessing roughly what the answer will be. Farmers band together and supply the nearest town, and the town responds by giving them what they cannot supply themselves with. The conditional agreement is not an exchange of caps, but an exchange of services or resources.

The pony does begin to feel better and calmer, which is noticeable in her voice.

"Distributes farm food to the needs of the city. In exchange, they get basic medical and maintenance services, protection, some materials, and supplies for other essentials like clothing and water."

"Hmmm. Expected. So... why did you stay in the railroad car when me and that pony walked in there drunk?"

"You were blocking my way... And I was afraid to open the door, I thought you'd notice."

"Oh, that's why the door was left unlocked." I thought Bluerise had forgotten to lock it. "You mean you saw the whole thing?

She's frightened into silence. I gently and reassuringly place my hoof on her shoulder, she swallows nervously.

"Y-yes..." she says.

"And what did we do?"

"Well... um... First, that mare took a bath. You helped her rub her back... then under your belly..." at these words she goes quiet.

"...it got hard and the mare's mouth made it soft again?" I suggest. Took a bath... rubbed her back... Naturally, I could not remain ignorant of the wet body. I still wonder how my attraction to wet women's bodies migrated to an attraction to the wet bodies of mares...

I abruptly cut myself off from inappropriate and dirty images. They don't fit at all right now.

"Yes..." she replies, not knowing how to respond to my interpretation of Bluerise's actions.

"And then?" I ask.

No thoughts of wet bodies... No thoughts of wet bodies...

"Then you took a bath yourself... and you went to the bed... There you put your face against hers..."

No thoughts of wet crotches... No thoughts of wet crotches...

"I get it where," I feel my strained smile all wrong, crooked as the crinkle of a brain. Bluerise in this situation would have experienced a much more vivid experience from the young mare's words than I did. "Let's move on."

"And... then you... lurched up behind... But before that she used some kind of ointment."

"Contraceptive," I explains. Bluerise made it clear unequivocally what it was for.

"Yeah..."

"You left after we fell asleep?"

"Yes..."

I imagine her in this situation... A piquant and arousing sight, moans of pleasure and wet sounds. Stallion and mare satisfying each other... A young pony, transitional age, hormones bubbling... She couldn't stay indifferent to it all. I couldn't resist asking a provocative question that might have made me choke with shame myself.

"And did you enjoy what you saw?"

Her emotions shift so quickly that it's hard to tell exactly what she's feeling.

"Y... No! I mean... I just..."

"Oh relax," I laugh good-naturedly. She's having a harder time than I am right now. I need to stop mocking her. "If I were in your shoes and at your age, I wouldn't be able to resist that temptation either. I'll be honest, I don't particularly like being peeped at, but now we're looking at it after the fact, so I'm not mad at you. It just happened... but you didn't take anything from that freight car, did you?"

"No!" she replies without hesitation.

"Good girl. You know, I used to be pretty curious myself. I still am. Your attention to it is natural, especially at that age. If you keep peeking, be careful what you do. Almost all ponies don't like it when someone meddles in their private life after all. You didn't want anyone peeking at you, did you?"

She nods understandingly.

"You're a good pony. What happened was just an accident. Don't blame yourself. Just don't steal other people's stuff and..." I lower her StealthBuck, "...keep a close eye on your things."

"Okay..." She hesitantly grabs it with her front legs, and confusedly shoves it into her bag.

"If anyone asks what I was talking to you about, you tell them I was wondering what the ANAF does. I'm from far away."

She nods again. She's not interested in where I'm from. All she cares about now is that this conversation is over.

"And don't run away from your guards again, or who's looking out for you? You're worth a lot more than that StealthBuck, okay?"

The lavender pony nods slightly fearfully.

"Now go. Don't make the others worry."

For the next hour, I try with titanic effort to accept the fact that Bluerise and I were willfully spied on by a young lady. And she was also enjoying...

Fucking hell!

***

I spend the rest of the day lying in my compartment reading Wasteland Survival Guide, admiring the amusing and sometimes hilarious illustrative explanations. There are even 'blueprints'... or should I say, instructions for making primitive weapons. It's far from a Shishkebab or Railway rifle, but at least some means of self-defense this book offers, which is already a good thing.

The 25th of the Month of the Linden, Greenday. Sixth day of my stay.

The next day I set out to find Rusty. He needs to find a decent home where he'll be well taken care of and helped with his problems. I go to see Bluerise and the other two caravans. I learn from the other residents that they have set up at the entrance to the city, displaying The Porcupine trophies and other of their goods for sale.

Bluerise is all busy and peddling merchandise. Lots of people have gathered, some coming from the farms for new tools and other useful things, if such things can be found. Juice is busy, and only Dash has free time to have a word with me.

"Good morning," she smiles at me. I have to stand up to her so I can hear her voice over the noise of the ponies around me. Among these ponies I even notice Crane, who is looking out for interesting things to do.

"Hi... How's the trade going?"

"Awesome."

"That's good to hear..." I glance again at the merchandise on display on the carriages. A spiky trailer made from half a car is also for sale. "How long will you be here?"

"Until we sell everything... We'll lift the caps and get ourselves some better gear."

"Sounds great."

"It sure does!"

"What I'm here for... do you know where Rusty is? I need to talk to him."

"I saw him about an hour ago on that train car over there." I trace my gaze to where she's pointing. There's no one on the roof of the wagon. "And now, as you can see, he's lost again somewhere."

"Well... I'll turn around here for a while, see if he comes back. If not, I'll go looking for him. If he shows up, tell him to go to my compartment."

"No problem."

"Well... good luck."

"Yeah, bye."

After standing around for about twenty minutes and observing the behavior of the arguing ponies, I go looking for Rusty.

***

"...no wonder why you left him," one mare with green hues says. She bears a striking resemblance to the mare whose brother at the bar was trying to find company for the evening. But it certainly wasn't her.

"Stallions don't know how to handle mares in bed," the second pony of the lettuce color continues. "Only mares understand each other and know what to do... Especially you."

They giggle and rub their noses lovingly. Almost immediately, one of them turns her attention to me.

"Hey... Are you eavesdropping on us?"

"I was just passing by..." I say to the two ponies sitting on the shabby passenger seats that serve as a sort of bench. "Looking for a brown foal with a straw mane. Have you seen one?"

"Nope."

"No, we haven't."

"Sorry to bother you."

They don't continue their conversation, and here I am at a long distance from them, at which I can no longer hear them.

The conversation between the two ponies leads me to some thoughts. The stallions I meet are noticeably rarer than the mares. The green pony from the bar who lay down with her brother and then the occasional mare... The two ponies complain about inept stallions in terms of bedding... It all comes down to my understanding that most mares are bisexual.

Stallions have a greater choice of potential mates... but at the same time there's a lot more competition, not only from other stallions, but also from mares. They understand the desires of the other mare better than stallions do.

It's a good thing I'm not from this world... One more reason not to stay here.

***

I walk past the guard barracks, which is a passenger carriage. At one of its entrances, at a table with drinks and smoking cigarettes sit two stallions. One is younger and the other is older.

"Don't you get tired of dragging yourself from one town to another?" the older stallion asks.

"Nah. I want to see as many mares as possible. Get to know as many as I can."

"Why?"

"Because it's cool and enjoyable, a bright experience. Each mare offers something unique. Each has her own tricks."

"Do you want to be alone in your old age?"

"I'd at least like to live to see that time." He sips a beer from his mug. "Every day could be my last. Long-term relationships are time-consuming, so they're not profitable. It's like saving up your caps for something for years. Over the years you can be stolen ten times, sold into slavery, killed... There are too many threats getting in the way of a peaceful life. It is necessary to enjoy life while I can. Make the most of it. Live for today, for tomorrow may never come."

"Your words make sense... but sooner or later you're going to end up somewhere. Some mare's gonna get you for sure. Make you think of yourself."

The young holds out a short pause.

"That's not likely to happen." he says. "I've tasted a lot of apples from a lot of different apple trees... I doubt I'd want to stay near one apple tree for the rest of my life after that."

The older stallion shakes his head.

"The words of a young, seed-filled stallion. Grow up, it'll blow out of your brain, and you'll change your mind."

"Look," he smiles, "I'll only be glad to live many years and live to be your age when my opinion changes. These are dangerous times..." there is a sense of concern in his voice. "Rumors of Red Eye and his rapidly spreading empire... We need to run far away."

"Usually slave traders do whatever they want with slaves... if you know what I mean. I thought you'd be interested in the opposite."

"You have a bad opinion of me. You can't get creative from a victim of enforcement. I'm an adept at sharing my experience voluntarily..."

I can't hear them any more as I turn the corner.

Where the hell is Rusty? It's a big city, and it's hard to find him.

I decide to climb the wall and walk around. Beyond the wall, on the other side of the city, is an impersonal and dreary plain. The Wasteland, dry grass, isolated protruding rocks and stones. The view is depressing.

As I walk, I see a stallion and a unicorn talking ahead of me. I slow my pace.

"...What makes you think I'm going to change my mind this time? I told you I won't," the mare says.

"Well, give me a chance," the stallion insists.

"I told you I don't have time for this."

"Come on..." he tosses nonchalantly.

"No," she says categorically.

"Do you know how much it hurts for a stallion to be turned down?" he sighs.

"Equally as much as it hurts a mare... Look, I told you I can't. All my free time now is devoted to studying the spell book I recently received."

Recently?

"I can help you," the stallion offers excitedly, as if he's grasping at straws.

Did Juice really tell me exactly about this spell book when she left Ditzy Doo?

"You're not a unicorn."

"I... well..." he says in a puzzled voice, "I'll support you and cheer you up."

"You'll only interfere."

"I won't."

"You're already interfering with my patrol."

"I'm sorry..." he says with a guilty look and shuts up.

There is a brief pause. The mare sighs dolefully.

"You're not a bad stallion, but I really don't have time for this."

"That's what you all say when you say no," he mutters.

"But if you want to get laid, you'd better go to a bar and look there."

"I told you, I want more than that... I mean, we've known each other so long."

"Red Eye is breathing down our necks. It's risky to think of a quiet family life. I can't waste my time on relationships, I'm sorry. I'd... better get on with my studies..."

She steps quickly in my direction and passes me without noticing me, as if I were under a stealth field.

I walk toward the stallion.

"What, no luck asking her out?" I ask.

He pays attention to me, but is silent.

"You shouldn't get hung up on one..." I begin.

"I don't need your sympathy," he grinds his teeth and interrupts me. His voice oozes irritation, and he aims his piercing and sullen gaze at me. "And your advice. You're a pain in the ass. Everyone knows how to give advice. So can I. Leave me alone!"

I press my lips together thoughtfully and anxiously and decide that I shouldn't interfere after all. He's clearly not in the mood right now. Either he doesn't want to think about it, which my encouraging words would only hinder.

I wonder... if I hadn't intervened and saved Bluerise and the others, this guard wouldn't have been able to get her spell book and learn something in her spare time... Would she have agreed to develop a relationship with this stallion then? The overall conclusion of one of the consequences of my intervention sounds twofold: I saved several caravaners at the cost of a potential relationship between this stallion and the guard who had just left. Better not tell him that I indirectly contributed to her rejection.

"And anyway," he adds, "this is not a walking area. You'd better leave the wall."

***

The unsuccessful search for Rusty drains me, and I'm exhausted. I go to the dining area 'Big Carrot'. There I have a hearty lunch and drink a decent amount of water from the condensing device.

The music from the radio on alternates with the incredibly familiar chatter of the local DJ... Pon3. And nostalgic memories of my first time in the Wasteland, in Megaton, and of Three Dog overwhelm me so much that I even skip most of his speech. I feel a kind of deja vu: when I felt the fear of the Wasteland when I first came to the surface and heard Three Dog speaks, I feel something similar now, but to the new world. True, I was with Brisa then, which mitigated my frightening experience.

Being immersed in my nostalgic memories, occasional phrases like 'Out of the Stable' come to my ears without context... 'The Porcupines', 'New Appleloosa', and 'ponies with glowing red eyes'. That last one pulls me out of the depths of thoughtfulness.

"...That sounds funny. Red Eyes. Yeah, that's what I'm going to call him. Let Red Eye feel envy, for this pony has two red eyes. Red Eyes, give him some competition. That's the end of the interesting news. This is DJ Pon3 with you. Always keep an eye on your rear."

The red visors of my helmet serve as the basis for the teasing of a local celebrity, the head of a fledgling empire. I can't help but smile... But then I feel fear: I have attracted attention.

Oh, fuck!

Now I could be in trouble. Perhaps, in an attempt to avenge The Porcupines, I will be hunted. Or Red Eye's ponies will seek me out... to gain favor with their leader for eliminating a pony with a similar nickname.

Damn that DJ... Now I've been publicly dragged into what happened at Old Appleloosa. Fucking awesome. I have nothing to add. Glad the DJ at least didn't spill details about my appearance. The helmet with the distinctive red visors... It should be worn with extreme caution, for which thanks to this DJ.

The next realization, like a slap in the face, sends my train of thought in a different direction.

Out of the Stable... Could this be the local hero or heroine? The resemblance to me and the The Vault Dweller makes me chuckle, which draws my attention to myself. Noticing this, I hold back the rest of my laughter and retreat to my compartment in railroad car. This is too much for me. I feel like... I'm just in a coma, and all my memories have been affected by that strange sphere, all mixed up.

Not to think of such hypotheses, as it is a guaranteed path to obsession, and then to madness. The best distraction is to read Wasteland Survival Guide.

"Were you looking for me?" a studly voice comes from behind me as I approach the door of my compartment suite.

I turn around and see the familiar brown foal with the straw mane I've been looking for half the day. I have forgotten this after that crushing radio show, so my answer is simple and unambiguous.

"Yes."

The colt answers not immediately, "Why?"

His slowness causes me to focus on him completely.

"Wanted to talk."

A pause.

"About what?"

"Let's... Let's go to my compartment and talk about it."

He endures pauses as my regret for him grows. I remember the horrors he's endured, what makes him act so... aloof, as if life doesn't concern him.

I open the door and wait for the colt to come through first. He sits down quietly by the window and stares thoughtfully out the window, as if no one is near him.

"I wanted to talk about where to put you. Do you know anyone?"

His silence lingers, prompting me to call him out.

"Rusty?"

"Huh?" he looks at me aloof.

"Do you know anyone who might have custody of you?"

His gaze goes down, a pause again.

"I don't."

"Do yours..." I press my lips together in indecision. I don't really want to remember them, but I have no other choice. "Did your... parents had them?"

Once again the silence lingers, but I can see that he is focused on our conversation. At the same time, he has a hard time remembering his parents without agonizing longing and aching pain, judging by the facial expressions on his face.

"Dad had someone. Tenpony Tower."

The name sounds familiar... the same one I'd seen on the drawn map. How funny it sounds. Almost like Tenpenny Tower. It's an upscale place. I think they even have child psychologists there to help him. I hope this acquaintance has the covers to pay for the sessions. Better than here... Also Red Eye is close by. It should be safe in that tower.

"What was his name?"

"Lucky... or something."

"Unusual name."

The colt is silent and says nothing. There must be a lot of interesting information about the world in the tower... books... if it is a rich and luxurious place. It's the next place I should go after New Appleloosa.

"Do you want me to take you there?" I ask.

The pauses make the conversation feel so slow and dragging. The flow of time seems to have slowed down, too.

"I don't care."

"I understand that it's not easy for you... You need time to come to your senses. Do you like it here?"

"I don't know."

"And Tenpenny Tower?"

After a few seconds, he utters, "Tenpony."

"I misspoke... Yes, Tenpony Tower. You'll be safer there than here, and more likely to get help."

"Why?"

"You have your whole life ahead of you to find your answer. Your parents' acquaintance lives in such a luxurious place, you can't pass him up. There are even more options to occupy yourself... unlike these ragged railroad cars." And to emphasize my words, I glance around my compartment.

"I'll think about it."

"Good. Do you... want some lunch?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Well... then I'll read here. You can stay if you want."

I was so passionately immersed in reading that I forgot Rusty existed. For the umpteenth time today. How inconspicuous his breathing was...

"Well?" I ask, taking a break from reading. My eyes hurt, they need rest. I twitch my head and blink my eyes well.

"Yeah... I'll go."

I knead my frozen neck and legs with pleasure.

"Great!" I exclaim in a cheerful tone. Things have moved on. "Then we move out tonight. Less chance of being spotted. And for night travel, we have the advantage." I tap my Pip-Boy, hinting at the enemy detection system, and my red visor helmet.

Chapter 4 - High Society

View Online

The 1st of the Month of Bread, Yellowday. The tenth day of my stay.

Rusty and I took the train part of the way. We got off at the nearest stop in Mainhattan, and continued on our own four legs.

The unaccustomed train ride did not make Rusty's spirits rise. He was silent the whole time, staring sullenly out the window, answering briefly and clearly. A most pleasant companion... Yes, this behavior on the road was preferable, it was easier to focus on the surroundings and possible threats, but... it's hard for me to look at joyless children and foals like wilted flowers. I didn't want to impose myself on him, letting him be alone with me, but I kept my eyes on him, and in brief and brief exchanges of phrases tried to act as friendly as possible. It was... difficult. I was looking for an approach to him.

When traveling, he is on my back when there is no danger nearby. He walks beside me when it is imperative that I remain mobile and agile in my movements because of a possible threat ahead. Almost always the threats are local wildlife. Thanks to Pip-Boy's sensors, I spot them in time and avoid them. Except when we need to get food.

Wasteland Survival Guide help me distinguish between moderately edible and noxious and poisonous food. Rusty occasionally noticed my constant peeking in the book, like now.

"Weird," he utters.

"What?" I am drawn away from the recipe for cooking the meat of a slightly mutated deer. The creature's meat is on a makeshift spit of twigs and other scrap metal.

"It's like you're cooking deer meat for the first time."

The fire crackles beneath the freshened carcass, illuminating the dilapidated walls of the looted gas station workshop by the road. Traces of soot around it suggest that travelers often stay here for the night.

"I'm not from here. I'm from far away. We don't have deer."

"But you haven't traveled here the first day. I'm surprised you haven't hunted deer."

I learned from the book that deer are fairly common animals in the north-central and northeastern part of the Equestrian Wasteland. I can't cross paths with them unless I intentionally hunt for meat, which is almost impossible.

"Only hunted a couple of times," I lie, "but haven't mastered the cooking method yet."

The brown colt with the yellow mane is silent again. Only after a while does he show any interest in the roast and appetizing-smelling meat. We have a hearty dinner, and I treat the leftover meat with available means for better preservation on our future journey. We do not search for water, as the water condensed by my device is hardly enough, but enough for the two of us.

It's time to get some sleep. Ah... how nice to lie down after a hard day...

Once again I let Rusty use my sleeping bag while I settle for just my backpack as a pillow. I don't sleep well, but I'm okay with that. I've been in tougher situations than this, and the fatigue makes sleeping in these conditions no problem at all.

Rusty asks me to lie closer to him. He'd never asked me to do that before. Of course I am a little surprised by the change, but I have no problem complying with his request.

I'm about to fall asleep when I hear his quiet voice, "Why did you take me with you?

I find it hard to collect my thoughts because I'm tired. I have to make an effort to pick up the answer. I really want to take a nap, but at the same time I don't want to leave the suffering kid alone.

"I'm responsible for you now," I say after thinking about it.

"Why?"

I suppress my growing frustration. On the other hand, it also cheers me up a little.

"I set you free, so I'm responsible for your life until I hand you over to someone else..."

"So I'm a burden to you?"

Oh, here we go... The wrong word and his mood would worsen faster than a bullet. It's easier on a minefield.

"No, I just don't want you to die... like everyone else. I'm still able to look after you alone. And I'm taking advantage of that opportunity."

"For what? Not because you want to seem nice?" this question throws me off balance.

Wow... Sounds almost like a rebuke. However, it's a good sign that he's not fixated on himself right now. Nevertheless, his question forces me to strain my brain even harder for an answer.

"I don't want to seem good, I want to do something good for others."

"Ah," comes from him. I strain my ears, waiting for his next question. Almost a minute passes, and there he speaks, whispering only two words, "Thank you..."

"You're welcome. And sleep well."

He lets out a barely audible 'uh-huh' and falls silent.

After a minute I hear him sobbing. I put my front foot on his shoulder. He flinches and cries out softly in fear, still remembering the raiders' abuse, but he doesn't respond to my subsequent touches. He's been used to my touch ever since he started riding on my back, but he still has a hard time getting the first touch.

I stroke him lightly, and after a while he falls asleep to his sobs.

I hope you have a restful sleep...

I almost immediately follow him into the turbulent fantasy world of my brain...

***

The 3rd of the Month of Bread, Yellowday. Twelfth day of the stay.

The landscape has changed since the train ride. The barren terrain has been transformed by denser grass, trees, and shrubs. The vegetation around is sparse and far from lush because of the ever-cloudy gray skies... Nevertheless, even such poor and modest greenery is more pleasant to look at than the dry and hard earth.

In the distance are silhouettes of ponies walking along the road. Too far away to make out.

"Get off," I say to the little passenger on my back. "I need to check on something."

Rusty releases my back without delay. He already knows that arguing with me in these situations is useless.

With my horn, I focus on the magic around me. I, as Crane taught me, affect it in the area of the object I want to lift. Directing objects as large as a sniper rifle with my mind is problematic for me. It wiggles from side to side, like a saloon door in the wind. All this Rusty notices. The longer we're together, the more strange things he notices about me. He doesn't say it out loud, but I can see it in his gaze.

The only thing I need from a sniper rifle is the optics. With it, I hope to get a good look at the pony. I use a small boulder as a support for the front of the rifle and look through the scope.

Four ponies. All hornless. Three mares and one stallion. They have bags on their sides. Clothes of varying degrees of shabby and soiled. One is harnessed to a small laden trailer that she is pulling behind her, the other three are keeping an eye on the terrain on their sides. The stallion has an oblong rifle.

It doesn't look like a caravan. There are too few guards, and the trailer doesn't have much merchandise to trade. Perhaps this caravan has recently been caught in a firefight and... No, none of them are wounded. All are walking at an even pace, apart from their fatigue from the journey. Maybe it's a settler family. They come from the East Coast. Fleeing from the Red Eye Empire? A nomadic family on the move all the time?

Or are they some kind of gang masquerading as ordinary travelers. They seem peaceful, but the stallion's rifle clearly lets the attackers know that if they defend themselves, a few of them are sure to bleed...

The stallion sits on his rear, pulls out a rifle with a scope, and begins to survey the area.

I react in time, put the rifle away, and lie down behind the boulder I set it on.

"Keep your head down," I tell Rusty. Because of the long distance, whispering is unnecessary.

"Who's there?"

"The travelers. Let them pass by, and we'll hole up here. We'll take a little breather at the same time."

"Do you think it might be..." Rusty begins, but he doesn't finish his sentence. His yellow mane trembles in unison with the rest of his body. Even the thought of raiders makes him sick.

"I don't know, but it's better to be reassured. We don't need anything, so it'd be dumb to go up against them now and risk our lives."

The brown colt nods.

***

The travelers passed us by. After waiting some more time, we continued on our way.

Toward evening, the roofs of the prewar buildings have loomed on the horizon.

"I think," I say, "we'd better not go there. The old ruins are easy to ambush."

"If you say so," replies the passenger on the back in a mirthless voice.

In other circumstances I would have explored those ruins and satisfied my curiosity, but since I have a colt with me... and with the psychological trauma... I don't want to put him in danger. Besides, it's hard to know how he'd react in such a stressful situation. I've given Rusty time to adjust to me. Every day he takes more and more initiative... when he notices my strange behavior. I have to make excuses. I think he's beginning to guess... that I'm hiding something. Anyway, he'd never guess that the beige unicorn with the black mane is actually an alien from another world. He'd have to be either completely paranoid or a person with a violent imagination who's high on substances to come to that conclusion...

"Daniel," Rusty whispers.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head as I stare at the ruins of the town ahead. There's no answer, but I notice a strange noise. A buzzing sound almost immediately joins it.

My knees are trembling. I frantically grab my silver revolver holster with my front foot, but then I remember that I don't have my hand. I grab the revolver with my telekinesis and turn back in fear, holding the barrel in front of me.

"Hello... Hey! Calm down!" the flying thing stops. The revolver in telekinesis stops shaking. A relieved sigh escapes my chest.

"Fuck me..." I say and fall back down on my butt.

"Ow!" Rusty shrieks from the fall.

I shake my head. The silver revolver returns to its holster. I'm trying to calm my thoughts now.

"What's wrong with you?" the mechanical voice asks.

"You scared the shit out of me..." I mutter.

"Sorry... Yes, I scare others because of my sudden appearance. But to this extent..."

"The noise of that shit reminded me of some winged creatures. They like to sneak up behind you to stick their long sting in you... The venom of which will make you wish you'd never been born."

The spheroidal metal machine hovering above the ground let out a laugh.

"Yeah... There's a lot to see in the Wasteland."

The metal thing is studded with various antennas, its body painted pink. It's twice the size of a pony's head. It reminds me of a eyebot.

It conjures up images in my head of ED-E... and also Ulysses' low, murmuring voice.

"What are you or... what?" I ask, squinting suspiciously, even though I'm wearing a helmet. Rusty snuggles up behind me and shakes with fear.

"Watcher. This is a sprite-bot I'm using to communicate with you at a safe distance right now."

So they're called sprite-bots in this world. Okay...

"And what the hell do you need me for?"

"For a start, can you tell me your name?"

"It won't tell you anything. What do you want from me?"

"I saw a father with a foal, so I thought I'd ask if they needed my help."

That's the description of just about everyone else with a child in the Wasteland. I don't believe he was addressing everyone because of that.

"But seriously?" I insist.

"You mean?"

"There are plenty of single parents in the Wasteland."

Rusty moves behind me. He hasn't expected me to play along with this stranger's assumption.

"Helping everyone I can," Watcher replies. "A connection is unstable, so I can't always hack into a sprite-bot and help in a timely manner."

"Without benefit or gain to yourself? That's rare. And what does this very 'help' of yours look like?" I ask, with emphasis on the last word.

Some eyebot models have extensive toolboxes. The Enclave in the Capital Wasteland used them mostly to spread their propaganda, but they also served as eyes and ears. Only tech-savvy people, when dismantling them, would notice the presence of microphones and video cameras... Both propaganda and intelligence... Two birds with one stone. I wonder what information Watcher gathers.

"By advice and guidance," he answers.

Sometimes pertinent advice in a certain place can save lives. For example, the location of a clean water source. Does Watcher give such information for free or in exchange for something? He's obviously up to something. I wouldn't sit idly by with this kind of reconnaissance technology. It's convenient to hole up in some lair and keep an eye on everyone—be like a fly on shit with a thousand eyes.

"In exchange for what?"

"Just like that."

My lips can barely contain a smile. The helmet hides it from Watcher's gaze. It's harder for him to anticipate my emotion. He's in a similar position, though—I can't see him, either.

"I can hardly believe it."

Obviously, he is interested in my appearance. My helmet with red visors, my back and sides covered with a weapon with a strange trigger... and there was a colt squeezed in there, too.

"Anyway, let's have a chat in private," I say. It's useless to ask him to do that, but what the hell. "I have more confidence in those I see up close with my own eyes..."

The sprite-bot erupts with music. The next second he's floating on through the air as if nothing has happened. That's to be expected.

"Ugh, how uncivilized," I guffaw aloud. "Come on, Rusty. Keep an eye on him though."

***

The 5th of the Month of Bread, Cyanday. Fourteenth day of my stay.

Abandoned towns are everywhere. And I avoided them.

It was getting dark, so I looked for a lonely house to hide in for a while. After a couple of hours, such a house was found.

A little old farmhouse. There is almost nothing left of the gardens and orchards. All overgrown with wild vegetation adapted to the weak sunlight. The barn is almost completely collapsed... It is no less dangerous to spend the night there than in the lair of a deathclaw. The brick tenement house is better preserved. That's what we chose as our lodging.

There are still things left in the red brick house, with which I have been able to cook dinner. We had run out of reindeer meat and had to hunt for something fresh today. I was lucky enough to come across some rabbits, and I also had a little success picking herbs and mushrooms. According to Wasteland Survival Guide, separating the relatively useful wild vegetation from the harmful and dangerous was not difficult.

Rusty sits on a dilapidated upholstered chair and keeps the fire burning in the fireplace where the food is being prepared. I lie on the couch and flip through hoofing it, looking for interesting recipes for cooking hare meat with mushrooms and herbs.

"How nice," he says, "that you have your helpful device for collecting water from the air."

"Once again, it condenses moisture out of the air, not just conjures it out of the air."

"Yeah I know, it's just... it's hard for me to understand how it works."

"You don't need to understand," I say and turn a page of the guide.

"This thing makes life easier. You don't have to waste time and energy looking for water. Leaves a lot of free time for other things. Where did you find it?"

"Is it that important to you?"

"Yes. In case I need it when we split up."

"I plan to leave you in Tenpony Tower. There should be water there. What do you need it for?"

"And if it doesn't work out?"

"Think optimistically."

"And then suffer because of dashed hopes?" the brown colt asks.

Oh. I got so caught up in reading that I answered without thinking. Get it together. Rusty has survived the terrible abuse of the Porcupines. Any unfavorable situation could worsen his condition. Or could it? Most of the trouble he'll encounter in the future must seem like child's play after the horror he's been through. Must... Rather, it will seem like child's play. What happened could have either broken him or toughened him up. It's hard for me to tell at this point. Though I'm inclined to believe that his gradual coming to his senses speaks more to his emotional hardening.

Rusty looks at me carefully and waits patiently for an answer. I set the guide aside.

"What I meant to say was that... appetite comes in time to eat. Problems should be solved as they come. Why burden your head with things that won't come in handy in the end?"

"Better to have something extra than not have it when you need it," Rusty says.

"That's an interesting thought, but up to a certain point almost everything is superfluous... like the couch I'm lying on. But I don't want to lug it around, despite its usefulness for my back and rest. A firearm, on the other hand, is more useful than a couch, and it's easier to carry. You have to take something that takes up less space and has great utility."

"The couch can be used as a cover."

"True enough. But the rest of the time you don't need it, and it also gets in the way a lot on the road. Takes up space. There's more to gain from living in Tenpony Tower than there is from living in the Wasteland. Thinking about other options will get in the way and distract from your main goal. All in all, you're looking too far ahead too soon. It's distracting. Focus on more useful things. If things don't work out with Tenpony Tower, I won't leave you to your fate at the gate."

At my last words, a look of relief flashed in his eyes. His gaze softens, and he looks much calmer in general.

Oh, so that's what he's really worried about... He's afraid of being left alone, without any support. I understand him: almost everyone is afraid of that.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," my lips stretch into a smile.

I find the recipe and put the meat to cook, and leave to go for a walk. I want to set impromptu alarms in some places so we don't get caught off guard. To do this, I once again rummage through the things that looters haven't had time to loot in two hundred years.

Behind one sofa on the second floor I find a dusty acoustic guitar. The wood is not rotten. The six strings are in place. I yank them with telekinesis. They sound pretty good to me. I might play it for a while. No relevant skills, but I want to practice my telekinesis.

The alarm of cans, shit and sticks is set. I go back to Rusty with the guitar. He lingers his gaze on it longer than usual. I relaxedly hop onto the couch and play with the strings.

Rusty cringes at sounding so painful. I try to work the strings more gently and stick to the rhythm, but the foal's twitching eye tells me he's still not into it.

"Give me that!" he can't stand it.

I blink in surprise, staring at him. I didn't expect such... energy. He snatches the painfully groaning instrument from my blue telekinesis.

He leans in his chair over the guitar, holding it firmly and confidently in his hooves. They slide over it like a mother soothing her crying child. A melodious sound is heard. Much nicer than mine, but far from perfect. Rusty's hooves keep running over the strings to the head of the instrument, tweaking the levers. He tunes it.

A few minutes later, a melodic sound erupts under my still astonished gaze.

My jaw drops and rolls under the couch as Rusty sings.

A smile streches on his lips. His passionate eyes overflowed with passion and life. It is as if he has forgotten all the horrors he has lived through. The guitar has his full attention, and the foal's voice obeys its melody. In a light and casual tone the words are spoken about the pleasant moments of life to be treasured more than any caps. A parent's hug, a mother's lullaby. These memories, after being voiced in singing, bring him back to life. Everything around him seems to come alive with him. His eyes glisten with tears.

This fountain of vital energy passes on to me—I feel warm inside, like the first spring day after a cold winter. I can't help but smile.

What a rare sight it is... to see so much life in someone in this almost lifeless world. It's moments like this that I'm glad I'm traveling and I meet it along the way.

"What?" he asks. His eyes stare at me with incomprehension through the yellow strands of hair hanging over his face.

"Nothing... I just didn't expect you to..."

"That I can play a guitar?"

"And that you also sing."

"Yeah... There's that." He lifts his hoof and wipes away his tears. He still has the guitar. Holding it like a priceless treasure. "I love this stuff. My mother taught me how to play the guitar once... and I wanted to sing myself. Often sang along to music I heard on the radio."

"Wow... you're good. I didn't expect you to have any talent hidden in you."

His eyes lowered. Hoof strokes the strings in embarrassment.

"Thank you," he says.

The life in him has diminished again, but it has not returned to its former lifeless level. He looks much more alive. His gaze is not so indifferent, nor is his voice...

What is that smell?

"Oh..." I exclaim. I jump up to the pot. "Now our dinner is about to be digested!"

***

The 8th of the Month of Bread, Redday. Seventeenth day of my stay.

The dreary ruins of Manehattan beneath the dreary gray clouds stir in me a mass of nostalgic memories of Washington, DC.

I have been to more than one ruined pre-war city, but it was Washington, D.C., with its endless underpass crossings, that took me the longest. The situation here is similar. Wasteland Survival Guide has descriptions of caravan routes to some key places like Tenpony Tower, but that kind of information may have been out of date, since the subways have a nasty way of collapsing and blocking the way.

Fortunately, I only had to find a workaround once. Ditzy Doo it's time to update her publication again.

Manehattan turned out to be as lifeless as Washington. Almost.

D.C. was still a battleground between the remnants of the supermutants and the hardened mercenaries of the Talon Company when I left. There was still a little way to go before the final victory. Once upon a time, the supermutants around Washington, D.C., multiplied at an incredible rate. Initially the Talon Company mercenaries were able to resist them, and then the Brotherhood of Steel 'joined' in.

Few farms, settlements or towns were left from the raids of the supermutants, since they need to feed a lot to maintain their mass. This is their main weakness. The Brotherhood and the Talon Company took advantage of this, and by stratagems, tricks, and constant onslaught, drove most of the supermutants into this maze of ruins and cut off their escape routes. Exhaustion is one effective way to overpower a strong enemy, and there is nothing to feed on in the ruins of Washington.

Each year the trapped supermutants became weaker and weaker from lack of food... It was only a matter of time before they died of starvation or mercenary bullets. Scavengers of all kinds started to come back to the ruins, looking for whatever the mercenaries and the Brotherhood of Steel had not yet had time to take with them.

And even after clearing most of the ruins, it is still dangerous. Snipers, ambushes and traps... In Manehattan, as far as I know, there was no invasion of physically superior mutants. The stone jungle here is populated mostly by smaller mutants of animal origin, who always find something to eat. Here marauders also scour the ruins for interesting things.

I'm no exception, but I do so for slightly different reasons—a thirst to learn more about this world. Surviving books, magazines, newspapers, prewar propaganda posters... The latter have given me quite a bit of information about local history.

They often depict hatred of zebras, so I can assume that zebras and their country were the main enemy of pre-war Equestria. In my world, I've only seen zebras in biology books. Yes, and I remembered them for their striped appearance.

"Why," Rusty asks at the sight of another zebra poster, "do we hate zebras so much?"

"If I knew..." I answer and move on.

Was his question philosophical—why do ponies hate an entire race, despite the thunderous words of friendship? Or was it historical—what started the war with them? None of this matters at all. I don't know the answer to both interpretations of the question.

Though I do have some speculation on the philosophical question. Ponies are similar in behavior to humans. I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out that the underlying hatred of zebras turns out to be a tribal mindset formed through evolution. They don't look like us. They are a potential threat to our existence, to our customs and culture, and they are also competitors, for there may not be enough prey and food for everyone. It sounds plausible in terms of humans. The problem is that such an assumption doesn't work for ponies, because they, from posters, newspapers and books, value friendship as their greatest asset. There is clearly something wrong here.

Countless posters also gave me the idea that Equestria was ruled by either Princess Celestia or Princess Luna. Winged unicorns, the only ones of their kind until... some time. And that the whole country depended largely on the activities of the Six Ministries.

"I don't like this ministry," Rusty tells me as soon as I pass another Ministry of Image poster.

Its signature is on all the posters. I think it was the executor of the orders for these very posters. They also say that there's questionable literature that should be handed over to the Ministry for recycling.

"Why?"

"They destroyed literature and works of art they didn't like. At best they edited."

"I guess they didn't want to give ponies a reason to sympathize with zebras. They only left out things that exalted the ponies and made them hate the zebras."

"You know, you said it like that... now I hate that ministry... Oh... I'm afraid of that pink pony..." the colt says on my back in a fearful tone. I stop and turn to the poster of her.

The Ministry of Morale has often been pictured with a certain pink pony named Pinkie Pie. Her eyes are sternly watching you and everything you do. She reminds me something of Uncle Sam. Her slogans and appeals for decency suggest that the activity of this ministry was espionage and surveillance.

"Her contemptuous and displeased look, as if you had done some mischief?"

"Yes..."

"That's what the Ministry of Morality was for. They wanted to convince the ponies that sooner or later all their shenanigans would come to light," I ponder aloud.

"But there's something about this particular pony that's... frightening."

I look at her more closely and feel an inexplicable chill creeping through my body. Somehow I feel ashamed of my past and my previous actions. I sometimes feel bitter about the choices I've made... but the embarrassment that comes from looking at a pink pony hadn't happened before.

I move on.

"Do you think," Rusty asks, "those pegasi from the posters still exist?"

I stop and look at the poster he's looking at.

The Ministry of Awesome appealed to patriotism, calling for the army and the defense of the homeland. Most of the time they depicted pegasi... a rare kind of pony in the Wasteland, but their armor makes me uneasy. It reminds me so much of the Enclave. That intimidating black insect-like face with the yellow lenses... If this world is like mine, then perhaps there is the Enclave of its own. The eyebots were connected to them. Does Watcher and his sprite-bots have anything to do with the Enclave? I don't like all this...

Rusty asked an interesting question. I'm certainly don't want to get into another conflict with them. I mean, who they remind me of.

"No idea," I answer.

"I read in the last papers that before the end of the world, the pegasi closed the clouds and were never seen again."

His words force me to look up into the sky. Now I understand why, in seventeen days in this world, I have yet to see a sunny day. Pegasi can affect the weather. Given the presence of magic, that's not so surprising anymore. When used properly, weather control is an effective weapon.

"If the sky is still covered in gray clouds," I tell him, "then something is supporting them. Pegasi are very likely out there somewhere."

"Wow... Do you think they'll help us?"

"They haven't in two hundred years. I doubt anything will change now."

And I doubt that even if they do, they'll show up with good intentions.

The next poster I stop at promotes the Ministry of Peace... Lots of animal posters, appeals to be better and kinder with zebras with frightening red eyes in the background. More than once I saw the symbols of the three pink butterflies, which are also the symbol of the ministry, on first-aid kits and medicines. It's not hard to guess what it was doing. The protagonist of the posters is a yellow pony with wings and a long pink mane.

"I'd like to see her in person," Rusty says at the sight of the smiling yellow pony.

The most harmless creature I've ever seen. Her pleading gaze makes my heart clench. It seems that if I don't become kinder and better, it will break her heart.

"I can understand that," I reply. "I'd like to be in the company of such a peace-loving pony, too."

After a while on the trail, I hear Rusty mutter, "Greedy." I stop and look at the poster he is addressing his statement to.

Ministry of Wartime Technology... The name says it all. Military Technology Development. Its posters feature local power armor. Nearby, a sign encourages you to become a Steel Ranger. Wasteland Survival Guide mentions nothing about Ministries, but the Steel Rangers are mentioned there as an end-of-the-world survivor. Based on the description, they are no different from the Brotherhood of Steel.

"Because they're appropriating all the technology for themselves?" I chuckle involuntarily at his assessment.

"Yeah. Your... water-from-the-air thing, they'd take it for themselves. They'd kill you if you resisted."

Next, the subject of our interest is the Ministry of Arcane Sciences... Calls to study hard, to remain safe in the study of magic, and all unicorns wishing to develop and improve their magical abilities were invited to join them. Mostly to do research that would help win the war against the zebras and improve the lives of the ponies.

"What do you think?" Rusty asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You're a unicorn... I'm wondering: if you lived in pre-war times, would you have gone to work for this ministry?"

His question is an interesting one. I'm not used to living with thoughts of magic and its possibilities. I guess... it could be considered something like a scientific endeavor. Basically, the question sounds like—would I agree to become a local scientist because I'm biologically predisposed to it?

"I don't know... Honestly. I don't know much about this Ministry, I wouldn't really want to be involved in something that would purposely harm others. Creating deadly spells, for example."

"But you would live provided for. Unicorns are appreciated. Unlike earth ponies..."

"Hey. You have creative talent. You're appreciated, too."

"But not in the Wasteland."

"I think there's a place for your skills in Tenpony Tower. How about that?"

That cheers Rusty up. He clearly hadn't thought about the possibility of realizing his creative potential in Tenpony Tower... if, of course, an acquaintance of his father's agreed to take his son in. Otherwise, I will have to find another place for him. I won't be able to keep an eye on him all my life for many reasons, among them my attraction to travel—not to mention the fact that I want to go home.

***

The day is coming to an end, we are almost at Tenpony Tower. Soon we can relax and rest. On the way, Rusty has helped me gather some useful items for which I can get at least some caps. That should be enough... At least for a day or two of lodging in such a luxurious place. Hopefully, with our appearance, they'll let us in...

Oh.

Enriched uranium in my ass! We look like filthy and uneducated hobos! If I don't want to walk around naked, which is only natural for a pony, I'll have to find some normal clothes.

Searching through the ruins of the local stores for some nice and relatively survivable clothing took the rest of the evening. Fortunately. After all, clothes are most often left untouched. One looks first for useful things like food and water, technology that can be sold. But two hundred years have passed... and even the clothes are almost gone. However, we were lucky.

The dark blue outfit suited me perfectly. A long jacket with white inserts around the edges, a single-breasted cut with several buttons, short lapels, and two long pointed tassels in the back. Shirt as white as snow. The pants are the same color as the jacket, but without the white inserts. Shoes—well, or rather, what ponies wear on their hooves—the back pair of shoes is a dark blue color, and the front pair is white for some reason, like white human gloves. There's no tie or bowtie in the set, which is odd, but I like the hell out of it! Doesn't go badly with the color of my blue eyes! It's light, soft, tidy, and I look pretty stylish in it!

"A fancy pony," Rusty chuckles.

Obviously, he likes to wear things that are simpler. He doesn't think much about the choice. He just needed clean clothes that matched the color of his brown coat and yellow mane.

***

Tenpony Tower. It resembles Tenpenny Tower in every way—beige walls, cracks and holes in the walls sealed with rusted metal sheets; a warm yellow light emanating from the windows. A majestic structure in the middle of a dead wasteland.

A soft and unobtrusive melody plays in my head... In the beautiful and well restored hall, people strut around in expensive and clean outfits. Proud and haughty looks. The ghouls join them—they were let in voluntarily. The inhabitants of the tower are far from happy about this, but they tolerate their presence. Shrill shouts can be heard, and everything is red with blood. I am in the cellar, the corpses beneath my feet are torn apart. Wild ghouls with bloody and disfigured faces lean over them... Attacking me. I shudder to fight them off.

I grasp with trembling hands the throat of Roy Phillips, the ghoul I once trusted... and throw him off the balcony. I hear his piercing screams and feel the smirk on my lips...

"Danny..." someone whispers. "Danny..."

My body trembles, my front hooves tense with anger.

"Danny..." a familiar voice sounds. Rusty's voice.

"Hm?.. What?.." I look at the brown colt in clean clothes with a guitar on his back. There is consternation in his eyes. My front hooves press against the pavement as if I want to crush him. I breathe loud and deep, I can't wait to punch someone in the face.

"I... " The anger begins to fade quickly. I'm overcome with weakness and disorientation. "I'm... Anyway, never mind. I've been thinking..."

"On what?" the foal asks quietly. Afraid to make me angry. He could hear my heavy, furious breathing before that.

"It reminds me of a bad ghoul... whom I once trusted." I stare gravely at the tower. "Bad memories."

I haven't been back to Tenpenny Tower since then. Roy Phillips was my only victim, whose death I reveled in sweetly. That abominable ghoul died a quick death he didn't deserve.

"Come..." I say.

It's a good thing I'm wearing a helmet, or Rusty would have fled in fear at the sight of the burning anger on my face.

Under the faded archway was the logo "Ministry of Arcane Sciences. Manehattan Hub." Rusty asked me if I would like to work for this ministry... I might find out soon enough. I didn't expect that Tenpony Tower would turn out to be a place of pre-war knowledge, one of the centers of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences. Maybe I'll learn something about the other worlds here. I didn't come here for nothing...

We're approaching the main gate.

The funny thing is that the same tower is inhabited by the same DJ Pon3, who reminds me of Three Dog... Interesting coincidence. How is it that these worlds are similar and yet inexplicably different? At least he knows a lot. I will be able to get more answers.

I can see the pony guards at the entrance to the tower, barricading themselves behind massive steel walls and watching me and Rusty through narrow slits. On the walls are dirt, dust, trash... underneath are the skeletons of long-dead ponies, only they lay as far away from the gate as possible.

I walk up to the gate, on which is written in warning red letters, 'NO ZOMBIES' and one of the guards speaks to me over the intercom, "Who are you and what do you want?"

"Courier," I answer.

"Courier?" the guard behind the armored glass wonders. He casts me a glance, pausing at my weapon. "You're more like a mercenary than a simple mail carrier. In any case, you don't go into Tenpony Tower as your own home," he pronounces. Who would have doubted it? "The entrance fee is four hundred caps, or show me your papers showing that you are a resident of Tenpony Tower."

"I have business with DJ Pon3," I reply, and he rolls his eyes for some reason.

It's to be expected that this place has been tried more than once before. The popularity of the DJ makes itself felt. In any case, I'm not going to pay four hundred caps to get in—it's pure robbery! I know that in places like this, a bottle of whiskey alone costs as much as couriers get for one delivery from one end of the world to the other. Fortunately, these guards aren't securitrons, who can't be convinced unless you're a master of zeros and ones.

"There are too many ponies here without you making pilgrimages to DJ."

I was right after all. I'm gonna try to talk some sense into him. See if it works out. Maybe the security guard is in a good mood today.

"Unlike the business of past visitors, mine is urgent and extremely important," I say.

The guard sighs so heavily and noisily that it could scare a cat.

"Really? How much?"

"You won't find out anyway, and neither will I."

"You mean?"

"I have to deliver a special data storage device to DJ on which very important information is recorded. What it is, I have not been informed. And it's none of your business, either. My firm guarantees the confidentiality and anonymity of the packages delivered."

"What if there's a computer virus on it that messes up DJ's hardware, or a tracking device?"

"What if I'm delivering a dildo for you, and then your guard friend asks what's in the package? Do you think you'd want me to give him everything? Size? The shape? The recipient?"

From inside I can hear the stifled laughter of several ponies except for the one I'm talking to now. He's confused.

"Besides," I continue. Don't slow down, push him all the way down! "You need special hardware to read the data from this medium. Your DJ definitely has one. It's for the safety of the information in there: so that unauthorized individuals like you or me won't extract anything from this device for personal gain," I say and take out a platinum chip as proof, levitating it in front of me.

"It's a poker chip," the guard comments absently.

"Really? Exceptional observation. That's what you're supposed to think, even though it's actually a special medium. As I said earlier, if it is stolen from me or something happens to me and the first person I meet finds it on my corpse, no one will ever guess its purpose. Even if the finder of the chip guesses, he won't be able to get any information out of it."

"Ahh... What's the mailing company?"

"The Hoofland Express."

"I've never heard of it..."

I fake a doomed sigh. The game drags on. It's time to get indignant.

"Well of course you haven't heard. We work on the opposite coast, in the Hoofland area. They don't send us to that kind of shit. My bosses got paid good money, but they... I wish they'd choke themselves with this caps... didn't share much with me. I've come a long way, I'm tired, I can hardly contain myself. And now I'm one step away from completing my task and you want my caps!"

"Who's next to you?"

I look at Rusty. He, in turn, stares in utter bewilderment at the spectacle I've put on.

Fu-u-uck... I totally forgot about him! I was playing too much. I've got to get out of it somehow.

"A hitchhiker," I say, the first thing that comes to mind.

"Courier takes a hitchhiker?" the confidence in the guard's voice returns.

He's about to get off the hook! Think... Think, Daniel! Keep thinking about the benefits!

"I have been paid to bring him here to see an acquaintance of his father's. You think it's so easy to travel such distances? You have to take cases like this, because every cap counts!"

The guard hesitates, but after a few seconds replies, "Okay. One hundred caps and go."

"Fucking extortionist! I can't fucking go back and report!" I hide the chip. It's my last resort. If it doesn't work... "I'd better go back now. That's good enough for me. Pray that this chip doesn't contain information that will cost a lot of people their lives, including you! Rusty, let's get out of here...

I turn around, and as I walk away, I start... praying.

"Wait!" the guard says hurriedly. I stop and turn around.

"What more do you want?" I ask in an irritated tone, as if I'm losing my patience.

"Damn you! You can come through, just don't talk about it to everyone you meet."

"Absolutely," I say, not holding back my smile. He still doesn't see my winning smile beacuse of my helmet. "You do have an understanding of what's going on, after all..."

"Also," the guard interrupts me, "you'll have to disarm yourself before you go through the checkpoint."

"Piece of cake."

I walk through the small gate that opens in front of me and find myself at the checkpoint. A unicorn runs out of the booth and uses her magic on me. I look at my body and see that every round, bullet, and clip on me has shone through my bags, pockets, and armor. I'm also checking my body with Rusty's spell just in case. She takes my ammunition, which surprises me somewhat, and leaves.

I stand in bewilderment, and the others look at me bewildered in response.

"What?" a security mare asks .

"Is your friend ill with anything? Her spell is malfunctioning... I also have a weapon."

"Oh, that... I forgot you're from Hoofland and haven't been here before. You can pass with a weapon."

"You mean?"

"You can't use your guns without ammunition. That's why we take them away, and even if you have a sword or knuckles," she casts a glance at the weapon. "You can't stand up to guards with large-caliber machine guns with these," the mare politely clarifies.

How thoughtless of them to think so. What if I get drunk and drugged and lose my mind and, before they make Swiss cheese out of me, manage to barbecue some of the tower's inhabitants? The New Appleloosa had a broader view of the question—taking all the guns away from everyone at the entrance.

"Whatever you say," I shrug.

"You'll get ammo on the way out," she adds.

There is a loud clang of the inner mechanism of the decorated double armored doors. They swing inward, granting access to the beige marble and candelabra—lit foyer of Tenpony Tower. Inside, pleasant and rather familiar music plays, just like in Tenpenny Tower. Everything is in yellow and beige tones that are pleasing to the eye, including the lighting.

Another fit of nostalgia and... rage.

Shh, Daniel... This isn't Tenpenny Tower... There are no ghouls who want to live here. There are no ghouls.

"What a setup you've made," the colt whispers after we enter the foyer and I get a good look at him. "I want to be able to do that, too."

"It was actually partly true. A lie has to look believable. The chip really is a data carrier, and it has special uses. I did once work for a courier company and took it upon myself to deliver that very chip—unaware, of course, of its purpose."

"How did it turn out?"

"With my grave."

Rusty stares at me with unspeakable surprise and horror, like he sees a ghost.

"Don't worry: as you can see, I'm alive and well. They got wind of the package, grabbed me, shot me in the head, and left me for dead in a grave. Fortunately, it was not the end, but the beginning of interesting events..."

***

We are accompanied by oblique glances with a touch of superiority. The local lodgers mistake us for the vagrants of the Wasteland: dirty and smelly for a week. I want to go over their faces a couple of times and wipe away that arrogance. Such cleanliness is a luxury, especially on the road...

Speaking of which. A long trip makes me want to eat some real food. I am fed up with drowning my stomach with meat and wild plants.

The restaurant does not let us in—we stink so bad, according to the administrator, that our smell would make a dead pony cover his face. Particularly from me. It's hard to restrain myself from being sarcastic, but I hold out and we leave. Luckily, I leaf through my Pip Boy list and discover some leftover food I discovered along the way.

We won't sleep on an empty stomach. It's not bad anymore!

I sell the items I found to a charming salespony. I had already taken off my helmet before, so that the others are more comfortable to bargain with me, and I can use my charms. I am used to ponies and can communicate with them calmly. Of course, charm doesn't work right away... I sold the goodies I found to the pony I could influence.

Rusty watched my emotions and words closely as I traded for each cap. Such a close and curious gaze made me feel uncomfortable for some reason. He enjoyed watching me, though.

In my blue telekinesis, the caps tinkled sweetly in the pouch.

"Well," I look at the foal. "Let's go get a room. Let's take a shower and sleep till lunchtime! We'll do our business tomorrow."

He nods with anticipation. We approach the mare administrator.

"Rooms for one night are charged at one hundred and fifty caps for one," the room administrator tells me.

"One hundred and fifty caps? Why so expensive..." I doomfully sigh, lowering my head. Which, in fact, is to be expected.

"I'm sorry, but those are the prices," she says in a casual polite tone.

I look up. She has a good-natured and tired look. Behind the yellow earth pony's back is a huge wall strewn with room keys. I have to grope the ground.

"I see... the place is luxurious. It's not easy to maintain and keep it in such excellent condition."

"Thank you..." She is slightly embarrassed and lowers her gaze to the clean and tidy wooden table. Apparently she was in no way expecting a calm response to the price, much less the praise. "But I don't personally do that."

"But you have to keep explaining to poor travelers why the prices are so high. They must be rude."

"Exactly... Sometimes it makes me want to get out of here. Find another job rather than listen to their resentment every shift..."

I smile sympathetically. I would not be able to bear the constant insults to my address, if I were in a similar job. And for a small wage.

She looks at me differently in thoughtfulness.

"Where are you coming from?" she asks, then looks at the foal.

"Been coming all the way here from Hoofland itself on a case."

"Wow... That's a long way you've come. Both of you are tired, aren't you?"

"I am... I want to lie down and go to sleep!" Rusty says.

To my surprise, his tone is appropriate to the conversation. Did he do it deliberately, or did he... One wrong word, look, or even an extra sound in intonation, and it all goes to shit.

"Is this your... son?" the yellow pony asks. It's time to dilute my words with the truth.

"No. I promised his father I'd find him a home. An acquaintance of his lives here... If he's still alive. He was a friend of mine, and I couldn't refuse him."

"А... So that's it... Hmmm..." she mutters something, turning away.

"Hm?" I smile softly.

An awkward laugh sounds from her side.

"Nothing. It's just that... Anyway..." she taps her front hooves hesitantly on the wooden table. "How long will you be here?"

She suddenly looks more lively. There are hesitant notes in her voice, and she avoids a direct and steady gaze.

I don't think so, do I?

Now... Now I must speak very carefully. Something interesting comes up.

"If I find a friend I know tomorrow and he agrees to take Rusty with me, I may be on my way tomorrow night. I don't have enough caps for the second day," I shrug dolefully.

The yellow earth pony bites her lip thoughtfully and looks behind her.

"Plenty of empty rooms..." she ponders. "I don't think anything bad is going to happen."

With those words, she grasps the nearest keys with her teeth. The keys immediately in front of me on the table. She still avoids looking at me for a long moment.

"Stay... for two days. It's on... uh... me... You... have to... uh... a long way back. It would be a shame if... you won't be able to enjoy the soft beds... I mean, enjoy our comfort."

Wow... Whoa! Get a grip, Daniel! Don't be greedy... or you'll miss out on two free days in a luxury suite!

"Wow..." I say with admiration. "I didn't expect to meet a generous pony here."

"Thank you..." Another tentative tapping of sunny yellow hooves on the table. Sunny... Warm...

No, Daniel...

How strong the emotion is!

Don't be greedy! Don't say...

"I... You know, the long journey has exhausted me. I'm sweating... It's hot in my armor... But I didn't expect to be as hot as I am today."

"Yeah... I guess... we have normal temperatures here..." the mare says.

"Too much heat from you."

"Oh..." a long, almost languid sigh from her.

No! Last chance, Daniel! Don't risk it! Stop it! You can still take it down a notch...

"After the cold vastness of the Wasteland, I would like for one evening... and perhaps even a night... to bask in the company of such a... sweet and warm pony."

Fuck! What am I doing? Emotions are running through my head!

The mare presses her lips together tightly in confusion. This time her hooves aren't tapping on the table, but rubbing one against the other in a circular motion.

What a lovely sight! I'm really about to get unbearably hot.

"Um... Anyway... N-now I can't... Eh... I wanted to tell you that I have work and..."

"Of course. I'll wait for your stories about soft beds until tomorrow," I say quietly and wink.

Stepping away from the table and leaving the sunny-looking pony alone with her confusion, I understand why I tried to stop myself.

She's not fucking human! It's completely... different! Yes, I had already had one intimate and unnatural contact with a pony, but the things that alcoholic delirium doesn't do... some drunks have had fun with brahmins. Now I'm doing something like that in full consciousness, even though I'm carried along by a wave of emotions and hormones. Right. It's the lack of intimacy... and I didn't want to try to satisfy myself in the presence of the foal...

Although it is interesting to try satisfying myself with telekinesis sometime. It will be a totally different experience!

"How do you do it?" Rusty asks, snapping me out of my dirty mental experiments with magic.

"What exactly?"

"So... playing."

"Playing? I told you... you have to be able to mix lies with the truth. Yeah, and I didn't expect her to show any interest in me."

Yes, there is a quantitative bias toward mares everywhere. Because of this, most of them are bisexual, which means competition for the mare's attention not only with stallions but also with other mares. I got lucky, probably because the yellow mare doesn't like the local ponies. It's unpleasant for her. She is from the service staff, and they do not pay much: the rich pony of the tower look down on her—what an interesting pun—and the visitors because of the prices are constantly rude and express discontent, as if she was to blame for everything. It's emotionally exhausting. No wonder her work is emotionally draining. That's why I was there at the right time. Eased her shift, lifted her spirits... just by being really friendly.

"Danny?" Rusty asks.

"What?"

"You're thinking again..."

"Oh... Yeah. Anyway, I just got lucky."

"Lucky she liked you... I agree. But what did you do for it?"

"Why would you do that?"

"I'm attracted to acting. I used to live near a theater and watch actors perform."

Now I can see why he was interested in my success with the security guard, my attempts at bargaining, and why he was able to appropriately cut into my conversation with the yellow earth pony. The guitar playing... Acting, for which he has all the basics.

I love that Rusty looks like a lively and active foal right now. He's on fire with music and performing. In the ashes of his life, he has rekindled... life.

"Wow... you're a diverse person," I say. "And what is it that attracts you to it?"

"I'll tell you later," Rusty waves his hoof carelessly. We enter the elevator. "I'm burning with impatience... How did you get her to talk?"

"You have to develop empathy for that. You can use it to get into the other person's position, to understand their condition and... be attentive to their words and emotions."

I use magic to push the button for the right floor and glance at Rusty.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"That's a rather succinct question..."

***

My room is not too big, but it's not small either. The walls have more or less normal wallpaper and plaster. Better than the old crumbling houses. Hell, it's like heaven and earth!

The apartment consists of a living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The living room has two brown sofas and three armchairs upholstered in the same material as the sofas; a wooden table with a faulty old TV on it, vases with real plants, old paintings of prewar mountain and forest landscapes, a dining table with dishes and platters cleaned to a shine... and much more.

Everything is lit with yellow and warm light in fancifully shaped chandeliers.

In the bedroom is a huge double bed, flanked by medium-sized coffee tables, several empty wooden cabinets with uncomplicated patterns, an empty black safe, and several lights on the walls for nighttime illumination.

In the restroom is a plain but spotlessly clean bathtub, toilet, and small sink.

It's cozy, neat, and spacious. After the Wasteland, it feels like being in a fairy tale. How nice that I will enjoy it for two days! And perhaps not by myself... if that pony decides to do it. Oh, and I'm not sure about how I'll consciously behave in bed with a pony.

I was able to sleep with a pony drunk. If I succeeded, I'll be able to do it consciously. I'll have to look for a book on pony anatomy, though. Maybe I'm missing something important—it's a magical world, after all, and Bluerice, being drunk, hasn't paid attention or has paid attention to my ignorance or unfamiliar behavior, but she doesn't remember.

"Delightful!" I say, having finished my inspection of our apartment.

"Yeah..." Rusty agrees with an open mouth, standing next to me in the living room.

"So," I begin, dumping my things and bags on the couch, "now you go to the bathroom, and after you, I'll go. Then we'll go to bed, tomorrow morning we'll go to a restaurant, we'll eat. After 'refueling', we'll go look for Lucky. And... I hope you're an independent pony and can wash yourself?" I ask.

"Of course I can, I'm not a little boy," says the colt and, proudly sticking out his chest, go to the bathroom. I can't hold back a smile.

"We'll see about that. Don't drown in there," I say in his wake. He shows me his tongue, and slams the door behind him.

In Tenpony Tower it will be easiest for Rusty to distance himself from what he has experienced. There's no way the surroundings can be associated with that.

While he washes, I take off my gear and get it ready to be cleaned.

In the seventeen days of my stay, I'm beginning to get more and more accustomed to my new body. I walk confidently on all fours, but I'm still a long way from combat dancing, which I wasn't much good at anyway, except for the basic basics.

My dirty beige body is reflected in the clean mirror. It feels like the mirror is about to crack from how bad I look under the armor. And yet this is the first time I can see my appearance clearly. I can't get used to it, and... this drawing on my thigh.

I've seen tattoos like that on other ponies, and they're all different. But what is their purpose? I didn't know, and I thought they were specially drawn on the croup, but I didn't get that tattoo. Maybe while I was unconscious in New Appleloosa, they marked me. I was drunk at the time... maybe that's when... that's when it happened.

My tattoo depicts a playing card with an ace of spades, with a wrench and a screwdriver crossed in the middle. The wrench is exactly like the one I always carry with me and use in fixing things. The screwdriver resembles the one I usually use to pick locks.

What do they mean? I've got to find out what they are, or I'll look like an idiot. They will ask me probably the most trivial question, and I will not be able to answer it.

In my deep thought, I don't notice that I'm staring at my tail in the reflection. I wag my tail, and I'm overwhelmed with a playful sensation I'm still not used to.

How fun is that!

I keep playing with my tail. I can't help but do it, even though I look silly. It's too much fun, and the mood improves, too.

That's enough fooling around.

After I finish examining my body, I sit down to finish reading Wasteland Survival Guide and summarize. Too much information to digest, but I need to know it to survive. I might have to go to these places when I'm looking for a way to get home.

From it I've learnt about the most common flora and fauna, apparitions and dangerous places. I was struck by the description of such a thing as spoilage, which cannot be detected or felt—only the consequences of its effect on the body are noticed. It makes a victim into a mutant worse than radiation. A kind of Forced Evolutionary Virus in the air. The worst thing is that there is no cure for spoilage, and no protective suits can save you from its damaging effects. It will seep through the smallest of cracks... I hope I don't have to deal with spoilage. Though who knows, given my passion for dangerous places.

The ruins of prewar cities... strange factions... They are all described in two or three lines. Most of them are not memorable with a few exceptions.

The largest center of trade is in Baltimare, where ships of surviving zebra ancestors from a neighboring continent come in. The ponies do trade resources with the zebras, after all. Many have already forgotten the war that broke out two hundred years ago. All anyone thinks about now is survival. I, at least, hope so.

The Sapphire Sea, which washes the East Coast, is dangerous, except in the central part, where the zebra ships sail. The north of the sea is home to enormous monsters unusual even for the Equestrian Wasteland, and the south is home to a mystical yellow fog that travels throughout the southern part of the sea. The fog is unique in its own way. It chases ships like a moth, and the ships disappear without a trace. Yes... sailing is dangerous.

Deadly storms, including near-magical ones, and dangerous underground creatures in the Great Deserts that divide pre-war Equestria in two. Someone there has managed to survive... But outsiders are not allowed through the safe paths. They actively use transportation and worship underground creatures and the forces of nature. The only way to get around the Great Deserts safely, as the guard from New Appleloosa told me, is along the West Coast or the East Coast.

Little is known of the zebra continent beyond the fact that some tribes have survived. Their ancestors fight for fertile territories, banding together in alliances for these purposes, which dissolve as soon as they reach them. They have many prophecies, most of which basically boil down to one thing: one zebra will unite all the surviving tribes and... and end the war the ancestors started two hundred years ago. It is also known that a certain Tartarus borders near the territory of their country, where incomprehensible things happen and where terrifying creatures live.

Desert Ocean on the West Coast is hardly explored at all, and neither is Tartarus. Both of these places have been surrounded by frightening myths since the conscious history of both ponies and zebras, that is, thousands of years ago. Ditzy Doo lived before the war, so she knows what she's writing about. She says that before the war, nothing like this happened in the Great Deserts, in the northern part of the Sapphire Sea with the huge monsters, and in the southern part with this Yellow Fog.

Yeah... There's more incomprehensible shit in this world than there is in mine. That's for sure. I want to know more details, though.

Ditzy Doo, after all, was more focused on survival than the situation in the Wasteland. She wrote about these places for a general understanding of their danger level. Besides, they are already shrouded in frightening myths and absurd superstitions. It's a matter of figuring out what's what.

The ruins of Canterlot, shrouded in a rose cloud, were a suggestive memory. The influence of the pink cloud of Canterlot is the same as that of the Red Cloud of the Sierra Madre.

I cringe at the nauseating and painful memories.

Canterlot was once the capital of pre-war Equestria. It was home to the poster princesses, Celestia and Luna themselves. Gods incarnate. The guide says that they were considered goddesses because of their longevity. What kind of goddesses are they if they couldn't stop the apocalypse? And where are they now? Most likely their bones are gathering dust somewhere in the Wasteland, or serving as decorations for raiders.

The difference with Sierra Madre is that Canterlot was home to all the elite of the pre-war country: the rich, the magnates, the directors of firms and factories, and the heads of Ministries. A rich city with untouched treasures and trinkets just begging to be hoofed... No, I will not step on the same rake a second time, unless there is an urgent need to get something very important from there.

My memories of Sierra Madre are too strong. How foolish of me to fall into the trap of the former Elder of Brotherhood of Steel and the madman Elijah, who had a fierce hatred for the NCR. Countless times I had been on the verge of death in that place. I was lucky enough to leave on my own two with a few gold bars, which were too damn heavy-but I couldn't help but take something of this legendary place as a memento. And it was a shame to leave everything to Elijah, whom I'd locked in the vault, condemning to isolation. Such an old bastard didn't deserve a quick death. I liked the look on his face when I circled him with my Stealth Boy, and sidestepped him when he disabled the forcefield to get into the vault. He shouted my name angrily, and I sent him an air kiss goodbye, winked, and staggered toward the elevator that would never go down to the vault again.

I'm caught up in the memory, and I realize I'm smiling. My eyes turn to the bathroom.

Rusty's been in there a long time... I hope nothing happened to him.

I walk over and listen to the door, just in case. I hear the occasional splash of water. He's still enjoying the warm, clear water.

I go back to the book and the completion of the analysis.

Of note, it mentions the Hellhounds. These creatures are several times the size of ponies, have huge long and sharp claws, leap out of the ground to attack their prey unexpectedly and slice it apart. A vicious mix of a tunneler and a deathclaw. Very dangerous creatures when you consider that some of them use weapons, particularly energy-magic ones...

"Fucking hell," burst out of me, when I got to that point of reading.

"What?" Rusty wonders.

"Hellhounds..."

"Oh, yeah... The most dangerous monsters around."

"They really exist?"

His grim and frightened look with a nod of his head was enough to know that they weren't to be trifled with. At least they can't fly.

I had a nightmare a long time ago: I saw a mixture of a casador and a deathclaw. Not only could it fly and be unstoppable, but it was impossible to kill. It was a very, very, very bad dream, and I will remember it for the rest of my life.

Oh, I almost forgot... The best part is the dragon. A beast the size of a four-story building, if not more, capable of breathing fire. They live on Lava Island, which is between two continents, as well as in the north of the neighboring continent. Earlier this information nearly gave me a heart attack, but I was lucky enough to have it reinforced with implants, so I survived the moment. The good news is that there aren't many dragons and they're extremely rare on the Equestrian Wasteland. But... My luck is a ruthless bitch, and I will certainly meet at least one such dragon, for I alone have the unique ability to get myself into such extraordinary situations that no normal person can get into.

I've always wondered: how did I ever get out of such assholes alive? Luck smiles on me until it starts mocking me... Maybe it's her turn to laugh at me, throwing me into this world and making me suffer, because it would be too easy to kill me.

***

Rusty got carried away taking a bath. I'm too hungry to wait for him... so I go about satisfying my ravenous stomach without him. Naturally, I'm not going to leave the foal without dinner. I'll leave something for him.

By the time the colt comes out of the bathroom, I'm already feeling good with satiety... and sit in anticipation of warm water. Judging by the look on his face, he is well rested and relaxed, which only made me want to be in the hot water more! It is conducive to rest and relaxation, especially after a long wander in the muddy wasteland.

"Better?" I ask.

"Better..." Rusty stretches out with pleasure.

"And now it's time for me to relax and have some fun," I say, grabbing my gear and armor, and then racing to the bathroom. I can swear Rusty only felt the wind on his fur when I ran past him.

I tidy up my gear and armor first, and then I take care of myself.

Warm water... A blissful pleasure. My body basks in the warm embrace of clear water. I relax completely and give my tense muscles the much desired rest. A wave of relief sweeps through my body... I want to drown in this bliss. I moan in pleasure, and close my eyes.

The unicorn with purple hair appears... Bluerise... The light pink mane is slick and sagging under the weight of the water. Pretty yellow eyes stare at me, she playfully nibbles her lip. With a slight, fluid movement, she turns around. Her butt wiggles invitingly from side to side. Drops of water trickle down her buttocks, her tail sagging from the water and sticking to her crotch...

Oh...

I open my eyes and realize that I had accidentally dozed off. A sweet tightness is felt in my body, most of all in my lower belly. My crotch "itches." I look down there with interest.

Oh... It's a sigh of something between doom and intense anticipation. Desire. I didn't have to think about wet and damp bodies... even though I wasn't thinking. And now I can' t help but fantasize about a wet Bluerise. In such a comfortable, pleasurable and also wet environment after long days of abstinence, the desire is incredibly strong.

My front hoof reaches out and slides down, under the water...

Damn it... I have no toes. What do I do? You can't do it with hooves... I can't do it with hooves. Oh. That's right, I'm a unicorn. I wanted to experiment with telekinesis—now I have a convenient option.

The inside of my thighs are shrouded in a shimmering blue haze. I cover my eyes, focus my magic better, and imagine Bluerise...

***

I walk sluggishly out of the bathroom. I feel like boiled noodles. I feel good, light-headed. I stand there brooding.

It was good... enjoyment. Manipulation of magic depends directly on thought and concentration. Telekinesis takes the form a unicorn gives it... just as a human determines the angle of a hand or a finger. To pick up an object, the unicorn needs to focus on the flows of magic around it in the place where it is located. And the magical energy repeats the shape of the object, making it possible to move it in space. Apparently, telekinesis has in some ways recreated what I fantasized about Bluerise. My member felt in some way as if it had been inside her... Of course, it's not at all the same sensation as physical penetration, not to mention the fact that it can't mimic moisture, but only general and simple forms. Still, it's much better and more pleasurable than with your hand.

Hmm...

Hmmmm...

How grateful I am to fate that I am a unicorn. I love the way telekinesis works.

I look around and see no one.

Where's Rusty gone?

He's not in the living room; I just got out of the bathroom. That leaves the bedroom. I take my time opening the door and lean against the door. There's a colt's voice. He's talking to someone... No, he's talking to himself. There's a kind of... playfulness and a playful demeanor.

"Yes," he says, "I killed those bad mutants. Now thank me with a heavy cap."

"With what," he replies to himself in a slightly different tone, "will you confirm your words?"

"I didn't want to carry their heads with me..." he continues. He speaks quite loudly. It's a good moment. I turn the doorknob and pull the door slightly open. Behind the door I can see the brown colt standing in front of the mirror where I was looking at my body about an hour ago.

Something has changed in him... A feeling that something is wrong here. What could it be?

There's a drawing on the foal's thigh... the same drawing I see on other ponies. It wasn't there before. Oh, that's right... I've never seen it on the youngest foals before. So it appears on its own at a certain point in life? That's important information. His drawing depicts two masks with the outlines of a pony's face, each with its own hypertrophied emotion—one sad and the other joyful. The theater masks.

One-actor theater.

"...And don't you see that my armor is stained with the blood of the monster I killed?"

"I see... All right. Fine. But I'll give you less than I promised, since there's no proof."

"Eh... Well, okay," Rusty gets upset. No, he's trying to sound upset about not being believed.

By his own idea, he's trying to deceive the customer. His character reads an ad to kill mutants. It's not uncommon in the Wasteland to take advantage of this in order to get free caps.

"I wouldn't believe you," I say, grinning. I open the door fully and lean against it flatteringly.

Bravo, Daniel. You've figured out the colt's game. That's something to be proud of.

"Huh?!" he utters with embarrassment and turns to me. "Oh, you're out already... And I'm here... Anyway, yeah..."

I walk into the luxurious bedroom and fall relaxed on the spacious bed. How soft it is! I wish I could sink into it and never wake up again. In such comfort, I often think about giving up traveling. Twenty-seven years old and I feel old and infirm.

The ceiling isn't bad either, it's fun to watch...

"W... why didn't you believe me?" the colt asks curiously.

I continue to contemplate the lovely beige ceiling.

"Your played out situation seems a little naive for several reasons."

"Why?"

"You slip up. First you said several mutants, and then you only mentioned one. Couldn't back up your make-up."

"Well... I'm not good at making up plausible circumstances. I just want to play..."

"And did you consider exactly who you were persuading? Your relationship with him? Your reputation?"

"No..." the colt replies after a moment's reflection.

"That's what I thought," I reluctantly rise from the bed, which is incredibly appealing in its comfort stronger than the gravity of the stars. If I had stayed in it longer, I would certainly have fallen asleep. In the meantime, I want to hold off on that. "If this is a simple hillbilly who encounters mutants for the first time near her farm and rarely encounters a mercenary, you could still bullshit him and get a piece of the reward."

I stand beside the painting of the stream. It's well-preserved, the details are visible, and the view is pleasing to the eye.

"If," I continue, admiring the painting, "it's the head of a farm or community that constantly hires experienced mercenaries to eliminate the mutants that roam nearby, you can't fool them with this trick. The blood might be that of a small rat you strangled but claimed to be the blood of... of the same Hellhound they put a bounty on. You won't get anything at all. Instead of a reward, they might give you a kick in the ass."

"You're right... What about reputation?"

"Well, reputation isn't always necessary. It's enough to make a good impression on the customer, to appear professional in your line of work. Then you have a better chance of success. Even more chance of success if you've proven yourself before... done good. You may be more likely to be believed the next time. It's best not to lie dryly, but to mix lies with the truth. Don't try to pass off dirty water as clean."

"Like you did with that guard and that hot sun pony?"

"Yeah... " I answer absent-mindedly. He confused me with his description of the receptionist. A little... mocking on his part. Hot sun pony... "In general, there are a huge number of factors to consider at the same time. Carefully analyze the situation," I glance at the foal. "Still, I don't recommend lying."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I don't do it for the good life. Sometimes when I need caps or when I need to cut corners. Everything is expensive in Tenpony Tower, even the passageway into it. So I take advantage of every opportunity. However, I do not forget that some individuals... who don't know how to weigh the consequences if they make concessions to me. I don't want them to get in trouble because of me."

"Worried about the fate of the ponies you're going to deliberately mislead... You really aren't bad."

"Thank you. So... you want to figure out how to convince others just because you want to be a convincing actor?"

He nods.

"Besides the guitar, I also liked entertaining others with my acting," he adds, turning to the mirror. "Getting into someone else's role. To feel like someone else for... a moment."

"I understand... sometimes I want to try a completely different life, too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Like slaving away all day in the fields, drinking with close friends and familiars after a hard day's work. Gossiping with them around the campfire, joking about how someone stepped in the brahmin shit... And so it is every day. I'm sure I'd get sick of it, but I still want to feel the experience..."

"Interesting choice... Thinking about a settled life?"

"Uh-huh..." I nod.

Still, he knows how to be considerate. He sees me as an experienced courier, and then I say I'd like to try plowing the field day in and day out. I really want to try to forget that I'm traveling. To forget my craving for wanderings and unknown places...

The two pony masks on brown fur.

Oh, I'm staring at the foal drawing.

It's funny, his pursuit of acting kind of coincides with what's depicted on his croup. I'm wondering, is there a correlation here? It doesn't seem like the usual coincidence.

Rusty notices my gaze in the reflection. He turns around and looks at the direction of my gaze with bewilderment. His eyes go wide, as if he's learned all the knowledge in the universe, and he begins to squeal with joy.

"I've got a cutie mark! I've got a cutie mark!" he spins and jumps around the room with joy. An indomitable whirlwind of emotion.

So much joy from the drawing on his butt... Cutie mark... Cutie... Hmm.

An hour ago, there wasn't one... And yet they appear on their own. The strange thing is that the pony did not feel anything at the moment of its appearance.

I watch in amazement at his reaction. He doesn't look like he survived the torment of being held captive by the raiders! There is even more emotion from him than when he was playing his guitar a few days ago!

It is so... nice. It's nice to see that others find a way to enjoy little things like the magical drawing on his thigh.

Rusty stops and doesn't know where to put his happiness. He is overwhelmed with incredible emotion, encompassing him from head to tail. And yet, I've never seen so much positive energy in anyone in my life. I'm... pleasantly surprised.

And paralyzed—the brown colt suddenly jumps up to me, and hugs me. Tightly, like a rare and desirable toy.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Rusty repeats in an excited voice, looking up at me with tears of joy.

How quickly everything happens... I wasn't prepared for this. I have no idea what to say. All I can do is smile.

"I'm happy for you..." I utter. "Your parents would certainly be proud of you."

He squeezes me even tighter in his arms at the mention of my parents.

Oh... I'm already regretting talking about them! And who forced me to talk?

"Thank you," he replies and lets me go. He wipes his nose with his front foot. Mixed emotions are on his face. Joy is joined by sadness with nostalgia. "I... want to believe it, too."

"I'd be proud if I were them," I say and lie down on the gently carpeted floor. It's so nice I can sleep on it.

"Really?" he looks at me hopefully.

"Let me be shaved if I'm not."

He hugs me again, this time by the neck.

"Will you tell me how you got your cutie mark?" he asks, laying down in front of me eager to hear an interesting story from me.

All that's missing to the full warm and soothing atmosphere is a burning fireplace with a crackling fire.

"Is that what you want to know?"

He nods vigorously.

The appearance of the cutie mark has somewhat overshadowed his psychological trauma. I really want to stretch his positive experiences, but I have no idea what to tell him. His drawing on his croup... The mark... a cutie mark... I got when I transformed.

Rusty is looking forward to the exciting story of how I got the cutie mark. I'll have to analyze the situation and figure out what it is in order to mix the lies with the truth.

All foals get a cutie mark sooner or later. All the ponies whose croup I've seen have had these cutie mark. It is somehow related to what the pony does.... symbolism.

Symbols... their interpretation and purpose—Ulysses liked to ponder something like that. I wonder if this process is happening on its own, what mark would he have if he were in the same situation as I am now?

The two theatrical masks, I take it, represent Rusty's attraction or talent for acting and performing. He definitely already has the makings of singing, playing guitar, trying to get into someone else's role... It's all about entertaining the audience in one way or another.

"Come on!"

I still need another clue as to how to tell him about my cutie mark. How would I force Rusty to give straws without suspicion about what kind of culture is built around these cutie marks? Why is it so important in a pony's life?

"I... don't know where to start..."

"It's the most important event of your life! You should remember it well." He looks at my Pip-Boy. "You're from a Stable, aren't you? Do you have any... I don't know... tests, talent tests?"

Tests... I remember one test I took when I was sixteen. G.O.A.T. At the time, it promised me the fate of the chief engineer of Vault 101. Maybe that would do it.

"Yes, there were... But they all told me in one way or another about the role of Chief Engineer of the V... Stable."

Oh... No... I shouldn't have said that! I have the guard of a Stable legend, not a chief engineer! Though I don't recall ever talking about my role in the Stable... I hope he doesn't notice.

"Really? You wouldn't know it by the looks of it..." he says doubtfully. Fuck... Of course, I don't look like one. I'm more like a mercenary. "Although I read once that all these tests are questionable. It could be a bad mood or something."

Oh, thank you! You've given me the perfect opportunity to get out of this situation.

"Right. I liked to dig into things from time to time, but I wasn't particularly drawn to them," I lie.

In fact, they attracted me the most when I was a kid. There's not much fun in the Vault except baseball, which I'm indifferent to. Before I got an BB gun, I used to take stuff apart with interest. At first it was toys, and then... wall clocks, terminals, and so on.

"Curious... So... how did you get your cutie mark?"

"Well..." I was already finally convinced that a cutie mark had something to do with what a pony had a talent for. It's like a pony is genetically predicted to do just that. "You won't find fun in the Stable. I liked to explore. Climbing ventilation shafts while I could still get in there."

That's true. I was restless. I could only be distracted by books, and my father wouldn't let me read what the Overseer was kind enough to slip to all the residents, to which I am grateful.

"Oh, that sounds exciting! And where did you get to?"

"Into different rooms... Saw things a little colt shouldn't have seen."

The brown colt giggled surreptitiously, covering his mouth with his hoof.

"Yes..." I continue, remembering the room that turned my life upside down and, in fact, determined my future. "Sooner or later I stumbled upon a forbidden and long-forgotten room. Another first leader of my Stable..."

Still, I shouldn't call this position as Overseer, in case it's called differently here.

"...confiscated... taken from the first residents their belongings, which in one way or another have to do with confronting the system, wanting to pursue the truth at all costs, and everything to do with travel. I mean, almost everything. And it was kept in that room. Books... magazines... movies... music... trinkets..."

The essence of the experiment was the dictatorship of the leader. Not so explicit. It was a situation where people had no access to alternative information, but only that which was beneficial to the dictator. The role of the Overseer was made absolute: it was believed that without him everything would be lost, and everyone in the Wasteland would surely die. I understood that Vault-Tec was interested in how long the dictatorship and propaganda could last. As it turned out, a long time. It served another purpose—to preserve the genetic material. The dictatorship was one reason to keep people underground, away from radiation.

"Wow... what a treasure you found!" the brown colt enthuses.

"Exactly. Since then, I used to come to that room all the time and find out a lot of interesting things. It's where my appetite for adventure increased to an unimaginable degree."

"That's how you talk about the room... is that where you got your cutie mark?"

"Yes," I lie.

Though how do you look at it... there I learned more about what I ended up doing all my life. Adventures encouraged me to be curious and explore the world. I learned a lot about persuasion, about locksmithing, about a lot of gambling. The latter I willingly shared with my peers. You couldn't play them with yourself. Now the other kids had more reason to be friends with me! With my first love... who was my friend at the time, I also shared the books she loved.

"I was... so passionate about exploring everything in there that I didn't notice the moment I got my mark. I noticed it a long time later when I was taking a shower. It was only in those moments that I had an excuse to look at my thighs..."

"Wow... You missed the appearance of your cutie mark, even though every foal is waiting for it. They sometimes look at their sides every few hours waiting to see it."

"I... didn't have that desire. It always seemed to me that nothing should constrain your capabilities. Develop the way you want to."

"That's what a cutie mark is for. It helps with that."

I shrug.

"As far as I'm concerned, it indicates what I'm supposed to do. You can be born with a predisposition to mental illness or congenital disease. But that doesn't mean that if I'm born with it, I have to accept it. The same goes for the cutie mark. Fight to the end."

Rusty gets to his hoof and walks over to my side, where my mark is shown. My... talent.

"I wonder... What is this talent you're struggling with?"

I don't know how to interpret the ace of spades and two crossed instruments, so let Rusty tell me. I'll give him a riddle, and then I'll choose the most likely one.

Sounds good, though!

"Maybe you should try to guess it yourself," I say and turn my head.

He rubs his hooves hotly.

"Like pissing a hoof..." he adds.

I feel very strange. It feels somehow... wrong that the little colt has been staring at my ass for several minutes. Uncomfortable with his stare. Wrong it all.

"Complicated mark... Can't you give me a clue?" he asks in a doomed voice.

"Nope," I smirk.

"Please," he begs.

"No."

While he examines side of my buttock, I reflect on the symbolism of the drawing. And then something occurs to me... I have a picture of a spade on my cloak! What a coincidence! Ulysses once told me that I always take risks to please my curiosity, so he had a symbol of gambling drawn on my cape. A true gambler who knows how to assess his risks and analyze the possible outcome.

Risk and gambling... picking locks... understanding of technology... These components help quench my curiosity. Learning what I want to know. I literally have a predisposition... a talent for the unknown. It's a predisposition—I would say an addiction—that's hard to fight.

It sounds crazy, but it's the best interpretation at the moment. Maybe later I'll learn more about how to interpret the cutie mark.

"That's it, I give up."

"Maybe someday you will understand," I say.

We go to bed. I'm on one edge, Rusty on the opposite. He buries himself in the pillows, leaving me the smallest one. I don't mind, though. Let him enjoy it. He's been through a lot and deserves a better life.

This little pony has an interesting talent. Who would have expected an ordinary the Wasteland settler to have a talent for performing.

I stare at the ceiling.

How much talent dies in the Wasteland. They die both at the hands of raiders and in becoming them. How much good could these people do... Or ponies. Ironically, we can't live happily ever after precisely because of ourselves. It's all our own fault. We are responsible for the world we live in.

***

The 9th of the Month of Bread, Orangeday. The eighteenth day of my stay.

I can hardly open my eyes.

What a beautiful room... Where am I?

Oh... That's right. I'm in Tenpony Tower.

My body is heavy and clumsy. From such a long wander, in which I gave my sleeping bag to the foal and slept myself in armor on the ground or concrete floor, it feels so good to lie in an immensely comfortable bed. It is as if I am lounging on a cloud with an incredibly appealing gravity. I am now the prisoner of this bed.

I wrap myself comfortably under the covers and continue to enjoy the sensations.

What a bliss... I don't want to go anywhere. Rusty can find his father's friend on his own...

I get high for about ten minutes. I get up. The rain was pouring outside the window, and a thunderstorm was blowing in the distance. I feel chilly at the thought of the cold, windy weather outside the window. I stare at the mountain of pillows with Rusty buried under them, sniffling. I stretch, yawn sweetly, and... fall back onto the pillow. It's too cozy in this weather.

No. Not now... just... one more hour...

***

I'm starving...

Rusty's still sound asleep. It's like he was up all night thinking about my cutie mark. It's time for him to wake up. We'd already missed breakfast.

"Kid, wake up... You're such a sleepyhead," I say to Rusty. After a while his sleepy face appears. "Even the thunderstorm outside the window didn't wake you up."

Outside the window rumbles like a Anti-Materiel Rifle shot nearby.

"Well, give me five more minutes," there's his irritated reply. "It's raining outside the window, and it's cozy under the pillows," at these words Rusty burrows even harder under the pillows.

Waving my hoof at him annoyed, I get up from the warm bed with a titanic effort and give my muscles a workout.

I am flexibility. I am rubber. Nothing can break me. No one and nothing can ruin my mood. Oh... yeah!

I kick the air behind me with a burst of vigor. I feel great, and if I eat breakfast, this morning will be heavenly!

"I'll get dressed, but don't oversleep, or I'll have breakfast myself in a fancy restaurant..."

The pillows are blown apart like an explosion. Rusty stands at attention. I smile smugly.

That's good.

I pull out the fancy outfit I found yesterday and get dressed in it. I hope I'll be treated more favorably in this style.

On the way to the restaurant, I ask the local residents if they know a pony named Lucky. Everyone answers that they don't know him.

"What on earth is that?" I say, feeling annoyed. "Nobody knows him..."

I bump into someone, a mare's voice cries out painfully. I rub the bruised spot.

A charcoal unicorn with a white mane, with red and yellow streaks present, has "met" me. The eyelashes raised, the well-groomed mane, the gentle and affectionate look... She'd be prettier than Bluerise.

And then... Again, on some subconscious level, I'm evaluating the looks of the local ponies.

"I apologize again," she addresses me in a melodic and unusually sweet voice and smiles affably. "My thoughts were far away from here."

"No wonder such a beauty is in the clouds, as she has to choose which of today's countless suitors to go out with," I smile. The unicorn giggles merrily. "Do you happen to know a pony with the name or nickname of Lucky?"

She sinks into thought, and after a while shakes her head sympathetically.

"No, unfortunately. I don't know."

"Thanks for your consideration," I say.

We part ways. I can't help but stare after her. Her white ponytail with red and yellow streaks sway lazily from side to side. Like a hypnotizing pendulum.

I check my pockets, just in case, to see if my caps are missing. But they're still there. I don't think she's a thief, but I can never be too careful. These encounters used to end with a small bag of caps disappearing from my pockets on occasion. I never found the person who once snatched my caps, but since then I always check my pockets. Pip-Boy makes it a lot easier to find out what's missing.

I haven't had any more encounters in the tower. I keep asking around to the rest of the tower's inhabitants, but no one knows a pony named Lucky, which is extremely strange. Usually the elite part of society knows about each other, or at least has heard of each other. It's not like a thousand ponies live here!

Perhaps he's an attendant... in which case I'm not sure if he'd have a chance to provide for Rusty.

The restaurant is packed to capacity. I have trouble spotting any empty tables. It's a big place, full of at least a hundred people. All of them are talking amongst themselves intensely.

"Are you sure his name is Lucky?" I ask Rusty as soon as we sit down at the round table.

"Dad always called him that. Yeah, and he's only mentioned him a few times in as long as I can remember," he answers and thinks about it. A unicorn waiter with hair as white as snow and a mane as black as a moonless night approaches us. Next to him, a notebook with notes for orders floats in a gray haze.

"What will it be, gentleponies?" he asks kindly, preparing to write down our order.

"Glory and caps," I reply.

He wasn't expecting such a request, as evidenced by his bewildered white face. Rusty holds back a smile.

"Wait. Let we see the menu first," I explain.

Well, as expected—fucked up prices. What else can I expect? No farms nearby, and it'll take forever for food to get here, and not sure the caravans will make it, given the high mutant activity and the falling walls from the two-hundred-year-old ruins. Rusty and I almost got nailed by such a wall once, while we were walking through the ruins of Manehattan.

Not a good place to live.

Around Tenpenny Tower, everything was covered with farms, closely watched by Allistair Tenpenny. With his sniper rifle, he liked to keep an eye on the workers as they humped from morning till dawn. If they slacked off, he fired a warning shot. Ideal conditions: the terrain was clearly visible in all directions, allowing him to spot any threat and warn the others.

So what's in here? What is the attraction of Tenpony Tower? What makes it so special? Perhaps because it's a former Ministry of Arcane Sciences building that holds capabilities or some special resources?

I order myself a roast meat with canned vegetable salad and a bottle of whiskey, and Rusty orders mashed potatoes with thawed carrot sticks and a bottle of chilled Sparkle-Cola.

"Right away," the waiter mutters, taking our order, and withdraws.

"What do you think of the prices?" I ask.

"More expensive than my life..."

I can't help laughing.

"What do you think..." I hear the mare's worried voice behind me. "Will Red Eye take over the East Coast soon?"

"Don't mention him, just his nickname makes me sick," snorts the mare dismissively. "I don't think he's going to make it. He has dozens of assassins and factions after him. He has ruined the lives of many of us by appropriating our business. Sooner or later he'll be finished off. So calm down."

"My profits have dropped a lot in a month," the first mare mumbles I hear in awe. "My farmers are getting fewer and fewer. He's taking everyone into slavery. Soon... I won't be able to pay for living here."

Her companion is silent.

"You're lucky your business is... mobile," the worried pony continues about her farms.

"Well... my mercenaries can switch, too. I find them jobs away from Red Eye territory to reduce the chances of that happening. But... we're all at risk of losing profits. And... isn't even lowering living rates enough for you already?"

"Soon it won't be enough... We'll have to consider maid service."

The owner of the small group of mercenaries laughs nervously.

"Don't get your hopes up..." she adds. "There won't be enough room for everyone... considering there won't be anyone to serve..."

Quite an interesting situation. The Red Eye is a serious threat to all Tenpony Tower residents, since the vast majority have a source of profit far beyond its borders. The productive resources of certain goods are forcibly taken over by this slaveholder with imperial ambitions. Many go to him themselves, or flee to the west, like that guard from New Appleloosa.

At all the neighboring tables there is varying degrees of discussion about the impending Red Eye. I can guess that many secretly want to defect to his side, just to save some profit to live here. However, if the others find out...

Yeah, well... I don't envy them. It's a good thing I know how to survive and don't feel the need for any business or a permanent source of income in this... crisis environment.

Red Eye... How quickly he rose up, if others have not had time to catch up and nip his empire in the bud. Someone's help, someone powerful and influential was needed here. Yes, given the cases, he successfully dodged an assassination attempt. Lucky bastard.

Just like me.

Half an hour later, the black-haired waiter deigned to arrive with our order.

"It hasn't even been a year..." I say aloud and watch as hot, fragrant, fresh and appetizing... small portions are placed on the table.

The waiter apparently sees my puzzled look, like I've been slipped petrified a deathclaw's shit, and shrugs, but then mumbles annoyingly, "Sorry, but we can't afford bigger portions. Those are the rules, given the... crisis. We have to cut back."

"The hell with it," I mutter, losing interest in the subject, and pick up my fork with magic. I'm too hungry! It's time to finish this little bite. Rusty's appetite is not inferior; he nearly eats the plate itself.

"Have a good appetite," the waiter mutters, and begins to walk away, showing his black tail.

The waiter might know who we're looking for. After all, he hears a lot from customers and is more familiar with the staff. I hasten to shout at him.

"Do you happen to know a respected pony named Lucky?"

"Who's asking?" the waiter stops, turning to us with interest. I can see the frozen surprise on the waiter's face. He's obviously familiar with him if he reacted this way. He clearly didn't expect to hear that someone was looking for a pony by that name.

"This lovely boy right here," I nod, pointing to the brown and little earth pony sitting at the table, "needs a home. The only one who knew his parents was Lucky, and the one who knew this pony is already in heaven singing Celestia's praises."

"Who..." the waiter mumbles something to himself as he approaches us. He looks at Rusty, who in turn shrinks from his stare and appraisal. The waiter's eyes widen with an epiphany.

"You," the unicorn waiter begins, turning to the boy, "are you Morning Field's son?"

"Yes..." he replies somewhat surprised and excitedly. It's funny... How many days I've been with Rusty and yet I forgot to ask his father's name. I'm shocked at myself.

I continue to finish my paltry portion.

"I can tell that face looks familiar," the waiter smiles, walking around without giving a specific answer to my question. Then the waiter melancholy continues, "You're a copy of your father, and yes—he used to call me that all the time in the past, when I unexpectedly received a local inheritance from a very distant relative. True, it still wasn't enough to put him here, too, along with you and your mother. So I went my separate ways with him. I never thought I'd... hear from him again. Too bad he's already..."

"And who was your distant relative?" I ask, trying to change a sore subject for Rusty.

"Well... He, like a lot of ponies here, did business, partnered with Tenpony Tower to mine all sorts of useful junk. He died, and because of his workload here he couldn't give birth to a successor. He remembered that he was actively rutting mares when he was young, so he sent out to everyone he could remember, hoping that one of his offspring would survive and take his place."

"And why didn't he turn the business over to someone who was good at it? I mean, one of the entrepreneurs around here."

"He believed that only his blood and flesh could continue the business."

"And did you continue?"

"Oh, yes... Fortunately, like my goofy father, I, too, understood what junk could be used wisely."

"And what happened?"

"Red Eye," the waiter replies sullenly.

"Oh... you don't have to tell me."

He looks sadly at the table we're sitting at.

"Red Eye took over my already not very profitable business a couple of years ago. I had to move into service personnel if I wanted to stay here. Besides, this is where my Ray, my... ray in my life. She wouldn't have survived in the Wasteland."

"You fell in love with a staff pony?"

"Status doesn't bother me," he shrugs. "She knows how to enjoy the little things and have fun... unlike mares of my level. When I had one. They're stiffer than any bicentennial bread—think a lot about business and caps, but don't understand anything about family and feelings. No wonder my father has never been able to find a single mare of interest to him here."

"I don't sense much joy in your voice," I say, noticing his slightly sad tone.

"We never got around to having foals."

"What happened?"

"Infertility. Her."

He sounded like he really wanted a foal. A common occurrence due to the effects of environmental radiation on the reproductive system, not to mention cancers and other problems. With timely anti-radiation medication and treatment, the worst can still be avoided.

"I'm sorry..."

"Thank you." He looks at the subdued foal. "We'd be happy to adopt you with all the rules and laws. It's the least I can do for my best friend..." the face expresses sympathy towards Rusty; he nods appreciatively.

"That's good," I smile. My mission has been successfully accomplished! "What's your real name?"

"Night Snow."

"Expected..." I mutter, staring at his black mane and snow-white fur.

We talk about Rusty almost all the time, about his cutie mark and his prospects as an actor. His new father is proud that the colt has an acting talent.

I learn more about Night's long-standing business of finding needed components or entire technologies and then reselling them to those who had a need for them. For example, to those who provided repair services, manufactured goods, or whatever. Workbenches, machinery and other devices required special parts. They were searched for by specially trained and trained ponies, most of whom were ghouls, since they could pass through radiation barriers or obstacles without consequences to themselves.

Once again I am convinced that this Wasteland exists on the same principles as on Earth. What's more—I've often done such orders myself when in need of caps, but it's almost impossible to compete with the radiation-immune ghouls. I could only hope to be hired for another reason—as a repairman to install the components they extracted where they were needed.

Technology gathering... There were no significant threats from the Steel Rangers to Night's business, but their paths sometimes crossed. Night deliberately avoided anything related to power armor and anything that was a development of the Ministry of Wartime Technology. Such orders cost the most, though, and sometimes Night would take them. For some reason, the local Steel Rangers chapter hasn't been as active for decades. They seem to be looking for something in particular. Serious competitors for Night were those in similar businesses.

Some are in the scouting and mapping business—they trade information, inventory of machinery and technology they see, and resell it to others, since not everything can be hauled away on their backs. The prospectors buy information about the whereabouts of the technology, transport it to the customer. The customer hires a repairman to repair a workbench or some other device.

Of course, this is not the only way to obtain the necessary component. It can be accidentally discovered by a caravan or a free marauder, and in doing so, took it with him, considering it valuable. All activities intersect with each other. And so Tenpony Tower, like Tenpony Tower—where business was intercepted by the ghouls because of my naivety—is the focus of this whole web of economic relations. Not all of Equestria, but so far in the Manehattan area. You can find practically anything here. True, the prices of services and goods are so high that only other entrepreneurs can take advantage of them. Besides, they hardly understand what such technology for moving to other worlds is supposed to look like... I'll have to look for clues and figure out everything about other worlds and moving between them myself.

An uninterrupted flow of services and goods... Yes, everything is exactly like on Earth. The sense of this world's foreignness has eased again. Equestria has become a little closer to me.

"Well," I finally say to Rusty after general conversation; I glance at the clock in the restaurant, for in my Pip-Boy the time goes according to Earth conditions, "good luck to you, my friend. Best wishes to get to the great heights, climb over them and get even higher."

"Thank you so much, Daniel," Rusty mutters, coming up to me and giving me a hug. "You're a good pony. I can see that you do what your heart calls for. And good luck with your wanderings. And I will try to unravel the meaning of your cutie mark. I hope we meet again so I can tell you about it."

I can't hold back an appreciative smile.

***

After the restaurant, I wander around the stores and look around. Because of my outfit, the merchants treat me much more kindly. This time I'm able to look at everything that's on offer, without having to sell unnecessary junk like yesterday... Equestria. Or rather, what's left of it. Ditzy Doo in New Appleloosa had a wide range of goods, but here, as the most important shopping center of the North East Coast, there is ten times more interest in terms of variety.

But the prices were correspondingly higher. There were stores only separately for hats, a store for certain kinds of drinks, for example, wine. The shopping center of the Manehattan district is in all its glory. I wish there were caps for all this beauty. Delightful!

Among all the offered beauty on the counters, many things seem familiar, the other half of them I can only guess at. But I'll bet my black tail that it has something to do with magic, which I don't know a thing about.

Speaking of magic... I need to know more about possibilities.

I go to a bookstore that specializes in magic spells.

And... what an assortment. My eyes run wide open at the countless books lying on the shelves. I take the opportunity to take a closer look at the books while I wait my turn for two unicorns.

The shelves are divided into specialized sections.

One is dedicated to medicine and surgery. There are spell books on treating heart problems. There are those that speed up muscle and skins regeneration like stimpak. Flush out toxins and radiation. Some books temporarily strengthen bone structure, others cure fractures. Pain relief spells. Many spells replicate the effects of medical or narcotic drugs. One gets the impression that any ailment can be cured. But in reality that is not the case... there are very few books on curing genetic or cancerous diseases. Some that can slow down the process, but do not completely cure it. Eh, not even magic can fix everything.

Another section is devoted to subtle manipulations of telekinesis.

There's a section on protective spells like barriers and shields.

Teleportation and moving objects. This section interests me the most. I'm hoping to find something that has to do with moving to far distances or other worlds in general, but I can't find anything like that here. Perhaps the salesmare can help me with that question.

Attack spells like fire and lightning. Sounds good, but I have enough combat implants of my own for now.

Manipulation with voice, music, and singing.

There are spells that allow me to condense moisture from the air like my device.

Quite a few cooking spells... specifically creating the necessary conditions for faster or more profitable cooking.

Generally speaking, spells allow a unicorn to cut corners and bypass conventions in any area of activity. Saving cooking time, healing time, and resources. Sometimes tools may not be necessary if you have magic and the skill to use it.

The list goes on ad infinitum. My head is spinning with possibilities. I wish I could have mastered ninety-nine percent of all spells, no matter what... it takes a genetic predisposition. Like a genetic predisposition to work with calculus, play chess... sports... These spell books are like extensions of human capabilities, that those mentats that improve thought process and perception. Still, there are universal spells that anyone can learn. Telekinesis is innate, for example. Any unicorn can, in fact, learn simple shield and teleportation spells.

But the prices... Big wrench in my ass. They're so freaking stupid. It makes my heart bleed to see the prices. I don't even have these caps!

For access to such spells, I'd probably, as Rusty suggested, agree to work for the Ministry of Arcane Sciences in pre-war times.

The line finally comes to me. Four ponies have already gathered behind me. Now the salesmare takes her time with me.

"Can I help you?" the lavender unicorn with the white mane asks politely.

"I... I'm thrilled with this assortment," I say, staring at the books like the wet bodies of naked women.

She grins and nods.

"Thank you," she adds. "Still, what are we looking for?"

"Well... This is going to sound a strange question, but do you have any more powerful teleportation spells?"

She whistles in surprise.

"The request is... quite extensive." She scratches behind her scruff and sighs heavily. "Stronger than the ones on the shelves I don't have. At least, I've never seen stronger in my life. And why such powerful teleportation spells? It's more economical and profitable to travel by transport than to learn something like that."

"I was just interested in other worlds..."

The mare behind me in line chuckles. The salespony, on the other hand, smiles tactfully.

"We sell spell books, not... fiction."

"I see... got it..."

So moving between worlds is considered something fantastic here in the magical world. Bad. Very bad. The search is going to take longer than I thought. I hope I don't have to spend the rest of my life checking the validity of local legends related to deities or other worlds.

Now it's time to voice my second whim. This time it's simpler. I know these spell books are there, I just haven't had time to get to them yet.

"Then spells related to fixing things."

"There are those, but you need specifics."

Oh, if only I knew...

"Isn't there some sort of collection of simple spells on the subject?"

"Of course there is. Don't get your hopes up for much, though. It all depends on the price. This way," she leads the way. Her white tail looms before my eyes.

My insides chill at the thought of the estimated price. I restrain myself from grabbing my heart—and appearing poor.

"Here's the technical spells section," she points to the shelves of books with an expression as if showing me the picturesque mountain scenery. I'm ready to gasp in delight at the mere titles of the books!

Oh...

Here I am... How I wish I were a thief to steal all these treasures!

Something pushes me delicately to my side. I stare in confusion at the source of the poking action. It is the lavender hoof of the salespony. I can see from her eyes and smug smile that she is reveling in my outrageously enthusiastic reaction.

"I have... no words..." I squeeze out.

"I see," she continues to enjoy. "And here's one of the collections."

I see the price tag, and my smile turns a hundred and eighty degrees.

"Could the collection be a little cheaper?.." I say. But I think I squeaked with embarrassment rather than said anything intelligible.

The salespony is puzzled and then disappointed, but she complies with my request and calmly points to another collection nearby.

Oh-ho-ho-ho... Still a fuckin' lot.

"Lower, please..."

The lavender pony rolls her eyes dolefully, walks over to another book.

At the sight of the price tag, I feel like something bit me in the ass.

"The price still bites... I don't have those caps."

A heavy sigh and the mare's head lowered. Her white mane hides her gaze from me. I gather it reflects nothing but a mixture of irritation and frustration at the poor customer she has to serve.

"And how much in the state are you willing to pay?"

"Well..."

From the amount voiced, she holds back her urge to laugh.

It makes me want to get the hell out of here and not come back without caps. I feel embarrassed.

"There is only one book. But, since you're already interested in the subject, it's not likely to suit you."

"Why's that?"

"It's got basic magic tricks you should know about. It's usually suitable for foals who've barely gotten the cutie mark. I mean, for beginners."

Well, I got my cutie mark eighteen days ago. It's better to keep that quiet, though, or she'll have more questions.

"That's okay. I'm self-taught, so I don't know a lot of the basics. I want to organize my knowledge of it, and basic spells will do."

She nods, but no longer with the same enthusiasm. Sellers are always looking to sell higher-priced goods to get more premiums for themselves. Well, at least I've amused her with my poverty.

Buying this humble and simple spellbook hits me hard. You always have to pay for knowledge. And magical knowledge... it's the most valuable because it brings too much value. The more useful a spell is, the more expensive it is, regardless of its specificity. It's so brazenly profitable, because these spell books are simply copied, and the demand for them always was, is, and will be.

I flip through the book, cuddle it like a cute little puppy, and smile happily.

"My precious..."

***

I'll try to visit DJ Pon3. Maybe I can get an audience with him. After all, I've already got his attention. He made a joke about how Red Eye had a rival in my person, for I wore a helmet with red visors. He's well-informed. Maybe he'll give me some clues as to where to look for some research centers, or tell me some legends about moving between worlds. Perhaps I will even tell him about my origins. I have enough evidence for that.

I am not willing to reveal my alien origins, though. I will attract unnecessary attention—but I may not have any other choice. Maybe he'll give me a radio or something similar that will work for my Pip-Boy. Since radio frequencies work a little differently here, as I understand it.

I take the elevator up to a large marble hallway, in the center of which is a fountain with a statue of a pony. It, in turn, is unusual in that it has a horn and open wings at the same time.

What an interesting statue.

The statue has a necklace with a blue stone glittering on its neck. The hall is flanked by two staircases that lead to the second level, the banister of which bears the elegant inscription: 'Ministry of Arcane Sciences—Manehattan'. Just beyond the fountain are large double doors engraved 'Twilight Sparkle Library'. The library? That's what's needed—if, of course, there are any books left there. Or, at the very least, I have to hope that someone replenished it.

On the second level are the same doors, but labeled 'M.A.S. Emergency Broadcasting Station. Authorized Unicorns Only'. It must be the 'lair' of the famous DJ of the Equestrian Wasteland. I curiously walk over to the fountain to check the water. It's not radioactive. i would expect nothing less in such an exquisite and presentable place.

Behind me, the elevator doors open and two gray unicorns emerge, one with a blue mane and the other with a brown mane. The last one has a Pip-Boy... ugh, what's-its-name... PipBuck.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" the pony with the blue mane asks in amazement.

"I was just carrying pies to my grandmother and got lost, and decided to find the right path, looking for it from the balcony of this tower," I say ironically.

"I understood," the blue-haired pony begins, smiling, "that you're not just a passerby. What do you want here?"

"I'm a mail carrier."

"Really?" the blue-mane pony jokingly marvels, then looks for a moment at the unicorn standing nearby. "I know such simple workers, like toaster repairers..." the mare doesn't finish, as she is poked by the other one in embarrassment.

Toaster repairs... I was once asked by Three Dog on the radio to help him repair a toaster, after which he called me a toaster repairman. Nostalgia...

"Is something wrong?" the blue-mane pony asks, noticing my confusion.

"Just... memories. I need DJ Pon3."

"That's understandable. But do you really think you can get to him easily?"

"Of course. I'm the competitor for Red Eye, whose monopoly on that nickname has been shaken with my arrival."

The gray pony's eyes widen in surprise.

"Оh... Now I remember."

"Exactly. And since the DJ has shown his attention to me, I'd like to talk to him."

"On what subject?"

"Why do you need to know?" I ask.

"It's up to me whether you get to him or not. I'm... something of a secretary."

"You wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Surprise me."

I sigh. I can't avoid it, after all.

"I warned you. You see, I've only been a pony for eighteen days."

Confusion arises on the faces of the two unicorns. They look at each other.

"What are you talking about?" the one with brown-mane and PipBuck asks.

I use my telekinesis and toss them a bottle cap with Nuka-Cola sign I've been saving for such cases. And the necklace with Caesar's image on it, to see if they react to it.

The brown-haired unicorn deftly catches the thrown objects.

"What do you see?" I ask.

Their bewilderment grows even greater. Judging by the reaction, they have nothing to answer.

"I can tell," the blue-haired one begins, "that you are from a very distant land."

"Yes, very," I nod. "You see... I'm from a completely different world. And I want to find a way back."

Chapter 5 - Answers

View Online

Both unicorns stare at me in a stupor. They blink in surprise, as if Princess Celestia had suddenly appeared in front of them and yelled at them and told them to fuck off and disappeared.

"You know..." the blue-haired one is the first to regain her power of speech, "when you said that I wouldn't believe you, I was expecting to hear something else."

"Like what?"

"Well... that you're Red Eye's brother, who wants revenge on him. And has come to ask DJ for help."

I can't help but chuckle. That would be an interesting story.

"Sounds really crazy," I add.

"An alien from another world. Sounds just as crazy," the brown-haired one reminds me. The blue-haired one nods and smiles.

"Are you sure you're all right in the head?"

"Well... I got shot in the head once. That's why I can't answer your question."

The blue-haired unicorn laughs.

"Stop fooling around. Yes, you have a strange cap and necklace depicting a creature unknown to me. But... It's a big world. Tartarus has been teeming with horrible and strange creatures since before the war. So none of this is a guarantee of your words."

As expected.

"Then... how can I change your two minds?"

"Good question..." she sinks into thought. After a few seconds, she shrugs. "I have no idea. It's the kind of thing I haven't thought about. Let's assume that you really are from another world. Let's start by settling the formalities. My name is Homage. And this toaster repairpony's name is Littlepip."

"Daniel Evans. Nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand if I could."

"Shake what?"

"I wasn't a pony, I was a bipedal creature. Two legs and two arms. Imagine... that ponies walk on two legs, and five small spurs appeared on their free front legs, like dry sausages. They bend and unbend... It's all for easy grasping."

Littlepip crinkles like she's swallowed a lemon. She didn't like what she imaged. Homage is amused by the image presented.

"I can only assume it looks like the paw of a griffon or a Hellhound."

"I haven't seen them, so I don't know. Only Ditzy Doo's doodles in Wasteland Survival Guide."

"Anyway... what's the question you came to see DJ about?"

"Given my background, I have a ton of questions. About Equestria, the Great War, and what's going on in the Wasteland right now. Like who's on the pedestal, who's under it, who are the victims, who are the pawns, that sort of thing. Well, and tell me where to start my search so I can get home."

"DJ isn't the walking encyclopedia of the Equestrian Wasteland."

"Yes, he's a busy personality seeking the truth, and therefore still knowledgeable and even erudite... Can I get his attention?"

"Still secretive. All conversations with him go through me."

"Does sex with his groupies go through you, too?"

Homage openly chuckles, and the gray unicorn with a PipBuck stands bewildered and dismissive of me. She has a strange reaction... as if she doesn't like vulgarity. Or maybe it's something else.

"Definitely," she plays along with me. "Mares are just my type."

I sigh annoyed, "Too bad. I'm just the stallion type... I'd like to give him a passionate hello through you."

"Sounds contradictory if you're not bisexual," she giggles. I don't hold back and giggle following her.

She has a good sense of humor! She's an interesting person. Too bad about the mares... if that's true. In any case, talking to her now is already a pleasure.

"The DJ's not here right now anyway, so we'll continue the conversation in his studio."

"I wanted to talk to him in person. It's sad... but it can't be helped. Lead on."

***

A spacious room that is littered with sound and recording equipment: microphones, terminals, speakers, tape reels, sound recorders, vinyl records, and so on. One wall is dotted with screens depicting various parts of the Wasteland in real time. The landscape and climate is different everywhere. So the cameras are spaced far apart.

"Impressive," I say, sitting humanly on a couch. My hind legs are spread and dangling down, my front legs are spread apart and on the back. This position is terribly uncomfortable in a pony's body—I change it. I sit with my croup on the cushion of the dark red sofa, which doesn't match the color of my navy blue outfit at all.

"Why did you want to sit any other way?" Littlepip asks me. The second unicorn went to the kitchen for sweets and chamomile tea.

"I used to like to sprawl out on the couch like that sometimes. It's easier in a human body."

"Again... it's hard to believe a story like that."

"And I don't need to. I'm here for answers. A DJ with this kind of equipment," I nod toward the screens, "has to know a lot of things."

"And you think," Homage appears with a tray in his telekinetic grip, "he'll think you're worth his attention? All-encompassing questions like that take a long time to fully answer."

She sets out newly baked sweets and soft drinks on the table. Instead of Nuka-Cola, her carrot version is Sparkle-Cola, which I don't particularly like. I take chamomile tea and muffin.

I liked the Ditzy Doo muffins. I hope these turn out to taste good too.

I take a bite, taste it, and drink the chamomile tea. It's not bad, it's okay to eat.

"I'm not talking to him, anyway. Why are you both paying attention to me?"

"I'll be interested to hear what you make up about the other world. After all, that's something you don't see very often. Maybe you have a rich imagination and the potential to be a good storyteller," she says and laughs.

I thoughtfully swallow another mixture of muffin and chamomile tea. What can I tell her that will make her believe me... My gaze wanders aimlessly over all the sound equipment that's here. Microphones, recording reels, cameras... Cameras. Right. They should keep the recordings long enough given the sheer number of 'coffins' designed for them.

"What about the cameras?"

"What about them?" Homage asks. Littlepip, I understand, prefers to remain silent. She's watching our conversation and enjoying the sweets with warm milk.

"Why not check them out and make sure I showed up in one place out of nowhere."

"Even if I don't see you there, it won't prove that you moved here from another world. Yes, those cameras can be rotated in different directions, but even with their wide view, I only have... about five percent of the view of the whole of Equestria."

"I see..."

"I could go to the ponies that live in this Tower, check your memories and see if what you say is true. It would be easier that way..."

Uh-oh! In this world, it's possible to view other people's memories? That's... wow... how many possibilities! Judging others for their transgressions and checking them for the truth is so much easier! And... that's a great idea! What a time-saver. I won't have to explain myself in front of two unicorns.

I enthusiastically walk over to the surprised blue-haired 'secretary' of the DJ.

"So, what are we waiting for? Let's go..." I say, putting the half-drunk chamomile tea and the half-eaten muffin on the table. I'm on my way out of the studio when the unicorn calls out to me.

"This is going to take too long, though," she says with amazement. Apparently, she didn't expect me to agree so quickly, and also with such an initiative.

Wait... Was she bluffing? Did she mean what she said about being able to look through other people's memories? I chose not to say anything about it, and turned to the unicorn in confusion.

"From the way you reacted..." she looks shocked. "I thought you'd start looking for an excuse to dodge seeing your memories... It turns out you really..."

Littlepip looks no less shocked. She may not have known about her friend's ruse, but my reaction also convinced her of the truth of my situation of my background.

"I wouldn't believe it, either, if I were you," I say, returning to the couch and the chamomile tea sweets. "So... what do you want to ask me? What are you curious about my world?"

***

Brief descriptions about humanity, the world order, physics, and the lack of magic. This is what I have told her for twenty minutes to understand the differences in the structure of our worlds. They listen attentively, but I can see from their faces that they remember almost nothing. It was as if they were being told a long, dry exposition from some second-rate book with a fictional universe.

"Our post-war worlds are similar in terms of interactions," I continue. "Everything I learned in New Appleloosa, from the posters, from Wasteland Survival Guide, from the talks of the Tenpony Tower... It all resembles my world—with a few differences I mentioned earlier. Humans were the only intelligent race of living beings, and there was no magic as such. Except in books... and even there it existed by different rules."

"Wow... I still can't think that I believe in all this and that I'm really communicating with a representative from another world. How did you get here?" Hot curiosity bubbles up inside Homage like water from a burst pipe.

I recount to her the events in the cave, from the strange sensation to the unusual glowing orb.

"I've never heard of anything like that," Homage mutters. "Have you?" she turns to Littlepip. She shakes her head negatively in response.

"I haven't been here long myself."

"Ah... right..." the DJ's secretary says. I reappear as a major source of interest to her gaze. "Tell me... what was it like when you became a pony?"

"It was... At first I thought I had undergone a mutation never before seen because of that bizarre sphere. The feeling... my body felt like it wasn't mine. Imagine trying on new clothes. Your skin feels uncomfortable. And a similar discomfort felt all over your body."

"You've been in this body for eighteen days. Used to it, I suppose?"

"To a certain degree. I can move around without a problem, but as for reflexive actions... Grasping with my hand, stroking, groping... I'm still getting used to telekinesis."

"So you started controlling telekinesis right away?" Littlepip asks.

"No... I didn't even know it existed. Crane helped me with it."

"Ah..." the smaller unicorn smiles. "He... He taught me something, too. With your... request with magic, you didn't arouse his suspicion?"

"No. I said I slipped and bumped my horn painfully while singing in the shower," I say. Homage bursts into laughter.

"I can imagine that picture," she adds. Littlepip chuckles lowly. "What did you tell him next?"

"And, not to make matters worse with potential trauma, I wanted to look around before I used magic. Start with the most basic manipulation, the basics of magic."

Littlepip nods commendably.

"Not bad... I'd believe it."

"Thank you."

"And one more question... About your body. Did you already have a cutie mark when you turned into a pony?"

"I guess. I noticed it a few days later when I got a chance to see my... butt."

She presses her lips together grudgingly.

"Uh..." she exhales irritably. "Envy!"

"Why is that?"

"To get a cutie mark just like that! With no effort at all! It's every foal's dream."

Rusty's squeaking and jumping for joy appears in my head.

"I see..." I say. "One colt already explained to me what's what when he got the cutie mark himself."

"What colt?" Homage asks, remembering that she has a voice.

"Rusty... He, by the way, has a flair for guitar playing and theatrical performances."

"Wow! Rare these days."

"Right. So it would be cool if you could contribute his talents."

"Absolutely. Who did you leave him with?"

"His new adoptive father. Night Snow."

"Good. I'll keep that in mind. As for your case..."

"Yes," Littlepip joins in. "Turning into a pony... the appearance of the cutie mark. That doesn't sound like an accident."

"Definitely not an accident," Homage continues. "On its own in our world, one non-species doesn't turn into another. Hay... You can't even do it intentionally. The magic is too complex for ordinary unicorns. Do you understand that?"

"I guess. I've been to the store with the spell books. And I don't recall anything in there having anything to do with transformation or even imitation."

"Exactly. There are only myths about it. A species can be enhanced or modified, as the Goddess does with the Alicorns, but to transform into another species, and yet so precisely and thoroughly... I think it was even beyond the capabilities of Princess Celestia and Luna."

"Then who?"

"Find someone to ask," the blue-haired pony snorts mockingly. "It's been said that Discord has been dabbling in something like this for over a thousand years for his own amusement, but the effects of such changes are temporary."

"Well... what about before opening portals to another world? Was he capable of that?"

"I have no idea," she shrugs. "I haven't studied that much history about him. It's entirely possible that it's all fiction. He's more of a myth than a real historical figure. Personality... Strong word. More like a chaotic and unpredictable being. Yes, exactly."

"Then... what should I do? Where do I look for information?"

"I can say with certainty that I know of no such thing."

"This is the pre-war center of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences," I say, circling the sound equipment room with my front hoof. I sense a growing unease. "There's got to be something in here..."

"Sorry. I can't help it. There really isn't what you're looking for. Besides, this is only one of the many centers of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences. Try your luck at the other centers..."

"I'll spend a lot of time on this," I mutter.

Fucking easy. I'll have to look around all the centers to find information about portals to other worlds. Not only is it my understanding that this kind of research wasn't common in pre-war times, but it's not even certain that in two hundred years it has survived.

"Well, you can at least start somewhere... Oh, I remember. Princess Luna, during her reign, set up her own centers for better communication between Ministries."

"For what?"

"Since their creation, they've been less and less willing to cooperate with each other. Almost no sharing of developments, more and more competition. Corporations. Luna thus tried to improve coordination between them and with the smaller corporations. For example, to effectively introduce new technology, or to join forces if two research departments from different Ministries or some corporations are doing the same experiments."

"Interesting way," I say. "But... there has to be a level of secrecy there, too. Security and all that, so that the developments won't be known to the enemies of pre-war Equestria."

"Rest assured, the security there is impressive. Even a dragon can't handle it."

"And you want me to try to break into a place like that. You want me dead?"

"Well... don't be so dramatic," Homage smiles. "In two hundred years, most protective systems without the supervision of proper personnel should have degraded, shut down, or malfunctioned."

"What if there's an automatic repair system that involves robots?"

"They are not omnipotent, and their algorithms and behavior programs have needed updating for two hundred years. Delays in response, targeting errors, and so on."

"Who knows... this magical world is new to me, and I don't know its limitations. What I do know so far is that my transformation into a pony is defined as mystical—because no one else can pull off something like that."

"We're out of sweets," Littlepip pronounces. Her comment was so out of place that Homage and I look at her simultaneously in mild surprise. "What?" she asks. "I know about pre-war history. I'm not interested."

"Oh, well." Homage gets up and heads to the kitchen. "I'll get some more."

"And I thought our conversation had come to an end," I say.

"Nah, you're not getting out of here that easy. I want to know your Way in the Wasteland."

I collapse dolefully on the back of the couch.

"What makes you think it would be interesting?" I throw after her tiredly.

"No idea." She's out of sight, only her voice coming through. "It just feels that way."

***

One of the many screens that broadcast images from the surveillance cameras shows caravans constantly passing by: some carriages and wagons pulled by brahmins, others by ponies; others, less frequently seen, by cars and other vehicles on their own wheels.

Definitely the vicinity of Baltimare is near one of the caravan routes.

The other camera is somewhere near a railroad track that runs deep into the bare and desolate plain. A massive sandstorm can be seen in the distance.

The Great Deserts—with huge underworld creatures. I wonder if I'll get to see them on the cameras.

Littlepip sits quietly in silence, apparently watching me stare into the screens and hope to see something fascinating. What a handy thing it is, after all. Watching what's going on in the Wasteland from a safe place. Watching... Watcher. He has a similar reconnaissance... resource.

Does DJ know about Watcher? If so, is there some kind of competition or hostility between them?

Unicorn's hoofsteps come in.

"Your DJ is cheating," I tell her, just as she sets down the tray with another serving of candy and milk. Of course, I immediately take them to sample. There's no telling when I'll get a chance to try the newly baked sweets. Besides, sugar helps restore unicorn magic.

"I beg your pardon?"

I give my apple pie a good chew and wash it down with my tea.

"Well, in my world, one DJ, Three Dog, like your DJ, doesn't have that kind of network of surveillance cameras. He is, as he told me, 'listening.' In other words, settles for rumors, which, oddly enough, were relatively true, but often vague and ambiguous."

"So Pon3 is cooler than that Three Dog," Homage smiles. "Wait. Such a Pon3? Now that's even more interesting."

"Yeah. He owns the," I prepare to say with as much pride and solemnity as Three Dog himself would say, "Galaxy News Radio!"

"Funny name," Littlepip chuckles, covering his mouth with his hoof.

Oh... How pleasant and fun those meetings were. It was a pleasure to chat, joke, and have fun with him.

"Based on your smile," Homage says, "you made good friends with your DJ."

"You bet. I turned to him often for information, as many prospectors and mercenaries do. Information in exchange for information. Does Pon3 often get approached about it?"

"Only in exceptional cases. Otherwise, there are quite a few specialists in the Tenponн Tower itself for that purpose."

"I'm looking at these screens here and realizing that there are cameras scattered all over the Equestrian Wasteland. How does DJ manage such a staggering flood of information?"

"He's not working alone. There are two dozen other radio hosts in different parts of the Wasteland. Some even compete with each other for an audience and argue if they work in the same area. Most of them are around Baltimare."

"I've already heard that it's the main mall in the Wasteland. So how does Pon3 work with them? What format does it take?"

"He doesn't interfere in their business. At times he helps resolve controversial points. Conflicting information, unreliable source, and so on," Homage says, making a circular motion with his front foot.

I set the empty cup on the table. With satiety, I lazily stroke my belly under my blue outfit.

So much sweetness at once... I wish nothing would stick together down there.

"Well," I look up at Littlepip. "What about you?"

"What do you mean?"

"What our blue-haired secretary does, I already figured out. Helps DJ in his business. Trades information, in general, and screens out any rabble that wants an audience. What do you do?"

The unicorn with PipBuck are stumped by this question. I can tell by the pensive and confused look on her face that she can't formulate a coherent answer. Homage instead gives the most succinct answer I've ever heard, "Being a hero." She turns to the heroine with an intoxicated pleasure.

Everything falls into place. A resident of an underground bunker, recently on the surface, wearing PipBuck... is famous for something and... in a committed relationship with a DJ... or his secretary. The Equestrian world is similar to mine in everything. Even my story, I see, already has a local equivalent.

The famous resident of the underground bunker.

As Littlepip burned with embarrassment and irritation, I tried to come to my senses from another bout of shock.

I'm beginning to see the young pony with the brown mane differently. Still, it's hard to believe she could have done Old Appleloosa, a favorite place for bandits and slave-traders.

"It's funny how such a little thing can be a walking problem. "

"You can't imagine what kind," Homage chuckles. "She managed to kill an adult dragon!"

That's an interesting nickname for a stern and deadly mercenary. Was he using some kind of special flamethrower? Or was he a unicorn that could create streams of flame with his magical powers alone?

Littlepip burns with embarrassment. Homage stares at me, never taking her eyes off me. Is she studying my reaction?

One second of silence.

Another second.

Third...

Wasteland Survival Guide: 'They live on Lava Island and in the north of the neighboring continent. Dangerous, huge as a multi-story house, and greedy for gems. They breathe fire like a spit. Though they live far away, a few individuals may be hiding here. If you happen to encounter them... I recommend you do nothing but run and pray!'

I blink in surprise.

Don't tell me that.

I can't believe this little thing could...

It's like Littlepip is turning into a powerful source of gravitational pull. I stare at her with the feeling that my eyes are about to pop out of their sockets. Straight into that little gray pony.

Homage revels and enjoys my reaction as much as I revel in selected and quality whiskey.

"Daniel," she giggles, "it's impolite to stare with your mouth open at a young and innocent mare."

Innocent?!

I close my eyes. I take a deep breath. I think hard about what I've heard.

The DJ's secretary is clearly joking. It can't be true... or can it?

There's no point in asking about it. She's not likely to tell the truth. However, judging by the heroine's confused reaction... she has indeed somehow killed one of the deadliest creatures on the planet.

"I understand..."

"What do you understand?"

"That this world is fucking crazy... since the little mare defeated the dragon."

Homage chuckles.

"Such are the heroes here," she adds. "True, she outdid the other heroes. But there were those who showed a different kind of heroism. For example, Surgeon and Professor, who lived in the Wasteland more than twenty years ago. Surgeon went around the settlements, wasting his time and helping the doctors improve their skills. Thanks to him, there are many good doctors in the Wasteland this side of the Great Deserts. Then he started looking for someone and... and he vanished into thin air. The second famous one studied the diversity of flora and the behavior of fauna from a scientific point of view. He looked for mutant weaknesses and new uses, like making potions from mutant plants. His knowledge improved the survivability of wastelanders, and then he too disappeared... rumor has it that he went to the next continent, to the zebras."

I am distracted and ponder.

This is what the local 'heroes' are capable of...

"They used to call me a hero, too," I mutter with bitter nostalgia.

"Called?" Littlepip says. That seems to interest her a lot. "So what happened?"

"I was young and too naive," I mutter, lowering my gaze to my hoof. "Tried to help everyone... Sometimes I helped the wrong people, and others took advantage of me. Destiny gave me slap after slap, and the rose-colored glasses fell off."

Everyone is silent. No one knows what to answer, and I don't feel like going on. But Littlepip wants to know more about my past.

Why should I tell her about it? What's the point? There's absolutely nothing good about my past.

"If you," Homage breaks the silence, "don't want to talk about it, you don't have to."

Littlepip can't easily agree with what she says. For some reason, she wants to know.

Maybe... she should tell after all? She's just beginning her journey and maybe if she hears my story, she'll grow up faster and avoid future mistakes?

"Well... all right."

***

I don't go into the details of my childhood. It is enough for them to know that I had every chance of becoming the chief engineer of my Vault, and that life itself in the underground bunker was good.

I didn't have any particularly close friends, but I was fabulously lucky to have a sweetheart.

A loving and caring father.

A desire to improve the lives of others.

Safety, comfort, and food.

Everything was perfect... except for that pesky Butch. One day my father ran away and thereby put me in disfavor with the Overseer. I had to run away, and Brisa, the closest and dearest person to me, could not let me leave on my own. We were eighteen years old... very young.

Littlepip reacts strangely when I mention my Overseer as him. Her left eye twitches faintly.

Mastering the rules of life in the Wasteland and searching for my father in Megaton. The risky disarming of a nuclear bomb. A fascinating encounter with Moira Brown.

Unicorns is surprised that an analog of Wasteland Survival Guide appeared two hundred years after the apocalypse. And that I had a hoof in the writing of said book.

Exploring the ruins of Washington, DC. Meeting the Brotherhood of Steel and Three Dog.

Homage cheerfully notes the similarities between the DJs, as well as my successful persuasion of Three Dog, "Apparently he's not that good if he succumbed so easily to your charms. I'm glad you ended up helping him repair the relay."

A vacation in Rivet City, the truth about my father, Project Purity... and the site visit itself.

"Your parents have a noble goal," Littlepip says. "A clear and definite one that greatly improves life in the Wasteland. I envy it."

The search for my father led me to Vault 112, a computer simulation and the creator of the GECK.

"Your father is alive and well..." Homage says in puzzlement. "I still don't understand what was so... fracturing."

"Listen further... The long recovery of Project Purity has begun."

"How long?"

"It dragged on for two months."

"Wow..."

"What's so surprising about that? Some of the equipment had fallen into disrepair after eighteen years unattended, and other parts of it had been stripped by looters and other free explorers."

"And you spent two months restoring everything? What about the equipment that was in Rivet City?" Homage asks.

"The city needed it, not to mention the fact that it had previously generously provided some of it when the project was first conceived. We had to collect the covers ourselves to buy them from vendors. Some of the equipment had to be found in the Wasteland."

"Tough assignment, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I've been in all sorts of situations while searching, seen all sorts of people. Even been chained into slavery. I'm good with technology, that's why people like me are highly valued... But even these are temporary difficulties. Brisa found a way to get me out."

"So... what happened?"

"The consequences of my help during that period came later. I was especially diligent in helping others, wanting to make life easier with my skills. Meeting my father and working for a good cause encouraged me and... blinded me. Keep that in mind."

The appearance of the Enclave, the death of my father, and the escape.

"I never thought," Homage says, "that you'd have the Enclave reveal itself to the world after all. And not with such good intentions. I'm... sorry your father's dead."

"Thank you... Father died on his own terms and bought us time to escape. Tough time... And then, after finding out some of the circumstances, I began to see his death differently. It still gnaws at me to this day."

"What did you find out?"

There is a feeling of weakness in my body. My mouth is dry, the bitterness makes my heart clench into a lump. It's hard to remember.

"All in good time..."

A close connection with the Brotherhood of Steel, the search for the last component to complete the project... GECK.

"A device..." thr DJ's secretary says thoughtfully, "that can turn a lifeless wasteland into a blooming paradise... And you say you have no magic."

"Sounds fantastic, I agree. However, only a small piece of land was becoming completely clean of radiation exposure. So... it's a great achievement, but not as revolutionary as it might seem."

Journey to Little Lamplight, Vault 87, meeting Fawkes, getting the GECK, and being captured by the Enclave.

"If it wasn't for the help of President Eden, you wouldn't have gotten out of there alive," Homage observes.

"That's right. The split within their organization was a tangible help... It was there that I discovered the circumstance that made me look at my father's death differently. The Enclave on the East Coast had operated secretly for two hundred years. They had knowledge. They knew many state secrets, developments and locations of resource bunkers... They didn't have the men and soldiers to take advantage of it on their own. They resorted to using the people of the Wasteland. They were secretly recruited... resources in exchange for information. From it, they could quickly identify a growing threat, and nip it in the bud."

"Are you telling me that... they were watching everything that was going on?" Homage gasps.

Watcher might be one of them in these Wasteland.

"And not just watching, but setting up conflicts that are profitable to them. They would be uncomfortable, to say the least, if the East Coast united. They were... maintained the balance of the conflicting parties. Their main pet peeves were the mercenaries of the Talon Company and the Regulators. Thanks to this... covert organization, as well as the sudden appearance of the Brotherhood of Steel in the region, they were able to suppress an invasion of super mutants from Vault 87."

"Wow... For once, the people of the Wasteland come together in the face of a common threat. What's changed?"

"The surviving members of the Enclave from the West Coast came in. Raven Rock has become the main center of the Anclave's activities. A new president, an AI who had previously simply directed operations and spread propaganda that the Enclave would soon restore order, peace, and prosperity. A new conflict was brewing... with the Brotherhood of Steel. As you remember, Elder Lyons reformed his chapter and began enrolling commoners from the Wasteland. It couldn't have been a better gift for the Enclave. And the Brotherhood of Steel was swarming with Enclave spies. They leaked information about all operations and waited for their chance. A split within the Enclave itself prevented their staggering strike in time."

"What served to cause the split? The Enclave group from the east and the surviving group from the west disagreed?"

"Bull's-eye. The west coast people wanted to finish what they started and wipe out all the mutated life on the surface with a virus. Start all over again."

"Destroy everything?!" both unicorns are horrified at the same time.

"Yes, but they were thwarted there. And Eden—the AI—didn't want the radical destruction of all humans, his spies, his people were everywhere. That's not why he was spreading propaganda about restoring order and peace and prosperity. He... intended to control people completely—not without the help of propaganda, of course. To make them, in effect, a cheap labor force to rebuild the country. Pretty much what Red Eye is doing now. A small number of genetically pure people will control the 'unclean'. A new division in society. Brave new world... Roughly speaking, the question in the Enclave was about the common people of the Wasteland: destruction or enslavement."

"What a nightmare..." the unicorns look shocked. "Was your surviving government capable of such a thing?"

I nod sullenly.

"To wipe out everyone and everything, it was necessary to find a way to effectively spread the virus. Anyway... all this controversy put their plans on hold... and that's where I come in."

The unpleasant dryness in my mouth returns, and a bitter lump rises to my throat.

"When I was rebuilding Project Purity with my father. because of my desire to help everyone... helped the spies of the Enclave as well. I later learned that some of the people I had saved had denounced the Enclave. Naturally, my actions brought attention to myself. And Three Dog had been gossiping about me and... the Enclave began to follow me. That's how they found out about Project Purity. That's how I... brought death upon my father."

"Oh..."

"If I was just looking for parts and necessary equipment, and didn't interfere with their business..."

"Daniel... even after the project was completed, they'd still know about it," Homage says.

"But the circumstances would probably have been different. My father might have survived."

I feel shivers and weakness all over my body.

"If I'd... been more careful, not so trusting and attentive... It's hard to know who's who in life. By my own actions I have also unknowingly helped murderers, maniacs, slave traders, and..."

I am silent. I am torn with conflicting emotions. I regret my actions... and I want to beat the faces of those I helped. Among them, Roy Phillips, the ghoul, emerges most vividly.

"What about your love?"

"When I found out about everything, she wasn't alive anymore."

I raise my front hooves. They are trembling.

My hands are bloody... Behind them I can see a body with brown hair. It's hard to breathe, I feel like I'm suffocating. Everything around me is cloudy with tears.

Confusion prompts chaos in my head. Cold terror paralyzes my body.

Homage touches me gently. I lower my hooves and stare at her with tears in my eyes.

She encloses me in a tight hug.

Little by little I feel better. Thinking is easier. I feel warmth and the resulting lightness. Control of my body is returning.

"Thank you..." I say.

The hug... so helpful. I don't feel so alone in them.

"I just... Didn't expect. I didn't expect things to come at me like this."

"I understand," Homage says. "You remembered too many painful events at once. That's why you couldn't take it. I didn't realize there was so much sadness and pain behind such a cheerful nature."

"I try not to think about it. And I've learned to do it. Now you see why I didn't want to talk about my past."

Littlepip looks worried and frightened. Given what has been said, it's not hard to guess what she's afraid of.

"As you can see... since then, I've lost my desire to help anyone and everyone. Up to a certain point, I tried to avoid acts of help."

"You know," Homage begins, returning to her seat, "you're too fixated on the bad stuff. I'm sure you've really made life easier for a lot of decent ponies... I mean, people. After all, not all apples on the apple tree are stale."

Her words make sense. Of my actions in the Capital Wasteland, I most often thought about mistakes. There were definitely some good moments, only I don't remember them well. Perhaps if I dig into my Pip-Boy records, I'll find mentions of deeds that actually brought good things to people.

"And then it was simpler than that. The colonel of the Enclave wanted to initiate the self-destruction of Eden and relocate the personnel loyal to him elsewhere in the event of failure. I took advantage of that, prudently saving all their data, and fled. Before taking action against the Enclave in Project Purity, we purged the ranks of the Brotherhood of Steel of their spies. And then we developed a plan to take over... with the help of a giant robot."

"Was it successful?"

"Yes... only at the time I felt like I couldn't live."

"Why?"

"It was urgent to activate the purification plant filled with radiation because of the sabotage, otherwise there would have been a big explosion and many people would have died. There was no time to delay, so I stepped towards my death. Brisa was still alive at that point. I didn't want to leave her, but someone had to activate her."

"You... sacrificed yourself?" Homage marvels. There was a sense of admiration for what I had done in her amazement.

"Yes... Once my father sacrificed everything for me alone, now it was my turn to return the favor. But I... luckily I survived, though I was in a coma for two weeks. And the Purifier, after almost nine years, should be working just fine."

I helped the Brotherhood of Steel strengthen their position and finish off the Enclave. After the deaths of others close to me and figuring out the consequences of my actions I was lost. And just wandered from place to place. About my trip to the Pitt, Point Lookout, and my forced assistance to the Outcasts with their virtual simulation... I don't tell the unicorns. The conversation drags on as it is.

I tell them that I went to the West Coast with a group of Outcasts that broke away from the Brotherhood of Steel after setting new goals to save the common people. I... wanted to get as far away from my failures as possible. For years I wandered there... Trying to sort myself out, staying out of other people's business... except for the fact that I had to look for a job.

Things turned around again when I got shot in the head and buried in a grave.

"How on Equus did you survive?" Homage looks shocked.

"I'm just a resilient and lucky son of a bitch. I was saved by a robot... as it later turned out, it belonged to my customer."

"And what did you do when you woke up?"

"I tried to catch up with my killer... and remember my past."

"Remember your past?" the blue-haired pony is wondering.

"I temporarily lost my memory," I say and raise the Pip-Boy. "My notes have helped me gradually regain my past. And since I had forgotten my policy of non-interference, I repeatedly stepped on the same rake... even went after some very dangerous criminals. Became... a bounty hunter."

The look on their faces didn't make them happy. Oh, and for the covers, too.

"Well... I thought I could make the world a cleaner place. The caps were a nice bonus to existence. But eventually I found out that after one scoundrel is killed, another one takes his place, and often even worse. So I quit. But I'm getting ahead of myself..."

Tracking down and killing Benny with his own weapon, New Vegas, the conflict between the New California Republic and Caesar's Legion...

Unicorns find the mere mention of Caesar unpleasant. Of course: that was the title of the zebra leader in this world before the war.

Of the highlights, I mention the events in the Divide and meeting Ulysses. It was this circumstance that again forced me to accept the principle of non-interference, but by this point I had gone too far in Mojave politics. I simply could not give up: I helped the Boomers, made peace between the chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel and the NCR, resolved the issue of the Great Khans' self-identification, stopped the new wave of cannibalism in the White Glove, prevented the Omertas plot to seize the Strip... and a lot of other little things.

"Oh... The mere delivery of a parcel has caused so many deaths..." Homage mutters in shock. "The deaths of those you yourself once attracted to the Divide."

"Yes... They tried to escape the taxes and rules of the NCR, but in time the Bear annexed their new place. Ulysses was impressed with the new nation there, which I started... by accident. I didn't mind helping a group of people start a new life away from the NCR... but it didn't work out the way I wanted it to. The Bear and the Bull had a local conflict... the moment I delivered the package and activated the warheads."

"How did you not know about that?"

"They didn't activate right away. And because of the conflict between the NCR and Caesar's Legion, I didn't want to go back there. I put the horror that happened down to the result of their war among themselves. I was too shocked when I found out... that it was all my fault. Ulysses reproached me for my ignorance."

"It surprises me that you resolved the matter peacefully between you two."

"Ulysses was constantly reflecting on the subject of symbols, their interpretation. He saw them as something more... a symbol of unity, a symbol... something intangible. I think he would have been happy to puzzle over your cutie marks."

Telling about what happened in the Divide isn't easy for me. I try to soften it with jokes. Thankfully, Homage understands that and encourages me.

I say, "You see, Littlepip... even if you take on a delivery of something, make sure there's nothing in it that could lead to disaster. Be careful what you do... and for whom. "

She nods absently.

I hope my mistakes teach her something.

I tell her how the conflict over the Hoover Dam ended and whose side I took.

Mr. House was overconfident, made... illogical missteps—for example, trusting Omertas, whose main activity was once to deceive and betray.

The New California Republic is imperialistic, unable to manage resources efficiently. It is riddled with corruption and populism. Let them learn to keep order in their own territories.

Caesar's Legion... not only because of slavery and misogyny, but also because of technophobia and refusal to accept knowledge to improve society. While I must admit that they survived effectively, their hunger for violence would get them nowhere in the long run.

I have given New Vegas and its environs freedom. Yes Man and the robots kept order on the roads, and each city lived largely by its own rules, which did not prevent them from cooperating with each other.

Why exactly artificial intelligence? History has shown that humans are too cruel and easily led by their emotions. AI is less susceptible to self-interest... like Eden in the Enclave. Artificial intelligence is generally better stewards of resources than living beings. Humans have already fucked up their world. I don't want to trust them when there's artificial intelligence.

"It's a strange choice..." Homage says. "I'd still give the New California Republic a chance."

"I second that," Littlepip nods. "I don't trust artificial intelligence."

"It all depends on how their program is properly designed and on what kind of hardware it's on. Lucky 38 had advanced computer and information technology. In more than a year, Yes Man has proven itself capable of effectively solving problems in eliminating the riot and chaos that arose after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam began. He's done quite well, avoided excessive bloodshed, and the NCR began to change after the loss. The loss sobered them up. But in the lands of Caesar's Legion, it's been a mess."

"Which is to be expected. Oh..." the DJ's secretary exhales. "The world does indeed resemble ours... in historical terms. Though there hasn't been anything so far that resembles the NCR. Nevertheless... A long and fascinating story. You've come a hard way, Daniel."

"Yeah..." Littlepip looks at me, grabbing her right leg with her left foot. "You'd help me... help me if you'd come with me. Your advice would help me deal with... what I'm already in."

I completely understand her wishes. If I were her, I, too, would want someone in the Capital Wasteland to help me avoid future mistakes and come to terms with what I have done. To educate me and give me the right guidance.

But...

"Unfortunately... Like I said, I don't want to interfere in other people's affairs. Not even with advice. I don't want to influence your choices. I can also give bad advice for lack of information. I just want to go home. And if you learn something along the way that will help make that happen, then you can call me."

"Too bad," Homage cuts into the conversation. "I'd like you to keep an eye on my special pony."

A special pony? In this world, that means... Oh, DJ's secretary in a relationship with a local Wasteland heroine? That's an interesting set of circumstances.

"She'll do fine... my advice of care and caution should be enough."

***

Next, I solidify my knowledge of Equestria's war with the zebras and the Ministries. Nothing much is new. It's pretty much how I imagined it would be... and like Rusty told me when I traveled with him.

I'm more aware of the world around me now. It's easier to know what I can say and what I shouldn't say so as not to cause confusion... Unless, of course, it's to my advantage. Still, I need some kind of reliable legend of my origins.

"I just remembered something. Since I'm from another world and don't want to reveal it, I need a convincing background. I've applied the story more than once that I'm a guard from the Stable near Hoofland who couldn't stand being let into the bunker by religious fanatics."

Homage laughs and says, "Yeah. you make a good point. Hoofland is like a fairground where you can find a religion, a cult, and a belief for every taste."

"What's the reason for that?"

"It's the premier pre-war entertainment town for earth ponies and unicorns. At one time, ponies of all sorts flocked there. It made for a very fascinating and interesting mix."

"And how does my story sound against that?"

"Doubtful. All the Stables around here were dismantled by the Steel Rangers fifty years ago... as far as I know. Anyway, you can still spit out your story of your life in the Stable here. I'd suggest you... the Stable that Red Eye came out of relatively recently. It's... according to Red Eye... it was designed to study prosthetics. Just technology, no magic spells... Suitable for an inexperienced unicorn like yourself in terms of spells."

A perfectly logical thought.

"The Stable number?"

Homage is about to answer, but she freezes in mid-sentence. Stares at me... and then laughs hysterically.

"One hundred... One..." she gasps.

I am speechless. Such shocks and resemblances will soon make me lose my mind. I need to get used to it.

"You know..." Homage continues, chuckling, "the story about you being Red Eye's brother, out for revenge... doesn't seem so crazy anymore."

"I agree."

"I've seen Red Eye, and I have to say you look a little like him. He has blue eyes... or rather, a retained eye. The same black and short mane."

"That's it," I raise a trembling hoof. "That's enough. I'm going crazy with coincidences like this."

"Okay... I won't," she lowers her head.

"Thank you."

The blue-haired unicorn raises her head at me. Her teeth sparkle with a smirk.

"He also had a faithful dog that he turned into a cyborg..."

"Homage!"

"Okay-okay!"

Littlepip looks completely lost.

I have certain resemblances to one of the most important personalities on the Badlands.

That's it, forget it. Out of sight, out of mind.

"What happened to the residents of Stable 101?"

"I don't know exactly... Some say he poisoned them. Others say they joined his empire. Others say he turned them into slaves."

"I suppose it's a bit of everything," I say. "The truth is often somewhere in the middle."

Homage nods.

"That'll do," she adds. "Given the specifics of this Stable's experiment, you were kicked out of there because you're a unicorn. In some generation your parents or one of them was a unicorn. And you were an outcast, no spell books there. So you're trying to... make up for lost time, collecting caps for spell books or looking for spell books."

"Sounds good! I'll keep that in mind."

"Next, you can adapt stories from your world to the realities here. Almost all wastelanders don't leave the places they were born. And everything you've said is true to this world. Even the supermutants that are originally from humans."

"Yes, I remember. Goddess, Unity, and Alicorns... There's one more issue left to settle... the question of the anatomy of the pony races at least."

"Pick up one of the books in the library."

"Speaking of books... do you have any spell books you don't mind giving me?"

"Alas, there are none... I'm not allowed to have them."

"By whom, DJ?"

"Yes... You could say that. Come on, I'll show you the regular books you need."

I get the impression that she has the spell books, but for certain reasons she's not allowed to have them. Although why would the DJ Pon3 forbid her secretary to have spell books given that she's a unicorn? The whole thing is weird.

Maybe she is the DJ Pon3, and she changes her voice with a spell that allows her to manipulate her vocal cords? The DJ can have a lot of enemies and foes because of what he says. It is more convenient to hide the DJ from the audience... and all the guests communicate with his supposed secretary.

Yes, and to operate such a network of video cameras, spying essentially, without a cover, she would not be able to. There must be a secret society in the Tenpony Tower that supports her... and which guards something under the guise of a comfortable home for the powerful. One of the hub of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences, after all.

No.

That sounds like some kind of cheap conspiracy theory. Sometimes my imagination goes too far. It's not a good idea to make complex explanations out of thin air in an attempt to explain something about which there is no information or enough facts. Occam's razor. Of several hypotheses, hypotheses with simpler explanations should be preferred because often the truth always turns out to be boring, simple and uncomplicated.

Homage follows DJ's personal whims and rules simply because he doesn't want to lose his job, not because some hidden community that runs the whole world demands it and takes the time to share knowledge with outsiders.

"What are you thinking about?" Homage asks, turning around and seeing my thoughtful state.

"Making absurd hypotheses."

"About what?"

"Nothing... Never mind. I'm letting my imagination run wild."

***

A long line of shelves full of books. The smell of old paper and wood hangs in the air.

"Impressive," I say. "It's dizzying... so many of them."

An unimaginable number of books. Brisa was crazy about them.

Most of the spines of the books are untitled. Others with their titles hinted at scientific content, at speculative content, at the usual fiction reading.

"Discord as Messenger of Tartarus."

"Elements of Harmony, the Legacy of the Crystal Empire?"

"Celestia's Odyssey."

"The Story of the Five Cloud Cities."

"Princess Luna and her power over the stars."

"The Stars are the First Evil."

"Ghost Without Eyes."

"Secrets of the Desert Ocean."

"The Inimitable Art of the Hippogriffs."

"Gems and Dragons."

"Yaks: A Philosophy of Destruction and Renewal."

Of all these titles, it is difficult to determine what belongs to what. Homage hasn't read them all for lack of time. She's more interested in the present, books that relate to it in one way or another.

"Here..." her hoof circles around a few lines of books, the gist of which is as follows 'How to Be a Pony. For Dummies'. They contain information about the impressive stamina of earth ponies, about talented unicorns, about graceful and agile pegasi...

The latter interest me the most. To have the innate ability to fly! It's almost every child's dream.

After picking up some books at no cost, I ask Littlepip to solve the problem of radio receiving in my Pip-Boy. She inspects it and shrugs her shoulders.

"It needs a new module," she adds. "Yours isn't equipped to receive radio signals."

A new module can be found at the Tenpony Tower with no problem, but it costs a large amount of caps. I decide I'll get by without a radio somehow. Sooner or later, some PipBuck will come my way.

The elevator doors open; I step inside and turn to the unicorns.

"Good luck to you, Daniel. I hope you find your way home and what you're looking for," Homage says in a reassuring tone.

"Thank you. For all the attention and time you've given me," I say to the blue-haired pony, and then I turn to Littlepip. "Well, Great and Miraculous Wasteland Heroine, I wish you and Homage to have a good time, to have the orgasmic pleasure of spending time together."

Homage giggles, and Littlepip pinches her ears and looks like a ripe tomato.

"You have no idea how much and how fast she can enjoy pleasure," Homage says and immediately laughs. And Littlepip, by the looks of her, wants to burrow under the floor forever. "In one week alone, she's managed to get more orgasms than people have fingers on their four limbs."

Littlepip stares eagerly into the marble floor beneath her hoof. Just a little longer and she's sure to start digging a hole underneath her to shelter herself from embarrassment.

Some people like to beat others and feel stronger. And some like to mercilessly embarrass others in order to... Oh, I don't know.

It's an interesting question, really. Never really thought about it.

Homage has an unhealthy urge to embarrass little mares. And I can understand her. Littlepip looks like she was made for it. What a heartwarming sight! It's hard to abstain.

"If she's smaller," I begin, "then correspondingly in relation to regular ponies she gets a lot more... At that size and not afraid to go into the dangerous wastelands and get her ass kicked by raiders and slave traders. A fetishist, no less. A craving for masochism."

"You didn't just hit the bull's-eye, you hit it right on the clitoris!" Homage laughs . "Velvet told me how much she loves getting bullet wounds. With her size, those wounds are pretty huge for her. So thanks for the advice, I'll experiment on that."

"All right," I chuckle, looking at Littlepip. "Just a little more, and you'll have to repair the marble floor. She'll be burrowing in it soon enough. Anyway, don't worry, Littlepip. We're just kidding. And..." I sigh, pushing the elevator button. "Remember my words."

Littlepip's ears perk up. She lifts her overexcited look from the embarrassing heat.

"Watch what you do and for whom."

She nods.

"Good luck on your journey," she says to me.

The elevator doors close.

I have a lingering feeling that she faces a painful ordeal and a hard choice. Perhaps if I'd been a little braver... I would have agreed to help her.

***

I'm comfortably sprawled out on the couch, an open anatomy book floating before me in the blue haze of my magic. Every day I get so used to levitation that I don't notice how I use it.

The hours-long conversation with the DJ's secretary and the young heroine of the Wasteland have worn me out. I've spent the last few hours enjoying reading about pony bodies. It's enlightening.

Sections of the book I don't read in full, just two or three pages at the beginning and as much at the end. I glance through the rest of the text. I need a basic understanding of what a pony is. Of course, I always stop at places where magic is mentioned. Otherwise, on general principles, the pony body works similarly to a human's.

I yawn wearily.

The book closes with a thud and ends up on the table. I stretch sweetly. It's time for bed.

A quiet knock on the door stops me halfway into the bedroom.

Who is this bringing in at this late hour?

I walk over to the table and hide the anatomy book away. In case someone wants to go inside and see it. Certainly the pony who enters will be confused about my interest.

"Hello," the sunny pony says softly outside the door. I smile and just nod. She's dressed in a light dress to match her sunny coat color. "May I come in?"

"Of course," I mutter, and step aside, letting her pass.

"Thank you," she says in a confident voice, but walks past me at a far from confident pace. Her orange mane whizzes a few inches from my nose, a slight scent of citrus coming from it.

The earth pony walks in and looks around the room.

"I hope you... like it here," she turns in my direction.

"It's just lovely," I say enthusiastically and gently close the doors.

I suspect where this is going.

I hold back my thrilled sigh. Getting close to a pony... is so unfamiliar and so... thrilling. I want to try it and find out what it's like. I want to know why I was able to sleep with Bluerise when I was drunk.

"I am quite grateful that you provided this luxurious room. And yes, the beds are delightful."

She smiles awkwardly and looks away shyly.

"I'm... glad you were comfortable..." she says, and casually looks around. "Where's your foal? Did he find new parents?"

I nod. Sunny pony blurts out a smile.

"I hope everything works out well for him..." she adds. Her mood turns melancholy. "Not much good going on around here lately."

Lately... She talks about the Red Eye expansion.

"Are you afraid?" I ask and move closer to her. Her eyes look at me with worry.

"A little..."

"A little?"

"Well... Tenpony Tower has been around for two hundred years. The safest place in the Wasteland."

"I've been wondering why the ponies chose this place. The tower is deep in the ruins of a prewar city. It's difficult to get to it. It's inconvenient and risky to deliver supplies. Difficult logistics."

"Yes... But, like I said, it's safe. It's protected by a lot of spells."

"Do you think Red Eye won't break through her defenses?"

She's silent. She doesn't know the answer to that question herself. Perhaps an ordinary pony or a talented unicorn couldn't get into the Tower, but... Red Eye. He must have a few aces up his sleeve. With ambition like that... and with his empire expanding so rapidly, they just have to be.

"I... don't want to talk about it," the pony says, averting his gaze.

"I agree. Let's not ruin the evening..." I touch her shoulder gently. She flinches in surprise and looks at me interestedly with her orange eyes. "Come, let's sit down."

"I'm wondering..." I begin, sitting on the couch as close to the pony as possible. "How is it that we still don't know each other's name?"

Sunny pony covers her mouth with her hoof and chuckles relaxedly.

"How rude of me."

"Of you?"

"I live in a society obsessed with such formalities. Had to respect a little detail like that. You're a guest... and it's natural for you not to be formally polite. You surprised me yesterday. I... I didn't expect a resident of the Wasteland to be..."

"So nice?" I guffaw.

She laughs, "Yeah."

"And I didn't expect either..." I begin and deliberately understate.

"Of what, exactly?" Her face turns in my direction.

"To meet a generous and kind pony here," I hug her shoulder gently.

She sighs deeply. I can feel her body tense. Her front legs are crossed and pressed against her dress.

"T-thank you..."

"And now we're distracted again," I say without removing my hooves from her shoulder. "My name is Daniel... and you?"

"Minneola."

It sounds unusual and... kind of charming. I don't know what it means... I guess it's the name of a fruit.

"It's a beautiful name... After some kind of fruit, I suppose?"

"Yes. A special kind."

"Have you... ever seen or tasted it?"

She shakes her head negatively.

"The name is taken from a book," Minneola adds.

I look at her soft yellow fur and her light orange mane, tucked into a bun at the back of her head. Her mane from the front is shaped like the outline of a fruit.

Her front legs rest loosely on her dress. She is relaxed.

I missed a bit when I... Called her a sun pony, but it obviously didn't bother her then.

"And I wanted to try..." I begin lustfully. Her face turns to me, her warm breath giving off a faintly citrusy scent. Or maybe I'm just imagining it because of her appearance. I lower my voice to a whisper, "To taste that juicy and delicious fruit after which you were named..."

The gaze of orange eyes drops to my lips. Her own lips move involuntarily, desire gleaming in her eyes as if she sees a juicy and delicious fruit. Her head slowly gives in to meet mine. Her lips part slightly in languid anticipation.

I lean back. My heart races in anticipation.

A light touch of our lips. I close my eyes against the warm wave of pleasure. It allows me to focus fully on the sensation. Her lips are soft and warm and relaxed.

I gradually increase the pressure of my lips against hers. Minneola responds in kind. The kiss gets stronger and... hotter...

***

The 10th of the Month of Bread, Yellowday. Nineteenth day of my stay.

It's a perfect morning, especially with such a lovely creature sniffing quietly by my side. This night has been... rich and informative about pony anatomy. Theory is good, of course, but the best way to learn is through practice. As I'd expected earlier, ponies aren't much different from humans in that regard. Except that there is a significant limitation in poses. Now it's clear how I've had some luck with Bluerise.

I move slightly under the blanket, and the softness of the sheet pleasantly tickles my beige fur. My gaze passes over Minneola's light orange mane.

Everyone has their own fetishes, but the vast majority either don't know about them or won't admit them to others. New Reno and New Vegas seem to encourage fetishes. But that's not really the case. The relaxed atmosphere of what's going on helps them reveal themselves. It's like with favorite foods—you won't know you like them until you come across them and try them.

Minneola. Has her own... taste preferences.

There are echoes in my head and... my body echoes the sensations of what happened last night. Unusual, new, funny in places... but the pony was content.

She, still asleep, turns to me. There's a faint smile on her lips.

Yes... She was definitely pleased with my efforts.

I stare at her peaceful face for half an hour, pondering the experience, until she wakes up.

Minneola opens her orange eyes, yawns sweetly, and looks up at me. Unable to contain her smile, she snuggles closer to me.

"Thanks again..." she says quietly, "for what you did yesterday."

I run my hoof through her spread orange mane.

"It was... an interesting experience for me."

She bumps her nose shyly against my fur on chest.

"Will you... ever come back here again?" she asks.

It's the most uncomfortable and hardest question for me to answer. I feel good with her, but... I have no claim to anything else. No relationship. I am, after all, an alien from another world who wants to go back. Besides, the prospect of being stuck in one place doesn't appeal to me at all. Not yet.

"I am a traveler, but it is highly unlikely that I will return here."

She'd expected that answer—and yet she was having a hard time accepting it.

"Didn't you want to settle down somewhere? Tenpony Tower is a beautiful place... "

I shake my head regretfully.

"If it's because," she says in a concerned tone, "that I'm a servant pony and can't offer anything to brag about..."

I put a hoof to her lips.

"I get into dangerous and deadly situations out of habit. A close pony wouldn't stand for that kind of behavior. You want to worry and worry whether I'm alive or not?"

Minneola is understandingly silent.

"If... If I owned any business. Made enough caps for both of us, and you wouldn't have to roam the Wasteland looking for work?"

"I understand what you're saying... But it's not just about the caps. I tried to lead a settled domestic life, but it didn't work out. I'm... drawn to places I haven't been."

Minneola sighs sadly and snuggles up to me again, rubbing her nose against my fur.

"Do you mind if we lie down together some more?"

***

I go to the restaurant, have a hearty meal. I return to my room, gather my gear, and head for the Princess Luna Information Center.

I explore the ruined streets of Manehattan until late afternoon. I bump into small groups of raiders and ghouls, nothing special. I look around carefully and keep an eye on the area. I survey the surviving houses and buildings, finding old and pre-war posters, books, magazines, documents. For the most part it's unnecessary junk, but I manage to extract some information from it about the past: war, ministries, princesses, technology, and the like.

I find one copy of a familiar gun book, Guns and Bullets. From it I learn a lot about Equestrian firearms. I now have a better idea of how ponies use 'ordinary' weapons. I also realize that no amount of ammunition here is going to work with the human weapons I have with me.

I'm going to have to limit its use. I'll look for decent local weapons.

Wandering through lifeless ruins without a radio can be boring at times.

It's getting dark around here. It's about time to find a place to stay for the night. As if at my behest, a grocery store comes into sight a few moments later.

It's nice. Just what I need.

Before I go inside, I check my compass in Pip-Boy and spot a few unfriendlies. I pull out my revolver and enter the small store. There is trash everywhere, empty shelves, and the unpleasantness turns out to be a few radroaches. After crushing them and clearing the nastiness from my shoes, I go to check the basement. Maybe there's something left down there.

My compass shows six red marks. I walk down the steps; once I'm at the bottom, I slowly open the door and poke my head into the basement room.

Look at that. Ghouls. They're my favorite fans—when they see me, they run after me in droves, hoping to get at least a piece of me.

There are five of them in the basement, but there's also a sixth one that I can't see. There are metal shelves nearby, and some of them still have light brown, dirty cardboard boxes on them. Old, rusty cold storage rooms.

I hope there's still some pre-war food and water that managed to survive thanks to powerful preservatives.

I don't close the door all the way, turn around, bend my front legs, press the door with my telekinesis for a stronger effect, and kick at it with tremendous force. The force of my hind legs and my telekinesis causes the door to fly off its weak, rusty hinges and into the basement. Luck smiles on me—the door encloses one ghoul in its heavy embrace. I wish I had killed it, but at least I immobilized it by dropping it beneath me. The rest of the fans of living flesh notice their idol and throw themselves into an embrace with me.

It's time for a little dance with my fans.

The first ghoul that catches up with me feels the blade of my electrified sword on his face as it passes over him.

Get an autograph!

He stops and backs away from the force of the swing. I walk up to him and finish him off with my sword. Two ghouls rush at me from both sides.

Well, I love a friendly hug, but not in this environment! I step back and the two ghouls clash in a big hug.

The next ghoul runs up, knocking me to the ground with his speed, and I drop my sword from my grip with my telekinesis. The ghoul piles on top of me and tries to get me with his teeth. The smell from his mouth is probably disgusting, but I'm wearing a helmet, so I can't tell for sure. I use my front hooves to hold him by the neck so he doesn't reach me with his clanking and disgusting mouth, and then I pick my moment and use my hind hooves to throw him off me.

Before I can get up and look around, another ghoul—the glowing one—reaches me. And here's the sixth one... It throws me back against a metal shelf. Several cardboard boxes fall from it. Metal pans fly out of one of the boxes. The glowing ghoul is about to finish what he started when I use telekinesis to grab the two pans and smash them into the ghoul's head.

There is a thin, vibrating sound of metal hitting someone's fleshy skull. The pans vibrate from the force of the blow, and the ghoul staggers and nearly loses his balance.

"Well! Come on!" I shout.

I take turns ducking and punching. At one point the ghoul collapses on the concrete floor. I take out my revolver and shoot him in the head, for such a tough creature you can't hit with a frying pan that easily.

Oh... I only now notice that I am levitating three objects at once, though small and light.

With a distinct snarl the two, who were clutched in a warm embrace, jump up.

It took them a long time to get up. It's lucky that the ghouls are extremely clumsy spawns of radiation.

"Take me!" I shout with fervor. "I'm all yours! Whole and all!" I activate the VATS, and use the pans to finish off the two ghouls.

I never thought that hitting someone with a blunt, simple object like a frying pan was pleasurable to the point of orgasm. Surely it must be because of the appealing sound of metal and flesh hitting each other.

From the frequent blows, the metal handles of the pans have bent, and the bottoms of each have deep indentations in the shape of a pony's head.

Eh. Ruined such wonderful and good things!

I toss them aside, then pick up my sword and finish off the ghoul that was temporarily immobilized by the door I knocked down. After cleaning the blood from the sword, I place it on my belt.

Now I can look around in peace.

The crates contain canned beans in sauce, corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes... hay...? Yes. That's right, ponies eat hay.

I take a long look at the jar of densely packed yellow hay. Is it worth trying?

Fuck it... I don't want to.

The refrigerators contain other treasures: pasta, mashed potatoes, purified water, different kinds of Sparkle Cola. No alcohol.

I put as much of the provisions I find here in my bags as I can, which take up less space and are more nutritious. In the end, by my calculations, I have enough for about a week. The leftover food will come in handy for other travelers and seekers. Perhaps someone will stay here until they've eaten everything.

There is nothing useful in the office on the second floor. But ahead is the owner's office.

I would rub my hands with joy if I had any. The door in front of me is securely locked!

I fiddle with the lock for a while, and it gives way to me. Easy as pie.

I wonder... are there spells that can pick locks without any tools?

Behind the door is a seemingly ordinary office: an office desk with a non-working terminal and a dusty beige and green couch, lots of file cabinets, a couple of standard wooden cabinets and dressers, old white vases with patterns of blue petals. On the wall hangs a tilted wooden frame from a painting, in its center is another treasure that would make me happily rub my hands together—a safe!

The lock on the safe proves to be a little more difficult, but it too eventually surrenders to me. Inside the safe are about three dozen large-caliber revolver rounds and the actual revolver itself in relatively good condition.

Oh, there goes my new regular firearm.

I'll clean and tidy it up later.

Next... Office papers, gems that can be sold quite nicely. According to Homage, some merchants only accept gems instead of caps. Gems interject a certain amount of magic, they are used for magical matrixes and other components in devices and technologies, like PipBuck. And are used as jewelry along with other gems like sapphires, rubies, and others.

But they have a use for me, too. They can be used somehow when using spells—to enhance them, for example.

Another notable item in the safe turns out to be a glowing orb. It emits a small blue glow. It's about half the size of a hoof.

I know the dangers of such glowing things. Things that glow are usually radioactive—but Pip-Boy doesn't mark any sign of radiation on this object. I scrutinize the orb, but find nothing but a mesmerizing glow emanating from it. At my own risk, I tap on it and toss it, but nothing happens.

Maybe it's just a trinket. I don't know what it might be good for, but I decide to put it in my bag.

As soon as I concentrate my magic on it, I instantly sense something wrong. I take a closer look and immediately lose control of myself. My surroundings begin to disappear, and my consciousness seems to slip away.

←=======ooOOoo=======→

Where the fuck am I? Why can't I move? What the fuck is going on right now?!

I'm having a serious panic attack. After a few seconds, I start to see something. The world has changed, and this office looks like new, everything is clean and new and emitting a pleasant fragrance. Outside the office window I hear the hum of traffic and pedestrians, who, judging by their voices, are hurrying about their business. By the way, the windows are also brand new, and the sunlight shines through them brightly and warmly. Just like before the war.

What the hell is going on?

For some reason I am sitting at my desk, filling out some paperwork. My body doesn't listen to me...

Why can't I control myself?

My body feels somehow... different. No wonder, judging by the sensations, I am a woman, or rather, a mare. The atypical sensations in my crotch have changed somewhat. The sensory area is somewhere closer to the skin and extends inward to the body, not upward as usual...

Did I have a sex change? Why the hell did I become a mare? No, no, no, this is just a horrible nightmare and fucking absurd!

My panicked thoughts are distracted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," my ringing voice says.

Or is that not my voice? Totally lost my logical train of thought. Why can't I control my body?!

A light blue unicorn walks into the office.

"Hello, Miss Glow. My name is Sparkle Blue. I'm here for a job interview," the blue unicorn mumbles a little worriedly.

"Well, have a seat," Miss Glow says, pointing to a chair with her hoof. "Let's see if you're a good fit as a salespony."

For ten minutes there's talk about what kind of education he has, where he went to school, whether he has work experience, and other stuff. After some time of interviewing, Glow accepts him as a salespony and tells him who will take over his training. They talk about his responsibilities on the job and a number of other little nuances. I'm not interested, I only want one thing: for this nightmare to be over as soon as possible!

"I'll get to work tomorrow," Sparkle Blue says with a grin in his teeth, and then he leaves the office while Glow continues to fill out her paperwork.

"Cute and sweet," the mare says aloud, being left alone. I feel a romantic smile spread across my lips. "Maybe I'll take him out to dinner after work tomorrow. Find out how he's doing and if he's seeing anyone..."

I can see why she kept her eyes on him during the conversation. Also, it seemed to me that she was deliberately dragging the conversation out so that she could get to know him better. Even though I am not an employer, I know that some of the questions (mostly meaningless) that this lady asked are not asked when hiring.

So, what's next?

That's where the world around you disappears again.

←=======ooOOoo=======→

Before my eyes is the same office, only a couple of hundred years later. I'm on the floor, and next to me lies the cursed magic ball. Looking at it makes me feel a rush of terror, bewilderment, and anxiety.

How long have I been unconscious? Fuck! This is the perfect trap! I couldn't control myself and I couldn't stop it, no matter how much I wanted to.

"Go to hell!" I slam my hoof against the ball, shaking with fear. The ball crashes against the wall. The shards rain down on the floor, and the balloon's blue glow disperses like dust. I also think that as the blue glow began to disperse, I heard someone's soft, long sigh.

I take deep breaths, trying to calm my frayed nerves.

Sort of like a pre-war holo-recording? Only with the ability to see and... Feel? Feel someone else's recorded feelings... Holy shit!

On the one hand it is good, and on the other hand it is bad. It is good when memories have pleasant feelings, emotions, there is an opportunity to taste pre-war food. It is bad when memories bring pain and suffering. I wouldn't want to experience something like that.

Another disadvantage: Apparently, as long as I'm in this kind of memory ball, I become vulnerable. I'm very easy to grab in this position. Why didn't Homage or Littlepip mention such a thing? Maybe because they were telling me about things that existed in this world, and there was nothing like that in my world. Or maybe they simply forgot... There was no way to tell everything.

Homage's suggestion of a review of my memory no longer seems like a bluff, but a reality.

The memory didn't have any important information, just a piece of memory of a mare from the past, who apparently chose to keep a mention of the first meeting with, perhaps, her future lover or lover. Maybe they really did have something stuck together, but I won't know it. And no one will ever know that they had something anymore, because I'm horrified to have broken that orb.

It's frustrating and embarrassing. It was an important memory for someone else, and I took it and destroyed it, as if I had erased a piece of the past. So why didn't this mare from the past take this orb with her and leave it here?

I sigh heavily and look out the surviving window. Behind it is a dull gray sky—not at all like the one in the orb with memory. It was like walking into someone's dream, only everything is very realistic and extremely clear.

It is dark outside, and brief gunshots and distant screams echoed from the distant corners of the ruins. A cold, desolate wind is blowing in through the broken window. I feel a sense of longing and loneliness. The contrast between the bright past and the gloomy present is so... strong.

It's about time to get some rest.

I set the alarm. My improvised alarm system consists of several empty tin cans I found in the basement hanging over the door. The door opens to the inside of the office, so if an intruder comes in, the cans will jingle and notify me. I spread out my sleeping bag and lay down on it.

***

Shrill gunshots... Screaming...

From these sounds I rise sharply, grab my revolver, and look around. No one's in the office, and it's bright outside. It must be morning.

An excited heart pounding in my chest. I shake my head and rub my eyes. Sleep gradually dissipates.

I slept through the night... Good result. I slept surprisingly soundly well.

Another shot rings out, followed by a few people laughing... no, a pony.

I cautiously approach the window. Along the street, four very dirty ponies, wearing ragged clothes and junk as extra protection, are running after a turquoise earth pony and her foal for sure. Raiders or bandits. They are scattered all over the street and playing with their victims, for they would have caught up with them by now.

With my telekinesis I bring my sniper rifle close to me.

The rifle stops in midair in hesitation.

I shouldn't get involved. What if there's more behind it all? Her husband or the other foals have remained in captivity, and these have supposedly been given a chance to escape. And if their buddies don't come back, the remaining victims will be tripled in severity.

A shot from one of the mares chasing the victims hits the turquoise mare's hind leg. She screams painfully and falls with a heavy thud. The foal falls from her back.

"Finally!" is heard the joyful exclamation of the bandit who is holding a small pistol in her magical grip. "I got the bitch and her little brat."

No... They initially saw the victims and began chasing them. They wanted to take them alive so they could then mock them. Raiders, if they do ambush them, often seek to take their victims alive. To have fun with them and then, perhaps, to enlarge their ranks. Most often this fate falls to children: adults are killed.

The weak earth pony and her foal are mockingly cornered. Defenseless, unable to stand up for themselves. Spent their entire lives in poverty, in fear of tomorrow.

"Mommy!" the little filly cries.

My heart twists in pain. A lump goes to my throat.

No.

I...

Mustn't... stay away.

The magic of my horn shines brighter. My rifle readies to fire.

The rest of the raiders, with knives and sledgehammers in their teeth, run laughingly toward their victims. The mare is still alive, but she doesn't call for help, realizing that no one will save her, and so she instinctively covers herself for the filly who has managed to crawl up to her.

"Now you're ours!" the chief raider chuckles.

The raiders almost make it.

The head of one of the raiders explodes, its debris scattering in the surroundings. The others are surprised by the gunshot. The second bandit turns out to be a large earth pony with toxic colored hair. A gaping hole appears in his head in less than a second.

The third bandit turns around in fright and rushes to the nearest pre-war wagon. Blood splatters on its rusted gray hull. The earth pony collapses heavily onto the road. She chokes on her own blood—the bullet went through her throat.

The fourth... the unicorn. She's hiding behind a trash can. She knows it's no point in running from a sniper.

Maybe I should try to get close to her with a stealth field and save a round...

I look at my stealth-mode-modified Pip-Boy.

It's all the charge I have on the VATS. I won't be able to use stealth mode or VATS for another ten minutes. Big MT technology is impressive, but not limitless. The issue of power consumption hasn't been resolved. We'll have to do things differently.

A shot distracts me from Pip-Boy.

The hiding raider tries to shoot back. She doesn't know my location. The advantage is on my side. The earth pony shot in the neck, desperately fighting for her life, has passed away.

I pull out the magazine of my rifle and insert a single armor-piercing round. Inserting the magazine back into the rifle, I aim at the trash can behind which the she is hiding.

The rifle emits a heavily muffled rumble, and the bullet passes through one layer of thin metal, and then a second on the back side. The trash can is empty, so the bullet goes through without a problem. The outlaw cries out in pain, followed by the sound of her body falling deafeningly onto the concrete.

There is silence outside. The doors of abandoned wagons and cars occasionally creak under the strolling wind. The turquoise earth pony looks around perplexedly and anxiously. She sees me when I am already coming down to her.

"Don't touch us," the unicorn mutters fearfully, covering her foal with her hooves.

"Don't be afraid," I take off my helmet with 'ominous red eyes', "I won't hurt you."

I try to speak as softly and friendly as possible.

"Who are you?" the turquoise filly asks in a stiff voice.

"A random passerby," I smile. "How are you? Are you seriously hurt?"

"I'll live," she mumbles, not fully aware of what's happened. "Thanks for your help."

"And the foal?"

She looks at her little child. The filly looks up at me and smiles wryly.

"Hi," she says cautiously. The mother tries to get up, but cries out in pain.

"Mommy!" the little pony cries out in horror. She looks at her mother's bloody hind legs. From what she sees, the child is horrified even more, almost sobbing.

"Let me help."

I pull out medical instruments and decontamination fluid to get the bullets out, as well as painkillers.

"Is that what I think it is?" the turquoise pony asks warily.

"Yes, it's a painkiller."

"I'd rather tolerate it."

"It'll take the pain away," I assure her.

"I know. But I'm afraid..."

"I have enough medical experience to treat wounds like this. With my life... I've been fed lead, stabbed... hit with a blunt, heavy object... Anyway, it's not easy to get the bullets out, and it's probably going to hurt a lot. Do you want the baby to hear you screaming?"

The pony hesitates, looking at her daughter.

"Okay..." the mare says hesitantly, turning to me.

Without further ado, I get to work.

***

"Thank you so much for... help," she smiles, and suddenly her face takes on a dejected and guilty look. "I... can't thank you enough."

"That's all right. Your gratitude is enough for me," I say, smiling.

"What? Why?" she wonders, as if she sees a ghost. I understand her—expecting help from a stranger is the equivalent of looking for wind in a field.

"If a pony can thank me with something tangible, let him. If not, a kind word is enough for me."

"Without... self-interest?" the pony continues to wonder.

"In such situations it is difficult for me to... stay away. That's my nature. I just enjoy doing good to others when I can do it..."

The turquoise pony is still in disbelief, looking at me with mixed feelings. She's overwhelmed with gratitude and skepticism.

I just shrug my shoulders and look back thoughtfully at the dead.

"You might find something useful in those raiders. And in that store," I point to the store I spent the night in, "there's plenty of food and water saved in the basement thanks to the ghouls, who are definitely permanently dead by now. I can't carry it all away anyway."

The mother stares at me in amazement.

I try with great effort not to smile. I love seeing faces like that. I love to pleasantly surprise others. I feel like I'm doing something useful. In the Wasteland, a good mood is a reward in itself. You can accomplish a lot with a good mood.

"I... I've never met a pony as generous as you. Who would have thought I'd get help from a stranger. Thank you again."

I nod and head further down the road.

Chapter 6 - The Road

View Online

The 11th of the Month of Bread, Greenday. The twentieth day of my stay.

The time-worn building rises more than twenty storey into the sky. It is not much different in shape from the surrounding skyscrapers, except in its shades of blue.

I pull out my most recently drawn map of the ruins of Manehattan. Judging by the landmarks, I'm somewhere in the northwestern part of this metropolis. Almost outside the city boundaries. According to Homage, this is roughly where the Princess Luna Information Center is located.

"Maybe that's what I'm looking for..." I unconsciously mutter.

Since the morning after rescuing the earth pony and her filly from the rampaging raiders, I've spent almost an entire day trying to get to this place, searching for a safe and convenient way to get there. Along the way I looked into various stores and establishments in the hope of discovering something useful there. But I found nothing but innumerable names and texts about historical events that had nothing to do with teleportation.

I mentally cross my imaginary fingers, hoping that Homage has given me the right place to start finding my way home from.

Putting the map in my backpack and updating my journal in Pip-Boy with a note about the building I have found, I move toward the entrance.

On the first floor is the visitor center. There is an emptiness and a sepulchral silence all around. This idyll is disturbed from time to time by the dull breeze that blows in through the broken windows and cracks in the walls. The wind is joined by the muffled tapping of my shoes on the marble floor, littered with all the debris and dust that has been blown in from the street. In some places I can see the almost decayed remains of a pony.

I managed to keep my mind off such a rosy and welcoming environment and quickly made my way to the administrator's terminals.

The terminals are all out of order, completely lacking any kind of power. I try several ways to get them up and running, but to no avail. The equipment has taken too much abuse over time. Only good for spare parts for other purposes.

"It's a pity," I turn to the remains of the earth pony with barely visible pale green flaps of dress, "that you administrators are given such weak and cheap equipment."

Without waiting for her answer, I walk to the elevator. I am disappointed to find that it, too, is de-energized.

I kick the elevator button irritably, sighing in frustration... and walk towards the service stairs. The door looks sturdy and shows signs of magical protection. On either side of it, I can see the bare remains of the wires from under the turrets under the ceiling.

The marauders have already stripped it all away. I can see why DJ's secretary had no qualms about directing me to this place. In two hundred local years, almost all the magical and robotic defenses had long ago failed.

Pushing the door open, I step inside and see a metal spiral staircase. The darkness makes it seem as if from above it goes into a gloomy and cold infinity. The sight of it makes me dizzy.

I whistle in amazement.

It's been a long time since I've climbed this high... and with heavy gear on my back and sides.

The stairs also lead to the basement and technical rooms.

Maybe... try running some kind of generator to power the elevator and... No, it's not worth the time. I'm sure the marauders have taken everything down there before me. All that's left is the empty generator casings. It's a waste of time—and there's a longer way up from there, too.

I curse my luck and begin my long, difficult and monotonous climb up. Straight to the offices of the chief supervisors. They must have all the information.

***

I pant heavily into the nineteenth-floor hallway, throwing off my backpack and all my dangling gear. Relieved to have my helmet off, I lie down on the floor and stare up at the peeling ceiling.

"Hooray..." I rejoice wearily, as if I'd taken first place in a grueling marathon.

With my hoof, I wipe the sweat from my face and take a deep breath of the local musty air. I never thought I'd enjoy it so much.

Once my breathing has stabilized, I turn my attention to the corridor I find myself in. It's long and wide, with sofas and small tables lined with newspapers and magazines. Almost like the lobby downstairs.

Strange architectural design.

I raise my head. There is trash and... more skeletons on the floor everywhere I look... more skeletons... on the opposite side of this spacious and tall room. I can hardly call it a corridor, though, because of the large windows on both sides. A huge grating blocks my way further, and behind it, apparently, is a guard post.

I enjoy my rest for a few more minutes, and then get up, pick up my gear, and approach this grate with interest.

Pip-Boy's compass shows nothing out of the ordinary. It's as empty as a beggar's pockets. However, the sight of pre-war remains... is disturbing to me. Among the remains are postwar ones... relatively recent, fresh. This is evidenced by the happily frolicking cadaver worms all over the body. Without the helmet, the cadaveric smell is distinctly detectable. I quickly put my helmet back on so I don't throw up.

I move closer to the grate; Pip-Boy's compass glistens with neutral marks, two army turrets emerge from the ceiling, and two sentry bot on four massive wheels appear from somewhere behind the metal fence. Somewhat reminiscent of a sentry bot from Earth. Wasteland Survival Guide claims that these are the most dangerous and deadly type of robots. Given their massive and armored appearance with cannons on their sides, it's hard to disagree.

It's a wonder they still work. No money was spared to protect the biggest secrets... so the power supplies are more serious, and the magical defenses are definitely still in effect.

The windows are clean and unscratched. It wasn't without magical interference. I'm sure they're armored, too.

I shudder when I hear, "Access to the upper floors is for senior management only. Identify yourself." It's one of the Sentinels addressing me in a metallic and gruff voice.

"Uh... Cupcake," I answer absent-mindedly, coming to my senses from his sudden address to me.

"Thank you, sir. You may pass," follows the reply of the Sentinel. The metal grating door slides aside.

I feel myself blinking in amazement as I stare at the open gate.

What just happened?

What luck...

Apparently some kind of bug in the program, if a particular word was interpreted by the robot as a necessary response to its request.

I walk cautiously past the guards, the Sentinels and turrets don't disturb me. I feel as if these robots are about to suddenly say, "Surprise, motherfucker!" and smear this dull, spacious room with my insides.

Next, the elevators are already working.

How interesting... Inside, it can only be used to move between the nineteenth and twenty-second floors.

The nineteenth floor is itself a checkpoint. Everything around it seems to radiate protective magical spells. Two hundred years later, they are still faithfully fulfilling their duty. Except that the robots require program adjustments.

The twentieth floor is meeting rooms, for the reception of high-ranking ponies, for simple relaxation and carefree entertainment. Nothing important that has to do with teleportation and other-worlds research is here.

Apparently, when the megaspells fell, the staff who were here took refuge in these rooms for a while, and then almost all of them left. No wonder, since the food supply was exhausted. There was also a water talisman clearly present in the local communications. Rare and invaluable in the conditions of the Wasteland. One of the most coveted items for marauders, for one talisman can ensure a carefree life in the Tenpony Tower. The staff who left some time after Doomsday took it off and carried it with them.

Shame... Couldn't they have left me a water talisman?! I wouldn't mind enjoying all the services of the Tenpony Tower. Perhaps then I would have been able to ferret out information from local cartographers and researchers about the scientific centers that conducted teleportation experiments or the anomalies that emerged in which victims of curiosity disappear without a trace.

There are almost no remains here.

One pony decided to stay, but shot herself a long time ago from loneliness. This pony left no note. I'm keeping her gun, just in case.

It's the second gun that shoots local ammunition. At least it's something good. I haven't gotten used to the first gun yet... because both are designed to be used by mouth. There's no standard grip or trigger. We'll have to learn all over again.

On the bones of the earth pony's neck is some unusual necklace of dark red jewels. I use my telekinesis to remove it...

...and my telekinesis magic around the necklace evaporates.

"What the..."

I try to apply my telekinesis to the necklace again, but to no avail. I can't even use my telekinesis on the pony's remains.

"Strange necklace..."

It seems to be enchanted in a special way. My magic dissipates as soon as it comes into contact with it or the pony remains. At first I would have thought that the necklace might be a threat to my ability to use magic. But even though it belonged to an earth pony, she clearly wasn't wearing it for beauty.

I spend a few minutes trying to get my hooves to grasp the necklace properly and pull it off the remains.

Once again I'm glad I turned into a unicorn and not an earth pony... It's not easy to use my mouth when I want to grab on to something.

The necklace is engraved with the words 'Necklace of the M.A.S.—Telekinesis Protection'.

Ahhhh... So that's why I couldn't take it with telekinesis. Maybe it works as some sort of electromagnetic device against the spell.

Pretty useful stuff! No unicorn can lift and immobilize me with its telekinesis. That's great! Now I'll feel more confident in a fight with a unicorn.

I use my front leg to put on the necklace and see if I can use magic in general. The gun of an earth pony I'm levitating tells me that I can.

Cool!

I head to the twenty-second floor. There I find some more information about Ministries. For example, the power armor for earth ponies was created by two Ministries, Military Technology and Arcane Sciences. Up until the fall of the balefire megaspells, power armor technology was constantly being improved, particularly by other Ministries and even by private entities, such as the mining industry. A powered exoskeleton has a very wide range of uses.

And there's a lot of that out there. Someone created the technology or the spell, and other departments, organizations and businesses tried to improve and adapt them to their field of work.

Many projects have only names and brief descriptions, but what they were and where they were located remains a mystery to me. To gain access to them, I need a special identifying key card, which is available only to representatives of the Ministries in this information center. Searching is useless... everything was taken with them by the staff that left. By the way, according to the records, they left through secret underground tunnels. The last pony had nowhere to run... and with her surviving colleagues, she was in great confrontation, so she stayed.

In general, only a professional hacker with the proper equipment could decrypt the encryption in these terminals without encryption keys. Of course, I can break into an ordinary terminal that only needs a standard password, not the high-level terminals with complex encryption, multi-level encryption, tricky-fuck defense structure, and so on.

Weren't the classified projects available to all the senior staff? Yeah... apparently, they were very important for the country, and especially for the enemies.

There is a similar situation on the twenty-second floor. There are mentions of several projects related to teleportation, but nothing revolutionary has been explored in them. Somewhere they tried to use teleportation for domestic purposes, somewhere in medicine... for example, to retrieve in this way foreign objects that have accidentally entered the body and can't come out naturally through... one place. There were directions developed with the teleportation of organs for their further transplantation or re-implantation without surgical intervention.

It sounds... somewhat absurd, but curious.

Still no clues regarding long-distance teleportation and exploration of other worlds.

The ceiling above the door crumbled slightly as I irritably slammed the door of the last office I examined on the floor.

"So..." I sigh, looking up the steps leading to the twenty-third floor. There' s a bitterness in my throat from disappointment. "I hope I get lucky up there..."

On the top floor, I feel my stomach grow hungry. Hunger makes it easy to give in to anger; I need to quench it.

I open a can of bicentennial sweet corn the Princess Grain.

Thanks to local science that the preservatives here are as potent and effective as they are in the human world. And, most importantly, almost harmless!

Almost...

***

I swallow the last kernel of sweet corn, and place the empty jar of Princess Grain near the terminal that belonged to a pre-war pony of higher authority, destroyed in a violent and brutal manner by someone.

To my surprise, all the terminals have been destroyed. The surviving staff had fled the place, taking all the most important information with them and destroying the source material.

I have already come to terms with this circumstance, and my stuffed stomach, paradoxically enough, gives me a feeling of pleasant relief and sleepiness. Hunger is satisfied, and I can relax. I wouldn't even mind taking a nap. But first, I need to see the locked and untouched safe. I happily rub my front hooves and get down to business.

The lock is complicated... It's been about twenty minutes of grueling confrontation, but I manage to bypass all the security mechanisms.

"Finally!" I rejoice. "Now let's see what you've been trying so hard to hide from me."

The contents of the safe turn out to be low-value documentation regarding the building itself, as well as two instructional books on magical spells: 'Magic Barrier. Advanced Level: Specialist' and 'Teleportation. Beginner Level.'

What a catch! Definitely didn't come here for nothing.

Flipping through the book with interest, a written, I'd say handwritten but that would be inaccurate, piece of paper falls out.

"And what's this..." I mumble.

Hi, cousin! I'm so excited about your promotion! I'm always the first to know who in the PLIC gets access to the one project I monitor. You are now above me and have partial access to it. It is my responsibility to send out assignments related to this project to all the offices of PLIC. I'm sure you have more than a hundred other projects on your shoulders, but you should definitely take a special interest in this one. It has the highest priority. Its key feature is the preservation of ALL of Equestria's scientific and historical knowledge, blueprints, and technology samples. We help to ensure that in the case of the saddest of outcomes, all that we have managed to achieve, learn and discover is not lost. The name of it is the Project Dome. All the details are there. I await your reaction ;)

Saving all knowledge and discoveries in different spheres of life... If there were any developments on teleportation to distant places before the war, this Project Dome must have them.

"This is it!" I unconsciously call out.

At last the matter has moved on! I need to find this Project Dome and, if it has been completed and survived, find in it the information I need.

Oh... right... I don't even know where to start looking for the Project Dome. All I know is its name and its purpose. Or rather, one of its purposes, the key one. It'll take a lot of work to figure out at least its approximate location. I doubt Homage knows anything about this classified project. If she did, she'd tell me there's a place in the Wasteland where all the information is collected.

I take the letter with me and head for the elevator. As I wait for it, I turn my head to the window, and behind it I see solid darkness. Night. Aware of the time of day, I yawn widely.

Well, I'll set up camp here for the night. It's safe here... This place has been safely protected for two hundred years. It's definitely the safest place in the Wasteland right now.

A few hours before I go to sleep, I flip through the magical repair book I bought in the Tenpony Tower.

***

The 12th of the Month of Bread, Cyanday. The twenty-first day of my stay.

I absent-mindedly look at my cape with the number '21' on it. The most desirable number in New Vegas... A symbol of my strange good fortune. I wonder what I'll be lucky enough to encounter?

After a hearty breakfast, I warm up, gather my gear, and head for the exit. I approach the elevator and push the button.

Where should I go next? Where should I start my search for the Project Dome? One thing's for sure: it won't be easy. Homage hardly knows anything about this project. Maybe Watcher knows something about it.

I hear the distinctive bell ring, and the elevator doors open.

I step back in horror—a big winged unicorn comes out to meet me. And not just one, but three! Judging by the shape of their faces, they are female, one dark blue, one dark green, and one dark purple.

How did they get through the turrets and the Sentinels?

"Well, well, who do we have here?" the purple alicorn asks me with an arrogant sneer, stepping forward.

"I'm your happiness," I reply frantically, trying to gather my thoughts and think through a plan of action. "In fact, I'm a terror flying on the wings of night."

These are... the same alicorns that Homage and Wasteland Survival Guide mentioned.

"You're funny," she mutters, without a shadow of friendliness. "What is your name, traveler?"

"The same as your father's."

They are strong in magic, and in the power of their telekinesis I have no doubt. How lucky I was to find that protective necklace yesterday!

"How did you get past security on the nineteenth floor?" there's a sense of irritation in her voice.

"That's the secret of the Buckthorn Company."

They're on full combat alert now: no sooner does my horn blare than they'll vaporize me with some energetically powerful spell. Maybe they'll try to immobilize me... and I'll give them that opportunity. I need the element of surprise—they're not likely to expect a necklace that protects against telekinesis.

"What were you looking for here?" her tone grows more irritable.

"The milk of pony kindness."

"I've had enough of it!" the alicorn blurts out in anger. My answers clearly didn't please them. Their twisted horns glow menacingly.

Violet's magic envelops me in a flash and tries to immobilize me with telekinesis... And immediately dissipates. A second of bewilderment cost them dearly.

I activate the VATS and the 'Hyperfrequency Emitter' implant. Just don't activate it by mistake at the wrong moment...

A large-caliber pistol shot rattles off. The back of the head of the purple alicorn splatters with blood, smearing the purple fur and folded wings on its back.

The barrel of the revolver heads toward the green alicorn. A shot is fired. The bullet slams into the green invisible wall.

Oh... shit...

The blue alicorn's horn bursts into a blinding blue flash, followed by a magical shockwave. It knocks me off my feet, which I realize while already lying on my side.

I roll over. A hoof presses down on me by the throat. It's hard to breathe, unable to move.

"You killed my child!" a loud and solemnly majestic voice says. Other voices echoed softly.

"I was only defending myself..." I excuse myself, looking at the blue alicorn. With her other hoof she removes all my gear and tosses it aside with her telekinesis. She wants to reach for the protective necklace. "I've heard about your reputation."

My throat begins to ache sharply—alicorn presses harder against it.

"You've got a lot of guile..." she says through her teeth.

I try to use telekinesis to relieve the pressure on my throat, but the magic suddenly becomes sluggish and uncontrollable.

"What, is it hard to focus your magic when you're choking?"

I can't answer. My insides all feel like they're shrinking from lack of air.

"You know... You'll be my new child, make up for the loss. Serve the good of the Unity."

Her hold loosens, allowing me to breathe freely. I cough, and try to regain my breath.

"Thank you for" I say, and wrap my front leg around the big blue leg that squeezes my throat, "such a generous offer."

"It's not an offer."

"Really?" I cough forcibly. "And I thought I could refuse."

"You're in no position to-"

I squeeze her front leg harder, and her whole body erupts in a flash of bright red-orange flame. She backs away in terror and screams in pain. The Goddess instantly loses control of the alicorn... Or deliberately did so to avoid the pain.

The on fire winged unicorn waves her massive wings haphazardly, running around the room, trying to somehow stop the fire.

The green alicorn looks on with trembling fear and bewilderment. I pull out my silver revolver and end the blue one's suffering. Her heartbreaking screams cease instantly, leaving behind an echo that spreads around. The body falls muffled to the floor. The blue fur and feathers are still smoking.

There's no point in shooting the last alicorn. As I turned the barrel in her direction, she caught up in time and surrounded herself with a protective barrier that I couldn't penetrate. I might as well bang my head against the wall.

I get to my feet, continuing to hold the green winged unicorn in my sights. Her distracted and frightened look tells me that she'd rather stay in a defensive stance. The presence of a protective necklace... The inflammatory touch... She is paralyzed with terror and doesn't know what to expect from me. Her subconscious and chained fear of the unpredictable unicorn is to my advantage... and even flattering in a way.

"Yes, I'm full of surprises," I say with a sense of smugness.

The floating revolver in the blue haze of my magic is aimed at the alicorn, which is under safe and secure magical protection the whole time. I calmly pick up the pieces of my equipment thrown away by the Goddess. My calm and unconcerned appearance adds to her fear. The advantage is on my side.

What should I do with her? She won't just let go of someone who killed two of her companions... and I can't penetrate her shield. It's a dead end.

I have to get her to remove her magical defenses somehow.

After thinking about the situation for a while, I cautiously retreat to the stairs leading to the roof. I ambush her there, or hide until she's gone.

Once out of her sight, I run upstairs and activate stealth mode of my Pip-Boy. The roof is a landing pad. I choose the most comfortable position, pull out my sniper rifle and get ready to shoot.

I wonder... Will she follow me or not?

A few minutes later I hear the flutter of massive wings. I feel so stupid that I want to slap myself in the face.

Oh... I forgot they can fly!

The green winged unicorn appears a decent distance from the roof, adding to my difficulty in aiming. It's also moving all the time, and its behavior is unpredictable.

Clever pony.

In fact, should I kill her? She doesn't know where I've gone. She's a sort of sentient being who wants to live... and who wants me dead. The Goddess and the alicorns kidnap innocent ponies and forcibly turn them into their own kind. Mostly unicorns like me. They're still going to continue their work. And after what happened, they won't leave me alone. The alicorns have the advantage of flight. And this survivor will obviously be looking for me...

Oh... How frustrating that it's not enough just to hide from the enemy, so that in a few minutes he would forget about me, and I could leave in peace.

I wait patiently... Pip-Boy's power is running out in the meantime, and the alicorn stubbornly refuses to fly off into the sunset. Flickers before my eyes and tries to draw me out. If I procrastinate, the invisibility will dissipate and this green butterfly will be able to see me.

Seconds to go.

You asked for it!

I turn off stealth mode and use the remaining charge on VATS. I take careful aim and pull the trigger. The bullet grazes her lush, rippling green mane and she immediately notices me.

Fuck! That's fast!

She rushes toward me, shooting magical lightning bolts at me. They flash dangerously close to me. With her third magical attack, the alicorn elects a shockwave that knocks me to the ground. Before I know it, I'm pinned to the landing pad by her green magic, and she's standing over me.

Why the fuck isn't the necklace working?!

"Mother told me not to kill you. You cost us too much. My two sisters..." there's a mixture of anger and bitterness in her voice.

The four corners of the roof suddenly hum, hiss, and make a piercing screeching sound to us. Three massive turrets emerge, the fourth gets stuck and doesn't extend fully.

"This is a restricted area," sounds in unison from their speakers, "identify yourself or you will be destroyed."

"What the...?" the alicorn perplexes.

"The answer is incorrect. An annihilation protocol has been initiated."

They begin to hum threateningly, and the door to the building closes, followed by the metallic slam of a locking latch.

The alicorn's horn begins to shine brighter. A green magical dome forms around her, and a laser rain down on her. She groans painfully, trying to contain her discomfort at the crushing pressure on her magical shield.

So that's why the necklace didn't work... She didn't use telekinesis on me, but a barrier. Again, clever pony.

Alicorn shrieks, her green protective dome bursts, bursting with magical light, and with it, the barrier that held me down dissipates. The turrets stop firing at the same moment due to overheating. The huge body falls on top of me—the alicorn unconscious.

An intimate situation... And with a pony that big... Okay, dirty fantasies aside... I have an opportunity for escape! But where, and how do I dispose of this opportunity?

I look around and see a fire hydrant next to the door with a long gray hose in it. I use my telekinesis to push the heavy body of the green alicorn off me, run to the firebox like a bullet, open it, and use my telekinesis to start pulling the hose out and wrapping it around me, retreating to the edge of the roof.

"The cooling process will be complete in five seconds." I bring my sniper rifle close to me. Alicorn doesn't move.

"Four." Stupid to die like that while unconscious, even for her. Let her die, I was trying to kill her anyway. "Three." But if she hadn't, the turrets would have turned me into dust, which would soon scatter in the wind. "Two." Even though they tried to grab me and turn me into one of their own kind, they didn't plan to kill me. "One..."

Oh, fuck it! I can't just abandon the one who saved me from destruction!

The blue magic of my telekinesis envelopes the alicorn and I pull her harshly toward me.

I hope I don't let it out of my magical hold while I'm tumbling down toward the concrete street. I hope I don't get torn in half by the braking. The stuff and the armor on me should soften the pressure of the hose from the sudden braking... I'll try to use magic to weaken it even more.

"The cooling process is complete."

We jump down, and I hear a laser stream of energy hit the edge of the roof I was standing on.

"Fucking hell!" I yell from feeling almost free-falling. The important thing is not to lose concentration, lest the alicorn fly down when the length of the hose runs out and stops me abruptly.

My body tends rapidly downward, the flow of air pressing against my armor. Incredible sensations! They would probably be very different without the armor...

Focus on the belt!

I'm jerked and stopped abruptly, and then nearly bumped against the surviving glass of the building, from the excess of emotion and the surge of pain in the hose wrap area I almost let the alicorn out. My telekinesis is at its limit. What a heavy mare! I'm about to burst from the strain... the hose, too, as I feel myself slowly sinking down.

Holy shit, it's about to burst!

I push away from the window, quickly reach for my revolver, and shoot it. The glass shatters, I throw the alicorn in front of me first, and then I fly into the window myself, on inertia, just as the hose breaks. I land right on top of the mare. Her large and soft dimensions softened my fall. Thus, my body landed in a very comfortable, comfortable and... big place.

I reluctantly get off the mare and crawl to the floor with heavy breathing. I look at the torn hose, and then back at the alicorn. She's breathing, but she's still unconscious. With deep breaths I try to catch my breath and fight the shivers. The encounter with the alicorns, the lightning strikes... and now jumping off the roof of a high-rise building.

Despite the fact that my back and stomach hurt, I burst out laughing that I was still alive.

"That was one hell of a fall!" I say excitedly and give a friendly kick to the unconscious alicorn.

Oh, I forgot we are enemies. A truly dizzying sensation.

I slowly get up on all four legs. By the broken window, I threw off the rest of the hose, magically twisted it, and tossed it out the window.

"Yee-haw!" I yell. "I made it! And don't try to make me do it again, for fuck you will."

Death breathes down the back of my neck, adrenaline rushes through my body... and as soon as it's over... there's a tremendous sense of relief. There's a sense of freedom. It's like an orgasm, only cooler.

I'm looking at the alicorn. Still unconscious. Her pulse is steady.

"Hey! Rise and shine!" I poke her in the nose with my hoof several times. She doesn't respond. I make several attempts to bring her to her senses, but to no avail. "Well, fuck it," I say, walking toward the elevator.

Let her lie there, no one will touch her here anyway. She willed to save my neck from being incinerated. She deserves it.

There's a sign above the elevator that says '16'.

What a long hose...

***

After pressing the elevator button a few times, I remember that the elevators up to the 19th floor are de-energized. I go down on my own four feet. There is no hurry.

As I leave the Princess Luna Information Center, I think hard about where I should go to get information about the Project Dome. Nearby, a flying and round metal machine is revealed. A sprite-bot. It flies in my direction.

"I see you go to dangerous places?" a familiar rough metal voice asks.

Watcher! You're just what I need! It's about time you made yourself known.

"I am a pony filled with curiosity."

"It's obvious, and it's a vice."

I shrug indulgently, then remember the essence of his nickname.

"And... who's to say, watcher... Anyway, I have a thing for you."

"What kind of thing?" there's a genuine interest in his voice.

"You must know about a lot of interesting things that stir the minds of the not-so-educated inhabitants of the Wasteland. But what about the pre-war stuff? How deep is your pre-war knowledge?"

"Go on."

"Are you aware of a government project called the Project Dome?"

There is silence in response. I hold my breath with anticipation and mentally cross my fingers. The last and only opportunity I know at this point to get the information I need.

"Impressive," he replies.

"What do you mean?"

"Not many ponies knew about him before the Doomsday, and not many ponies know about him now. I'm surprised there are any texts about him now."

"But you know..." I don't know if that sounded like a question or a statement myself.

"Luckily for you, yes."

I can hardly keep myself from jumping for joy.

Yes! Even if the connection is broken before I can get anything out of him about the Project Dome, I now have a lead in the form of this mysterious Watcher. I can go to him if I need to, all I have to do is find him or get his attention.

"I assume... you're not just going to share this information with me?"

"Until yesterday, yes."

"Explain..." I blink in bewilderment. What is he talking about? What exactly made him change his mind about me?

"I saw the way you treated that pony."

"Which one?"

"The one you saved from the raiders, fixed her up, and then also pointed her to a safe source of food and water."

The mother and her young filly.

"Ah," a moment of realization, "I remember. So you're spying on me?"

"Well, a little. Just a tiny bit," he says, ironically and innocently. I realized my stupidity. He's Watcher... that's what he does. "Of course, I keep an eye on the ponies that interest me. Why did you help her? I'm not against it, on the contrary, I welcome such altruism. I'm just wondering what moved you at that moment?"

"A naive desire to make the world a better place."

"Sounds like something bad."

"In a way, yes," I say. "I got really burned by it at one time. Helped everybody. But it's hard to discern their motives and intentions. Some took advantage of me... others turned out to be... like spies or assassins. Helped them, and innocents suffered as a result."

"I see your point... What happened to that colt?"

"You mean the brown colt?"

"Yes, I saw that you were on your way to Tenpony Tower. Two days later I saw you on your way out of there without him."

"I put him there."

"You did?"

"Yes, a friend of his father's lived in that place and agreed to take custody of him."

"That's... good news," Watcher replies after a brief pause. "And that's why I'm going to tell you about the Project Dome."

I blink again in surprise.

"Wow... Didn't expect that. Thought I'd have to haggle..."

"You've already done two favors. Information in exchange for good deeds."

Interesting way to trade. Watcher suddenly seemed even more naive than I had in my first months in the Wasteland when I was eighteen.

"Although it's more of a test..." Watcher continues, "but you also lied about being the father of that foal. "

"It's easier to believe a story about a single father than it is to believe that a pony out of the blue decided to look after a foal he didn't know. You'd have to have a long, tedious explanation."

"All right, we're not all perfect... let's cut to the chase while the sprite-bot connection is stable."

"Right! So... the Project Dome... First of all, what is it anyway?"

"A research center. Its special feature was to store all the historical and scientific knowledge of Equestria... and developing it, creating something new."

"All the information gathered in one place. This place just has to be a bastion of technological and magical development!"

"Exactly. The first and only project conceived by all Six Ministries at once. The construction was overseen and kept secret by a special department of the Ministry of Morale. I've forgotten what it was called. Something to do with keeping an eye on... Anyway, never mind."

"I have a burning question. Where was it located?"

"If memory serves me correctly..." Watcher is talking as if to himself, "On the West Coast... No, not Hoofland. And I certainly don't remember it being near Stalliongrad. Not on the South Coast, anyway. Far to the north... Oh, I remember. Somewhere near Vanhoover."

"Where's that?"

"Just north of Hoofland, over the mountains."

"That's a long way..."

"You bet it is. The area around Vanhoover had been developed recently, after the discovery of whole layers of minerals. Mines, factories, and plants sprang up like mushrooms after the rain. A great place to build such a massive research center. And also far from the front. Perfect."

I am under the impression of Watcher's pre-war knowledge, as if he really lived then! Perhaps he really is a ghoul.

"And what's the situation like now?"

"No idea."

Which, of course, is an answer I didn't expect at all. I hear him chuckle awkwardly.

"That terrain is out of my reach," he explains. "Too far for sprite-bot control."

"And there's not even a hunch?"

"There are more guesses and hypotheses than there are gems in an adult dragon's cave. More than there needs to be."

Interesting analogy... I keep forgetting there are dragons in this world, cactus up my ass!

"Why so much speculation?"

"Hoofland is a hotbed of religious groups. What they have imagined is beyond imagination. However, I can say with certainty that there are no coming back from Vanhoover. Well, or at least I've had no luck in meeting any returnees, not even caravans. There are quite a few other interesting places in the Wasteland, like the Great Deserts with their giant underground creatures, the Yellow Fog in the south of the Sapphire Sea, and the giant monsters in the north of that sea."

I don't want to hear anything about giant monsters... I'm about to lose my mind over the existence of such enormous creatures as dragons and the like in this world.

"Maybe the scientists from the Project Dome have built a real paradise in Vanhoover that nobody wants to come back from?"

Watcher laughs with a sense of nonchalance.

"I could name you more than a dozen such stories. Most of the Vanhoover stories, however, are ominous and mystical. Often some immortal white demon is mentioned, capturing the souls of the weak. Maybe there's something to that."

"Still, thanks for the tip. I'll head over there. Actually, you know... You're like a fly on shit—you see and know everything: the secret project, the events of a century ago. How did you—"

The sprite-bot makes some muffled clicking sound and then launches into an inspiring patriotic march. It flies away, leaving me blinking in bewilderment.

"What a dick."

***

A paper map of all of postwar Equestria floats before me in the blue smoke of my magic. It marks key landmarks, caravan routes, and cities in as professional a way as possible in the Wasteland.

And Vanhoover is not in the great party of these marks.

I look up dolefully at the gray clouds in the sky. A deep and quiet sigh... a long and irritated exhale.

To go randomly to the northeast... Or go back to the Tenpony Tower and try to find out more precise coordinates? Or should I head to that Hoofland, and from there head straight north, over the mountains?

"It's not a question of two chairs with spikes and dicks... Why is the choice so hard?"

A shot rang out nearby.

I instinctively roll up my map and prepare to fight. There's no one on the compass. Too far away. The shots come in at regular intervals. The shots come from the same type of gun, so it's not a pony or griffon gunfight amongst themselves. I follow the sound.

As I emerge onto a small rise, between the suburban Manehattan houses, I see an earth pony shooting off on the roof of a self-propelled brown transport. A pack of hungry dogs circles around her. Four have been killed, and there are three more to go.

A gunshot rumbles out. The dog whines painfully and falls to the ground. It twitches its hind leg a couple of times and finally falls silent. The remaining dogs' instinct for self-preservation—the prey is too strong and dangerous—prompts them to flee in fear. Fortunately, in the opposite direction from me.

I look at the pony through the scope of my sniper rifle.

The light lilac-colored earth pony sets aside her rifle with the scope and tries to get off the roof. Her movements are heavy, cautious and slow, seeming clumsy. She is of elderly age. This is evidenced by her fully gray mane, her mouth wide open because of her shortness of breath. Her entire body is clad in a sturdy, dark armor of leather and metal plates.

Nothing out of the ordinary... except for the vehicle from the roof of which the pony was firing off. From the looks of it, it's clearly on the move. A tall and fortified off-road vehicle with large and well-protected wheels, an open luggage compartment. Thick armor, windows equipped with additional metal plates that open and close like shutters in case of a gunshot attack. The body is stained with dried mud and dust, but because of its brown color it is not noticeable.

It's almost like an armored personnel carrier.

Once down, the lilac pony takes deep breaths and grabs her front hoof on her chest. She coughs loudly. After catching her breath, she goes to the engine hood, opens it, and begins inspecting the engine. She goes to the trunk and pulls out tools from there, which she then spreads out on the pavement near the front of the SUV. Taking the tools in her mouth, she begins to work on the engine.

I think the noise of the SUV attracted a pack of dogs, they chased it, and the engine sneakily stalled at an inopportune moment. And the pony had to fight them off.

I used to drive a bike in the Capital Wasteland, and on the West Coast and Mojave in particular, I drove an off-road vehicle like this one. The big problem was the lack of fuel... and a perpetually bad engine. They don't make new ones in commercial amounts, so we have to reanimate and maintain pre-war models that are best preserved and easiest to repair and modify.

With this off-road vehicle I could get to Vanhoover faster.

The lilac pony turns away from the hood and coughs loudly. In the direction of the coughing, a bloodstain appears on the pavement.

Something is wrong with her lungs... Walking over to her. Though she clearly knows how to stand up for herself and is able to kill me in a second if she notices me, but something tells me that she will not start shooting at me.

Despite her age, she can hear me coming. Her hearing is clearly trained to recognize suspicious sounds. She raises her graying head and assesses me with a haggard look, holding a wrench in her teeth. After a second appraisal of my appearance, she continues rummaging through the engine.

"Good hearing," I say, stepping closer. My voice is distorted by the speaker of my helmet.

In response, she raises her front leg, thereby thanking me for the compliment. I walk even closer, tilt my head and watch her work, assessing the engine arrangement at the same time.

"Is the engine messed up?"

"Uh-huh," she mutters with the tool in her teeth. She's pretty handy with that.

The inside of the hood of the car is almost indistinguishable from the inside of the vehicles of my world. Cylinders, radiator, air filter, electrical... in this case, an energy-magic battery. In general, the purpose of each element is intuitively clear.

"Help?"

The lilac pony stops, raises her head with the tool in her teeth, and looks at me curiously. She gently sets the tool aside on the energy-magic battery.

"Why the kindness?" she asks in her husky, low voice.

"In case we're on our way... I need to get to either Hoofland or Vanhoover, but preferably Vanhoover."

Her lips stretch slightly in a smile of understanding the self-serving motives of my offered assistance.

"Well... No wonder you're interested in my old friend." She kicks the bumper guard irritably but lightly. "He's on his last gasp, and so am I," she grins. I turn my head for a moment and look at the bloodstain that has appeared on the pavement from her coughing. "But hopefully it will make it to the West Coast. You're lucky I'm headed there, too."

"For how much?"

"Free, if you help me get food and water and..." she slowly runs her hoof over the brown hull, "...fix this junk from time to time."

Drivers very rarely take unfamiliar hitchhikers—for reasons of caution. Especially if traveling alone without backup and on important business. Unusually, she agreed to take me along so easily. Too good an offer for me.

"Sounds too attractive to be true. I'm surprised you agreed to take me along at all."

She evaluates my appearance one more time.

"You have a rifle with a scope, and a silencer, too. You could have easily killed me, left my decrepit body for those dogs to tear apart, and taken Bear for yourself. But you didn't. That's saying something."

The SUV does look like a bear or a yao guai. It's big, brown in color, with thick protection.

"What if I have other plans for you?"

"I'm no good for a slave," she turns away, covers her mouth with her hoof and coughs painfully. "Not the right age. I barely climbed up on the roof to escape the pathetic dogs."

And really, when you think about it, you can't make any caps on her, and given her health, it's hard for her to get food and water on the road, let alone fix the car. She benefits from having a traveling companion to keep an eye on her.

"So, do you agree?" she asks.

"You bet!"

She smiles cheerfully.

"Then let's get acquainted..." she raises her hoof to greet me. "My name is Lilac Journey, cartographer."

Oh, she's the kind of person who does the mapping of the Wasteland? So lucky... I won't get lost in the Equestrian Wasteland with her for sure!

Going on a journey with Journey... Sounds like fun.

I take off my helmet and smile.

"Daniel, courier and traveler," I say, and smack her raised hoof affectionately. "You can just Danny."

At the word 'traveler', the elderly earth pony has taken me differently: there is a sense of admiration and joy in her gaze and barely noticeable smile.

***

It doesn't take long to fix the engine. It allows me to practice my magic and apply the knowledge from the magical repair book I picked up last night before I went to sleep.

And off we drove. The SUV shakes slightly from the bumps in the road, but the shock absorbers do a great job.

It's nice to relax and lazily watch the changing landscape. There are fewer and fewer rotten wooden houses and homesteads as we move farther and farther away from the ruins of Manehattan.

"Bear is clumsy and slow," Lilac Journey says, sitting behind the wheel and driving around the potholes, "but strong and hardy. He's not afraid of small caliber bullets at all. With stops, including possible breakdowns, it'll take us about six to seven days to get to Vanhoover."

"Does it have enough fuel?"

We pull up to a pre-war gas station near which a large caravan has camped. Lilac prudently slides the protective panels on the windows as tightly as possible to reduce the chance of bullets hitting inside the cabin, but she doesn't slide them all the way in so she can see the road. A guard earth pony with a battle saddle on its roof keeps its sights on us until we pass by.

"What do you take me for?" Lilac says, remembering my question. "I've been driving a self-propelled vehicle all my life. I know where Vanhoover is and how much fuel it would take approximately to get there."

"Have you been there?"

"No."

She coughs, losing control of the controls for a second, causing the car to yank slightly sideways. My body tenses, and I squeeze into the padded seat.

"I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," I hide my nervous sigh. "So... why didn't you get a chance to visit Vanhoover?"

"I explored the northern part of the east coast and a certain part of the former Griffon Kingdom. Vanhoover, on the opposite coast."

"So you haven't left the boundaries of the territory you've been working in? Then how do you know roughly how far it is to go there?"

"I did, and mostly we visited all the pre-war towns or other interesting pre-war sites. Including Hoofland, which is where Vanhoover is supposed to be in the mountains to the north."

"We? You didn't travel alone?"

"Yep... With one special pony that I've lived with most of my life..."

Lilac becomes silent and sinks into thought, looking straight ahead at the road. A nostalgic smile appears on her lips. From the looks of it, that special pony means a lot to her. And I don't have to be a smart aleck to know that he's long gone.

Some look back on their past with longing and sadness, and some...

The pony keeps smiling slightly. She is far away now... in her young and happy past.

I envy... I envy how easily she remembers her beloved pony, the joyful moments of their life together, not taking into account that he is no longer among the living.

***

Evening. The vegetation around is unusually high, which is rare in the Wasteland. The forest is extremely lush and dense. A faint wind ripples the many branches with green leaves, large bushes and tall grass.

Lilac opens the well-protected metal box in the trunk. I stand beside it. Inside the crate are stacks of number-labeled diaries and folded drawn maps. Most of them are shabby, some that look like they were actively written and used four decades ago. Out of interest, I randomly pick up one of the maps with magic while the cartographer searches for one of the diaries she has written.

I carefully unfold the old map. It depicts the east coast with many notations, each with a footnote to the diaries, I believe. I think the diaries detail the areas marked here.

So what is this region?

It doesn't take long to find the answer. 'Sector GK-13, Lionheart vicinity,' the inscription in the corner reads.

"Lionheart?" I pronounce aloud.

"Capital of the Griffon Kingdom," Lilac throws with a hoarse breath. She's having a hard time. It's a wonder she's still hanging on. "Oh, found it!"

She pulls out a leather-bound diary numbered '42' in her teeth. The mare's eyes suddenly narrow and her mouth opens wide, dropping the diary. The sound of its fall to the ground completely drowns out the mare's bursting cough.

"Are you okay?" I ask, putting my hoof on her shoulder. She sits up and tries to suppress her cough.

"I'm... fine. For now," she says, coughing. "My poor lungs picked up all kinds of crap. And this is the result..."

I suspect her lungs are affected by some serious disease. Or several. Maybe even cancer, which is not surprising at that age.

"Is it fixable?" I ask.

The answer is a tired and sad look in her mauve eyes.

"The doctors at Tenpony Tower can't help me," she adds. "The medication relieves the pain, but it doesn't get rid of... Well, enough about that. Here's the diary..." she looks at it. My magic picks it up, and I slowly flip through it. There is very little information in it.

Lilac notices my bewilderment.

"More detailed information costs decent caps," she explains. "Besides, griffons aren't particularly eager to sell valuable information to ponies. Nor was there any desire to explore this Reserve. It's just beautiful on its own."

The branches and leaves rustle loudly. A sudden gust of wind nearly rips the journal from my blue magic grip.

"Griffons have taken a fancy to it?"

"Didn't you know?"

She'd explored the Griffon Kingdom and the northern part of the East Coast for the most part. Consequently, it is easier for her to lie about what is going on in the south.

"I'm from the southern lands, so..."

"Ahhh... This used to be the largest natural reserve in Equestria. During the zebra war, it was given to the Griffon Kingdom as a sign of alliance. Megaspells were aimed at military and strategic targets, and the natural reserves, as you understand, don't make that list."

"The amount of sunlight has decreased dramatically," my eyes turn to the gray cloud-clouded sky. Pegasi has maintained this veil for two hundred years. "How could such lush vegetation have survived with a drastic and significant lack of light?"

Lilac shrugs his shoulders confusedly in response.

"Probably," she adds, "adapted under the influence of some dose of radiation brought in by winds from neighboring regions."

"A very lucky dose..."

The green corridors of Vault 22 appear before my eyes, filled with vegetation and the dangerous spore-like creatures that lurk in them. A hissing and threatening growl erupts, sending a nasty chill through my body.

I shake my head, pushing my memories away.

Perhaps there were similar experiments in the reserve to breed special species of plants that could adapt to the harshest of environmental conditions.

I also recall an Oasis in the Capital Wasteland, notable for its particularly lush vegetation, caused by a talking tree named Harold. Such a curiosity I'd never forget.

"Anyway," I continue, "after the Great War it became the new home of the griffons?"

"Yes, but not immediately. As soon as the Grand Pegasus Enclave began sacking the remnants of the Griffon Kingdom, the griffons fled south. Some of them took over the natural reserve and comfortably established themselves in it, turning it into hunting grounds. Griffons don't have much imagination, so they called it Reserve. Since then... they've become the chief purveyors of berries, hides and meat this side of the Great Desert."

This reserve... this source of meat and hides and various berries and wild fruits and vegetables... is a tidbit in the Wasteland. No wonder why griffons are reluctant to sell useful information about flora and fauna. They make caps on it, so they protect it. They obviously don't like nosy ponies... which means I'll make them grind their teeth in anger. Or rather, their beaks. Griffons, on the other hand, have the traits of birds and lions.

"Now I understand... And I have my doubts."

Lilac smiles softly, and voices my concerns with startling accuracy, "That we're hunting in their territory without permission?"

"Yeah..."

"You have a rifle with a silencer. It won't make much noise. Besides, we've barely entered their territory. There are no hunters here. Sort of."

"Your 'sort of' doesn't make me optimistic."

She opens her mouth to say something, but starts coughing painfully.

"That's it... go... I need to take my medicine," she says, and walks to Bear's cabin.

I doomfully shake my head in her wake and go hunting. I've taken the bare minimum of gear for comfortable movement.

Since she has explored the Griffon Kingdom, and with it their behavior and culture... I hope she knows what she's talking about... and they won't get our skins for 'poaching'.

***

Wood and twigs crackle in the fire. Above them, a succulent carcass of a local variety of wild boar is roasting on an improvised steel rod spit. It's almost radiation-free.

Lilac is resting on his back in a sleeping bag next to Bear and enjoying the dark sky, looking up at it through the dense tree crowns. I'm near the fire making sure the meat isn't overcooked and the fire doesn't go out. My mouth is filled with drool from the smell of roasting meat.

The hot air from the fire makes me thirsty. I take out my water condenser and pour the collected moisture from it into a flask. I sip some of the cold liquid, and a pleasant wave of pleasure runs through my body.

"Extremely useful stuff," the pony says. Her head turns toward me. Lilac eyes glisten with the light of the fire.

"Very," I say, focusing on the meat. "Found it in a certain science center."

"Lucky find... Don't see much point in it, though."

I turn around again, feeling perplexed.

"What do you mean?"

"Water talismans do a much better job of that."

Oh, so that's it... Her question goes something like this. Why do you need a simpler version of technology when magical equivalents do it perfectly?

"It was meant to be mass-produced as a counterpart to water talismans," I explain. "Not everything has to be tied to magic."

"Oh, so it doesn't have a drop of magic in it?"

She covers her mouth with her hoof and coughs.

"That's its specialty," I nod. Generally speaking, it is. The technology was created in the human world, without all that magical energy, fancy spells, or tambourine dancing.

"I'm so tired of this coughing. My lungs feel like they're burning," she wheezes in an exhausted voice.

She pulls out a glass vial, a pre-war remedy with a hard-to-pronounce name. She swallows some and sighs with relief. Closing the vial, she holds it up to her eyes. A hopeless and oppressive sadness is on her face.

I can't take my eyes off her. My heart clutches in my chest.

"There's one more time left," she adds.

"How much medicine do you have left?"

"This is the last one."

"Oh..."

Her lips stretch into a bitter smile.

"Getting old sucks," she says. "Lots of nasty health problems... There's hardly any pre-war specific medication left, and the ones I do have are as expensive as my Bear."

"What are you going to do?"

"Try my luck in New Lionheart."

"First we hunt prey that belongs to griffons, and now we're going to ask them for a cure? And at what cost will they give it to us, even if they have it?"

She hums nonchalantly and smugly.

"Why not?"

I shake my head hopelessly. She's bold and indescribably reckless. I can tell she's been to the lands of the griffons, the most skilled predators in the Wasteland. She soaked in their harshness like her lungs are in the noxious and polluted air.

"You... don't shake your head like she's a pendulum, but watch the meat. I still want to have time to eat freshly roasted meat," she licks greedily.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?"

I turn to the fire and double-check the condition of the roasted meat.

"With my age and the sores that keep progressing, every night's sleep is like my last. So... come on, stop roasting meat, tear me a bigger piece. And don't forget to spice it up."

***

The 13th of the Month of Bread, Blueday. The twenty-second day of my stay.

I gently nudge the sleeping the earth pony in the shoulder. She doesn't respond. I push her again—no reaction, but I can see her sighing peacefully.

"Hey, wake up. Hunters!"

"Huh?" her body shudders, her eyes flutter open in panic. "Tumbleweed, get your things together and-" she stops abruptly, as she can't get up quickly. Her face contorts into a grimace of pain. "Oh... my back..." She looks around painfully and focuses her eyes on me. "Tear you apart Discord..." she moans irritably and falls back onto her back.

"Well, you've slept a lot already. I had time to eat breakfast and do some magical repairs on your Bear."

"Watch it..." she raises her hoof with reproach and caution. "If we stall in the middle of the road and the Hellhounds surround us..."

"They don't breed here," I smile. For this information I am grateful to Ditzy Doo. "Oh, and don't worry. I used to drive a transport myself. So me and the engines are good friends."

"I already figured that out yesterday. But still... I don't like anyone sticking their naughty hooves in my Bear."

"Rest assured, I didn't even touch him with my naughty hooves," I smile, and my horn sparkles with blue magic. Lilac rolls her eyes. "Who's Tumbleweed, anyway?"

"How do you know about him?" her eyes look extremely surprised.

"Well... you just mentioned him yourself when I woke you up."

"Really?" she says perplexedly. "You woke me up all of a sudden... I don't even remember what I said."

"So... who is it?"

Her gaze drifts to the sky. The tree crowns sway lazily in the wind.

"My special pony..."

"And how did he... well..." I begin. It doesn't look like she's remembering him in pain. I hope nothing serious happens if I ask how he died. Still, I don't know how to phrase the question delicately without hurt feelings or unpleasant associations.

"Old age... He was less fortunate than I was. It happened seven years ago."

"I'm... sorry. From your attitude toward him, I can only assume he was a wonderful pony."

"Thank you," she turns to me. Her lips stretch slightly in a smile. "In the Wasteland, one doesn't usually care about the losses of others when one's own shoulders are full of grief... Can't even utter a word of sympathy."

Lilac eats yesterday's boar for breakfast, and we take the rest of the meat with us and head for New Lionheart, the last capital of the griffons.

This town appears before my eyes all of a sudden. The many trees surrounding us block the view after all, so I couldn't anticipate when to expect its appearance. Besides, I was engrossed in studying magic books on teleportation and the barrier. By contrast, my cartographer's untroubled look indicated that she knew exactly when the city would appear.

"There used to be," Lilac begins as we pass the concrete fences with the iron bar cutouts, "a nature reserve administration with all sorts of service buildings to serve it, and also a tourist hotel. Now all the elite of the Reserve's griffons nest in it."
We stop in a cleared and patched parking lot not far from the white administration building. I get out of the SUV and look around with interest.

The parking lot is spacious, well-maintained, and... with all sorts of wagons and working vehicles. Most of it belongs to the caravan drivers, with the rest belonging to all manner of travelers, mercenaries, and couriers.

Almost everyone I see is a... griffons.

Huge feathered birds. And in such numbers! They are as colorful as ponies, but the color of their feathers and beaks is not so expressive and flashy. Compared to ponies, their color palette is less intense, darker.

One truly massive griffon, one and a half times taller than me, with dark green feathering, passes my studying gaze. It stares down at me indifferently, like a worthless insect. Its yellow beak can pierce my skull like an egg. My knees buckle with weakness, an uncomfortable shiver runs through my body. I am a defenseless and tiny prey that exists only for his hunting amusement.

I swallow nervously, staring into the void. He's already passed me by when I realize my feelings. Anxiety overflows inside me, my gaze fixed on the boarded-up window of the white office building.

"Impressive, huh?" Lilac's voice hears. I nod exhaustedly. "This isn't some pathetic East Coast griffon." She coughs. "They're hardy and strong here. Can easily pick off a Hellhound with their paws."

"I... haven't seen one this big yet..."

"New Lionheart griffons are larger than ordinary griffons."

"What makes them so... big?"

I manage to control myself and turn back to the elderly cartographer.

"Reserve changed them... I don't know how. Probably through radiation-exposed plants or something." She shrugs. "Keep your pretty beige nose out of their secrets, unless it was in your plans to leave your horned head on some griffon's trophy wall."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"No, I mean it. Don't go down any dark alleys. To most griffons, we're like brahmins. Especially earth ponies like me. You're lucky you're a unicorn. You are somewhat unpredictable to them because of your magical powers. They'll keep an eye on you, and they won't just cross you. At least not openly."

I look around cautiously and pay attention to the stares of some feathery hunters.

Unpredictable... Yeah, right. And I don't really have any magical powers. I have to bluff in tricky, life-threatening situations.

Lilac restrains his violent coughing urges.

"What is this place in general?" I ask.

"The only place they let ponies in. Don't leave the boundaries of the pavement roads and... administration fences." Her hoof, clad in leather and armor plate armor, straightens toward a concrete fence with metal bars. "I wasn't kidding that you could be their prey. Otherwise, they'll consider you a trespasser and be free to do whatever they see fit with you."

"How will they know... I didn't see any guards along the way or security cameras."

Lilac turns and smiles strangely.

"Exactly: just because you didn't see something doesn't mean it's not there. Griffons are hiding. They're in the trees, Danny."

I swallow nervously again. The surrounding vegetation suddenly seems hostile and dangerous... because of the griffons that hide in it, predatory and eager to hunt. I already want to get out of this place, to rush away from the Reserve. Every griffon can possess me as a... trophy. I am, after all, a unicorn, which would be more valuable as a trophy.

"It's okay to be afraid of griffons. Let's go... Stay close and everything will go smoothly. As long as you're in New Lionheart territory, nothing will happen to you."

We approach the tourist hotel. It is used for its pre-war purpose. There everyone can get a room, trade, go to a restaurant or bar, and visit the local doctor, repairman, and craftsmen of other specific services. No ponies are allowed into the other buildings that the griffons have adapted to their needs.

"Why?" I ask.

"So eager," the elderly pony's purple eyes stare at me with caution, "to see the pony heads on the walls?"

I blink, my mouth falling open in surprise.

I will never get used to this world... A world where there are several races of sentient beings at once. The way they perceive each other. The closest I ever came to experiencing it was in the company of neutral supermutants, for whom it is natural to eat human flesh. The most welcoming supermutant was Marcus from Jacobstown. Well, why was... he still is. However, supermutants are modified humans, and griffons in relation to ponies are a completely different race.

We're in.

"Can I help you?" the hotel receptionist asks. The voice is high, female. A griffon with gray plumage. She doesn't look so intimidating, but even a little cute. In contrast to the other stern griffons, at least. She's not wearing any clothing or protective gear—as are most griffons, anyway.

"Is Ash Bone still the Guardian of Reserve?"

The gray griffon's eyes look somewhat surprised... At such a bold question from Lilac, I suppose. Asking for the most important griffon! Probably the most important one. I don't know what the title means, but I'm sure he holds quite a high position, so it's not that easy to get to him.

And the administrator nods affirmatively at her question.

"Wonderful..." Lilac struggles to hold back her cough. "Get him in the restaurant."

The griffon's eyes open even wider, so wide that the elderly pony could fit through them.

She's got a lot of guts. After what she told me about the griffons here, I find it hard to remain indifferent. Fear that her impertinence is about to get us butchered. I wish I'd worn a helmet to hide my unease.

"Tell him," Lilac adds, "that the lilac cartographer has come to see him. He'll understand."

How does she know him?

"Well... I'll let you know," she says. The griffon's tone is menacing and cold, like a night in the Mojave Desert. "But if you waste his time..."

"I'm not afraid of death, dear," Lilac says, smirking. She looks away and coughs. "Damn... Let's go," she turns to me. "Let's have lunch. They have the best selection of meat in the Wasteland!"

"Maybe..." I follow her. "Will you behave a little more modestly? Even though you're not afraid of death, I'm still young..."

The local griffon society makes a strong impression on me.

"And yet you call yourself a traveler!" she laughs without looking back. "When you travel, your life is always at risk."

Against this pony that has spent a lifetime exploring the ruined Griffon Kingdom and the culture of the fierce and fearless griffons, I am nothing more than a jerk from the Tenpony Tower.

"Caution does not mean cowardice," I mutter.

A huge, spacious hall, without any frills. White peeling walls. All the windows have glass broken out and are boarded up with sheets of plywood to protect them from the wind. Lighting is provided by oily lanterns on the tables. At most of the wooden tables sit ponies and griffons. It is clear from snippets of conversation that they are discussing business and trade relations with nearby settlements. Making new acquaintances and so on. Lilac Journey takes a seat at the nearest available table, and I join her.

"If you want to talk to a griffon from Reserve," the lilac earth pony begins as I peer curiously at the nearby tables, "you won't find a better place."

"Is there something special about it?"

"Griffons, to put it mildly, aren't thrilled to be pulled away by all sorts of prey like you and me," she coughs. "Probably prey like you. Me... old and decrepit, they won't touch me. I'm not even fit for meat. Just shoot me and feed me to the dogs."

I feel myself staring at her again. With what levity and calmness she speaks of this in the company of griffons that do not disdain the meat of ponies. I don't have the courage to say such things out loud. Maybe in fun, but with no griffons around.

"So... what this place is special about? You can only request an audience with someone in particular, and they'll come to the hotel if they want to, namely the restaurant or the bar. Or you can sit down with any of the griffons already here. If a griffon came here, that means he's in a position to talk to a pony and won't let you in for meat unless you provoke him. It's simple."

"What will you have?" a young griffon with dark orange plumage says. She's shorter in height at the withers than I am. She has a disgruntled and angry look, and clearly doesn't want to do the restaurant service.

"Smoked elk meat, vegetable stew, and fresh berry juice," Lilac says.

"Me, too," I nod. I don't feel like thinking about my choice of food. I'm on pins and needles right now.

The orange griffon moves away without more words or gestures. Her elongated tail flashes before my eyes and disappears at the first table nearest the customers.

"What's wrong with her?" I ask, referring to her far from friendly appearance even for a griffon.

"Griffons can be punished for breaking the rules in the form of... what was it called in the past..." the older pony taps thoughtfully on the wooden table. "Oh! I remember. Public works."

"What do you mean?"

"The proud griffon of the reserve serves the ponies... what else could be more humiliating than that to maintain order?" she asks rhetorically, smiling. "An aversion to servitude is stronger than the fear of death in battle or hunting. That's what the order here is based on. For the most part, harsh crimes, of course, are also punishable by a shot to the head or strict isolation."

"Ahh... and what might she have violated?"

"I don't know. Maybe she stole something from another griffon. There are about the same rules between griffons as there are between ponies."

I shudder—the griffon's confident and clear voice breaks out, "Who do I see!"

A griffon, whose light gray plumage is illuminated by the yellow light of oily lanterns, is heading toward us from the entrance of the restaurant. The griffon is dressed in dark green armor with its hood thrown back. The coloring of the armor is reminiscent of the vegetation of the reserve.

"The one," Lilac continues his words, "you haven't seen in ten years."

The griffon sits up without hesitation, folding his paw into a fist and holding it out to Lilac. She responds by kicking her hoof against it. The white griffon turns in my direction and stares at me with his ruby eyes.

"Who's that?"

"Just a fellow traveler," she replies.

"You started taking hitchhikers? How you have changed... Indeed, I haven't seen you for too long. Well, let's meet," he nods. He holds out his paw. I tentatively extend my hoof to him. His strong clawed paw grasps it sharply and firmly and shakes it. Almost like a handshake. "Guardian of Reserve, Ash Bone."

"Uh... Daniel," I say excitedly and take my hoof away. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah..." he utters without much of a cheer. His interest is piqued when his gaze turns to the mauve cartographer. "Where's your Tumbleweed?"

"Seven years admiring the sunrise on the shores of the East Coast," she eases up, and a slight wistfulness appears on her face.

Strange phrasing for someone who's already dead. What does it mean?

"Ahh... I'm sorry," Ash Bone says with sincerity. "You and he shared a passion for travel... How do you feel after what happened?"

The rugged, ravenous griffon, Guardian of all things Reserve, is interested in the feelings of an elderly pony? What? Does he also know what her phrase about admiring the sun means? How well do they know each other?

"It was hard at first... I don't even want to think about it. But then I rethought some things and... I got over it."

Has she come to terms with the death of her beloved pony, so much so that she can remember him easily? What exactly had she rethought? We'll have to ask her about that sometime.

"Overcame her pain... That's the spirit!" the Guardian admires sincerely. "Just like a hardened griffon!"

The orange griffon returns to us with a large metal tray and our order. At the sight of the Guardian of Reserve at the table, she nearly drops our food. Her eyes widen in amazement, about to fall out of her orbits. The next second she lowers her head and leaves the order.

"Uh-uh," the young orange griffon sighs anxiously. "I... Uh... I mean, do you want anything?" she asks quietly. The bright griffon in camouflage armor shakes his head negatively.

"And..." the guilt-ridden griffon continues, turning toward us. Her long claw on her right front paw nervously scrapes the wooden floor. "Your food bill..."

A large gray clawed paw rises into the air. The griffon flinches and stares at it, breathless.

"No need," the Guardian says. "It's on the house."

She nods hastily, makes a courteous bow, and disappears from view.

Yes, Ash Bone is definitely a high-flying bird. The higher the status, the lower the heads...

And Lilac is a friend of his?!

Fuck that!

"Your traveling companion seems surprised by something," Ash smiles slightly.

"I guess it doesn't occur to him that the most important person in Reserve and New Lionheart has ties to an old and decrepit pony like me."

They both laugh nonchalantly.

What's going on?

"Mouth open..." the older earth pony smiles. Grabbing a chunk of the stiffened moose, she washes it down with berry juice. "Now eat."

I, like an obedient dog, take to eating it, not my order, but the treat, since I got it for free.

"So..." Ash begins, when we've eaten almost half of what we've brought. In the silence, I was able to come to terms with the situation and process what had happened. I also liked the berry juice. I wanted more! However, I decided to be modest and didn't ask for more. "What is there in the East? Does Red Eye really have that kind of influence? I've heard of alicorns at his side..."

Wait... Unity and Red Eye and his army are working together? Something Homage and Littlepip forgot to mention such important information! This is an extremely dangerous alliance. In that case, no one will be able to oppose them unless they suddenly break up for some reason.

"Definitely. It's been several years since he completely took over Fillydelphia and the surrounding territories. Slowly moving west as he is now concentrating to the southeast, to Hoofington."

"Wants to set the stage for relations with southern pre-war Equestria? Wants to be the only trading partner on this side of the Equestrian Wasteland?"

Lilac coughs, and tries to catch his breath.

"For now, I think so. Though he probably doesn't want to be ceremonial about business relations anymore, and has plans to take over the railroad track that goes to Baltimare."

"Does he have the strength to stand up to the center of all trade in the Wasteland?" Ash mutters with skepticism.

The elderly pony's hoofs spread confusedly.

"Who knows... Maybe yes, maybe no. I'm willing to bet all my remaining teeth that both Red Eye and Goddess and the Baltimare Trade Union have a few trumps in store. It's always like this with the big powers... or am I wrong?" she smiles, looking at Ash. "Your Reserve must have its trumps stashed away, too, mustn't it... Guardian?"

Didn't she tell me to keep my mouth shut about their secrets and to keep my nose out of their business? Although... she has every right to behave that way because of her ties to him, while I, an unknown unicorn, should not imitate her insolent behavior.

The Guardian of Reserve rolls his eyes dolefully and shakes his head.

And Lilac's phrase about stashed trump cards has piqued my interest in what's hidden in this sanctuary.

"Don't your scouts and other travelers report everything about the strongest empire in the Wasteland?"

"And they're not the only ones..." Ash mumbles with a sour expression on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Red Eye has sent his ambassadors or representatives here before. And... he's even thought this move through. He sends his griffons to negotiate."

"Wow... And anyway, how do you feel about having so many griffons working for him?"

"It's hard to say. If the griffons are working for him, it means either he's paying them well or they really think he's a strong chief. Either way... I won't give him my Reserve so easily. Reserve must remain untouched. And..." The light griffon looks absent-mindedly at the nearby tables, his voice becoming quiet, "Most griffons won't let me give up Reserve to a pony, no matter how powerful and influential it may be."

"I see... You don't know what kind of power and capability he has. And the ambassadors may have either exaggerated or left something out. So you don't know what to do in such a situation."

He nods grimly and continues speaking in his usual tone.

"It's a good thing his attention is focused on the southeast now. Oh, and the Enclave has suddenly lost interest in Reserve. All this gives me more time to think."

Was the Enclave showing interest in Reserve? Had the Guardian encountered their soldiers or scouts? Perhaps even fought with them? There really is something interesting about this Reserve, if even the Enclave is curious about what the griffons had discovered in this seemingly ordinary pre-war Reserve.

I should... make every effort to contain my curiosity. My life could be at risk, not to mention the risk of being drawn into a political, civilian, or military conflict. Too much responsibility for my curiosity.

Lilac bursts into another painful cough.

"And you... where are you going?" the griffon asks, noticing her condition. "I doubt you've come just to see the old griffon. And I suspect it has something to do with your cough... I don't like it."

"You're right," she has finished her entire portion and drained the big cup of juice completely. "Soon I'll start spitting out my lungs along with my cough... But it's not likely to come to that. I'll die faster. I've been feeling extremely fucked up for the last few months. The meds aren't working anymore, they're just... relieve my symptoms. But they've run out, too."

Lilac reads out a list of medications, the names of which would break my tongue. The Guardian of Reserve is as perplexed by the names as I am.

"I'm sorry... but we don't have anything like that anywhere near here. Wouldn't simple healing potions help?"

"Healing potions only work on fresh wounds and injuries. Diseases are of a slightly different nature. Potions won't help." She starts coughing so hard that what she eats almost goes back onto the table. "Fuck..." she moans wearily, looking at the bloody stain on her hoof. The griffon's ruby eyes show sympathy and sadness.

"It's that bad..." he adds. "And you want to endure to the end?"

"I have to make it to the West Coast, and then... we'll see."

"If I could help you, I would... you know I would. As long as I'm alive, you're always welcome in Reserve and New Lionheart."

"Yes, I remember... We already took advantage of your hospitality yesterday," she says, at which point I tilt my cup to finish the rest of my berry juice and choke. Ash watches in bewilderment as my cough is as strong as Lilac's painful cough.

Is she out of her mind to talk about it!

"Hunting in my Reserve?" he asks, thoughtfully. "I hope the prey was tasty?"

"Don't tell me... What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Lilac asks, smiling in my direction.

"But you warned me that-"

"I didn't know if Ash Bone was alive by then," she shrugs innocently. "And I didn't want to get your hopes up. In case you would have relaxed and done something stupid."

Oh, boy... Oh, geez... You made me worry for nothing when I was hunting that boar!

I feel an irresistible urge to drown her in a cup of berry juice.

Ash Bone smiles slightly, watching our conversation. Lilac turns to him, returning his serious expression.

"Anyway, you can still help me... I was planning to trade my rifle with a scope for some fuel canisters for my SUV..."

"Not another word," the light gray griffon interrupts her. "You'll get the fuel for free. I'll notify our mechanic."

"Thank you very much..." she nods appreciatively.

A griffon unfamiliar to me approaches Ash Bone and whispers something in his ear. He nods at him and he moves away.

"Well," Ash says and gets up from the table. "Had to run errands. It was nice seeing you again."

His gray paw rests on Lilac's shoulder.

"Likewise," she smiles and coughs. "I guess this is the last time we see each other."

The Guardian's face portrays a grimness and awareness of the inevitable.

"I'll miss the griffon in spirit," he pats her shoulder with his paw, looking into her eyes. She nods appreciatively, her eyes looking as if they are about to tear. The griffon turns around and leaves the restaurant, clearly trying not to stretch out the painful goodbye.

We are alone now. Lilac lowers his head to his empty plate.

"Wait a little longer... I have to..." she says to me.

"I'm not rushing you anywhere."

"Thank you..."

"It's hard to say goodbye to old friends... but are you sure you won't see him again? That you won't come back from the West Coast?"

She lifts her head. Her gaze... Oh... My heart... all my insides... all twists with grief.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

***

The text of the teleportation book is terribly interesting and fascinating, but I can't seem to concentrate on reading it. I can't stop thinking about Lilac. I want to talk to her, which I would do if she weren't immersed in thought. She's asked me to be quiet for a while since we left New Lionheart. She needs to rethink everything.

I'm burning with curiosity!

The book on teleportation closes and I set it aside in the backseat of Bear. Seeing that Lilac is still mentally somewhere far away while managing to avoid the potholes in the road, I turn to the window and watch the moving scenery of the lush vegetation of the Reserve. In the distance, I spot a group of deer fleeing from us.

What events do Lilac and Ash Bone have in common? Ten years later, Ash Bone remembers her special pony, Tumbleweed, well. It's been too long to remember it. There is only one conclusion. They know each other well and had a wonderful time. I distinctly remember the looks of the griffon and Lilac at each other. There is so much nostalgic longing and sadness of parting in them.

One of the reasons I left the audio recordings before I left the Capital Wasteland and then New Vegas was because it was too much of a burden and a pinch to realize during the goodbye that this might be the last time I ever see you.

The engine rumbles deafeningly, emits a few brief pops, and then dies. Lilac irritably taps his hoof against the steering wheel.

"For crying out loud!" she exclaims irritably, gently pulling the car over to the side of the road. "We just left the capital a couple of hours ago!"

Lilac opens the door and climbs out heavily. I get out after her. Together we begin to bring Bear back to life.

"How have you had the patience to use it so far?" I say in amazement as I work my magic on the worn and failed engine mechanisms.

The earth pony stands on its hind legs and leans against the bumper. She watches carefully what I do.

"It was much more stable a couple of years ago..." she turns away and coughs. "Shit... Just like my health, though."

"You're aging in sync," I say.

There's a muffled crack, a sudden uncomfortable pain running through my body. I instinctively bounce off the hood and a gasp bursts out of me, "Ouch, fuck...".

Lilac laughs and says, "Wow, he's snapping at you. Apparently didn't like that you thought he was old."

"Hey! I got fucked up by the magic here," my hoof reaches for the horn. There's a nagging pain in it, and it's hard to think and concentrate on anything.

"It's nothing," she waves her hoof carelessly. "It'll pass."

"Oh... The shock has disrupted my magic..." I rub my horn with my hoof, and shake my head harshly, trying to ward off sluggish and absent-minded thoughts. "Within about a few hours I'll recover."

"Then let's get something to eat. Besides, I'm craving berry juice again," she drops to all four hooves and walks to the cabin door.

"Pour me one too, please," I say and walk over to my front seat.

"The old pony is babysitting the young foal... Maybe I should kiss your horn, too, so you don't get sick."

"That would be nice."

Lilac chuckles in response, and adds: "Such a dignified response deserves a reward."

The sweet murmur of flowing juice reaches my ears. The earth pony holds out a metal cup of berry liquid to me. I clasp it with my front hooves, bring it to my lips, and sip.

"How wonderful it is..." I moan with pleasure. "I keep thinking..."

"Yes?" she turns to me, licking her dried lips.

"What have you two in common? Ash Bone easily shared a few canisters of fuel with you, a weighty bottle of juice... Only a lazy pony wouldn't notice that he owes you an unrequited debt. For something."

I fill my mouth with another batch of juice and swallow it.

"In a nutshell... with our help, he became the Guardian of Reserve."

"Wow..."

"Yeah... Lucky coincidence. You do remember that I researched the Griffon Kingdom, right? Well, I happened to find out that there was one extremely important artifact of their culture that survived."

"It was a powerful artifact?"

"Only from a symbolic standpoint. Griffons value their culture... And this object has existed since time immemorial. Its origins seem to be rooted in some mythological Crystal Empire. Ash Bone, though, doesn't like to bring it up. He thinks it was created by griffons. Personally, I don't care."

A memory comes to mind of when I visited the Homage library. Several of the books there were about this empire.

"I've heard something about that..."

"And it's amazing. Hardly anyone knew of the Crystal Empire before the Great War. Except for historians and archaeologists."

"So what was the artifact?"

"A bunch of crystals in the shape of griffon claws. Something like a necklace."

"How big are the crystals?"

"Life-size of a griffon claw." She coughs, looking at the hoof with the bloodstain. Wipes it on her dark leather and metal plate armor."

"Do you think it really has anything to do with the Crystal Empire?"

"I think I don't care about any of that. And anyway, the pre-war 'historians,'" Lilac pictures air quotes with two hooves, "had a fashion for attributing found crystals to the Crystal Empire. Griffons, zebras, hippogriffs, dragons, yaks... Ash Bone in turn claims it belonged to the first griffon unification in history."

"There were second unions?"

"You've seen what predators they are... Individualists. It's amazing that they were able to unite into an entire kingdom at all. Anyway, yes. Seventeen clans united for the first time. Each clan carved a copy of their leader's claw from a crystal. This... necklace was passed on to the king. It lasted... it didn't last long, and the kingdom fell apart and the necklace was temporarily lost. Griffons were united again for other reasons."

"And... what role did this necklace of crystal claws play in Ash's fate?

"He drew attention to himself, gained respect and power, and then arranged for change."

I involuntarily whistle in amazement. With this historical artifact, Ash Bone soared high up the hierarchy. A symbol of power and respect. A symbol so powerful that it helped him make a change in Reserve... Speaking of which.

"What change?"

Lilac breaks out in another cough that lasts about a minute. She's so torn up her throat that she drinks several cups of berry juice.

"I'm so sick of this... Where did I end up?"

"On the question of the change in Reserve."

"Oh, right... For over a hundred years, ponies have only come to Reserve as trophies or meat. Because of the Enclave, who sneakily inserted a dagger into their wings, they hated all ponies. Since then, griffons don't trust ponies. Nor to anyone other than their own kind. Over the years, of course, that anger has subsided. The most sympathetic to the ponies has been... Ash Bone."

"How did you meet him?"

The older pony bares her ruined teeth and smiles strangely.

"Me and Tumbleweed decided to hunt in Reserve..."

I stare at her smile for a long moment and unable to hold back my hysterical laughter.

"Yes..." she nods. "Considering what you and I did yesterday... I can understand your reaction. Anyway, Tumbleweed and I got spotted by a passing Reserve griffon... We were incredibly lucky. If it hadn't been Ash Bone, we would have been butchered by now."

"Holy fuck... And I thought I was the only one who could behave this way."

"Luck goes with everyone, you just can't always see the result of its effects. For instance, the information about that crystal griffon claw necklace came in handy eight years after I found out about it. We got to talking. Ash liked me. Tumbleweed was naturally jealous of me..."

Cartographer sinks into her memories. A wistful smile forms on her lips... which immediately disappears in another coughing fit.

"How my lungs hurt... I'd be happy to have a griffon rip them to shreds!" she wheezes. "Well... is your magic back yet?"

I try to use telekinesis. And I manage to lift the empty metal cup, but with difficulty. I can hold it for a minute, and then I lose control.

"That's enough," I say. "Enough to have time to do anything with the tools."

"Learn to work with your mouth, not your horn," she says after me as I get out of the SUV.

"That sounds extremely controversial..." I throw as I close the door.

"I know."

I laugh, leaning toward the engine.

***

The 14th of the Month of Bread, Violetday. Twenty-third day of my stay.

The fire crackles in the campfire. I sit close to it, feeling its relieving warmth in the midst of the evening chill surrounding me. The quiet rustle of sparse bushes and lone trees nearby. The farther away we get from New Lionheart, the less vegetation there is around us.

We pulled off as far from the road as possible so that the light of the fire would not particularly attract travelers. No one drives toward Vanhoover, though. There are no settlements along the way. Soon there will be open and bare land.

Lilac lies across from me. She's had a meal of roasted foxes, washed down with berry juice. Wrapped in several layers of blankets, her gaze fixed on the dark cloudy sky.

"How often," I begin, "have you seen a clear sky, without clouds?"

"In the Griffon Kingdom it was often cloudless," she utters with difficulty. It's getting harder and harder for her to talk. When she is silent, I can hear her hoarse breathing.

"A delightful sight, it must be..."

"Well, and along the East and West Coast, above the water, you can see a cloudless sky." She coughs loudly, covering her mouth with her hoof. "And you? How often have you seen it?"

"I grew up in Stable, just south of here. South of Rainport." It's the biggest southern city in Equestria, according to the map. I saw the sky when I was barely eighteen.

"What did it feel like when you saw it?"

"It was..." I lift my eyes to the dark sky, trying to remember my first sensations. "Dizzying. The endless gray ceiling."

Lilac laughs, then coughs.

"Discord fuck you... I have to be careful how I laugh. Was it hard to get used to?"

"Avoided looking into that abyss for the first two months, and then it's... Yeah. I got used to it. And learned to admire it. "

"You've lived your whole life underground... So why did you leave?"

"I had to leave. The Overstallion hated me."

"For what kind of mischief?"

I feel myself smiling. I did get naughty once... But I ran away during the general confusion in the Vault.

"My father left, causing chaos among the residents. I went right after him."

"I hope he had a good reason. What about your mother?"

"Died in childbirth. I never knew her."

"I didn't know either of my parents. Both were caravan merchants. Died before I even uttered my first word, which also ended up being my first swear word."

My lips stretch into a chuckle.

"My aunt was looking out for me. You were raised by your father, I take it. Did you find him in the Wasteland?"

"Yes..." I sigh, seeing his dying face before me behind the armored glass in the Project Purity facility. "He died for his cause just before I found him."

"Sorry to hear... I admire ponies like him. He had a goal. A core that he held on to until the very end. What about you? What's your goal? You've come so far..."

A question I've been asking myself for nine years now. There have been a variety of answers in different periods of travel. Among the answers, the closest seems to be wandering the Wasteland.

"Ever since my father passed away... and I helped complete his life's work... Anyway, I just wander. Sometimes I do a bit of courier work. It's both useful and satisfying. I want to see the world I live in. Find out what's in it. What's interesting about it and how to make it better."

"How I understand you..." she begins to cough painfully. She quiets, and continues. "The diversity of this world inspires me and fills me with... meaning. I, too, have tried to be of service to the ponies of the Wasteland. Studying and describing the area and succeeding in it. Hoping that others would see... some use or benefit in the territory I saw. A useful resource, an area to establish a settlement or something... Have you seen much?"

Images from the past rush over me from her question. What scenery have I seen!

"Quite enough, but there are a lot of places that are still interesting to me."

"Vanhoover?"

"Yes... I learned that there is Project Dome near that town. A pre-war secret facility. A science center that holds the knowledge, blueprints, and technology of the pre-war world."

"Wow... If I were younger, I would have gone in search of it, too. A place where the pre-war knowledge that managed to be preserved is preserved. It's amazing. But why are you looking for it?"

"I'm looking for..."

Well, I can't tell her that I am looking for an opportunity to return to my parallel world. She wouldn't believe me anyway, on the other hand, her knowledge of the world at the end of her life would be enriched... No, she wouldn't believe me. Besides, it would take a long time to explain.

"I'm looking to teleport long distances... so it's easier to travel and not have to fix every two hours pre-war junk."

I stare at the imposing hull of brown, bear-like color. The cartographer smiles understandingly.

"Speaking of which..." I continue. "Have you come across any research centers that study the question of distant teleportation?"

Lilac Journey's face painfully crinkles. She covers her mouth and coughs.

"Unfortunately, no... Is there any particular end goal in wandering?" she asks in a barely audible voice, turning to me. "Now your question sounded as if you had a purpose."

"Well... In a way, yes. Looking for my place in life. For starters, I want to see all the possibilities this world has to offer. To see its inhabitants, to socialize... form an understanding of the harsh world I find myself in. To reflect on seeing the ruins of large cities, abandoned villages..."

"How did you feel when you saw the ruins of the cities of Equestria, like Rainport, Fillydelphia?"

I didn't see them, but the ruins are the same everywhere.

"Some kind of... longing? An oppressive feeling of loneliness... It's hard to explain. It's even a little hurtful, what a wonderful world we've lost."

Lilac's eyes glisten with the fire they stare at.

"The ruins remind me of how temporary happiness is. That the world is short-lived. And how easily everything can disappear. We rarely realize the happiness we have. After a loss..." her eyes go straight up to me, "all that remains is to keep the memories and the emotions experienced. Be happy that we're lucky enough to have happiness."

The corners of her lips lift. I blink as I feel myself gawking at the lilac pony wrapped in blankets. My mouth falls open. I have nothing to add to her words.

"Well said... If you think about it, when I look at the lifeless ruins, I sometimes wish I could turn back time and see the true beauty of the old world."

"You can... The memory orbs will help you."

The memory orb of a shopkeeper who had a new employee coming in for a job... But those memories of the room, there was hardly anything to be seen outside the window. And at the same time...

"I want to see everything with my own eyes... to feel the presence in your body."

"Just in time... you showed up in my life just as it was about to end." She turns back on her back. "How nice to talk to someone who shares the same experiences and feelings as I do. I'd forgotten what it was like..."

"Tumbleweed?"

She coughs, and is silent for about a minute. Apparently gathering her thoughts.

"Yeah... We understood each other, we had a common passion."

"To explore the dangerous territories of the Griffon Kingdom?"

Lilac nods with a nostalgic smile.

I toss more twigs into the fire, and it begins to crackle more intensely.

"How are the ruins of that kingdom different from the ones here?" I ask, adjusting the branches in the fire.

"Nothing. Same ruins. Same radiation. Mutants and shit. The place is a lot more... desolate than our Wasteland. Thanks to the Enclave, who drained it of everything they could."

"So why were you drawn there?"

"There were some differences, though. A different culture... and you always wanted something different. Not many ponies had seen it. Griffon culture seemed... special." No wonder why she felt confident in the company of griffons. "And dangerous. On the Sapphire Sea, near the coast, you could hear distant cries, see flashes of light over the water near the horizon."

"What was going on there?"

"Tumbleweed and I jokingly called it the Sea of Giants."

"Creepy name..."

"Exactly. I don't know what happened in that part of the sea, but after the balefire megaspells fell there, huge sea monsters emerged from somewhere. They're fighting fierce battles with dragons over that territory."

"Dragons?" I wonder.

So what she's saying is that dragons have some worthy competitors in that world? Holy shit...

"Yeah. The neighboring continent is closest to the territory of the Griffon Kingdom after all, and to the south of there, somewhere in the middle of the sea that separates the two continents, is Lava Island. It, too, is inhabited by dragons."

"What is it about that part of the Sapphire Sea? Why are they there? Why aren't they scattered all over the planet?"

"I've heard of some obscure magical activity, weather anomalies, and just anomalies that attract both dragons and monsters. Like light attracts moths. An extremely dangerous area. Stay away from that part of the sea."

Her tone is completely serious. She doesn't seem to be exaggerating. If she's so gloomy about what's going on... I'd really better stay out of there. I'd better curb my curiosity and shove it deep into my mind. A frightening cold wave runs through my body. I feel chilly.

"Creepy..." I utter. Huge creatures fighting each other in the water... There are no such huge and dangerous creatures in the human world. Except in science fiction movies. Watcher mentioned huge creatures in the northern Sapphire Sea recently, too. I don't want to think about it. Better change the subject. "Do you miss those times?"

"I hope the question is rhetorical..." She coughs painfully. "Otherwise it's a ridiculous question. Of course it is. We've seen so many things... and, most importantly, together. The sight of the lifeless ruins beside him didn't make me feel alone in this big world. We shared our impressions, our thoughts about the beauties and curiosities we saw. Those were the best times. I'd love to relive it all again with him... if only I could."

Tongues of flame frolic before my eyes. Lilac continues to stare up at the sky.

"I long for his loving embrace, for his gentle touches and caresses, for the warmth of his body... his smile as he watches the sunrise."

Sunrise...

"You once mentioned in a conversation with Ash Bone... that your special pony has been watching the sunrise for seven years. Griffon figured it out... and I not. What does that mean?"

Lilac is silent for a while. She suddenly lets out a heavy, prolonged and painful sigh.

"He loved to watch the sunrise. To watch that mighty luminary rise over the sea. How its morning light reflected brightly on the water... Just as he wanted, I left his body on the East Coast under the open sky, facing the sea..."

Lilac closes his eyes. I can feel my eyes stinging, a lump rolling up to my throat. My heart is aching at her words.

"He hasn't missed a single sunrise since."

***

The 16th of the Month of Bread, Orangeday. Twenty-fifth day of my stay.

My brain is boiling with books on teleportation and the magical barrier. Lilac is driving the transport, and I'm making the most of the learning opportunity I've been given while we're on the road. The engine has stalled... thirteen times in the three days since we left New Lionheart. I already hated it. At one point, in a fit of anger, I slammed a heavy crescent wrench into it, and Lilac kicked me in the croup with her hoof.

The rest of the time I kept my cool... thanks to Lilac's stories from my past. Like how she'd gone with Ash and Tumbleweed to get that crystal necklace. I naturally voiced little episodes from my life. Without any details or names, so as not to arouse suspicion. She was interested in listening to me, and I had to wiggle out of her counter-questions about where exactly this had happened.

She loves travel as much as I do... Talking to her is a pleasure. Too bad her health is getting worse and worse by the hour.

Bear pulls off to the side of the road, he leans over and prepares to roll over.

"Shit..." I utter in horror, magically grabbing the steering wheel and trying to level the car. "Lilac?"

"Oh..." she moans, clutching her chest. And she pushes on the brakes with her back foot. "I..."

"Yeah, I can see you're not feeling well. For the umpteenth time. Let me finally get behind the wheel already."

"I can still..." she coughs. The car has come to a complete stop.

"No, you can't... come on, sit in my seat and rest. The more you overexert yourself, the worse your coughing gets."

"It's okay, I can handle it."

I shake my head, open the door, and make my way outside toward the raging cold wind, which is aided by the open and bare terrain. There are no trees or bushes. Mountains with snow caps are visible in the distance. Emptiness.

How tiny we are against this background.... Nothing living. Just me and Lilac.

Opening the driver's door, my magic envelops the elderly pony and moves her to the passenger seat. I get behind the wheel and hit the accelerator. We drive on. Lilac has already shown me on the maps where to go to Vanhoover. There won't be a problem with that.

"Just rest. "

"Ok-kay..." she utters with a sense of submission, barely turning around in her seat. Her face contorts into a grimace of pain, she clutches her chest and coughs.

It's hard to watch her agony. It's only harder when I realize there's nothing I can do to help her.

Her eyes are closed and her breathing is hoarse and slow.

"Don't be silent..." she moans. She speaks slowly and carefully so as not to cause a painful coughing fit. "Tell me something."

"About what?"

"About your special pony... Have you ever been in love?"

"Yes..." I answer.

My hooves gripping the steering wheel harder.

I don't feel like talking to others about it. I don't like it. There's a bitterness in my throat, and my heart aches with pain. Besides, I'm starting to feel jealous of the long love that Lilac had.

I don't know why, but I can't keep quiet. I can't say no to someone who's in such a... painful condition.

"Оh... that's good... What was she like?"

"Wonderful."

On Lilac's lips I notice a smile.

"Flattering... So she's not nothing to you. But I want to know more... what do you see in her?"

I close my eyes and try to imagine Brisa. My heart shrinks with the guilt that comes over me. All I see is her blood on my hands.

No, focus... Think of the good. Ignore the bad.

"Her curiosity... She was as curious as I am. We often discussed with each other what we learned. Our view of the world was formed almost... in sync. We had the same books. Although she liked reading more, I liked digging into technology more."

"She... went to the Wasteland with you?"

"Yeah... But it would have been better if she'd stayed safe underground. Would have stayed alive."

"A life can be cut short at any moment," Lilac says and coughs heavily and loudly.

Her words arise in my head, 'The ruins remind me of how temporary happiness is. That the world is short-lived. And how easily everything can disappear'.

"Yes..."

"Couldn't stand up for yourself?"

I can't hold back a smile.

"She could... And how! Energy-magic weapons... Explosive... She wouldn't leave a wet spot on whoever hurt me."

Lilac laughs, and coughs painfully.

"That's it... stop making me laugh... Otherwise, you'll see my disgusting lungs on the safety shutters."

"Okay... I won't. Anyway, she was smart and capable. The medical skills were top notch. I always found her interesting to talk to. And even her sense of humor wasn't bad..."

"Don't bring up her jokes..." Lilac warns cautiously. "What else can you tell besides her humor?"

"Well..."

***

The 18th of the Month of Bread, Greenday. Twenty-seventh day of my stay.

For the first time in two days I see something besides rocks, bare earth, and snow-covered mountains ahead.

A railroad station, and beyond it an abandoned little town through which the railroad runs. It comes from the south, and after the station it turns west and heads toward Vanhoover. If anyone turns south, they can reach the ruins of Hoofland.

No plaques, no name tags. Nothing.

There are muffled noises... which has already become annoying to me. I press harder with my hooves on the steering wheel, take a deep breath and exhale. Inhale... Exhaling...

I calmly stop this four-wheeler joke on the side of one of the brick houses. Lilac is dozing. I can clearly hear her anguished and hoarse breathing.

The door opens and I climb out. My cloak flutters in the piercing wind. In the distance I hear the dreary creaking of some metal structure. And no more distinctive sounds.

I've been sitting my muscles out too much lately. I'm going to take a look around. It's good to get moving.

The railway platform and the train station building have almost collapsed. Everything inside is littered with paper trash, covered with dust and dirt.

I look around house by house, hoping to find something of value or interest. The high winds have weathered the brick houses, each one has collapsed roofs and some haven't entire parts of the walls. It is dangerous to stay here.

After exploring about half a dozen houses, I stumble upon another house, where I discover a hidden safe behind a shabby cabinet. I feel a rush of joy at finding it.

I don't waste a minute and go and play with the lock. There are no particular obstacles.

There's a lot to see inside: office papers with a lot of intricate mathematical calculations that are difficult even for me, and a small box containing a box.

Careful, Daniel... don't forget what happened to you when you grabbed that memory orb. Anything can be a magic trap.

I roll up some sheets of paper into a tube and gently poke the box-case with them. Nothing strange happens. After poking it a few more times, I gently pick it up with magic and bring it to me.

The box is made of mahogany, with an inscription engraved in gold, 'Memories'. With the tension of anticipation of danger, I open the box. Inside I find a photo album of the couple, signed as 'Eric and Mindy'. The photos depict the happy unicorn couple. Every weighty event of their happy life, in their opinion, is pasted here. The joyful smiles put a smile on my own face.

As I leaf through the photo album, I come to the conclusion that they have only been together a few years: young passion and sparks of happiness are read on their faces like black text on white paper.

I set the photo album aside and look at the rest of the contents of the box. There's still that memory orb, and a folded note next to it. I'm not sure if I should look in the memory orb again, but the note is worth reading. At least I'll know what to expect. The second memory orb on my mind.

After weighing the pros and cons, I finally decide to look into it. But I'm already inside Bear. I confine myself to a note for now.

Mindy

She's gone. The day I came home from work, I found the police outside my house. They told me the worst thing I'd ever heard in my life: my wife had been the victim of a robbery, murdered. It's hard to describe in words the storm of emotions I felt. I realize now that in the first moments I was overwhelmed by disbelief, followed by fear and growing anxiety, and last and least, after I saw her dead body, in that moment it seemed to me that everything around me disappeared. My whole life was cut short in an instant. The body was cold and motionless, like ice on a shoal. That horrible picture is still in my mind. It took me a few hours to become fully aware of what had happened, until then everything seemed like a brutal nightmare; that night was an eternity to me.

The police questioned me about what was valuable in my house, what the burglars might have taken. I didn't care, I wasn't listening, I was in a kind of trance, standing with a blank stare at our house. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and my heart ached. I felt like I was suffocating. I could still feel the echo of those emotions.

After a while, however, I complied with the policemen's request and checked my house. Without any interest I looked at the mess the burglars had made, but the things had not disappeared from the house, just lay haphazardly all over the place. They all escaped my consciousness, but they reminded me clearly of my beloved's and me's past. Everything in this house reminded me of her. Memories came flooding back to me. I cried. My legs buckled. I fell. I fell asleep. Before that, the police tried to help me.

Woke up in the morning on my bed. Apparently someone had put me there before they could bring me to my senses. There was a policepony on duty outside my house. Maybe she was the one who put me in my bed then. I don't know. I didn't care. In the morning it took me a while to realize what had happened yesterday. At first it seemed like a nightmare, but then it all came back. The robbery. Mindy. Death. The emptiness. The pain in my chest. The tears came again. It took me a while to come to my senses and answer the policemare's questions. At one point I couldn't stand it anymore and yelled at her for being pushy. She took it calmly, even with sadness and sympathy for me.

Eventually I answered her questions and let her know that nothing had been stolen. Almost. The robbers had only stolen Mindy from me. My ray of sunshine. My will to live. A week had passed since then. During that time, I buried my beloved.

The robbers. They hadn't stolen anything, and they would be harder to trace, I was told. I didn't take it properly then. Mindy was gone, which meant the other thing didn't matter anymore. I was hardly ever at home, sleeping at the train station, and when I was awake, I walked the streets of the town, sometimes leaving its boundaries. I am not fully aware of these actions, maybe I was subconsciously looking for a reason to live, maybe I was looking for my death, maybe I wanted to be away from home and painful memories, or maybe all at once.

I decided to move, to find a new job. Without Mindy, the house where I'm writing this now has no meaning to me, it hurts to be in it, my heart constantly clenches as I look at its walls and furniture. The burglars desecrated it. Yes. Robbers. I have a new purpose. I will find them. It doesn't matter what their goals are. No matter how, I will find these bastards and put them on trial. I will be the judge of this trial. This is where I will leave this note and the memory before that fateful day. It would not be right to consign to oblivion someone I loved here.

Mindy, as soon as I finish my business here, we'll meet again. I love you, my little ray.

Eric Frost

Such vivid details... my heart aches with my own memories. I know what it feels like to lose a loved one. Everything loses all meaning in that moment. It doesn't seem worth living anymore.

Eric has found his new purpose in life: revenge. As for me... and Brisa... I had no one to take revenge on. The blame lies entirely with me.

***

With a depressed feeling, I go back to Lilac. She's still dozing.

I look at the glowing ball that I clasp in my hooves. I do it now, so I don't ruin it for myself later.

I'm already in the body of a unicorn, Eric's body. He's filling out some important paperwork—routine, that's all. After a few minutes, he gets tired, judging by his heavy sighs, and goes to bed, heading to his bedroom. There waiting for him was Mindy in her translucent night sleep pajamas. Alive. The loving pony of the lucky stud he's about to lose.

They quickly move on to lovemaking. With her sexy clothes and attitude, she raises the vigor in the work-weary stallion, as if to transfer her energy to him. That's a little too personal. I shouldn't have looked into it. It's all wrong, but I can't interrupt the memory.

I see and feel everything Eric does. It feels good... it feels damn good. It's hard to resist feeling someone else's sensations. Especially something so wonderful. There's a conflict... between how I feel about them and what I'm experiencing through Eric right now. Mindy's fur smells pleasantly of some sweetness, and her mane is a gentle and unobtrusive perfume.

Eric, forgive me for the intrusion... I hope you would forgive me if you were alive.

Abstracting from that knowledge of their fate, I try to take it from the perspective of an experimenter or scientific observer. Absorbing information like Eric absorbed Mindy's juices... For crying out loud. It's hard to concentrate when I have these kinds of views in front of me and the body chemistry is not my own. Hence as much as I think otherwise, I am not disgusted. I am only subject to the awareness of what's going on.

So... Having taken information from what is happening, I confirm my guess that there are no unusual body movements in pony copulation, only the lack of dexterous fingers, which can give me more pleasure than hooves. Though hooves can deliver something, too; and Eric was also adept at sticking his two... horns in. I did not think it was possible to do that with them.

Now I understand what other advantage the horn brings, not just to the owner himself: unicorns will always have one of their horns standing up, always going to be hard. An invaluable advantage in the magical and... unicorns' bedroom life. But still, I have to be careful with the horn: an unnecessary or sudden movement and a pleasant pastime suddenly turns into a painful one. Although some people like that, too.

I'm also learning new positions for... horn fencing and now my arsenal is being enriched with a few more interesting positions to... attack. The more stance choices, the more likely the target is to... suffer a crushing defeat.

When this action ends, I am thrown out of the beautiful memories into reality, leaving only the arousal of what I have seen and felt. But it fades away almost immediately as the realization of what fate awaited this couple... or rather, one of them. I think Eric left this memory for his house to always remember those who lived here... and for others, if they find what happiness he once had.

To have happiness and to lose... like me, like Lilac....

Lilac continues to take a nap. I let her continue to sleep. At least in her sleep she is free from the painful and agonizing cough.

I return the memory orb to Eric's house, and then bring the old and crumbling Bear to its senses.

I close the dented brown hood. And I look around. It's too dark. I can't even see the house we stopped at unless I look at it with the flashlight on my helmet on.

I don't see the point of driving in the dark, and the headlights might attract attention, but at the same time I don't want to sleep.

A thought occurs to me as to how I can make me sleepy. I take out a book on the magic barrier and start reading...

The time flies by. Tomorrow morning I'll practice.

***

The 19th of the Month of Bread, Cyanday. Twenty-eighth day of my stay.

The seventh day on the road to Vanhoover. By Lilac's estimates we should have made it by now, but frequent breakdowns and long repairs have taken too much time.

I'm also practicing my magic, which also contributes to procrastination.

A shimmering blue barrier surrounds me completely. Even if only for a short time, ten seconds, it's still an achievement!

I jump for joy.

Lilac is already awake and watching me by then. She reacts to my jubilation with a smile. And once again she expresses her envy of the unicorns' abilities to me.

After a good breakfast, we hit the road.

After an hour the engine has stalled again, but there is a positive moment. We have stalled in a wide gorge. According to the landmarks we are on the border of the Vanhoover region. Has we really reached it?

High mountain ranges loomed on my sides, and other mountain ranges could be seen ahead. Old prewar maps show that the Vanhoover region is surrounded like a bowl by a high string of mountains. Inside, the mountain ranges are also lofty, but not as high. The mountains are covered with a thick layer of snow on top, and groups of spruces with dark green needles can be seen on the plains.

Not far away is the same railroad that comes from Hoofland.

"There, done..." I mutter unknowingly and close the hood. "We can move out."

I hear some approaching noise. I strain my ears. It sounds like the noise of a car.

In a flash I scramble into the cabin and pull out my sniper rifle.

"What's wrong?" Lilac asks in a heavy voice.

"Someone's coming toward us."

I pick a higher position and get my rifle ready to fire as the distant rumble of impact and collision is heard.

Someone has crashed?

I wait about five minutes, but nothing happens. No one appears behind the rocks and hills ahead.

"What on earth is that?" I mutter, and walk back to Bear with my rifle.

"What's out there?"

"I don't know. Someone crashed. Let's get closer to that hill."

When I get to the right point, I go out with my rifle to check the surroundings. Behind the tall dark green spruces I see the car upside down and mangled from several rollovers. A bear is fussing near it. He's... eating the body of a pony.

Maybe that pony crashed because the bear suddenly jumped out at it. It doesn't matter if the pony survived the collision, it has already become the happy bear's lunch anyway. No one else in the vicinity is in sight.

I pull the magazine out of the rifle, load it with expanding bullet, and put the magazine back in. I take aim.

Sorry, bear.

The bear's head is partially torn from such a powerful shot. Its body, covered in brown fur, falls heavily to the ground.

I make my way down to the crash site.

The dead pony's head is already nibbled on, but that doesn't stop me from seeing that he is a unicorn. At least he was. Poor guy. He's wearing black battle armor with a symbol on his shoulders depicting a pony skull with a crown.

The car is a grayish hue. Even after the crash, I can see that its engine and other mechanisms are impressive in their newness and quality. The body is badly dented, trashed, and everything inside the interior is upside down, like in the Lucky 38 after my birthday party.

A brutal crash. No matter how good this car is, it won't go anywhere.

The crates contain supplies and large-caliber ammunition almost as big as my rifle. And without much searching, I discover the weapon to which they apply. It is a sniper rifle with a long barrel in near perfect condition, with a silencer, and a powerful scope. The rifle itself is painted a matte navy blue with black designs that resemble the outlines of the wind. It was definitely made to order—Whispering Night. The name was engraved in white letters under the handle... or whatever it is in this world.

It's beautiful... That's art. It should be in a museum.

Among the other things I find is a detachable, shortened barrel with a laser sight attached underneath. It's the same shade and pattern as Whispering Night.

Figuring out what's what, I try to detach the long barrel from this rifle. It disconnects, which now gives me an easy way to install the short barrel. I remove the silencer from the long barrel and attach it to this one. The weapon now looks like a carbine with a sniper sight, which can also be easily removed if it becomes unnecessary, putting instead, for example, a laser sight, which is also here.

The weapon has a high rate of fire, as for a sniper rifle, but not high enough as for a regular carbine. Whispering Night is light, comfortable, pleasant to fire, and with little recoil.

That's it. I have to admit it. I can no longer contain my emotions. It is unequivocally love at first sight.

In the resulting mess I also pull out: three hundred bottle caps, an obscure gold-colored metal card with the name 'Blackwater' and a black image of a pony skull with a crown, binoculars, medical supplies, a large-caliber silenced pistol and its ammunition, geographic prewar maps, several StealthBucks...

A car with such good contents under the hood... expensive and rare equipment. A gold wave is beating from everywhere in this scout—affluent and rich beyond belief. At least he used to be.

Before I get bored of rummaging through the mess, I find a note.

Blackwater, your main assignment is to investigate the changes in the Wasteland outside the Vanhoover region over the past two decades. Hoofland and its environs are an exception: we already know what's going on there. Explore nearby regions. The farther away from Vanhoover, the fewer details you can gather. The Prince has high hopes for you.

The Prince's lieutenant, Redstone.

The Prince? Lieutenant Redstone? Curious... Contrary to the mythical tales of Hoofland, there's a lot of life going on here, and it's a lot, judging by such a well-off scout. Funny that Hoofland is mentioned in the note as an exception. People go to Vanhoover from there, after all. But why don't many return? Perhaps life in Vanhoover seems much more appealing in comparison to religious groups in Hoofland?

With a smile at the thought, I walk back to Bear. I have no more desire to go through the rest of the stuff.

"Tell me..." Lilac says hoarsely as I start the engine. He groans longingly, but eventually starts. "I'm curious..."

"Some rich scout crashed his car. Even in wrecked condition, his engine looks better than ours," I chuckle. "So, as you can see, life is booming in Vanhoover."

Lilac coughs painfully.

"I wish... in this condition, I... won't be able to enjoy its streets."

Her words make my chest ache.

***

Spruce forests accompany us on our way to Vanhoover. I can't get enough of their beauty. For days on end we see only bare and desolate land. Such variety is a visual delight.

"It's beautiful here..." Lilac says with a groan, turning to his window.

"Yes... And this air, saturated with the smell of spruce trees... It's wonderful."

"I can't talk about it... the illness prevents me from enjoying it."

The feeling of beauty gives way to sadness... It's getting kind of uncomfortable that I can experience something she can't.

The SUV shakes slightly from the pothole in the pavement.

I look only forward. I don't know what to say. I feel a kind of heaviness on my soul. To my right I hear a barely audible rustle over the hum of the engine. Lilac, in her dark armor, turned in my direction.

"I thought of your lost love so early..." she says and coughs hoarsely. Even the sound of her coughing painfully cuts my hearing.

My hooves grasp the steering wheel harder and my ears strain in anticipation of what she will say.

"With Tumbleweed gone... it seems like I lost everything. Life ceased to interest me. I left his body out in the open on the beach. For months on end, I couldn't get enough of crying. The pain of loss was too much, no matter how I prepared for it. We both knew it was coming... but... as it turned out, it was more complicated than that."

"You... you remember him so easily now."

"Time heals, but I've come to the conclusion..." a rough, throat-cutting cough begins to emanate from her. "Oh... how hard... See... Aging is an extremely unpleasant, excruciating... unbearable... luxury."

I turn to her. A tired smile is visible on her lips.

"Why are you surprised?"

I can't explain my surprise to her. I don't recall anyone talking about old age that way.

"I don't know..."

"I do... You're still young and you don't understand it. In the Wasteland, it's rare for anyone to live to the age I did. Radiation, disease, raiders and thieves... Old age is a luxury in the Wasteland. Most foals don't even live to be ten years old. They don't have time to learn the love of a special pony. And those that do become adults, in most cases, have not learned genuine love and care."

I'm beginning to guess where she's going with this.

"Yes, the pain of loss is unbearable, but... I'm still one of the happiest ponies in the world. I've spent my whole life doing what I love, enjoying it unforgettably... I've seen some amazing sights. And also... I've lived it all with the pony I love. I lived with him to a ripe old age. I've lived a rich and bright life."

"I don't remember a time... that anyone's life in the Wasteland being so fortunate."

"Exactly... that realization dulled my pain. Yes, it was depressing, but I always reminded myself of that. That's how I was able to learn to remember only the good things. His embrace... his warmth... his smile... To appreciate the fact that I had such happiness. You, too, had the happiness of love. Even if for a short time, you still had something that the vast majority did not experience."

I can feel the moisture in my eyes. My lips are tightly pressed together.

"Happiness, like the world, is short-lived anyway. Keep what you have now... and even after the loss, continue to rejoice in the happiness you had. Keep the emotions experienced in the course of that happiness. Whether it's being with someone you're madly in love with, but you can't be together. Remember and keep how much fun and interesting you had with them. Keep the fact that you were lucky enough to cross paths with them and that they evoked pleasant and loving feelings in you. Keep your laughter with them. Keep the joyful emotions. Keep the way you felt about Brisa... and the fact that your feelings were mutual."

My throat feels like it's being squeezed with dry bitterness and painful longing. My mouth is all dry.

"I was lucky to meet you near the end of my life," she coughs. "When I set out for the West Coast, I didn't expect to meet a fellow traveler like you. A pleasant and interesting companion, a kind pony with a sense of humor... who shares the same wanderlust. So... it's nice to know that at the end of my life, good fortune threw you my way. The old pony had someone to talk to before she died. Yes, I wanted that, that's why I took you with me, but I didn't expect it to turn out so wonderfully. I appreciate and keep that..."

"And I appreciate and will keep it..."

A tear rolls down my cheeks.

"Oh... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"Don't worry, you're not responsible for my emotions."

"But still... I feel guilty."

"Think of it as tears of joy," I smile wearily. "How I wish I could help you... It makes me sick with powerlessness."

"You can help me with something," she replies after a short silence.

She coughs hoarsely.

"Anything I can do," I say.

"I'm afraid I might not make it to the coast. And... I even forgot to tell you why I was going there... talking to you is too nice. Remember how my Tumbleweed loved to watch the sun rise over the sea?"

"Yeah..."

"And I loved watching the sunset over the water..."

"Oh..." my heart begins to whine at the realization of her last wish.

"If I don't get there in time... You just don't blame yourself then. Leave me out in the open... Turning me to the sun, as I left Tumbleweed."

"I... it seemed to me that lovers wanted to be together after death."

"No... We have no interest in such a cliché." Even now, in this state, she keeps joking. Enjoying life to the fullest. "We've lived our whole lives together anyway, we've respected each other's interests," she adds. "But watching the sunrise and sunset over the water was something we rarely got to do."

"Okay... I promise. I'll die, but I'll do what you ask."

For the first time in the last few days of suffering, Lilac smiles broadly. Her smile radiates gratitude.

"What shall I do with your things? Bear... your maps and notes..."

"As you... want... Bear is already on its last breath as it is. And the notes... they're obsolete now. All the information in varying amounts is known to others. Those notes only mattered to me."

"Well, then, I'll leave that box with you... After all, it was your life's work."

Lilac Journey coughs painfully. Her throat is tearing up from coughing so rough and slashing.

"As long as there's a chance. You are the best thing that has happened to me since Tumbleweed. I have no words to express my gratitude... if I could, I would hug you."

I can't resist that urge. I just can't.

The blue magic of my telekinesis keeps my concentration on the steering wheel and pedals while I lean to Lilac and hold her tightly in my embrace.

Chapter 7 - The Stable

View Online

I'm so sick of this miserable piece of scrap metal called Bear... Finally. I've fixed the engine!

I lift my head tiredly and walk away from the long-suffering SUV.

There is a barely audible whoosh, reminiscent of a shot of an energy-magic gun, and the next moment a shot of a red laser hits the brown bumper. I manage to raise a magical shield in front of me in time, and from the strength of the second hit it trembles and immediately vanishes into thin air.

Oh, shit...

Before the third shot, I manage to hide behind the massive body of the SUV and turn on the stealth field in my Pip-Boy. I look around carefully, but find no one. My heart drums in my chest.

Where is the enemy? How far away is he?

Again the piercing whoosh of the energy-magic weapon. Another hit to the body of the SUV I'm hiding behind.

I hope it's not the Steel Rangers... though why would they be this far away? Wasteland Survival Guide says that the Steel Ranger chapters are near major cities, not here, so far from Hoofland... What are they doing in the middle of nowhere like this? Are they also looking for the Project Dome?

The shots don't stop, but Bear's thick armor is hanging on for now.

My Pip-Boy doesn't have enough charge to get to the enemy with the stealth field on, so I use one of Blackwater's StealthBucks.

The StealthBuck's magical invisibility hides the heat I'm emitting. If it's a Steel Ranger in power armor with a thermal vision, he won't notice me. But if he has a visor or sensors that detect magical radiation... I'm fucked.

The shots keep coming. I have to kill him or neutralize him. I have no other options.

Invisibility is activated, and I move toward my death without my helmet, moving behind tall spruces and lonely stone ledges. My search leads me to a pony in power armor.

A Steel Ranger.

I can tell his armor looks far more impressive than it does on the posters. His whole body, from his tail to the tips of his mane, is hidden beneath solid armor. On his shoulder is the proud symbol of the Steel Rangers—a pinion in the shape of an apple, three pinions in the center, and a sword pointing upward. Almost like the Brotherhood of Steel...

Don't think of the similarity... Don't think about... Concentrate on your opponent.

He is near a small rock, because of his gray coloring he almost blends in with it. His back is adorned with an advanced combat saddle with a laser rifle.

A paved road runs in the distance that a throw of the cap can reach, and a small truck with the Steel Rangers emblem on the luggage compartment stands on it. I glance at the Pip-Boy compass, looking for more red marks, but to no avail.

It's suspicious that this Steel Ranger is the only one here. I don't like all this, but he's got to be stopped. Bear's brown body is already melting, looking like burnt chocolate soon.

I activate mine electromagnetic charge implant.

I hope I'm lucky, and that this type of damage will somehow disrupt his power armor with magic trickery.

I concentrate on my hoof, swing the necessary way, and... I throw it in the direction of the shooter. He pays attention to it, but doesn't have time to dodge it. The blue discharge reaches his armor. The gray massive armor sparks and his body movements become unpredictable and comical.

Great. The discharge has caused problems in operating the armor.

I wave it in its direction once more, and this time the armor shuts down for good. Now it's nothing more than a steel coffin until you reset a spell matrix.

In the blue mist of my magic, a locally made revolver I found in the Manehattan store safe floats in front of me. I walk toward the fallen Ranger.

"Don't move!" a mare's voice comes from the right.

What...? H-how can she see me?!

"Freeze, I said!" she shouts in a commanding tone, only for me to turn my head.

Two plasma rifles are pointed threateningly at me. Based on the voice, the mare commands me. She steps toward me with enviable confidence.

How is she not afraid of me after what I did to the armor of the Ranger who just shot Bear?

She can see my exact spot, even though I'm under the cloak of invisibility. She definitely has an advanced version of power armor with extra features and sensors. Definitely. Behind her, another Steel Ranger emerges in silence, aiming his laser rifles at me.

"Kill him!" the fallen Ranger yells. Apparently he managed to send out a distress call on his internal radio connection before I made a second throw and completely disabled his armor.

"Bubblegum, what the heck are you doing?!" she yells clearly at the Ranger. Bubblegum? "You think that's a 'member of the local fauna'?"

"He's a parasite!"

A doomed and irritated sigh is heard from the mare's power armor speaker, "Once again, I remind you, no shooting at civilians!"

"But..." Bubblegum whines.

"No buts! I order you to shut up."

"Yes, ma'am..."

"So..." the front of her helmet turns to me. "Put the gun down, turn off the StealthBuck, and let's talk."

"He attacked me."

"I believe you."

"You do?" I ask. Unexpectedly, she believes me so quickly.

She turns her head to Bubblegum for a moment.

"Yes..." there is a sense of irritation in her voice. "I don't feel sorry for this impulsive initiate at all, but if you shoot him at point-blank range with a large-caliber revolver, you will screw up my report with his death. So don't do anything stupid and make it easy on both of us. Let's just walk away peacefully."

Screwing up the report... she appears to be higher in rank than everyone else around here, so she's better equipped. She's also right. I'm at a disadvantage. It's not like she's bluffing. She really can't feel sorry for the initiate, especially one that gives out distorted information.

"After what I did to him?"

"I'll pretend nothing happened."

"And even about how I did it?" I ask, hinting at the use of a StealthBuck and a weapon that disables the force armor from two times.

"Yeah. I don't want to conflict over any rotten hay. Besides, the initiate misinformed me by telling me there was an aggressive member of the local fauna nearby. I allowed it to open fire, unaware that it might be a mere pony."

I hinted at the valuable technology I have used against him, but she quickly redirected the topic of conversation to her subject. I'd better not ask questions or tempt fate. I really don't seem to have a choice.

"Okay..." I take off my cloak of invisibility, revealing my visual presence. And I put the gun away. "Let's meet," I smile affably.

"Оh..." I detect a change in her tone. "You're a lot friendlier than I thought you'd be. We don't say names. The stallion with the call sign 'Bubblegum', you already know. Behind me is 'Pervert'." The mentioned Ranger sighs doomfully. " And I'm 'Berry'."

"Curious callsigns..." I grin. It feels like they were issued for a reason. "Call me... Danny."

"Danny?"

"Yes, it's a derivative of my full name."

"How nice it sounds..."

"Anyway, I'll go..." I say. 'Berry' doesn't give off any affirmative gesture, which makes me a little wary. "And teach your 'Bubblegum' not to shoot anyone who repairs the engine of his junk."

"Wait... You know about fixing things?"

She was quick to respond... as if she'd grasped at that phrase like a straw.

"Yeah, why? Surprised I'm not a dumb savage?"

"Yes and no... it's rare to find capable ponies in the Wasteland. Come with us. I could use your help."

'Bubblegum' hisses with indignation, but holds back and says nothing.

"It's rare to hear such an offer from the Steel Rangers," I say. It's basically an offer you can't refuse. "Why do you need me?"

"A Stable can hold many dangers."

'Bubblegum's' indignant hiss escalates into an angry growl, but he still restrains himself from breaking his silence order. He's already screwed up enough.

The whole thing is suspicious. Perhaps she has noticed my Pip-Boy... In her eyes, a PipBuck. Not to mention the invisibility and the thing that knocks out high-tech power armor with two hits. Wouldn't it be easier for her to kill me and take the technology so dangerous to them?

I'm at a disadvantage either way. Then again, I have no choice. I'll play dumb, but I have to bargain for appearances.

"And what's in it for me?"

"Tea with daisies in the friendly company of my charming brothers and sisters." Her voice is full of enthusiasm and innocence. Almost like Veronica's. I feel nostalgic and sympathetic for a moment. Only for a moment. "As you can see from 'Bubblegum', the Steel Rangers basically live under a rock. They need to communicate with someone from the outside from time to time. And preferably this 'someone' should be a worthy candidate in order to get the right impression."

Interesting motivation. I know absolutely nothing about her to judge her plausibility, but the suggestion doesn't seem so absurd. Still, I don't believe her. Perhaps she didn't kill me on the spot because she wants to know the origin of my technology. For example, where my high-tech PipBuck came from...

"Okay... I'll join your party."

I'd rather volunteer to accept the offer and join them. And I'll have a chance to think my way out of this delicate situation. Now... I'm a hostage.

I hope Lilac doesn't get bored in my absence.

***

The Steel Rangers' truck is parked near the hatch leading to the entrance to Stable 44. I suspect that 'Pervert' and 'Berry' were surveying the console that controlled the door while 'Bubblegum' was above covering their steel rumps.

'Berry' restored the functionality of 'Bubblegum's' power armor and left to monitor the entrance again. They talked on the radio next, so I didn't find out what else she said to him. Apparently, she threatened that if he again distorted the meaning of things in such a way, he would be cleaning the toilets. She told me that she had asked him to keep an eye on my transport so that no one would steal it.

I hope he does keep an eye on it... and if Lilac needs help, he'll let me know and 'Berry' will let me go to her. I hope so.

"Where are you from?" she asks as she fiddles with the console, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"From the East Coast."

"It's a long way."

"I made it in an SUV. True, it's on its last gasp... and so is the companion I'm carrying."

"Oh, what about him?"

"Something with her lungs... A fatal infection or disease of some kind. I don't know the whole thing. I'm not very good at medicine."

Even though my father was the chief medical officer of Vault 101.

"What are you going all the way out here for?"

I have absolutely no desire to reveal to these tech-fetishists my plans for finding a research center called the Project Dome. Lilac's desire to see the sun set over the water one last time... is personal. It's not right to tell everyone about it. Besides, the pragmatic and paramilitary Steel Rangers wouldn't understand such an intention. So...

"Looking for... medicine," I reply.

"Um... I was thinking that maybe our doctors and medical robots could examine her. What do you think?"

Again she tries to get my attention, using the slightest opportunity to lure me to their base. What delicate methods she uses.

"Too good an offer," I say.

"I said maybe... depends on what good you'll do us on this mission."

Yeah, benefit—by telling me exactly where I got the technology I have that makes you wet yourselves in fear at night.

"What do you think of Vanhoover?" 'Berry' asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... There are some pretty ridiculous myths about this place in Hoofland."

"Then what's here?"

"One of the most developed cities of the post-war world, and perhaps the only and most advanced in terms of quality of life. Advanced industry by the Wasteland standards."

Wow... That explains how Blackwater got a car in such good... almost brand-new condition. Someone at Vanhoover has really worked hard not only to maintain pre-war vehicles, but to recreate fresh components, and possibly complete parts as well. It also leads to some speculation as to why the ponies don't leave here. Either those who come become slaves, or the local living conditions are too attractive to them against the rest of the Wasteland.

"I've heard of an immortal white demon that steals the souls of the weak."

'Berry' laughs, then irritably punches the Stable door console that defies her hacking charms.

"Get to work, you Discord's shit. Anyway, yeah... A lot of myths boil down to just such a narrative. It's funny, but there's even a grain of truth to it. The immortal white demon is a unicorn that has lived for at least over a hundred years."

"Therefore he's immortal?"

"And not only that. As far as I know, he can't be killed by common methods. His regeneration is unprecedented in the world. No one knows exactly where this so-called demon came from."

"What about stealing the souls of the weak?"

"Slavery."

"Oh..."

"Yes, this city has developed so well through slave labor. But slavery couldn't have lasted that long. Slaves are thoroughly brainwashed, made to fear freedom. Now they wish to serve and see their lives only for that."

There goes the stealing of the souls of the weak. Mental suggestion and targeted psychotherapy to subdue wills and behavior it really does feel like stealing.

"Their brainwashing techniques," 'Berry' continues, "are astounding. The knowledge of the masters in this regard... It's clearly some kind of pre-war research or cognitive psychology experiments."

"What are you... can't handle a bunch of slave traders?"

The power-armored head turns to me, and I can hear her playful laughter.

"Two hundred thousand slaves, seventy thousand masters, the police force of a thousand ponies with robots, Kings... An immortal white demon... It's strange that we don't seek an open fight. I wonder about that myself."

Almost three hundred thousand inhabitants... Uranium isotope in my ass. No wonder how, with a population like that, the city has the ability to build transportation from old blueprints. Even the largest NCR cities didn't hold that many inhabitants. Impressive.

I involuntarily whistle in surprise.

"Yeah..." 'Berry' nods and gets back to business. "Steel Rangers got here too late."

Ditzy Doo wasn't wrong after all. Steel Rangers are indeed based near the major cities. Vanhoover, for certain reasons, became a target for examination much later. Much like Washington, D.C., was once the target of the Brotherhood of Steel a hundred or so years after the nuclear apocalypse. But in this world, Steel Rangers existed as a pre-war unit and were based in major cities during the war. Vanhoover seems special to them, since they sent a full-fledged expedition into such a wilderness.

"What about Kings?"

"The elite of the masters. There are about forty of them; they have their privileges, but it's not easy to achieve that status either. Licking the Prince's balls isn't enough to get it. Flattery won't help. He is strict in his choice of candidates."

"Prince?"

"The immortal white demon. It's funny how in pre-war history a prince is below a king, but in Vanhoover it's the other way around."

A familiar beeping sound appears. An orange light next to the door lights up, visually warning of an impending opening. Behind the door, heavy iron mechanisms are heard coming into motion, emitting the scraping of metal against metal. The space around us shudders, and the metal door pulls back with a nasty screech, then rolls aside. It's all so familiar... So much like Vaults.

The Stable has long since been abandoned, as evidenced by the musty and dusty air hitting my nose, which makes me sneeze.

"Bless you," 'Berry' says to me.

"Thank you... Your skills are impressive."

She quickly got around the protection of the door's control console. Brisa could also pull off such a defense, but it took her much longer.

"Thanks... Please go ahead," she says, looking at me.

"Why me?"

"I don't want to risk my crew and ruin the report."

"How noble of you."

After all, who among us wears power armor that can withstand small-caliber and some medium-caliber bullets without a problem?

"Been to Stables before?" 'Berry' asks, just as I cross the threshold of the Stable with the green Pip-Boy lights on. I had to use it, because the helmet with the red visors was left in the Bear's cabin.

I almost reply to her that I grew up in one. I shouldn't forget that she's interested in the origins of my technology. Careful with your answers, Daniel, careful. But silence will also be suspicious to her.

"Yes. Abandoned a long time ago."

Now she'll have an idea of where I got Pip-Boy... Or PipBuck.

"You see, 'Pervert', I didn't bring him in for nothing. He's been to places like this, too. At least he knows what to expect here..."

"And you haven't?"

"I haven't been to the abandoned ones. What do you think of them?"

Stables... Vaults... They all look alike to each other. Experiments in similar steel tombs have been conducted both here and at my place on Earth. In the Project Vaults, saving people was never the original goal—the priority was the sociological experiments of the Vault-Tec. People themselves 'signed up' for it: they believed that an underground shelter from the Vault-Tec would protect them from nuclear war, and they ended up as test subjects in horrible experiments. All Vaults in my world harbored some of these experiments...

The effects of sound on consciousness in Vault 92, making people furious. Cloning in Vault 108. Psychotropic substances in Sanctuary 106. FEV experiments in Vault 87. Humanity research in Vault 11, leading to civil war and extinction. Unlimited access to weapons in Vault 34. Artificial separation into groups in Vault 19, resulting in paranoid hostility. Gambling as a solution to disagreements in Vault 21. Plant experimentation in Vault 22, resulting in killer plants and turning residents into spore carriers.

Horror... In many ways, experiments like this have resulted in the most diverse people and factions popping up in the Wasteland. The Boomres, who blow up everything and everyone, and the founders of the New California Republic, whose ideals are based on democracy and the rule of law, came out of such places.

But not everything is so terrible. There was also a spoonful of chocolate in this barrel of shit. Control Vault 3. There they tried to develop in people the most positive human qualities—kindness, love, friendship... And because of their naivety, the residents fell prey to a group of violent junkies called the Fiends.

"Looks like our Danny is out there somewhere," 'Berry' giggles.

"Oh, yeah... I was far away. In my memories," I shake my head, trying to focus on the present. "Horrible places, filled with ruthless experiments on innocent residents."

"I wouldn't call them innocent, but I agree about the experiments. All in all, this is good. I won't have to warn you about possible dangers. You're a unicorn. You should have a magical sense for spells that might be cast on the local walls or objects, but my sensors might malfunction or fail to detect something."

That's another reason why she could use me, and why she sent me on ahead. But doesn't she assume that I could use the outcome of the underground complex experiment, whatever it might be, to my advantage? For example, there would be something that would allow me to disarm them and get away without trouble. Magical traps and stuff.

"Don't you feel anything suspicious?"

I feel pressure from you.

I don't feel like telling her that I've only been a unicorn for twenty-eight days. My sense of the magical energy around me isn't that developed yet.

"As long as I can feel the natural currents of magic. I don't feel any disturbance in them."

"Good. Let's move on."

***

We pass through several familiar gray corridors and rooms, dealing with distraught robots and turrets. Among them there are some that have already been destroyed. Along the way we encounter a fair number of remains of the ponies that lived here, with ammunition and pistols of various calibers lying beside them. After passing the guard post, we are surprised by the many boxes of ammunition—though emptied by the time we arrive. It is not standard practice to bring such a quantity into a bunker like this. Finding no way to disable the security system there, we move on. Once in the atrium, we notice that there are many more remains in this place. It looks like there was some kind of riot or something.

After dealing with the turrets, we decide to split up. 'Berry' goes to inspect the Overmare's office, while 'Pervert' and I are instructed to inspect the offices and rooms bordering the atrium.

The first thing I suggest to my keeper is to examine the medical section. Maybe I'll find something useful for Lilac there that will ease her suffering.

There are pony skeletons on all the operating tables in the wards. I look around the wards and rooms for useful medicines.

"So... 'Pervert'. What did they give you that nickname for?"

The Ranger is always behind me. For tactical reasons, he doesn't let himself get ahead of me. That makes sense. He, I suspect, has been ordered by 'Berry' to keep an eye on me.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I see... What about 'Bubblegum'? Why does he so... hates the type of me? Does he think I'm a parasite?"

"To Steel Rangers, all ponies are parasites. Ignorant ones who use technology carelessly and unwisely, often to their own detriment. You damage them through misuse. Parasitizing technology for personal gain and survival."

"You actually collect and use technology for personal gain, too."

"One pony's goals and the goals of the entire group are completely different things."

"I suppose Vanhoover, especially the centennial white demon, has a common goal. The group of ponies there is striving for something."

"Yeah," 'Pervert' says, humming, "to develop industry at the expense of slave labor. Anyone can resort to drastic measures."

We're in the small canteen for the medical staff. In the kitchen, I examine the frying pan with interest.

"But effective," I say, putting it back on the table. "Don't you do the radical thing? Don't you kill for technology?"

"If that were true, the ash from your body above outside would have scattered in the wind by now. But L... 'Berry' chooses a different path."

"I know, and thank her for that. What about you? What do you think of me?"

"I... I've met enough ponies who aren't a Steel Ranger. I'm closer to 'Berry' than I am to 'Bubblegum' in terms of how to perceive you. Besides, you are a unicorn. You are generally useful and... so far, you seem quite educated and not a bad pony."

"And that's considering I turned 'Bubblegum's' armor into a steel tomb for a moment?"

"Let that be a lesson to him for disinformation. Deserved... a little humiliation from a parasite like you."

"Is he young?"

"He's barely seventeen years old. He's lucky to have a set of power armor freed up for him at that age."

We reach the storage rooms. The steel doors are securely locked. I stretch my neck in anticipation, turning my head. My horn glows blue, lockpicking tools levitate beside me; I take up the lock.

"You know how to pick locks, too?"

"I'm an explorer. There isn't a lock in the world that won't yield to my charms."

"Familiar words..."

I stop, put aside my tools, and stare at the 'Pervert' with interest.

"What are you staring at me with your beautiful blue eyes?"

"Why are these words familiar to you?"

"We have... one individual. She's a pro at picking locks. Simple ones and ones with magical protection. Also 'picks' and bypasses protective spells. And she talks about her skills about as well as you do."

"And why didn't you take this person with you on your mission?"

"We're just doing an inspection of the Stable, describing it. And if any protective spells are discovered or rooms locked up tight with a good lock, she'll go on the next expedition to open them."

"How did you discover this Stable, anyway? Did a hatch in the middle of the road seem suspicious to you?"

He chuckles.

"Bull's-eye. You're pretty intuitive."

I get back to the work.

If she's such a professional locksmith, I should get to know her. Maybe she can tell me where to find books with theoretical knowledge on bypassing protection spells or locks with magical protection. But I have to get to her somehow... and somehow get her attention. I'm sure she won't share her precious knowledge so easily with a parasite like me.

No, that's impossible... The only way I could get into their base would be as a captive, which wouldn't be helpful in attracting attention, either. Don't think too hard about it, Daniel. Better think about how to get out of this situation.

Thinking about escape options for both me and Lilac has gotten me nowhere so far. All the options are weak and unreliable, and also based on luck.

"Yes! It opened," I say excitedly. I push the button and the door moves upward.

Behind it in the dark and dusty room are rows of shelves and piles of boxes. The shelves and boxes of medicine are almost empty. A few bottles of extra-strong healing potions, half a dozen strong potions, and a dozen medium potions remain. Half a dozen packs of rad-away and a few vials of radSafe, as well as an impressive supply of magic bandages. Painkillers, Mint-als, hydra, buck, and a few other kinds of drugs that would blow your mind so hard you'd think the Wasteland was infested with cute magical creatures who shot rainbows out of their asses.

Oh, right.

Mint-als. They sound like candy of some sort, but nonetheless, they, like mentaеs, temporarily improve brain function across the board. I've used mentats when I've had to hack into complicated terminals. It's too complicated for my understanding, and you can't do without such drugs.

Of the other medications, ampoules, pills and capsules, I find nothing that alleviates Lilac's suffering. Nothing at all like what she used to relieve her symptoms. Perhaps painkillers would help her. Yes, unequivocally.

"Take as much as you can carry," 'Pervert' says.

"Can I make a few moves?"

"No."

"Too bad..."

"Wait a minute..." the Ranger says and turns away. Apparently 'Berry' or 'Bubblegum' is calling him on the radio. I hope it's not 'Bubblegum'... I'm worried about Lilac. I hope nothing happens to her. "'Berry's' calling for me. We need to break down the door to Overmare's office."

I sigh softly with relief.

And Pervert has already managed to rat 'Berry' out about my lockpicking skills.

"Have you had a chance to tell her that I know how to lockpicking?'

"Of course. You're not a mare, so looking at the back of your black mane isn't interesting. Here I was talking to 'Berry' the whole time."

Staring at the back of a mare's head... you're indeed a pervert.

***

In front of the door to the Overmare's office stands 'Berry'. Hearing us approach, she turns and says, "Since we have such a talented and inimitable locksmith in our group," she points to the door with a nod of her head. "Would you be so kind?"

"All right... A parasite will help you with that."

'Berry's' head rises up, and she can be heard sighing dolefully.

"Still holding a grudge?"

"I'll take any opportunity to spur you steelheads on."

"Neither I nor 'Pervert'—at least I hope not—insulted you. 'Bubblegum' isn't a machine; you can't program his behavior like a robot or a turret."

"I don't really care what you call me. And you don't have to flatter me. On your next expeditions to this Stable, you'd take your expert in locks and protection spells."

'Berry' turns his head to 'Pervert' in silence, and I open the door panel and take up the door's security mechanism.

"So..." she mutters aloud. "You like lockpicking?"

"There's pleasure in that, I don't deny it. The strained ears, the filigree action, the concentration... It's a wonderful experience."

"Do you enjoy it?"

"Any so far, except magical ones."

Strangely, the locking mechanism on the doors of the main one in the bunker is without the added protection of magic.

"Any except magical ones... Even such... locks?" 'Berry' asks with some naughtiness.

I ponder and try to figure out what she's talking about. I'm beginning to think that the context of her words is a long way from what I'm doing at the moment.

"I told you that any locks without magical protection won't stand up to me. Find the right point and position, and you're golden."

"Yes, of course..." she stretches out.

"You're distracting me from concentrating."

"Distracting? Oh, I see, so you don't like having a third person between you and the lock."

"Well, what's that? Of course I do, as long as that third person is helping me and not distracting me."

"So it's hard on your own, huh?"

"Hard?" I wonder, as the lock in the panel clicks shut. "You think it's hard? I didn't even break a sweat!"

"Yeah, quick, I agree. You've got good skills. And how many locks can you handle in a row?"

"As many as you swallow carrots in a day."

"Is that so little?"

"Sorry, I didn't know you were that bad at it."

"Actually... Hey!" 'Berry' turns to the laughing Ranger. "What are you laughing at, 'Pervert'?"

I almost laughed myself at the fact that Ranger's call sign matched what we had just discussed.

"Yeah..." I agree, hearing the puff of breath from his respirator. "We're talking about important things here. What are you imagining, 'Pervert'?"

"Same thing," he says, "as you do."

"Yeah, right... I know your... hobbies when you were young," she giggles.

"Hey!" he resents. "Not in front of civilians..."

I turn to the door to hide my chuckle, and then push the open button.

"Let's finish up," I say and enter the office.

The first thing 'Berry' does is go to the main terminal. It is not password-protected, and she immediately starts looking through it, while I assess the interior and almost immediately find a skeleton in the corner. Next to the unicorn's remains is a medium-caliber pistol and an empty bottle of alcohol. There's a bullet hole gaping in the skull.

I sigh heavily and continue my inspection.

There are no useful things in the lockers and on the shelves, except old and dusty documents with data on the inhabitants, reports on the condition of the bunker and other technical documentation. Nevertheless, I notice in the documents that some of the residents of the Stable were former prisoners. There were no criminals here convicted of murder, rape, and so on, just petty crimes—defacing government property, theft, fraud, forgery of documents, and so on. Usually these ex-convicts didn't get more than ten years in prison, some of them didn't serve even half of their sentences—they were released for good behavior.

Every other resident of Stable was once sentenced to imprisonment. That's no coincidence.

The residents are ex-convicts... exactly as many as are of a decent kind... or at least as many who haven't been caught red-handed. That can't be a coincidence. What kind of experiment was being conducted here?

All of the residents, except for the Overmare, were earth ponies. No wonder they hadn't spent the money and resources to put up protection spells. And if there was a unicorn among the inhabitants, the experiment could have gone completely unexpected and completely uncontrollable.

"It's clear now," 'Berry' suddenly recalls, "what happened here. A riot."

"Was it raised by ex-convicts?" I ask, putting the papers back in the locker.

"Just the opposite," she answers sadly. "From the Overmare's personal diary, Diamond Crouse, everything became as clear as the sky over the Desert Ocean."

'Pervert' walks over to the window overlooking the atrium. I cast a glance at the open door.

There's no point in running. 'Bubblegum' is watching the entrance anyway, and besides, Bear is too slow and clumsy. There's no hiding from laser gunfire.

"So... what do you think happened?" I ask, mentally rejecting my next escape plan.

"I can only assume that the point of the experiment was to find out—how well the ponies could get along under the same roof as those who once committed a crime, and where that would eventually lead."

"Did the residents of the Stable find out that half of them were ex-convicts? And began to be afraid of them?"

"Exactly. They began to be wary of the imprisoned ponies, and then they began to provoke and treat them like scum. The tension was growing."

"Let me guess... it ended in a bloodbath?"

"Uh-huh. The Overmare began temporarily locking up the most ardent opponents of the ex-cons, but it was perceived as if the Overmare had taken the side of the vile criminals."

"That's when the riot broke out..."

'Berry' nods, "By the way, such an incident was foreseen by Stable-Tec, and so this Stable was equipped with additional security measures, such as combat robots and turrets, as well as a considerable arsenal of small and medium caliber firearms."

"Those active turrets and robots... The techs did their duty."

"Yes. The riot suppression system was activated, but it got out of control after apparently one of the resident programmers tried to reprogram it in favor of the 'untainted,' and it started exterminating anyone who was aggressive—no matter who. And during a riot, as you know, there's a lot of rage and anger and aggression..."

'Pervert' cuts in on the conversation, "That's what happens when you let uneducated shitheads into complex technology. They must be protected from just such idiots."

'Berry' is silent.

I certainly agree that technology should be controlled. But they, like the Brotherhood of Steel, are way out of line. There has to be a limit to everything.

"The Steel Rangers," Berry says, "have to keep the ponies safe from themselves. Keep technology safe."

"And who gave you that right?"

"The Steel Rangers were originally part of the Ministry of Wartime Technology," 'Berry' reminds me. "We are responsible for our Ministry's technology."

Responsible...

"For the Ministry that no longer exists?" I ask with skepticism.

"As long as a single Steel Ranger lives," 'Pervert' inserts, "the Ministry will live. It is our duty to protect the ponies of Equestria... even from themselves. And the first priority is to regain control of the technology they don't know how to use. Most can't even read!"

"So..." 'Berry' raises a hoof. "Now is not the time for a debate. We're discussing what happened in the Stable here."

"Yes, ma'am."

"So... The Overmare was blaming itself for the growing conflict: failing to handle the responsibilities and settle the residents when it first started. The guilt and responsibility grew stronger, and she..."

I look again at the shot skull of the unicorn.

A thousand lives... A thousand living ponies, wanting to hide from the horror of the surface, from destructive mega-spells and magical radiation. Mothers, fathers, children... families... All they wanted was safety, protection, and peace. But... you couldn't prevent the bloodshed, you couldn't calm it down.

The empty and black eye sockets of her skull stare at me. They stare into my soul, into my past, as if in her gaze it reads: "What right do you have to judge me?"

I shudder with embarrassment.

I'm not judging... I understand how you felt. I have a thousand lives behind me that also wanted safety from the harsh rules of the NCR.

My hoof is about to push through the floor. I shake my head to push away the oppressive memories and change the flow of my thoughts.

'Berry' adds, "The Stable hasn't even existed for five years since it closed, as all the residents were dead."

How awful, after all, that the events in this world partially replicate what happened in my world. Even the separation experiment turned out to be similar.

"I remembered there was a similar experiment in one of the Stables," I say, veiling my recollection for the pony. "There, the residents were divided into three groups. Three sectors: the Red Sector, the Blue Sector, and the Reactor Level. Each had a different Overstallion and/or Overmare. The inhabitants of the Red and Blue Sectors did not know about the existence of the Reactor Level, and they, in turn, did not know about the existence of the first two. The Reactor Level was eventually overrun by predators from the surface, and the Blue and Red went crazy out of paranoia and presumably slit each other's throats. The only ponies who knew about the experiment were the medical staff, but they concealed it carefully, of course."

"Horrifying," 'Berry' says with disgust. "I hate those bastards at Stable-Tec. Even though they built structures for the ages, they apparently had no conscience whatsoever. I don't understand at all how Applejack, the Ministry Mare, had such a ruthless sister."

"What do you mean?"

"All Steel Rangers know the biography of the founder of our Ministry. Sister Applejack was one of the three founders of the Stable-Tec."

"Wow... An influential family we got here."

'Berry' nods.

"But her sister," I continue, "was only one of the three founders. The others had their influence, too. I don't think we should blame Applejack's sister for the experiments of the whole Stable-Tec."

"Her fault for not trying to prevent it," she says in a strained voice. 'Berry' feels restrained irritation.

"Maybe the Stable-Tec had some purpose. Only by looking at the whole picture of what's going on can we know what purpose they were pursuing."

In my world, I never found out what the Vault-Tec was doing such experiments for.

"Whatever she is, she's fucking crazy," 'Berry's' angry voice rings out. Even with 'Bubblegum', she was gentler.

"Ma'am..." 'Pervert' surprises.

"My bad... Okay, wait, everyone, while I crack this Discord's cipher," she adds almost immediately, leaning again toward the green terminal screen.

"What kind of the cipher is it? Will it disable the automatic security system?"

"No. I already deactivated that on the way here when I visited the technical section. And the cipher... Our scribes will be here in a little while, dismantling this Stable. But I want to be the first to know what the cipher is trying to hide from me. At first glance, it seems to be the most complex and advanced encryption system. Even our database had no information on such a thing, but I have my trump card under my hoof for cases like this."

"What is it?" I ask as if I'm really curious.

"It's a secret of the company None-Of-Your-Damn-Business," she replies in a raspy voice, pulling out some more wires from her armor and plugging them into the terminal. Which is to be expected.

After that, 'Berry' doesn't talk to anyone for a few minutes, completely focused on the process.

"Is she really quiet?" I ask 'Pervert'.

"No, 'Berry' is rarely silent for such a long time. She's probably just turned off the speakers of her armor. A case like this can make anyone express themselves strongly if you can't get anything going."

I nod and start flipping through my Pip-Boy notes. My various notes and future action plans.

"Done!" 'Berry' lets out a joyful squeal, then sighs in relief afterward.

"Well done!" I say sincerely.

"Thank you. That was fun, so much fun I haven't had in a long time. Turns out there was a function hiding behind that cipher that opens the secret space under the Overmare's desk."

"Cool," I whistle. I don't recall something like this being so heavily protected in the Vaults I've visited. "Usually there's a secret tunnel under the Overmare's table in the Stable, not a room, but the intricate cipher indicates that something substantial might be stored there."

"That's what we're about to find out," the Steel Ranger pronounces cheerfully and with anticipation, then with his bulky hooves he pushes a few buttons on the terminal; the Overmare's desk hisses and slides apart, giving us access to a stairway leading down... into a dark place.

"Come on!" 'Berry' is bursting with enthusiasm and curiosity enough to forget about the civilian. About me. She turns on the flashlight on her armor, which 'Pervert' does as well. I'm no exception, either, and turn on the green Pip-Boy light.

As I walk down the steel steps, I sense something strange around me. The walls, the steps, the ceiling... Everything around me is oozing magic, like meat on a campfire oozing juice.

"I think you can feel it..." 'Berry' says to me.

"Yes. Protection spells."

I assume they prevent hostile entry through teleportation, drilling, or other means. In two hundred years, they haven't dispelled yet. There was something here they wanted to keep safe and hidden from prying eyes.

We find ourselves in a very cramped room of concrete and steel, where the three of us can barely fit. In the center, opposite the stairs, a steel safe gleams in the light of our lanterns, proudly alone. 'Berry' goes to it, opens it carefully, and takes out a red folder and an unremarkable pink key card. On the folder is written in red block letters 'Top Secret. Authorized Personnel Only'.

What personnel? Stable-Tec? Is this really their most sensitive information? Or some particular piece of it that would shed some light on the purpose of the Stables as a whole, besides being a safe shelter from bombing?

'Berry' opens the folder and begins to read, frozen and unmoving. I get the feeling that she has stopped breathing at all from what she sees. My curiosity bursts into flames.

I hold my breath, waiting for 'Berry' to say something!

"Come on! What does it say?" I ask impatiently.

"The pink key card is one of the six keys you need to get into the... Project Dome," she says the last word very slowly and heavily. It's as if she herself couldn't believe what she was saying.

The Project Dome? There's no way that's possible! What does it have to do with Stable-Tec? Or vice versa, what does Stable-Tec have to do with it? That's what I'm looking for, isn't it? Too suspicious a coincidence. This is the mother of all coincidences!

"The Project Dome," she continues in a shaky voice as she looks at the contents of the red folder, "is a pre-war research facility that primarily housed scientists from six Ministries. Because of the high level of classification, most of the project staff didn't know what they were really working on. Its construction began seven years before the megaspells fell. The 6th of the Field, Blueday, the year 1145 B.R.P."

I have encountered this abbreviation many times. The Beginning of the Reign of Princesses. 'Berry' is all too aware of the nature of the project... Why is she telling it to a civilian? 'Bubblegum' would be furious.

"...Once completed, the Project Dome was a closed facility for both entry and exit. "

"That's Stable-Tec style," I say.

"The best minds of not only the Ministries, but also the private scientists of the Technological Age of Progress were selected. Only Princess Luna had access to the Project Dome once it was completed. It says here that the mares of the Ministries themselves had no right of access. Although the six keys do represent the fact that they were the ones in charge of the project. The original purpose was scientific research, shielded from the outside world, free from any cultural, ethnic and sociological constraints."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I interrupt. The Ranger raises his head and turns to me, shining the flashlight in my eyes. I close my eyes.

"Because it's a myth."

This is... unexpected.

She adds, "The myth that only a lazy master in Vanhoover doesn't know about."

"But... the pink key card..."

"A carefully planned distraction for the enemies of Equestria. The Steel Rangers have spent a hundred years searching for it, but have found nothing but a few mentions like this. The project it's too ambitions. It's so huge and so... unnoticeable? Impossible. And what's with the six key cards? It's childish."

"You don't believe it exists?"

"Maybe it was actually planned, but was canceled almost immediately due to lack of resources. But the Secret Service of Equestria twisted it into something else. It's easier to make a ploy for the Zebra Empire. Perhaps this is the ploy... at the end of which death awaits you."

"Sounds like a conspiracy," I wave off.

"The Ministry of Morale used to do this sort of thing. And The Controllers are their special department."

"The Controllers?"

Watcher mentioned that a special department of the Ministry of Morale was in charge of overseeing the project. How did he know about such a secret project, though? With that kind of preconceived notion, 'Berry' wouldn't believe him.

...Or maybe she deliberately wants to plant the seed of one idea in my mind. The idea of a conspiracy about the Project Dome...

Maybe I'm thinking too much.

"Yeah. The Controllers are the direct child of the Ministry of Morale. Espionage, intelligence, disinformation... It's all their favorite pranks. In this folder..." she picks up the folder 'Top Secret. Authorized Personnel Only', "...not even a mention of the completion of construction. Nothing. No top secret information. Secret facilities are not built in such a way that no one knows about them at all, not even the builders. That's silly."

"Maybe... there's truth in what you're saying."

"You have far more important things on your mind right now... like a sick pony who needs help."

Lilac... I completely forgot about her! What a cheese head I am...

"Yes... Let's get out of here, shall we?"

"You were useful after all. I don't want to be indebted. Let's go to our base. Our doctors and robots will at least examine your pony."

I guess I shouldn't say no... besides, she looks too friendly. Sure reminds me of Veronica. 'Berry' doesn't look like she's lying, and even if she was... it's my own fault for believing her. Plus, I want to meet their expert in lockpicking and protection spells.

***

I absolutely hate that 'Berry' has took 'Bubblegum' with us. While 'Pervert' finishes an inspection and a brief inventory of all the rooms in the Stable 44, 'Berry' gently insisted on looking at the SUV I has arrived in, and also to see how bad Lilac's condition is, to see if they can help her at their base.

It is still the middle of the day, and already so much has happened... how much I have learned. Blackwater, Kings, the White Demon, Slavery in Vanhoover, the Steel Rangers, the Stable, the Project Dome. Incredibly full day. Haven't had one of those in a long time.

We're approaching Bear, a brown stunted old fellow with thick armor. Lilac is still napping. I hope she's not stressed out by the laser gunfire. Though why should she worry, she managed to survive the remnants of the Griffon Kingdom. Hell, she's not even afraid of griffons!

"Lovely..." 'Berry' mutters with a sigh of sympathy, looking at the SUV.

"Even though he's as old as the world," I say. "I'm fixing him every couple of hours of driving."

'Bubblegum' mutters something unhappy in a way I can perceive. He's not impressed by it, he says. Well, I don't care what he thinks.

I walk over to the front passenger door and open it. 'Bubblegum' stands behind me, waiting for me to do a trick. For example, I discreetly detonate a pulse grenade or something.

I touch the peacefully napping head of the purple earth pony and try to wake her up. It's been a long time since I've seen her so calm and quiet.

"Lilac, wake up. There's someone I want you to meet."

No reaction. I try to wake her up again.

"Come on. We're almost to the West Coast."

Too quiet... No heavy breathing. I look below.

The howl of the wind around me fades. The Rangers and the world around them slowly disappear; all that's left is the peaceful and motionless expression on the face of the elderly pony with purple fur who wanted to see the sunset over the ocean one last time.

"Lilac?"

Chapter 8 - The Steel Rangers

View Online

No... It's not fair! She shouldn't have died so early and so close to her goal! How... Why? Why now? Her long journey cannot end like this!

The violet-colored face is motionless, as if frozen in time.

My eyes are stinging with coming hot wetness.

"Well..." the haughty voice comes behind me. "One less parasite."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa!" 'Berry' yells, after I turn sharply toward 'Bubblegum'.

I stand close to the young Knight and stare at him. My teeth clench tightly, my front legs trembling with contained rage. The protective glass on the Steel Ranger's helmet is sweating because of my heavy, deep breathing on it.

'Bubblegum' doesn't move. Its laser weapon is activated and aimed at me. It hums and glows threateningly.

"Calm down!" the voice shouts from the side.

I wish I could take the stupid helmet off his head and beat the son of a bitch to death!

I press my front legs into the hard ground beneath me. The fogged glasses of his helmet reflect the blue glow of my horn's magic.

Say another word, you bastard. Come on! Say it! Give me a reason to smash your ugly face you're hiding under that helmet!

"I said..." 'Berry' squeezes between us and pushes me back to Bear, "...calm down! 'Bubblegum'..."

'Berry's' helmet speaker goes silent next. They've switched to communicating on the intercom, apparently.

One second...

Two seconds...

Three...

My gaze is fixed on 'Bubblegum', my teeth aching with tension. 'Berry' turns toward me and comes close, shielding the retreating 'Bubblegum'. Her leg, wrapped in power armor, rests heavily on my shoulder. She presses against me to hold me down and let the bastard get away in peace. 'Berry' speaks slowly and gently, the way they try to calm an angry beast, "Calm down... He will leave now. Put your magic away..."

My gaze stays fixed on the departing Steel Ranger. I stare at him until he disappears behind the tree trunks.

"Okay... Breathe steady..."

My jaw relaxes; I inhale a full lungful of cold air. The air is saturated with the scent of the coniferous vegetation that surrounds us.

It is so... relieving and soothing.

"That's it... Nice."

'Berry' removes her hoof from my shoulder, a sigh of relief coming from her speaker.

There's nothing in my head but tired weakness and a cold emptiness. I can't seem to wrap my head around what just happened. I want to fall down and rest.

Is that how the Steel Rangers treat the dead?

Oh... Lilac...

I close my eyes, feeling a new rush of prickly wetness on them. After waiting a moment, I turn to the open door and look once more at the lifeless body of the elderly pony.

"I..." I hear 'Berry's' voice from behind me. Shy, quiet, unsure. It's filled with genuine sorrow. "I didn't expect your traveling companion to... I only wanted..." She sighs convulsively, trying to regain control and composure. She almost witnessed a conflict that could have ended in the death of one of the parties. It certainly wouldn't have happened if she hadn't brought 'Bubblegum' with her. "It doesn't matter anymore. I apologize and... my sympathies."

I turn toward the Steel Ranger. My throat tightens with the bitterness of the injustice done to Lilac. I try not to think about 'Bubblegum's' words, but even this effort irritates me. All I can see are my fingers clamped in a dead grip on the scum's neck...

I look down: there are only blunt stumps hidden under dark blue clothes, with kneepads and a Pip-Boy.

"I understand your sadness and your... emotions. Bubblegum wasn't acting on behalf of all Steel Rangers. He takes responsibility for his own words."

I once more take in my lungs the relieving pine air. The slightly bitter aroma passes through my nostrils, and relief arises in my body. Anger leaves me. I think.

I exhale and turn to Lilac.

What do I do now?

I put my front foot on her shoulder, her body not responding in any way. Dead and lifeless as... the Wasteland.

A bitter and unpleasant lump rolls up to my throat.

No... I will not leave you here. I will keep my promise. You can be sure I'll see it through.

My head feels like it's filling up with lead and leaning over her body. My thoughts must be put in order. I feel a cold breeze blow, I step back. I close Bear's door and walk around the hood to the driver's seat.

"I... go with you," 'Berry' says. I stop and turn to her.

What did she say? Did I hear it right? Am I imagining it?

I examine her massive power armor. A short while ago, her front leg rested on my shoulder and nearly pinned me to the ground. Bear just can't take her. As if she read my mind, she says, "I'll turn on the additional armor lightening matrix. I'll weigh like I'm not wearing it."

This point is the least of my worries.

"Why do you want to ride with me?" I ask hoarsely, and I'm slightly surprised. It's like I haven't uttered a sound in days.

"I've already warned the others about it. It's... easy to get lost. I'll... show you the way if you get away from our truck."

I gaze into the shape of her helmet.

What are you up to? Probably wants to make sure I don't run away.

"You're coming with me... on one condition."

"What's that?" there's a strain in her voice.

"Show me the way to the coast. I must get there."

My cloak flutters slightly in the slight gusts of wind. Its cool touch tickles my fur. 'Berry's' silence lingers more and more.

I have nowhere to hurry... I certainly don't now.

"Why do you want to go to the coast?"

Do I need to tell her the truth? Is it worth it? It makes me want to ask for advice...

I turn my head toward the front passenger seat. There is a strange expectation... Hoping that she will nod or react in some way, but no. Nothing. I have to take responsibility for the follow-up response myself. I think I need to change the wording of my question.

Do I want to tell her the truth?

"It's... her dying wish," I confess.

There's another pause and a tense silence. This time it's shorter.

"Oh..." 'Berry' makes a quiet noise, realizing what she's heard. "Well... Good. I think we can get there in a few hours."

I haven't noticed... The sky on the west side is already starting to take on orange hues. Sunset is coming soon. Hopefully we'll make it today.

"Let's go," I say. "As long as there's time."

Now I should hurry.

***

I put Lilac in the back seat, letting 'Berry' sit in the front. It is the only place she could fit in her armor. It's lucky that the interior of Bear is spacious enough for her to fit in.

Berry is almost completely silent the whole way. I've felt her gaze on me a few times, but apparently she doesn't decide to talk to me off-topic. She only gives me directions as to where I should go.

The SUV manages to go several hours without a single breakdown.

I shut off the engine near the towering rocks and hear the sound of the surf. Opening the door, I step outside, where I am greeted by the piercing smell of seawater. I inhale this salty and humid scent. The rocky hills in front of us have an orange outline from the rays of the evening sun on the other side.

We're here, Lilac.

Going to the back door, I open it, envelope Lilac's body with my telekinesis magic, and carry her out into the open air. It ruffles her gray hair, and her fur faintly sways under its breeze.

I walk over to the trunk and open the door. From there, I use telekinesis to pull out the metal box with maps and journals with map notes. And a few other things.

'Berry' follows me. I struggle to climb the rocky rise, trying not to lose focus on the telekinesis. Too many objects I'm holding at once.

And then... I feel the cool, moist air on my face and the warm rays of the delicious red-orange sun that rises over the blue-purple ocean that stretches to the horizon. And best of all, there is not a cloud above the water. The sky is ablaze with fiery red light.

Beautiful...

The noise of the surf is especially loud. It is not far to the water. Small foamy waves crash into the rocks and stones below. They are soaked in the moisture of the sea water and glisten in the bright orange sunlight... It seems as if they are glowing.

While the sun is still out on the water, I find the smoothest ledge and place Lilac gently on it with her back to the rock, which is at an angle. So that she is in a semi-lying position and her face is facing the evening sun. I place the metal box on my right side, propping Lilac up so that she won't fall to the side in the gusts of wind.

This box... contains forty years of her life. Forty years of toil, filled with dangerous adventures. And also the knowledge she had gained while exploring the ruins of the pre-war world and which she shared with others. Her favorite work, one of her raisons of life... Her other meaning of life is on the opposite coast.

I sit on the other side of the box and sigh in relief.

"We did it..." I say quietly, looking up at the sun. My voice is barely audible beneath the noise of the rolling waves.

I feel a faint smile on my lips.

I didn't think the evening sun over the water was so beautiful. There are mesmerizing glints of orange rays visible on it.

I open a bottle of bright red liquid, hold up the large cup Lilac used to drink from, and pour the berry juice into it. I set it on the metal box with the journals.

And I pour the berry juice for myself. Screwing the lid on, I place the bottle next to Lilac and tsk on her cup with my cup.

"Your wish is granted."

I sip the sour-sweet juice and stare at the water of the Desert Ocean.

Under this delightful sunset, the juice plays with new colors.

'Berry' is not far away from me, silently enjoying the sunset. I think I'll have to give her a taste of the berry juice later. It will be interesting to see if she likes the berries from the Reserve.

The sun touches the water.

I sip more berry juice, close my eyes, and give in to the sensation. Wet wind tickles my fur, I hear the sound of the surf, warm sunlight warms my face; deep breaths of sea water smell, sour-sweet juice in my mouth...

Thank you, Lilac... Without you, I wouldn't have had such a pleasant experience.

Lilac has lived an amazing life. She explored the Griffon Kingdom, accidentally influenced changes in the largest griffon town on the Wasteland, lived happily with her lover, enjoying the beautiful views and seeing the ruins of many great cities of Equestria... All her life she has been doing what she loves.

I wonder... were there any regrets in her life? Did she ever regret the choice she made? Even though I forgot to ask her about it...

I turn to Lilac for a moment.

...but something tells me she has no regrets.

Sunsets are beautiful, but they remind me of... the end of life. That everything will come to an end sooner or later.

Happiness doesn't last forever.

That's for sure.

I take another sip of berry juice and return to the feeling...

How long will I live? Will I be able to live to her age? Given my attraction to unexplored places and my irrepressible curiosity it's unlikely to happen, but why not imagine it?

Where would I end up? Like Lilac, but alone, under the open sky? Or, if I am lucky, with someone close to me to look after me?

Come to think of it... It would be nice to die in a place where I'd feel at home. Like, for example, at the Vault 101. After all, I left Mojave to go back there. Unless, of course, I turn somewhere along the way and stumble upon something interesting... Like that cave and the sphere.

I don't doubt that the world of colorful ponies is amazing, but I want to end my life in my home world. And there is a suitable place somehow find. At the moment, this question is irrelevant. Not only because I'm in a different world, but also because my life is full of risks. I shouldn't think about it too much. But... I wonder how much I will regret my decisions and actions? Or... will I regret them at all? And, more importantly, about what, exactly?

Keep what you have now... and even after the loss, continue to rejoice in the happiness you had.

Less regret. More keep... Yes, that's what I should do.

I finish the rest of my berry juice and enjoy the sunset until the sun disappears below the horizon and the sky turns pink and purple.

I rise on all four legs, glimpse the berry juice-filled bowl, and stare at one of the happiest ponies in the Wasteland for the last time in my life. There's wetness in my eyes, but I smile.

"Thank you again for everything, Lilac. Rest in peace... And enjoy the sunsets—they really are... beautiful."

***

My front hoof rests on the wheel of Bear, the engine silent. The headlights are on, yellow light hitting the gray rocks, and they cast a somewhat ominous shadow.

"Why don't you start the engine?" 'Berry' asks, sitting in the front seat. "Or do you still need to recover from your farewell?"

"Yeah, I'm just... Thinking about what to do next."

"Right... you were looking for medicine... What was this pony's name?"

"Lilac."

"Yes. And now that she's gone... How do you feel?"

There's a breeze in my head like the wind across a desolate open plain. No thoughts, no emotions. A lazy lightness and soporific serenity.

"Relief and... emptiness."

"Relief?" 'Berry' interrogates me with barely perceptible confusion.

"It's hard to explain. I feel tired. I want to hug a soft pillow and fall asleep sweetly."

"You can still drive, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Our home isn't far from here. You'll get some rest, get your strength back."

'Berry's' offer sounds different this time. It feels a lot more... warmth? Maybe because of the word 'home'. A word like that is a lot more... trust than 'military base'.

I'm distracted. Perhaps I will fall into a trap if I accept the offer and do not resist. Maybe I'm already in it, the Steel Rangers scouts are watching us, and I can't hide now. If that's the case, I hope they won't touch Lilac and her belongings.

Still, I shouldn't tempt fate. I'll be a good boy and go along with it. I'm under their watchful eye anyway... An unicorn who wears a PipBuck and uses some kind of magic or technology that disables their power armor.

"Mind you, I'll be gone if you don't have a soft pillow."

'Berry' laughed as tinkly as her speaker would allow, "Though we live by strict rules, comfort is important to us, too... for me, at least."

And what kind of comforts do they provide for prisoners? Can I at least go to the bathroom?

The engine groans long and then roars painfully, like an emaciated yao guai caught in a trap.

After less than an hour of travel, a protective fortification begins to peek out between the pine vegetation. In the night, it is visible largely due to the sparse lights that illuminate the high concrete walls and the surrounding area. At this point I can't make out all the grandeur and power of the pre-war Equestrian base.

I also don't care for its appearance... I want to go to sleep.

We stop near a security checkpoint. To my left I can see the old railroad tracks going inward to the base. They are illuminated by two huge and powerful floodlights. They receive special attention. Perhaps they have some kind of railroad transport on the move, like a wagon or a small train.

In front of me is a huge metal sliding gate with the symbol of the Steel Rangers. 'Berry', judging by the direction of her head, is on radio contact with the officer on duty in a small booth.

I tilt my head toward the side window and look up.

It's high... Almost as high as the high walls of the prewar Pentagon, what is now the Brotherhood of Steel Citadel in Washington, DC. Project Purity... the good-natured old man Lyons, the war with the Enclave...

So many memories...

Still the high and impregnable walls remind one of the fences at McCarran Airport, which the New Californian Republic took over and set up... But there are far fewer warm moments associated with that place.

I turn toward the gate. They grunt, making a nasty groaning sound, parting before us to let us pass.

"Welcome," 'Berry' says to me, just as we pass the gate. "Follow that way..."

I stop where 'Berry' points me and turn off the engine.

"And you... you better leave all your weapons in the car."

I peer into the front of 'Berry's' helmet, into her tinted glass.

One way or another, I have nothing to defend myself against here. I'll be turned to ash faster than I can sneeze.

I lift my eyes up, as if trying to look at my forehead.

"I can't get the horn off."

'Berry' laughs, but there's a touch of uncertainty and concern in that laugh. Which isn't surprising, though. Like Lilac said, unicorns are unpredictable because of the infinite number of spells they can cast. So it will be interesting to see how 'Berry' tries to convince me that I need a special protective ring on my horn to block my magic. She'll probably say something along the lines of, "It's for your own safety. What if you use telekinesis and one of my siblings mistakenly thinks it's a combat spell."

"Okay," 'Berry' says, opening the doors and climbing out. "Come on, I'm hungry."

Outside, several pavilions and individual buildings are visible in the light of the lanterns.

I'll explore it all tomorrow in the light of day... if I'm allowed, of course, given that I'm a prisoner.

We enter a large concrete building, descend into the lower rooms, built entirely of metal, and walk around for a while until we reach a rather large elevator, with the familiar Steel Rangers symbol on the door.

The elevator takes us a long way down. Once down, we emerge into a small rectangular room of dark metal with a lattice floor. The place is lit by a soft yellow light emanating from small lamps set in the ceiling and under the bars. Here we are greeted by three Steel Rangers with weapons on their combat saddles, one of them without a helmet. I take it he's the one in charge, since the important folks like to talk face-to-face.

The stallion has chocolate-colored fur and a pristine white mane with a modest short hairdo. He greets Berry in a formal tone and then looks at me.

"Head Paladin Maneuver," he introduces himself in a calm and smooth voice. "You are not a Steel Ranger, but you are required to abide by the rules for visitors while within the courtyard on the surface and inside this bunker. The rules here, as in any decent community, are simple for guests: don't get into fights, don't meddle with your hosts, don't steal, and don't provoke others to aggressive acts. The word of the Elder is law for Steel Rangers and outsiders alike. Disrespect for the rules equals disrespect for me, the Elder, and the Star Paladin."

Guests... Can civilians come in here with no problem, or is this a ploy designed to let my guard down and give me a sense of security?

"You'll be assigned a convoy while you're in the base, so you don't get into any trouble. I've already been informed that you're under the responsibility of the Star Paladin Star, so go ahead and beat yourself up, but don't you dare sully the Star Paladin's name. Do I make myself clear?" he says, squinting at me.

Star Paladin Star... Interesting coincidence of position title and name. Why would that pony stand up for me when I'm not even...

Wait a second...

I turn to 'Berry'. Her head nods.

She's a Star Paladin?! Is she that high up in the Steel Rangers? Uranium isotope in my ass...

"Y-yeah..." I say, feeling discouraged by the news. "I'll be a goody-goody."

"That's good," Maneuver says. A shadow of a smile flashes across his face, and then he becomes serious again. "Elder Largo Breeze is busy now. Report your arrival tomorrow. You will be taken to the lounge for temporary guests. If you have any questions, you'll find me in my office," he points to the room to his right. I nod contentedly. He retreats to his quarters, and the other two Rangers, without a word, remain to keep an eye on the entrance.

Does someone need help finding a laser gun?

This all reminds me painfully of my first visit to Hidden Valley. Well, well, it's time for me, as a prisoner, to get used to this base.

"Follow me," 'Berry' or Star Paladin Star says.

***

The heavy metal doors slide aside, 'Berry' enters and turns on the lights. Neutral and cold light. I follow her in and look around.

Well... At least there are no chains, shackles, hard beds, bars...

Metal beds with mattresses are arranged along the walls. Each is separated by a small steel partition, and also has a chest for storing belongings.

The Star Paladin approaches the closest bed and touches a pillow.

"It's soft... but a little dusty," she says, patting the pillow. "We don't have many visitors, after all. The room is rarely used."

"It'll do."

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"I see... The bathroom is to the left down the hall. And if you need anything, go to him," she nods toward the exit, pointing to the approaching Steel Ranger in power armor.

"How do I address him?" I ask.

"It's the same 'Pervert'," 'Berry' replies.

The aforementioned Ranger with the ambiguous call sign coughed awkwardly.

"Why don't you... give me another nickname?"

"Yeah," I say, "I don't feel like going to the bathroom with 'Pervert'."

'Berry' lets out a slight chuckle and says, "All right... I'll let you use your real name. We're at our base."

From which I can't escape and reveal your dirty, like these pillows, secrets...

"Knight Willford," he says.

"Good. Then," I say, stripping off the elements of my armor, "I'm going to bed."

"Sweet dreams," the Star Paladin says. "I'll come check on you tomorrow."

"Just don't disturb me."

"Whatever you say," she replies and hides from sight. Knight Willford leaves the room and the door closes.

Silence... A sweet and so soporific silence. There is good soundproofing in here.

I take off my armor completely, dust off the sheets, blanket, and pillow, and go to sleep. After all, I'm not clean myself. My eyelids are leaden and my body feels as sluggish and heavy as the steel door of a Vault.

What a long day... So much has happened. King Blackwater, the Steel Rangers and the Stable, Lilac's death...

So unusual not to hear her painful cough, her heavy and hoarse voice, and the stories of her exciting wanderings...

***

The 20th of the Month of Bread, Blueday. Twenty-ninth day of my stay.

I turn off a tap and the warm water stops pouring from the faucet. Seeing that there is nothing repulsive on my beige face and head before I meet the Elder, I leave the restroom. Since all Steel Rangers on this level have long since awakened and taken up their duties, I took my morning routine alone.

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep?" I ask the waiting Willford.

"Sure."

"You've been watching me all night, after all."

"Steel Rangers know how to nap standing up. Besides, our ancestors were horses. And they knew how to sleep standing up. It's deep in our blood, only we've worn that skill out over the generations. I doubt you know that."

My ancestors were monkeys who slept on branches and shit on your kind from above, and then saddled you and subjugated you as pets.

Okay... I'm annoyed with him this morning. Or am I annoyed at the Steel Ranger who accuses me of being uneducated? Or... I can't forgive Steel Rangers for insulting Lilac? However, she was only insulted by 'Bubblegum'. And 'Berry', or Star Paladin Star, was much friendlier and more tactful.

Pull yourself together, Daniel. Don't lump all Steel Rangers together. Don't let such a trivial irritated insect turn into an aggressive elephant. Control your emotions.

"No," I reply to his fact about horses, "I didn't know that... Probably because I don't need it to survive."

"How good it is that I don't need to survive. I'm happy to be living for a common purpose, and I have brothers and sisters in arms. There's someone to lean on. Can you say that about yourself?"

That's a fair point. Perhaps being a part of something is exactly what I miss? I've been on my own all my life... Sure, I've been accepted into the Brotherhood of Steel in Washington and in the Mojave, but... only formally. I didn't really associate myself with them and didn't share their goals.

"Why, do you want me to join you?"

My question, judging by the sepulchral silence, stumped him.

"It's not so important whether or not I want to..." he replies. "What matters is whether it will do any good."

"Is there any good from you?"

A short pause.

"Yes... For example, right now I'm making sure the Wasteland tramp behaves himself, and that my brothers and sisters don't bother him."

"Thank you," I reply without much sincerity. What a protector. But I have to hand it to him. "You volunteered to accompany me?"

"Yeah."

"Not because of my beautiful blue eyes, I hope?"

He lets out a slight chuckle.

"Yes, your blue eyes have me mesmerized. In fact, I want a change. Rarely do I get to chat with loners. But, most importantly, I'll get a benefit from my superiors for this convoy."

"What kind?"

"A plus in my service record, as well as a break from duties, hard training, and education. The break depends on the amount of time I'll be accompanying you."

"So the longer you accompany me, the longer you'll be free?"

"Exactly."

Not a bad carrot, I'd take one myself.

"Look," he goes on, "I've just been informed that the Elder is ready to take you in. You're already looking pretty decent. Not ashamed to stand beside you. Let's go."

And that's assuming I'm completely unclothed right now... No shame.

Ponies have a special attitude towards nudity... The strange thing is, I got used to it faster than I got used to controlling this body.

***

Elder Largo Breeze sits in a large comfortable chair behind a semicircular stylish metal desk, the top of which is decorated with wood. There's a terminal on it, lots of office supplies: important documents, reports, protocols, deeds, pencils, a few books, and so on.

A busy personality, I see.

Along the walls are file cabinets of documents like soldiers, but there are also residential furnishings like living plants and paintings. Again, such amenities are unusual for a military organization. Opposite the entrance to the office, just behind the Elder's desk, is another door. Apparently that's where her suite is, with even more amenities.

The Elder is a light beige earth pony. Because of her faded, graying mane and wrinkles, I would say at a guess that she is at least sixty years old. She raises an indifferent and cold gaze at me.

Something serious has happened in the past and she has lost all positive emotion—or maybe it is just her old age or her profession as a leader of the renegades in power armor. Somehow I doubt the latter two.

Knight Willford remained on the other side of the cabinet, in the corridor.

"My name is Largo Breeze, Elder of the Vanhoover Chapter of the Steel Rangers and your Elder, too, while you are here. If any outsider finds out what's going on on this base, believe me, I'll make sure there's not even ashes left of you. Do you understand, local?" she says in a stern tone that gives me the creeps.

"I see," I answer without giving away my emotions. She starts looking at some papers again.

They're trying to create the illusion that I'm their guest and not their prisoner, so it's easier for me to tell them about myself without being interrogated. I'll tell them what they should know to earn a little bit of their trust.

"My name is Daniel Evans. I do mostly travel in abandoned and unexplored places. I do odd jobs from time to time. Mostly courier deliveries, former bounty hunter. I came here looking for a cure for a certain pony, but that doesn't matter now... She died yesterday."

"Condolences," she says carelessly.

So that's it, huh? You're not even on the same level as her. You're as far from her as the moon. I don't need this formal condolence.

She doesn't let me respond in any way and asks, raising my curious gaze, "You're not from around here?" I nod. "Have you been in the slave business?"

"No. Why?"

"If you've done such things, don't coddle every Steel Ranger about it. Some Rangers can't tolerate Vanhoover masters. That's just an information for the record, if your life is important. I'm not interested in what you've done in the past or whether you've been a friend or foe in other chapters of the Steel Rangers: as long as you behave appropriately here. All I care about is what's happening here and now. Has Maneuver given you a brief overview of our rules and regulations yet?"

I nod immediately.

"Good," with these words, she turns to the terminal.

She types something there for about a minute, and then pulls out a piece of paper. She takes a pencil in her teeth and writes something on it, then hands it to me.

'Order No. 42'

"This is the number of my standard order that I sent out to everypony on the local network. By this number, others can see in the general database that you're allowed to visit most of the bunker rooms. You remain under the responsibility of the Star Paladin Lemon Star, only now officially. Do not betray her trust. You are allowed to trade here and use the services of Scribes and others if they so choose. The standard currency is bottle caps or gems. That's the end of it. No questions?"

I shake my head in the negative.

"Dismissed."

***

A typical stern leader... of a military organization. Doesn't even leave room for a word, let alone a question.

Willford takes me to the local mess hall. I'm hungry.

"What can you tell me about your house?" I ask my guard.

"That's... an extremely broad question, I must say," Willford replies, walking behind me.

"Start with the most important thing. What does the home consist of?"

"The bunker has only five levels, but an impressive size. On the first is the storage room, the firing range, the training room, and the head paladin's quarters; it's right behind Maneuver's office. On the second: residential barracks for fighters, a laboratory, a medical bay and a workshop. On the third: rooms for Scribes and for the younger generation, the Discharger, there are also archives and virtual reality simulators. The fourth is the Command Center, the Elder and Star Paladin quarters, the Steel Rangers' main computer, and the systems that keep this bunker running. The fifth is the hydroponics level."

No surprise there, except one.

"The reactor is on level four and hydroponics is on level five..." I begin and deliberately cut my thought short. It's too obvious the lack of planning here.

"I see where you're going with this... The reactor is well and reliably sealed to prevent radiation leakage."

"And yet it's an extremely unfortunate planning."

"That's just the way it is. A small network of caves was found relatively shallow. The ground in them turned out to be suitable for growing certain crops, and it was further equipped for that purpose, and a water talisman provides everything here with water."

Despite the flaws in this bunker, water and food problems are completely absent. The bunker is completely self-sufficient. It doesn't depend on anyone. I'd expect nothing less from the Steel Rangers.

"Impressive," I say.

"You bet it's impressive. You've lived your whole life on the surface, wandering around in the dirt and garbage... Must have dreamed of a life like that in bunker, huh?"

I grew up in a place like this... And I must say, that kind of comfort in total isolation is sometimes unbearable. So much so that I want to climb the walls and howl in boredom.

"Yes, I have," I reply.

We walk up to the Discharger. In front of me pops up an earth pony with hair as yellow as a ripe lemon and a green mane, the length of which is within the shape of its head... Slightly round, I must say. The cheeks are larger than usual.

I didn't expect to see any overweight Steel Rangers... I've seen enough overweight ponies in Tenpony Tower. There they are, of course, larger than this lemon earth pony, but still... her fullness sets her apart from Steel Rangers I've met here.

The lemon pony looks at me with surprised green eyes. After a second, she smiles embarrassedly and hastens out of sight around the first corner of the corridor.

"That was..." I begin, "unusual."

"What was?"

"I didn't expect anyone among Steel Rangers, the most militarized and disciplined organization in the Wasteland, to be a slacker on physical activity."

All the more reason for someone to get away with it.

"Well..." Willford's voice seems somehow awkward to my surprise. "An exception to the rule, so to speak."

What's also curious is that breakfast has already passed, and the main staff has already dispersed to perform their military duties. And at this hour, practically no one should be eating breakfast... Or was it her second breakfast?

I enter the Discharger.

The room of the Discharger is huge, with two side staircases leading to the second level. Between the side staircases from one to the other stretches an expansive bar. On the first floor are rectangular metal tables, each of which can seat at least six ponies. There are many more comforts, as well as various furnishings: paintings with beautiful pre-war landscapes, beige vases with real plants, cushioned furniture, carpets with ornaments, and more.

Nice and cozy... What I wouldn't normally expect from the Steel Rangers. A hundred ponies can easily fit in here, but at the moment there's almost no one. The robots are doing the serving.

"Usually ponies come here," Willford begins, "to hang out, relax after work or duty, and have serene, off-duty conversations. It's not just a dining room, but just a place to relax. The Discharger."

"Do you have many dining halls?"

"There are on every level, but this one is special. What's discussed in the Discharger stays in the Discharger."

I sit down at the nearest table.

"Don't you want to eat?" I ask my keeper.

"I do, but I won't."

"Why is that? Duty forbids it?"

"No, the power armor has certain nutrients. We eat what's inside the armor."

"You go to the bathroom wearing armor, too?"

A short pause, after which I get the answer, "I don't want to answer and spoil your appetite."

"What would you like?" the robot asks, hovering over the lattice floor with three 'arms'. Mister Handy.

"Some vegetable soup and boiled meat."

"Will do."

"Maybe..." I begin, looking at Willford and waiting for my order, "can you tell me about what was here before you came?"

"Ever since the fall of the megaspells, military personnel have been sheltering here. The bunker was in good condition, with the comforts of the original personnel. Over time, the Steel Rangers and the military personnel at the base merged, but nevertheless, it was the rules and laws of the Steel Rangers that became predominant."

This explains why there are so many elements of decor and amenities here that I noticed earlier. Today's Steel Rangers are the descendants of the Steel Rangers chapter that came here about a hundred and ten years ago and the surviving personnel of the military base.

"That's it?"

Mister Handy brings me my order and leaves it on the table. He wishes me a pleasant appetite and leaves. I keep looking at Willford.

"That's all I'm allowed to say."

I shake my head in frustration and take cutlery with my magic.

After the meal, out of curiosity, I pay a visit to the Steel Rangers' quartermaster. As expected, the shopping list provided me with only the standard items... no energy-magic weapons, no spark batteries. Only Steel Rangers have access to the rest of the gear—or outsiders if they have special orders from the Elder.

Shame: I'd have liked to see the local arsenal. I left the room with the quartermaster.

"Am I at least allowed to gawk at your workshop? See what marvelous tools, instruments, and devices you possess..."

"Won't you choke with envy?"

I can't help laughing.

This is... This is the first time I've laughed since Lilac died.

"I can only choke on your stuffy jokes," I say.

Now it's his turn to laugh.

"Okay. Let's go."

***

The workshop is very large, divided into several zones. There are about four dozen Knights and Scribes here, repairing and calibrating various weapons and equipment.

How many tools and high-tech equipment are here... Oh, I always feel ecstatic at the sight of the equipment of the Brotherhood of Steel, and now the Steel Rangers. Even though they're as obsessed with technology as a raider is with sadistic fun, they know how to pick up the right stuff for the engineering craft.

My eyes don't have time to look around at all this beauty of engineering. I want to touch and feel everything! To take the opportunity to use all this goodness! I could easily build an energy-magic rifle here: all I need is parts and the right equipment, and it's top-notch here. Oh, fuck... What a great place and what opportunities!

Not quite as good as the Think Tank workshops at Big Mountain, though. The possibilities there were truly endless. Thanks to those equipment, I was able to put technology into my Pip-Boy that generated a short-lived stealth field.

"Good thing you're not choking... But don't shit all over yourself with excitement," Willford says, noticing my indescribable genuine enthusiasm.

"Let me enjoy the moment," I resent. "You're ruining the first impression!"

I walk over to a unicorn working on an energy-magic weapon. I can say with confidence that she knows her stuff! She pays no attention to me: totally immersed in the process. Nice work!

"Who is in charge of this magical place?" I ask Willford, turning to him. Before he can answer, a voice comes from one of the scribes, who is fiddling with a disassembled power armor rack with instrument wires connected to it. The two of us naturally turn our attention to him.

"There are no leaders here," he answers in a husky voice. "Everypony gets their own assignment and does their own thing. I only coordinate their work if a major or important project needs to be taken care of. "

"This," Wilford says, letting out a small chuckle, "is the Steel Rangers' Head Scribe, Iron. He's a genius to be found. He can fix a power armor with no spares by magic alone, and disassemble and reassemble a plasma rifle in his sleep in the blink of an eye! He can take a peek at unfamiliar technology, figure out how it works, and explain the cause of a malfunction if something isn't working. He's a true Steel Ranger, he's got a real thing for technology."

Wow... how much excitement in his words. It didn't sound like the usual respect, since he hadn't even described his Elder in such tones.

"You exaggerate, Hugh," mutters the Head Scribe, who is a gray unicorn in his sixties with a graying mane that used to be black, judging by the individual strands. He turns away from his work and walks toward us.

Wait... who's Hugh?

Meanwhile, the old pony continues to speak in his easy and casual tone. I can sense in his voice that he has seen a lot in his life. There is an aged serenity about him.

"We have to take this technology apart first to understand the cause of the breakdown, I told you that before."

"I forgot to mention," Willford whispers to me, "that he's a bit of a prude." Then he turns to Iron. "I'm telling it like it is. You're unrivaled in this business."

"Head Scribe Iron Willford. How may I help you?" the old pony turns to me with an officious expression, and smiles warmly as he notices my rounded eyes at the sudden clarification of their kinship.

I can see why Willford has such admiration for me. I'd be proud of my father, too, if he were a professional in his field.

Yes... James was a professional.

"Did something happen?" Iron asks, snapping me out of thinking about the past.

"Just... remembered my father. He was kind of a skilled handypony, too."

Iron chuckles slightly.

"The son, I see, carrying on father's business?" he asks.

"Almost. I'm attracted to digging into technology. Understanding their workings and purpose."

"Oh, and what do you think of this place?"

"What do I think? I'm fascinated by this place!" I say, smiling and circling the hall with my hoof. "So many possibilities here."

"A mechanic, huh? The best mechanic?" Iron inquires playfully.

"I don't claim to be the best mechanic in the Wasteland. I think you got that honor. And I think your work is legendary. All I ask is a fair chance."

"Let's see," he levitates a fucked-up rifle with a good telescopic sight toward me, "if you can fix it."

"The thing is," I begin, feeling a rush of embarrassment and awkwardness, "that I... repair things with parts and tools. Full magical repairs are, alas, almost unavailable to me yet. I only know the basics of it."

"Strange how you can be called a mechanic, being a unicorn and yet not be able to use spells in that area."

The prisoner is allowed to demonstrate his skills. Or am I no longer a prisoner?

I envelop the sniper rifle with my blue magic and concentrate on the most damaged and worn parts of the rifle. I try to repair them as best I can, and then make the most of my tools and a few spare parts for a rifle of a similar type.

"Here," I hand the rifle back with a smile. It takes about half an hour to repair.

Willford Sr. examines the work I've done with due attention and care.

"There are seldom unicorns in the Wasteland who like to poke around in technology; they want lightning and teleportation, which only a few can master, but unicorns can easily repair any malfunctioning device without parts. You ever read any books on repair spells?"

I look away, for I cannot tell such an experienced repair unicorn that I have only studied basic spells... Essentially what a colt on the path of engineering and mechanics should learn.

"For beginners..." I reply. "If I had the parts, I could repair this rifle to perfect condition without consuming too many parts."

"I can see that. The problems with the magic are conspicuous, but when you picked up the tools and parts you surprised me with the beauty of your work. Precise, fast and efficient. The repairponies' hoof skills were honed almost to perfection. At least in terms of weapons. "

"Thank you."

"So young, and already such a professional at it," he grinned. "I wish young ponies would learn this craft so diligently. If they were half as adept at magical repair as you are at hoof repair, we'd never have a problem with screwed-up power armor sets and energy-magic weapons. Right, son?" a twinkle of sneer flashes in his eyes as he looks at Hugh.

"Hey! You know it's not my thing! Well, I just don't have the heart for it," he protests.

"Yeah, you're more of a mother. I thought you'd have at least a little interest in engineering."

"If you like him so much, why not adopt him?" Willford Jr jokes. "And besides, I've got a sister who's just crazy about that kind of... activities. Why did you bring it up again?"

"As an example to you... Steel Rangers like to talk of usefulness: I see more usefulness and potential in this tramp from the Wasteland than I do in most of our brothers and sisters. Less talking about goals and more action. We should be working with technology, not discussing it."

"I am not a unicorn..."

"All excuses. You don't need to have a... horn to satisfy a mare. And you don't need to have a horn to fix a weapon. It's enough to use your hooves and your mouth," Iron says jokingly.

I can't help smiling. The father, meanwhile, keeps teasing his son.

"You were more fond of peeking at beautiful mares like your mother was at stallions, though you never once exposed yourself in doing so. At least you know how to do something, and perfectly. We wouldn't have known if you hadn't accidentally gotten drunk at your birthday party last year."

'Pervert'... that's where that nickname came from. And 'Berry', or Star Paladin Star, knows it.

I laugh.

"Okay, that's it, cut the jokes, Dad," Hugh says in an embarrassed tone. I bet there's a red face hiding under his helmet.

"Now, young one," Iron turns to me. "I am utterly interested in you for your thrill of engineering and electronics, but I cannot grant you access to the spell books. You are not a Steel Ranger."

Is that even considered an option given that I'm a prisoner?

Or is it not? What kind of game are they playing?

"But... I can train you in advanced spells, only it won't be cheap. You're not one of us, and I don't want to waste time on an outsider when I have other apprentices eager to learn the art of engineering. But I don't want to miss out on potential talent, so I'll give you a discount... which will cost you twenty thousand caps... Although you don't have to pay in caps, you can pay in gems. And yes, I know," the Head Scribe says, noticing that my eyes are about to fall out of my head and roll toward his hooves in shock, "it's expensive, but you don't get that kind of knowledge for nothing. Anyone else would have asked a lot more for that kind of training."

"What's so important about being fully trained in this craft?"

"Do you know what the possibilities are for a unicorn who is masterful at spells in the field of engineering and mechanics?"

Memories flash through my mind from Tenpony Tower, where I was in the spell bookstore and staring at the tall shelves littered with top-notch books.

"A little..."

"Now, he can effortlessly repair any thing he's good at. Knowing the construction—no matter how damaged it is—he can repair it to perfect condition. The downside is that it is magically demanding and repairing many things in a row with spells is not recommended. It all depends on the complexity of the technology, whether it's components, material, and so on. He can easily magically 'scan' a device or thing and find in it a breakage or some other disruption in the construction. And certainly he can, on the contrary, corrupt the technology at will."

"I don't get it, what?" I ask in bewilderment. Why break something like some drugged-out raider?

"Let's say there's a fight going on," Iron begins telling me passionately, actively gesturing with his rifle, "and a unicorn skilled in engineering spells can break or damage an opponent's weapon at a decent distance. Power armor can also be corrupted. Take my word for it: such a unicorn is more dangerous than a pulse grenade. But even that trick would be hard to pull against a unicorn that magically wraps its weapon and protects it from other's magic. Or they casts a protective spell fueled by gems. As you can see, it's risky to teach you something like that for nothing."

Power armor... If it's risky for him to teach me something like that, it means that not all power armor of the Steel Rangers is magically protected against such effects. I suspect that Star Paladin Star's power armor has all the protective spells available. The higher the status, the more valuable the soldier, the more he is equipped... or more accurately, protected.

"How can I get your trust? Get some technology?" I offer, agreeing with his reasoning. I need to find out more about spells that can corrupt opponents' weapons.

In general, this world surprises me again, and pleasantly so. Here my opponent thinks he's shot me and comes at me to finish me off, but I can mess up his weapon so hard that it will either jam or explode the next time he fires it! It's like ripping the pin off a grenade, slipping it quietly into someone's pocket, and watching the fireworks go off.

Or... It can be the other way around. Some unicorn might use a spell like that against me.

That sucks.

"We already have a lot of technology... However, there are wonderful things I know about that I don't have."

"These 'wonderful' technologies, I assume you're anxious to get your hooves on?"

"Exactly."

"Father," Hugh interjects, "don't tell me you're sending him to find something even Steel Rangers couldn't find?"

"You know, son," he replies, "sometimes a fresh look can point out even the most trivial blunders. We get used to some stuff and don't notice the likely issues. So," he turns to me, "I need Enclave power armor or an invisibility cloak."

I whistle in surprise... Although that's to be expected. No one said it would be easy.

"Where am I going to get this technology?" I ask at a loss.

"That's the problem, I don't know," Iron replies with a shrug, "but I can give you a direction—Vanhoover. My guess is that some big shot in the Five Families must have these two technologies. There are more of them, after all, and they must have gotten something like that."

"It's quite possible," I agree, "that invisibility cloak might be there, but how could an Enclave power armor be there? How does one even know about it?"

I wonder how the Steel Rangers know the Enclave exists.

"The Grand Pegasus Enclave, or just the Enclave, flutters with its wings to this day. I know that before the war, the pegasi used a special type of power armor. It was inferior in protection to Steel Ranger power armor, but it was much lighter because the pegasi needed speed and maneuverability in battle."

"Then why would the Steel Rangers need lightweight power armor? Pegasi are not among your organization. Or am I missing something?"

Iron chuckles serenely.

"Those would be our most valuable fighters. But that's not the point. Pegasus power armor makes far less noise when it moves than the standard version designed for earth ponies. If you combine it with stealth technology, you can create armor for special operations. For stealth and covert missions, pegasus power armor is the best possible, and when combined with stealth-field technology, which is best implemented in invisibility cloak, it's perfect. Before the war, the zebras were ahead of the game in terms of stealth technology. In principle, either of these technologies is enough for me, but surely the process will move much faster with two."

"Find any one of those two technologies. I see. But still... how could the Enclave power armor end up among the Vanhoover masters?"

Iron looks thoughtfully at my face. His lips move faintly. He seems to be thinking about whether or not to tell me such information.

"I don't recall ever catching the elusive Enclave birds by the tail. But about a year ago there was a firefight with powerful energy-magic weapons somewhere in the vicinity of Vanhoover. The Enclave is suspected."

"It's all questionable. What if it was your fighters?"

"It certainly wasn't them. When a few Steel Rangers got there, they found a lot of blood at the battle site, but the bodies were missing, including technology. Most likely it was either the Enclave had had time to take their wounded and dead with their equipment, or the bodies had been taken by the Vanhoover masters. Their caravan routes from the farms and mines lie not far from the battlefield."

"Are you sure there were no Steel Rangers when the skirmish occurred?"

"Absolutely," Iron replies firmly. "I wouldn't tell it if there was an operation involving my brothers and sisters there."

The whole story interests me myself. There's a chance to touch the local Enclave in person... even in this way.

"All right. I need to study the battle site closely. I'll try to bring both technologies."

"Really? In that case, in addition to the free training, there will be a special gift waiting for you," Iron smiles warmly and reassuringly. "Of course it will be, if you bring me both technologies."

"I'd be glad to," I smile back. What a nice old pony. "And... I won't distract you from your work anymore. Oh... am I allowed to use the equipment and workbenches here?"

"You're welcome to use it, for Celestia's sake. Just use your spare parts and clean up your workspace after yourself."

I nod gratefully.

Still, I am not a prisoner. I am allowed to use the local workbenches and equipment. What purpose do the Steel Rangers have regarding me?

I make myself a reminder in Pip-Boy, subject: 'Heavy and Invisible'; description: find one or two technologies for Iron Willford to teach me repair spells.

Mostly in these reminders, the theme title was funny in nature. It's one way to cheer myself up.

Willford Sr., on the other hand, points out that I am doing quite right—my business should be written down, so as to relieve my memory for other things.

In the medical section, I learn that Steel Rangers are getting implants. They are mostly of a medical nature. For example, for chronic illnesses, loss of limbs (though this is already a prosthesis) or organs, all sorts of physiological complications. Nevertheless, there are also combat implants that enhance the body's abilities in combat. Several such implants are implanted in my body as well.

As an outsider, I am not allowed to have implants even by the caps. I am told that if I want them installed, it can be done in Vanhoover at one of the Five Families that do it. They have the same medical technology as the Steel Rangers.

Vanhoover has that kind of technology? Yeah, well... It really is an advanced life there. And the Steel Rangers can't get to them. How does it say? It's hard to look at lips you can't kiss... So it's hard for a Steel Ranger to look at technology he can't grab.

I'm leaving the medical section.

What should I do next? I kind of looked around at everything I was interested in. Maybe I go back to the workshop and sharpen my basic repair spells?

Sharpen my spells...

That's right, there's another nuance. Another area of activity, without which it's hard to do exploration of abandoned and old ruins in the Wasteland. Lockpicking... Specifically, lockpicking spells.

"Hugh, can you take me to your locksmith wizard?"

The head hidden beneath the helmet of power armor nods.

***

"Where's your glorified professional?" I ask Hugh impatiently, as I enter the section of archives filled with terminals with memory blocks. There are Scribes bustling around each one.

"Look at the only mint unicorn in here," Willford Jr says.

I glance closely around the room and find her at once. She is indeed mint-colored with a snow-white mane, standing and typing something into a terminal. I walk up to her. She hears my hoofsteps and turns to me. The puzzled look in her silver eyes changes to one of confidence, supported by a barely noticeable charming smile.

"Hello, tramp."

"My name is Danny."

"Оh... how interesting and gentle that sounds. Danny..."

She grins again. It only takes a few seconds for me to realize that she clearly stands out from the background of the other Scribes in this room. Her demeanor is much friendlier than I expected. And she herself is much younger, though older than I am.

"Greenkeys," she adds. "A pleasure. What's this about?"

"I'm interested in you," I allow myself a slight smile.

"Oh... How nice of you."

"They say," I slowly move closer to her, "that you are the best lock picker in the Wasteland. "

"Yes, they think I am. Do you have any objections?" Greenkeys continues, smiling.

"No," I look up for a moment, as if noticing something interesting there, and then drop my gaze back to the unicorn. "I just think you've got a worthy opponent," I smile. "Since you haven't met me yet."

"You?" she looks at me skeptically. "Well, then, show your skills."

From the bowels of her work bag, she pulls out a key lock. The silver magic of her horn turns the key, and then the key is retrieved by her. The lock is then presented to me.

"I playfully pick it when I need to pass the time. Will you be able to do the same?"

"Like a hoof on the pavement!"

A few minutes later there's a sweet click. And I smile silently at the minty pony with a white mane. She presses her lips together thoughtfully and nods faintly in respect.

"Yeah... Managed to pick a difficult lock, that's admirable. Now try it again without tools," she says, then locks the lock again.

I was ready for this challenge. Or rather, I was ready to be asked.

"To my deepest regret... I don't know how. That's why I'm interested in you. I want to learn more from you. I want to do it with magic and bypass security spells."

"What makes you think I'm going to teach you?"

"I know a lot about locks."

"And what do you know about them?" she asks in a muffled voice and smiles playfully.

I repeat after the tone of her voice. Light, quiet and playful, "Locks like to be gentle and groped. If you feel for the right position with a bobby pin, and then twist it properly with a screwdriver, the lock will snap open. You can try to open it by force—this option is risky, because the lock may break, offend, and it will not reveal its secrets to you. It will be impossible for a 'dummie' to pick it, but I can manage even ruined locks by unskilled hooves. Most locks without magical protection, I open without breaking a sweat. It depends on the complexity of the lock itself, but I have not come across any that I could not pick."

"You like this stuff?" she bites her lip slightly, looking into my eyes.

"In the process, time seems to slow down around you, you are intoxicated by passion and excitement as you slowly but surely move toward that very moment. The moment when the lock doesn't hold out and makes a melodious sound that caresses your ears, for it means you've reached your goal."

She hums and comes closer to me—so close that I can feel her minty breath on me. Her silver eyes just sparkle with the desire to 'teach me a lesson'.

"Well, we'll see," she continues to look me in the eye and smile evilly.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice the silver glow of her horn; the same glow appears around the lock. After a couple of seconds, the lock trembles, and then opens with a click.

I try to keep myself from being surprised, for then I admit my defeat. She picked the lock without any tools at all, and without even looking, in seconds!

Although... she knows this lock inside and out because it's her practice lock.

"I'm a demanding teacher... But I'll give you a chance. Ten o'clock. Tonight," she says and turns to the terminal, losing all interest in me. "And now I'm busy."

I look around me and notice a few Scribes turning their eyes to us, the ones closer to us—mostly mares—who are chuckling with giggles, glancing at me. I don't even know how to respond to this.

I have much more luck with the female part of the inhabitants in this world... Their quantitative superiority over stallions influences it.

We leave the archives.

I return to the Discharger, eat well, and head to the workshop to practice my magical repair skills. Iron, as expected of the Head Scribe, is too busy with important things. I am naturally not privy to the details. The only observer is Hugh Willford... my keeper, who makes various comments about my magical manipulations.

Since I have an appointment with Greenkeys in the evening, I do not overwork myself in my training and save my magical reserves.

***

In an hour to go to Greenkeys... I spend that hour in the Discharger. There I have dinner, meet Maneuver. He's playing cards with the others. I don't participate, as I don't quite understand the rules of the game. After all, card games in this world are a little different from human games.

Five to ten hours. I go to my teacher's apartment to pick locks and disarm some security spells.

We're on the same third level and we're standing at the entrance to a room with a sign saying 'Apartments of the proctor for the Order of the Quill'.

"I suspect you're in for a long..." Hugh mutters dejectedly.

"You won't come in?"

He laughs and says, "Unless you invite me in. But in that case, too, I'll refuse. It's duty, after all. I'll hang around... and watch the door closely."

I knock on the door. A few seconds later, Greenkeys opens them.

"Decided to visit me after all," she says in her sweet voice.

"I couldn't refuse such a generous offer to study with me alone. In silence, without the others."

"Oh..." she smiles innocently. "Come in, don't just stand on the doorstep."

The apartment is spacious. Along the walls are shelves of books, file cabinets of documents, upholstered furniture everywhere, tables full of various locks and other locking mechanisms, and also carpets, vases with live plants, a jukebox from which plays a light, soothing and unobtrusive melody, as if designed to concentrate.

"So, shall we start learning?" I ask.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Oh..."

"Are you disappointed?"

"No, just..."

"It turned out to be too much work today. I don't want to strain my head. I want to..." she approaches me with a barely noticeable smile, "...relax."

I shudder to find her kissing me on the lips. It takes a few seconds to realize what has happened.

Her lips are soft as silk, and they taste like mints that make me want to lick more and more. They are so... I can't fight against that, so I give in to her.

The unicorn's silver eyes are closed with pleasure. She doesn't care how I feel right now. She's the kind of person who just takes what she wants... and doesn't ask for an opinion.

Her enthusiasm... her initiative... It ignites a real fire in me, and it's taking over my body at a rapid pace. Her excited and hot breath intensifies this fire, fuels it. I hope I can get it under control. I want to win back and seize the initiative.

I move the unicorn onto the cushions beside her and kiss her neck, holding her forelegs with my telekinesis. My lips, my tongue... gradually move downward, exploring her soft, short, mint-scented fur.

***

The 21st of the Month of Bread, Violetday. Thirtieth day of my stay.

Greenkeys lie on cushions scattered across the floor, levitating a book in front of her. Chamomile tea and a floral plant sandwich float nearby.

I've already had a breakfast of scrambled eggs, salad, and bread that one of the Discharger's robots delivered here.

"Curious..." I begin, peering at her silver lock cutie mark. Greenkeys looks up at me. "What such a lovely person, so high up in the Steel Rangers, finds in a tramp from the Wasteland."

Her lips stretch into a barely noticeable smile.

"Well... Interested in what stallions can do. Steel Rangers... tend to be kind of boring in that regard."

"Is that why you've switched to Wasteland tramps?"

"You could say that. I'm only interested in the ones that have some potential in them. I watch the way they move... the way they look... the way they talk..."

"And you weren't disappointed?"

"No, I wasn't. I don't know what to think of you yet."

"Not impressed with my techniques?"

"They're... standard. There's nothing special about them."

I feel a slight smile on my lips.

"I never reveal all my aces at once."

"Mmm," she mumbles thoughtfully. She finishes her last sandwich and finishes her chamomile tea. "Well, we'll see... Now let's get to training."

My training takes about half a day, and then Greenkeys calls her duties. She says I can come to her again and continue my training, or I can just stop by to chat with her. She'll be glad to see me.

***

I sit on a small grated metal bench and watch Steel Rangers train in hoof fighting. They are taught and trained by a lavender earth pony with an athletic and trim figure. I watch their body movements in hoof fighting. It makes me think it would be a good idea to find a combat teacher—since almost all of the human fighting techniques I've learned don't fit a pony's physique.

My father had taught me a little about hand-to-hand combat when I was a boy, and I'd picked up a few things from prewar holomovies. In the Badlands my fighting skills were improved by the instruction of a friend in Pitt steelyard: sharing her knowledge saved me from imminent doom. An excellent master of body movements, she could move gracefully and elegantly. In Mojave I was trained by Veronica from time to time, she showed me some new fighting techniques. Also, some other individuals who were versed in the business showed me a few tricks and techniques in close combat. Even with that variety, though, I was far from even an expert.

"I knew she'd do that," Hugh Willford says from behind me. I throw my head back and look at him upside down.

"What, I'm sorry? I got distracted..." I tell him.

"See the light gray earth pony?"

I raise my head and look up to see them fighting in a training match. The gray earth pony deftly dodges punches and launches elaborate counterattacks. They're quick, but they don't do much impact. She simply prevents the opposing stallion from striking back.

"Yes... She pins her opponent down, not giving him a chance to counterattack. But won't she get tired of hitting so often and to no avail?"

Hugh laughs lightly.

"Watch closely," he adds. "You'll figure it out now."

I focus my gaze on the gray earth pony, glancing occasionally at the stallion's face. He looks a little... bored, he's waiting for a moment to strike back hard.

The stallion falls from the gray mare's sudden and unexpected heavy blow. He lies on his back, staring at her with surprised eyes.

"Wow..." I exclaim.

"Yep," Hugh says behind me. "With her monotonous blows, she put his guard down, falsely suggesting to him that she wasn't capable of anything else. He was used to her blows, so he didn't expect anything more serious. He relaxed and prepared to attack. That's where she got him."

"Clever trick. How did you know she would do that?"

"She hasn't changed in all that time. Works the same scheme against big opponents. Surprises them. I knew her well... Really well."

The gray earth pony helps the stallion stand up and switches to her next opponent.

Were they... close? No wonder Hugh knows her moves.

"I see," I say and tilt my head back to look again at the pony encased in massive power armor. "You know... I thought you had cold steel instead of a heart."

Of course, that's not true. I know that in a military organization like this, they know how to love. I just want to tease him.

Hugh hums thoughtfully, as if my mockery wasn't so far from the truth.

"She does," he adds.

"Oh..."

"No, I ended the relationship myself. Couldn't stand it."

"What happened?"

"She moves beautifully... But she doesn't know how to love, and she's not interested in bed games at all. Nor does she want to raise her future foals. She's devoted herself entirely to the Steel Rangers."

Either a careerist or obsessed with serving her brothers and sisters. Her personal life doesn't interest her in the slightest.

"I couldn't live," I begin, "with a pony like her. To live with one who has only her career in mind."

"And who doesn't know how to enjoy the other pleasures of life."

I hear the loud crash of a wave into the rocks nearby. And I smile, remembering Lilac, who enjoyed her second sunset over the water yesterday.

Here she was, able to balance work and her personal life. She's someone I could have loved if I'd had the chance. I guess so. Her stallion was extremely lucky to have her.

For about a couple of hours we watch Steel Rangers practice before another Steel Ranger comes up to us and says in 'Berry's' voice: "Knight Willford, you free to go. I'm taking him on a scouting mission."

Chapter 9 - Vanhoover

View Online

"We should have taken our transport," 'Berry', or Lemon Star, complains over the radio, watching the perimeter while I try to bring Bear to his senses. "Your wreck is breaking down every hour. At this rate, we won't make it to the mountains today."

"Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?" I ask, and I levitate my tools and periodically work my magic on the failed parts of the transport. There are too many breakdowns. Too many worn out parts. There's only one good thing about all these repairs: training my repair magic.

"No. But if delays can be avoided, why not?"

I don't answer.

It's just me and Lemon on this reconnaissance mission. She only took me on the mission. I've never been able to get a coherent answer as to why it's just the two of us in this romantic setting. Something about my unicorn abilities, my experience breaking into a Stable, my magical repair and hacking skills that would come in handy when exploring Stables, being able to sense the flows of magic, thereby detecting magical traps, and so on.

To the northeast of the base and southeast of Vanhoover rises a mountain range called the White Shell. According to the Steel Rangers Intelligence, it is known that a Stable is located somewhere there. If its exact coordinates are not known, I understand the information was found in some old note, letter, or terminal of pre-war citizens of Equestria. For example, they got the news that they finally got a place in one of Stables, and they naturally wanted to share this wonderful news with family and friends.

The Steel Rangers sent scouts to this placer of mountains repeatedly, but to no avail. Lemon assumed she would be the lucky one.

As I understand it, the White Shell scouting is only done in the summer. Because this is the time of year when there is not much snow in the mountains, and in winter there are solid, feet-long snow drifts, it is physically impossible to pass through them. Unless, of course, you know the spell of snow walking. Constant snowstorms, the temperature is always below freezing. You get snowed in on a hike at a time like this... and that's it, you don't thaw until spring.

Eh...

How much longer do I have to fix you, eh?

I poke irritably into one of the cylinders with a screwdriver.

I'm already bored, and repairs will take some more time. What should I talk to Lemon about? She's the Star Paladin of the local chapter of the Steel Rangers. She knows a lot. She won't give me secret information, but she should be aware of the big picture.

"Lemon, can I ask you some questions?"

"It's a free wasteland. Ask away," she also answers over the radio. "I'm sick of staring at your tail anyway."

"Just the tail?"

"Everything else is hidden under the cloak and armor."

"You'd better watch the perimeter."

"Stop being afraid. My armor tracking sensors are powerful. It's just you and me here... I almost forgot. Make a habit of saying my nickname outside the base, not saying my real name."

"Understood, accepted, processed."

Her armor sensors, however, are impressive. Not to mention that in addition to the aforementioned sensors, her armor is also equipped with a high-frequency radio capable of transmitting signals over long distances.

I asked Steel Rangers for parts and components so I could build a radio in my helmet. I didn't remove the old one, just attached this module to it. I would try to modify the Pip-Boy, but that would be dangerous. That would require changing all of its guts, and I can't take that risk, since the implants and the stealth-field generator depend on it working properly. He's already partially transformed as it is. I'm afraid I might mess something up if I start messing with him. I'll have to use the local PipBuck... I wish I'd brought one with me from the Stable 44.

Speaking of radio frequencies. Lemon informed me that somewhere in the mountains north of Vanhoover is a huge tower that creates a kind of dome around the Vanhoover region. It is a mixture of magic and radio waves that blocks signals from the outside, and also prevents signals from spreading beyond it.

The Vanhoover Jammer Tower.

The Steel Rangers do not know the original purpose of this tower. According to Lemon, the tower had a very different purpose. The tower is under the control of Vanhoover, Prince, Kings, and the Five Families.

"Why would Prince have created some sort of dome blocking incoming and outgoing radio waves?"

"No idea. Maybe he wants as small numbers of ponies as possible to know what's going on here."

"And what's so special about that?" I ask.

"Well... Prince wants to control everything. Trying to eliminate potential dangers as early as possible."

"So why hasn't he eliminated you yet?"

"He can't handle us," Lemon laughs.

"And vice versa."

"Yes..." she sighs.

"Will you tell me about the most interesting and dangerous places in the Vanhoover Wasteland?"

"Of the significant places: the Crater, Stable 66, and Green Island."

"The Crater? Is that where a megaspell exploded?"

"That's the name of the affected area that includes the ruins of Red Spark. It's located northeast of Vanhoover, right at the hoof of the northern mountains."

"What's Red Spark?"

"A pre-war town, second largest after Vanhoover. There's a river running through it on the mountain side, dividing it into two parts. Vanhoover's masters have robbed and explored many small prewar towns and villages in the vicinity. They slaughtered a lot of the scum and various mutants that were there. So the raiders went to the ruins of Red Spark. Because of the radiation, the overwhelming majority of the masters, and Steel Rangers, don't stick their necks out there.

The radiation scares away many marauders, with the exception of ghouls. The lack of marauders, I think, is what attracted the raiders to the city. Lots of warehouses with pre-war food. But they will pay a big price for that. Eventually most of them will become ghouls because of the radiation doses. I suspect that underground rooms like sewers and drains are home to a large number of wild ghouls, whose ranks are joined by raiders. All in all, a dangerous ecosystem has formed there.

"Can't you handle the radiation and the raiders?"

"Hardly. There are several reasons for that. The radiation levels there allow us to stay safely in and around the ruins, the power armor will provide us with adequate protection, but the bottom line is that the place is like a labyrinth. The shock wave of the megaspell caused almost all the buildings to collapse, piling up many of the streets and forming a labyrinth of sorts. "

Ah, so that's it... Heavy infantry like Steel Rangers are hard to come by. It's easy to get lost in the ruins, and then there's the raiders, who must be holed up in the surviving buildings, shooting everything that moves but their own... Well, most of the time. A real hornet's nest. If the Steel Rangers openly go in there, they'll be shot out of every building like radcrackers. With a plan of the ruins of Red Spark, they could sneak through that labyrinth and hit them hard.

And yet...

"If the raiders can easily penetrate your armor with their shitty weapons..."

"It's not that simple," Lemon interrupts me. "These raiders are heavily armed. They cleaned out Red Spark's armory. They're not all as good with armor as they are with guns, but try hitting them. They also know those places like their four hooves. Lots of secret passages. Can attack from any corner and window, go around and surround us.'

"So every raider is a well-armed foe, and they're also helped by their surroundings?" I ask angrily.

"Yeah... Raiders have no clear hierarchy or order, so you have to try harder to run into an organized group. Experienced raiders with good equipment and knowledge form a gang of weaker raiders and try to keep them in line. Sometimes these gangs roam the Wasteland in search of victims and caravans of slave masters from the farms and mines. Some groups band together for the sake of more successful attacks on larger caravans."

"I think," I begin, "it's fun to watch them fight each other over their prey later."

"Only if they can do it, because the guards, mostly griffons, are no strangers to attacks. But lately, attacks on one family's caravans have increased. Caravans are mostly attacked by skilled groups of raiders. Their organization has improved too much in the last couple of months, which has worried the Five Families."

And Lemon can get into long monologues. Tells everything in such detail, and with explanations, too. It's not bad at all, it's just... unusual for her to be so open with me.

"Then why don't they raise a small army and knock the raiders out of Red Spark if they're beginning to pose a threat?"

"They certainly can, and their losses will be many times less than ours, but they're too much lazy. Besides, if I were them, I'd try to find out why they're organized first, and then act. Vanhoover has everything: food, water, electricity, strong walls, drugs, entertainment and cheap sex. They don't intend to risk their necks, much less with their newly increased efficiency."

"And they're just sitting around waiting for intel?"

"Well... I suspect Prince has sent someone out on reconnaissance. Also, from observation, extra resources have been allocated to make sure all the goods are transported across the railroad tracks."

"So why hasn't the city switched to rail transportation from the beginning?"

"Fuel. It's needed to run the heavy haulers. Since everything revolved around coal—it even started the war with the zebras over it—before the war, several instances of heavy haulers were created that used gems, of which there were plenty in Equestria. The Five Families had depleted all the supplies of the mine they had found. They began to grow new gems, but there aren't enough of them to use the train all the time, and on top of that there are many other areas of the city that use gems... not to mention infrastructure."

"Is there an energy problem in Vanhoover?"

"Only with gems. Electricity, as well as water, is extracted from the dam to the north."

"What about trains that run solely on electricity?"

"Nothing is known yet."

Perhaps Prince doesn't want his city to be dependent in any area on anyone else, so he's severed ties with the outside world. Problems do indeed abound here, as I see it.

"Tell me about the Stable 66."

"The Mysterious Stable is northeast of Vanhoover, a few miles west of Red Spark."

"Mysterious?"

"Those who entered this Stable were never seen again," Lemon says grimly.

Wow, that's the coldest and most fear-filled tone I've ever heard from her.

"Ooh..." I howl long and jokingly, from under the hood of Bear. "How scary."

"This isn't a joke!" Lemon yells.

She clearly has something to do with that place. It might be a sore subject for her personally. I shouldn't have made that joke.

"I'm sorry," I say.

I hear a deep and bitter sigh over the radio.

"Let me tell you something. About eighty years ago, this Stable was discovered. The Vanhoover masters and the Steel Rangers tried to explore it, but those who crossed the Stable never returned. Communication with our Steel Rangers who had gone there to explore was cut off as soon as they crossed the threshold of the underground shelter, and they were never seen again. After our unsuccessful attempts to penetrate it, Vanhoover's masters undertook to explore it. The same thing happened to them as to Steel Rangers—they never returned. Since then there have been fewer and fewer attempts to infiltrate this grim place."

"Yet there were always brave and enthusiastic individuals who attempted to infiltrate alone.... and no one else saw them?"

"Yes... Almost twenty years ago, the Steel Rangers attempted to infiltrate again, sending fifteen of our experienced brothers and sisters... no one ever returned," Lemon's voice nearly breaks at the last words.

"Were there any ponies close to you among them?" I ask, distracted from the mending. I focus my attention.

"Yes. My parents were in that unit."

There is a brief pause—it feels like the wind has died down around us. I've never seen Lemon depressed or at least sad in the time we've known each other.

"I'm sorry again—I really didn't mean to rub salt in your wound," I say in a guilty tone.

"It's okay. You didn't know what the Stable meant to me," she inhales deeply and then exhales to calm down and go on about this painful subject for her.

"Maybe if it's hard for you to talk about it, then..."

"No, it's okay," Lemon interrupts me quietly. "What was also strange was that when this Stable was first discovered, the main doors were not locked with any kind of cipher or code. However, the inhabitants of Stable 66 and even the overalls with two sixes on the back were not found around."

"A strange Stable indeed," I pondered aloud. The main doors are unlocked, hence the inhabitants must have come out to the surface. Either someone had discovered it before and managed to crack the cipher, but there are only a handful of such hacking experts. "Tell me about Green Island."

There's still a little bit left... I almost fixed it, Bear.

"Green Island, or just The Island, is very close to the shores of Vanhoover, about half a mile away, and the only way into its territory is over a surviving highway bridge. This island is remarkable because its vegetation is extremely tall and highly concentrated."

"In low temperatures and frost, is that impossible?" I ask.

"In part. The point is that the plant species found there are not adapted to the cold conditions—and after all, half the island lies in a perpetual layer of snow, even though it's a mostly mountainous part..."

"And what was the island before the apocalypse?"

"A tourist reserve, a zoo, if you will, for rare animal species. A second megaspell fell on it... You see where I'm going with this?"

"I can imagine," I answer understandingly. But radiation alone couldn't have caused so many mutations on its own, especially ones this strong. I can say with certainty that there was something else there.

Reserve to the east, the one the griffons have now taken up, fleeing the Enclave's surprise attack on the remnants of their kingdom. Its vegetation could not be due to radiation alone. There can't be two coincidences in a row.

"Green Island is teeming with dangerous creatures," Lemon continues, "but hunters are not deterred by this, for them the island is a hunting ground, rich in meat, all sorts of pelts, and just a sporting pastime. Just over the bridge connecting Vanhoover and the island is a small pre-war town, Phoenix Threshold."

"What is Phoenix Threshold like now?"

"A pre-war township. It's a safe zone, but when you step outside its walls, be prepared for either a pack of wild animals or dangerous insects to jump on you. And not just big insects..."

"Been there?"

"No, and I don't recommend it to you. I only know from intelligence that there are several kinds of small insects that can paralyze you just by stinging you. There are also poisonous ones. So you'd better not have any open spots on your body—otherwise, if you're traveling alone, you're screwed."

"You said a megaspell fell there. Is it full of radiation?"

"The northern part is pretty high, where there are mountains and snowdrifts. You can only get through the drifts in places where the vegetation is stronger than a thick layer of snow. Griffons sometimes explore this island from the air, but because of the dense vegetation it is difficult for them to see anything, almost impossible. The vegetation..." Lemon snorts. "There are even predatory plants there that will grab and drag you into their jaws with their huge vines."

"Interesting..." I mutter. Green Island really is a dangerous place.

Hunting plants? Small but dangerous insects? Many varieties of predators? Mutations?

"So all these places are not worth going into?" I ask, thinking about the opposite. Oh, every one of these places makes me want to take at least one look... There's just too much to look at. Perhaps this place interests me even more than Reserve with griffons.

"Only if you want to kick back. In fact... Stay out of that Stable."

"Why should you care?"

"Not that I care, but you seem like a nice pony: sensible, not insensitive, considering that besides our brothers we're surrounded by nothing but lazy and gluttonous slave-masters who only think about satisfying their own primal needs. I don't like it when good ponies just die like that."

"Hmm," I hum, smiling. And I sigh heavily, remembering my past filled with crazy events. "I can't promise anything in this matter. I am too curious. Twenty-seven years I haven't betrayed myself in this."

I've almost finished the engine. Just a few more moments and it's done.

"How you ever managed to live to this age... It's unbelievable."

"What, I almost caught up with you being so reckless?"

"You're five years behind me..." she says and hushes, as if she's starting to regret what she said.

"You're thirty-two years old?"

"Well, yeah... why?" Lemon replies in a wary and slightly embarrassed tone.

"You're pretty young for the Star Paladin."

"Worked hard. Thank you. So, if you're more judicious, you might live to be my age."

"Life should be fulfilling. Why would I want such an old age?"

The heavy metal hood drops sharply onto my helmet. My head jingles from the impact, I barely manage to keep my legs on the ground, but I still bend from the weight coming at me and almost hug my chest against the old and worn out engine. All of this is accompanied by a painful groan and a long 'fu-u-u-uck'.

I doomfully sigh.

I guess... I shouldn't piss Lemon off and make jokes about her age, especially when I'm in a vulnerable state.

***

After a few hours of travel, we decide to make a stop at one of the abandoned houses in the tourist town, as evidenced by the 'car graveyard'—numerous trailers and other abandoned moving vehicles standing rusty empty caricatures of themselves; their important parts were long ago stolen by enterprising skillful ponies. From here, tourists were on their way to view the beauty of the snow-capped mountains of White Shell.

The idea to slow down here was suggested by Lemon, who said that even though it is summer, there is a strong hurricane in the mountains at night, which can cause an avalanche or a rockfall that bury my Bear. The best tactic in such conditions is to walk or drive during the day when there is no snowstorm. Already from here I can see a layer of snow in the mountains. Even though this road is difficult—not everyone will overcome all the trials of the way—but the night snowstorms cover the tracks so well that no expert, even with a microscope, can detect them. Therefore, these mountains are an excellent place to hit the trail. It's worth noting that hard, perennial snow lies only within the mountain range, and the road to the mountains leads higher and higher... this is good and to some extent encouraging, as dangerous predators are rarely found among the rocks, but even here we should not let our guard down.

The one-story wooden tourist cabin we occupy has nothing but old furniture, cool air, and a creaking wooden floor covered with age-old dust. There's also a fireplace with a thick layer of dust, meaning no one has lit it since the war.

I set up makeshift alarms in the vicinity in the form of old tin cans and grenade traps... a grenade in the shape of apple. Still can't get used to this shape of grenades in this world.

I sit down on the broken couch—it's strange that it didn't fall apart completely as soon as I sat down on it. Lemon finds an old abandoned mattress in the corner and looks at me with an expression asking if I want to sleep on the mattress. I reply that comfort is needed for a mare. She takes this as an insult, saying that mares think only of themselves, demand royal comfort in all situations, and throws a small wooden desk at me. I manage to slide down from the couch just in time, and the table flies just above his back and hits the wall behind him, breaking one of the legs. I get up and look behind the couch, at the just-damaged furniture, and slowly turn my head toward Lemon.

"What you've done? You've ruined such a consummate work of art. You can't even properly aim. If you want to throw things, why don't we have a pajama party and have a pillow fight?" I mumble ironically.

"I don't mind, but there aren't any pillows here that I'd stuff bricks in for... more fun," the Star Paladin replies with a chuckle.

"If you want to sleep with bedbugs, be my guest," I say, settling down on the couch and opening a packet of potato chips. I don't take my eyes off the way Lemon is about to pull the mattress out of the corner. "You move the mattress, fall asleep on it, and in the morning you find yourself lying on the mattress in the same corner you took it from. Bedbugs don't like a change of environment, you know."

"There can't be that many..." Lemon mutters confidently, turning over the mattress, which turns out to be full of moving little bugs underneath. Apparently, it's not just bedbugs. An abrupt pause indicates that she has clearly regretted her confidence.

"Look what you've done!" I exclaim with feigned indignation. "You have destroyed the only shelter for these small and peaceful creatures. You're a monster!"

"Very funny," Lemon says, flipping the mattress back to its original position. "I'd rather take a nap on the floor."

"Totally agree. For you'll break the couch if you sit on it," I smile as I keep prodding her. Her head turns slowly and menacingly in my direction. I can swear that her gaze says 'Do you want to get punched in the teeth?' Then, without taking off her armor, as if she had forgotten all her worries, she lies down beside the couch and falls asleep. Apparently, she was so tired that she forgot to turn off the speaker in her helmet—a few minutes later I hear her lightly snoring. Ah, the careless soul.

Having finished my chips, I also, without taking off my armor, spread out my sleeping bag, put my gear next to it and lie down. It's so soft and cozy... The last thing I hear before I fall into a sleep is the sound of a storm in the mountains outside. The thought of it makes me huddle in my sleeping bag, as if I wanted to hide in a warm place from the storm.

***

The 22nd of the Month of Bread, Redday. Thirty-second day of my stay.

I wake up and look at the Pip-Boy—I've been asleep for eight hours, no less. Turning my head toward Lemon, I see that she is still dozing. That might seem strange, considering she's sleeping on the cool wooden floor. I smile weakly. It's very simple—it's not cold in the power armor, the internal systems keep it warm.

I roll over onto my back and contemplate the rotten ceiling, realizing after a while that it disgusts me to look at it: a gross sight. Just as I'm about to stand up, I hear Lemon's power armor servos start up.

"Morning," she says lazily, yawning.

"Likewise. How about some breakfast? We've got a tough wander in the mountains ahead of us."

From the SUV, I bring food to the lodge, as well as a bottle of berry juice left over from the griffons of Reserve.

I drink the whole cup.

"Want some?" I ask, seeing that Lemon's head is turned in my direction longer than usual. "'Berry' is going to drink berry juice?"

Lemon barely audibly chuckles, but shakes her head.

"Why?"

"Well... I just don't want to..."

"Then why did you keep looking at me while I was drinking?"

"No, really. I don't want to."

Her voice sounded kind of... insecure. Embarrassed. It's like she doesn't want to answer like that, but somehow she has to. Maybe she's afraid I'm trying to poison her.

I defiantly pour myself another cup, and drink.

"You sure you don't want one?"

"No..."

"Come on... what's confusing you? That I might poison you?"

"What?" her voice sounds genuinely surprised. So I was wrong about the poisoning.

"Then... why don't you want to?"

"I don't want to take my helmet off... in front of you."

Oh... There's no way I was expecting that. I don't even know what to think.

"What are you afraid of?"

"That you..." she sighed heavily, "will look at me with contempt."

"Well... Yeah, most ponies look at Steel Rangers with contempt. Taking technology away from those who need it. Fucking with toasters."

She laughs awkwardly.

"No, that's not what I mean..."

"Then what do you mean?"

Her head lowers. She sits in silence, apparently looking at her power-armored front hooves.

"Promise you won't laugh?" she asks without raising her head.

"I'll bet my horn I won't."

Lemon laughs. After hesitating for a few seconds, she raises her hooves to her helmet, turns it around. It makes a barely audible click. Flanking the helmet with her front legs, she lifts it up. The green hair of her mane reveals itself from underneath it... yellow fur... and slightly chubby cheeks.

Oh... I've seen her... On the way out of the Discharger of their bunker. She still disappeared out of sight with embarrassment.

Now her green eyes are avoiding the direct gaze. They move sideways slightly, and her lips are pressed tightly together. She gives the impression that she is ready to turn off the weight-reduction matrix in her power armor and fall through the wooden floor.

"Oh... so you and I met when you weren't wearing your armor."

"Yeah..." she says awkwardly, still avoiding a direct look.

She looks... pretty cute. I don't even know why I think so. As I pointed out earlier, she's a long way from the residents of Tenpony Tower in terms of being overweight. But she clearly stands out from her physically fit 'brothers and sisters'. At least in her face. Her rounded cheeks and... that confused look make her extraordinarily cute.

"Yes, yes," she continues. Her voice is thin and quiet, like it's about to crack. "The Star Paladin of the Steel Rangers, what should be a role model, is... a fat barrel."

"I've been to a place... full of chubby ponies. You'd still have to eat a carload of sweet buns and do not move to outgrow them."

She smiles awkwardly and lowers her gaze.

"You know..." I say, and she looks up at me with interest. Lemon seems so fragile now... One wrong move or word and she'll shatter.

The fact that she takes her extra weight so personally tells me that she gained it recently and is not used to the way someone looks at her.

"You know..." I go back to the beginning, as I am lost in thought. "It makes me want to hug you for some reason. Such a cutie."

"Fat cutie..." she says and turns away.

"I just wonder how you managed to stay the Star Paladin with your..."

"...size?" she finishes the sentence for me. "I've relied more on brains than combat before, but I've kept my form within limits. This... happened recently. About a year ago. I overcame some kind of viral disease, which caused my thyroid gland to malfunction; I gained weight in a short period of time after that. The doctors have diagnosed the disease, but the therapy takes a very long time... And the Elder knows all this."

"Hm... So why are you embarrassed? You're obviously not the problem. Literally a problem with your thyroid has caused you to gain weight."

"Yeah... You're right, but still... A lot of ponies don't realize that. They mistakenly assume that I've neglected myself and I'm not taking care of myself. Every time I have to explain... I'm tired. Tired of seeing their contemptuous looks. Ashamed in front of my husband... ".

Now I understand why she prefers to hide behind her helmet, why she spends her meals apart from the others. She is uncomfortable among her own and...

Oh...

I think I understand now why she chose to go on a scouting expedition only with me. I didn't know she was overweight at the time, so she thought she looked like a respected member of the Steel Rangers in my eyes. So it is easier for her to be in my company, even though I am a stranger.

"Well... now you know..." she turned away bashfully. "I shouldn't have shown my face. I shouldn't have done that. I wish you hadn't seen me..."

I rise to my feet, walk up to her, and, looking into her surprised eyes, put my hooves around her neck. Releasing my embrace, I look up at her.

"I feel I respect you more now," I say.

"Uh-oh. Uh... W-why?"

"I can see that it's important to you, and yet I'm not afraid to tell you about it. That's strong."

Her lips stretch into an awkward smile again.

"Thank you... I... I didn't even think you'd be so... so understanding about it."

"Should I have acted differently? Besides, being overweight is a sign of affluence in the Wasteland."

"Right..."

"So... now I don't know if I can offer berry juice with your health."

I give her a new and clean cup, pour the juice in it, and bring it to her lips.

"Yes, I'm allowed. Thank you," she says and opens her mouth. I bring the cup closer, and she wraps her lips around its edge. The blue magic of my telekinesis lifts and tilts the cup, and the bittersweet liquid pours into her mouth. She begins to gently swallow. She looks at me furtively with strange eyes. She sincerely enjoys the drink. She likes it.

The look in her green eyes. The whole thing is... It feels strange. There's a sense of impropriety about what's going on. No, there's nothing wrong with giving a mare juice. It's the way I'm giving it to her right now. This moment feels so... intimate.

Why did I do it this way in the first place? Why am I holding a cup for her?

I also think her cheeks are flushed.

Lemon's soft lips release the cup, and she licks her lips with an embarrassed look.

"It's delicious... I've never tasted such yummy stuff before. Will you give me some more later?"

"And present the cup to your lips the same way?" I ask, restraining my desire to smile.

"Well... Not necessarily," she smiles awkwardly, looking away. I notice out of the corner of my eye that her rump and hind legs seem to twitch slightly.

I quickly shift my gaze to the wooden wall of the cabin behind her. I hope she hasn't noticed that I've been paying attention to her twitching rump. It looks extremely... No, I don't want to think about it. I'd rather focus on something else.

"Now we can have breakfast," I say.

I pull out my provisions: jerky, tomatoes, a can of corn. I offer Lemon something from my kit. She agrees to the can of corn. Before I have time to eat my piece of meat, Lemon has already eaten half of it.

The wind whistles—an apple-shaped object flashes before my eyes. A hot apple.

The devil!

I toss away the piece of half-eaten meat and manage to jump over the couch; there is an explosion. I hope it didn't hit Lemon. I peek out from behind the couch and look at her: she's not hurt. She was just caught in the shockwave, judging by the angry face smeared with the contents of the can of corn.

"Lemon, this is no time to take rejuvenating vegetable masks," I say, picking up my helmet and putting it on. I hide near the window, trying to look out and assess the situation. "It's about time we let our guard down," I add reproachfully. Then I look at my compass—about six red marks.

"What the f..." a voice comes from outside; there's an explosion.

The tin cans clang wildly, the shockwave blows the last remnants of glass out of the windows, someone's torn leg flies in through the window and lands on the floor with a nasty smack, and something strikes the door with a thud and enormous force—the dust rises near the walls.

One of the three grenade tripwires has gone off as the bandits decide to see if the blast killed us. One down. Five to go.

I look out the window: the grenade tore one raider—it was her leg—and her own mutilated body flew onto our door. The second raider, wounded, crawls away, leaving a dark red trail behind her. After a few seconds, she breathes out from heavy blood loss. The others take cover behind old cars and trailers.

Correction. Four to go.

It's lucky there's no magical fuel left in those cars, or there'd be a big goddamn explosion.

At that moment, Lemon takes shelter under a nearby window. As soon as we try to look out, bullets and curses fly at us, with something about necrophilia in them.

"They're behind the cars."

"I see them," Lemon replies, ducking his head with me after the volley. "Use a grenade. You're more accurate than I am."

She pulls a grenade from the compartment of her armor and throws it to me: I catch the 'apple', pull off the pin, and toss it into the rusted trailer where the raider is hiding. His panicked screams are heard, he tries to react: he runs away, but the explosion catches him, wounding him badly, and he is now incapacitated.

There are three left.

The confusion sown allows me to grab Whispering Night and activate the thermal imager; I look out the window and activate the VATS. Time slows down as if it stops altogether. I aim at the raiders' figures, specifically their heads.

One raider gets the top of his skull blown off. The second, with a leather headdress made from the skin of some animal, the bullet hits the eye hole and goes right through. The last third pony gets a bullet through the top of her head as she tilts it in my direction, hiding behind cover.

Large caliber sniper rifles do terrible things.

"Done," I say, hearing only the lazy rustle of the wind.

"Let's check it out," Lemon replies.

I carefully look around for danger and check my compass. Without anyone noticing, I am the first to leave the house. I hear a distant rumble, and almost at the same moment I am greeted by a bullet in my right shoulder, piercing my armor and tangentially passing over my shoulder; the bullet tears off not only some of my armor, but also my skin.

"Fuck!" I howl in pain.

The force of the shot makes me fall to the wooden floor. Lemon doesn't hesitate to drag me back into the house: just in time, because in the next instant a second bullet hits where I was lying, leaving a huge hole in the wooden floor...

The pain is intense and searing as hell.

"Are you okay?" Lemon asks worriedly, gazing for a second at the hole left by the bullet.

"Alive..." I say, gritting my teeth in pain. How unbearable it is!

"You need medical attention!"

"Really?" I say through gritted teeth. Speaking and thinking are difficult. "You'd.... better make.... sure you.... don't get shot. I'll... take care of myself..."

"What about you?"

"Watch... your... own ass!" I almost scream in pain. "He think... I am dead."

"Not if he shot you a second time."

While Lemon tries to divert sniper fire without getting hurt, I self-medicate. The searing and sharp pain makes it hard to use telekinesis, but I still reach in and inject myself with a dose of the painkiller. I feel like I missed a bit. Fucking pain!

The pain gradually subsides. It does not disappear completely, of course, but it already allows me to control my thoughts and actions.

I remove the element of armor on my shoulder and treat the wound with disinfectants, and then drink a strong healing potion. A pleasant warmth spreads through my body; I feel a burning sensation around the wound and a tingling sensation. The potion begins to take effect. In a few minutes, the wound is almost healed: the potion has worked, stopping the bleeding and slightly repairing the skin. All that was left is a nagging pain, which is not the first time I've had to endure it. The regenerating implant would eventually heal the wound completely. There should be no scar left.

Only a 50 MG bullet could penetrate my armor with such ease and force. Apparently, it was the local equivalent that wounded me. No wonder I didn't catch the enemy, considering how far a anti-materiel rifle reaches its target.

"How's the combat and political situation?" I ask, looking toward Lemon, hiding by the window and occasionally firing off the energy-magic weapon on the back of her power armor.

"Stagnant for now," she answers, panting, constantly changing her position at the window. "Apparently, after firing two shots, he has moved elsewhere," she adds. "Since the bullets flew at different angles. He keeps changing his position, and so do I, and my compass can't get a fix on him at all—he's too far away. So I run back and forth!" Lemon yells out at the last words, another bullet skips through the wooden wall and whistles millimeters from the front of his helmet.

The sniper could shoot us at any moment, and good riddance. Well, at least the wooden wall slows the bullet down a bit, and the power armor will protect Lemon. But not me! I look at the compass—nothing.

"I'm having the same problem locating it," I say frustratedly. A bullet whizzes past—splinters are falling on me. That was close! "I'll have to go up to him."

"How do you pull that off?" Lemon asks, ducking from another volley.

"It's as easy as a walk in the park. All you need is a StealthBuck, and you try to divert fire on yourself, just don't overdo it, or I'll be scraping you off the floor."

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I hope you have a StealthB—" Lemon says halfway through, seeing that I've disappeared from view.

"Did you also get close to Bubblegum like that? It's a spell?" Lemon asks. "How many more surprises do you have hidden?"

"Lots," I reply longingly, stepping out of the house and slowly making my way toward the sniper.

I move cautiously between trailers and other vehicles with the thermal imager on, looking for the enemy. Along the way, I bump into a surviving raider, caught by a grenade given to me by Lemon. His eyes are filled with fear of death and suffering. He doesn't want to die. No one wants to die. Everyone just wants to be put out of their misery.

It's not your fault that you became what you are. But that doesn't excuse what you've done.

I'm wringing his neck. Quickly, so he doesn't suffer anymore.

Though sometimes I wish some particularly violent raiders would suffer before they die.

As I move farther away from the house, I notice that a mark has appeared on Pip-Boy's compass.

"I've spotted the sniper," I say over the radio. "He's on the southwest hill."

"Don't report back to me every time the situation changes, just act!"

"I thought you'd be interested..." I mutter, jokingly offended, and pull out Whispering Night.

"I understand," Lemon begins, while I set the larger barrel on the rifle, "that you're joking to-"

Another shot rings out at her position.

"Damn it!" she yells over her radio to me. "You're joking to control your emotions in combat, especially after being badly wounded..."

I take aim at the sniper, paying attention to all the factors that can affect the trajectory of the bullet.

"...But please concentrate and finish him off quickly," she mutters with intense anxiety and fear in her voice.

He shoots again.

"Daniel!" Lemon screams in panic; the suddenness makes me twitch, magic accidentally pulling the trigger. There's a muffled, squelchy sound. Through the telescopic sight I see the bullet almost immediately blow the shooter's head off.

Lucky... Oh, I'm so lucky.

"Don't freak out," I say. "He's done."

"Yeah?" Lemon says, as if she can't believe her ears. I hear her sigh freely. "Check... Is there anyone else left," she says in a slightly shaky voice.

I move around the surroundings for a while, alternately waiting for Pip-Boy's charge to recover so I can reactivate the stealth field.

It's been about twenty minutes.

"I've checked it out. Clear as the power armor of a decent Steel Ranger," I hear her chuckle in response over the radio link.

"Okay," Lemon chuckles. Her old confidence has returned to her. "If I die from a raider's bullet you didn't notice, hang yourself so I can strangle you in the afterlife."

I approach the sniper's corpse early, then Lemon arrives as well.

In front of me lies a decapitated raider in good battle armor, a large-caliber sniper rifle next to him. I can see his skin on the exposed parts of the armor.

Apparently this is the veteran raider, given the signs of gulification that mean he's lived a long time in the Crater and has had a lot of experience under his belt. He does have powerful weapons. A anti-materiel rifle would pierce through power armor like a pencil through paper.

"His brains are scattered around," Lemon examines the sniper's weaponry closely. "Oh! An anti-machine rifle? Rare, even for veteran Crater raiders. Even rarer to see him this far from their territory."

"Do you mind if I take the rifle?" I turn to her. "I'm the one who eliminated him, after all."

The Steel Ranger doesn't answer anything, probably pondering my words. I want to get my hands—or hooves—on at least one sample of such a rifle, for I love a powerful, long-range weapon with a sliding bolt. Oh, that sound and feeling when I pull the bolt... I feel like a real hunter. Confident. Dominant. Damn! I'm just obsessed with it—but not as much as I am with the inner workings of guns.

I shake my head.

Don't overreact.

"Okay," Lemon sighs heavily after some thought, but then adds sternly, "Just don't flash her to Steel Rangers."

I guess I'm really not their prisoner or suspect of anything, since they let me borrow this kind of technology.

"No persuasion required," I say, pleasantly surprised.

"First of all," Lemon begins, "like you said, you got shot and you killed him. Secondly, I'm not going to take away a rifle by force, albeit a technological one. Third, as the Star Paladin, I won't get anything for not taking this or that technology. I don't search for technology, except for a few exceptions. If an important technology exists in only one instance and is of interest to me, then I can take that technology away by force if necessary—but that's unlikely, because not many things in this world can surprise and interest me."

For some reason I suddenly want to tell her that I'm from a parallel world with its own physical laws, which have no magic as such. Here she will be freaking out about the possibilities of technology similar to the one here, but without the interference of magic.

"Is that a threat?" I ask gently.

"No. Just a friendly warning."

"Since we're such friends..." I take to searching the murdered pony. "Tell me... Why were you so persuaded to go to your base?"

"You must have thought we took you as a prisoner?"

"Uh-huh," I agree faintly and tense, waiting for her answer.

"It's simple. We need allies."

"Interesting, but what's in it for me?"

"Access to our workshops, knowledge, and even some resources. For the caps, of course. You, if they want, can be taught something by other Steel Rangers. As far as I know, you've already proven yourself well to the Head scribe and the proctor for the Order of the Quill. Tried what it's like to use our knowledge and tools, at least."

The Steel Ranger workshop really impressed me. Thanks to it, I was able to quickly get a local radio signal receiver into my helmet. Even if it only works over short distances. And a lot of other things, too...

"Yeah, it's really cool with you guys," I say.

I think it's worth hanging out with them after all.

"Not everyone gets that kind of offer," she explains.

"And what am I supposed to do? Drag every piece of technology I find back to your base?"

"We'd be happy to. But Steel Rangers are hoping you'll at least do what's in our best interest. Or at least without harming us. If we want to keep in touch with the ponies of the Wasteland, we need to have allies among them."

"I suspect you must have allies besides me."

"You are the first so far, as far as I know."

"How so?"

"There have been previous attempts, but they've come to nothing," Lemon says in a sad tone.

"Huh... well... that's to be expected."

"You... frankly, pleasantly surprised a lot of Steel Rangers."

"Good to know."

She nods and heads off to inspect the bodies. I continue to examine my sniper.

My shoulder is still aching from the recent damage. Every movement of my shoulder reminds me of it. Apparently, it will last for several more hours. If it weren't for the regeneration implant, it would take much longer to heal.

The results of appropriating the veteran's belongings: the anti-machine rifle, which I disassemble for convenience, ammunition for it, a couple of grenades and healing potions, a bag of caps (a total of about one hundred and fifty caps). As I search the rest of the corpses, I appropriate an automatic rifle in pretty good condition, a couple of medium-caliber pistols with ammunition for them. I also disarm the tripwires I put up and take the grenades.

Lemon takes only medical supplies and caps.

I put all the valuables I find in Bear.

***

We've been driving around the mountains along the hiking roads for half a day now, but we find nothing but colorful scenery and shallow rockfall.

"Bo-o-o-oring," Lemon wearily stretches out, sitting in the front seat. "Do you see anything?"

"Lemon, I see 'anything' all the time," I answer indifferently, concentrating so we don't fall off in this huge thing like Bear. The slippery snow can make that happen. "Be specific about your question."

"Well, I don't know... A hidden trail, a secret conspiracy, signs pointing to the existence of aliens," Lemon ponders sarcastically. "Anything at all that would point us to a Stable. You're kind of observant and have visited more than one Stable."

Signs pointing to the existence of aliens... I can barely keep from laughing. There he is! The alien is sitting right next to you, in all its glory and uniqueness. I doubt that humans have ever wandered into this world.

The engine starts making those familiar popping noises. I have to hit the brakes and go check what's wrong with it again. The snow crunches under my shoes as I walk to the hood.

Repairs again... Problems again.

Lemon walks around and inspects the area more closely, now that the opportunity has arisen.

The repairs don't take long. It's lucky the breakdown was minor. I close the hood. It's time to call Lemon and move on.

"Huh... what are you doing?" I ask over the radio, looking at Lemon, who is groping an inconspicuous rock nearby. "Are you trying to seduce it?"

"Yes, with Cypher code," she replies. "It's one of the famous ways of seduction. I read about it in the old Steel Ranger archives... Jokes aside. Actually, Cypher code is a way of sign coding, if you don't know. A method used in telecommunication to encode text characters as standardized sequences of two different signal durations, called dots and dashes, or dits and dahs."

"Okay, but why do you apply it?"

"Because my sensors picked up some strange activity. I suspect it's some sort of door that opens with the right sequence of taps."

Seems far-fetched, but... I don't know this world, hence, nor do I know how common the hidden doors in the rocks are here.

"And how, any success?" I ask, walking toward her.

"If there was success, I wouldn't keep poking around with her, I'd be inside."

"Why would Stable-Tec hide the entrance to a Stable behind a secret door?"

"No reason," Lemon continues tapping out various combinations on the rock. "Such crap is useless given the local mountain scenery. Almost no one's walked here anyway, except pre-war tourists."

"Then..." I begin, but Lemon hastens to answer my question before I can ask it.

"It could have been installed after the war. Those who definitely wanted to hide from someone... Vanhoover masters, for example. After all, the slave trade has its antagonists."

That's right. I didn't think there might be slavery haters in Vanhoover. But someone must be fighting for slave freedom.

"And... judging by the way," I say, coming up close to Lemon, "how you bang on that rock like a drum, the antagonists of slavery are hiding in some bunker. Most likely in some kind of Stable. It would be foolish to place the central headquarters right in a hornet's nest, in Vanhoover itself."

"An-n-nd..." Lemon suddenly speaks in the tone of some pre-war lottery announcer, "we've got a winner! That's right, my dear friend. Your deductive reasoning has not failed you. And now your prize! Information! To the best of my knowledge... As far as the Steel Rangers know, ever since the rebuilding of Vanhoover, there have been antagonists of slavery who liked to ruin things for the slave traders. They stole slaves, changed their appearance, and erased their memories. Their agents were found, their memories checked, but they never could find out the location of their main lair. In the end everyone agreed that they were outside the city and somewhere underground. Still searching."

"The situation hasn't changed at all?"

"I suspect that their activity has decreased over the past decades. At the very least, cases of kidnapping have decreased significantly. After all, slaves are so brainwashed from birth that it will take years to retrain them to a free life. The exceptions are the slaves who became one as children or masters, who still have some chance of quick rehabilitation."

"Sounds like you're working with them," I grin.

Her thoughts sound too believable. She understands the situation too well. Or so it seems to me.

"You live here for a couple of years, get to know the local scene, you'll know what's what and why... This rock pisses me off!"

"What, are you running out of options?"

"I've tried every word associated with freedom, struggle, and liberation."

Hmmm...

They've been fighting Vanhoover masters since the rebuilding of the city began. And that's more than a hundred years. And in recent decades their activity has declined. So many years of fighting, but to no avail, and slavery in Vanhoover, from Lemon's descriptions, is spreading like mushrooms after the rain. Not without the help of skillful brainwashing, of course. They seem to have begun to give up.

I'd probably give up myself if I could see that a concerted effort has gone nowhere for over a hundred years.

"Try the words associated with hopelessness, despair, and doom."

"Why?"

I express my thoughts, and she nods understandingly.

"Our situation is similar..." she adds sadly. "We, too, have been less active lately than we used to be. Vanhoover wins us all over with its restraint."

After a few tries, the rock comes into motion: it rustles loudly and pulls back.

"Hopeless," Lemon replies.

She turns on the flashlight on her helmet and then steps into the cave; I turn on mine and follow her. Our hoofsteps echo throughout the cave, the light of our flashlights cutting through the darkness around us. We walk about twenty feet and find ourselves at a huge steel door in the shape of a gear with the numbers '53' on it. Behind the door is the muffled hum of a generator and other equipment in the Stable. Lemon immediately approaches the door console and begins fiddling with it.

Suddenly, the mare's threatening, metallic voice echoes through the cave. It comes from the console's speaker, and only now do I notice the security camera with the familiar flashing red light. "Step away from the console!" the voice commands.

We obey and move a few steps away from the console.

"Who is she?" Lemon Star asks.

"The Overmare of this Stable. I advise you not to make any unnecessary moves, or these two turrets..." two large turrets emerge from under the black metal floor by the door, one with a missile launcher, which means badly, "...will make a sieve out of you."

"No, just one, because the other one won't leave us a wet spot," I interject.

"Don't show off!" the Overmare says in an indignant voice. "You can't leave this cave unless I say so."

"Come on..." I start smugly, but then I turn around at the noise behind me and see that the rock is rising into its usual position, cutting off our escape route. All that's left is the light from our flashlights, the buttons on the console, and the red glow of the turret and camera aimers. Fucking hell, I wanted to take the edge off with jokes, but ended up just heating it up.

"You're prowling around looking for the Stable. I can't let you in, much less let you go, or you'll give away our location."

"Wait," I say hastily. "Can't we reach a consensus? I understand that you're hiding from someone here, judging by that rock. I don't give a damn who you are. Yes, we're looking for 'a' Stable, but not in terms of technology, but in terms of finding one thing that might be in the underground bunkers. It's very special and you won't need it, most likely, since only we can appreciate its value."

"What guarantee is there that you won't give us away... to others?" the Overmare asks skeptically. She does not choose to point to specific individuals. Either the hesitation is due to the fact that she is simply withholding who they are hiding from.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask curiously. "You live underground and haven't been out on the surface, so why the prejudice against strangers? And what makes you suddenly think we're looking for 'the' Stable? Yes, I've visited more than one Stable, but none of them had an extra secret entrance with a code. Besides, this place is perfect for hiding from outside eyes. The mountains create little radio wave interference, and it's even stronger in this cave, which prevents us from being able to transmit a radio signal far enough."

At my last sentence, Lemon looks at me, then, as if finding evidence of it, says over the radio link, "Indeed."

The Overmare doesn't answer.

"Your silence only confirms my hunch that you have been on the surface more than once and are hiding from someone. Rest assured, I have no advantage in giving you away. I'm only looking for the thing."

"Again, what guarantee is there that you will not give us away?" the Overmare repeats.

"Only my honest word," I reply, bowing my head and pulling my right hoof to the side.

"Just so you know," Lemon begins, "I have a tracking sensor in my power armor. If I die or leave the armor, the main base will know about it... especially my location. We take care of our soldiers. So they'll be sure to survey the area. And then you won't get away with it. Otherwise, we'll just take what we need and leave without saying a word about you. So at least try to believe us, and you can go on living in peace in your Stable. What have you got to lose?"

"The hay..." the frightened voice of the Overmare comes. I don't know if Lemon was telling the truth, but she sounded convincing enough. Considering that power armor is also valuable technology, the loss of which would not be tolerated. "All right, but the thing you're looking for, I can't just give it away. A friend of ours got into trouble in Vanhoover a few days ago. He was captured by Prince himself. Name's Dodger. You'll have to get him out of Prince's hooves. The main thing is to free him: we'll know about it."

I wonder how she will find out? I think she's just leading me astray. I haven't even been to town to know what's going on. Well, she doesn't know that I haven't been to Vanhoover and that I haven't been in the region more than a week. If her friend captured by Prince himself, there's a very good chance he has more than one pair of eyes watching him twenty-four... twenty-six hours a day. And the ransom—if, of course, his plan is to sell him as a slave—will cost an astronomical sum that I won't be able to collect in a short time.

"All right," I reply, realizing that there is no other option. I'll see what I can do. First we need to get to town, and then we'll see. And I can get there in no time by myself.

"Very well," the Overmare says, cheering up. "Your friend will stay here for a while, and then we'll let her go. I have a few more things to clear up. Good luck to you."

"Leaving me, huh?" Lemon says in an offended tone over the radio as I walk toward the exit. "Will you wait?"

"I don't know how long she'll keep you here... so no. I'll go without you."

"Ratbag!"

"Somebody will pick you up anyway. You're a walking radio station. And I'd like to be alone. I've been in someone else's company for almost two weeks now. Anyway, I'll see you later, and if I haven't drunk it by then, I'll get you drunk on berry juice."

***

The 23rd of the Month of Bread, Orangeday. Thirty-third day of my stay.

It's getting dark...

After leaving the cave that was the entrance to Stable 53, I return to Bear and head further north along the ravine. I use the map I got from the Steel Rangers to orient myself, and I get to a big gorge that runs almost perpendicular to this one. Then I turn left to further reach the flat terrain.

After reaching another gorge, I go up high into the mountains, which is damn hard on this clumsy and heavy Bear. An unforgettable landscape unfolds before me—across the gorge to the west, I can see in the distance a large city with a population of nearly three hundred thousand people; also on the opposite side I can see the passage in the distance, through which I drove to get here. Along this gorge runs the railroad, along which I ride.

The railroad is open in places, but most of it is hidden in tunnels. Fortunately, they are not blocked and I can drive through them.

After getting through the tunnels, surviving several vehicle breakdowns, and exiting the White Shell mountain range, I get to more or less flat terrain.

It's worth noting that right at the exit of the last tunnel in the White Shell mountains, I notice a trail of sorts. It feels as if, before the war, trains stopped here to drop off passengers at something. I'll have to check to see where it leads.

I make an appropriate note of it in my Pip-Boy.

At some point along the way I regret that my Pip-Boy isn't capable of catching local radio frequencies, something I don't want to mess with lest I accidentally ruin the whole device due to a partial transformation. There is usually a radio station of some kind near a major city.

That's when I remember that Bear has a radio installed. I turn it on and quickly tune in to the first radio station. There is some pretty good music playing on this frequency, and to my surprise, there is no Red Eye style propaganda or the same Ashur and Eden style propaganda. After a while on the radio I hear the voice of the local DJ, Oscar, as he calls himself. He is a stallion with an extremely charismatic and smooth voice. The style of his speeches doesn't sound like Three Dog or Mr. New Vegas. And since no propaganda is being broadcast, what is the radio for? That's right. PR, publicity and news.

On the radio, the DJ is not distinguished by any particular manner of speech, but his phrases are not standard. Sometimes there is rhyme, jokes and wit in his speeches. It is not boring at all. Perhaps the reason for this is his charming voice.

In his commercials, he mentions places that offer goods or services of all kinds. Frequent references are made to brothels with the hottest mares and stallions to be found in the Wasteland. Major sales of both goods ('Oasis' is often mentioned) and services (the Softhooves family is often mentioned). DJ just names them, making no opinion or special comment about them. Just... sponsors.

Here comes the news, DJ puts his two caps in almost every news story. It becomes obvious that only the most interesting and important news (in his words, of course) is selected. The news mentions local squabbles, robberies, murders (of which there have been many), pursuits, holidays and events... The city is living life to the fullest. So full and independent of the Wasteland that it strikes me to my core. The news even mentions 'law and order' more than once, but it seems to me that in a city of slave trades and clans, corruption is rampant with an equally rampant bureaucracy.

Speaking of families. Over my journey to Vanhoover, the Five Families are mentioned: the Softhooves, Steelmane, Waterfall, Falcon, and the Meadows. What each family does exactly is hard to say. Too many areas of activity are mentioned in this flow of information that is difficult to sort out.

What strikes me most is that the DJ goes on the air every two hours. The airings take about twenty minutes. The airwaves cover news and commercials. It seems to me that DJ Oscar is not alone in this business, that's for sure. I doubt he can get on the air every two hours... Twenty-six hours a day every day.

Surely Oscar is just a persona that several DJs work under, while changing his voice with magic. No wonder why I found his voice enchanting. It's artificially created, or maybe based on the prototype of some pre-war record pony. This probably explains the lack of a distinctive manner of speech: because of the presence of several DJs, it would be erratic anyway. Slightly, but it's felt nonetheless. However, the concept of multiple DJs itself is quite handy.

The engine begins to wheeze and 'cough' longingly, like Lilac. I turn away from the road, drive behind the nearest rocks and set up for the night, and bring the engine back to life. I don't light the fire to avoid any attention, and after dinner I go to sleep.

***

The 24th of the Month of Bread, Yellowday. Thirty-fourth day of my stay.

I gradually approach the city and feel more and more of its grandeur: tall brick walls of two or three stories, closer to the center the buildings get taller and taller, and they look remarkably good.

It is hard to imagine that such a huge and developed city is a giant of the slave trade. Looking at this metropolis reminds me of another slave-trading city, the Pitt. I first heard of the Pitt in the Citadel of the Brotherhood of Steel from the paladin Kodiak. It wasn't until I got there that I realized how terrible it looked. Strange as it may sound, I was in that city of my own free will—to save all the slaves from their masters' power and to find some cure.

How naive of me. Even though I was still reeling from Brisa's death.

Wernher, the man who sent the signal for help, asked me to find a cure for the disease. It was a disease that turned a human into a bloodthirsty mutant trog. A man infected with it lost his mind and attacked everyone in a row from ambushes and dark corners. Trogs are nimble and fast, fleeing from them is equal to trying to dodge a bullet. The only thing left is to put up a fight against these creatures. If that's the case, at least there' s a chance.

They've contracted TDC, Troglodyte Degeneration Contagion, poisoning anyone who's been in Pitt's territory or breathed Pitt's air for too long. The first signs of the disease were sores on the body, which later grew bigger. It was a terrible sight. Worst of all, the disease affected the brain, so over time the infected would degenerate into savages or worse, trogs. It was vital to find a cure. For the sake of it, I endured the mockery of my hosts.

I was in the Pitt for about a week before rising to soldier status. Then I had recently lost Brisa, and I was indifferent to my own fate. I didn't care that much about what would happen to me. I no longer remember why I decided to suffer in this place. Perhaps the physical pain didn't feel so terrible against the mental pain. Perhaps it was because of the cure for others. Perhaps I just wanted to free the slaves. I was lost. But I knew one thing: I had to do something to distract myself. I endured the beatings of overseers and masters and saw that some slaves were no better than their oppressors. Some slaves seemed to be beasts—could beat and rape another, no matter what sex they were. I realized that there was almost no unity among slaves—only a few held together as a group, but otherwise it was almost every individual for himself.

It was at the Pitt that I learned how to survive in the most difficult conditions. When I was picking up steel scrap and almost dying, I was saved by a friend. She was living alone in the factory yard. The rescue turned out to be accidental. My nearly breathless carcass happened to be near her hiding place, she was about to search me for useful supplies, but found, to her surprise, that I was still alive. Unconscious, but alive. Perhaps that was what surprised her, and so she decided to help, to heal me, and to teach me many self-defense techniques: how to survive in dangerous situations, to be less visible, to defend myself more effectively. Her past turned out to be one of the hardest things I'd ever heard, and I told her about mine. We didn't become friends, we were just good acquaintances. Besides, she wasn't looking for strong connections, not wanting to make connections with people who might end up in some ditch the next day.

After winning the Hole, the slave fighting arena, I got a chance to talk to Ashur himself and join his army. I met with him, and he told me of his plans for this city and of the cure that was his child. I did not expect such a thing. Ashur himself wasn't a megalomaniac psychopath or anything like that. In fact, he was a good guy, doing what was best for the city, even if not in the brightest of ways. He himself was not happy with the way his subordinates treated the workers. He was responsible for them all.

I, on the other hand, was not capable of killing a child's generally normal parents in order to get a cure for Wernher. Who knows what they would do to him. Would they be able to get the cure under inappropriate conditions? Doubtful. Ashur himself wanted to cure his entire population, and not just his masters. He also had the resources, the cleanliness, and the care. If I had given the child to Wernher, it would have taken many times longer to find a cure under these conditions.

Wernher... As it turned out, what he really wanted was power himself. And his bravado about liberation was only to lure into his plans 'knights on white horses' who would take his side no matter what, as he tried to free the slaves and find them a cure. He spun me around like a puppet.

I made an attempt to change Ashur's mind about the workers, taking advantage of the fact that he himself did not like what his subordinates had become. He agreed—albeit not immediately, since it wasn't easy to do. Some of his subordinates simply might not have heeded his request to treat slaves not as soulless livestock. It would be better to receive harsh punishment for those slaves who treated their own kind in a swine-like manner.

As I spoke to him, a riot broke out between the workers and their masters. He asked me to find Wernher and stop the riot in return for better conditions for the workers. I went in a moment to find Wernher, at which point Ashur appealed to those who had the slightest compassion for the workers and were willing to live and work side by side with them to shut themselves up in the Haven until things had settled down.

Wernher was stubborn: he wanted Ashur dead, and the power, with my help, passed to him. I killed him without the slightest doubt of my decision. He turned out to be a rare bastard. In fact, he was partly telling the truth—just paraphrasing it to his own understanding.

With Wernher's death, the slave riot ceased, for their leader was dead, and Ashur fulfilled his promise: the slaves became real laborers on an equal footing with their masters. The slaves received more acceptable living conditions for the Pitt. The better one worked, the better food and treatment. The masters became common guards.

The workers toiled for the good of the city while the guards went out into the Wasteland or searched Pitt's own ruins for supplies. It had been like that before, but back then they kept almost everything for themselves, and gave the slaves leftovers or about... nothing: they ate some crap.

It had been over a week since the riot. During that time I helped solve a few dangerous problems—mostly fighters and trogs who disagreed with the new regime.

And then I left town and never came back.

I wonder... What would be waiting for me here, in Vanhoover? In a town that is a mix of Vault-City, the capital of the New California Republic with a touch of New Reno mafia families and the global slave trade, like the Pitt.

The engine grunts again and stalls in the middle of the road.

I irritatedly punch the steering wheel and get out of the transport.

***

It is still morning and I find myself very close to the city.

On my way I encounter a small caravan and a small group of explorers. As expected, they had no reaction to me other than simple wariness.

In the distance I see a train moving along the tracks.

And then I stop at the main gate with a neon sign that reads 'Vanhoover South Gate'. The gate is guarded by ponies and griffons that are clad in heavy armor. They carry rifles with telescopic sights. Nearby are machine guns. In addition to the flesh-and-blood guards there are the non-living ones—at least three robots of the Sentinel class. All of the guards, except for the Sentinels below, are on a concrete and brick wall.

No 'who' or 'why' to me? Interesting. The gate is wide open so any vehicle can get in. On the gate, in small print, it says that the entrance is open from six in the morning until ten in the evening. From there, they only let masters in and out for a hundred caps. This is supposedly the cost of electricity to open and close the gate.

Only after crossing the threshold of the city, I am already amazed at the exterior condition of the streets and structures opened before me. I take off my helmet and look around with my own eyes. There is no disgusting stench of urine and excrement, no garbage, and to some extent no dirt. There are no boarded-up windows and doors—all the houses and buildings are being used for their intended purpose: as places to live or establishments of some kind. The inhabitants go about their business and are not dressed in dirty rags like tramps or settlers from the Wasteland. They all have decent clothes... as well as those with electric collars around their necks. The slaves here, thanks to good conditions and brainwashing, don't look tormented. They follow their master faithfully and reverently (though not all of them), carrying his belongings as a servant or as a guard.

Among the masters about a quarter are griffons. They exist among both masters and slaves. Though there are considerably fewer of them among the slaves in proportion to the ponies.

I see a four-story building at the city wall on the right side of the street. A sign looms over it—'Vanhoover South Gate Police Station'. Next to the structure are several ponies wearing the same armor as the guards on the walls at the gate. I stop Bear at a designated spot, where several vehicles are already staying—among them are wagons drawn by slaves. The parking space is supervised, so I leave my vehicles there without fear and go to the local police building.

Once inside, I find myself in a kind of lobby. A soft green unicorn sits at a desk with a terminal. She's flipping through some prewar Griffon's Paw magazine with a picture of a griffon and her raised clawed paw; the unicorn won't even look at me, just asks, "What do you want?"

This magazine and cover style reminds me of something, but what it is, I can't remember.

"Can I see the head of police?"

"Fourth floor," she says, still not looking up, "take a right down the hall and her office is at the end. If there are no more questions, I'll take care of my business."

***

I knock on the door of the office where the administrator sent me. After getting permission to enter, I open the door, go inside, and close it behind me.

Inside, there aren't too many luxuries. There are only a couple of paintings and potted flower plants. There are file cabinets along the walls. In the corner there is a metal cabinet with weapons and ammunition for emergencies. In a large, soft-looking, slightly worn armchair, covered in some kind of material of a dark red hue, behind a wide redwood desk sits a griffon. The plumage of her body down to her neck is dark blue; the plumage of her head is white, but with small strands of blue. She is dressed in a bulky (underneath it, apparently, some protective plates) uniform, shimmering blue and black tones. She looks at me without any interest, and is once again focused on her papers.

It's a good thing I'm already used to the company of Reserve griffons eating ponies for breakfast. It's not perceived as imposing.

"What's the occasion?" she asks without much interest. "And sit down," she points to a chair in front of her desk.

"This is my first time in town and I'd like to know what's what. The rules and regulations there, let's say..." Her gaze is suddenly fixed on me, and interest flashes in her eyes.

"You're not from around here?"

"I'm from another region of the Wasteland. Recently made my way here."

"Then I feel compelled to introduce myself to you, though many in this part of town know me," she says animatedly, then clears her throat for a solemn presentation. "I am Ice Ground, the captain of police for the south gate of Vanhoover and its environs. This is your first time here, and I'll tell you the most important thing—Prince is in charge of everything. If he asks you personally for something, break your neck, but do it. So, next..." she ponders, scratching her yellow beak lightly. "The usual: no stealing, no killing, no fighting, no touching another master's slave without permission, no breaking someone else's property, and so on. You can get more details on the laws and their clauses from the public relations officer. For the most part, almost all the rules deal with business bureaucracy."

"No different than other places in the Wasteland," I express my opinion.

"Almost. Decide to kill someone without solid evidence and a good reason, and they make you a slave. You don't get off with jail time or a quick death. It's guaranteed. They'll either send you to the mines, or to Meadows' medical experiments, or put you at the personal disposal of some sadistic griffon who will pound you in the ass in the evenings. We have enough of them, by the way, that like to personally train slaves to their preferences."

"What about the Families?"

"They handle the economy and industry of the city. Each Family has its own business. They lend money, provide security and cover for their own territories, i.e., stores, warehouses, factories, and other things. We don't get into it much, though we should."

"Prince and Kings—what powers do they have?" A fleeting disgust flashed across Ice's face at the mention of Kings.

"As I said before, Prince is in charge of everything here. He can demand anything from you. Even your life or ass, but he rarely shows his face in public. For the most part he is in Stable 68, which is home and headquarters for both him and his... Kings."

Once again there is barely concealed disgust. She shows quite vividly her attitude about Prince and Kings. Does this essentially dictator really allow anyone to speak out like that?

And now I know where to start looking for Dodger I was sent here to find. Stable 68.

"Prince has the power to demand anything, but he rarely uses it. He deals with other matters for the good of the city. His 'will' is done by Kings. They behave like assholes and narcissistic jerks. Without physical evidence they can kill anyone just to do the Prince's bidding. There's always another way, but they choose the easy way—to deal with it on the spot without justice."

Although... No. She only speaks negatively about Kings. She always seems to be itching to discuss them with someone and express her disdain. It's like the politically passionate individuals who love to criticize their opponents. The New California Republic is full of them because of the many political movements. They get into monologues, a fountain of shit, just to mention their opponents.

It's a good thing I'm not on the side of Kings. Otherwise, shit would have been flying in my direction, too. I'd better play along with her. Besides, I don't know anything about the situation. Maybe her words are too close to the truth.

"Don't Kings' radical actions outrage the inhabitants?"

"Rarely. They don't want to mess with Prince. Kings have great influence and connections, not to mention threats to displease Prince. I can't recall a time in my life when Prince has personally come to deal with someone for disobeying a King. Almost everyone falls for it, even most of the Family members."

"Such as?"

"The Father or Mother of the Family, the big businesspony don't fall for these threats. The others, however, as soon as they hear that Prince himself will deal with them because of disobedience, they will immediately bent over and let themselves be fucked, so as not to displease Prince."

"What about Prince himself?"

"He doesn't seem to care, as long as ponies and griffons aren't outraged about a King. They can kill a King, of course. Kings don't have immunity, but they'll probably be afraid to kill them for two reasons: Prince's displeasure and his personal interference."

"What other advantages do Kings have besides free decision-making? And how many are there anyway?"

"No more than thirty. As a newcomer, I advise you to know them by sight... If you don't want to get in trouble with them. In case you say something wrong and I find you dead in an alley later. And the offended King will make excuses," Ice begins to gesticulate vigorously, raising his clawed paws in the air in a fit of drama, "that you threatened Vanhoover's safety, so him or her had to act quickly."

"Wow... with that kind of leeway, the selection for Kings must be harsh."

Ice looks at me like I'm the naive fool for offering her a fork in exchange for an Anti-machine rifle. She's about ready to laugh.

"Huh... It's all clear with you," she waves away with a clawed paw. "Get connections and caps, bribe the right personalities... and you can advance to Kings, as most of them have done."

"Is there anyone with fighting skills among Kings?"

"Yes... A smaller fraction of them are fighters who have been put to the real test of combat, having mostly gained fame in the Arena. Of course, in addition to combat skills, they need a high reputation."

"And where do I get it?"

Ice's eyes narrow as she looks at me. Long and thoughtful.

"What, you can't wait to be one yourself?" in a voice as cold as her name, she asks me. And she lifts up in her chair, leaning toward me.

I feel as if the chair beneath me has gone cold. Griffons know how to intimidate.

She obviously hates Kings... And would like to do something about them.

"Just... Curious as to how things work around here. Nothing more than that. I'm just a traveler."

She slumps back in her chair incredulously.

"Anyway, it's none of my business... If you are vouched for by a few well-known personalities, such as influential rich master or Kings—though one of the heads of the Families would suffice, which has hardly ever happened... which you can't even hope for... and if you're famous among a certain fraction of the ordinary masters, you'll be a King. Also, a twenty percent discount on all goods and services, and a comfortable apartment in Stable 68."

"Nice carrot. Where's the stick? What's the catch?"

Ice Ground's beak stretched wide in a smirk. So sweet and luscious that the mere sight of it might raise my blood glucose levels.

"You'll run errands and tasks for Prince, but he won't pay you."

What?! I certainly wasn't expecting that.

"How so?"

"It's a good thing Prince doesn't spend even more caps on them. Too many privileges as it is. Kings sustain themselves. For the most part, it is those who engage in big business that are Kings. I think that's why Prince wants to make sure that Kings will be interested in the stability of what's going on in the city and not pissing off the population with their freedom. Trying to give them... a sense of responsibility for what they do."

That's an interesting way to motivate. While yes, the privileges look too good, you don't get a cap for completing tasks from Prince. You have to earn it yourself. And when you have a business in town, you'll be interested in keeping things smooth.

On the other hand, there's obviously less desire to take assignments from Prince—unless he threatens or something threatens their business.

"Business..." I say aloud. "Isn't that what the Families do?"

"They do, but... It's complicated. But blood relatives claiming leadership in the Family are forbidden to become Kings. I think you can see why. That's why I told you not to get your hopes up about being vouched for by the leader of one of the Families, because they rarely do favors for anyone outside their circle. It would have to be something out of the ordinary. In order to avoid... abuse for the sake of one's Family to the detriment of another Family. The sense of responsibility will be for the benefit of their Family, not for the sake of the city as a whole."

I nod. It's hard to disagree with her conclusions.

"So...what services do Kings provide if they don't particularly go outside the city and risk their lives?"

"The only ones who take risks are the ones with combat skills. Who live for the feeling of adrenaline rush and the sound of blood in their ears. The rest... help someone advance in their line of work. Oh, rotten eggs!"

Ice looks preoccupied.

"Gave her emotions a free pass again because of Kings. I've got my workload to deal with," she explains.

"Oh... But I have more questions concerning the city. For example, a map..." Before I can finish my sentence, Ice starts rummaging through the drawers of her desk and in a couple of seconds puts a map of the city in front of me. It's pretty detailed, showing street names and even house and building numbers, as well as names of establishments, stores, and other things.

"What else?" she asks impatiently, resting her chin on her crossed paws as if on a stand.

"Well, someone who could tell me a little bit about the city. What's in it and so on."

"Would you like me to sell you a slave—since you're not from here, I'll give you a small discount?"

"What would your slave know about the city?" I say skeptically. Though if her slave can really tell me about the city, let him.

"Lots of masters come to me, reporting and complaining about this and that. The cleaners can always hear something interesting. There's one cleaning pony here who's very nosy and sticks her nose where it doesn't belong."

Something begins to swish behind the door, and then slow and distant hoofsteps are heard. It's as if someone has walked by.

"Hear that?" Ice smiles. "I'll give you a beak it's her. She's a good cleaner, but she's too nosy; besides, I have enough cleaners, so there's not much time for them to do, and it takes budget caps to feed them. And I don't like anyone eavesdropping outside my office, either. Even though she behaves calmly when my subordinates get laid with her, I can sell her for a thousand and a half caps. She's sterile, like all slaves."

"Why so expensive? At least drop it to a thousand two hundred. You said yourself she was curious and used."

"All right. Have it your way," she says, pulling out some paper and a bracelet. She takes a pen and wants to write something down, but she looks up at me expectantly. "I forgot to ask what your name is, didn't I? And yes, tell me your full name and how you got here."

"Daniel Evans. I got here in a SUV."

"In that case, I suggest you also read the rules of the road within the city. They're in the book you can get for free from the receptionist downstairs."

Ice writes something down and gives me the piece of paper and tells me that I have to sign too, which I do. She gives me the bracelet, and I give her almost all my caps. I'm left with less than fifty. Okay, I need to sell the junk I found right away.

"Now you," Ice begins, handing me everything I need to own a slave, "are responsible for her actions."

Oh... what have I done. Why did I agree to this? Now I... I should never have bought her. Totally responsible for the life and well-being of another individual... a pony... I just can't.

"What?" Ice notices the change in my face, "Change your mind?"

What do I tell her? Cancel the deal? What's my excuse for cancelling?

"I... What does it mean to be responsible for her actions?"

"All her actions will count as your own. This is in case, for example, you order your slave to kill someone. Or the killing was unintentional. The slave is like a part of you. So keep a good eye on her. Or do you want to refuse?"

I had already taken the colt to the Tenpony Tower. It took me a week, but I brought it safely to safety and found a caretaker. I will do the same with this slave mare. Yes. I'm only temporarily responsible for her.

"No. It's just... was a little confused. Not used to me being in charge of everything a slave does."

"Those are the rules," Ice shrugs, "and I stand by them."

"By the way, why are slaves so expensive? Even though she was used by your subordinates?"

"A slave, even the cheapest and 'freshest' one, costs at least three hundred. And as for using her by my subordinates, that's so they don't get bored and think about getting off their shifts and flushing the caps in the brothel."

"Whatever you say," I say indifferently, walking out of the office. Ice locks the office and follows to the other end of the hallway, where the cleaning pony in her thirties, a pink earth pony with a short, lingonberry-colored mane, is minding her own business. She's cleaning, but upon noticing us, she clearly begins to worry.

"Flow," Ice begins, ignoring her worry, "this is your new master, Daniel. This ends your work here," she says sternly, then turns to me. "Before you go, make sure she gets her work tools and uniform back. They'll give her the rags she was wearing before she got here. Have a good day."

Ice leaves for her office, and I'm left alone with Flow. It suddenly occurs to me that this Flow could tell me a lot of interesting things about Captain Ice. So why did she sell a potential 'talkative tongue'? Or is it, on the contrary, a way to keep an eye on me? Or perhaps Captain Ice simply has nothing to hide.

"Flow, right?" I ask, and smile slightly.

"Yes, master," she replies with a slight nod. Her worry is almost gone as soon as she sees my smile.

"Okay, let's give you your gear, and then let's get out of here," I mutter, walking toward the stairs.

"Okay, master," is the reply.

"Oh. Can you not call me master?" I tell her half-turned.

"As you wish, ma... I mean, yes."

"That's good," I smile. My smile makes Flow noticeably calmer.

If I ask her questions, she begins to faintly worry. Maybe she's worried about making a better impression on her new master. In fact, this is no small point in the first meeting. If you make a good impression, you can win the favor of the person you are talking to. Apparently, seeing me smile, she thinks she's doing the right thing. That wasn't really why I was smiling. Smiling is also an equally important part of communication.

After taking my work gear, which doesn't belong to Flow, I take the little books with the local rules, among which are the rules of the road. Afterwards, we go outside.

In addition to them, I flip through the rules for operating the electric collars that Ice gave me. After reading them, I can tell that it is more advantageous to use this type of collar than explosive collars. After all, if a slave tries to escape, his head won't explode: instead, his body will be penetrated by a paralyzing electric shock. The power of the current can be set on the bracelet, as well as the range of the collar—from six feet to one thousand. If a slave goes beyond this limit, he will be electrocuted. After that, the slave will think twice before going over the limit. My anklet, on the other hand, has a radius of about a hundred feet.

Once outside and looking at the map, I get in Bear with Flow, pay the guard fifty caps, and we drive to Stable 68. To get Dodger.

I don't know if I can get him free. I'll see what I can do. But... should I interfere and set him free? I need to get to the next key card one way or another. I need it to get to the Project Dome, because that's where I have the best chance of finding my way home. I'll have to interfere and try not to influence anything.

Chapter 10 - Luxury

View Online

On the way to Stable 68, I stop at a store and sell the loot from the battle with the raiders and buy some warm clothes for Flow, instead of the rags she wears and the cold she's trying to hide it in. Flow is eternally grateful to her owner for his generosity.

I also purchase every possible type of map of Vanhoover Wasteland, as well as a map of the city itself, from a specialized store. I don't study them in detail, just glance at them, because the names don't tell me anything yet.

Despite the rules that allow for higher speeds, I drive Bear slowly, examining the well-restored surroundings... at least the main streets. The alleys are not in the best condition. Traffic is plentiful here.

The buzz of life is astounding. I've only seen something like this in the capital of NCR, New Reno, and Vault City.

I ask Flow about different aspects of the city life.

"How many security stations are there in the city, like the one Captain Ice Ground runs?"

"Four," I hear the immediate reply.

"Where are they?"

"One in the center of town on Mane Street, the other three near the main city gates: South, North, and East."

"Is that the only passageway into town?"

"No, there's also the Railroad Gate, which is on the railroad tracks."

"I heard on the radio," I begin, "when I was approaching the city, about the Five Families. Tell me about them in a few sentences."

"Which one should I start with?"

"Well... Remind me, please, because I've forgotten."

"Softhooves, Falcon, Meadows, Steelmane, and Waterfall."

"Tell me in the order you mentioned them."

"The Softhooves family decorates interiors: they make furniture, curtains, paintings, and other things. They also make clothes. On top of that, they own most of the casinos and brothels in the town."

Casinos and brothels... I bet they make most of the family's profits. Gambling and sex are easy to manipulate. The basic desires of humans... and ponies or griffons. I think the interior furnishing business is kept alive by profits from casinos and brothels, because there's not much interest in that in the Wasteland, so they pay reluctantly. It's more likely that it's the casinos and brothels they're setting up to attract attention.

"The Falcon family builds, restores and sells weapons and ammunition."

Guns and ammunition are important... but what are they for in such a safe and impregnable city?

"What is the need for so many guns that they are run by a separate family?"

"Hunting grounds, hunting, and protecting caravans from Crater raiders."

I forgot that next to Vanhoover is Green Island, with exotic animals, mutants, and plants by the standards of the Wasteland.

"Meadows..." I hint.

"Oh, right. I'm sorry... The Meadows family is into medicine. They make medicines and drugs, and are in the business of curing illnesses and sores."

Drugs... Classic of life. No society is without drugs. You can't get rid of addiction that easily: once you give in to temptation, you run the risk of getting addicted. It's hard and expensive to treat. There is one family that does it all here. I suspect that they have created many schemes to get ponies and griffons hooked on drugs, and then either sell more and more doses to them, or engage in treatment for addiction for a huge sum of money. Both are financially beneficial to the family. Selling is profitable in the long run, and treatment is profitable in the short run because of the cost of treatment.

"The Steelmane family does all kinds of repair stuff. They repair all sorts of machinery, vehicles... like yours."

"There's nothing that can fix this junk," I mutter. Seeing that Flow has fallen silent, I ask her to continue her explanation.

"This family is also improving existing pre-war machinery. They recreate it and try to adapt it to the city's needs. And they do mine management."

Simply put, this is what the Steel Rangers or the Brotherhood of Steel would look like if they were working for the common good in the settlements and towns of the Wasteland, with no power armor at their disposal. Well, and without a dose of militarism.

I wonder what the Steelmane family and the Steel Rangers think of each other? I mean, they're focused on the same things. If I were a Steel Ranger, I'd do my best to cooperate with this family in some way, but they're too conservative for that, and with negative attitude toward slave labor, with which I, however, stand in solidarity.

"And the last family," I say.

"The Waterfall family is in charge of supplying food, water, and electricity to the town."

Oh, that's the essentials of the town's existence. There's not much to think about.

"Where do they get their food, water and electricity from?"

"They get water from the river to the north, which has a small dam that generates electricity, and they get food from farms and greenhouses near the same rivers and dam."

Everything is close to each other. The water source is needed for farming and the electricity is needed to keep the greenhouses at the right temperature. I think there's some sort of small empire there that provides for itself—well, and a huge city on top of that.

"I suppose..." I begin, "most of the slaves work in the factories and businesses of the Five Families?"

"Yes."

"And what do they do?"

"Laborious and monotonous work."

A drudgery routine that even someone who can't read or write can perform.

"Can't robots and automated factory machines do the job?"

Watcher told me that before the war, Vanhoover was the second Fillydelphia in terms of factories and plants. So why not fully automate the process as it was before the war? Skills and knowledge, judging by the appearance of the city, are plentiful.

The next moment it finally dawned on me why the city still uses slave labor.

"Not enough power," Flow says.

"Is it that bad with that?"

"I guess. I don't know... I only say what others say."

I don't believe it. Wasn't the dam handling all the city's needs before the war? Or was the city in this region dependent on several power plants that are now destroyed and not to be rebuilt? Especially nuclear (or its equivalent) power plants, which unattended could explode and become a source of radiation. I think Vanhoover was dependent on the processing of gems from which energy was extracted. These power plants eventually exploded, and now there is nothing left of them but craters and radiation.

I believe the Steelmane family and Waterfall family should work closely together to solve the electricity problem. If the electricity issue is solved, then slavery will be phased out as well. Cheap energy, robots and automated machines... Forced labor will become unprofitable. I think more than a hundred years of the city's existence have calculated all sorts of options. In that case, getting rid of slavery is quite possible. Just convince everyone that slavery is simply unprofitable. For capitalist and practical types, this would be a powerful argument.

Only... to make changes in society, to eliminate slavery as we know it, one must take responsibility, and I don't want to get involved just yet. By all appearances, things are on their way to getting rid of slavery. I hope so, at least. However, if—or when—Prince decides to expand his influence beyond the city, forced labor will become relevant again. He will send slaves there, and use them to rebuild the relatively damaged infrastructure. He will continue to use them as cheap labor until the factories, plants, and robots are rebuilt. That's probably what Red Eye in Fillydelphia wants to do.

"What do they teach slaves?" I ask.

"Simple things in different directions: cooking, cleaning, rules of ethics, working with a hammer or screwdriver."

"Is there any way a slave can get freedom?"

Flow's pink eyes look frightened, as if she sees me as a scary and ugly monster.

"Freedom is a responsibility. Not everyone deserves freedom. Freedom has to be earned. Prove that you're capable of being free."

"What about the raiders? Aren't they free?"

"They don't know how to be free."

"Why?"

"Because they only consume, live for themselves, have no control over themselves, harm themselves. They have accomplished nothing compared to the city. They create nothing. They're parasites. They don't deserve freedom. They deserve either slavery or death."

These sound like learned phrases.

"To be able to be free means—to be able to be useful?"

"Yes. To take responsibility for your own actions and for the lives of others. To take care of yourself. To take care of others. To take care of slaves. To care for the common good."

"Do you like being a slave?"

"Yeah..." she replies. There are mixed feelings in her answer. She seems to want to serve, but... there's something subtle about it. I can't figure out what it is yet.

"What does it mean to you to be a slave?"

"To be useful to those who are useful to society. To help a master in everything, to do whatever a master says without delay. A master deserves freedom because a master knows how to be free. A master knows best what to do... You know best. I will do whatever you say to be useful to you."

"In that case, you're already useful, which means you deserve to be free, don't you?"

"I don't deserve to be free, like a master..." the pink earth pony tries to act as firmly as possible, but dejection and sadness slip into her voice.

"Why is that?"

"I can't be self-sufficient. I don't know how to make decisions and take care of myself, just follow orders. Masters, too, are restricted in their freedom by the law and the rules of the city; they do not have complete freedom. A slave is useful as long as they follow the orders of those who are more useful than they are. A master is more useful than a slave, and a master has a certain freedom. A King is more useful than a master, a King has even more freedom. Prince... is more useful than all of them."

And so Prince can do whatever he wants... or whatever he sees fit. With the development of the city, he has made many practical decisions.

Yeah, well... The slaves are well brainwashed. They make them unable to be self-sufficient and then punish them with slavery. And the clever way they came up with it: the slaves can't even realize the absurdity of the situation because of... a twisted, imposed worldview. The death penalty for a failed suicide attempt sounds far less absurd.

The slaves are told that there is no such thing as freedom in its fullest sense. There are limitations everywhere. The slaves have the most restrictions, a master not so much, a King has almost no restrictions. And Prince... he answers to no one: he, in fact, has no limitations except his own. Hierarchy of usefulness, my ass.

"So... back to the original question," I mutter. "How can a slave get freedom after all. You said it had to be earned. How?"

"A master will teach his slave to be a master. The slave will be able to live independently, work independently, be useful, and not harm anyone."

Teaching Floц to be independent... I can't do that. It would take too much time.

"What other ways are there?"

"Win a hundred fights in the Arena. Not necessarily in a row."

"What's the Arena? Who else can participate, and what are the main rules?"

"The usual place for one-on-one fights. But there are other kinds of fights, like team fights. Everyone can take part—slaves and masters. No killing. A slave has no right to kill another slave. If killed, the master of the killed slave is compensated according to the value of the slave, a slave who kills another slave is erased ten previous victories. There are also tournaments for a large reward. Some tournaments are for masters and others are for slaves."

Speaking of rewards...

"I take it... there are bets on the duels?"

"Yes."

I'll have to take a look. See if it's really possible to earn caps on this. What are the basics behind it? Regularity, mathematical calculation, the specifics of each fighter, or just plain luck?

"If a slave wins a total of a hundred fights, does that mean the slave are worthy of freedom?"

"Yes. It means a slave knows how to fight for self without killing anyone. But in the case of five accidental kills, the slave is permanently banned from fighting for own freedom. Lifetime disqualification."

If you don't know how to fight for your life without killing, you're unworthy. How subtle... Considering that in the Wasteland you almost always get killed in self-defense.

The engine rattles, makes a few muffled pops, squeaks, and quiets. Flow is startled by such noises. She's especially frightened by my angry look, and she huddles in the seat.

***

The Mane Street. A wide street lined on both sides by luxurious places. The neon colored signs, the catchy and inviting names, the music from everywhere, the noise of passing ponies and griffons.

They all wear costly clothing and have at least one guard, judging by the armor or weapons they carry. Vehicles and carriages look presentable and stylish. They make my Bear look like a pile of shit on a fine dining table.

Flow can't help but marvel at the views, too. Apparently she's never been here before.

We head toward a structure with a sign shimmering blue and yellow, 'Stable 68. Residence of Kings'.

Prince! I'm coming for you!

They should let me in. I finally found the crashed King as I drove into a part of what is considered the Vanhoover Wasteland. He had many useful items on him, including the unique rifle, and the gold card with a pony skull and crown emblem. There was also the note with instructions from Prince.

I only hope that I will not be suspected of killing the King.

As we cross the threshold of the building, we are greeted by a griffon clad in heavy black metal armor—the same King's symbol on his shoulder. The armor is enormous, most of all reminiscent of a power armor—it looks like that's what it is. There are two machine guns hanging on the sides of the griffon. A heavily-armed enemy, and a very serious one at that.

What an imposing griffon standing in front of us... Well, I'm used to the sight of griffons in the Reserve.

He's got two big turrets guarding the lobby. Large is an understatement, for they were two to three times the size of the average pony. They appeared to be a special kind of turret, each with a protected designator that was now difficult to break through, and two machine guns, one seemingly gunpowder-powered and the other energy-magic. Surely the sizes suggest thick armor, which is almost impossible to penetrate.

Shit. Only the equivalent of a .50-caliber round or an armor-piercing .308-caliber round would penetrate such a turret. Better not give them a reason to attack me, or I won't get away with it.

"That's right," the griffon pronounces. I could swear that Flow behind me is shrinking into herself at the sight of this griffon, ready to hide under my tail. Apparently she knows Kings firsthand, as these masters earn even more respect because of their self-sufficiency and responsibility. "I don't recommend you get into any brawls here."

"Only on a bet," I say jokingly, looking at the turrets, and then looking at the griffon. "Who are you, exactly?"

"My name is Walnat, in case you don't know. What are you doing here and what's your name?"

"Daniel. And this is the place where I forgot my title of a King," I reply with a faint smirk.

"Daring a King?" the griffon marvels, and then smirks faintly back. "You've got balls, only it probably won't work with others. I haven't even heard of you. How are you going to become one of us? And what makes you think I'm going to let you through?" he asks waitingly. I think again of dead Blackwater and his rifle.

"Well," I begin, pulling out Whispering Night, the note and the gold-plated card with the King's symbol, "I have special... papers that allow me to pass."

"I don't see what..." he quiets as soon as he notices my weapon and card. "That's an interesting rifle you have, just like..." Walnat halts mid-sentence, as if he remembers he's seen this rifle before. "Where did you get it?" he frowns, feeling the tension in his voice.

"Found it on the body of some stallion that crashed on a road transport; his body had already been nibbled by a yao guai."

As I tell what happened, I wonder if it was a good idea to tell the truth. Even though he's a King, and I'm not really afraid of him in general, I'm not going to lie to him about what happened yet. Walnut reads the note and sighs sadly, and then looks at me as if he's evaluating me. There's no suspicion on his face, just a slight look of disappointment.

"He was an entertaining guy," Walnut says, and hands me the note with the unusual card. After receiving it, I put it in my pocket. "And he's only just joined our ranks. You see..." he looks at me waitingly. I mentally sigh. Doesn't he remember my name?

"Daniel," I say, rolling my eyes.

"That's right. You see, Daniel—even those who have proven themselves to be combat-ready can be found dead in some ditch around the corner by making just one little mistake. Mind you, I've never heard of you. Is there any King or anyone else who will vouch for you?"

"No."

"Your 'papers' won't be of much interest to Redstone or Prince," Walnut smiles. "You just happen to be there, there's nothing special about it."

"I came from another region of the Wasteland not long ago. Does that mean anything to you?" I ask, looking him determinedly in the eye.

"Really?" he wonders. "That changes things up a bit. You don't look like a Hoofland fanatic... since you have guts to come here. It was for proper information from other corners of the Wasteland that Prince sent the guy on this mission. Okay. For that, I think Redstone or even Prince will give you some attention. Come on, I'll show you out."

"You're going to leave the lobby unattended like that?" I ask, pointing to the entrance as we move toward the back of the building.

"Who says it's unattended?" the griffon smirks half-turned, then, without looking back, utters. "There are turrets in there. They only allow Kings and Prince through. They won't let you in without one of them as an escort, and the lobby hall is sealed so you can't leave it. If you fire your guns, the turrets go into action. Nobody goes beyond the lobby hall except us. They might leave a note on that table saying they need to hire a King. If any of us feel like a part-time job, we can use the notes to find potential employers and talk to them."

Going deep underground, we find ourselves in a concrete room, at the end of which is the entrance to the Stable 68, represented by a massive steel door. The entrance is unlocked, allowing free passage in and out of the bunker.

Inside Stable 68 I do not encounter any live guards—only an automated security system, mostly consisting of turrets and Mr. Gutsies with the logos of Kings. I can tell by the clean corridors that the Stable is well looked after, there aren't even any stains. I wonder who does the cleaning? Probably the cleaning robots: I doubt there are live staff in the form of slaves involved.

Flow follows me closely, like a shadow. Where I go, she goes. As she walks through the corridors of the Stable, she looks around with interest, gazing excitedly at the spaces, which are in a pleasant and clean condition. I take it that slaves don't get in here very often, or, if there are live staff after all, they don't leave the bunker.

In the atrium below, I see a couple of Kings chatting casually amongst themselves, playing cards, smoking cigarettes and sipping premium alcoholic beverages. None of them are dressed in any kind of armor, just free and light clothing, but they have their guns with them—expensive and well maintained. They actively discuss various topics, joke, laugh, listen to music from the jukebox, and play card games. An atrium has always been a public place where the inhabitants of the underground bunker came together to hear the latest news, gossip, and other everyday things from their friends or acquaintances. Its essence does not seem to have changed to this place.

As I walk past the Kings, I feel their furtive glances on my skin. Some have mild interest, and others have haughty smirks. Flow shrinks from their gazes and comes closer to me, hiding to my right side, as if hoping to hide from the attention of such serious persons.

Once in the administration section, we enter the room where I assume the office of the head of the Stable's security is supposed to be. It is, but not quite. Behind a desk with papers and a terminal sits a stone-colored unicorn with a blood-red mane. He is guarded by two turrets standing in the corners. When he sees us, he smiles and turns to Walnut.

"Who are you bringing to us, Walnut? Another one who wants the warm rays of glory, eh?" he mutters in a calm tone and casts an appraising glance over me.

"Well, that's what he says," he replies flatly. "I don't give a shit what they come here for, Redstone. I don't even know what he is. All I know is that he came from the eastern regions of the Wasteland and found the corpse of a rookie Prince sent there—Blackwater."

Redstone's face shows surprise and curiosity, and then frustration and disappointment.

"I had a feeling something bad was going to happen to him..." he reflects. "What's wrong with him..." Redstone doesn't have time to finish, as his question is interrupted by the suddenly opening doors and the intruder's question.

"Who are you and what's your business?" the stranger asks in a calm and smooth tone; his voice makes a stirring impression on me.

I turn to the stranger. A snow-white unicorn with a golden mane, dressed in an exquisite black tuxedo with a white shirt and black tie. On the front breast pocket of his tuxedo is a fake red rose. He is slightly larger than me in size. The unicorn looks down at me with an interested stare, like some kind of insect, but I think it's his height, not his attitude toward me.

Walnut and Redstone are comfortable with the sudden appearance of this pony, unlike Flow, who feels so lost at the sight of him that she almost hides in a corner. She doesn't know what to do with herself, but she somehow manages to control her emotions and just stands there as a stone statue: not a muscle in her body moves; she lowers her head, afraid to look up and at least look at his hooves. It feels as if she is afraid to take a loud breath and therefore does not even breathe. The slave's respect for him is off the charts; in fact, he's the First Pony in town. The most responsible of all.

Prince.

Just about how I imagined him to be. With a handsome and smooth facial outline. His blue eyes express no emotion other than interest and the usual curiosity. He has an incomparably powerful physique. His appearance can be compared to the appearance of... the very standard of respect that suddenly arose in me in his presence. His face and his gaze are imprinted with a century of experience ruling a huge city.

I'm almost speechless from the suddenness, but I manage my emotions in time.

"My name is Daniel. Daniel Evans. I came from the east about a week ago," I answer calmly, looking confidently into Prince's eyes.

"Your main activity?" His interest in me increases after I answer his question.

"Everything from simple mail delivery to professional mercenary work. For a nominal fee, of course."

"Let's go to my cabinet and talk," he says briefly and is about to leave as he crosses the threshold, but Walnut calls out to him.

"Prince, you don't know why he's here and..." he begins, but Prince interrupts him and without looking back tells him, "If he's here, there must be a reason you allowed him to pass. I'll find out the details myself. Blackwater is dead, judging by his rifle here," Prince says and leaves the office. The door closes behind him. I hear Flow sigh in relief, as if a huge stone had fallen from her soul.

He quickly realizes what's what as soon as he sees me.

"Don't just stand there," Redstone says in a sudden, commanding tone behind me. "Go talk to Prince, your slave stays here."

I nod silently and look at Flow: she raises a heavy look at me, but nods that she has been instructed to stay here for now. I leave Redstone's office and follow Prince.

Entering the Prince's private cabinet, which used to be the Overseer's office, I was expecting something like things made of precious metals. A special, luxurious cabinet decoration, a throne, or other pleasures of life that the powerful masters of Vanhoover enjoy, like a pleasure slave, for example.

None of this is to be found in Prince's study.

A modest cabinet with the usual semicircular desk and a red armchair, a couple of terminals, a few lockers and chests of drawers in the standard Stable entourage along the walls, two elegant chairs with a view of the atrium and a small round table with an ashtray on it, modestly placed between the chairs; a huge dark-colored carpet covering the entire floor of the cabinet; vases with fresh flowers—I can smell their scent in the air.

The most noticeable and remarkable thing in the cabinet is a huge painting that hangs in front of the large desk and chair. The picture is framed by a golden frame with patterns in the form of roses and petals. On the canvas half-turned depicts the head of a milk-colored unicorn with a copper-red mane, at her neck I can see the top part of a black outfit with red inserts. The frame is engraved with 'Queen Vermilion Rose' in an elegant and sweeping script.

This is the most beautiful mare I have ever seen.

Prince sits looking out the window at the atrium.

"Sit down," he says in a muffled voice, without turning to me, and with his front foot he points to the chair beside him. I obey. There is a silver poker chip on the table beside me. It's an interesting piece of decor. What does it mean?

"Daniel Evans, huh?" he asks rhetorically without turning around. I focus my attention on him. "Tell me: why are you here, what is your objective?" he asks as if he knows the answer.

"To become a King."

"What made you take this step?"

That's quite a question. And really, why would I want to become a King? The only thing I'm interested in is finding the Project Dome. A King's influence is very great in the city, it will increase my chances in finding the key cards and where to apply them.

"I won't lie. No doubt I admire this city. There is nothing like it in the Equestrian Wasteland that I have ever seen. Reputation and connections are very important here. Using a King's privileges, I can find what I am looking for."

"And what are you looking for?" He looks into my eyes. It feels as if they can see my lies, but I defy his gaze.

"I don't know yet, but it may well be the answer to many of my questions," I answer dimly.

"You understand that a great responsibility rests on the shoulders of Kings. Are you ready to accept it? Are you ready to be responsible for the fate of the entire city?"

Good question. I try my best to avoid that kind of thing. I don't need it. I just want to go home, but right now I can't do without connections and reputation. I hope I can avoid making any serious decisions. I'll mix a lie with the truth.

"I don't know... I'm new here and don't really know how things stand."

"I see you've already purchased a slave. That means you're not afraid to take responsibility for others."

No! I'm only temporarily looking after her. I don't want to be responsible for other folks' lives. Let alone babysit them. I'll give Flow to those who will take the best care of her: I think to Stable 53, where the local freedpony from slavery are hiding out.

"I guess," I slyly say. "I still don't fully understand what all this responsibility and slavery is about."

Prince sighs heavily.

"Okay. Tell me about what's going on in the east for now."

I tell Prince what I've heard from Homage and what I've learned myself along the way. In short, I give him the information I know personally, and I don't lie. I tell him about the Steel Rangers, Red Eye and Fillydelphia, about Goddess and her alicorns. About settlements like New Appleloosa, Tenpony Tower, and many others I learned about from Homage. Prince listens attentively to my story, but the only thing that looks like he's really interested is Red Eye and his army, which numbers more than a thousand mercenaries and is growing rapidly. Prince is not surprised by the existence of the alicorns, but he is surprised by the number of them.

I speak of Red Eye on the basis of information given to me by Homage, since I have not been there myself. I speak of the alicorns from my own experience in battle with them. As the story ends, Prince is immersed in thought; he hasn't asked before, only occasionally inserting a few comments of his own—he absorbs the information like a sponge, staring at a point in front of him.

"The Wasteland," Prince finally says, "is changing rapidly... An army of many thousands of slave masters and the alicorns, and they are significantly affecting the current political climate."

"What do you intend to do?"

"We will have to send another of Kings there. The situation is not simple, and it will take a long time to resolve. Thank you for the information, Daniel. I think you have questions, too—but bear in mind, I don't have much time left."

"Is that why you maintain Vanhoover's intimidating reputation? You jam radio signals. So as not to attract potential threats to the place?" I ponder aloud.

"You answered your own assumptions."

"What about the tower? The Vanhoover Jammer Tower. Was it designed to do that?

"The mountain ranges prevent radio signals from spreading, but not completely. There's a huge, high-tech tower in the mountains north of Vanhoover. It was built before the war. It had a purpose, still unknown to us, but we learned that it could be used as a huge relay, amplifying radio signals many times to spread them. A little later we found out that it could be used in reverse."

"And before the jamming thing was turned on, there was a relationship with the outer Wasteland, wasn't there? With Hoofland as the nearest region."

"Yes," Prince hums. "The fanatics could have gone at us with a 'holy' war or something. We had to teach them a lesson, give them a warning. Show them your grin, our teeth."

"What kind of lesson?"

Prince looks at me with an unfazed and cold gaze.

"The kind that made an impression on the Steel Rangers, too."

That's it, I get the hint. Don't mention it. There's something mysterious about this unicorn. What power hides within him? What drives him? He's ruled Vanhoover for over a hundred years. So many interesting questions to ask! But I must somehow lead him to the question of Dodger, to at least know where he is, and then think of his release.

"You have ruled Vanhoover for a long time, judging by the words of many. You may even be immortal. Why would you want to rule the city, what's the point?"

Prince casts a thoughtful glance at the picture of the beautiful unicorn.

"I am protecting her legacy. The legacy of the first and only Queen. She wanted to rebuild society, she put this responsibility on her back. I carry on her work."

"Yes, but... why? Weren't there other purposes?"

"I don't see any other purpose." He turns to me. "I am, as you said, an immortal being. What else am I to do but rebuild society?"

"In the past, the society your now-deceased Queen aspired to was without slavery."

"I know."

"Did you wish to rebuild society on the suffering of others?"

"Equestria and the pony races before Celestia's rule were far from as friendly as you think. So good things were often based on anguish, pain, and suffering."

"How do you know that?"

"For more than a hundred years, I've had plenty of time to delve into history. Equestria has gone through different stages. And there was enough darkness before Celestia. Now... another darkness has come. Slavery is necessary. There are too many useless ponies who don't want to be useful, but must become so. We must work for the common good."

"And slavery is the solution?" I ask.

"And who said it would be easy to rebuild society? At this point it is the only way to get the ponies to work together. The lack of rules and the institution of law and order has turned them into beasts and selfish creatures. Let them be responsible—and if they can't, let others manage their lives."

"Again, why would you want that?" I insist.

"Imagine that. You have two favorites. One is a beloved plant, and the other is a beloved dog. Which one would you save first?"

"The dog... He's a much more complex organism than a plant."

"Exactly. The Queen has turned the Vanhoover into a complex organism that I have come to love. Consider him my adopted foal. Consider me his guardian. But I have watched him grow over the years, I want our foal to be a pillar of world rebirth. Would you want your children to become self-sufficient, to achieve their goals?"

Huh... I understand the feelings that drive him. A sense of attachment. He became attached to the Queen. She did something for him. Perhaps she loved him. Perhaps he loved her first. And at the same time he feels superior to the others. Like a father raising a child... or foal.

"If I wanted foals, yes."

"That's what I want for Vanhoover, too. I want Vanhoover to be the most important force in the Wasteland. To dictate his own rules, laid down by us. Not to depend on anyone, to learn to fix his own problems."

"Is that what you created Kings for? Is that why the Five Families exist?"

"Kings as a group of individuals were created by the Queen. And the Families came into being on their own. Ponies have lived in herds since prehistoric times, but then that turned into families. They do everything themselves, compete with each other, try to outdo each other, thereby driving progress. They solve problems themselves, but..." his horn glows blue: a haze of magic envelops and brings a silver chip to his brooding eyes, "...sometimes you have to intervene personally when all the Queen's efforts risk turning to dust. For example, when Families get carried away in their conflicts. There used to be more Families, you know. There's a lot that can destroy a city—first and foremost itself. And... There are still forces that are beyond my understanding."

He throws a brief glance at me, then puts the silver chip back where it belongs.

"You know," he ponders with a faint smile on his lips. "You got me good at dialogue. A rare talent. Perhaps there's something in your voice. Perhaps it's in your curious look. Perhaps it's because no one has dared to ask me so many questions in a long time."

Even so... It's hard to believe that at least a century-old and immortal being who dives headfirst into history and does his best to protect a huge city would so easily succumb to simple manipulation. Spells out his motives. Or does everyone know his motives—but then why is he wasting his time on me? Is he testing me? Or does he test everyone this way? Is he trying to brainwash me? He doesn't brainwash all tourists, after all. I don't think so...

Or maybe he keeps talking to me and answering my questions, because no sooner have I arrived in town than I immediately declare that I want to be a King. Brave in his eyes, ambitious. Or is this his way of thanking me for the information I've provided? A barter, an exchange of information.

"I think I could use your help with the interrogation. You might be able to rattle him. "

"Who?" I ask, already knowing who we're talking about.

"He works for the runaway slaves we've been looking for since before the families emerged in Vanhoover. Will you help?"

"What do I get out of it?"

Showing a material interest. Showing my desire for profit so that Prince doesn't give much thought to my true motives for agreeing to the interrogation.

"Look... I'll be giving you assignments. Usually I only give such assignments to my Kings—no material reward, but they have enough of their own privileges to complete them without too much difficulty. If you manage to complete a few difficult assignments, you might later become a King, as you are likely to meet famous personalities and be a famous pony yourself. I want to see your dialogue skills. And then we'll see..."

"Okay, I'll try to get him to talk," I reply with a nod.

"Perfect. Come to the main Vanhoover police station tomorrow at thirteen o'clock in the afternoon. In case you don't know, it's at the end of the Mane Street—when you leave the residence, turn left and walk to the end along the street. You won't miss it. Before you go, tell you that Redstone will give you a thousand caps. Dismissed."

"Wait... You told me you wouldn't pay."

"It's a reward for reporting Blackwater's death. In fact, you did a useful deed that no one thought to ask you to do. For that I will pay."

"Huh... All right. Thank you," I reply and head for the exit.

***

"Your thousand caps," Redstone says with a smile, holding out a considerable and weighty bag of caps. "You've got Prince's attention. That's a good thing: it means this isn't the last time we'll talk to you. And yes, give me the note and the card you found on Blackwater's body. You can keep the rest."

Before I went into Redstone's office and got the caps from him, he was talking to Walnut, and Flow was posing as a stone statue in the same corner where I had left her. A look of relief and a smile flashed across her face at my appearance.

"All right," I say reluctantly, pulling out the necessary items, "...but what is this card?" I ask, handing over the note and the gold-colored card.

"A King's card. It has a special magical chip that at the slightest magical influence confirms its authenticity. You show the card before you pay for services, and you'll get at least a twenty percent discount. Or you can demand something with it. And that's... I can see it in your face: you realized you missed an opportunity to use the card. But it's unlikely you would have used it, since almost everyone knows who a King is. Every newspaper issue prints a list of these honorary masters."

"Got it." I turn to Flow. "Let's go."

Flow nods, and Walnut follows us out. We walk down the corridors of the Stable to the exit.

"I feel," Walnut begins, chuckling merrily, "that we will have to celebrate your introduction to Kings. Have a blast, with booze and hot whores. It'll be fun."

"Aren't you rushing things?"

"Prince is interested in you, and that's something. Believe me, he hasn't seen some Kings in years, let alone in private conversations. Redstone plays a major role in Kings—Prince gives orders to Kings through him. Redstone is like the Prince's personal secretary. His nickname is 'Lieutenant'. I don't know why he's called that, I haven't asked. Anyway, trust me: if you don't disappoint Prince, consider yourself one of us."

***

Walnut leaves us at the lobby to the residence, returning to his guard post. It is beginning to get dark outside. It's almost six o'clock in the evening of the local twenty-six-hour day. It's time to rest and have dinner.

Looking around the local eateries, I notice an expensive place called the Luxury. Just below the name is the sign that reads, 'First-class food and deluxe accommodations'. The prices there must be astronomical, but sometimes I can indulge in a little pampering: I have a lot of money anyway, and I have nothing to spend it on. Normally I'd spend money on medicine, ammo, and parts to fix my gear, but there's no need for that now—I'm good with supplies and gear.

We go inside the Luxury and find ourselves in a spacious lobby with walls of white stone, the lower part of which is decorated with wood; on the marble floor there is a carpet of dark cherry color with gold patterns on the edges. Along the walls hang sconces with beige bottles in a line, and elegant chandeliers hang from the ceiling, all of them illuminating the room with a warm and soft beige light.

Nearly a dozen local ponies in elegant outfits stroll about. The slaves look no less fashionable than their masters, and the guards are in armor clean to a mirror finish. They make me look like a hobo from the wastes, which is generally true. I have a feeling they won't let us into the restaurant.

A turquoise earth pony in a beige outfit approaches us. Well, at least she's not wearing a mask... The thought makes me chuckle faintly, which no one notices.

Eh, memories.

"I'm sorry," she begins politely, pointing at me and Flow, "but your appearance is not appropriate for our establishment. Some areas in our establishment, such as the restaurant, require a guest to have proper appearance."

I could have changed into my own attire, but somehow I skimped on buying Flow some nicer clothes. Didn't think about it.

"I... we'd just like to eat and rest," I say with the same politeness.

"In that case, you can go and get a room, you can order food and drinks there. Only a small percentage of the entire order is charged for delivery to the room. For security reasons, I ask that you deposit your weapons and ammunition with the employee next to the receptionist."

I nod, walk over to the correct counter and deposit my weapons and ammunition, then head to the receptionist.

"I'd like a room for two."

"Which room would you like: economy, standard, or VIP?"

"And how much do they cost?" I ask in anticipation of the huge numbers.

"If you want a room for two, an economy room for one night will cost two hundred caps, a standard room will cost you four hundred caps, and a VIP room will cost seven hundred caps."

The fuck? They must be out of their minds with these prices! I knew it! Eh, well, I can treat myself. I hope the price is justified. At Megaton the price for a room for one night was about a hundred caps, but it came with a girl for the night, and here just a room costs two hundred caps, and it's also economy!

"Let's have your cast in gold... I mean the VIP room," I say, sighing sadly as I pull out the cash. I hope there's enough for food at least. I can imagine how much it costs to rent a whole penthouse here."

The receptionist is somewhat surprised that I'm paying with caps. Apparently, she was expecting to see a bank check. Most of the ponies in Vanhoover have their main funds in safe deposit boxes. Local banking system and all that. NСR has one, too. I explain to her that I'm a tourist, and she gets it right away. I also know that I can't open a deposit box in this town without a passport, and getting a passport isn't easy.

The number on the thirteenth floor... Life is a strange thing. Just like the Vault number where the legend of the Vault Dweller appeared. As we walk, Flow looks over the hotel rooms we pass through.

"Haven't you ever been to a place this luxurious?" I ask her.

"No. It's so... beautiful," she says, peering down the hallway in the same entourage as the lobby.

"I hope the VIP room is cast in gold..." I say sorrowfully, not believing my own words, as we arrive at the door to our room. I put the key in and turn it.

Let the room is not made of gold, but it doesn't make it worse. It is simply upscale clean and comfortable. The interior is the same as in the other rooms we met: beige walls, the lower part trimmed with wood, a small chandelier of elegant forms. On the white marble floor there is a dark crimson carpet with yellow inserts. Wooden furniture as new: tables, sofa, cupboards, chests of drawers. No less new are the technical appliances, such as the table lamps and jukebox, as if they are pulled straight from the past.

In the bedroom is a large double bed, covered with a cherry wool blanket, under which is a beige fluffy blanket. It's so soft, I'd like to lie on it and never get up. The stone bathroom is all magically white.

Apart from the living room, bedroom, bathroom and toilet there is a modest balcony where I can put two wooden armchairs and a low table on three legs between them.

Almost everyone, if they live nearby, at least once would like to feel rich in such a place, when your home is not even close to such a cozy, comfortable and clean. Or it's a great place to celebrate something.

It's like I've been transported to a pre-war past where there's not a hint of world fucked upness. Seriously, everything looks awesome here. The name totally lives up to it. Tenpony Tower and the Ultra-Luxe aren't even close to this hotel.

Thanks to daddy Prince and a century of steady improvement, and thanks to the Softhooves family for doing the decor and other home furnishings. They're good.

"Well, let me order us dinner. You can take a shower if you want. And yes—do you want me to take your collar off?" I ask simply and casually. Flow comes out of the bathroom and looks at me in amazement.

"I said, take off your collar?" I repeat, smiling as she just stands there, staring at me. "Are you going to say anything at all?"

"I'm sorry, this is... unexpected. A slave is removed from his collar when his master trusts him completely. This is the highest level of trust that masters very rarely show. You haven't owned me for more than a day, and you already show such trust in me?"

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" I ask slyly.

"No... Daniel, I... I mean, I don't know," she babbles in excitement and lowers her gaze. "I'm scared..." she murmurs softly, and then lifts her eyes to me. She's afraid of freedom: afraid of being suddenly forced to be responsible—but in her gaze I see glimmers of curiosity.

"Don't worry, you can put it back on at any time. Try it, it's no big deal. Trust your master. Come over here and I'll take it off," I say affectionately. Flow trembles with fear and excitement. I fiddle with the collar and take it off, placing it on the small table. Her eyes are closed as I take it off.

"Here," I say briefly and cheerfully. "How does it feel?"

"It feels... like I'm choking," she opens one eye. "It's so unusual and strange... The collar was part of me. They hardly ever take them off of us."

"The main thing is, don't worry. I trust you, I won't leave you. And you trust me: freedom isn't as scary as they say."

Let's see how hard the slave's worldview of the need to be useful to the master, implanted over the years, will lend itself to change.

"Uh... Thank you very much, Master... I mean, Daniel," Flow says with difficulty, struggling with a sense of anxiety and getting used to the new experience.

I ask Flow what she will have for dinner. She replies that her master chooses the food for her. I realize that asking her such questions is clearly not the point yet. The expression on Flow's face right now is indescribable because of her curiosity about her temporary freedom, her established fear of it, and her gratitude for being believed in and trusted with this opportunity. How about buying back a few more slaves and doing little things like this just because of it? That kind of emotion is worth the caps spent.

I laugh to myself as I leave the room.

Food can be ordered from Mr. Handy, programmed to speak in an interesting accent, very similar to the British from my world, and in charge of ordering and cleaning on this floor. The robot presents me with a menu, explaining that for seven days the assortment of dishes changes every 26 hours and then goes in a new circle.

As expected—the prices are high, but the food is freshly made, so I didn't skimp. I end up ordering two steak bramble meat dishes, two vegetable salads, two bottles of Spark Cola and a specialty alcoholic brand drink called Queen's Kiss, two ice creams—one with strawberry syrup and strawberries, and one with apple syrup and apple slices. I'm surprised by the availability of desserts, and not some pre-war ones, but freshly made. Although why be surprised—'cold' dishes are not hard to make here in the north, in view of the fact that this is not the hot Mojave Wasteland, where it is hard not to dream of a nuclear winter.

Now I see why the Mane Street is considered an upper-class place. At establishments here, owners will pay exorbitant prices for such rare dishes—especially relatively wealthy owners who are unable to provide such luxuries in their homes.

After ordering, which cost me more than three hundred caps (along with a five percent charge for room service), the robot tells me that in about forty minutes the order will be prepared and delivered to my room. It's a bit long, but it has to be prepared and brought here—moreover, I'm not the only one who orders to the room.

Back in the room, I hear that Flow is still taking a bath. No doubt under the clean stream of hot water that trickles down her pink fur. Her mane sags under the weight of the water. The soapy sponge slides over her body...

Oh...

Stop it, Daniel. Distract yourself. You can't think about the things that always turn you on. Of course, Flow will have no problem satisfying you, but not because she wants to, but because she has to. That wouldn't be right of her. She's not left alone at the police station as it is, getting under her tail at every moment. Of course, she'd be glad to be useful... useful in pleasing her master. But I cannot take advantage of her position. This is...

I go out on the balcony to clear my head. And I lean on the railing. There's a wonderful view of the Mane Street outside, and in the distance I can see the lighted streets and high-rise buildings, with the lights already shining in their windows. To my right is the port, dotted with industrial buildings, smoke billowing from their chimneys. Behind them I can see the beginning of the territory of that huge island, Green Island; at its northern end towers snow-covered mountains. To the left of the island is a beautiful view of the Desert Ocean, the sun slowly stretching toward sunset. There are no thick clouds over the ocean, and I can enjoy the hot orange skies and cumulus clouds from the sun's rays now. The sunlight itself reaches the hotel and my balcony, and it is warm, like the embrace of a loved one. I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the local air. It's fresh. Salty and seasick.

Lilac... Are you enjoying this beautiful sunset?

I enjoy the scenery and the smell and feel of the cool air tickling my fur and mane for about twenty minutes until I hear Flow call out to me.

"Daniel, can I wear that robe in the closet?" I turn around than make a big mistake.

She's standing naked, clean, slightly wet... and stares waitingly. Her body is soft, steamed and relaxed, clean of extraneous smells, a slightly soapy scent wafts to my nostrils.

I feel a rush of blood in the area between my hind legs.

Damn my wet-body fetish!

I turn away. It's a good thing my body is covered in armor and she can't see my hardening member.

"Daniel?" a worried voice comes. Apparently she's somehow taking my turned away face differently.

"Yeah, yeah..." I reply. "Put your robe on, it'll be fine."

Meanwhile, I slip past her, skip into the bathroom, and exhale in relief.

That was close...

In the hot water my body relaxes, I feel peaceful. The excitement that had arisen because of Flow subsides, but the dissatisfaction remains. I am tempted to use my palpable telekinesis to fantasize about her pink body, which some time ago had been in this tub... And it was wet and hot and soft...

***

Now I will not give in to temptation. I am satisfied.

I pull the terrycloth robe over my body and walk over to the table where Mr. Handy has brought my order. Flow sits on the couch and stares at the food on the table in front of her like a hungry dog stares at its prey. In the time she's been with me, I haven't fed her once. How hungry she is. And she's always on her feet. And I, in fact, am just as hungry.

When she sees me, she is embarrassed and hurriedly averts her gaze from the food. The portions are not small, but full, as they should be! "Learn, high society: see what the portions are supposed to be?" I smile mentally, addressing this message to the residents of Tenpony Tower.

The dishes brought by the robot butler smell appetizing and look appealing, especially the dessert. Apple ice cream drizzled with apple syrup... with apple slices on top... it's just begging to be eaten. The ice cream is beginning to melt and, along with the syrup, is slowly dripping and pooling around the edges of the round dish. It makes me want to taste it—I haven't had ice cream or any dessert since Vault 101... So I stare at the dessert myself, like an excited stallion ready to immediately drink the gooey liquid at the sweet spot—I'm almost drooling.

The strawberry ice cream is drenched in strawberry syrup, and a deliciously large strawberry adorns the top. Smells real to me... Holy shit—this is the first time I've ever seen real, genuine strawberries, so I'm not quite sure what they must taste like. Hell, even Vault 101 didn't have berries like that; I'd only come across pictures of them in books. And there it was... At the sight of the delicious strawberry dessert, its reddish-transparent syrup, the ripe and juicy berry... a bit of melted ice cream... my mouth is almost drooling.

Flow doesn't look up at the food in my presence, but I notice that she sits closest to the strawberry dessert. This is clearly no coincidence. I'm about ready to taste that mysterious strawberry flavor, but... I feel like I'm probably going to have to give that privilege to Flow.

I exhale heavily. I should have ordered two strawberry desserts after all! Next time we should definitely try it. Since I didn't order another strawberry ice cream, it gives me an excuse to keep from doing dangerous and suicidal things. Until I try strawberries, dammit, there's no way I'm going to die!

"Well, it's time for dinner," I rub my hooves in anticipation of dessert, but I have to eat the main course first before I get to the ice cream, lest in a fit of passion I devour it in one sitting. Flow looks at me. "Catch up." I sit down next to her.

"What are you waiting for?" I mutter with a piece of meat in my mouth. I chew and swallow. "Take it, eat it, and drink it down." She nods and leans her head toward her plate.

As I eat, I notice Flow casting curious glances in the direction of the strawberry ice cream, but trying not to show it. I finally decide that she gets it.

After our appetizing meal of delicious food, it's time for desserts. Before the sweet meal, I try the Queen's Kiss. This alcoholic beverage has a delicate beige-golden color, almost like my fur; enriched with the aroma of vanilla and oak, soft on the palate. Quite pleasant. Better than regular whiskey. I look at the label: I can tell by its novelty that they glued an ordinary white paper on which in elegant handwriting it says, 'Queen's Kiss', and a little lower, in smaller font, 'Whiskey with juniper berries'. So that's whiskey, only instead of grains they used berries to make it. Unusual, but I like it.

After drinking half the bottle, I notice Flow looking at me with a waiting face. She thinks that I ordered myself two different desserts in order to try both of them. In fact, it was my miscalculation: I didn't think one of them would be preferable to the other. And that this dessert would be wanted by both.

"Do you want apple or strawberry ice cream?" I ask.

The pink pony looks like she's hit by thunder: she's allowed to try a dessert, and with a choice. I can see that two feelings are raging in her right now: curiosity about the strawberry dessert and fear, for the choice is allowed only to the owners, it leads to responsibility, which she does not deserve.

"I understand," I continue, "that you are afraid to make a choice, but trust me. Nothing bad will happen, I promise. The responsibility of this choice is small. Or rather, it's minimal. I can see that you want strawberry."

She is silent, fighting her fear.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I repeat. "You've already made your choice; you've been looking at this treat the longest. Come on, don't worry. It's okay."

She hesitantly leans toward the dessert, her mouth slightly open with anticipation. There's just a little bit left. She sticks out her tongue and timidly, as if cautiously, runs it upward, licking off the melted ice cream and strawberry syrup. It looks—I'll be honest—kind of arousing in a way. It's a good thing I've already satisfied myself.

"Yes!" I exclaim quietly, so as not to spook her. She should get some encouragement at this point. "You did it. You admitted you made a choice. Way to go."

The pink pony with a short, lingonberry-colored mane raises her head and looks up at me with an unusual expression... a mixture of bliss and exhaustion. She has a little white spot of ice cream on her spout. It looks so funny. I've never seen such bliss on someone's face before. She smiles faintly, and her thoughts, judging by her eyes, are somewhere far away.

"How does it feel? How's the dessert?"

"Delicious..." she says after she mumbles something inaudible. "Very." Her gaze suddenly focuses on me, and embarrassment flashes across her cheeks. Her eyes fill with clarity. "I just..." she whispers, either in fear or joy.

"As you can see, nothing terrible has happened. You made your own choice. There's nothing difficult about making choices, Flow, the main thing is to be aware that they may have certain consequences, but that doesn't mean that all of them will be bad. For example, choosing dessert is not fatal to others."

No, there are consequences. Now, having given up strawberry dessert, I have to fight for my life to the last to try it next time.

"You did what you wanted without affecting the lives of others. It's certainly the right thing to do. Believe me, even among the masters a lot of them just don't realize the consequences of their choices and actions, they have enough foolishness... or rather, the courage, to do as they please, regardless of the fact that it might harm someone."

I am willing to be responsible only for my own life, trying not to touch the lives of others.

Flow is in reflection. She is no longer as anxious as she was when she made her choice in the beginning, but she clearly feels that this is something new in her life that she has yet to comprehend.

"I understand that this may be new to you; just wait. Get used to the thought of freedom, watch me and others as they make choices. Most importantly, don't let freedom be associated with fear, and you'll do fine. I believe in you." I smile and place my hoof on her shoulder. The slave with the ice cream stain on her face doesn't even know what to answer in this situation. That's when I remember something. "Now the dessert is going to melt completely."

We amicably return to our meal.

Flow gently grabs the strawberry on top of the dessert with her lips, pushes it into her mouth, and begins to chew it slowly. I imagine for a moment that it's me eating those strawberries, and I get the unforgettable ecstasy that Flow is getting right now. I'm just drooling.

Envy!

After swallowing the strawberries, Flow begins to eat the ice cream with wild zeal, as if she were trying to satisfy a stallion or a mare, licking the syrupy ice cream dripping from the heat with her tongue. Her face displays a very positive spectrum of emotion from eating the rest of the dessert. Her face is stained with strawberry syrup and white melted dessert that drips down her lips to her chin.

Shit, I'm making myself worse when I think about strawberry dessert and the sensations I'll experience while eating this divine delicacy. I keep myself from biting my lips with fantasies of getting just one drop on my tongue.

She notices me staring at her muzzled face, and her face turns so red that it becomes redder than the berries she swallowed. She licks the dessert off her face with her tongue with intense embarrassment, then slowly and carefully finishes it.

This is the cutest thing I've ever seen in an embarrassed mare dipped in strawberry ice cream.

The apple dessert... I look at him with a long, demanding stare.

You have to do your best to satisfy me, do you understand?

The apple slice is delicious, sweet and soft, and the rest of the dessert seems just as good. Still, it's not every year in the Wasteland that I get to taste cold, sweet ice cream. This dessert satisfies my taste buds after all. I can only imagine what I would experience tasting strawberry...

Like hell I would die without tasting real strawberries!

I finished my dessert later than Flow, as I glanced over at her from time to time and watched her reaction with a degree of envy. She's had a good opportunity to watch me. A faint smile and interest displayed on her face.

"What's the matter?" I ask with confusion.

"You were smiling so sweetly when you were eating..." she mutters, but then looks like she said the wrong thing and hastily adds. "I apologize for my words, Daniel," she mutters embarrassedly.

I burst into laughter.

"Flow... as you can see, words are also a choice. What to say and what not to say. A lot of times it's unconscious, so you don't notice, but you do choices of your own."

Thinking back to Captain Ice Ground and how Flow often hung around her office, I could tell she was doing things she wasn't asked to do, but not fully aware that she was essentially making her own decision.

"Thank you very much for the conversation... dinner and a generous dessert, Daniel," she mutters with a genuine smile. She clearly doesn't know how to react in this situation. There's a long way to go before she can be independent. At least I've shown her that she shouldn't be afraid to make conscious choices if they're only about her life.

"You're welcome," I say, standing up from the table and picking up an unfinished bottle of Queen's Kiss with magic. "Tomorrow at twelve o'clock, at the latest half past twelve, we leave here. Until then, you're free to do whatever you want, but don't open the room doors so no outsiders come in here."

She nods hesitantly. Yeah... her road to independence is going to be a long one indeed.

I call the robot butler and he takes the dirty dishes away, after which I go to the balcony and lean back in my chair, watching the scenery. Clouds are floating over Vanhoover, but in the distance, over the sea, they are hardly visible anymore. A huge red disk has disappeared over the horizon.

I turn my thoughts back to Lilac, to life.

To live without regrets...

I wonder what is the model of the planetary system in this world? Geocentric or heliocentric? I would confidently say heliocentric, but since this is a world of magic in which two demigoddesses are said to rule the Sun and Moon, I can assume geocentric. Funny, but I read in an old astronomy book that until some time the Earth was thought to be the center of the universe, and the Sun revolved around the Earth, not the other way around. The geocentric model. Until some time it was thought to be flat at all. Now, in a time of lack of knowledge, many in the Wasteland must have thought it was. An illusion...

I sip my alcoholic drink and indulge in rambling thoughts. A warmth slowly spreads through my body. Flow, judging by the music, is sitting at the jukebox, listening to music and drinking Sparkle-Cola. From the radio, the mare sings in a velvet voice something about the sunset, citing an analogy to our lives. As if our lives are like a sunny day, beginning with a brisk morning and ending with a colorful and peaceful sunset.

Like the life of Lilac Journey.

About two hours pass: I empty two bottles of Queen's Kiss, and it's already deep into the night; the streets and houses of Vanhoover glisten with colorful lights. I would have stayed longer, but the languid and voluptuous moans of pleasure and ecstasy can be heard from the next room across the balcony. The pace is very high, judging by the frequency of the moans.

I grimace and leave the balcony, closing the door behind me, and head for the bed, feeling my vigor stretching into the sunset. On the way, I ask Flow if she's going to bed. She replies that she will in a few minutes. As soon as I enter the bedroom, the pink earth pony asks me where she will sleep. I answer that she can sleep with me on the bed or here on the couch. I tell her again not to be afraid to make a choice. I think the more I repeat this to her, the sooner she will get brave.

In the bedroom, I throw off my robe and put on my cherry-colored pajamas. Then I collapse onto the soft, cloud-like bed and drown in it, just lying on the bedspread, my limbs spread out like a starfish. Later I remove the blanket, folding it on a chair, and dive under the soft and airy blanket.

How delightful...

Before I fall asleep, I hear rustling in the bedroom. Flow had decided to sleep on the bed with me after all. Apparently, she put on a robe, too, and then climbed carefully under the covers, trying not to disturb my sleep—although at this moment I am awake, without giving it away: with half-closed eyelids I am watching her. She fidgets a little, and then calms down, turning toward me. I immediately close my eyes completely so she won't notice that I'm watching her, and after a while I carefully open my eyes and see that the red-haired pony has a smile on her face, enjoying a full night's sleep and peace. It's the last thing I see before I fall into the nirvana of dreams.

***

The 25th of the Month of Bread, Greenday. Thirty-fifth day of my stay.

The comfortable bed and the soft bed have done their job—I feel sleepy and rested. I slowly open my eyes and the first thing I see is Flow smiling in her sleep. She is so wrapped up in a blanket that only her cute little face is visible.

I'm careful not to wake up the pink pony and look at the Pip-Boy screen to get my bearings on the time. It's almost nine o'clock in the morning. I'm not going to get up—instead, I lie in bed a little longer, watching the pink pony snoozing peacefully. She's sleeping so peacefully and soundly—it's hard to believe she's a slave.

I lay in bed for another half hour, and then I get up carefully, throw on my robe, and go to wash up. After my morning routine, I go out to the balcony to enjoy the morning breeze. I hear footsteps and turn around: a sleepy Flow is standing behind me.

"Good morning, Flow. Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning, Daniel," she says. "Yes. I slept just fine. I haven't had a good night's sleep in a long time."

"Nice," I smile. "Now let's order breakfast and get out of here."

***

After a hearty breakfast and about two hundred caps, we pack up, take our guns and ammunition, leave the hotel, and drive on Bear slowly along the Mane Street to the police station.

When we were still at the hotel, I almost forgot about the collar. Flow was even kind of glad to have her collar back on, but not so much anymore. She felt calmer in it. She said it made her feel better because she didn't feel obliged to take responsibility for her actions: if she did something displeasing to her master, punishment was sure to follow from him.

I drive slowly.

"You at your own will can start a conversation with me on any subject. I will not punish or censure you for any thought or opinion. Talk to me about thoughts that trouble you, or any worries, and I, in turn, will express mine—about things that trouble the masters. An exchange, so to speak."

"Okay," she replies in a hesitant voice.

"Just don't ask questions the moment someone passes us or walks on their way."

"Okay," she repeats in the same tone.

"Anything on your mind?"

"Well... Last night's dessert. Choice... "

"Yeah? Don't be afraid. It's okay."

"The choice was interesting, but I feel... apprehensive."

She's silent, she has nothing more to add, apparently.

"Not much, but it's something. Little by little, but you'll get there. You're good."

She smiles, feeling a little excited.

Now I know for a fact that Flow has an interest in freedom, that she wants it, and she can't overcome the fear herself. It is too strong. For too long she has been forced to have a different opinion, a different view.

We find ourselves at our destination. It's a big five-story building, the sign above the main entrance reads, 'Vanhoover Police. Central Department'. There are a dozen police officers nearby, each dressed in sturdy armor with blue and black inserts: some with sniper rifles, others with automatic rifles and shotguns. At least half of them are griffons, and one is a pegasus...

Wait, what? Pegasus?! The Enclave? They live in the clouds, don't they? Or don't they all live there? Or maybe it's their spy, meant to keep watch and report on the place. The paranoid in me screamed conspiracy, but I overcame it and ignored the pegasus. Prince wasn't born yesterday; he must know where the pegasi's main home is.

I wondered how much attention the Enclave was paying to Vanhoover. Don't they see a growing threat in this town, and if they do, why don't they intervene? Probably for the same reason they don't go to war with the Steel Rangers. They just don't give a damn about what's going on down there.

I stop the old and stunted SUV in the designated area and walk to the entrance.

Inside the building, ponies and griffons are fussing about their business, there's a low chattering noise. Some of them are dressed in blue uniforms with black inserts. In addition, there are mechanized guards in the form of robots with the same coloring as the armor of the living members of the police force. At the main entrance, there is a small booth on the inside—apparently with bulletproof windows—from which the unicorn inside calls me to her. The two Sentinels to the sides of the front doors show their attention to us and aim their guns. I think I know the reason. Flow, of course, is worried about this kind of attention.

"Hey, dear one, come over here," the unicorn says. I walk over to her. "For safety's reasons, please deposit your weapons and ammunition here," she says. Apparently, the weapons detection detectors in the Sentinels have triggered. "When you leave, you'll get it all back." I give her all my weapons and ammunition through a special outgoing drawer that could safely fit an entire minigun. The Sentinels return to their standard mode of behavior.

"Is Prince coming through this entrance today?" I ask her.

"Yes, he comes in here every three days for a few hours. He hasn't been in for two days, so he should be today."

The clock on one of the walls indicates that it is almost mid-day.

Prince walks into the station. Some of the ponies pay attention to his appearance for a moment and then go about their business. No one bows to him like a king or a god. This is a good thing.

Prince nods to greet the mare in the cabin and then comes up to me and tells me to follow him, leaving Flow with the receptionist. So I do. For the first time I notice a faint displeasure in her eyes over the parting; she is upset.

I follow Prince. As we walk through the police station, the chief of security for all of Vanhoover joins us. No one has yet uttered a word about the destination.

"Greetings, Prince," he politely greets the white unicorn in a tuxedo. It is a large griffon dressed in black armor with blue and red stripes. Then he looks at me. "Who's that?"

"His name is Daniel," Prince answers for me. "He seems to me to be able to help us get the prisoner to talk. Unless, of course, you've already got him talking—which I deeply doubt, but I'll ask you anyway: how's your interrogation going, Captain Morgan?" Prince asks and points Morgan on his way. And they continue their conversation.

"None at all," the griffon replies with a touch of embarrassment that his interlocutor's expectations have not been met. "We couldn't move forward with the interrogation. Used torture and threats. Nothing, he keeps his mouth shut. This asshole is going to be hard to crack, as if he's sure he'll be rescued from captivity, and he keeps quiet to the last."

"Will they?" I ask in surprise. Wait, there are already rumors flying around? Is it really about me? It can't be.

"There are several dozen so-called resistance agents hiding in Vanhoover," Prince explains, turning to me, "superbly."

"How do they do it?"

"They are professionals. They've been around practically since the rebuilding of the city, evolving with us—so they know about loopholes and various tricks. Perhaps they even create them under the guise of something unremarkable. Vanhoover's population is large, it is impossible to check everyone. And searches are few and far between, as they do little damage to the city as a whole. They just steal a few slaves a month, and they are untraceable. "

"Agents take slaves out of town?"

"Unlikely. There's a possibility that they get plastic surgery and serve more... gentle masters."

"Plastic surgery?"

"It may be performed outside the city, where the slaves have their memories erased or at least blocked, have their documents forged, and are sold to unsuspecting masters."

"So this is just a theory?" I clarify. Pretty good idea, but still, such operations are not cheap. I wonder what kind of slaves they steal, and what criteria they use to determine who is best illegally reallocated?

"That's the only thing we can assume," Prince says with a shrug. "But there's another theory: there may be a safe haven or bunker outside the city, or perhaps a full-fledged Stable, where they hide and re-educate slaves. If we can get Dodger to talk, we can find out the location of their headquarters and use their slave records to track down the stolen goods. They must know which slaves are either processed and resold or hidden and reeducated in a hidden hideout."

"So where are we headed after all?" I ask.

"To the basement," Morgan answers briefly and dryly.

If Dodger can be freed anyway, why send me on this mission? The Overmare of Stable 53 can play me any way she wants, but what does she need me for? I could just turn her in and give her away. Or is this a test to see if I can be trusted? After all, she had no choice but to test me.

As I ponder this, I happen to run into a pony. He walks on as if nothing had happened, without even apologizing. What a bastard, the masters really have no manners. Wait, what if it's a thief? I look at the Pip-Boy and do not notice anything missing. On the contrary—my pockets have been replenished with one note. Someone gave me a secret message, given the unusual way of transmission. I must read it discreetly. Think...

We turn the corner and find ourselves at the entrance to the basement.

"Question: is there a bathroom in the basement?" I ask.

"That's a strange question," Morgan observes. "No. Why do you need one?"

"I haven't run to the bathroom since this morning," I say. "The interrogation might take a while, but I don't want to be distracted by such a small thing in the middle of it or at a crucial moment."

"All right," Morgan replies sympathetically. "Turn around and then turn down the second corridor and you'll find him on the way. Just don't be too long."

I find the bathroom and go into the stall, as there is a pony near the washbasin.

We know you were referred by the Overmare of the Stable. It's about time she sent help. I hope you have a StealthBuck? If so, see if you can plant it discreetly in the interrogation chamber. I can free the prisoner from the shackles and open the cage, but I can't get him out of the station unnoticed. I don't have time to look for StealthBuck, and I need to keep an eye on Dodger in case he blabs. If you don't have a StealthBuck, stay late at the police station, there is a changing of the guard in the basement at 25:00. There will only be three guards: one will guard the room with our spy, and the other two will patrol the basement. You have to take them out without making a fuss. That way you don't have to kill the guards, Dodger just uses it, slips past them unnoticed and escapes from the station. Leave the rest to me.

I crumple the note, toss it into the toilet with force, and exhale in relief.

On my way to the others, I reflect on what I've read.

It's a good thing I carry at least one StealthBuck with me in case I need to be invisible for a very long time. Thanks to Blackwater, who crashed, for a few of them.

All I have to do is leave StealthBuck in the interrogation room. Then I wonder how he'll distract the guard guarding the room with Dodger? Never mind. He wrote that he has two options for escape. Naturally, I would choose the StealthBuck option, then the guards would be guilty for not looking after the prisoner.

What if it's a test by Prince himself? It could be. How do you get out of it if he reveals his cards... Hmm. I might say that I had intended to let him escape in this way, and then to follow him. With the visors in my helmet, that wouldn't be difficult. It will do quite nicely as an excuse.

I turn back to Prince and the chief.

"It's good to open the floodgates, isn't it?" I ask rhetorically. "Shall we go?"

Once in the basement, I can't help but ask one question.

"Why the basement specifically?"

"This is where we interrogate special prisoners," Morgan explains, "that the entire station staff doesn't need to know about. Few officers know about this basement, and even fewer ponies have access to it: this way we minimize leaks of information so as not to give away the location of their spy to unwanted persons."

We enter the interrogation room where the spy is; the room is divided in two by a metal grid. The walls are rusted, there is dried dirt and mold on the floor, and the air is unpleasantly damp and smells of blood. Dodger is strapped with leather straps to a metal table tilted so that he can safely see those who enter the room. Under the table are many dried bloodstains. Dodger himself is a brown earth pony. His entire body is covered in abrasions and cuts of varying depths, and he's wearing some rags that barely cover his body. Just above him hangs a small light bulb, emitting a dim white light. Next to the prisoner stands another tall metal table on which the blood-stained instruments of torture are arranged. Since he's been physically tortured, it no longer makes sense for me to do the same—especially if I'm going to free him.

I start looking around for options on where to hide the StealthBuck. I find the perfect place—a dark corner to the left of the door with gaps and cracks in the wall. It's only possible to spot a hidden item there if one knows there's something lying there. As Prince and Morgan approach Dodger to say something, with their backs to me, I take this opportunity to use telekinesis.

So Prince is a unicorn who senses the use of magic around him, he will know that I will use telekinesis. I have to hide the use of telekinesis under another action. First I take out my water condenser to drink some water, thus hiding the true actions of my magic from Prince if he looks at me at that moment. While I drink the cool liquid, I quickly shove the StealthBuck into one of the resulting gaps in the wall in the corner.

Prince turns to me just as I'm about to finish my drink.

"Get to work," Prince tells me dryly. I nod as my mouth is full of water, hide the condenser, take a sip of water, and enter through the open doors of the metal grate.

"Well, hello, Dodger. How are you?" I begin, smiling.

***

"The interrogation is over," I say confidently as I leave Dodger. He gives off a fake look of surprise, by the way.

"But he didn't report anything of substance!" Morgan grumbles indignantly. "You asked him silly questions that have nothing at all to do with their activities!"

"Are you sure?" I grin. "I asked unobtrusive questions and learned things that might indirectly relate to the location of the leaders of the escaped slaves. Think back and cross-reference all his answers: see if you can trace a connection."

"What are you even talking..." Morgan says perplexedly, and then hesitates, apparently scrolling through my entire conversation with Dodger in his mind. He ponders for about ten seconds, and gradually it dawns on him. "Indeed, there is some connection in his answers."

"Exactly," I say. "Individually his answers don't make any sense, but if you put them together, a certain picture begins to emerge."

It's like putting a jigsaw puzzle together. You have to be careful to see which pieces fit together, and things start to come together in a logical chain.

"If you think about it..." Morgan ponders further. "You can tell from his answers that their headquarters are really in the Stable, the entrance to which is hidden in one of the cafes in a town south along the coast!" he sighs at the last words.

"How..." Dodger mumbles in pretended horror. "How did you manage to fool me?" he asks angrily, turning to me. He's a good actor. During the interrogation with this method, he did indeed almost give away the real location of the Stalbe. As it turns out, Dodger is familiar with this method: he realized in time that I had used it on him, and gave the answers that would lead the masters down a false trail.

"Amazing," Prince says—oddly enough, without much amazement. "I once heard of this method. It is only difficult in that you have to ask the right questions, be polite and impassive at all times, and make no hint of threat. Since simple and seemingly insignificant things the captive says unknowingly and truthfully, much can be learned from it. Insignificant things can lead to great truth. Bravo, Daniel, excellent work." Prince smiles appreciatively at me and then turns to Dodger, but turns to Morgan. "Don't kill him yet. Let's find their headquarters and slaughter all his friends and family in front of him. This bastard has resisted too much and for too long," he coldly mutters.

Dodger gives off a gamut of emotions, from anger to deep despair. He also curses me and Prince. I furtively glance at the hole where I hid StealthBuck: it's still there. I mentally sigh in relief. Great. He's barely visible to me in this light, too.

"Do you want in on the takeover?" Prince asks me as we leave the basement.

"No, thanks. I have some worries that won't leave me."

"About what?" he asks.

"Well, if you know the method of interrogation, then the prisoner probably does, too. It turns out he may have lied convincingly in response to some of the questions."

"Indeed," Prince thinks aloud. I dismiss any suspicion that might have arisen when it turns out that Dodger lied. "Nevertheless, one can always continue the interrogation—I told him not to kill him, after all."

"That's right," I agree. Oh, I can't wait to leave this place. It feels like more than one prisoner has been brutally tortured here, and the place is filled with an aura of misery and pain, as if the walls were drenched with it.

I pick up Flow; we get in Bear and drive toward the nearest main gate to leave the city, which she doesn't know yet. It remains to return to Stable 53 and pick up the key card needed to find Project Dome.

Along the way, I can't help feeling trapped... It went too easily. Maybe I'm thinking too much. Maybe I'm just winding myself up when things go smoothly.

Chapter 11 - Heavenly Harbor

View Online

Vanhoover... My first visit to this place was more than successful. An incredible place, if you ignore the fact that this city was built on the suffering of slaves. At no other place in the Equestrian Wasteland have I seen such a level of development: only the development of some places in the New California Republic can compare to Vanhoover.

As I reflect on the situation in Vanhoover—particularly my reluctance to interfere and mess things up—I begin to wonder if I can have any influence at all, even if I really wanted to. Taking responsibility for everything... It's literally all tied up in each other here. A complex and self-sufficient organism. There's no sense of major conflict between a few factions like the NCR and Caesar's Legion, and I have no specific goal or plan for what needs to be done to improve the current situation, like Project Purity in the Capital Wasteland. Only small local conflicts and internal disagreements, which are everywhere. In other words, a stable situation, except for the recent problem with the increased organization of the raiders and the energy issue.

All I have to do is look for Project Dome—it is my only chance to get home... and it's not a sure thing, but it's all I have at the moment. So I don't want to get ahead of myself; I'll find Project Dome, and then we'll see.

***

Once out of the city, we ride on Bear to the site of the battle, which supposedly involved the Enclave.

Flow looks around mesmerized... With a mixture of fear and explorer's curiosity. Flow has never once left the walls of the city—indeed, neither have some of the slaves and masters. She has always been persuaded that it is as dangerous outside the city walls as it is freedom.

For me, it's more dangerous to be in populated areas. There's a greater chance of being robbed, killed, and raped, because of the increase in the number of shady characters. In the Wasteland it's easier to stay away from such dangers, from a distance... with a compass in Pip-Boy. So, yes, it is dangerous in the Wasteland, but no more dangerous than it is in cities.

Breakdowns, breakdowns... and more Bear breakdowns. During another stop, we attract a yao guai. With a long-range weapon of impressive caliber, such as Whispering Night, I have no trouble dealing with it. And its meat is good for cooking. Dinner literally came running to us on its own.

We decide to spend the night in one of the abandoned houses. As expected, it's half-empty and dirty, with peeling plaster, trash and dirt everywhere, and a few nasty radroaches. I set signal traps and booby-traps with grenades. This house is very depressing in contrast to the Luxury hotel-restaurant. It's a great place to talk, though.

"Flow, how many years have you been as a slave?" I ask, sitting by the fireplace. I've found some solid fuel material for the fireplace, which means wooden furniture, paper, and stuff—I set it all on fire with Benny's engraved lighter.

"What do you mean? I've been at The School since I was young," Flow replies, not understanding the point of the question. The flame slowly devours the dry wood, it crackles. I toss a little bit into the fireplace to keep the flames going.

"Can you tell me about this place?"

I stare at the dancing flames. Flow sits next to me, warming her hooves. She froze a little when night fell and a cold wind came up in the area. Even now I can hear it raging outside through the broken windows. It's lucky this house has well-preserved walls. Even though I'm not particularly cold in my armor, Flow is almost shivering, distinctly chattering her teeth.

"The School is where a slave is trained according to his cuite mark. The foals grow up there, and they are raised there as well. When they reach the age of sixteen, they are put up for sale. The price of a potential slave depends on what skills they have."

"And where do foals come from?"

"Daniel... don't you know where foals come from?"

"I didn't put the question right," I smile slightly. "I meant, how does the restocking of the foals happen at The School?"

"They are born there..."

They... Not 'we,' but 'they,' meaning that Flow separates herself from those slaves born there. She was born elsewhere.

The pink pony continues.

"At The School there are selected physically healthy breeding mares and stallions. And they also retrain the weak ones who used to live in the outside world there: those who have proven unable to be responsible for themselves."

"The mares and stallions selected for breeding are also slaves?"

"Yes. Their health is carefully watched."

"The weak are re-educated?"

"Those unable to defend or feed themselves come there and voluntarily become slaves."

More often than not, someone just lets the occasion come to them... either death or a slut for someone, but at least that slut has a secure place to live with food.

"Or they flee to The Crater," Flow continues, "where they later become irresponsible raiders. It happens that masters bring in their newborn foals if they came by accident and carelessness, and the parents don't want to raise them," her last words carry notes of bitterness and a squeeze, as if she remembered something. It was likely that Flow had been sent to The School at a very early age.

"Tell me about The School: what is this place, how do the foals live there, and so on?" I ask.

"Before the cutie mark, all the foals live in the common sectors. They are taught manners, speech, and given things they have an interest in, as they may be related to the type of activity from which the cutie mark may come. Once it appears, the foals are assigned to other sectors. There are only two in total: the household sector and the hard labor sector. I was assigned to the household sector. There they train foals capable of taking care of a house, that is, cleaning, being a maid in domestic matters, and teaching the basics of cooking. They teach us to be useful in every way. We were no longer allowed to play there as we had been in the general sectors before we got our cutie mark. There wasn't a minute that we sat without orders, from the easy ones to the hardest ones."

All the time following orders. All their lives they do the will of others. Their independence is suppressed in every way possible.

"So... what happens if you break discipline?"

"First they whip and then they tie them up so they can't move, forcing them to listen extra time to the holotapes about how freedom is dangerous and vicious, how only responsible and useful masters can coexist with it, so we have to support them in every way, to serve them. We are constantly watched, day and night. And so it was until I was sixteen, until I was put up for sale."

"What about the household and hard labor sectors?"

"I can't say much about the hard labor sector. For the most part, they send stallions and mares who have physically good bodies. Healthy enough to work. Everyone else is sent to the household sector. I only got there because I could cook and clean."

"And how much did they buy you for?"

"Three thousand caps."

Wow, Captain Ice gave me a pretty sizable discount. Though the value of assets drops over time: not surprisingly, that goes for slaves, too.

"Have a question... what was done with those who could not be cured? Who had the most severe illnesses?"

"It happens mostly to those not born of selected stallions and mares. The masters took them to some unknown place, and what happened to them next, we don't know."

"I'll be right back," I mutter, getting up from my seat and heading toward the room that was once considered the kitchen.

The slaves are too expensive. Such a price already suggests that they are not cheap labor, and their deaths are not profitable to anyone. One would hope that slavery itself would disappear in Vanhoover, but Prince really does want to expand his influence and Vanhoover's influence over the rest of the Wasteland. Dictate the rules to others. There they will begin to capture all the useless ponies and force them to be useful. So they won't give up slavery, especially not while Prince is in power.

In the kitchen, I try to find something to help me make yao-guai. And I find some meat spices in there. Even though they're two hundred years old, they're still good enough to cook. The main thing I still find is a metal pan in excellent condition!

Okay, Danny, don't even think about using it as a weapon to brutally ruin it.

Flow realizes from what I bring from the kitchen that I'm about to cook, and immediately reminds me that she knows how to do it. She doesn't suggest it, she notifies me: in the first case, she'd have to make a choice. It turns out she knows how to cook yao-guai meat, but has never seen it alive. However, I will not ask her. All I'm saying is that she's good because she knows how to cook.

"Were you born in The School?" I ask to clarify my hypothesis.

"No."

"Do you remember anything about your past?"

"No."

"Then how did you know?"

"Slaves born at The School cost markedly more than those who became them afterwards. I had a low price compared to them, though we grew up and were trained together."

"You said you were bought for three thousand—is it Captain Ice who bought you out?"

"No. In the beginning I was bought by a master as a housekeeper, to serve in his apartment. He was young. Worked for the Meadows family. And he... was..."

"Cruel, huh?"

"He was... complicated. Not only did he punish me for the slightest fault, but he often came home from work angry and beat me for no reason so hard that I almost passed out. Every night and day he slept with me... but he would beat me up before he did it, and sometimes even in the process. If I looked into his eyes for a long time, he would punish me in various ways. He never smiled, only smirked when I cried. The only thing he didn't completely cripple me for was my cooking. He liked it, but he never said so. I could tell by his attitude—he didn't take his anger out on me after he ate."

"What happened next? How did you end up with Captain Ice?"

"Eventually after four years of living with him," here Flow seems to get a little cheerier, "he did something wrong, and the police had to capture him, but he refused to surrender, and they shot him. Ice was among the police officers, but she was not yet a district captain at the time. Thanks to her kindness I was cleaned up, medically rehabilitated, and then she bought me and made me a cleaner in that police station, where you bought me out eight years later."

"How was your life there?"

"Quieter than at the former master's. There I also shared a bed with some stallion and mare guards, but on Ice's orders they didn't exhaust me much, so it didn't affect my work. And they didn't beat me. For that I thank her."

"Why do you think Captain Ice sold you out? I mean, she was so nice to you in the beginning, from what you said."

"She didn't punish me. Always told me to obey all the officers at the station. The guards started using me in bed. I wasn't used to serving those I didn't belong to. So it made me feel strange... sensations. I didn't resist. Later I found out that the captain had given the okay, and the strange feelings disappeared. I always wanted to be near the master, so I was often near the door of her office. Hoping to be more helpful to her when she needed something. She didn't like that I was often near her office... Why was that? Doesn't a master want a slave to be around to help with everything?"

"I guess... She felt like you were snooping around for some reason. She was uncomfortable."

"Snooping around?" Flow wonders sincerely. "I would never betray my master's secrets."

"...Until," I continue, "another master buys you and asks about previous ones."

Flow's eyes droop shamefully.

"But she sold you because she doesn't have the resources to continue sustaining you."

"Or she thought I was completely useless and unable to do anything... I wasn't useful enough for her to keep on keeping on..."

Flow was genuinely depressed and frustrated by the thoughts voiced.

"Daniel?" she asks in a timid voice. "Why won't you let me help you?"

I'm watching the roasting of the meat at this point. I turn the piece over so it doesn't burn.

"I... prefer to do everything myself so my skills don't get rusty."

"But... then why do you need me? Are you disappointed in me? Have you realized that I'm useless?"

"No, just... You've told me a lot of useful information about Vanhoover. You are useful."

"But soon you'll know more than I do, and you won't need me. You don't even use me in bed."

The image of Flow immediately comes to mind when she just came out of the bathroom...

I shake my head, pushing the dirty thoughts away.

"I... don't needs it," I lie.

Flow sighs dejectedly.

"What will you do with me next?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're completely responsible for yourself, you don't need help, my knowledge will soon run out, and you don't need my body..."

"You know what I really want?"

I'm done. I can't hide it anymore. Thought I'd hold out the surprise until Stall Fifty-Three, but fuck it. I can't look at her bleak and frustrated look. Let her hear it now, because I can't counter her facts.

"What?" her eyes glazed over, like an addict seeing a new dose of jet in front of his eyes.

"I want you to be on your own."

Her emotions shift faster than the shots of an automatic carbine. Surprise, fear, terror, interest, curiosity, appreciation, gratitude, excitement, uncertainty. I don't even have time to realize what I see on her face. This is clearly something she wasn't expecting.

Her mouth stays open. I lift my front leg and close it gently with my hoof.

She looks at me waiting. She doesn't know how to respond, what to answer, much less what to do.

"Don't worry. I know this isn't easy for you to accept, but there is one place that will help you with this."

Flow still looks shocked and confused.

"Just don't fall over," I giggle. "I believe you can do it, since you know how to listen to what others have to say. And I have no doubt that through it you will learn everything you need to know to be able to take responsibility for yourself."

The aroma of roasted meat and spices is mind-blowing. My stomach was about to sing from that smell.

"Looks like the meat is ready."

I take my knife and cut the cooked meat into small pieces to make it easier for Flow to eat. She looks and doesn't understand why I'm doing this. I sit down next to her with the pan, get Flow and myself a cup of berry juice.

"I..." she begins in a confused voice. "I don't know what to say."

"And you don't say anything. Deal with your new feelings and thoughts. Eat and drink juice."

Flow and I taste the meat. It's cooked quite well. I can eat it—the pink earth pony notes that I cooked it well. Well, she would dare to criticize her master. So I just smile.

After dinner, I think about where and how we will sleep. There is only one sleeping bag and there are two of us. It's an awkward situation again. We end up snuggling up to each other to get a little warmer, lying on the floor doggy-style. By the way, this is one of those funny moments in the pony physique. It was unaccustomed at first, but in my thirty-five days in this body, I've mastered this sleeping technique. Flow twitches tentatively at my side.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "Is it uncomfortable?"

"No, no," she answers hastily. "On the contrary. I am warm and comfortable... This is the first time you've been so close to me. You make me feel... wonderful with you. I wish you needed my body."

Her outlook is pushing it. She wants to be useful in every way, and to her I look like a good host. And pleasing her emotions toward her master makes her want him to enjoy using her body.

However, wouldn't I make her feel good if I fucked her and thereby showed that she gave me pleasure and was useful?

Yes, definitely. But then that would mean that I support her slave worldview of being used. For the same reason I don't ask her to do anything. I don't want to feed her corrupted desires forcibly imposed on her as a child. I want her to learn to desire things that are not based on the satisfaction of others.

***

The 26th of the Month of Bread, Cyanday. Thirty-sixth day of my stay.

From the descriptions of the Head Scribe of the Steel Rangers, we are not far from the site of the battle in which the Enclave supposedly took part.

I turn the steering wheel of Bear, and we drive there.

I take a long look around, looking for what might have been the site of the battle. And it turns out to be a small ruined brick house by the road. The roof is ruined, and there's a huge hole where the front door used to be. One of the walls is completely gone, and the other three are barely hanging on: it's strange that they have not yet given up the spirit and are still fulfilling their purpose... standing.

The inside of the house is a complete mess, which is an understatement. Remnants of wooden furniture, a ruined fireplace, lots of brick debris; traces of blood almost everywhere. They can be seen on the surviving walls, but it is on the floor that there is a huge pool of blood, and not just one. Apparently, they were formed by two deadly wounded ponies having a fight with each other. The battle really happened about a year ago: the snow has washed away most of the blood, leaving only reminders that there was a lot of it. From one of the puddles a trail leads somewhere south, which, by the way, is where I'm going after this place.

There had undoubtedly been a massacre here, the reverberations of which I can still feel now.

There are soot traces on the walls from the energy-magic weapons, as well as bullet traces. Bullet casings and empty spark batteries are scattered all over the house, outside and around. Instead of a window, a huge hole left by a plasma grenade, judging by the nature of the damage. The explosion came from inside, as evidenced by shards of glass on the outside, under which dried blood stains can be seen. From here, drag tracks lead along the frozen ground somewhere to the northeast. Someone was dragged carelessly toward the Crater, which is about a day and a half away from the battle site.

Raiders.

Flow, meanwhile, had stayed to keep an eye on Bear.

After looking around the house, I find nothing else of interest around except for the deep circular hoofprints of the Steel Rangers. And yes, there are plenty of tracks of other groups of ponies besides them. Apparently, the whole neighborhood has flocked to the noise of the battle with the energy-magic weapons.

I can tell for sure that the brave Steel Rangers got here later than anyone else. The ammo casings were left behind by other groups, since the first ones, Iron assured me, weren't fighting anyone in this place. The only possible visitors were the Crater raiders and Vanhoover masters. Judging by the drag tracks to the northeast, the raiders did snatch the loot, capturing several of the Enclave's high-tech weapons. The fate of the remaining Enclave fighters is unknown, even their approximate number is unclear, but clearly not less than three.

That's it. No other conclusions can be drawn here. I should continue the search, either in the Crater or the Vanhoover area. Though I don't know if the masters managed to grab anything of the Enclave's equipment. I'm still on Bear, following the barely discernible blood trails that lead south. Unlike the tracks leading northeast into the White Shell mountains, there are no signs of dragging in this direction. On the contrary, it appears that the wounded person moved on his own after such wounds; given the rather deep imprints on the ground, the tracks were clearly left by ponies in Enclave power armor. A little while later, the trail breaks in place with the remains of another pool of blood, but then another trail appears here, which disappears almost immediately, and its direction is impossible to trace. Apparently, the survivor was discovered by someone who knows how to move stealthily and cover his tracks.

Damn it. Almost all the tracks are broken: tracing the remaining traces will be extremely difficult. I'll get to that sometime later. I leave my thoughts on this, as usual, in Pip-Boy. Flow watches me with puzzlement before I finish.

"Why do you record your thoughts?" she asks as we drive to Stable 53.

"It's helpful. I always record my thoughts so that I don't miss anything important the next time I analyze them. In light of new facts, old ones may be viewed differently, but I can't keep them all in my head. So I record. I do not rely on my memory."

The recordings especially came in handy after my head wound, when I lost a lot of my memories. If it weren't for the records in Pip-Boy, I'd hardly be able to put the puzzle of my past together.

***

"I freed your friend, plus I brought someone else," I say loudly; my voice echoes throughout the cave. I'm standing in front of the massive Stable 53 door, with Flow next to me. Before that, she was surprised when I went to the rock and knocked the code, and it came into motion.

"I know Dodger came back hours before you did. Fine, you passed the test; come in," the Overmare responds through the speaker. The standard audible door-opening warning kicks in, and a massive shaft joins behind it: it pulls the massive door toward itself with a screech, and then it rolls away to the side.

As soon as we cross the doorstep, we are greeted by a unicorn in Stable's jumpsuit, a cherry-colored one with a pale pink mane. She is guarded by Mr. Gutsy with the standard battle coloring and a milky beige pegasus with a medium-length, thick brown mane. She is dressed in pale green battle armor, looking apathetically in our direction. Flow unwittingly retreats a few steps, hiding behind my rump.

Hmm... Judging by the cleanliness all around, this Stable is being tended to.

"Hello, Daniel," the unicorn greets me: the voice from the speaker belonged to her. "Hello to you, too," she turns to my companion. "What's your name?" The pink pony behind me is silent. I turn and see that she is looking at me expectantly. Obviously, such an unusual situation has made her forget that she can answer without my approval. I sigh heavily.

"I told you you could talk without my permission," I say wearily. To be honest, I'm getting tired of repeating the same thing to her, though I'm clearly aware that I need to do it in order to make progress.

"I'm sorry..." she confuses. "Flow," she replies timidly behind my rump.

"Nice to meet you, my name is Cherry Shine." She approaches my companion as she walks past me."

"Respect your privacy, mistress," I mutter to Cherry partly in a joking way. She ignores it. "Unlike you, Flow has earned this ability."

"Flow," Cherry begins, turning to the pink pony with the crimson-colored mane, "do you want to go free?" Such a straight question leaves her stunned for a moment, but then she shakes her head briskly and negatively.

"Maybe... I don't know... I'm not sure."

"I see..." she mumbles sadly, and then takes a few steps back, standing in front of me. "Why did you bring her here?"

"Teach her to be independent?"

"That could take a long time. Depends on herself."

"It's only been two days, but I think she has potential."

"So you're willing to give up someone you paid a considerable amount of caps for so easily?" the cherry-colored unicorn genuinely wonders. I pretend to reflect, turning my head, staring into the corner of the room.

"Yes," I answer simply and easily, turning around. "On one condition: treat her well." At this, Cherry giggles merrily.

"You're an odd one. You're very generous. Easy to part with your savings, so easy to... All right. Of course, we'll treat her well. Gradually, but we'll teach her independence and responsibility for her life... as masters of Vanhoover say."

"I hope so," I mutter, telekinesically removing the collar and handing it to Cherry along with the bracelet to it and the Flow document. The pink pony stares at the levitated objects in stunned shock.

"Daniel," Flow says uncertainly, then hushes up and remains silent.

"You've got help here," I say, turning to Cherry with expectant encouragement. Who better than her to understand the worldview of slaves, based on the fear of responsibility and the desire to be of service to their master.

"Of course we'll help you, you won't be alone," the Overmare approaches Flow, "and if your careful master believes you can do well, then so be it. Come, I'll show you to the others."

"Thank you..." Flow whispers, getting very worried. "I... will try to be like you. Do everything for myself by myself."

I chuckle wryly.

"Absolutely, just don't go on dangerous journeys like me. Improve your cooking skills you told me about, so I can taste your excellent cuisine later. If need be... I'll come and hold you and put your soul in order."

I smile broadly, and Flow does the same, only not as much, and goes after Cherry Shine. I love moments like that. Getting someone to believe in their own strength is a challenge. I even got off easy here. It's really, really hard to inspire sometimes.

I'm alone with pegasus and Mr. Gutsy.

"Lead on, watchdog," I say to the pegasus.

"My name is Motley Cloud," the pegasus objects in a slightly low and indifferent tone. The dull voice, the unconcerned look... I thought pegasi were supposed to be... cheerful? I mean, they could take off and fly high up at any moment, away from the stinking, ruthless and cruel Wasteland.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Daniel Evans, you can just call me Dan, and to my friends, Danny."

"We know your name, your ranger friend told us about you."

"By the way, where is she?"

"Probably back with her own."

"Will Cherry tell me what she talked to 'Berry' about?"

"Maybe. Follow me," she says dejectedly. This pegasus radiates such a heavy aura of depression and longing that you could choke on it.

This unhurried and slow talk is reminiscent of the sullen Boone's speech. Perhaps this pegasus has such a temper, or her condition is due to the aftermath of an unpleasant incident in the past, as Boone has. Take Rusty, for instance, the one I left in Tenpony Tower. He has endured suffering from which it is unlikely he will ever fully recover.

I wonder how he's doing? Is Homage helping him achieve stellar fame in this elite society by the Wasteland standards?

I was indifferent myself when I lost someone dear to me, Brisa. My father's death was something I could live with, but hers... In general, I understand the feelings of losing loved ones. The death of friends and families in the Wasteland is not uncommon, but the level of affection for them is different-so the scale of grief and sadness, as bad as it sounds, is also different.

As I walk past the atrium, I notice a considerable number of ponies chatting serenely on various subjects. They're talking about something fun and mundane, and I'd love to listen and laugh for company. It's good to smile, even if there's no reason to. I've heard that if you do it more often, your brain will think it's not all bad. Maybe that's what saved me from suicide in my time...

And anyway, when there is utter hopelessness in the Wasteland, sincere and carefree laughter is the only thing that keeps one rational and sane. Better than any drug.

In the atrium I see Dodger. Seeing me, he, with a faint smile, nods. I nod back at him.

Cherry Shine's office is the Overmare's office. No surprise there. Inside, Motley offers me a seat on the couch. By the window overlooking the atrium are two beige-colored sofas, the inside facing each other, separated by a low wooden table. Otherwise, the Overmare's office is no different from others like it. Mr. Gutsy left us on the way.

I sit on one couch, Motley on the opposite one. She looks at me, then turns her head toward the window and looks through it with the same blank face.

"Do you want to sit next to me?" I offer her. Silly attempts at flirting, yes. But I want to evoke some emotion in her. At least a dislike.

"No," she replies calmly, not taking her eyes off the atrium.

"Do I really look that bad?"

"I don't know."

"Or do I smell bad?" I lean my head against my shoulder. It seems okay. The mountain air has positive qualities. Reminds me of the times I used to frequent Mt. Charleston, where the super mutants led by Marcus lived nearby. The air was fresh and cool.

"I don't care."

One remarkable thing about her eyes is that they are different colors. Her left eye is amber, and her right eye is sky blue. It looks rather peculiar and... I would say fascinating. I even like it!

I remember my first faithful dog, Dogmeat, had about the same different colored eyes. With his multi-colored eyes, he was a sweet and kind doggie. Loved playing with the little ones. At Little Lamplight, kids would come up to him all the time and love to pet him and scratch his ear.

"What are you looking at?" Motley asks, grinning, unable to bear my gaze fixed on her. That's when it hits her. "Don't tell me..." she raises her gaze to the ceiling and sighs heavily, "...about the eyes."

"What's wrong with them?" I ask.

"Heterochromia. It's genetic, inherited from my grandmother on my mother's side. And it's not a mutation," Motley says the last word with pressure, turning to the window.

"My pet had the same... feature. They're unusual and fascinating. I like them."

The pegasus only hummed ambiguously.

"Why, do people keep asking that?" I continue to torture her with questions. She doesn't answer anything, just remains eloquently silent.

"Must be nice to get compliments about your eyes," I smile playfully.

Silence again.

"I'm sure you have a charming smile with eyes this lovely," I pronounce. "At least let me admire them again. Please."

Another silence. She's so gloomy.

"You know what... You have the wrong name, you're a gloomy cloud, not a motley..." I mumble pretentiously. "This game can be played by two," I cross my front legs and proudly—at least I hope I look proudly—and turn away.

Motley... now I understand the meaning of her name. Something that doesn't have a homogeneous color. I can tell she was either named because of her eyes at birth or because of her grandmother, who quite possibly bore the name.

Brisa had simply peerless brown eyes that captivated me every time I looked into them, seeing the enchanting beauty in them, and confounded me when I admired them. Now... Now it seemed to me that, were it not for Motley's condition, I would have mistaken her for Brisa in a pony body. The mane style is quite similar. I was beginning to get a general idea of who this pegasus might be—a soldier of the Enclave, given that the trail disappeared somewhere on the outside of the snow-covered mountains, across from Stable 53.

After a few minutes, Cherry enters. During this time, Motley and I haven't uttered a word. She sees me looking disdainfully in the other direction from Motley.

"What's going on?" the cherry-colored unicorn looks at us with incomprehension.

"Playing the silent game," I say. A moment, and Cherry smiles understandingly.

"Yes... That's how Motley is."

"That was fast," I mutter, removing my grudge mask and turning to the Overmare over my shoulder.

"I've notified some ponies of her presence, let them keep an eye on her and help her get settled in her new place," Cherry says as she heads toward us. "Now back to our brahmins. Berry tells me you're looking for one key. Here, take it," she beckons in magical telekinesis and holds up a yellow cipher key to me.

"That easy?" I wonder, placing the key in my bag.

"That easy," she confirms, sitting down on the couch next to the beige pegasus. "It's silly to interfere with the Steel Rangers, who can tear this bunker apart and tear it to pieces, just for this cipher key that allows access to the mythical Project Dome."

"Don't you need it?"

"No. Without the other six keys, it's useless. No one even knows where these keys are used. Besides, we'll attract the attention of Prince and Kings, should we go in search of this legend: they'll just eat us up and won't choke on us. That's why it's better to give this key to the Steel Rangers than to the masters of Vanhoover. Maybe we'll be able to at least get some sympathy from those steelhead, who go crazy for every laser gun. They're only looking for and collecting technology for their collection. The masters will use the technology and knowledge of Project Dome on the slaves. Your Berry has promised that the Steel Rangers will not touch our Stable if we peacefully give them the key."

'Berry'... She didn't tell them her real name and rank. I won't either.

"Do the Steel Rangers make exceptions to a workable Stable?"

"Your friend promised she would keep quiet about us in exchange for the key," she says as if she doesn't believe it herself, but realizes she has no other choice.

"Did the residents of this Stable know that the secret room contains one of the six proofs of Project Dome's existence?"

"Yes, but it's a myth. Some kind of pre-war government distraction scheme. It was actively tried to be found a long time ago, but to no avail. That tells me it doesn't exist. All in all, it's not worth it to look for him. It's a waste of time."

"Who knows..."

Cherry shrugs, saying, "Your time is your business."

"You spoke of helping to free Dodger. Even though my help wasn't really needed at all. And yes, your agent told me a good story that StealthBuck would help with everything," I reply with a smile.

"Figured it out after all," the cherry unicorn hums.

"No, I just assumed something wasn't right, ever since you asked me to free your minion from Prince's hooves. In my conversation with Prince, my guesses were confirmed once he started talking about your agents all over town."

"Your help really wasn't needed, our agent would have handled it himself. We were testing you to see if you'd turn us over to Prince when you got the note. Dodger was telling us how you conducted the interrogation. He was very surprised by your method. He said he really almost got caught," Cherry smiles. "You cooled him off just in time."

Still, I wonder how Dodger knows about this method, given that many are prejudiced against it because of its simplicity. Because of this, however, the method is elegant: you have to ask the right questions, seemingly inconsequential at first glance. It all depends on the skills of the interrogator, not on the willpower and fortitude of the interrogator.

"I know that there have been experiments going on in Stables. What is the feature of this bunker?"

"This Stable has high-tech equipment and medical knowledge at its disposal."

Hmm... Plastic surgery for escaped slaves doesn't seem so fantastic. I'm sure the Overmare won't reveal her secrets regarding the release of the slaves just yet.

"It was supposed to open fifty years after the war. The Stable opened, but its residents were unwilling to leave the safe haven, though they did go outside. Some of them brought escaped slaves here. Then more slaves came... and more and more. This caused overcrowding in the Stable. They even had to hide their location by placing an artificial stone at the entrance. Most of the slaves still created other free settlements, hidden from Vanhoover, but they were eventually found, which happened back under the Queen's rule. Decades later, they recaptured all the escaped slaves and destroyed the hiding places they had created. All that's left is this Stable."

The Queen... Prince protects Vanhoover, her legacy. What was she like, I wonder?

"Tell me about the Queen, her role in the formation of Vanhoover. From the Prince's words about her, I get a strong impression..."

"The Queen of Vanhoover, real name Vermilion Rose, was the Overmare of Stable 68, which was numerically outnumbered by stallions, roughly four to one. It was about fifty years after the war when this Stable opened. Vermilion used stallions as a labor force to rebuild the city. Because of the dangers of the Wasteland and their lack of experience in survival, the stallions were killed by hooves of robbers. She had to hire griffons as guards, settling in the ruins of Vanhoover some time after the megaspells fell."

Many surviving griffons fled their kingdom in the north after the Enclave destroyed and looted it. They were good fighters and flyers: no wonder why the Queen hired them as guards.

Cherry continues, "In time, the city needed a new workforce: the griffons attacked other settlements and caught those unable to defend themselves in the Wasteland: this meant forced labor. In small hoofsteps, Vanhoover became one of the main strongholds of the slave trade, and Vermilion was named the Queen. Her methods were immoral and cruel, but with her leadership skills she rebuilt the city. The collars were not put on everyone; some offered their services as a leadership force, creating some kind of unit to more comfortably lead so many slaves and elements of industry."

I suspect that this is how individual families, and then whole families, began to form. Some had outstanding intelligence, others showed leadership skills and the ability to discipline others, some had vast amounts of caps and resources, and some had all of the above.

"Some came from the Vanhoover Wasteland, others from other regions of the Wasteland, others were from a Stable. The city's influence was expanding, more and more slaves appeared, the slave traders became more and more organized... and fewer and fewer families were being formed."

I think because of unforeseen circumstances that might have happened due to the leaders' inability or unwillingness to adapt to the new problems, following which they weakened financially. It was expected that someone bigger would swallow them up and enslave them.

"The strong family would absorb the weak family and take its line of business along with all its possessions, including its slaves. The way it would be perceived now would be that they couldn't manage the responsibility given to them. The Queen saw this as a plus because their functions were taken over by another family in time, which meant that no link in the industry would end up in Tartarus. The threat of a takeover did not allow anyone to relax. As a result, only five families survived to this day, the Five Great Families of Vanhoover. As many have said, it has prospered the city with sweat and blood—the sweat of slaves and the blood of enemies."

"And where did Prince come from? An immortal being... The White Demon, as they call him down south in Hoofland."

"A demon for sure... You can be sure of his powers," Cherry laughs. "No one knows where Vermilion dug him up. Maybe in one of the research centers or Stable."

"How many Stables have masters of Vanhoover discovered?"

"A dozen. There they found technology and equipment that they later used to develop the city, and most importantly—which rarely happened—a new and healthy workforce. Once they even found a Stable designed for pegasi. Captive pegasi cost crazy caps in Vanhoover, and were acquired mostly for themselves, that is, for entertainment and pleasure. Of course, there were those who escaped this fate, but they were very few. Of almost all the Stables that were discovered, there was not a stone left unturned, everything was dismantled and either melted down or used for the needs of the city."

Now it's clear where that pegasus at the Mane Street police station came from.

Cherry answered my question exhaustively. Vanhoover is indeed the Queen's child. She raised it and set its direction, and Prince makes sure the town doesn't go off track.

"Never," I say, "have I met such an organized and forward-looking community, if you don't count the slave trade."

"Speaking of which. Your friend told me where you're from. I shared the information with you, now return the favor and tell me what's going on in the main region right now."

Oh, now I see why Cherry was so generous with her answers. She wants reciprocation in return.

"No problem."

I tell her the same thing I told Prince. Cherry wonders if there's a Vanhoover-like city rebuilding going on in the east. Fillydelphia. The centralized use of slaves. In addition, the Alicorns and Unity catch her attention; she is encouraged by the mention of Littlepip, who selflessly helps those in need and heroically saves everyone indiscriminately.

"So nothing much has changed in the Wasteland in a long time. It's unfortunate to say this, but Vanhoover is the only city with the potential to develop and rebuild Equestria," Cherry sighs heavily.

If she knew about the New California Republic from my world or Vegas, which looks different thanks to my intervention.

"What are your plans for the Vanhoover slavery problem?" I ask, realizing I won't get a detailed plan. They're a secretive group, and illegal in Vanhoover.

"No global ones," Cherry says dryly.

"None at all?"

"You see for yourself how badly twisted the slaves' worldview is. They yearn to be useful to their masters, but they don't know how to be useful to themselves. They fear it like fire, considering themselves unworthy."

It would take a long time to retrain them. We don't have the resources to do that. And then there's Prince..."

"He's really a demon?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's an equineoid, with some magical devices built into him and powerful and unknown spells like regeneration. Equineoid is a pretty well known hypothesis about his power and youth. You can drop a megaspell on him, and he'll probably survive. He's fast, strong, and wields a lot of deadly spells. This is known from old archival observations, when he wasn't considered dangerous yet, having once tried to kill him. Maybe it's a rumor... or a convincing production, but no one dares to check."

"Shit's mighty this equineoid of yours," I mutter lightly. "Who created it?"

"You know who to ask. If we don't know where they dug it up, we don't know who made it. You realize that fighting against Prince is like signing your own death warrant."

"You have no plan at all?"

"No. And we'll just do what's within our capabilities, nothing more."

"Expand those capabilities."

"Easier said than done," the unicorn smiles bitterly. "For now, we will resell slaves, slightly altering their appearance and blocking their memories. We'll keep trying to re-educate eligible slaves, and also not stand out. We almost got caught as it is. As you can see, Dodger has been captured. Our most professional and undercover agent."

"Okay," I sigh disappointedly. Prince's theory about changing the appearance of slaves and manipulating their memories turns out to be very close to the truth. Prince really does have everything under control. "I need to air my thoughts and check some things out."

I rise from the couch.

"In case of anything I can count on your help?" Cherry turns to me.

Wow... First the Steel Rangers tried to befriend me, and now—the local resistance to slavery. It's nice to know I'm so appreciated. Reminds me of my arrival in Vegas, during which both the NCR and Caesar's Legion tried to replace me. Of course, this was after I talked to the city's hiding leader, Mr. House, and also killed Benny in his own casino. My popularity skyrocketed.

"Maybe," I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

A silence hangs. Sad and melancholy. Change... It will be hard to get rid of Prince. It would be impossible to compete with him. But if I remove Prince, the city itself would give up slavery because it is unprofitable. Or his death, if at all possible, would allow the Five Families of Vanhoover to go to war among themselves over the resulting power vacuum. And then there will be much bloodshed. Do I want to get involved? No.

However, they may find a much better solution to the problem. That's why I answered uncertainly: I don't want to take responsibility for the decision made. I can only be an associate, nothing more.

"Goodbye," I say, breaking the silence and heading for the door.

***

On my way out, Flow meets me and gives me a hug.

"Thank you for your support and approval," she says cheerfully after she hugs me. "And also for this opportunity... I don't even know what to say. I'm still scared and worried and... but when I think of you, it makes me feel better."

"That's very nice to hear," I smile. "Good for you. Remember, I'll visit you from time to time, if nothing happens to me. Have you picked out what you really want to do yet?"

"I've been asked to do what I'm best at. I can only cook food, and besides, you mentioned that I should develop my cooking skills. The chefs here have indicated that I have potential—whatever that means. And... I remember the hotel-restaurant: I'd like to treat you to an excellent strawberry dessert one day!"

I laugh.

How she managed to pick her moment. Strawberry dessert... Turns out I wasn't the only one who remembered the adventure with it. Flow found it so exquisite and perfect in every way that she must have obliged herself to treat someone else to one like it.

She watches my reaction with interest. She takes my bursting laughter ambiguously and even worries that she's done something wrong.

"Flow, you're such a charmer," I smile as I close my eyes and raise my head, then look into her blue eyes again. "In that case, I'll visit you a lot more often."

"I liked the dessert so much that I decided to learn how to make them. After all, they're beautiful..."

"Great choice! All right, I'll be off. Have a good day," I say as I turn to leave.

"And good luck to you too, Daniel."

I lift my hoof and wave.

Something tells me she'll make a decent member of society. Of that I have no doubt. Slave mindset can't be eradicated completely... And there's a silver lining: she won't have a problem thinking about the consequences of her actions when they affect the lives of others.

I hope she won't have to make hard choices... as I have often had to do.

***

Snowstorm. A few hours after I left the Stable and drove north of the White Shell mountains to check out another place, a cold snowstorm comes up. Can't see a damn thing. Without night vision, it would be hard to navigate.

Just don't shut down...

I stroke the steering wheel of Bear.

Please... Let's get to the tunnels and wait it out.

I barely make it to the tunnels and that's exactly when the engine shuts down. Lucky me!

I tidy up the engine, and then learn the barrier and teleportation spells. I have enough food. Water, too, but not much berry juice left. I feel bad about finishing it. My heart hurt in my chest as I thought of Lilac. I never sold her rifle. I left it in the backseat, like the rest of the berry juice... for special events. The main thing was not to forget it.

After surveying the road in the rocks that I'd seen a couple of days ago, I'd have to go back to the Steel Rangers and give the yellow key card. I'll stop by the steelhead afterwards. Pretty weird that the previous key was pink and not yellow.

The training is wearing me out, so I'll have to be more careful next time.

***

The 27th of the Month of Bread, Blueday. The thirty-seventh day of my stay.

The sky is completely shrouded in clouds. A dreary atmosphere. On the other side, no shots, screams or explosions can be heard in the surrounding area—only the noise of the wind...

Bear breaks down again... Ah shit, here we go again.

While repairing it, I get the feeling that someone is watching me. The feeling is inexplicable and comes only after hours of travel in the Wasteland.

I scan the landscape with my thermal imaging vision. Just in case. Hardly anybody's around, so it's relatively safe to be out here, except for sudden avalanches or snowstorms in the middle of the night.

The device in my helmet doesn't detect a single living soul nearby. Maybe the stalker is too far away for the range of the thermal imager to reach?

Or maybe I'm just imagining things. But I'll try to shout out what I've spotted, just in case. Let's see what happens. I know how to bluff at cards, after all.

"Whoever you are, I know you're around. Show yourself, or I'll find you myself, and then I'll make a perfume out of you!" I shout as loudly as I can. My words spread throughout the neighborhood.

In a few seconds I notice a flying silhouette...

Literally poking my finger in the sky and guessed it!

And as soon as the silhouette flies close I can make it out. It's a pegasus in the familiar faded green battle armor. He lands carefully beside me. I pull from my holster the large-caliber, locally made pistol I found back in Manehattan. The stalker is wearing a helmet the same shade as his armor; he covers only his eyes, his mouth covered by a gray scarf. Attached to his combat saddle is a semi-automatic rifle with a silencer on his left side, and an emerald-colored energy-magic rifle on his right.

"Who are you and why are you following me?" I ask the stranger expectantly. He takes off his helmet... or rather, she takes off her helmet and lowers her scarf so her face is fully visible.

"Well, hello... Why are you following me?" I ask, sighing freely and looking the beige pony in the eye through the visors of my helmet. The perfume out of her would be charming and quite pleasant.

"I'm coming with you," she answers briefly as I hang my rifle from the side.

"Whoa-whoa," I raise my hooves in protest. "Cool your impulses, sweetheart. I never dive into a relationship lake when I don't know what demons live there. I don't know you. Why would you? And why were you hiding? Don't play with me like a kitten with a ball of thread, or you'll get tangled up in it."

There's something about her flirtatiousness lately. Or maybe it's her lovely multi-colored eyes that hypnotize me.

"My goals are the same as yours," the pegasus replies without hesitation.

"Don't fool me. Tell me honestly: why were you secretly stalking me?"

"You don't believe me?"

"Motley, I never trust anyone one hundred percent. Not even myself. No matter who's with me, I always leave the odds that I'll get stabbed in the back, or that I might lose my mind and not notice it. If your goals were the same as mine, you wouldn't be sitting in one place."

The pegasus takes my words with a touch of surprise. There can be no doubt: this is a survivor of that Enclave battle. Maybe it was staged by the Enclave to infiltrate its agent or agents into the ranks of some organization on the surface. Judging by the way she was immediately welcomed with open arms or legs into the headquarters of the resistance to the slave trade, that was to be expected...

So, what the hell was going on in my mind? Cherry had probably just sent her to follow me.

"I hear you; not many ponies trust me," she sighs, averting her gaze and then looking me in the eyes again. "I'll tell it like it is. Cherry asked me to watch you."

"Now that's more like it. That's what I thought it would be. That's good," I smile good-naturedly. "The important thing is openness. I don't mind you following me. I have nothing to hide."

A shadow of surprise runs across Motley's face again. She didn't expect me to agree to be watched by somebody. I realize that if I had refused, she would have followed me unnoticed one way or another. No matter how I called her, she wouldn't show herself anymore—and now the chances of finding out about the Enclave will increase, and maybe I can get their power armor for the head scribe of the Steel Rangers.

"Now tell me, what skills do you have?"

"I know how to handle firearms, energy-magic weapons, explosives, and I also know how to hoof fight, be stealthy, and provide first aid."

"Impressive..." I nod, looking at her wings. "You're an Enclave scout, I assume?"

"Former. I'm no longer in their ranks," Motley replies.

She doesn't react at all to being considered an Enclave scout. I can assume this isn't the first time she's been considered a spy from the clouds. A creature from the sky with wings... were we on Earth, I'd call her an angel. She's the first member of her species I've interacted with, so she deserves the nickname. As far as I know, in this world the word 'angel' is only used as a name. Sort of. Maybe I'm wrong.

"Why did you leave? I'm sure I don't bring peace and friendship and bubblegum here..."

"My past is none of your business," the pegasus' voice vibrates with irritation for the first time.

"Only if you obey me and do what I say so you don't do anything stupid. Is that clear?"

"I will behave as I see fit. You don't tell me what to do."

"Well, no, my melancholy angel," I interrupt her. "It's either that or nothing. Don't worry, I'm not going to drag you into bed, just as I'm not going to needlessly sacrifice you in battle. Yes, I'm not thrilled to have someone poking their pretty nose into my business—even though I have no intention of intriguing Cherry and her ensemble—but I have nothing against it, nonetheless."

"So be it."

I try to talk to her while I keep fixing, but she replies 'Not interested' or 'Doesn't matter.' She'd probably be interested in my stories about the other world, and also about the fact that I'm from there myself. I'll keep quiet, though, or I'll get tired of explaining to everyone I meet where I really come from.

Motley really does remind me most of the silent Boone, who was always walking around with a frown on his face and answering questions with a 'don't stick your nose where a dog don't stick his dick' attitude. Of course, he didn't say it that way, but he said it with an expression and emotion as if he meant it. I don't blame him for what he went through. Killing his own wife... I think he did the right thing—she's better off dead than being a slave of the Legion. It would have been impossible to save her anyway.

I don't know if I could have shot Brisa, but I did something like that anyway.

***

Motley hasn't say anything about Bear, but I can tell by the way she looks at me that it's a wreck, even by the standards of the Wasteland. And I'm not going to be able to ride a mare in a car like that; they'll laugh at me.

I seek out the road I'd discovered a couple of days ago, and I manage to drive up it. The road ends at the entrance to a cave. When I reach it, I see a time-honored white sign with black letters that read, 'HEAVENLY HARBOR—PRIVATE PROPERTY! NO TRESPASSERS ALLOWED'. Heavenly Harbor... Interesting name for a place in the rock, located almost at the very top.

I drive in. I turn off the headlights and we get out of the car as the cave narrows further. I take Whispering Night with me.

The darkness inside the cave is pitch black. Thanks to the night vision in our helmets, we can see at the far end, about thirty feet away, wide metal doors. We slowly approach them. The silence is broken only by the tapping of our shoes on the rocks and the scraping of gravel. The closer we get to the door, the more we distinguish a faint noise behind them. It sounds like the humming of lamps.

I focus on my surroundings, trying to detect any unusual currents of magic that might signal magical traps or dangers. But I detect nothing. Or my instincts are still weak.

When I press the button at the door, it slides open to reveal an entrance to a room entirely finished in concrete and black steel. Opposite the entrance is the next door... No, it is an elevator with a small console next to it. Aside from it, the elevator and the humming flickering lights in rectangular glass tubes that emitted a lifeless white light, there is nothing here.

"ALARM! ALARM! INTRUDER!" a voice suddenly yells from the speakers as we cross the threshold of the doors; I shudder in surprise.

The security system. Why didn't I think of that? Four turrets pop up out of thin air: the rectangular parts of the floor and ceiling coverings slide away, revealing these metal figures, stuffed with tons of ammo: two turrets at the top, two at the bottom. Their weapons are threateningly aimed at us—they immediately open fire on us.

Before the turrets appeared, I managed to raise a magical shield in front of us. A blue shroud of magic protects us from the bullets. But only for a few seconds, because my skills are still insufficient—but it's enough to allow us to retreat and hide behind the threshold of the doors. As soon as we're out of sight, the turrets go into standby mode, ceasing to fire.

"So here's the deal: on my command, you destroy the turrets above, and I'll duck down and take the ones below." She nods. "Do it!"

Motley backs up quickly, so as to reduce the chance of a hit, and starts firing at the turrets, while I duck down, turn on the V.A.T.S., and get ready to fire from Whispering Night. The pegasus misses a couple of times, a few bullets hit her armor, but she destroys the turrets. I successfully disarm mine.

"Ugh," bursts from my lips. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. The armor took a couple of hits. The bullets hit the protective plates."

"Great. That was pretty close. You should be careful in this place from now on. The sign outside warned us..."

We call for the elevator and go down about five floors. Strangely, the elevator console is not locked, given that the automated defenses are in alert mode.

At the bottom, we walk out into a spacious square room; across from it is another elevator. Here the room is built along the lines of the Vaults and the Stables, only it looks noticeably larger and taller. It's likely that Stable-Tec had its hoof in the construction, and for those who tend to be claustrophobic. There are two stairs on the right, one leading down and one leading up. I decide to check the lower rooms first, hoping to disable the defenses.

The lower level is patrolled by several Sentinels. After activating 'EMP Generator' in Pip-Boy, I, following standard procedure, aim the charge at the robot. It reaches the Sentinel and disables some of its systems, causing it to become disoriented for a brief period of time. Still, its defenses are pretty strong. Motley uses his combat saddle to finish him off while he's incapacitated, but then looks at me in surprise.

I can make four more 'throws'.

"You just emitted an electromagnetic pulse from your hooves," she says, clearly mesmerized.

"Always have an ace up my sleeve," I mutter, looking at the sparking robot.

"Implant?"

"Implant."

We disarm the other robots in a similar pattern: I use 'EMP Generator', and then Motley finishes them off with the energy-magic weapon. Eventually I discharge the implant completely. Exploring the technical rooms, we find a place where we can cut off all the robots—next to the bunker reactor, where there are many systems and subsystems of support. The reactor is located in a separate, protected room. For the last two hundred years, it has been in standby mode—for example, keeping the ventilation system running and the lights on. At the moment, the remaining energy is enough for several months of full operation. The bunker's security system is also controlled from this room. It went into full mode the moment we crossed the doorway, activating the turrets.

From the main security terminal, we become aware of an incident. There was a malfunction in the security system, causing a security system in the form of robots and turrets to attack all the residents of the bunker. This happened during the fall of the megaspells.

Now the main systems are in stable condition, the more minor ones are slightly damaged and require repair for two hundred years, but rare parts are needed to make it happen. My magic will not suffice.

I also find out that the bunker's security system is vulnerable to underground tremors and earthquakes, which may well have been caused by megaspells. The negligence in building the bunker and programming the security systems resulted in the deaths of the residents. This can probably only be remedied by a programming expert, which is Lemon. She's the only one I can give away the location of this place. I don't want to trust anyone from Vanhoover.

After checking the rest of the bunker, we find more than a dozen pony skeletons, victims of a system malfunction. To keep them from lying around, we incinerate the remains in the waste disposer on the lower level.

I like this place. It could be turned into a nice house. Temporary, of course—while I'm busy looking for Project Dome. I have a feeling they're going to take a long time.

Just need to fix some technical problems. This place has everything I need to live. All that remains is to re-purchase furniture and some equipment, since the robots destroyed, or at least ruined, almost everything in this bunker during the sweep.

The bunker consists of two main levels: a lower level and an upper level. The upper level is the living level, where there is a dining room, kitchen, common toilet, shower room, medical bay, game room with the destroyed contents of the minibar, and about twenty separate bedrooms. The bedrooms are entered in one large hall, consisting of two layers. The hall is about thirty feet high; the other rooms are not low either, but this one is the tallest. It is also full of seats, tables, large sofas, paintings, and artificial plants of varying degrees of damage. In short, a common room or lounge where all the residents can gather and have intimate conversations.

In general, all the rooms and rooms of the bunker are at least ten feet high. I first thought that, compared to the ponies, this bunker was for some giants, but it turns out that it was built for a wealthy pegasi family. The head of it was a retired military colonel. His name was Desert Wind, and the bunker was for his wife and children, his brothers and sisters, and, of course, their families. Now I see why the quarters here are so spacious. It follows that it is common among pegasi to be claustrophobic, as Motley confirms.

By the way, the head of the family had his own suite, which, according to the old papers, was called a loft because it was higher than the other areas. There's a spacious living room, a bedroom, and its own toilet and shower room. I tell Motley that I will occupy this particular apartment, to which she does not respond in any way. I have no doubt—Lemon would be sure to make a joke about me taking the best spot.

Clean up the dust and dirt all over the bunker, throwing out the trash and leaving only that which can be used to fix anything in the place. I wonder again at some point: is it safe to live here, given that the security system has wiped out the inhabitants here like a lawnmower wiped out the grass? At least it can be used later, if Lemon can fix it up. For now, I've turned it off completely.

Since the bunker was intended for a wealthy family, half of whose members were military, there are extra... advanced facilities on the lower level, which can also be called the technical level. On this level there is a laboratory—some of the equipment there is finally ruined, hydroponics (due to faulty automated systems without proper care all the plants withered away), a workshop (here everything is the same as in the laboratory—some equipment is ruined and some destroyed), a shooting range with a training room, a spacious warehouse, a waste disposer and a hangar. Below this area is a small room with the reactor, as well as equipment and devices of other systems and subsystems of the bunker.

There is a small amount of ammunition, a couple of firearms and several sets of standard battle armor in the storage. Many things were damaged and destroyed by the security system, but they can all be restored and repaired. The main thing is that the bunker itself is undamaged, and that it is functional. The rest is repairable. We only need parts, new equipment, furniture and time, and most importantly, lots and lots of caps to procure it all, as I have no doubt that they are expensive. After all, this is rare and valuable equipment. But thanks to the fact that the steelhead have been rifling through a dozen Stables, they should have everything I need.

As I had assumed earlier, the bunker's interior and systems are modeled after those of the Stables and Vaults. Vault-Tec—and now Stable-Tec—have always made some kind of miscalculation when building underground structures. Not surprising, given that something can be missed in the construction of such projects. However, it is too trivial a security blunder: it could not have been missed.

The best thing I find at this point is a flying vehicle in a hangar. Its hull is dark gray, with two main propellers attached to the sides. Because of the smooth shapes of the flying vehicle I immediately thought of one organization—the Enclave. They were the ones who had a similar air transport, and until a certain time were the only owners of rotorcraft.

'A vertibird,' I thought to myself as we entered the hangar and saw the vehicle for the first time.

"What a treat... Vertibuck," Motley says. Buck... Buck. A lot of names here end in 'buck'. This world never ceases to amaze me with its quirks. I laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask Motley, looking at me confused.

"Luck," I answer, laughing myself off.

"Luck?"

"Exactly. If it also works, it turns out that my luck reaches cosmic levels. Do you know how to operate it? Because I, of course, don't."

"In the Enclave, flying is one of the things everyone should know. I can pilot, but don't expect me to be professional at it. Especially in combat," Motley inspects the vertibird... I mean, the vertibuck. "It doesn't have any weaponry anyway. It's a vertibuck for civilian use that could have been bought by anyone with money in their safe deposit boxes."

Strange that a vertibuck belonging to a retired military colonel did not have any weaponry.

"Apparently," the two-colored-eyed pony continues, "it's the most common civilian vertibuck, one of the first models of it, the CV-01. It was a means of transportation that appeared shortly before the war. It is not combat-ready, but qualified mechanics who know the vehicle can modify it. Still, vertibucks, like any technology, can be improved. The engineers deliberately tried to make its design flexible for future modifications."

"So it really can be improved?" Motley nods. "Nice. Let's take a look at it from the inside."

Inside, there are about a dozen seats, and a cockpit—it's designed for one who sits at the controls and drives the craft. In front of the pilot is a control panel with a mass of different sensors, buttons and levers. Motley briefly explains how the vertibuck is operated. The steering wheel controls the position of the propellers, which allows a pilot to control the flight by tilting the vertibuck in the desired direction. The pedals under the seat help to make a turn around the horizontal axis. A small but conspicuous grip near the seat controls the propeller stroke—in other words, increases or decreases speed when moving vertically or horizontally. The dashboard instrumentation mainly consists of sensors for altitude analysis, fuel reserve, pitch angle, airspeed, propeller speed, overboard temperature, machine and component condition, engine load, radars, and many other such things.

I already know the basic types of vertibuck controls: vertical takeoff, horizontal flight and hovering. Motley tells me that the right hoof holds and controls the helm, and the left hoof engages the rest of the controls.

"This is all very interesting, my motley angel. I want to see how you fly it," I said, looking at the pegasus with a smile. I've only flown a vertibird once, when I escaped from the Enclave's mobile platform by launching rockets into it from orbit. The second time I flew a huge plane was on my way from the East Coast to the West Coast... What a long time ago that was.

"What are you going to name your bird?" the pegasus asks, looking at the instruments and pushing a few buttons.

"What's that for?" I ask curiously, raising an eyebrow.

"Apparently it's already named, but when you change ownership, the name changes, too... All Enclave pilots give their flying machines some kind of name or nickname."

"Well, you're a pilot, so you name it."

"I'll just show you if it works or not. I'm not going to be a pilot," the pegasus replies stiffly.

Okay, I'm going into the cute mode. I make the saddest, mournfulest, most pleading face I can think of: Motley is my only hope for flying in the sky.

"Come on, please," I whimper, looking into the motley eyes of the pegasus.

"I can't..." she refuses with difficulty, looking at me. I lean a little closer to her. "No." I don't give up and lean even closer. "No!" she yells, and I pretend to recoil in fear and whimper.

"Well, al-l-lright," the pegasus mutters, lowering her head and sighing heavily, "I'll be your pilot for a while," Motley barely squeezes out of herself.

"Thank you so much, angel. You're the best," I hug her tightly.

"Okay, stop fooling around. And I repeat, my name is Motley Cloud," she gently and with a touch of embarrassment pushes me away. Oh! Her emotional shield finally trembles. "Bring the bird to the surface. Make up a name for it yourself."

"Why is that so important?"

"They say that whatever you name a bird, that's how it flies."

"Let's call it what it flies." I telekinesis and pull the lever, which is right on the metal platform with the vertibuck. The platform rises slowly and with a faint metallic grinding sound. A hatch above us opens, revealing a view of the gray sky. I and my beige pegasus climb into the transport.

"'Angel' sounds nice," I say, pondering and standing behind the pegasus, who in turn sits behind the pilot's seat. The pegasus doesn't answer anything to this—she's checking the vertibuck's control panel, and starting the engines. The propellers slowly come into motion, cutting through the air around them. I glance casually at the sensors and gauges—everything is normal, judging by the positions of the arrows, which are not currently in the red zone.

The platform rises outward, we prepare for takeoff. Next to the takeoff pad is the elevator: it leads down to the bunker.

"Ready for takeoff," Motley announces indifferently. It's a familiar thing for her to fly.

"Fly, my angel!" I say enthusiastically, and I hear the propellers abruptly begin to work harder, making a distinctive murmuring sound. "If the vertibuck flies off, make sure we don't crash into the rock!" I add to her anxiously.

I just hope this vertibuck doesn't blow up in an explosion.

I'm worried... Either because of Motley's lack of skill in piloting transport, or because this machine hasn't flown in two hundred years.

Maybe we should call it a 'Vertibird'. Vertibuck 'Vertibird'... sounds strange.

Nevertheless, we fly...

Chapter 12 - Family Matters

View Online

We take off. I close my eyes. I hope the vertibuck doesn't fall and explode to hell.

Some time passes, and it feels like we're safely off the platform, and the pegasus makes a test flight over the expanse of the Vanhoover Wasteland. The flight is quite stable, light and pleasant. The transport shakes and sways slightly, but that's okay—Motley's trying to adjust to the controls. She also reports that everything works within normal limits. All in all, everything is fine. Occasionally the vertibuck leans abruptly to the side—the pegasus has 'messed up a few buttons' a couple of times.

I realize that she hasn't operated something like this in a long time, but... I hope she doesn't mix up a few essential buttons and levers, or accidentally turn off the engine at all, otherwise I won't see any strawberry dessert.

Despite these minor problems, the feeling of flying is excellent: during the test run my knees stop shaking and the smile on my face gets wider and wider. Not only because I'm flying in the sky, but also because my vertibuck works properly without a hitch. It just needs a little workout to get in shape, to shake off the dust, so to speak. More importantly, it means shorter travel times. He could get anywhere in the Wasteland in a relatively short amount of time.

And it wouldn't have to be repaired over and over again, like Bear. That's a thought I can't get enough of. I'll keep it in the cave as a memory of Lilac.

Having adjusted to the controls, Motley wonders where she should go now. I tell her where to, so we fly to the Steel Rangers and land not far from their base in a rocky area so they don't want to see us, or they'll take the vertibuck and leave me with nothing. The vertibuck's coloring makes it hardly noticeable, so the chance of being detected by a passerby tends to zero.

"Motley," I cheerfully address the pegasus as I get out of the transport, "this bird is wonderful. I can't get enough of it." She doesn't answer anything, only gets up silently from the pilot's seat. That's when I remember something. "You better stay in the vertibuck, okay? I don't think you should go to the Steel Ranger base. You'll get even more attention than me. I mean, you're a former Enclave scout, and if this gets out, you'll be the subject of special interest in all sorts of ways."

"Whatever you say," the beige pegasus says indifferently.

"Thank you. I won't be long. I have something to give and a ranger to pick up; she can be... trust."

"You mean Berry?"

"Yes, she can definitely help solve the problem with the Heavenly Harbor security system. So I'll be quick."

***

In a short time I reach the Steel Ranger base. At the entrance, they recognize me and let me in without reservation. In the bunker, they tell me that Lemon is busy at the moment and will only be able to come up in a little while. In order not to waste time waiting for her, I go to the Elder, but as it turns out, she is having a meeting with the senior officers and heads of the Steel Rangers, which, unfortunately, Greenkeys are also present—and I thought I would slightly study with her.

While the meeting is going on, I go to Discharger to have a drink and relax. I hope it won't be too long, making Motley bored—because I told her I was making a quick run in and out. She'll be all right, she's a scout and should have plenty of patience for long periods of time.

In the Steel Rangers' lounge I order my favorite whiskey and go to the second level of the room. There at a small card table sits a dark orange earth pony with a black mane. He has an interesting marking: a dark gray cloud with the yellow sickle of the moon hiding behind it. I noticed this pony as he beckoned to me as if he knew me by sight. I approach him with an interested look.

"What brings you here again?" he asks in a very warm tone. His voice is familiar. He looks at me as if I were an acquaintance. "Sit down, let's talk about the meaning of life and all that."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I ask with a confused smile, sitting down at the card table.

"Of course you do," he laughs merrily, "you don't remember me, and we explored the underground iron trunk together like radroaches. When we met, my partner was giving you the stink eye... well... we can assume he was giving you the stink eye, given the helmet."

"Pervert, is that you?"

The expression on his face instantly takes on a menacing look. I raise my front hooves in a defensive gesture, "Easy, I'm joking."

I wonder who this pony reminds me of. He looks like his father, with the same resolute and firm gaze, only younger and a different color coat.

"So what brings you here?" Hugh Willford repeats, looking at me closely.

"Looking for Lemon. And yes, I already know she's in a meeting right now, so I came in here to pass the time."

"It should last about twenty more minutes, and you can play a few games in that time." The orange stallion explicitly pulls out a deck of cards. "Will you keep me company?"

"Why not," I smile. "And you, I take it, are slacking off on your service?"

"No," he replies, shuffling the cards deftly with his hooves.

Once again I am amazed at the tenacity of the pony's limbs without the fingers I'm accustomed to: magic is involved here. Personally, I never learned it.

"I came here myself a few minutes before you did. As you can see, very few ponies have a break at this time."

I look around the second level again: there are indeed far fewer ponies here than when I first visited the place.

"What do you do now?" he asks. He returns my gaze to himself, after which I hand out cards.

"Trying to get close to Prince, and I also want to be a King."

"Wow," Hugh is visibly surprised, "you're taking a dangerous path, my friend. It is risky, for you will be quite famous. Either you'll make the mistake of stumbling on that pedestal of popularity and fame and get smashed to pieces. Why would you do that?"

"I'm a gambling pony, often putting my life on the line," I answer jokingly. I pick up my cards and glance at them. "All the time I'm blowing a lot of caps. But someday my luck will turn away from me at just the right moment, and that's it, so I use it while I can. And I wonder what can be done about this slavery. I want a better life for everyone, so that everyone can reach their potential."

Hugh only smiles at my words.

"No doubt it sounds good, but be prepared to meet resistance to these ideals and principles. No matter what your decision, there will always be someone who will dispute it. Especially in the Wasteland. This is a difficult time for all of us... I've seen enough films, pictures taken before the megaspells fell, so I know what I'm talking about."

And decisions can cost the lives of many innocent ponies and more.

"And you're not interested in what I mean by 'a better life'?"

"I don't really care. Since there are pros and cons everywhere. Even if I do voice an opinion on your plans, it will only be one's opinion; and everyone, as we both know, sees things in the world differently. And I don't want to have anything to do with it. It's better to ask those who are interested in it or who will be most affected by it. I'm just trying to do the best I can while still managing to live my life to my satisfaction."

Finished with distracted conversations, we discuss only the card game.

I play a few games of poker with the orange stallion, of which I win most of them. When I learn that the meeting is over, I say goodbye to Hugh and head to the Elder on level four, meeting her along with Lemon on the way. They're having a heated discussion outside the office, but as soon as they see me, they shut up.

"Oh, what's up, Daniel? Did you bring us spices and sweets?" asks Lemon in his usual joking tone, as if oblivious to his conversation with the Elder.

"Of course, my yellowish berry," I reply on the same cheerful note. Lemon rolls his eyes, smiling.

"Come into my office, both of you," the elderly light beige pony suddenly utters.

"Well done," she praises me already in her office as I give her the yellow key card.

Just a pat on the shoulder and 'well done'. Quite expected, nothing to be surprised about, but still there was a slight feeling of frustration. Although I'm not looking for material rewards, but... The Steel Rangers have advanced technology and important information. They could have at least provided some rare knowledge or access to their assortment, that is, they would have shown trust.

Although they already allow me a lot of things by trying to 'recruit' me. However, I have just confirmed my good intentions toward the steelheads. Yes, I'm looking for Project Dome, and I need the key-cards, but they already have a pink key-card that they won't give me. So I want to earn their trust by giving them the key-cards, so that I can then gain clearance to search for this 'mythical' facility.

"Anything else?" asks the Elder, looking at my frustrated face. Better to remain silent and wait it out.

"No. I'll go ahead and keep looking. Do you have any idea where the next such thing might be?" I ask, ignoring my frustration.

"Unfortunately, no. Go on, maybe you'll have better luck than we did. Dismissed," the Elder says the last word loudly. I walk out of the office, followed by the lemon pony.

"You thought you'd get something in return?" she asks mockingly, guessing what I wanted from the Elder.

"I hoped." I stare longingly at the cold metal walls in front of me, then turn to Lemon's slightly chubby cheeks. "But that's not why I came here. I need your help."

"My help? You?" Lemon asks, pretending to be surprised. "It's something extraordinary," she smiles.

"Yes, yes, I know. I need your help reprogramming one nest's security system. Can you help?"

"I can help with that..." she hesitates a little and then adds, "...as a thank you for the key; but where is this nest of yours?"

"In the mountain, and almost at the very top."

"Wow," the pony suddenly frowns, "with power armor it's going to be hard to get there."

"Don't worry, I've got it under control: we'll get your heavy steel ass to the right place in a few minutes," I say. Her eye twitches slightly at the word 'heavy'.

Oh... I was thinking of power armor, wasn't I?

"How? Can you teleport us there, super duper wizard?" There are three things I can watch endlessly: the way the fire burns, the way the water flows... and how Lemon reacts to sarcastic comments about herself.

"If you agree to help, I'll show you my ace," I smirk. Lemon squints.

"You... intrigue me," she says, barely audible, after some thought. "Okay, I will. Now show me."

"Don't you have anything else to do?"

"I'm the Star Paladin!" the chubby pony strikes a dramatic pose. It looks cute and funny. "I have the right to do what I want. And there's not much to do besides the usual patrols."

Lemon goes off to gather her gear and put on her power armor.

I wait for her on the surface, and together we head for the vertibuck. When she reaches it, the lemon pony stands still, paralyzed, at the sight of this wondrous flying machine: her jaw is about to drop. Lemon is quite rich in emotion, that's for sure.

"What treasure house did you find this in?" Lemon asks in a shocked voice, slowly approaching the transport.

"Heavenly Harbor," I grin. "That's the bunker I was talking about."

"Too bad we suck at riding mountains..." Lemon is suddenly silent when he sees Motley emerge from the vertibuck, immediately adopts a fighting stance and aims his guns at the pegasus, and the latter in turn prepares hers.

"Whoa-whoa!" I exclaim, in an instant teleporting—literally, thanks to my training—between Motley and Lemon, standing with my back to the first. "Chill out! She's my pilot."

"I thought she'd discovered the vertibuck and wanted to put her raking and filthy hooves on it. Can she be trusted?" Lemon whispers last words with caution.

"I've only known her one day."

"Understood," Lemon changes from wariness to friendliness, and relaxes. "My name is 'Berry', and what's yours?"

"Motley Cloud," I hear the pegasus's casual reply as she takes Lemon out of the sights of her guns.

"A pleasure, Motley."

"It's noticeable," Motley replies as if the 'a pleasure' in Lemon's performance was clearly a forced line.

"You mean that I was the first one to point guns at you?" Lemon asks, clearly noticing it too. "So... better overdoing than underdoing," she explains with a smile. The beige pegasus does not answer. Lemon, with great curiosity, like a foal seeing an incredibly cool and beautiful toy, begins inspecting the vertibuck, completely throwing the gloomy-as-weather pegasus out of his mind.

"Daniel," the earth pony turns to me after the inspection, "just don't flash that vertibuck in front of the Steel Rangers like a flashlight in the dark."

"I know. Well, don't you want to take it for the Steel Rangers?" I ask cautiously. Though somehow I'm sure she won't give me away.

"I wish I could, but they won't give you anything in return anyway. Maybe if I stay with you a while longer, you'll dig another vertibuck for us. Let's fly, I suppose?" Lemon asks with anticipation in his voice, looking at me and then at the pegasus. The earth pony is already shuffling her legs like a little filly with impatience.

"Definitely," I utter it and Lemon disappears inside the vertibuck in a flash. I smile and follow her.

"You never did come up with a name for vertibuck," Motley says suddenly, walking behind me. That's right... and I forgot.

"A name?" Lemon looks at Motley curiously, only she and we find ourselves inside. "Why?"

"Pilots have always given their vehicles some informal name. Tradition," the pegasus explains to her.

"Venture," I say, the first thing that comes to mind.

"Venture?" Lemon and Motley ask simultaneously, then look at each other.

"Considering," I ponder with a touch of nostalgia, "that I've often found myself in the most dangerous places in the Wasteland, while still managing to get away in one piece. Almost. I'm drawn to the unknown, and this vertibuck will represent my adventurous explorations... No, not even that: it will witness, and sometimes it will push me to them, because it gives me the perfect opportunity to get to places inaccessible to non-flying creatures like me. Without it, I wouldn't get there."

"Interesting name... For air transport. I hope we don't fall off the grid in these ventures of yours," Lemon smirks. "Don't forget about us if you ever think of doing any of that stuff, or I'll give your head a good beating with those steel shoes," she raises her front right hoof and examines it without much interest, letting me know she's serious. "I remember you telling me you had a hard time keeping your nosy nose down."

"Venture? Let it be," Motley says without objection or emotion.

It's a good thing at least Lemon said something about the name. If I'd been alone with that grim angel, I'd have died of boredom. I'd have been bored out of my mind when I was traveling with Boone. I was a bit bored, but I was a bit too tired, so I almost lost myself in boredom when I traveled with Boone. I want to inspire her with something.

We get on Venture and fly to Heavenly Harbor. Lemon almost screams with delight as we head out over the Vanhoover region on the vertibuck; she repeatedly says it's fun and thrilling for her.

A few minutes later we land in Heavenly Harbor.

Yes, this vertibuck really does make a noise around. Motley adds after we land that civilian vertibucks were not equipped with sturdy armor and weaponry, but it makes up for it with a little more speed and less consumption of gems. Vertibucks run on a magical reactor fueled by gems. They are very difficult to obtain in the post-war era, but the grim pegasus assures me that the amount available will suffice for a while. After that, I will have to look for some. It also turns out that there are none in the bunker, but if necessary, I can use the gems from the large magical reactor in Heavenly Harbor. The bunker is also powered by their magic. The vertibuck, of course, consumes energy much faster. The power problem has to be solved somehow. I remember the gems are scarce in Vanhoover—the energy crisis and all that.

Lemon inspects the bunker and its automated security system.

"What a find..." Lemon mutters, turning away from the computer equipment. "Quite a decent place. You could even live here if you renovated it a little, and then threw pillows everywhere."

"Yeah, that's what I had in mind."

"No wonder why you called me here. To get me to set up the robots. It would take a lot of caps to repair that bunker if you wanted to order parts from Vanhoover or find a Stable and use parts from there."

"What about Stable 44, I can get a lot of stuff from—" I start, but I'm interrupted by Lemon.

"Wouldn't even dream of it. They take it apart piece by piece and drag it back to the base. I'm sure the Elder won't just give me Stable's priceless technology; don't even count on Stable's toilet brush."

"Shame. Well, okay. What's your verdict on the robots?"

"The operating system is corrupt, it's vulnerable to even the slightest shaking. I can reconfigure it, but there's no guarantee that it will work as intended if there's a shake underground. Artificial intelligence of any power can prevent failure and find weaknesses in the equipment."

Well, Yes Man would be nice right about now.

"Or you can do without AI, but that would require completely rewriting the software code, which could take weeks or more, and you also need to find vulnerable components in the hardware itself, which could take even longer, since you have to check every detail, actually every bolt. So, I'm sorry, but I can't sit here around the clock all weeks."

Obviously someone slacked off... or saved money.

"Okay. Turn it off completely for now."

"I'll reconfigure it so that you can activate it when absolutely necessary, and start the cleaning process. A couple of non-threatening cleaning robots will clean the bunker of dirt and trash."

Meanwhile, a paranoid thought occurs in my head that Lemon is using the bunker defense system to threaten me in case of some kind of negotiation with me. I don't trust Lemon that much yet, but as I claimed earlier, she's the only one of the Steel Rangers who can be trusted with anything...

The memory of giving Lemon berry juice a few days earlier comes to mind. That look she gave me... the look of a pony enjoying a drink. So grateful and... lustful.

The thought would have grown further if Lemon had left me alone, but... She throws sarcastic comments at me for occupying the swankiest apartment. We banter with each other for a while.

I wonder again: why would I want to furnish this bunker like this? I will leave it, just as I left my home in Megaton, just as Lucky 38. I realize that the search for Project Dome might take a long time, but that is not the main reason for furnishing my dwelling, even if it is temporary. The main reason is that I like comfort, and I want to provide it for my companions and friends who will agree to live here, temporarily or permanently. Moreover, it's the perfect place to get away, in every sense of the word, from Vanhoover and the oppressive atmosphere of permissible slavery.

As soon as Lemon has reconfigured the operating system to the best of her ability and turned on the cleaning mode, we board Venture and head to Vanhoover. As with the base, I decide not to land directly in Vanhoover, but rather choose a location near the city. The purpose of the visit is to find work, and then use the caps to buy the Softhooves family's restored furniture and parts, which the Steelmane family has available, to fix up the bunker.

Lemon and Motley remain to look after Venture, and I go into town alone. I wonder how this couple will behave in private? I'm sure it will be a harrowing experience for both of them. Motley doesn't like to talk and shows little or no interest in anything, and Lemon is exactly the opposite: she likes to talk, and she can be interested in anything. And now it's just the two of them.

It was cruel, Daniel, cruel... but it got them to know each other better.

***

As I cross the South Gate of Vanhoover and walk a few feet, I notice a griffon courier running up to me.

"I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver, your hooves only," she says wearily, standing in front of me.

"Why?" I ask slightly confused. Unexpectedly, I'm being looked for. I hope there's nothing bad behind it.

"I have a letter for you," she answers and hands it to me.

"And how did you find me?"

"It wasn't easy... Let's just say I have connections in the office," the griffon replies with a smile. "But even so, you were a little hard to find-you don't have an address in town. The only thing we know about you is that you've passed through this particular south gate twice."

What kind of connections are these? When I worked as a courier, I used to get so tired of asking the locals how to find the receiver. It was a lot of work. Maybe someday I could figure out what kind of connections she had that could find a recipient in a tiny amount of time. Otherwise... I'm jealous. Just jealous.

After getting my signature for the package she delivered, the griffon flies away. I read the letter: It says that Prince is calling me to a tri-monthly event—the Vanhoover Five Families Council—and that it's happening tonight on Mane Street; inside the letter is an invitation signed by Prince.

Well, I won't have to mess around with the question of meeting with the heads of the families for a long time. Even though I don't need it that much... Oh, for fuck's sake! It starts in a few hours! I've got to get to Mane Street!

Since I'm still not far from Venture, I let the others know over the helmet radio that I'm going to the Vanhoover Five Families Council and I don't know how long I'll be delayed. In response, I hear that they're going back to Heavenly Harbor for now, and will be back to check on me closer to ten in the evening. And Lemon also adds that she'll try to do something else with Heavenly Harbor's automated security system. I thank her for that.

It's nice of her to spend her time and help me. I would have thought more about it, but I pondered why Prince had invited me to the local clan gathering, if in some way I had failed to interrogate Dodger, forcing him to give false locations to the opponents of slavery. By this time everything should have been cleared up.

Had Prince set a trap for me? It might well be. Vanhoover's most powerful masters would be there. I failed the interrogation, but still, what's that got to do with the families? Well, it's not my style to run away with my tail between my legs. If anything, I'll act according to the circumstances—like I always do.

I got myself into this... for a fucking key card from Stable 53.

Walking through the streets of Vanhoover, I turn on the radio. From there I hear some wonderful songs, followed by the voice of DJ Oscar exactly one hour before the council starts. As usual, he first promotes a few places and clubs in town—talking about discounts, exclusives, sales, and the like. Only at the end of the broadcast does he mention that Vanhoover's greatest upper-class meeting will take place in less than an hour on Mane Street, and that everyone is on edge right now because of the need for proper security for the meeting.

I get to Main Street and immediately start looking for the council venue. I soon find it: it's a two-story renovated building in navy blue tones. Nearby, about three dozen owners are bustling about, all dressed in expensive outfits. Almost all of them had a fedora on their heads, which harmoniously completed the image. What surprises me is the fact that several of them have PipBucks. Almost all of them are the standard color of Stable, which is not surprising, given Vanhoover's capture of them.

All these masters in fedoras and stern outfits remind me of the Omerta, White Glove, Chairmen, and the Syndicate of New Vegas. In New Reno, the Wrights, Van Graffs, Salvatores, Bishops, and the Mordinos.

The last time I visited New Reno, the leading families were the Van Graffs and the Wrights; the other families existed in town, but no longer had the influence of the first two. I once met the head of the Wright family when I was delivering a package to him; his name was Rodger Wright. He was a pleasant, outgoing and charismatic man. I even ran a couple of errands for him, which increased my capital, some of which I squandered on entertainment at establishments in the same town. I even placed a few bets in the city's famous boxing ring.

In New Vegas I settled things with the Omerta and left Cachino in charge, though he was an unpleasant man and, according to Joana, a pervert, but he had the leadership qualities to keep the whole clan in line. There was no problem with the Chairmen—after Benny's murder, Swank was the head, who was cheerful and friendly and didn't try to reach the clouds like the previous boss, running things behind the backs of his cronies. The White Glove... they were the ones who had the most trouble. It took a lot of sweat to bring Mortimer out in the open, because he wanted to return to the old tradition of cannibalism. Later I happened to run into the Syndicate, a secret organization that operated in the Wasteland, while I was delivering a package. I had dealt with their fledgling representative branch in the Mojave and hoped that the other members from the other branches in the Wasteland would never set foot in New Vegas again.

And here I am again encountering something like this. I smell that smell of mobsterism. With serious expressions on their faces, focused, sullen... quietly chatting amongst themselves, some smoking, some reading the local paper, some looking bored into the clouds. They can be divided into five groups, who keep to themselves, looking at each other suspiciously. The different groups are evidenced by the styles of their clothing.

The first group consists almost entirely of griffons; they are the only ones who all wear armor—scrubbed, of course, to look presentable. They carry rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns. Their weapons differ from those of the other masters in elegance and quality. Assessing their appearance, I can assume that they are members of the Falcon family, which makes weapons and ammunition, as well as restores and maintains existing ones.

The second group of masters are dressed in elegant gray flannel suits with blue-colored shirts. Their weapons are not as distinguishable as those of the previous group: primitive energy-magic, like laser pistols; they are also guarded by Mr. Gutsy. Apparently they are members of the Steelmane family, engaged in repairing and restoring past inventions, as well as creating improvements to them and new developments based on old ones.

The third group consists of some elegant mares dressed in elegant black dresses with red inserts. Gorgeous red and black dresses, short and long. All in all, the most different shapes and styles of outfits imaginable. I must say, their presentability is almost pre-war level. Can't help but be impressed. Obviously, these are members of the Softhooves family, making and restoring clothing and interior elements, and possibly exteriors as well. They also own most of the brothels and casinos in town.

A fourth group of masters in formal white outfits with black shirts. Some wear glasses. Predominantly in this group are the unicorns. They don't look cocky and arrogant, they don't suffer from snobbery like the others, instead their faces are focused on something. I don't have to guess to recognize them as members of the Meadows family, which specializes in medical services, drugs and chemicals.

The last group of masters is dressed in their usual formal outfits: a dark jacket and a green shirt underneath. Among them are mostly earth ponies. They don't look rich like the others, nor are they overly conceited; it's clear from their looks that they're not shy about hard physical labor and dirty work in the truest sense of the word. They look like farmers who don't know much about presentation or style. They are undoubtedly members of the Waterfall family, whose job it is to provide Vanhoover with the most basic necessities: food, water, and electricity.

I walk by. They don't pay much attention to me, except to cast brief glances, and then continue what they were doing—chatting about family matters and telling all sorts of rumors, stories, discussing some financial or personal problems, smoking and reading the newspaper. Nothing special.

I don't notice any 'special' masters who stand out from the others. By special I mean the heads of the families, or at least their trusted persons. Apparently they are either not there yet, or already inside, or both.

I enter the building. There are only a few guards standing inside, very different from each other—Kings. I show them the invitation and they let me in without too much questioning, taking my weapons and ammunition before doing so. No one is inside except the Kings and the robots.

I am told that Prince is in his office on the second floor, next to the main hall where the heads of the families meet. Going up there, I enter the office, knocking politely on the door before doing so. Prince stands by the window looking out over the city, and next to him was Lieutenant Redstone, who turned his attention to me as soon as I entered the office. I notice that Redstone has a PipBuck on his right leg. Strange that I hadn't noticed it when I first saw it three days ago. Where did my attention span go... I've been distracted lately.

Oh, how lucky I was that the letter from Prince arrived on time. Lady Luck is always on my side, but sometimes she likes to tickle my nerves. She gets an unforgettably perverse pleasure out of it, since I arrived twenty minutes before the meeting started.

"Come in, Daniel, sit down," Prince says calmly to me. I follow his request and sit down in one of the chairs. "Why do you think I invited you to this event, even though the prisoner you interrogated managed to figure out your method and gave out the wrong answers?"

He turns to me.

"False information?" I genuinely wonder. "Shit! I could sense there was something wrong with his answers. That asshole really had me wrapped around his hoof..." I mutter sadly.

"Don't worry," Prince interrupts me, turning to the window, "it's not your fault he figured out your moves. It's no surprise that he knew about the method, just as you said. Dodger was one of the first-class agents of the resistance. He only fell into our hoofs because he was defending others at the cost of his life. It's quite possible that it was he, and not anyone else, who surrendered, for the reason that he can't be cracked and his memories are protected by the most reliable magical barriers and locks. And yet, despite the failed interrogation and the fact that Dodger miraculously escaped... you have good skills. Most ponies and griffons try to achieve their goals by force, and you're in no rush to use it. It's a useful quality, rare among Vanhoover's masters and even among my servants."

"He escaped?" I marvel.

"It was only a matter of time," Prince replies without a shadow of grief. "Especially if the method you used didn't work, then nothing else will. Pulling his memories out of his head won't work either, that's the way it was meant to be: if someone tries to manipulate his memory from the outside, all the memories associated with their secrets will simply be erased or blocked, even for the owner of the memories himself. That's why it's best not to use the force at such times."

"Using the force is bad?"

"No, it's not. Of course not. I just want a change," Prince answers, turning to me for a moment, and then returning to contemplating the main street. "So, you'll be attending the council of families to learn about the state of things in the city. I do not inform the families of your presence. They will mistake you for a King, as I quite rarely issue invitations to outsiders. You have a seat in the hall next to Redstone. After the council, you can meet the heads of families in person."

"And why do I need to attend the council when I can already find out the state of things in the city?"

This question has tormented me ever since I received the letter of invitation. It's true, such an event, and he invites some tramp from the Wasteland to it, who has also failed an important interrogation. And that arrogance, when he doesn't even look at me... I can feel Prince's confidence in his actions. Why me?

"Many," Prince begins, turning around, "see only the tip of the iceberg. When you become a King, you will have to take responsibility for protecting Vanhoover and its interests, so you must know the ins and outs of what's going on. Understand what the families are all about. The main pillars of the city, on which almost all of the economy and production rests."

How thoughtful of him to keep me informed. He knows them like no one else, though. He might have dealt with some of them when they were colts. He's ruled this town for over a hundred years.

"Any more questions?" Prince asks with patient anticipation.

"The death of a King—Blackwater," I say. Something makes me think of him.

"Yes?"

"What surprised me was. he crashed between the trees... not far from the road. Why did he turn there in the first place? And he was going at crazy speed, too. He should have been on his way to explore the rest of the Wasteland, shouldn't he?"

Lieutenant Redstone suddenly turns his eyes toward the white unicorn with the golden mane. And I can see why—the Prince's face, for the first time, shows a faint concern. The always calm and composed unicorn with a century's worth of reign has suddenly lost his cool.

"Tell me more about his death," he said at last.

I tell everything in detail and without concealment, including the things I took from him. I mark on the map the crash site. Prince looks focused, no longer anxious, but that moment of weakness... I won't forget it.

"Thank you for expressing your doubts," Prince says, nodding appreciatively. "I was too busy that day to react appropriately to the King's death. I will take control and investigate the case. It's time to go, the meeting will begin soon."

It's hard to believe that with a century of experience ruling the city, he quickly forgot to discuss the death of one of his direct subjects when we first met. Though he has about thirty of them, still.

"I haven't seen the family bosses outside. Where are they?" I ask, heading for the exit; Redstone follows me.

"Some were already in this building when you showed up," Redstone replies easily, "just each in his own office."

***

Prince reacts worriedly to every death of a King? I thought there would be displeasure or anger on his face, but... there was none. So why did he react this way? What did he find frightening about Blackwater's death? I don't think it's going to take me long to get to the bottom of this case. Prince has made it very clear that I am to stay out of it.

I don't notice that I'm already entering the main hall while I'm thinking. In the center of it is a huge round wooden table, with six red chairs beside it, and one regular chair next to five of them. On the table are several bottles of expensive, by the looks of it, liquor and cigar ashtrays. There are no windows in the room; instead, an elegant chandelier illuminates the center of the room. In this way the faces of those sitting at the table are perfectly visible. There are sofas against the walls, and I sit on one of them with Redstone.

Meanwhile, when we entered, several Kings were already seated inside. Redstone tells me that any King is free to attend the council if he so desires, and to talk to the heads of families afterwards about a special job, for they are well paid.

While the heads of families are still out, I decide to ask Redstone a few questions. My gaze involuntarily passes over the small table next to our couch, with a couple of glasses and a bottle of prewar red wine.

"Would you like some?" the deputy Prince asks me, pointing to the wine just as I was about to open my mouth to ask a question.

"I don't mind," I immediately reply. He pours both for himself and me. I touch the edges of the wine glass with my lips and sip, nice and tasty. "And what are you to Prince?"

"Something like an counselor, like the Fathers and Mothers of Families have, or a secretary," having said that, Redstone takes a sip from his glass. "Or a second person after himself. If you want to make an appointment with him, you must contact me first. And I will decide if your pathetic self is worth Prince's attention," he smiles slightly. "Even Kings must first inform me that they wish to meet Prince. I, as you know, recruit new Kings: I send them off on a special mission-check, if, of course, someone will vouch for them before then. I sort and select the most important information for Prince: sometimes he gets invitations, offers to buy something, and so on. I also give advice on how best to act in this or that situation, because I'm much closer to the ordinary masters than he is. And in front of me they keep their cool better than in front of Prince, who makes their blood run cold and their knees start to tremble," he agrees and chuckles demurely at the end.

"Why is Prince paying attention to me after I failed the interrogation?"

"Well, how can I put it..." the Lieutenant ponders. "Apparently he was interested in the process itself. Maybe he liked your interrogation, despite the failure. So he wants to get to know you better... In fact, I don't know what could be on his mind. He has repeatedly been interested in one person or another. He's paid attention to me, too."

"Why is that?"

"Perhaps because I know how to separate the grains from the chaff. To note something unusual in the vast flow of information. In this case, letters, inquiries and the like. That's why I act as a secretary."

"Okay..." I exclaim, enjoying another sip of wine. "By the way, where did you get the PipBuck? And why didn't I notice it when I first saw you in your office in Stable 68?"

"He was on a technical inspection," Redstone explains briefly.

"Tell me about the family hierarchy. From top to bottom."

"At the very top is the Father or Mother, depending on gender, but they're also just called bosses. The advisors are their most trusted persons, mostly not of the clan, but serving faithfully. They are usually the bosses' closest friends."

"Counselors report directly to the head of the family and no one else?"

"Yes."

Almost like the Star Paladin of the Steel Rangers, Lemon Star.

"Who's lower?"

"The deputy bosses are a Son or Daughter, depending on their gender, they are chosen by the Mother of Father of the family... and in case the boss of the family has several children or, on the contrary, they are absent, they have to choose among other blood relatives. They are also called the underbosses."

"So if the boss dies, the underboss is appointed as the head? As acting boss?" I clarify.

"'Yes' to the first question, and 'no' to the second. It's already an official successor, whom the boss would like to see in charge of the family after him or her, but with the condition that most of the family blood relatives agree that he or she has earned the right to be in charge."

"It depends partly on heredity and partly on voting?"

"Something like that," Redstone shrugs, holding the glass with his red telekinesis magic. Noticing the emptiness in it, he decides to fill it with more wine. Mine isn't empty yet. "The boss doesn't have to follow the wishes of his inferiors, but if they don't want a coup and want to be loyal to the family, they usually listen."

"Does it ever happen that the boss doesn't have time to appoint a successor?"

"The new boss is chosen by a vote by the same blood relatives of the family. They can vote for themselves, but most vote for another family member because they just don't want that burden and responsibility because it means the future of the family will depend on their decisions."

Giving up power for fear of responsibility... How I understand them.

"So only the bloodline of the family can be the head?"

"Yes. If the boss has children, they are not necessarily the ones who will take over, since they may not be able to handle the responsibilities or may be incapacitated for some reason."

"What do these blood relatives usually do?"

"Almost all run some important part of their family's business or do something minor in business or craft."

"Like what? Like what exactly do they do?"

"Well... some are good at accounting, some are good at distributing resources, some are good at commanding slaves, some just Repairing things, like the son of the current head of the Steelmaine family. That's it. There are no limitations for them."

"Understood. Going down below... and who do we see?" I continue.

"Close friends of the family—captains or just Friends. Sort of commanders, officers of the family, who run a small crew of masters who are officially included in the family."

"They own the business in the family?"

"Of course. They're essentially the same blood relatives, only without the right to be in charge."

"So... a blood relative has no reason to fear betrayal by the captain if he wants power. He simply has no right. A blood relative of the family is safer to work with captains than with other relatives?"

"Good thinking," the gray unicorn smiles at me with a glass of wine. "You're shrewd, I see," he adds and drains his second glass of wine. He stares dumbly at the bottom of it and, apparently deciding he's had enough, puts it down on the table. I finish the rest, too, and place my glass next to Redstone's.

"What else do the Friends of the Family do?"

"They oversee the activities of the family's assistants, the soldiers. And directly supervise them."

"The Soldiers of the Family... Next in the hierarchy, I take it?"

"Yep. The masters who are included in the family are soldiers. Basically these minor members of the family do the will of the Captains, in other words, the Soldiers directly control the activities of the family."

"Which ones?"

"Security, keeping watch, collecting debts and interest on income, and the like. In particular, these Soldiers are to guard the ideas of the family, as well as the family itself, from murderers and robbers."

"Whom do they control?"

"The lackeys and the slaves."

"The lackeys?"

"Yes. The masters that are not included in the family. Inclusion in the family turns a lackey into a soldier. Lackeys do routine work—factory and workshop workers, merchants, and others. Soldiers guard them from the encroachments of other families, but some do the same work as footmen. Lackeys do delicate and mental work, where timely decision-making is needed... which you understand a slave can't handle."

The slave is afraid of responsibility.

"In the end, the family hierarchy looks like this: boss with counselor–underboss–blood relatives–captains–soldiers–lackeys–slaves?" I clarify.

"Not exactly. Slaves are not part of the hierarchy. They are property."

"Oh... right. And on average, what's the number of blood relatives in a family?"

"About twenty, each relative has several teams or groups, with captains at the head, and the team consists of about ten soldiers."

"What about lackeys?"

"Make up as much as half of the masters of Vanhoover, because a large part of the business is family-owned. If you work in any club, workshop, factory, store, restaurant, hotel, and so on, you are probably a lackey of the family that owns it all. Of course, there are also slaves who do very simple and trivial work, mostly involving hard physical labor. Or as servants in every sense."

I take it that going against the family is like stirring up a cazador's nest. It's easier not to deal with them.

"Sounds like everything is under the control of the Families."

"Not really. There's Prince and I, Kings with their business and employees, the police, the freelance guards. The staff of The School, the Arena, the radio station, and the Central Bank."

It's a little unusual to me that The School, with this level of influence of the families, is not owned by one of them, but exists as an independent business. Maybe the families just don't want to take on the burden of raising and educating slaves. It's a complicated business. I think The School itself is dependent on the families for resources. The police, too, can be used to act within the law by putting the right amount of cap on the hoof of a certain officer.

Half of Vanhoover's masters are slaves of sorts. Of families. And this need not be ascribed only a philosophical meaning: the lackeys are under the responsibility of the family, a large such herd organism, and the slaves are under the responsibility of the masters.

I sit in silence for a while, digesting what I have heard.

The family bosses and their counselors enter the hall. The first to enter is a fully confident, muscular griffon in his forties, dressed in an expensive and elegant brown suit with wide lapels, under his jacket a shirt white as snow, and a black tie with uncomplicated gold patterns tied around his neck. This attire is completed by a brown fedora with a black ribbon. He is carrying a very large magnum, which looks like it is loaded with large-caliber bullets used in an anti-machine rifle. Definitely custom-made or experimental, as the revolver is all black and gold-patterned: the grip is decorated with the outline of a bird of prey, and the sight and barrel are dotted with beautiful gold swirls shaped like wind.

Next to him walks an equally confident griffon, dressed in stout armor.

Only the head of the griffon family seems to wear outfits like ponies, while others prefer armor.

"That," Redstone says in a whisper, pointing to the griffon with a large revolver, "is the Father of the Falcon family, Nail Falcon, and next to him is his counselor, Yellow Night."

Following the two griffons enters an elderly pony: the wrinkles on his muzzle, his thick mane dark with gray, which fits him perfectly, all make him extremely charismatic and even good-natured in appearance. His gaze is unyielding and steadfast, as well as profoundly experienced. At a guess he's in his sixties. His fur is smoky in color, and he is dressed in a dark gray dress coat with narrow and long fringes at the back and an orange shirt that emphasizes the color of his eyes. His image is completed by a gray fedora and a plain steel rifle with white lines, which hangs from his belt.

Beside him walks a similarly aged unicorn with noticeable wrinkles, her short sapphire mane with curls not yet finally lost its color. It is likely that she is dyeing it. She is dressed in a sky-colored dress that nicely complements her azure coat.

"The Father of the Steelmane family is Robus Steelmane, and next to him is counselor Haley Blue."

After enters a white unicorn in his fifties with glasses: a long golden mane with gray strands, a white cloak, a black shirt underneath, and a beautiful white tie around his neck. On his belt is a long sword with a white hilt and scabbard.

He is followed by a middle-aged, pretty sand-colored unicorn, wearing a yellow dress with a black belt and a yellow hat with wide brim and black ribbon.

"The Father of the Meadows family is Dazzling Meadows, and next to him is counselor Sandy House."

Behind the Meadows enters a middle-aged, heavenly-colored earth pony with a lush black and white mane, dressed in a beautiful cherry dress and no headdress. The mare carries a shotgun with a beige buttstock and grip, the rest of the weapon is black with gold patterns. Next to her walks a smoky earth pony with a short white mane, dressed in a lilac outfit with a purple shirt, his head covered by a fedora of the same color as the jacket.

"The Mother of the Waterfall family is Heaven Waterfall, next to her is counselor Flint Gray."

And last on the list, but not least, enter two beautiful mares. One of them wears a delightful long black dress with red patterns of lovely roses at the hem, with a red ribbon at the waist. Beige fur and a lush mane of a soft scarlet color.

It is certainly one of the most beautiful unicorns: under her gaze any stallion or even a mare could melt. I realized this when she only glanced around the hall, lingering on me for a fraction of a second. I immediately had dirty thoughts of her, and a weakness in my body.

Next to her walked modestly, a pretty and lovely unicorn of a delicate crimson color with long black hair and red strands. She is dressed in a short black dress with a red sash; on her head is a wide-brimmed black hat with a red ribbon.

"And this," Redstone lets out a little chuckle, "is the Mother of the Softhooves family, she is known as the queen of beauty and charm, the lust of all stallions and more, the singer of the most popular casino in town, Eileen Softhooves. Next to her counselor is Heather Flower."

After all of them, as a conclusion, Prince himself enters.

I look at all these cream of society and realize how insignificant I look next to them. I am even embarrassed. I bet they don't have as much life experience as I do. I doubt they've had their internal organs stolen, been buried alive in a grave or cut out a piece of their brains...

There is a sense of purposefulness, steadfastness, passion, ambition in their behavior. Heads of families and should be as I see them now in this room. They should inspire their followers, hold power firmly in their hooves. All this is an indication that they are capable of leading the masses.

They exchange standard pleasantries. I'm sure it's all a pulled mask with smiles and good-naturedness, a show-off for Prince. Which he knows. So do they. Practically everyone knows about each other. It's like adults don't swear in front of children and children don't swear in front of adults. Living in a decent society, what can I say?

They sit down at the table and start discussing the issues at hand. They chat in the style of 'how are you doing?', discuss disputed territories or moments, bring up the distinguished perpetrators, the latest news and all sorts of things that are of no value to me, sipping expensive alcohol and smoking cigars along the way.

Only after an hour of prattle talk do they begin to talk about really important things. For example, almost all the families are itching for Crater raiders: in the last six months they have started to put a lot of sticks in the wheels. Especially these parasites cling to the Waterfall family for no reason.

"Their attacks," the head of the Waterfall family says, "are too well organized, and every month they are more and more successful in destroying our greenhouses and taking my workers and slaves captive! It's obviously set up by someone. Somebody among you!"

"Nonsense! An attempt to justify yourself," the head of the Falcon family in a haughty voice says. "What a sorry bunch of wimps you are, after all. Can't defend yourselves against a bunch of raiders, looking for someone to blame. It's pathetic to look at you."

These words make Waterfall shake with anger. She's ready to pounce on this griffon here and now. The counselor cools her slightly with a touch of his hoof on her shoulder.

This kind of disrespect is something I see all too often at their event. Sometimes covertly, sometimes overtly. All in all, it's not boring.

From the passive-aggressive conversations I've learned quite a bit about the state of things in town.

The Falcon family is quite often aggressive and arrogant, but that's their predator nature, after all. They are arrogant, consider themselves high-flying birds, and repeatedly emphasize at the meeting the defense of the town, that other families need to increase their purchases and all that because of the growing threat of raiders.

"You only think," Prince tells them, "about the safety of your tails. You could give a discount on weapons and armor to the Waterfall family so they'd bolster their defenses. Make a generous gesture."

The head of the Falcon family doesn't have time to respond before he is unceremoniously interrupted by the head of the Waterfall family.

"I'd rather let a raider fuck me than accept favors from an overgrown chicken!" she says loudly.

I think I've found two feuding families.

"All of you don't care at all about getting food into town, do you?" she asks. To which the same Nail Falcon is ready to reply, "Meat in Green Island, as in the rest of the Wasteland, is plentiful. My griffons will have no problem providing food for the town without delay, unlike you."

I think I hear the gritting of Heaven Waterfall's teeth.

Father Steelmane... calm and good-natured, polite to others. Maybe it's because of his advanced age. But even his calm tone sometimes has a dangerous tone to it. Despite his age, Robus can put anyone in this hall in his place, except Prince, of course. In fact, he is the most competent head of the family here, capable of reasoning logically and not jumping to conclusions. He is balanced, restrained. All in all, he looks like a regular good-natured old man, capable of being a good talker. I like him because he doesn't get cocky like the others, but he doesn't downplay his position either. He seems to be the only one in this room, again not counting Prince, who has been running his little empire long enough.

"I would..." he interjects into the argument between Falcon and Waterfall, turning to Heaven, "give you support in the form of robots and energy weapons, temporarily, of course. But... you yourself understand that we have to save resources on power and gems. Plus, we're subject to their planned attacks on our mines ourselves."

The head of the Waterfall nods appreciatively at his concern and offer. She herself is well aware that her power plant can barely handle the town's basic electricity needs.

Eileen Softhooves acts a little arrogant, but doesn't get too buried. Her voice, high and melodic, so gently tickles my eardrums, it could be listened to forever.

"I understand your situation, dear," she says, turning to Heaven. "None of us would want to be in your shoes. You do important work for the city... electricity, water, food... We all need it. And I know how your family works to provide us with all that. I... think I can provide some of my resources to help you."

"I'm very grateful."

Clearly, this favor is not free. The head of the Softhooves family is diabolically dangerous. She is painfully polite to everyone, emphasizing the important points of each family in a way that doesn't make the other family angry. She has the most difficulty with the Meadows family, however. No wonder: a small part of the brothels and casinos belong to this family. They are her main competitors, their casinos and brothels have special services that her family cannot afford. Though it is the richest, so she can easily make other families dependent on her-except the Meadows, again.

Despite the beauty of Eileen Softhooves, I can tell she has the most stale and rotten apple inside her that I can find. I doubt her integrity, considering her family also owns a pornography studio—Paradise Pleasure. Who better than her to know the innermost desires of others.

It's safe to say that Eileen's only reason for becoming the head is her powers of persuasion... her charming good looks, and, well, her excellent voice. She's the last person I'd want to deal with: I'm afraid of falling under her influence unnoticed. Her counselor is more modest, she doesn't raise her voice and, unlike her senior friend, is genuinely polite. In spite of her modest behavior, she gives useful advice to her Mother; I even like her.

Dazzling Meadows is quiet, very rarely engaging in conversation. He has a hard and cold voice. His character is the hardest to describe, because he is silent and answers only when a question is addressed directly to him, but I sense that he is a poisonous and dangerous fruit. He's also the main rival of the most powerful and wealthy family, the Softhooves.

Dazzling Meadows and Eileen Softhooves have repeatedly exchanged silent glances... I wonder what kind of game they're playing.

From Redstone's words, I learn that Dazzling is a medic and a professional surgeon. Knows many spells in his field. Despite his harmless appearance, he is extremely dangerous in battle, because he can quickly blow his opponent's head off his shoulders by teleporting to him.

By the way, Eileen Softhooves and Heather Flower are not as harmless as they seem: Redstone warns me that they are masters of hoof-fighting. And they know how to teleport, too. And they also know quite a few vulnerable points on their bodies: if they hit them, they can paralyze or even kill an opponent. Soft hooves indeed.

Heaven Waterfall observes the rules of behavior, though she is not always able to control herself when her family is tainted.

"Self-righteous pieces of shit..." she says, addressing everyone near the end of the council. "You think we're weak. You know, we didn't want all this! We had enough farms, too, but then we had to take control of the dam and the water supply, because fifty years ago the two families that were doing it cut each other off! Your ancestors all shed blood for power at that point, too! But not us. And none of you wanted to take it on then."

"You were lucky to stay away," Eileen Softhooves interjects courteously. "You were the closest family to controlling the dam. And I don't consider you weak. Not at all."

"Neither do I," Robus Steelmane agrees. "We helped you with the maintenance of the dam afterwards by providing specialists. And we're willing to help now. Things aren't getting any better, as far as I can see."

Heaven obviously wants to say something to that, but decides not to say anything. She's in no position to fight. She needs their help. Except for the pompous chickens of the Falcon family.

"Hey..." I whisper to Redstone. "What happened fifty years ago?"

"The Last Family War," he answers in an equally muffled voice. "There were too many events that led to widespread conflict, involving almost every family except Waterfall. More than half the families were either wiped out, like the ones that maintained the dam and handled the water supply, or absorbed by others."

"How did Prince let this happen?"

"I told you... there were too many events. Prince just didn't have time to keep track of everything, even with the help of Kings."

"What did he end up doing?"

"You're sitting on the result of his decision right now," the gray unicorn with the red mane replies.

"Meaning?"

"Prince created a Council of Families, where matters concerning both the families and the business of the city are to be negotiated, since almost all of the industrial enterprises are owned by the families. At the very first Council there was a division of the businesses and territories of the destroyed families, and at that same first Council Prince threatened that if any of them started an open war, he would personally destroy every blood heir of that family. "

"Why them specifically?"

"Because according to the rules, a family was considered destroyed when none of the family heirs were left alive, and then their business, staff, slaves, resources, and everything else went to the family that destroyed the heirs. And Prince's threat was significant to them, for it meant that he would do anything to erase the family from history, transferring the activities to competent hooves, creating a new one. Open conflicts must be stopped at the Council."

"Open conflicts... More than once you've emphasized that word."

"Yeah. Don't forget that Prince encourages competition, and if one manages to subdue another family without bloodshed or damage to the city, then they are more efficient more responsible."

Now it's clear why Heaven Waterfall is in no hurry to accept help from others. It would make her family dependent on another. She does have a hard time. Her words about another family being behind the raiders' organized attacks seem believable. Someone, apparently, is already planning to subjugate her family. But who?

To answer for her entire family... To protect them from being taken over. Too much responsibility on Heaven's shoulders. I wouldn't be able to handle it, and I'd probably suspect others of conspiracy, too.

"All right," Prince interjects. "All right, I'll consider sending someone else to Crater to deal with the raiders' organized nature."

"Doesn't that mean," Robus Steelmane says, "the two Kings have failed?"

"I sent them right after the last council when they started talking about this problem. Three months ago. I haven't heard from them since. I don't know what's wrong with them, but too much time has passed and the problem is only getting worse."

"You could have taken care of it yourself," Waterfall says.

"And leave Vanhoover unattended..." Prince mutters, shaking his head. "As long as it's not directly threatened by anything. Learn to find your own solutions to your problems. So... the questions on the agenda are over. Maybe some of you have new topics coming up? No? Well, then I'll close today's Council."

The heads retire to their offices, where they will be for some time, in case any of a King or other families want to call on them for work or services.

I notice that during the Council, Prince didn't mention Unity or Fillydelphia. Maybe they are not a big threat to him yet. Or maybe he hopes to cooperate by getting Red Eye on his side. Or maybe he's working out a plan to eliminate him, like getting rid of Unity.

As for the families, I can tell that it's better to do business with Waterfall or Steelmane. Despite her lack of restraint in her emotions, the former shows herself to be an excellent leader, able to stay afloat under the most difficult circumstances. And the latter... Robus... I was a little worried by his good-naturedness. It would make me happy if it wasn't a mask that hid a genial, conniving mind underneath.

Naturally, all families have their skeletons in the closet, and new ones are constantly being added to them, but as has been pointed out before, it is food, water, and electricity that are important to the city. Better to be friends with the family that does that.

I don't want to get involved with the others yet: the Falcons are aggressive, the Softhooves probably do a lot of business on the side, the Meadows... in addition to their head being dangerous, his family also supplies the town with drugs and special services in their brothels.

"How are the brothels of Softhooves and Meadows different from each other?" I ask Redstone.

"In the brothels of Softhooves, the prostitutes are gentler—if you want tender love, even if it's for the caps and they also don't use drugs in that place. At the Meadows brothels it's the other way around: all the prostitutes are on the hook, and you can make unimaginable perversions, if you pay good money, of course. In general, it's rough sex. This is the only thing that makes the Softhooves brothels inferior to the Meadows brothels: although the former are much more numerous, the latter have more clients."

"Why don't you tell me what Paradise Pleasure is?

"Go find out for yourself," Redstone smiles. "Okay... Almost everybody's out of here by now, so I'll go."

"Aren't you staying with Prince?"

"No. After a day like this, I felt like having fun with my slave mares at the Stable 68. So, see you soon."

Prince and I are the only ones left in the hall. He beckons me to him and offers me a seat in whatever chair the heads of families have been sitting in up to now. I sit in the closest one without thinking long. That's where Eileen Softhooves was sitting.

"Interesting choice," the mighty white unicorn with the golden mane smiles. "The Softhooves family doesn't like stallions in leadership positions."

"So how do they tolerate you, the father of all Vanhoover?"

"The Queen appointed me. It was the mare's decision, and they couldn't disrespect that."

"Also, you can't be killed," I want to say. "That's why no one's going to turn up against you much."

"You're right," he chuckles. "But still... You can't do everything alone. You have to compromise to get others to agree to work for the good of the city. So, what do you think? What are your impressions?" Prince asks, sitting in his chair and looking intently at me with his blue eyes.

"One: They are not what they seem. Putting on their masks, they have begun to talk to each other as if it were a performance—especially trying in front of Prince and a King. At times these masks fall off, as with Waterfall. The second is that some want to solve problems, some don't, but pretend they do, and some don't care as long as it doesn't affect them personally."

"Good. I think you've already chosen who you will cooperate with for a recommendation for King status. You don't have to tell me. It doesn't matter to me right now."

"What do I need to do?"

"We'll start with you solving their obvious problems—and then we'll see. It all depends on whether or not you're up to the task, because the failure or success of the operation will already depend on you. You've heard that the Crater is Waterfall and Steelmane's biggest problem by far: they need an experienced fighter who can get into that labyrinth and get out of it alive."

"Do you really think that the Kings sent out failed and died?"

"I have no idea."

"And you don't care about their fate?"

"They knew what they were doing."

Prince looks apathetic to their possible deaths. This confirms once again that Blackwater's death matters to Prince for some reason, but I decide to keep quiet about it for now.

"Is it really so dangerous out there that the Kings can't handle it?"

"No one can survive there alone, for they will only be surrounded by enemies. Kings are too proud and stubborn to work together, even with each other, so, blinded by their status, they obviously underestimated the organization of the raiders, for which they paid with their lives. I think with your persuasion skills you can put together the right team and get to the heart of it. I'm more than sure the raiders' organization has a strong reason."

"It's a dangerous place..."

"You didn't dare to come to Vanhoover, even though there's no coming back from there. The White Demon that steals the souls of the weak... As they say in Hoofland. There's always something interesting behind the myths and rumors."

Holy shit. Somehow he manages to press my weakness. Taking advantage of my curiosity, my hunger for secrets and mysteries that are just waiting to be uncovered.

Why has the organization of the raiders skyrocketed? They must be commanded by someone experienced, with knowledge.

"Also," Prince adds, "solving the raider problem will immediately increase your fame in town. Just what you need for King status."

Prince reads me like a book. He's quick to figure out what's what. I said I needed King status to find something. I am already on the lookout for something unusual in his mind. I am driven by the discovery of mysteries. Curiosity will ruin me sooner or later—and okay if only me: I don't want to set others up, but I can't do it without them.

Fuck...

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Prince says and leaves the hall. I'm left all alone.

After sitting in the hall for a while longer, digesting Prince's entreaties, I rise from the chair where Eileen Softhooves was sitting and decide to pay a visit to Heaven Waterfall. Perhaps she'll give me a recommendation for King status.

Finding her office, I knock on the door. After a few seconds, I am allowed to enter.

"Hello, Heaven Waterfall, and hello to you, Flint Gray," I say politely. There's no one else in the office besides them.

"Let's not stand on ceremony," she begins in her low voice, sitting in a small chair. Flint Grey, a smoky earth pony with a white mane, sits across from her, and noticing me, gets up and walks over to Mother's chair on her right side.

"I was at the Council and heard that you have a big problem with the Crater raiders. Well, I'm willing to offer my services."

"You," she smiles skeptically, "can solve what many Kings can't?"

Need I say, Prince himself offered to take me up on the case? Ruthlessly manipulated my hunger for secrets, like a drug dealer who promises another dose for a favor to spur my interest in the raider problem? I don't think so. Prince wouldn't want me to use it as an excuse. At least I don't think so.

"I doubt he'll take up the matter right now. If you name me a decent price, I'll head to the Crater tomorrow and get it done a lot faster. I have experience in exploring dangerous places. I come from the main part of the Wasteland, I've seen some shit, and I've managed to survive."

Heaven hesitates and looks at me appraisingly. There is doubt in her gaze, but also a desire to deal with the problem as quickly as possible. Flint Gray glances back and forth between me and his mistress.

"All right, have it your way." She gestures with her hooves. "I offer twenty thousand caps if you can get me out of this problem, or at least find something to help me solve it."

Uh-oh... That's not bad cash. Not bad at all, I'd say! It's enough to make repairs to Heavenly Harbor. But I'll be a little greedy.

"Twenty-five thousand and I'll take the job. Where else are you going to find someone willing to go to that Crater?"

"For twenty thousand they will."

"Reputation of a dangerous place. Few will volunteer even for twenty-five thousand."

"Prince will find someone."

"And what's the result? Two probably dead Kings."

"Someone else will be found."

"I repeat. Dead Kings. It's discouraging."

"We can wait," Heaven bends her head, but it's clear from her voice that she's ready to give up. As long as she keeps deluding herself for an extra five thousand caps.

I need to remind her of something.

"I don't think this is a good idea. The longer you drag it out, the greater the loss, for the raiders get stronger. Eventually you'll have to turn to some family for substantial help... You will have to accept unfavorable terms. You will submit to them. And you will be swallowed up, and the Waterfall family will remain only in the pages of history."

I wanted to add 'because someone felt pathetic for five thousand,' but I decided that would be too harsh.

Heaven and Flint communicate with each other... on a mental level, discussing my proposal, that is, just looking each other in the eye. They realize that their situation is bad, and that others, including me, are taking advantage of it. Well, better me than another family. The choice for her is obvious.

"All right. I agree," she barely squeezes out, turning to me. "It'll cost a lot of caps, but if it works out, it'll pay for itself in no time."

***

I'm going back to the Venture landing site. The vertibuck will be gone for about another half hour. The deal was to check on me closer to ten in the evening, since I don't have a long-range radio to call them from Heavenly Harbor now.

I'm so hungry... And there's nothing to eat. Shall I go hunting? Or should I wait for the others?

I keep myself busy practicing my teleportation spells and barriers, and after a while I hear the roar of the propellers.

Venture lands next to me, I jump in and see only Motley.

"Where's L... Berry?" I ask Motley.

"After you left for the Family Council, she asked me to go to Vanhoover and get some food, and then we went hunting. Now she's doing the cooking."

Her words made my stomach rumble.

"Then hurry home. I'm hungry."

Not ten minutes later, I'm already sitting in the dining room of Heavenly Harbor, holding a fork and knife in my telekinesis.

"Berry! I'm starving!"

"Almost!" a shout comes from the kitchen. "You try to figure out what works here and what doesn't. Almost everything is ruined by time."

"Hurry up!"

Motley sits at the table with an unconcerned face, waiting for Lemon to bring something. She's been gone forever, and then she comes out holding a bowl of vegetable salad and some hard-boiled eggs in her teeth. Motley pours it into her plate, takes it in her teeth, and walks toward the exit of the dining room.

"Hey, where are you going?" I ask.

"I wanna ve in quief," she says and hides from sight in the hallway.

"But..."

It's late.

I'm eating the salad in my mouth, completely unaware of what I'm eating. Soon Lemon arrives with a plate of fried meat. I grab for it like a hungry animal. The lemon pony sits beside me and gazes at me with a smile while I eat.

"Now it's my turn to treat you," she adds.

I start to choke, almost choking, remembering how she drank the berry juice from the cup I held up to her mouth. I greedily gulp for air with my mouth.

"Easy, easy..." she says in a worried voice and taps me on the back. "Take your time. Chew normally."

I cough, and this time I eat more carefully and slowly. To choke and die from eating... yeah, that would be a shitty death.

"Thanks for the food... It was delicious," I muttered, sighing in relief with a full stomach. Relief from a full stomach... It sounds paradoxical, though, to feel light with a weighty bag of caps.

"And you don't even want to know what I made it with?"

"If I don't vomit and throw up in an hour, you don't have to tell me. It doesn't matter."

Lemon laughs.

"Where did Motley go?" she asks, looking around the empty and robotically cleaned dining room.

"Wanted to eat in peace and privacy."

After a frantic devouring of food, I can calm down and think normally. I notice that Lemon is completely naked. No armor. I look at her cutie mark on her chubby thigh. It's a green terminal screen with a binary code on it.

"Interesting cutie mark you have," I mutter as I look up into the earth pony's green eyes. Her plump cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Yes... It has a binary code on it."

"And what does it mean?"

"The number forty-two, that's all," she answers.

"Interesting... By the way, how did Motley react to your appearance? You are a Steel Ranger, after all."

"Well... I don't know. She didn't say anything when she saw me, though I was wildly embarrassed. She didn't say anything and didn't say anything. Anyway, she didn't say anything, and I didn't want to ask."

Lemon shyly lowers her head to the table. I put my hoof on her back, on her yellow short fur, and stroke her soothingly.

"She's too much on her mind," I say. "Thoughtful and silent. I guess she doesn't care what you look like. That's why she's silent. Why are you walking around without armor at all? Don't you have a suit under your armor?"

"I do, but... I dunno. It's getting stuffy. I keep hiding from the Steel Rangers. I don't want to show my face. Tired of it."

Oh, that clears some things up.

"Is that why you decided to stay here longer? Is that why you came with me?"

Her answer is... belated, as if she wasn't sure of her answer, "Yes... You're... how should I put it... I don't feel so tense with you. I feel much more relaxed. You don't look at me with hidden loathing."

"Should I have?" I smile slightly. She notices my smile and chuckles awkwardly.

"I guess... Over the past year, the appearance of being overweight has caused everyone to treat me... dismissive."

"Why? Didn't they know it was all the fault of the illness?"

"Yes... but it wasn't just that either. I'm the Star Paladin of the Steel Rangers. I have to set an example for others. For inadequate physical training, the Elder should have removed me from this position. Whether because of illness or not, it doesn't matter."

"And why didn't she do that?"

"Probably... because of my parents."

Oh, I remember. Her parents were in the last unit that went to the Mysterious Stable and never came back.

"And... Elder Largo Breeze was the one who sent them there. They were her close friends. She was sure they would make it, but... as you can see..."

"I guess you'd like to go there and find out their fate, wouldn't you?"

"I sure would... I was twelve years old when it happened. And Largo Breeze has been sworn to look after me ever since. Not only her, but the others have helped fight the urge to go there... on a deadly expedition. But I managed. More or less. Their fate still interests me the most."

"Are you telling me that the Elder has not removed you from her position because she considers herself indebted to your parents for depriving their daughter of her parents' love?"

"Yes... And that's why I'm still the Star Paladin. Others don't understand that. Why should a role model be... a fat cow like me?" It's as if her voice is growing brittle, about to rattle with strain and break. "I am despised not so much for being overweight as for being a fat Star Paladin. I am so high up... everyone can see me... I... just... I'll... shame the Steel Rangers..."

Lemon sobs, her head low against the table. Her shoulders twitch with convulsive sighs.

What a pressure she's under... Everything is turning against her.

"Hush, hush... it's okay," I say softly, stroking her back and pulling her close to me.

I hope my armor doesn't bother her too much. She doesn't seem to understand what's going on right now. She doesn't notice that I'm holding her against me and hugging her.

"Everyone silently despises me or is ashamed of me..." she continues in a panting voice. "Friends... Husband... And Largo... She avoids talking about it... In the last year it's as if all the Steel Rangers have become strangers to me... It's some kind of nightmare dream..."

She sobs in a hysterical way, and eventually notices me cradling her in my arms. Reluctantly she wraps her front legs around me and bumps her wet face into my armor... and can't hold it.

For how long the Steel Rangers have been her family, her only family, and now she feels like an outcast because of her health problems. I understand how she feels... I do. Brisa and I were once banished from our home Vault a second time, thinking that the Wasteland had changed us too much. Bitter insult and betrayal pain.

It all piled up in Lemon and piled up, and then she burst. She cries quietly, and I stroke her back and then her green mane.

"Don't worry... You'll heal. And everything will be fine. Besides, you're a first-rate hacker and programmer. You're valuable to the Steel Rangers. Don't forget that."

Lemon doesn't react to this, continuing to hug me, tucking her nose into mine. I think she'd be much more comfortable ducking into my beige fur.

Motley appears in the doorway with the dirty dishes. She stares at us in surprise, almost dropping her plate from her teeth. Lemon hasn't noticed her appearance.

I press my hoof to my mouth, letting the beige pegasus know to keep quiet. She nods subtly, quietly takes her plate to the kitchen, and just as quietly leaves the dining room.

It's a good thing she was sympathetic, giving Lemon a chance to not be embarrassed and relax with someone at her side.

The earth pony is quiet and just breathing deeply, tucked into my armor. She hugs me tighter and then lets me go.

"Thank you..." she says in a tired voice, pulling out of my embrace. She sniffs her nose, wiping her face with tears. "I... probably... go to bed. Yeah, I'll take a shower and go to bed. Tired."

She walks slowly toward the exit, her green tail barely swaying from walking. At the very exit she stops and turns to me.

"You're a... good pony," she says embarrassedly. "Thanks again."

I do my best to make my smile look as warm and friendly as possible.

After a while I leave the dining room and head for my bedroom in the 'attic'. On the way, I notice that in the main hall, Motley is lying on the only surviving couch, staring up at the ceiling. Her ears twitch as I enter. She looks at me, and returns to an unconcerned examination of the ceiling.

What is already on her mind right now? Has the sight of Lemon crying at least somewhat stirred her bored heart—or has it not? And would Motley remember the incident tomorrow morning when she saw 'Berry' again?

By the way... For that matter, had 'Berry' told her real name? I don't think so.

***

The 28th of the Month of Bread, Violetday. Thirty-eighth day of my stay.

The last day of the calendar summer in Equestria.

At breakfast, Motley doesn't say a word about yesterday, and Lemon asks me about the Council. I briefly give her the highlights and let her know that I want to go to the Crater.

"I remember," I smile at Lemon, slurping down some gruel, "that I told you to avoid that place."

"I know. But I need connections, acquaintances, to improve my chances of finding key cards. It's a lot easier with King status."

Lemon shakes his head dolefully and continues to finish his porridge. Motley and I have already eaten it all.

"So," I say, "I'm not asking you to follow me, but I can tell you that it will be extremely difficult for me there alone."

"Are you kidding me?" Lemon raises her head. "Of course I'll go with you."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

I understand why she avoids the company of the Steel Rangers, but to get into the thick of it with me... I don't want anything to happen to Lemon. I don't want to take responsibility for her life.

I turn to Motley. She shrugs.

"I'll go with you, too," she says.

Of course you will. Cherry Shine has sent her to follow me.

"Okay, we're leaving in an hour."

***

The Crater. Half of the tall buildings survived, supporting the neighboring high-rises that had fallen on top of them. Other buildings were just piles of rubble and concrete, others had collapsed roofs and several floors. Abnormal dark yellow clouds hang over this place once called Red Spark. Behind the ruined buildings I can see a huge crater left by a mega spell. The danger still emanates from it: an eerie, strange matter that resembles a dark greenish mist swirls in the air over the place. On the north side of the city are high mountains stretching to the clouds themselves.

From above, the Crater appears to be a huge maze of ruined buildings. Already from afar I see how difficult the terrain is to traverse. I look through the scope of my sniper rifle: there are raiders snooping around, fighting each other for fun. I see the distinctive signs of their habitat: lots of dried blood, remains suspended and nailed to surfaces, walls scrawled with curses and profanities. The atmosphere is oppressive and dark.

We land not far from here: if we go any farther, the raiders might be able to hit us with their anti-air guns and thus write us in the annals of history. We landed on the roof of a fairly well-preserved three-story building. Unfortunately, a group of raiders has taken a fancy to the building, and, judging by the marks on the Pip-Boy screen, there are up to a dozen of them.

We decide to split up: I go alone, and Lemon and Motley go together. The first one mutters something about how she'll have a lot of fun with this pegasus, who looks more like a statue than a living pony: she's constantly silent and shows almost no emotion. For her part, Motley isn't happy either. He never is, though.

Lemon and Motley check the third floor, and I check the second and first floor with my partner Whispering Night. I take on more raiders so that Lemon and Motley are less likely to get hurt: they're just starting out as a team.

As I walk down the stairs to the second floor, I meet two raiders waiting for me, who apparently heard us land on the roof. The closest one rushes at me with an old kitchen knife. After dodging his attack, I knock the knife out of his mouth with the stock of my rifle, then levitate the rifle at the right angle, engage the VATS, bide my time and press the trigger—the bullet goes right through and hits the second one in the neck area. Both raiders go down with one shot.

After checking their pockets, I find only one frag grenade. The other has a gun, which she didn't have time to point at me, but it's in such bad shape that it might crumble to dust the next time I fire it. Looking around the rest of the room, I find several magazines of small-caliber ammunition that don't fit my gun, and quite a few homemade narcotics. I will not take them.

Shots are heard from the third floor: it looks like the party has started for my partners, too.

Not finding anything interesting on the second floor, I go down to the first floor and find myself in a small corridor, where several raiders have barricaded themselves, hiding behind overturned furniture. Pulling out a grenade, I pull the pin and throw this hot potato where the scum are hiding.

"Grenade!" one of the raiders yells out in a panic. Two of them run out of cover, but the third doesn't make it: the blast rips his front hoof off. I activate the VATS and fire one shot at each of them with Whispering Night. They fall dead.

After looking around the corridor and finding no one else, I check the equipment of the raiders I just killed. Rusty junk and weapons. They're clearly not the type to attack the Waterfall Farms and the Steelmane Mines to the northwest.

I check the other rooms: there's a raider in one of them, in the bathroom, who's having fun with the decaying corpse of a raiding mare. I take out my shock sword and stick the blade in his neck. He's so dead with his 'snake' in the mare.

I wouldn't want to die like that.

This one has cheap drugs and junk in his pockets, too.

There are stoned-out raiders in the kitchen—they don't notice my presence, even when they stare at me point-blank. I smash their heads in with an energy-magic knuckle.

The refrigerators are littered with pony meat; in the kitchen there are several cases of cheap drugs in various places. There's blood on the walls, profanity on the walls, and fresh guts hanging from the ceiling, which serve as a kind of garland. There are some recently murdered radroaches.

In the hallway, Lemon and Motley are waiting for me.

"Find anything interesting?" I ask.

"No, just strawberry jelly," Lemon replies.

It isn't until a few seconds later that I realize it's about the raiders' smeared brains on the walls.

Clearly, killing my own kind is not good, but sometimes there is simply no other option—so it's better not to think about it. Their aimless wanderings in this world are over, and they have found peace... Sounds like the words of some religious fanatic. Nasty.

On the other hand... killing my own kind. I'm a human being, and ponies are a different species to me. So why do I care? Because I look like them? Or because they act like humans? I think it's both at once.

We walk out of a building that was once a small hotel, a stop before entering the city in pre-war times.

After walking a few hundred feet toward the Crater, I notice two friendly markings on the compass. They move quickly on the compass and seem to be right in front of us, but... no one is there. I raise my head and see something big and feathered dive overhead. The outline resembles a griffon, and a lesser silhouette can be seen next to it.

They land right in front of us.

Chapter 13 - Into the Fire

View Online

Two 'birds' land in front of us, differing from each other only in size. One is a griffon. The other bird that landed on the griffon's back is a brown-colored eagle. I see that the birds get along with each other, and this is irrefutable.

The griffon is wearing hard gray combat armor that protects almost his entire body, and he wears a half-open, high-tech helmet of the same color as the armor. His entire armor is quite ragged: lots of dents from bullets, scratches, and some of the protection has been replaced with parts from other kinds of armor, but it's barely noticeable. I can feel the 'hand' of a master here. On his back hangs a non-standard anti-machine rifle —modified— and a semi-automatic carbine with several modifications that are quite rare. He also carries an unusually large silver-colored pistol; I've never seen such a pistol before. It looks like a 9mm pistol, only much larger.

The griffon raises the front movable part of his helmet. His feathering on his head is snow-white and the tips of his feathers are silver, while the rest of his body is covered in dark gray feathers. The griffon itself looks charismatically confident, and its gaze, fixed on us, is filled with slight superiority and curiosity. I'd guess he's about forty years old, based on the many griffons of various ages I've seen in Vanhoover.

"What are you doing here?" he asks.

His voice is hard and resonant, which matches his appearance. Somehow I can't help but notice his looks. Motley is in a fighting stance, though the griffon on my Pip-Boy was not marked as hostile. I suppose that's my pegasus' standard attitude toward strangers.

"What do you care?" I say, looking into his eyes through the red lenses of my helmet. He smiles slightly.

"Just curious. Everyone knows that this place," he gestures to the ruined city behind him, "is not suitable for romantic outings with girlfriends, given the particular activity of ponies who like to fuck everything that moves."

"And that's exactly why we're headed there," I say. "We need to find out the reason for their organized activity."

"You must be suicidal if you think you can get into the heart of this labyrinth."

"Alone, yes, it's deadly, but I'm not alone. Besides, I volunteered."

"You've got a lot of guts, I see, but you picked the wrong companions," he points to the power armored pony.

He's right, I wasn't paying attention. Lemon did mention that it's hard to walk through the ruins without power armor. We can keep an eye on her, of course, but what if there are situations where you have to run at full speed?

"Ponies in power armor," the griffon continues, "will only get in the way, since there are plenty of tight places where you have to show your agility and reaction speed at times. And Steel Rangers... they're clumsy, slow, heavy enough that..."

"Hey!" the earth pony resents. "We've got a tough fur instead."

"Fat fur," he corrects her amusingly. "I agree, but it won't work in places like this. I'm sure your weight would cause those two," he points to me and Motley, "to die under the rubble of some building if you made a careless move. Or you'll be buried alive under piles of concrete and stone. So," he looks at me, "your heavy companion will only get in your way," the griffon underlines the word 'heavy.

Oh, not again... Lemon, on the other hand, doesn't let those words go unnoticed if they're directed at her.

"Who are you calling heavy, birdy?" she expresses her sincere indignation at the fact. The griffon grins triumphantly.

Lemon, with her complexes, does not yet fully understand that the point of teasing is precisely to provoke a response. If there were no reaction, there would be no teasing.

"There's a reason for that," the griffon with its dark gray body feathering adds. "There's too much debris of ruined buildings and structures in the ruins, often blocking the streets. You have to walk light, or the lack of mobility will make you an easy target for raiders."

"You're right," I say and turn back to the lemon pony. "'Berry', you go to Venture, and Motley and I and the griffon will go to the Crater."

Besides, I don't want to risk her life. Yes, she would be a good support in battle, but... it would be difficult for her to move around. I also don't want a griffon teasing her. She doesn't deserve that. She's going through enough trouble right now because of it.

"Okay..." Lemon says sadly, but understandingly, and then turns menacingly to the griffon. "You'll pay me more for the 'heavy' companion. And, believe me, the price will be very high!" she tells him in an icy tone, and then walks toward our landing spot.

She goes a fair distance away. The griffon looks a little confused.

"What makes you so sure I'll agree to go with you?"

"For starters, what's your name?"

"Ferris; and this is my faithful pet and friend, Edge," the griffon points to the bird perched proudly on his back. It screams in response, spreading its wings and displaying its magnificence.

"My name is Daniel. This is Motley," I point to the silent pegasus. "And... I might be able to interest you."

"And do what?" the griffon smiles skeptically.

"I've already interested you since you noticed us and decided to reveal your nature to us."

"It was just new to see a Steel Ranger with someone other than his kind."

"Exactly. The fact that you didn't kill us at the first opportunity shows that you have a modicum of reasonableness and rationality—so you're already a bit trustworthy. Of course, I haven't the faintest idea what you're doing here, but I'm sure you've been to the Crater to speak so confidently of the place. You certainly have experience that none of us have. So, what would I interest you in? How about the fact that I'm looking for the Project Dome? And I'm making progress—I've already got two of the six keys I need to get in. I suppose there's one more in the Crater, since the other keys haven't been found. By the way, this legendary place must interest you, too, given your knowledge of weapons and self-defense. This is evidenced by your rare weapons, which are in excellent condition, among which is an unusual one, a quality model of which I have never encountered in the Wasteland. So scientifically, Project Dome interests you. So much technology, and behind it, unlimited possibilities... Am I right?"

Griffon's mouth slightly open in amazement at my lengthy reasoning.

"You've already piqued my interest with your insights. Indeed, Project Dome interests me scientifically, but I have no intention of risking my life in search of it. It is a myth, nothing more. I've spent a lot of time looking for it in my time. But you found two keys... That doesn't change anything. Perhaps they were designed as a diversion. Will you show them to me?"

"Yeah, of course," I say sarcastically. "You think I'd carry such valuable things around with me so someone like you could kill me and rob me?"

"And really, you're not as simple as you look. All right, all right. I'll babysit you in Red Spark, but I have the right to leave at any time."

"Hopefully not in the middle of a fight..."

He laughs.

I can use another flying companion in this place. Truth be told, it would be far more effective than a Steel Ranger in a place where I have to be able to maneuver and be stealthy.

Ferris and his pet join us, and we head toward the Crater; at some point along the way I hear an obscure noise behind me—it's far away, but nonetheless, it makes me uneasy for some reason. A very strange urge grows in me to investigate the source of the sound, but I fight it off. I shouldn't be distracted by every obscure noise in the distance. I had to concentrate on what lay ahead of me.

***

On the way to the ruins we come across a small group of raiders, consisting of three ponies. I'm about to draw my rifle, but Ferris outruns me and kills the three in less than two seconds with his silenced carbine.

Impressive. He's got a quick grip and reaction time. If I'm gonna fight a guy like that, it's best to keep him in front of me... a couple of miles ahead of me, and look at him through the scope—and there's no guarantee he won't see me before I do.

"Ferris," I turn to the griffon, "what's the best course of action in these ruins? If there's a lot of raiders out there, it's going to be pretty problematic to use a weapon without a silencer, right?"

"True, but there are always shots fired in raider territories, since raiders sometimes shoot each other for fun. The raiders in the area hardly pay attention to a little fuss. But if there's a long gunfight, the others are bound to get suspicious and check to see what the hell has started. So you can take a shot or two, but it's better not to take any chances. However, yes, it's better to use a silencer so as not to accidentally shake up the whole area."

"Motley, do you ha—" I turn to the pegasus and freeze at a half-second as she is already installing a silencer on one of her rifles. "You don't have to answer that," I smile, then turn to Ferris. "So which side are we going to enter the Crater from?"

"We'll go in from the north side, it's mountainous and poorly guarded... compared to the other possible routes into the Crater."

"Why isn't the north side used?"

"The Red Spark ruins there are generally difficult to pass, and there aren't many groups of raiders living there either. "

"How do you know?"

"Watched them. For a long time. And analyzed. Most of the well-armed, insanely laughing morons are on the rooftops of buildings, looking out. These aren't the raiders' temporary hideouts. The city has long been settled by the raiders, they know what's here and how. They know how to guard their territories and their own lairs. From each other, for example."

"Meaning?"

"A gang is different from another gang. They compete with each other for areas, but that's all but stopped in the last few months. Right now they're focused on protecting the city. Something or someone has organized them superbly. Your friend Berry would only be a burden to us. She could get through on the west side, but the guards there are so fucking good. The south and east sides are passable, but before you know it, you'll be dead from the deadly levels of radiation left by a megaspell that fell during the Great War."

"I don't think you sent Berry away just because she would be a burden in the ruins, do you?"

I consider the rocky terrain, with the surviving Red Spark buildings barely standing by.

"Right," Ferris agrees. "I dislike the Steel Rangers simply because they take technology for themselves and don't share it with others. They even clamp down on knowledge. They're the real stingy ones. I hear they have a vast and versatile workshop..."

"I've been to their headquarters, and they have a truly amazing workshop. I just drooled over all their equipment."

"Expert in mechanics?"

"Yep, I can lull your rifle with my eyes closed and fix it up in seconds. Just give me the tools and the right equipment, and I can fix anything for you like a wizard."

"You've been to their base?"

I get the impression that the dark gray griffon with white feathering has only now realized that I've visited the lair of the Steel Rangers.

"Yes. Also, I know the Steel Rangers can't be trusted, but of them I can only more or less trust 'Berry'."

"What makes you think you can trust her?"

"What makes you think I trust you? Or do you think I trust everyone I meet, that you can just take me and tell me who I can and can't trust?" I counter. The griffon looks a little confused. "Right," I say, without waiting for an answer. "You can only trust yourself in the Wasteland, and what I said about trusting 'Berry' is only relative, and the same applies to you. And if I'm faced with the question of which of you to nail, you go first."

"Have your friends betrayed you? The ones you trusted the most?" Ferris asks sympathetically. "I sense it in your tone."

"Yes, but by this point the trust in them was negligible. After all, they say a friend is known in trouble. There is always someone in the Wasteland who can be trusted... at least to some extent, but you have to know how to define them. I have had many friends in the past, and they would be the least likely to betray me for caps or power. 'Berry' is also capable of this if she has to choose between me or her kind. Trust is a dangerous thing, so I expect everyone to stab me in the back."

"That last line reminded me of the phrase that when you start to trust someone, you give them a weapon—they can either protect you or kill you in the back with that weapon," the griffon looks toward Vanhoover with a heavy sigh, and then strides toward the Crater as if nothing had happened.

There was something wistful in his gaze. Apparently it has something to do with his speeches about betrayal, which may well have happened to him in Vanhoover.

During the day we reach the ruins of Red Spark. A few bloodied ponies in spiked armor bustle among the streets, but my Pip-Boy has many more marks, namely about a dozen.

We can try to move stealthily, but we'll be surrounded if detected. Better to split up. Ferris will be cover, and Motley and I will be the bait, the distraction. We can't go head-to-head together: as with stealth detection, we'll be surrounded or trapped. Someone has to be on hand and safe. Using the effect of surprise, we will draw out all the raiders, and then if possible Ferris will eliminate them. That's our basic scheme of action.

Ferris said this place is poorly defended... Well, this walk is going to be far from easy.

Yeah... We didn't want to split up, but we had to. At first I wonder how the griffon could communicate with us from this distance.

Not by shouting.

But it turns out everything is much simpler: there's a radio in his helmet, and we tune in to each other's frequency. He takes up a higher position, and we sneak into the grocery store with half a dozen raiders. Motley and I wait for him to distract them with kills outside.

As soon as Ferris on my command starts shooting the raiders in the street—which, by the way, he's quite adept at doing—the raiders who are basking in the grocery store notice several of their mates dropping dead. This allows us to easily enter them from behind through the back door. Together with Motley, we kill the raiders who are there.

Rifle to rifle, rump to rump. Motley is silent, but I sense she likes the teamwork. Of the dead bodies' gear, I only pick up ammo for my weapon and more or less normal medical supplies, and I leave weapons in decent condition with a rock in my heart. Excess weight is dead weight. I also hope to find some information here about directions from above, but I don't find anything useful.

We walk a little farther down the street, and a couple of raiders casually emerge from a nearby building to scout—Ferris kills them before we realize they're looming in front of us. What's striking is that Ferris's anti-machine rifle has twice the rate of fire of its standard counterpart.

As soon as we pass the corpses in the building where the two raiders came out, we go to investigate and find the rest of the raiders. The first floor is covered in blood, bloody garlands of guts, livers, hearts hang on the walls. Nailed to the ceilings are bodies of ponies whose faces have been slit in the mouth area, apparently in an attempt to give them some kind of devilish grin. There's an abundance of maggots crawling all over this bloody mess, gnawing on everything they can.

The raiders often kill each other. Most of their decorations are from other raiders.

Perhaps the center of this pretty picture is a group of raiders sitting next to one of the corpses and devouring the meat along with the gnawers, taking the wildest pleasure in the faint crunch of white worms. I'm sure there's a disgusting stench in the air here.

Having dealt with them, we head up the steps to the second floor, which is probably just as horrible, but at least there were no maggots here. Apparently, this is where the raiders slept. In every sense of the word. In one of the rooms, two raiders are playing love games, using the half-decomposed head of a unicorn. They don't react to Motley and me, having been exasperated by just elephant doses of Dash and Buck, so they don't mind when Motley and I join in their lovemaking.

After killing the fucking, literally, raiders, we move on through the rooms. In one large room we find several more raiders: three of them are drugged and don't even bother to take the inhalers off their faces, the other two decide to compete in a 'who'll knock out more teeth' contest.

I deal with the stoned ones, but get distracted when I notice Motley suddenly shift into a hooffight. She gallops across the room, kicking one of them in the knee with her fore hooves, causing it to lean forward, and breaking the jaw of another with her hind hooves, ending with an equally savory kick to the pony's skull, delivering a powerful and lethal blow to it, as evidenced by the crunch. With the other, Motley is more merciful, piercing his temple with a hoof strike. Her movements are more like a dance... a martial dance. It is so beautiful and elegant that I don't notice how slightly I smile at my partner's performance.

I seem to have fallen in love in the professional sense of the word, found myself a hoof-fighting teacher—she just has unparalleled and precise movements.

"No distractions," she calmly points me to the raiders, still far away from reality and unaware of what has just happened. Sometimes I feel pity for them. Slaves to their instincts, slaves to the cruelty that has enveloped them. I already say this as Prince. On the whole, he's really right.

"What the fuck is going on here..." the raider begins sluggishly, glaring at me, and tries to get up, but Motley kills her with the rifle before she's finished her sentence—the bullet goes through and sharpens the wall behind her.

"Go on, finish off the others," Motley says, pulling me out of my thoughts. I draw my sword and strike the rest of the raiders right to the core, into their hearts.

"Why are you distracted?" Motley asks, as we check the room for useful and valuable information.

"No reason... sometimes pity comes through unexpectedly."

"To these rapists and maniacs?" I hear surprise in her voice.

"Yes, I completely understand what they have done. But I can't help thinking the Wasteland did this to them. It's just the way it is. Under the influence of adrenaline during combat, you rarely think about it, as you are ruled only by the thought of surviving..." I shake my head. The pegasus is silent. "Okay, I won't talk about it. I didn't expect you to move to hoof it. No, I knew you had melee skills, but why now?" I wonder, looking around at the dead raiders. Junk, junk, and more junk.

"Saving ammo. They were unarmed anyway; and I felt like stretching my legs—I haven't punched someone in the face in a while," she replies, looking at the raiders' paltry weapons in the form of rusty kitchen knives. "It feels so good to give those scumbags back the pain they've brought to others in their lives."

I need to stop making jokes about Motley, or she'll make a beige carpet out of me on a bad joke.

"We've been taught not to show pity to our opponents during combat, as they won't do it for us. Sounds cold-blooded, but I personally think the best mercy for them at this point is a quick death. Although, such rapists and sadists don't deserve them. Sometimes I get into a hoof-fight, for my hooves begin to itch when I see all the atrocities they do to others, and sometimes even to their own kind..."

"Thank you," I say, and wonder at this gratitude for some unknown reason. Apparently I was pleased to hear someone's understanding that I'm not alone in thinking about things that make me feel bad at times. Especially from the one who is constantly silent. To this gratitude she replies nothing. I think she is surprised by the sudden moralizing on her part.

We deal with the rest of the raiders and move to the roof. There are just two raiders sitting there with semi-automatic carbines, and on the roof of the next building across the street are two missile launchers. If we'd gone into the open, in just a few seconds this place would have become one solid hot spot where we couldn't even stick our noses out. We'd have to do it, because a missile launcher have a nasty tendency to break cover.

The beige pegasus takes out the two raiders on the roof where we are, and at the same time I take out the two on the next roof from Whispering Night. Teamwork.

After glancing over the tops of the neighboring buildings, we don't see anyone, and Pip-Boy no longer marks the red marks.

I tell Ferris on the radio inside my helmet that everything on the rooftops is fine. In a sense. In less than a minute, a griffon shows up and lands beside us, accompanied by the faithful eagle. Edge keeps up with the griffon not a foot behind. Now that's what I call loyalty.

"What are you waiting for? A miracle?" the dark gray griffon asks ironically.

"Yes, a miracle in feathers."

"Can you jump?" Ferris asks suddenly, stepping to the edge of the roof.

"I can. What do you need it for?"

He'd also ask me if I could talk... though then I'd have to answer with eloquent silence.

"We need to get to that building next door," he points to the building across the small street.

I cast a glance at the street below us—it had just collapsed downward. The breach went into the black darkness of the abyss, and I decide to stop looking down. What is it they say? When you look into the abyss, is the abyss also looking into you?

"Can you make it?" the griffon chuckles.

Is that a challenge? Well, look, feathered, I'll make it, won't I?

"Sure I will!" I say confidently.

Who am I kidding? I ain't gonna make it. There's a lump in my throat. Shit, why did I sign up for this?

Motley and Ferris and their pet easily fly over to the roof of the neighboring seven-story building, climb inside, and a minute later show up from the sixth-floor window, watching me with anticipation and curiosity.

"I'm waiting," the griffon shouts.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid I won't make it. To go through so much shit and die so stupidly. But I have a plan.

Without wasting a second, I begin to accelerate for the jump and concentrate my magic for teleportation. After accelerating and pushing off the edge of the roof as hard as I can, I jump. The feeling is... well, fuck experiencing that again! For a moment I remembered that jump with the fire hose on the roof of the Princess Luna Information Center, though I had a safety cushion in the form of the same fire hose back then. At the same time, the lack of a hard surface under my hooves also has its perks. I can imagine what it's like for pegasi. I bet they get a lot of pleasure out of flying. I envy Motley and Ferris.

After flying twenty feet and beginning to descend under the force of gravity, I activate the teleportation spell and find myself at the very edge of the window next to my partners in a moment. If I had jumped very weakly, I definitely wouldn't have been able to teleport that far. I have to improve the range of my teleportation spell, or the next bet will end in a hopeless day for me.

"I forgot you are a unicorn," Ferris sighs.

"However, I jumped and... got there," I smile at him.

I thought I was going to give birth up there in the air.

"That's... Okay, here's your tenner, Motley. Don't blow it all on the mares!" he gives the said amount of caps to the pegasus.

Did you guys bet whether I'd make it or not? Well, you know... Although I'm happy that Motley bet that I'd make it. Well, maybe because she didn't have to choose, since Ferris chose the other option. What a puffed-up turkey.

I look around the room we're in: it's a spacious office, replete with desks with terminals on them. All of the terminals have not survived to this day. Unfortunately, the raiders heard us in this building.

Devil, that's how lucky we are—the Pip-Boy shows little more than a dozen red marks, and by the sound of it, they're already running in full force here. Soon the doors to the office fly off their hinges, and a dozen raiders come running in, scattering around the office and immediately starting shooting at us with every gun they have.

"Look at that, fresh meat, I haven't had this much fun with it in so long," the largest raider shouts, fully clad in heavy, spiky all-metal armor with a necklace of foals' hooves around his neck.

Foals born from raiders. Not to forget that a substantial portion of the victims of the raiders here are other raiders.

His combat saddle is flanked by automatic grenade launchers, which activate with a sort of menacing click, ready to bring death and destruction...

Well, fuck me now! Told Lemon to stay home, but no, here I am.

The rest are armed with shotguns, assault rifles, large-caliber pistols. This seems to be an unusual group, as they are all well armed and dressed appropriately—in solid fucking armor! It's going to be tough, especially for a raider with automatic grenade launchers. No, I'm not trembling with fear... Or pretend I'm not shaking like a leaf. It's hard to tell what causes any particular emotion.

Focus!

A symphony begins, consisting of the high trills of rifles, the low bass of flying missiles, the clang of falling shells. I worry about the shells, not just because they will hit me or my friends, but because of how these grenade launchers will destroy the hell out of the building and it will become our collective tombstone.

We hide behind office cubicles, which, oddly enough, can reduce the speed of a bullet pretty well—but they can't handle a grenade launcher. When I couldn't think of anything better to do than to throw the terminal at the grenade-raider in order to win a few precious seconds, I put the plan into action. I magically rip out the terminal that was next to me with the electronic wires, and I throw it at the group and hit the grenade-raider, who takes the object I threw right on his head.

"That's it, bitch! You pissed Billy off! You're screwed!" he yells in a rage, jumping around and crushing his own mare companions as he tries to get the object off his head that was in his way.

Crazy guy. He even took down office cubicle partitions like a bulldozer because of his weight. Bulldozer... That would have been his nickname. Billy the Bulldozer.

My partners aren't just sitting on the sidelines somewhere. Ferris uses his battle eagle to take out a couple of raiders, though by the gods this eagle could kill them all with his claws, which he's used to scratch the eyes out of the unlucky ones who don't make it on time. And those who do catch a bullet in the bridge of the nose from the griffon. Right in the bull's-eye! Or rather, right between the eyeballs.

Motley is more active. In the sense that she doesn't sit behind the same fence, but moves between them, at times even deftly jumping on partitions and jumping from one to the other. And it's hard for raiders to get at her because of her agility.

Hell, I envy her speed and accuracy, because I've always been able to overpower opponents with that sort of thing if they could get close enough to me. The moves are left in my human body... most of them unusable in a pony's body.

With masterful shifting and dodging, Motley kills three of the raiders. The fourth, who has gotten too close to her hiding place too quickly, she rewards her hooves with blows to her face, and then with a turn she strikes her front kneecaps with her hind hooves, and the mare leans forward. At that moment the pegasus does a backflip, hitting the pony's chin with her hind hoof, causing something to crack in her neck and make a dead—now literally—loop and hit right into the fence, leaving a huge dent there.

She's so good at that.

I get the best of it, as usual—Billy and a couple of raiders who happen to not be pinned down by this bulldozer. Billy fires a grenade launcher at me—apparently a high explosive, as the blast literally destroys anything that counts as a target. Eventually something in his grenade launcher clicks, and one of the rounds falls out instead of being launched at me. The raider is distracted by this, and I, taking advantage of this moment, pull out my revolver and activate the VATS. Time slows down and I can assess my opponents: two have assault rifles, and one is levitating two prewar swords in front of her. This ninja is covering Billy's rear.

Looks like he likes it sharp.

I take one shot to each raider's head, and Billy takes two shots. The bullets successfully find their targets in the form of raiders with assault rifles, I miss the mare with the swords and hit her in the ear, and the raider in heavy metal armor doesn't take any damage at all—his heavy helmet deflects the shots.

What kind of helmet is so tough?! Maybe the front side is well-protected? Are these raiders a little more clever than the raiders from my world?

While I am in a second's reflection, the quiet gaggle of a bulldozer is heard.

Is he laughing at me?

Wasting no time, I decide to teleport behind the grenade launcher, as the wound has distracted the mare to the ringing and pain in my ears and is slightly disoriented, dropping her swords. I'm going to shoot the raider in the back of the head, relying on the helmet protection being weak there.

Once behind Billy and pointing the barrel at him, I was about to reward him with a few grams of lead, but I'm suddenly driven off my hooves. The mare comes to her senses in time and rushes to 'hug' me as I'm firing, causing me to miss. Raider turns around to see what happened, but is interrupted by Motley's shots. He turns around and starts firing at her with one gun, since the other simply doesn't work. The pegasus has no trouble dodging this one-way fire, doing beautiful pirouettes that make the shells fly past her, or already dodging the shrapnel flying from the explosions. Billy the Bulldozer is cursing because he can't hit her.

I'd love to see her move... but there's another pony waiting for me, 'hugging' me after she knocked me down. I try to push her away from me—luckily, successfully. Having done so, I raise my pony revolver and point the barrel at the raider, but she manages to pick up her two swords in a telekinetic grip. And one of them ends up between my gun and her as I fire. The bullet crushes the sword, and its pieces fall to the floor.

Lucky her!

As I prepare to fire the next shot, she manages to stab a second sword into my front right leg. Lucky for her, but not for me: she's hit the mounts between the plates of my armor, and now the sword is sticking out of my leg. A sharp pain runs down my right front leg. I feel and realize the pain, and I scream.

I can't move my hoof at all, as she still manages to drive the sword into my joint. She's so enchanted by my attempts to get the sword out of the joint, surprised by her hit, that she doesn't notice me thrusting it into her eye and twisting it twice. I release the sword, and she falls to the floor with it.

Out of this firing symphony of the noble sound of dozens of shots, Billy the Bulldozer has been able to catch the death rattle of the one covering his rear. He turns toward us. From the sound of the grenade launcher charging and screaming, he's not happy.

I pull out my Whispering Night, but realize I can't aim it at him in time, because his grenade launchers are already pointed at me... And then a shot goes off—a bullet goes through the raider's head and hits a wall not far from me, knocking out a decent chunk of brick. Billy falls to the floor with a crash. Ferris, holding an anti-machine rifle in his paws, shoots him.

It is all over... Billy the Bulldozer was the last one.

"You okay?" the charismatic-looking griffon asks. Beside him, his pet soars through the air as usual, and then sits on his back.

"Yes, thank you. Only my hoof hurts a little," I reply ironically, showing the injured part of my body. Motley comes out of hiding, and, seeing my bleeding leg, runs up to me.

"You're hurt," she says.

Come on, I wondered why my leg was bleeding.

The adrenaline is still kicking in.

"Honestly? I didn't know," I stretch out in surprise, trying to play dumb, to which Motley sighs heavily and I pull out a bitter healing potion and drink it. In a few minutes the wound heals, leaving no trace on my body, but it does leave blood stains on my armor and on the concrete floor where they stuck me with that fucking sword.

"We must have gotten the attention of the other raiders," Ferris approaches us, "we have to get out of here. And fast."

"And what was that group?" I ask, pointing to the dead raider with the grenade launchers.

"Those peculiar gangs that gather around a strong raider. Usually a group consists of about ten raiders. They either hang around the city, trying to find something in the ruins and reclaim some of the territory of another weak gang, or they go around the Wasteland looking for victims and supplies," the griffon replies, examining the body of the dead grenade-raider.

I've come across a group like that before, when I was looking for the Stable with Lemon. She also told me about the raiders joining up in gangs like this.

The griffon looks over the automatic grenade launchers and barely mutters that they're almost in perfect condition, except for one of them, but who cares? Without saying a word, he pulls a few parts from the grenade launchers and puts them in his bag.

"If you can't carry a good weapon, at least take a few rare parts from it that might come in handy for other weapons," he says. "I hope you use that rule."

"Undoubtedly," I smile. This rule is usually followed by all kinds of repairmen and mechanics, who understand that some parts are more valuable than others. So if you can't take everything, take what you can carry.

Ever since I learned that in this world it's possible to repair weapons or technology with my mind, I've been aware of the potential of magic, but I still pick up parts and pieces even in this case, because sometimes the magic reserves may not be enough to repair something. And not everything can be repaired by thought alone. Not everything.

Motley picks the ammunition she needs from the raiders' corpses without uttering a word. As always. Though I was pleasantly impressed by her revelation some time earlier about the raiders and killing them. Now I'm looking closely at Billy's gear for miscellaneous and good stuff in his pockets... so, what have we got here?

A necklace made of foal hooves, a grenade launcher in extremely shitty condition...

Thank you, Ferris, for taking the most useful things.

...discs from prewar Sapphire Shores concerts and an unusually sized... key? Looks like some kind of storage facility or a place where they kept their loot—or maybe a big safe. If I'm lucky, I might be able to find that storage facility and find something of value... maybe even information or clues about what's going on in the raiders' ranks.

***

As we descend into the lower rooms of the building, we can clearly hear the swearing and hysterical laughter of the raiders nearby, who are betting on who can eat the most fresh meat.

Hell, we've got to get out of here as fast as we can, because they'll be all over us in a matter of minutes. Certainly not to dance and sing songs. Why am I so lucky? When I have to be quiet and not make any noise, a herd of raiders falls on my head, and their alpha is armed with grenade launchers. And even when I try to deal with him, his partner with swords appears out of nowhere. The Wasteland and Luck... I fucking love you two! I love you to death.

"Ferris, do you hear that mess outside?" I turn to the griffon, slowing my step slightly and listening to the voices outside.

They're getting louder by the second. Time is running out.

"Yeah. I also know a way out of here," he replies, approaching a breach in the wall leading apparently to the basements. " We'll go through the sewers."

"Won't they follow us?" I clarify.

We might find ourselves trapped in a corner if we find that all the passages are blocked.

"Then we'll fight like heroes, and maybe someday in a thousand years our remains will be found by archaeologists and recorded as 'heroic.' Well, that's at best, of course," the griffon grins. "Seriously, the raiders have no idea where we are, and when they find out, we'll be drying our oars a block away somewhere."

"What if the path is blocked?" I express my concerns by deftly jumping down into the basement. A small cloud of dust rises in the air from my jump, visible only under the faint rays from the surface.

"There's a huge network of sewers underneath Red Spark, just like any big city," the griffon says, jumping down after me, followed by Motley. "Believe me, the odds of all the paths being blocked are almost zero. Or rather, no: it's zero, since the raiders have cleared some of the paths themselves. So not all paths can't be blocked."

"What do you mean?" I ask in surprise.

Isn't this town completely under their control? What could they be afraid of in these tunnels that they wouldn't risk clearing all the paths?

"Don't forget," he begins, putting on a fully enclosed helmet the same gray hue as his armor, "that the Crater is radioactive and the sewers are full of ghouls and rats. Giant fucking rats, maybe the size of a foal. And no matter how many times the raiders grind the canals, the rats and ghouls reappear. They don't come to the surface, mostly because they get cut there right away, like a grass."

From the basement we go straight into the sewer system. It smells of shit, rot, slime, blood and decay. I can smell it through the mask, very faintly, but even that is enough. My head hurts from this disgusting combination. If I hadn't had my mask, I'd probably be passing out right now.

"It stinks in here," Motley says in disgust, the only one without a gas mask or respirator, just a scarf.

Poor thing. If she wasn't wearing a scarf, she'd smell the entire periodic chemical table. I would have gladly given her my helmet, but I wasn't happy about the prospect of sniffing it out myself. Her face turned green. Edge hid his beak under his wings so he wouldn't smell the stench. It looks cute.

"You didn't think everything in here was going to smell like vanilla and flowers, did you?" I ask rhetorically.

"Hey, your helmet is fully enclosed. You can't smell it," the pegasus replies indignantly.

She should know how wrong she is.

"Onehorn, she's telling the truth. Red Spark's sewers are the worst in all the Wasteland."

Who-who? A onehorn? All right, feathered, you're screwed. I'm gonna help Lemon get her revenge.

"I wonder how many shitholes you've been in to be so confident in your judgment?" I ask with a sneer.

"What a cock-eared prick," the griffon grunts, smiling a little. He surveys the darkness around us. "Beyond that, it's pitch black. Many raiders are afraid to walk through these tunnels at all because of the same ghouls and rats in this darkness. I hope your helmets have a night vision device?"

"Of course it does."

As we move through the dark sewers, we hear distant sounds of gunfire, but more often than not we hear the gurgling of water and whatever is floating there.

It's disgusting.

I shouldn't go into the water itself for one very important reason: it emits a decent amount of radiation. The griffon's right, though: there are a lot of passageways to go through. There are so many that if we weren't with Ferris, we'd probably get lost, especially in this darkness; but he's sure to lead the way. Or maybe he's so sure he's on the right track because he's not sure shit and is afraid to admit it just because of his griffon pride. Either way, the griffon keeps looking around for signs on the cracked walls. Apparently, they indicate which tunnel we are in. This used to be done to make it easier for the repair crews, but now it helps the two ponies and the two... eagles to walk away from stoned cannibals and sadists.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts by the red marks that loom in clumps on Pip-Boy around the next corner—ghouls or rats.

I whisper to my companions not to make any noise. And just as I close my mouth, the gnawed rib of some poor guy who must have been lying there for a couple of days crackles under my hoof. Shit! I should have been more careful! Whatever is around the corner, it's heard the crackle, and now it's growling, getting ready to come out and say hello.

I see... Ghouls! Those are some of my most beloved fans! There's two dozen of them, and they're coming right at us, bent on lacerating our undecomposed flesh, so we decide to make a tactical retreat and take cover fire on the ghouls.

Ferris uses his carbine and is protected as always by Edge, taking on foes who get too close; Motley uses only one rifle on her combat saddle—the one with the silencer. If a ghoul manages to get close to her, she kills him with precise and lethal hoof blows. I use my Whispering Night.

We retreat cautiously backwards, firing back at the crowd of ghouls. Too small to kill a squad like ours, but large enough to easily take down and maul a Steel Ranger.

When we're done with the last rotter, Motley says, "Mr. Daniel, next time, won't you deign to look under your hooves and not step on any shit?"

If the sneer in her voice could melt the ice at the poles, we'd all be in for a world flood. Shit, even Edge shouts at me reproachfully. Now that really makes me feel uncomfortable.

"See? Even Edge agrees with me. Thank you," the pegasus replies and turns her head, nodding to the eagle for support.

No, look at that pegasus, her face begging for a brick.

"Sorry. I was staring at the sign," I reply.

Although it's true, it sounded extremely stupid. It's enough that the griffon looks at me like I'm an idiot and starts quietly laughing to himself. By the way, Motley's been getting more talkative lately. Apparently, the fighting for her life and the gunfights coming after each other are making her emotional and more lively. Maybe there will be a moment soon when she smiles... Eh, I wish I had my camera with me so I wouldn't miss it.

I once helped Michael Angelo with his inspiration. He gave me a working camera, which I then used for my own purposes. No, not peeking at naked women. I even enjoyed taking pictures.

***

"Ferris, are you sure you know where you're taking us?" I ask the dark-gray griffon as we continued on our way after a little argument with the natives.

"Of course I do. Do you have some sort of complaint?"

He turns to me.

"Well..." I begin, trying to find the right words. "You've been here, haven't you, and from the looks of things, more than once? So you must know these 'hallways' pretty well. It's just that I've sometimes noticed a doubt in your gaze as to where we're going."

"I'm trying to lead you down the path with the least potential enemies. I remember which way is safer," he explains.

To prove it, his pet Edge turns to me, lifting his wings and giving a light, long shout. The ravenous parrot... Keeps nodding to his master.

After walking for several hours through the sewers and drains, passing through all kinds of paths, we are already approaching, according to Ferris, a safe place where we can catch our breath and breathe in more or less 'fresh' air. It is something like a station where several major sewer lines intersect. Naturally, next to these intersections are the technical rooms from which the pre-war workers controlled and operated the systems here.

As we approach, we hear distant laughter, and my Pip-Boy identifies about two dozen red marks. From the looks of it, it's not fans. Motley and I look at Ferris.

"Hey, it's not my fault the raiders had time to occupy this place in a week!" the griffon whispers to us.

You just can't get past them, it's too risky. They'll definitely spot us. We need to use the surprise factor and attack them first, preferably from two sides.

"Okay," I barely hear myself sigh. "Tell me, how many entry points to the technical rooms?" I ask in the same whisper.

Throughout the dialogue, we speak in a low voice.

"Two, and one through the back door."

"Wait, how do you know there are alternate ways into this station?"

"Well, buddy, all such hubs are built according to the same scheme. If for some reason the door automation gets messed up, there's an alternate, 'back door' to the station. Often raiders are unaware of this backdoor. One of you will get through this escape hole, the raiders will be distracted by the invading enemy and thus weaken the defenses of the other two doors."

"I'll pass, I have a fear of closed spaces," Motley suddenly responds.

"And if I command?" I ask playfully.

"Then I'll kick someone's beige ass. Do I make myself clear?" she utters coldly and menacingly.

I look around in despair, as if hoping to find someone else willing. I inhale and exhale deeply.

"I'll have to climb," I say reluctantly. "Then you, along with Ferris and Edge, attack through the main doors. And make sure you do! I can't do it by myself."

We split up, and I, having found the right escape pipe, make my way through it into the room occupied by the raiders. The pipe is long and narrow enough that I had to remove my bags, levitating them behind me to squeeze into this cramped space. It's strange that the back way is so narrow.

The pipe isn't particularly rusty, which is weird enough. It's as if someone had been constantly cleaning it of the reddish-brown buildup common to everything pre-war. Instead, there was a gigantic amount of filth like slime, wet hair, and used condoms all over the walls of the pipe. Oh, and a disgusting stench. Shit, it's an escape route, what the hell? I'm already anticipating the fact that I'll need a week's worth of cleanser to get rid of the smell.

There's a faint light somewhere at the end, indicating that the exit is near. Cautiously climbing out to the top, I discover that this entire alternate path is a pipe leading to one of the toilet stalls. Well, the architects had a very, very good sense of humor. Or they were too confident that the automatics wouldn't fail.

The outlet of the pipe is where the toilet should have been. Next to the pipe exit is the skeleton of some pony, with a fork lying next to its hoof...

So that's what the trash was in that pipe. I'm in the shit. Literally. I'll probably stink up the whole neighborhood so much that even the raiders will smell me from miles away.

Just as I'm putting my bags on and getting ready to leave the cabin, it opens from the outside... one of the raiders. She looks at me, and so for a few seconds we just stare at each other. I decide to break the silence first.

"What are you looking at? Have you never seen the Pony from the Toilet?"

Without wasting a second, I deftly pull out my Whispering Night, point it at her, and pull the trigger. A misfire comes out, and the mare, with the fright of being shot, no longer holds back—it's dripping with flowing liquid underneath her. It's yellow.
Mentally rolling my eyes at the misfire, I immediately pull out my revolver, take aim at her, shoot...

No, misfire again. Excellent, the gun in this pipe is well soaked. I'm gonna have to clean it up real good, and I'm gonna have to clean the shit out of myself too. The raider looks at me with big astonished eyes, not understanding what the fuck is going here.

"Just a moment, wait," I say, lifting my front leg.

I hope the sword doesn't fall to pieces—which, by the way, I wouldn't be surprised in this situation... Ah, fuck it, I decide to do it another way, the most reliable way.

I quickly and deftly turn around and hit the raider in the face with my hind hooves. The force I apply makes the peed mare fly off into the wall—straight to the only remaining mirror hanging there, shattering it. The pieces rattled on the tiled floor. Before she can get up, I walk up to her and use magic to wring her neck.

From the sounds of it, the other rooms are all abuzz with raiders.

That's it, piss down the pipes... I draw my sword and run out of the bathroom.

Outside I meet two raiders with rifles. They stare at me stupidly, but one of them decides to say something.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Sanitation check!" I shout out and jump on her.

The other one is slightly discouraged by the madness going on and doesn't realize the gravity of the situation, so she doesn't have time to do anything to me when I knock her friend to the ground. I take advantage of her distracted state caused by my sudden appearance by snatching the rifle from her magical grip and striking her with the buttstock. I aim the rifle at the head of the other raider, who starts aiming at me in a panic, but I outpace her and shoot first. The bullet goes through her head and into the wall behind her, leaving a small hole. And then I aim at the one I hit with the butt of the gun—she wants to call for help. Prevented it, but what's the point? I'm exposed anyway, especially after those shots. I give her a few grams of lead at one point.

I quickly check their pockets, and there's my good fortune—frag grenades.

That's it, it's going to be fireworks. This would also be the signal for the feathered companions to begin the assault; besides, they were also supposed to take my shots as a signal.

Grabbing the rifle and a couple of magazines, I run out into the next corridor, where a raider armed with a sawed-off shotgun meets me.

I wonder if his teeth would fall out from the recoil.

We aim at each other at the same time and shoot at the same time. He's at a good distance, so my armor can take a scattering of buckshot. Unfortunately for the raider, I'm not armed with a shotgun, and his skull isn't protected by a helmet. A brief rifle shot finally sealed his fate.

Running a little farther down the corridor, I see double doors, and, judging by Pip-Boy, there are more raiders behind them. I kick the center of the doors with my hind legs, and they swing inward sharply—everyone behind them notices this and just as quickly opens a barrage of fire on me.

I slip to the metal table and turn it upside down so that it serves as some sort of shelter from the lead rain. The raiders chuckle and shoot at the table I'm hiding behind.

Where is the support?! I'm about to be killed!

I pull out the two frag grenades I found. After pulling the pin and waiting two seconds, I throw them at the raiders.

Have a hot potato, motherfuckers!

"Fucking Discrod!" one of the raider mares shouts, followed by the deafening explosion of two grenades; someone's leg flies into my cover.

When the grenades explode, I quickly change shelter to a metal pipe, which, by all estimates, should withstand a bullet hit. Well, or pour shit all over the room.

The raiders start shooting at me again, but after a few moments in the midst of this symphony of gunfire, I hear several new... martial musical instruments, namely the thunderous volleys of someone's high-powered pistol. Finally, air support... I mean feathered!

Almost all of the raiders who had previously fired at me are distracted by the new foes, except for a small trio. One of the trio must be the leader of a small group, since he's wearing a helmet made of pony bones.

Well, let's see how tough it is.

After waiting a moment, I jump out from behind cover, turn on the VATS and fire one shot to the head of each of the three raiders. Two of them I take out, and the third is protected by his helmet.

The helmet turned out to be really strong enough for a medium rifle bullet.

After setting the rifle mode to fixed fire of three bullets, I put my magic on the trigger and press it, leaving the raider with no helmet and no head.

The rest of the raiders fire at my hiding partners. Motley fires back with his energy-magic rifle. Green blobs of energy... or magic. Whatever. They catch up with their living targets, turning almost all of them into a green slurry.

Ferris fires back with his unusual pistol. It produces a great recoil, and easily turns the raiders' heads into a mess of blood and brains. The heads explode like ripe melons. As always, an eagle hovers beside a griffon, distracting the raiders so its master can finish them off.

I decide to thin out the ranks of the remaining raiders, because the raiders don't notice me taking out their mates. So I throw the last, third grenade under their legs. The raiders don't even bother to look at what's ringing out next to them—apparently, the shots from Ferris's gun stun them pretty badly. A shrapnel blast takes the lives of the last of the crazed morons.

The fight is over. Everybody's alive... right?

"Did you guys get a snack in there?" I ask as Motley and Ferris show up from behind cover. "What took you so long?"

Everyone's alive.

"You thought we were bulletproof and would go directly to the raiders until you distracted them on yourself?" the pegasus asks in surprise.

At times I begin to forget that my allies are not iron robots that don't feel pain and suffering.

"What is that smell?" the griffon asks with disgust.

He looks at me and starts laughing his head off. Motley, too, looks at me and smiles, but with a tremendous effort he holds back his laughter. It looks so cute.

Where the fuck is a camera when I need it so badly?

Wait a minute, why is Ferris still laughing?

"You should... see yourself, Onehorn," the griffon faintly says between laughs.

Did I get that badly covered up while I was moving through the pipe?

"Yeah, well, go crawl in that pipe yourself, where there used to be a fucking toilet!" I say irritably.

The griffon bursts into even bigger laughter and starts rolling around on the floor. Wait... Wait, wait, wait. Did he know?!

"You knew all along?!" I shout out, feeling indignation growing.

If that's true, I'll be eating a beautiful, delicious turkey tonight, baked in its own juices and crispy crust! Oh! This is going to be yummy!

"I forgot one detail, you know..."

He emphasized the word 'detail'. It was as if he knew that the pegasus wouldn't go down the chimney because of the fact that all feathered creatures are claustrophobic. Or maybe he really wanted me to be the one to get dirty. Son of a bitch!

"What?! Forget such a detail?! I'll stuff pillows with your feathers!" I yell and start chasing after the griffon, running away from me while laughing."

"What a stink... you sure better stay away from you!"

That's it, you feathery bastard, I'm going to make chicken soup out of you! Edge decides it's best to stay out of our way, and lands next to Motley.

I chase the griffon around the big technical room and threaten him, and he keeps laughing. He begs me not to chase him, or he'll die from one of the reasons: either laughter or my smell.

I stumble and fall to the floor, not badly bumped.

Fuck! What the fuck has been happening to me lately...

My hooves are cramping with rage.

I'm distracted by another laugh. Motley's laugh. It's gushing and ringing, which makes even me smile and stand up and look at its owner. Her smile is quite unusual and welcome to me... Laughter mixed with her beautiful voice inspires me and makes the world around me positive and the shit on me is not so critical.

Motley's laughter plays on the contrast of her recent sullenness and gloominess so much that for a moment I thought it was a completely different pony, a different beige pegasus.

I enjoy her quiet laugh, like a gentle breeze, that I have forgotten both Ferris and the fact that I stink like bicentennial shit.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask without reproach, with a feeling of a smile on my face.

"Can't get bored with you two," she replies, waving a hoof, and turning away, noticing that I'm looking at her. Either because I stink three blocks away.

I need to take a shower immediately or the smell will stay with me forever... Where am I supposed to do that? There are only toilets here, and I can't wash in them, I know from personal experience.

"You need to take a shower," Motley says after a short pause.

Really?! Even the raiders would laugh at me like that!

"Even a drunken jackass would know that. Where, can you tell me?" I ask politely, smiling.

True, no one sees that smile, because I don't want to take off my helmet, because I'm aware of the consequences of doing so—I myself will be stunned by my own scent.

"In the meantime," I look around the room, looking at Pip-Boy—there are no marks, except for Motley's. "Where are Ferris and Edge?"

"No idea," is her reply.

I lose sight of the two feathered ones after I stumble and get distracted by Motley's laughter.

Motley and I look around at the dead raiders. The pegasus stays away from me.

Damn, for some reason it's scary for me to take off my helmet to feel that stench in the full bouquet of 'floral' smells on me. I've been in shit my whole life, but literally this is my first time... Anyway, there's a first time for everything.

The raiders' pockets and bags contain ammunition for their weapons, and everyone has at least a few pouches with dozens of caps. After a few minutes of searching, Ferris shows up with his pet.

"Where have you been chilling?" I ask without looking back.

"Looking for a warm safe nest and..." he pauses meaningfully, and immediately tosses several packets of pre-war laundry detergent 'Glare' in front of me with a slightly time-worn image of an attractive snow-white pony and a long blue mane with a dazzling smile that says, "Shine, cleanliness, freshness—it all stays after me." Looking at these packs, I slowly turn my head toward Ferris.

"What? I'm giving you a helping claw, I found some packs of laundry detergent. The shine of your armor will light up everything around you, the cleanliness will make others jealous, and the freshness will attract mares to you." A brief pause ensues. "No, I'm not going to tease you again. I've had enough of this wonderful picture... you won't be able to top that anymore," he chuckles.

The packs of laundry detergent are enveloped in the blue glow of my magic, and without further ado, looking slowly and suspiciously at the griffon, I use telekinesis to put them in my bag.

"Be careful... I'll check later, if it's your prank again, I'll make you eat all that laundry detergent or shove it up your ass, but one way or another it'll end up inside you... Now, about the nest... you said this place was safe."

"After where you've been... It's already uncomfortable to be here. I went outside to get some fresh air, and I saw a pretty decent hotel nearby, still holding on to its four walls and foundations. And it was empty. Sort of."

"Sort of? You mean you didn't even check it out?"

"Considering that it's already dusk outside, and there's no light in the windows, and there's no unrelated noise like laughter and yelling in the building, we can assume that the hotel is empty."

"Okay. I hope there are bathrooms in working condition."

We climb out of the sewer. The exit is next to the hub station where we are.

***

It is very dark outside. Even in this darkness, I can see a distinct yellow hue in the sky. Edge quite shouts and does a few pirouettes in the air as we make our way to the surface.

Like the griffin said, there's a single more or less survivable building next to the exit of the sewer escape on the street—the six-story Sunset Hotel, its walls a shade of orange. The orange and yellow 'Sunset' sign is all rusted out.

We enter the hotel's centuries—old abandoned lobby. There are skeletons, dirt, trash, rot everywhere. The orange plaster is almost all peeling, and there is a lot of broken furniture lying around. A destroyed terminal on the receptionist's desk, behind which lies the skeleton of the receptionist—and in pre-war times he or she always happily greeted new visitors, told them about the hotel, gave them the keys to the rooms... That's all in the past now.

So... don't pine for the peace and order that reigned here a few centuries ago, but now it's just ruin and emptiness.

Don't think about that. Focus on the present. Yes, you're in a dangerous city of raiders. You need to keep an eye on your companions to keep them in good health. Think more cheerfully. Take things lightly, or you might lose your mind.

We look around the rooms. They are all ransacked, and most of them are blocked by a collapsed ceiling or walls. The most interesting part starts when we get to the top, the penthouses. Or rather, there is only one large suite on the sixth floor, the doors of which are barricaded with metal bars and chains. And the strange thing is that the elevator only works up to this floor, the lobby and the basement, and the buttons to the other floors don't work at all—they are broken or scratched out, I have no desire to repair them, since we have already surveyed the other floors using the stairs.

So who lives behind these doors? There are no marks on Pip-Boy's compass. The doors are securely barricaded, but they can be forced out.

"So, the only way to break down these doors would be..." I begin, but I'm interrupted.

"Hold on, mate," the griffon says. "I'm pretty sure those doors won't fall for your charms. Let me sneak in through the window and open them from the inside. It'll be easier, don't you think?"

"Right," I agree, slightly surprised at my forgetfulness about the fact that my companions can actually fly.

After a while, on the other side of the barricaded doors I hear the sound of a heavy object sliding away, followed by the clicking and shifting of several switches, the pushing back of wooden bars, and the doors finally open inward.

"I told you," the griffon smirks, glancing for a moment at the back of the doors, "that you wouldn't make it."

Inside the room there is a large closet behind the doors, and many different deadbolts and wooden bars are installed and secured behind the doors themselves.

The room itself looks in the standard... raider's entourage. There's a lot of obscenities and pornography on the walls, dried blood mixed with shit, and rusted and bent cages, some of which still contain the remains of other raiders. All sorts of pre-war junk and trinkets. The room is strewn with filthy, pissed-out mattresses, and on some of them, in unnatural poses, are the bodies of ponies that appear to have died quite recently: since the maggots in the wounds have not yet hatched, it's safe to say that they're less than a week old. Even a cursory glance at the bodies is enough to know what was done to them: many wounds, cuts, hooves wrapped in barbed wire, limbs torn off, eyes cut out, mouths sewn together. The dead little filly on one of the mattresses got the worst of it. She's almost covered in her own blood, and there's a lot of glass lying around her hind legs.

A lot of foals... born among the raiders... are abused by their own. They are born with defects and mutations due to unsanitary conditions and radiation. A large proportion of the raiders are young... rarely see those over twenty years old.

We look around the rooms where the raiders have lived... or are inhabited by the raiders, but for some reason they are not here. Where are they? Maybe sitting in an ambush somewhere?

I look around the main bedroom on the second tier of the suite, and there's a lot of 'decorations' hanging there, just like the ones at the front of the room; no weapons or any valuable equipment. On a small red—not blood-red—wooden table lies an equally small hoofed note. The words are hard to read, and those that are written more or less legibly contain so many errors that the level of degradation of the raiders is immediately clear. The level is within the expected range.

In the note, one of the raiders dreamed of becoming the leader himself and getting and owning most of the loot that was now stored in a huge room-sized safe in the basement. Planned to kill his leader, Billy.

So that's whose lair this is... Billy. I'm surprised those knuckleheads didn't leave one of their own to watch the lair. Now I know what the key was on that hulk's body. We need to go down to the basement and examine the safe... This explains why the raiders left only three floors, between which the elevator moves—the rest are of no use to them.

The apartment looks as follows: the main hall with passages to the left and right; on the right side is the ascent to the second tier, represented by a good wooden staircase against the wall; a large balcony behind a spacious and extensive window; the dining room, the first door on the left of the entrance; the next door from the dining room leads to the toilets and the bathroom; and the last doors by a half-broke window lead to the master bedroom. Upon examining it... it appears to be a place of entertainment for raiders due to the abundance of rusted chains and cages, and there are shackles and similar restraining metal structures nailed to the walls. There's also an abundance of cutting and stabbing objects and many other things with which to torture and have fun with prisoners.

How I hate places like this—they are filled with suffering and pain. Makes me hate the raiders even more, even though they are essentially victims of their own instincts. This is what irresponsibility can lead to...

Me and Ferris clean up all the raiders' decorations. Of course, we don't scrub the blood off the walls, but at least we gather the pony remains in a pile by stacking them on the balcony. We don't decide to set them on fire yet, because that might burn the hell out of us, and the huge flames might attract the raiders, who want to find out what kind of bonfire party their neighbors are up to. We also decide to stop here to rest and sleep. We're a little tired from wandering through the sewers...

...and some of us down the pipe.

I'm going to take a shower and wash my armor in the master suite, which has a bathroom and a shower, but Motley already occupies it. The water in the faucets here, while not as clean, is not radioactive. So I'll just have to make do with the shared bathroom and restroom. Not that I mind showering with an adorable pegasus, rubbing her back and getting aroused in the process, but she seems to have something against it.

Ferris sits by the stairs to the second tier and checks his gear. I walk up to him.

"Are you going to take a bath, dirtbag?"

"No, thanks. I had a shower the day before I met you. That's why I kept my distance when you came out of that pipe..." the griffon casts a brief glance at me, clearly waiting for my reaction.

"Shove an egg up your ass," I say jokingly, retreating to the shared bathroom with my gear.

First, I test the effects of the laundry detergent 'Glare'. The smell is quite acceptable, even pleasant, it doesn't leave any stains of a different color. Ferris wasn't lying, he's not as soulless and cynical as I thought he was. I first clean all my gear, armor and weapons of clumps of dirt and crap, and then if possible I wash everything in the bathtub, where I pour a whole packet of laundry detergent. I had to drain all the water and waste another pack. It takes over an hour, but it was worth it, the armor looks and smells so much better. This powder really does work wonders.

I take care of myself and my body, and most of the smell is absorbed by the armor. I didn't have to pay too much attention to myself. That's a good thing, too.

After letting my gear dry and making sure my weapons are working properly, I walk out of the bathroom and see Ferris eating a meat roast and sharing it with Edge, who is happily devouring the tasty treat. Motley sits nearby and eats canned beans and hay from a can. I still can't get used to the taste of hay, though I don't feel as disgusted with it now as I did a month ago.

"Couldn't you have waited for me?" I playfully chagrin, walking over to them and sitting down next to them.

"No, we're hungry and wanted to eat, and to wait for you and tear you away from the most fascinating thing of washing your armor and body from..." Ferris stops talking when he sees Motley nearly choking and coughing. "You don't talk about such things over food, I forgot. I apologize. Anyway, so you don't bring any... undesirable smells," he says, smirking.

Oh. Stop making jokes about my smell, or your feathers will go to use ink in writing.

I predict that this griffon will continue to mock me when it comes to smells. I just hope Lemon doesn't find out about it... It seems to me that he's experienced it himself, and now he's taking it out on me. Especially when I consider that, as he mentioned, Red Spark's underground tunnels are the most unpleasant in the Wasteland.

Just ignore his taunts... Ignore.

"Do you know where to go next? " I ask, joining me for dinner. I examine a packet of pre-war bicentennial mashed potatoes.

"I'll look at it tomorrow morning, but for now we'll rest. I think we all deserve at least a couple of hours without pistol-whipping, running, and climbing drainpipes," he looks at me again at the last words.

If he brings it up again, I swear I'll just shove him down the toilet and flush him down the drain. Let him flounder in those pipes himself... But... Daniel, hold on... don't give in. Take your mind off something good.

Oh, that's right... my faithful feathered lady.

"Motley, why aren't you taking meat?" I ask, noticing that she has only been taking vegetable food.

"I rarely eat meat, I try to avoid it if possible. In terms of food, I stick to conservative pre-war views—vegetables, fruit, hay, mashed potatoes from two hundred years ago."

"I'm a pony, too, but I eat things that aren't deadly so I don't starve to death."

"I wanted to ask," Ferris says. "Why are you looking for Project Dome?"

Well, here come the questions I don't really feel like answering. I can't tell him I'm an alien from another world looking for a portal to my home. That would lead to laughter, because he wouldn't believe it, and with loud hooting he'd tie my legs and declare me crazy, and if he did, he'd start asking a lot of questions. I'd had enough of a long conversation with Homage and Littlepip. The first one asked too many questions, while the second one listened to me with great curiosity and absorbed the information like a sponge.

I wonder what had already happened to the local hero of this world? It had been more than a month, after all. Where had she gone, what had she achieved? And what would happen if I went with her? Would I have found the portal home if I had?

Well... too much unnecessary thinking... I need something to say to Ferris to get him off my back.

"Looking for some technology."

"What kind?"

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that Project Dome is the only possible place such technology can be found."

"Then what are you looking for it for?" the griffon persists with his questions. I would answer, but then it would be even worse.

"Let's just say it helps me find one answer."

Holy shit, you're doing great, Daniel, best comprehensive answer you've ever had!

"I hope it's not about the meaning of life... Okay, this is getting personal," Ferris replies.

That was quick of him to back off... Weird. Well, that's good. Now it's my turn to ask.

"What exactly do you do?"

"Cutting, stabbing, burning, dismembering raiders in the Crater. And I do some... intellectual creativity."

"Like what?" I wonder.

"Creating new weapons," the griffon answers briefly. I almost choke.

What-what?!

"You mean making homemade weapons?"

If I know the schematics and blueprints, I can make weapons out of junk. Make a rifle out of two rusty tin cans, a board and some nails? Sure! Make a vodka bottle and a rag into an incendiary bomb? No problem! Although the second one seems to have been invented by... what were they, the evil Communists?

"For now, yes, but I used to have a workshop where I invented and designed new kinds of weapons. For example," Ferris pulls out that big silver pistol of his, "this. It's entirely my creation," there's a sound of pride in the griffon's voice.

"You made it yourself?" I gasp in amazement.

This weapon looks pre-war, yet clean and... fresh, not many people are capable of making a new weapon, and yet with such a special design. Not out of junk, but new! No recycling or borrowing parts from other weapons.

"I call it the Stone Eagle. The gun is semi-automatic, fires a large caliber, eight-round magazine. The bullet velocity is higher than any other pistol, which makes it make a lot of noise and it has a pretty strong recoil. A silencer, if fitted, will only reduce the level of that... thunder. I didn't put a muffler because this baby makes so much noise that it just isn't needed. Believe me, the sound of this baby, the recoil... it's unmistakable."

"Amazing..." I mutter, examining this remarkable weapon of predominantly gray color.

I am overwhelmed by its beauty and finesse. What a roar it made when the griffon pulled the trigger in the hub station... The pistol not only has an impressive size and a lethal recoil, it also has its own unique design, which resembles an enlarged 9mm pistol. And even that is a stretch, because it is clearly something new.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Ferris asks.

He's bursting with pride at his result. Motley, too, has distracted herself from her meal to look at this wonder of firepower, but she's not so interested in it.

"You only have one?" I ask. I'm so eager to get my hooves on a gun like that and try it out.

"Yes. But if I had a high-tech workshop with the necessary raw materials, I'd make more," the griffon replies, as if to apologize.

Eh, too bad. I wouldn't mind getting a gun like that, if only for my collection.

"Where do you live?" I ask the griffon.

"Nearby in the mountains, why?"

"Nothing."

I continue to consume my dinner. I'm curious about the location of his workshop, but I don't think he's going to answer anyway. I'd drop by to visit him on Ventura sometime. It seems to me that he had some influence or had his own first-class workshop in Vanhoover, but then something went wrong and he had to leave town.

After eating dinner and discussing our battle tactics and possible scenarios, Motley informs us that she is tired. She goes to bed. In the master bedroom.

What a feathered creature... I usually occupy places like this. She's probably getting back at me for taking the best suite in Heavenly Harbor. Or maybe I just think too much.

Oh, wait... there's also the raider's storage room I found a key to on Billy's body. I'll have to check it out. Ferris decides to help me with this, leaving his pet Edge to keep an eye on the apartment: if anything happens, he'll wake up the pegasus.

Down in the lower rooms, we search for something resembling a vault. And there really is one. The vault is a small grid, once guarded by pre-war guards. The doors of the grid are unlocked, and there are many empty safes arranged in rows on each side of the room. At the end of the room stands a huge safe, about three meters wide and high. Or rather, the safe is integrated into the wall; its huge steel door, though rusty, is still in good condition.

As I insert Billy's key and turn it, I hear something click inside the huge doors and they open slightly. I have to open them all the way by hand. With a creak, which was difficult because of the weight and unlubricated mechanisms, we examine the contents.

To die and not to get up! An abundance of all kinds of weapons and ammo, elements of armor, medicines, drugs, all kinds of junk!

I wish I could carry it all. I should only take the most valuable and necessary. Just in case, I'll mark this hotel on the pre-war map of the city later, in case we need anything or run out of supplies, and we'll come back here.

In my day when I was in the Capital Wasteland, the West Coast and the Mojave in particular, I would write down the coordinates of anything of value that I couldn't carry away, hiding it nearby behind some rock or bush. I would return to the hidden goods whenever possible, or sell information about their whereabouts or a place, whether it was a bunker, a not yet fully looted factory, or just an interesting place, to caravan merchants or mercenaries. True, very few people would buy such information from a stranger, because it could be a trap—you needed to have a reliable reputation, which I sometimes had trouble with. So there are plenty of my hiding places in the Wasteland where I've been, and no one is likely to discover them by accident.

I remember Dean Domino in the Sierra Madre used to do something like that, but only for himself, though he let me take supplies from there.

"That's quite a safe. Or rather, its contents," Ferris says, whistling.

"That's right," I reply with restrained delight.

Now that's a treasure chest!

A fair amount of rifle ammunition for Whispering Night and the pony revolver, as well as other types of ammunition. Weapons and armor items. Plenty of bags of good drugs. Plenty of medicines like RadAway and RadSafe, and just a few bottles of healing potions. And a lot of other junk that the raiders found useful and valuable.

There's really a lot of valuable stuff among them, but there's nothing I'm interested in except the memory orb. I put it in my bag... carefully, so as not to accidentally activate it prematurely, in order to examine its contents later.

Separately, the unique shotgun that belonged to Billy is worth noting. The smoothly polished barrel is engraved with a silhouette of Celestia on one half of the barrel and Luna on the other. The buttstock is lightweight and appears to be made of maple. This gun doesn't look like it was owned by an insane junkie. There is an inscription crookedly scratched into the wood on the stock that reads as follows, 'Billy's gun. Don't touch it or I'll kill you, bitch!'

I don't hesitate to put the gun in my bag.

After taking everything we need, I lock the safe and Ferris and I head back up to the room.

I really want to see what's in that memory orb. I ask Ferris to keep an eye on me in a helpless position while I'm in someone else's memory. To which he responds with a nod... I hope he doesn't undress me and paint me with dicks and swear words.

Focusing my magic on the orb, I plunge into a world of memories from the past.

I wonder if it's going to be love games between someone else again. Or will it really be something important?

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

There is the sound of cars, noise, and voices coming from the street, and the warm sunlight coming in through the windows. This is definitely the pre-war past. The owner of the memory is in a café filled with customers and is sitting at a table talking to some pony. He is light yellow in color and has a brown mane. There are a lot of ponies around, deciding to have something hot to drink or just talk to each other. Domestic problems, politics, sports games, gossip and so on. Therefore, the place is noisy enough that the conversation between the owner of the orb and the yellow pony can not be heard by others. The yellow pony is slightly distressed, but I see the sympathy in his eyes.

"I understand, of course," the yellow pony says, "you've lost a pony close to you, but this is just unthinkable. It's..."

"I know," the owner of this memory interrupts. The voice is familiar to me, but where have I heard it? "But I don't give a shit, you know? There's nothing left to lose, and at least this way I'll find the bastards, and they'll be punished. I've already made up my mind."

"You think she'd want you to be a soulless killer?"

"If she were in my shoes, she'd do the same thing I did. Crow, of course you want to talk me out of it and all that, but... sometimes justice has to be done in harsh ways."

"Eric," Crow begins with a frustrated sigh, "I may not be able to talk you out of it, but I can at least try to talk some sense into you so you don't make rash decisions. Come to your senses. After all, if you kill them, the police will lock you up. Is it worth it?"

Eric. That's the pony that lost his beloved Mindy. They had a fun and exciting night... He noted in his note that he would find the bastards. The week after her death had been extremely difficult for him. So this is his memory after that fatal incident.

The note and the memory orb I found when I was still traveling with Lilac.

"Thank you, of course, for taking care of me," I feel a faint smile appear on Eric's face. "I appreciate that... But again, I've already decided what I'm going to do with them. They'll die of poisoning with ten grams of lead."

Crow sighs, shaking his head, then turns to the window and says, "Sometimes I miss those lighthearted childhood days. Things have changed so much because of the war... A drastic contrast to the past. Suddenly we have so much hatred, anger, suffering after a long period of peaceful existence. I feel like I've found myself in another reality."

Eric answers nothing, but just stares silently into his half-drunk cup of coffee with the establishment symbol on the outer side in the form of a coffee bean, around which the perimeter at the top says, 'Hot and Refreshing', and at the bottom, 'Brown Hill'. In the murky drink, I can see the stallion's reflection: a devastated, almost lifeless look.

I sense his stern determination to punish those who killed his beloved.

Was he able to fulfill his vengeance in the end? Was he able to find the fuckers and exterminate them, every last one of them?

"Let's talk about something else," the bright yellow pony says. "How's work in the new office?"

"Nothing much. Trying to keep track of proper cost allocation for materials to build a huge facility. There's a whole team working there, responsible for saving as many bits as possible."

"By the way, do you know how the construction for this project is going? You talk about it all the time, but I have no idea what it even is. Maybe a Stable or a bunker for important ponies?"

"How would I know? They don't tell us, remember?" Eric replies. "We're only given what we need: numbers, numbers... and more numbers. We need to make sure that the cost of materials is substantially reduced. Even though I've been appointed head of a small department, I don't know which construction site the money goes to. We don't even know where the money comes from. Everything is given and sent by roundabout ways."

"Well, maybe you heard someth—" he is interrupted by two approaching ponies wearing coats of different colors, fedoras adorned on their heads. A stallion and a mare.

"Come with us," the mare says sternly to the master of memories.

"Where to?" Eric asks with sudden worry. It feels as if he thinks he's about to be killed.

"Immediately," the pony's partner utters in a casual manner.

"All right, all right," Eric mumbles anxiously. He gives the impression of guessing who the two ponies are.

The ponies, in thick coats, get Eric into the car, which does not show the surroundings from inside, and drive off somewhere. After ten minutes of travel, the transport stops and the two ponies lead him to some unremarkable building and then to a basement, which is already unusual in that there is an elevator leading to a room underground.

After taking the elevator, Eric finds himself in a long dark corridor with metal walls of a cold silver hue, lit by several small lamps in white vials. After passing several offices, Eric's convoy stops at one office with a sign that reads 'Controller'.

This office makes Eric even scarier because of the darkness and the slight chill around him. There is no moistness in the air, no unpleasant odors—as well as no incense. There is a metal desk in the middle of the room, lit by a lamp hanging directly above it. A unicorn sits at the desk, looking at Eric with a serious expression. From her gaze I can feel the goosebumps running down Eric's back and he swallows nervously.

"Sit down," the gray pony orders, sitting at the table in a calm and even voice, and points to a chair with her gaze.

Eric hesitantly steps closer to the desk and slowly sits down on a small metal chair. The convoy exits the office.

"Eric Frost, we know you've started to say a lot of unnecessary things," the gray mare pronounces. She speaks in a surprisingly calm voice, but there is still caution and indignation in it. "You mentioned what you do in the corporation you work for. Have you forgotten about company policy?"

"N-no. I remember."

"Then why are you telling an outsider about your activities? Yes, we know he's a friend of yours, but he has nothing to do with our work, not to mention your position."

"I..."

"We know what happened to your wife, and we sympathize with you, but that's no reason to tell anyone you want about the project. Have you forgotten how important the project is?"

"No, ma'am. I remember, but you can trust a friend, can't you?" I feel Eric smile uneasily. Because of the nerves.

"Maybe so," the Controller replies without a shadow of emotion. "But!" she says, slightly tempered and abruptly, in a way that makes Eric shudder. "Enemies can get their hooves on your friends' memories, and we can't keep track of everyone you tell about the project, even if you only mention it. So you are reprimanded for the first time. One more reprimand and you will be fired from your job and your memories of your work will be seized and destroyed. Do you understand me well?"

"Y-yes," Eric replies, in primal fear.

The Controller, are you trying to give a valued employee a heart attack? No, I understand the secrecy and all that, but this way you'll only give your enemies a clue as to who to look for. Nervous ponies stand out.

The gray unicorn pulls out a pen and a folder of papers. Opening it, the Controller reads something there for a while and flips through the pages, and then, noting something, closes the folder.

"Don't worry," she begins in a polite voice, as if she realizes she's overreacting with her emotionality. "It's a routine procedure. We have to make sure the country has a bright future. That's why it's so strict here. As far as we can tell from your record, you are a good economist and have done a lot of good for the company through profitable economic policy modernization. We really don't want to lose a valuable staff like you, but no information should leave the corporation either."

"May I ask one question?" Eric asks with difficulty.

"That depends," the Controller replies coldly.

"Why don't I get my memory of this meeting wiped clean?"

"You must remember the reprimand you received so that you will not make the same mistake again."

"Then what will happen to my friend?" Eric asks fearfully. I feel him relax, but fear still dominates his body.

"We'll just remove the part of his memory where he talked to you at the Brown Hill. He'll be fine, don't worry. You're free to go," the Controller says.

The next moment, the doors swing open and Eric's escort walks in, escorting him out of his office and making sure he gets home without incident. Eric doesn't live in the house where I found the memory with his sweetheart, Mindy, but in a small apartment in Red Spark. I remember that he just couldn't live in that house because it brought up painful memories in him.

Eric walks over to the window where the sun is about to hide behind the horizon. The sky is fiery hot.

"I need to become one of them..." he says, looking at the sunset.

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

I don't know if that memory is useful, but at least now I know that the construction of the Project Dome was kept secret. I just don't understand Eric's last sentence. Of who, 'one of them'? The ones who monitor everyone involved in the project? The Controllers? But for what purpose?

The Controllers... Watcher mentioned them once in connection with the Project Dome. Lemon also said that the Controllers are a direct offspring of the Ministry of Morale—that is, they are involved in espionage, intelligence, and other covert operations within the country.

I can only assume that Eric was going to use The Controllers' connections to find his wife's killers, which makes sense. On the other hand, it's an amazing coincidence that Eric ended up involved in the project I'm just looking for. However, Project Dome is a massive facility: sooner or later I'd find the ponies involved in its creation anyway.

Walking out into the main hall, I meet Ferris smoking a cigarette. It's as if he's withdrawn into himself, opening and closing the lighter cap without stopping.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask, not without interest. He suddenly comes to himself, shaking with surprise, and cautiously looks around, but, noticing me, relaxes.

"Just thinking about my own thing. What was in that memory orb?"

"Nothing much: an employee of a firm had blabbed to a friend about working on a project for that same firm. And he was warned not to do something like that again or he'd get fired and have his memory erased."

"You mean The Controllers?" the dark griffon clarifies a little later.

"Yes... How do you know?"

"Told you I was interested in the Project Dome. I came across some old documents that mentioned them a couple of times. At one point I got my claws on a pre-war memo from an employee that said The Controllers monitored every worker who was involved in any way with the Project Dome to reduce the chance of zebras sabotaging the project."

"Those Controllers had an extensive network if they could show up within seconds of that worker blabbing," I say.

It's hard to imagine that every worker was monitored... That takes so many personnel, and a pony with the rank of Controller must have been running a small group of agents who faithfully served as his eyes and ears, as well as doing his bidding.

Ferris looks like he remembered something else.

"I also read somewhere that The Controllers were a special unit created by the Ministry of Morale."

Lemon and Watcher know that, too.

"That's not surprising," I begin, "considering that six Ministries were involved in the construction of the Project Dome. And naturally, the most advanced technology was used in the creation of the complex, including knowledge from various fields of endeavor."

"You know, that's when such connections and technology were used, I can' t help but wonder what could have been created in this Project Dome... And yet it is in theory that it could exist. Even after your memory orb, I still think it's a myth. Too much hackneyed over secrecy. Maybe it's even possible that the Project Dome was a universal cover for a lot of different projects in the Vanhoover region."

Interesting thought.

"All right," the griffon adds, yawning. "I'm going to go take a few hours' nap, and then I'll fill in for you. Let Motley sleep."

"And then she'll take your shift?"

"No. I'll keep watch until dawn, and then I'll look at the street situation and determine the way to the center."

"Are you sure that these few hours will be enough for you?"

"Yes," he answers confidently, without blinking an eye.

"Then who will keep watch over us while you explore the streets?"

"Edge."

"It sounds to me like you don't trust Motley," I mutter quietly and slowly.

Ferris smiles and says, "Once again I admire your insight. Yes. I don't trust pegasi too much."

"Why?"

"Well, let's just say I associate them with the Enclave because I've crossed paths with their units a couple of times before," the griffon says in a serious tone. "I'll tell you honestly: it's crazy shit. No one stands a chance against them alone. Unlike the Steel Rangers, they can fly and are protected by power armor, so they're as dangerous and deadly as a dragon fart."

Sometimes it's hard to know what's being expressed here literally and what's being expressed figuratively. Does Ferris really know the dangers of dragon farts? Has he seen the dragon?

But that's not so important... What matters is that if Ferris finds out that Motley really was a member of the Enclave, then... Well, I think he's already figured that out, considering how professionally she's acted in battle.

Ferris goes to bed, and Edge stays beside me, brushing his feathers with his beak.

"Aren't you going to bed with your owner?" I ask the bird. The one responds with a brief shriek.

"You sleep and I'll keep watch," I tell the bird. It responds by letting out a muffled shriek so as not to wake the others, and turns its head sideways, looking at me with one eye.

I sense that the bird is looking at me with suspicion. Does Edge not trust me? It is quite possible that he stayed of his own free will, or that Ferris asked him to. This griffon never lets his guard down, I see.

Talking to a bird... I must have lost my mind. Taking my situation too lightly.

Edge turns away and continues brushing his feathers.

So as not to waste my guard time... I read books on teleportation, barrier and repair. Exactly reading, since spells make noise. But everything is better learned before I go to sleep. I always need to keep my skills and knowledge sharp.

I'm already burying my nose in a repair book with the urge to sleep, and then Ferris replaces me, and I finally give myself over to the dream world like Motley.

I dream that I'm running from a horde of feral ghouls through the sewers, and I have no weapons or armor on me. I am completely naked, not even wearing my Pip-Boy, but I am human in this dream, and because of that I cannot run properly, because I am a little rusty at running on only two legs. All in all, the dream is extremely difficult.

When I wake up abruptly because the ghouls have caught up with me in the nightmare, I see that it is morning. The griffon is getting his gear ready, and Motley... is already ready to go on, judging by her bored and unhappy look as she lies and stares at the ceiling.

I want to hug her and tell her everything will be okay, but I quickly dismiss the urge, in case she wants to be alone with her thoughts.

"Did you remember to wake me up?" I ask sadly.

Since I was human in my dream, I am not immediately aware of the hardness of my hoofed limb, so from the urge to wipe my eyes I almost knock my eye out.

"Ouch," is heard from me. The griffon notices this and chuckles lightly.

Asshole.

"You were sleeping so soundly and peacefully, we didn't want to wake you," he smiles.

"I eagerly believe you... Just take the noodles off my ears," I say ironically, pretending to brush something off my ears. The griffon chuckles. "You just wanted to leave me here, I'm sure of it."

Today is the first day of calendar autumn in Equestria. The 1st of the Month of Heather, Redday. Thirty-ninth day of my stay.

We're going southeast, but before we do, we set fire to the pony remains on the balcony.

***

The 3rd of the Month of Heather, Ellowday. Forty-first day of my stay.

Advancing through the ruins of the city, we proceed according to the same tactics set forth at the beginning. Ferris is in the distance and does not engage in open combat unless absolutely necessary, while Motley and I are the strike force that takes all the attention. And for good reason. Several times this tactic saves us. We would have died if it hadn't been for Ferris. We get caught in a magical trap in the form of an impassable barrier, from which we can't even escape by teleportation... but Ferris helped us get out. I was right about him, after all.

The trap installer is a lone raider-ghoul and unicorn who specializes in barriers. Unfortunately, he doesn't give away any useful information about being organized. He simply does not know it. Naturally, it is dangerous to leave him alive.

The closer we get to the center, the stronger and more experienced the raiders are. Take the unicorn, for example, who could hardly be called a raider. He seems to be normal, but he is aggressive and horny. He looks for more or less attractive mare raiders, traps them and fucks them until he gets bored in his lair, subjecting them to all sorts of kinks. He traps us because he saw Motley and wanted to fuck her. I think he had a problem with rape and kink in Vanhoover. So he had to flee here, satisfied with dirty, mutilated and disfigured raiders. He ended up turning into a ghoul from his years in Red Spark. He's lucky his dick didn't fall off in the process.

All raiders are rapists, though, but this one leaves his victims alive long enough, and he doesn't have the sadism of the others.

As the saying goes, the further into the woods the bigger the mosquitoes. This is the shit of the shit itself. Some raiders have grenade launchers, flamethrowers, miniguns. The armor, too, is tougher than that of those who inhabit the outskirts of Red Spark. As a result, we meet experienced and deadly opponents. You might say, veterans.

Along the way, we encounter many different and sometimes rare junk like explosives, which the raiders discovered while exploring the ruins or found in other raiders, and keep them in their improvised hiding places. Some raiders individually keep their goods from others, and if this is discovered, usually such a non-generous mate is beaten to death and then abused over his or her body, or vice versa, abused first and then the guts are released.

This is known from Ferris.

As for the junk we encountered... It's a shame to leave it behind, but at the same time I don't want to drag it along with me, since it takes up space; at first the dark griffon takes it to the Sunset Hotel vault, and once we get far enough away from it, we look for a new place to temporarily store it. Why? There might be a chance to come back someday.

When we make mistakes during combat, or even before, we get badly wounded for one reason or another, so we have to spend a lot of medicine and time on treatment. Most of the treatment is done by me and Motley. If I get wounded, Motley treats me, and vice versa if she gets shot. Ferris is lucky. He has the advantage of fighting from a distance: he thinks less of taking someone's life, and feels safer in the relative safety of his position.

On top of that, we manage to get into areas with high levels of radiation, so we have to spend packs of RadAway and RadSafe. Thus our stock of medicines come to an end. Fortunately, at least the ammunition situation is okay. For now—mostly due to the fact that the raiders have a lot of them. I'm surprised there's so much.

Ferris tells us he's never been this deep before.

Motley, in turn, gets a little more talkative. She inserts her comments and sneers more often, but she does not yet try to make jokes, unlike Ferris. I can only assume that this is the effect of me and Ferris being mostly cheerful and funny when we make jokes about each other, which makes her more emotional and open-minded than before. Obviously, the pegasus is no stranger to friendly company, but she prefers not to interfere much in our conversations. For now.

We reach the river, which divides this labyrinth of ruined buildings into two parts. The only thing that connects them is the bridge. A huge bridge, supported by two pillars in the form of huge columns, from which huge metal cables, most of them already torn by time and dampness, stretch from the top to the road surface of the bridge at an angle.

This bridge is the only way to get to the opposite side. The eastern part of the city is immersed in deadly levels of radiation because of the megaspell, except for a small 'pocket', the part of the ruins near the bridge, where it is relatively safe to be. This part of the city is surrounded by impassable ruins and deadly levels of radiation. Earth ponies... and unicorns can't fly, so the only way to get there is over the bridge.

It is possible to get over the air, but Ferris sees through the powerful scope of his anti-mechanical rifle that the airspace above the river is protected by ground forces in the form of raiders with grenade launchers and machine guns. So we can fly over the river only if we get very high up, because below that we will be spotted, after which we inevitably get under the lead rain of machine guns, located in the windows of the buildings on the opposite side. Swimming in the river is also lethal—it's so saturated with radiation that even if we get close to it, it will fucking kill us. It's like that river in the Pitt... and the bridge...

Brings back bad memories.

We need to get to the other side, because from the raiders' conversations we eventually found out, putting down all the swear words, that their leader is on the other side of the bridge. The bridge is the only one that survived the megaspells, but it's barely even standing on its pillars, even though the raiders are patching it up in every way and making some kind of repair, but still maintaining it.

There are a lot of buildings on the bridge, built by raiders mostly from parts of transportation. So there's a lot of defensive positions, which even I would have a hard time getting through invisible, much less without any fire support, and on the other hand there's a lot of cover. No wonder there are so many structures on the bridge—the bridge is still surprisingly strong, and apparently heavy loads were carried across it before the war, since it has managed to stand up to the present day.

Now we're not far from the crossing and we're looking at it through a broken window in one of the old establishments selling various household products, pondering a plan of action.

"So what are we going to do?" Motley asks.

Interesting question, if I still knew the answer to it.

"Get over the bridge and kill the boss," I say.

"Can you be more specific? With details and backup plans."

"I'm thinking... about an idea," I begin. "The raiders mentioned that this is the only way to the other side, right? Now, what if we blow up that bridge, and then the raiders on the other side of the bridge are trapped? And we wouldn't have to get to the other side."

"You didn't think the raiders might have an escape route?"

"The raiders say it's the only way," I say. "No, the raiders may be deliberately telling false information, of course, but something tells me it's true."

"Maybe only the 'commanders' of the raiders know about the secret way? If every raider knew about it, the enemies could sneak in through that very path and strike a crushing blow. Raiders don't know how to keep a secret."

"Look around," I point with my hoof to where we are. "Have any other psychopaths besides us crawled this deep into this unfriendly asshole of the Wasteland? Why would they be so secretive? We blow the bridge, and that's it—the raiders on the other side starve to death. Destroying logistics breaks even strong armies."

The griffon thinks aloud, looking at the bridge, "I think, yes, the raiders are trapped and isolated will eventually kill each other. Only the ones on the outskirts will remain, but that could take weeks... Okay, we'll think about it later... We can't blow up the bridge from above. It's a pretty solid structure. We'd have to use enough explosives to hit the weak points in its concrete pylons. The only way to get to them is from the air, but you can't get killed by the radiation from the river. Plus the main problem will be the machine gunners on the other side and a couple of snipers. We need to find at least a small window on the left or right side of the bridge to set the explosives."

"Great," I say. "So you have to sneak to the other side to disarm the machine gunners. Then you set the explosives, and we blow up that bridge."

"Where do we get explosives capable of destroying the big pillars of the bridge?" the griffon asks.

We really do need a stronger explosive here than what's in the frag grenades and mines we previously found in the raiders' stashes and storage. Where would we find it? A couple of bags would be desirable, too...

"How about using spark batteries as explosives?" Motley offers.

That's an idea! I remember how the Boomers were able to make a fairly powerful explosive from a microfusion cell, but making explosive compounds isn't really my thing. However, Motley... now that she suggested it. She mentioned earlier that she knows her way around explosives. Certainly, she's quite good at throwing grenades... Oh her body movements, they often distracted me with their smoothness and accuracy...

"Motley, show me how many batteries you have," I say to her.

She shows me everything she's carrying. Not as much as I'd like, but still enough to take the bridge to pieces. I guess.

"I can use these batteries," the pegasus begins, "to reinforce both frag grenades and mines, but it would take all my ammunition to make explosives capable of destroying the bridge pillars. Raiders have almost no energy-magic weapons and ammunition as it is, and as far as I know, they're incredibly expensive in Vanhoover because of the energy crisis. What am I going to shoot with then? Magic?"

"With your charm," I mutter, and the pegasus is immediately silent, her lips pressed tightly together. The helmet covering her eyes makes it hard for me to judge her reaction. "You'll amaze everyone around you with your superior body movements." Ferris chuckles. "You have another rifle that uses standard powder ammunition," I add. "So it's not a problem for you."

"Um... Uh..." This is the first time in my memory that she's so out of control with her speech, though I've noted her skills before, perhaps not in this way... That's when it comes to me that it's more like flirting. Now I see why Ferris is giggling—and I thought it was because of my lucky joke.

"That's not the point," the pegasus gathers her thoughts. "Like I said, spark batteries are rare in the Wasteland and very hard to find, and I'm trying to save them anyway."

Such an argument.

"Don't worry, we'll go to the store and get you some spark batteries, okay, angel?" I say with a fatherly smile.

"You say that like you're a father and I'm a whiny filly who's been promised a toy just to keep her quiet," the pegasus mutters.

"Isn't that so? You complain about not being able to get what you want..."

"Daniel..." she mutters threateningly.

Oops. I think I'm starting to go too far.

"Calm down," I hoof it up to her. "I hear you, I just wanted to lighten the mood. No problem making up for the loss of your precious ammunition. That's it, relax."

"Okay..." she replies a little later. "I'll make the necessary amount. There are enough materials in this store to make them."

"Nice. I knew I could count on you."

"I can help you, Motley," Ferris says. "I'm pretty good at explosives, just give me some instructions."

"Okay," she agrees. "It'll be faster then."

"Well.. We just have to figure out how to get to the other side."

The dark griffon says, "Yes, it's preferable to clear the north side—there are fewer enemies there than on the south side of the bridge."

"I can get you across by air," Motley mutters. "But to do that, I need to know where I can land on the other side undetected."

"Can you get me up?" I clarify.

"Only if I take off my combat saddle and you leave your weapons and bags here. I'll come back for our gear on the second ride."

"Why wouldn't Ferris do that?" I ask.

"He'll be the distraction from the south side of the bridge. All the raiders will be distracted by the thundering shots of the anti-machine rifle. Including those raiders on the rooftops—then I can fly you up to the buildings on the north side while everyone is looking south. You and I will quickly eliminate the snipers and machine gunners, I'll fly back for the explosives, quickly set them and detonate them."

Wow... Motley's got a good plan of action. I like it. The only problem, as she mentioned, is a safe landing spot where we can land undetected.

"Excellent plan," the griffon smiles. "I can divert their attention south of the bridge, at the same time making sure no one crosses the bridge to this side. Only you must do everything quickly. I can't hold them off much longer. Not enough ammo."

"It's decided," I say. "That's what we'll do. How will you mine the bridge?" I ask the pegasus.

"I'll plant some explosives at the cables attached to the pylon closest to us, and, of course, the pylon itself—I'll plant the largest amount of explosives at its base on the east side. First we blow up the base of the pylon, and then, after exactly one second, the cables as well. That way we'll give the parts of the concrete pylon above the roadway an acceleration and they'll fall right onto the bridge, which will collapse most of it."

"Great! Then let's get to work," I say.

***

I wait while Motley and Ferris prepare the explosives. I spend the wait practicing a teleportation spell. I have a feeling I'm going to need it.

So after two hours of making explosives and getting ready, we head to our positions. Motley and I move as far north as we can, up the river. In this case, flying between the impassable ruins so no one can see us from the other side of the river.

The view beneath my hooves is breathtaking. The pegasus sees it all the time, apparently. I wish I could fly and see it every day, too. How can Motley be so moody at all with these abilities?

And... I'm pleased with the way the pegasus holds me with her front legs. My life is in her hooves right now. One careless move and she'll drop me and I'll turn into a flapjack. I'm not allowed to move.

I don't have any weapons at all. I had to empty my pockets. All that's left is my hooves. But I do have something that can't be taken away from me: a horn.

Motley begins to gain altitude, the ruins and wreckage of buildings below me getting smaller and smaller and more distant. Falling from such an altitude becomes more and more frightening. I do my best to feel like a motionless dead weight to the pegasus.

We fly over the brown and muddy river, dropping lower to the tallest building on its north side. The raider-sniper and raider-gunner are distracted by the gunfire going on to the south.

Everything goes according to plan!

"Now," Motley says , "you take the machine gunner and I'll take the sniper."

We already know how many raiders are on that roof. And we know how we're gonna do it. All that's left is to choose our targets. Motley will do it. She's a flyer, she knows when, at what speed and altitude to drop an object so it hits the target... without getting hurt.

And yet I swallow nervously, relying on the skills of a pegasus.

Motley flies up to the mare behind the machine gun and, slowing sharply and lowering her altitude, releases me practically at point-blank range to her. She starts to turn the moment my body lands just on top of her, dropping her onto the concrete roof.

Uh-oh!

I feel a little choked up, but I waste no time and punch the mare in the back of the head. Her face hits the concrete roof with force.

The raider unicorn... He turns his sniper rifle toward Motley, but she manages to get all four legs into his sides and back in flight. She uses his body as a support, stopping her flight and doing a graceful backflip and folding her wings. Of course, the raider can't withstand the force of the pegasus landing in him... and he flies down screaming, taking his rifle with him. Motley, after a flip in the air, lands on the spot where the sniper was standing.

I am distracted by her graceful flip in the air after hitting the mare in the back of the head and pressing her face into the concrete. She passed out from that one.

Motley turns to me and, seeing that I'm okay, nods and flies high into the air.

"Wow," bursts out of me as she rises high into the air.

I can't stop admiring her body movements. It's like... a separate art form.

While Motley goes to get her combat saddle and my gear, I inspect the machine gun. I remove it from its stand. In my telekinetic grip it swayed slightly from side to side due to the weakness of my telekinesis.

It will come in handy for clearing sniper and machine gun nests inside buildings.

We located all the nests with my thermal imager before we left. And now with Motley, who's back, we're clearing them. I activate the stealth mode in my Pip-Boy, open the doors, and shoot the raiders with my machine gun. It rumbles, filling the raiders with lead and turning them into a bloody red sieve.

Thanks to the machine gun, I decide to save on my ammo for Whispering Night... Anyway, the whole place is rattling with gunfire.

Of course, Motley takes care of his targets in different buildings and floors to speed up the cleanup process. The machine gun magazine runs out of ammunition on the very last raider. He manages to shoot me while I pull out my revolver and fire back.

I grit my teeth in pain and let out a little howl.

"Son of a..." I groan, sitting down in the chair next to me.

I check the site of the hit. Thanks to the armor, the wound isn't deep, but... it's in the neck. I quickly pull out and drink a strong healing potion to stop the bleeding... I'll get the bullet out later.

"Everything okay?" Motley asks over the radio.

"Yeah..." I mutter heavily, feeling the wound on my neck heal rapidly. It itches and burns slightly, especially from having a foreign object inside. "Set the explosive..."

Motley manages it in more than ten minutes, while the rumbling shots of Ferris's anti-machine rifle rumble down the other side and distract the raiders' attention there.

"All set," the pegasus says over the radio.

"Turn on the fireworks."

Chapter 14 - Injustice

View Online

"Turn on the fireworks."

A bright flash, a sharp bang. Followed by a second. Pillars of green flame rush up and sideways, tearing through the concrete structures. The raiders on the bridge fall with it into the river, and those closest to the explosion melt alive, mingling with the concrete debris. The bridge collapses into the water, taking the surviving raiders on it with it, finally destroying the crossings between the two halves of the city... And only two small black mushrooms and light gray ash will remind us that there was something here a while ago.

It all happened in about ten seconds. No one on that bridge was able to escape. When the explosions died down and the ash fell to the ground, the guys near my position get wise to what's going on and start yelling at us.

East and West Red Spark are now cut off from each other. The only way out of here is by air. It's a good thing I have winged companions. Otherwise I would have locked myself in this most 'welcoming' place in the world. Alone with the raiders whose fellows, figuratively speaking, I had just ordered to be incinerated to hell. Yeah, that wasn't going to be a rosy prospect.

"Yee-ha!" I hear Ferris' shout over the radio. "I can smell fried even here!"

"Nice work," I say to Motley in response.

"Much obliged. Where are you located?"

"Third building to the left of the bridge, ninth floor."

Outside on the other side of the river, three hovering silhouettes emerge: Ferris, Motley, and Edge. After a while, they fly into the apartment, in which I sit fatigued in a cushioned chair. My wounds are not yet fully healed.

"You did a good job," I say, looking at my partners with a tired smile.

"Always glad to help," Ferris replies. "But we're almost out of ammunition for the anti-machine rifle. What do we do next?"

"Search for the chief's head. Any idea where to start?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"You need to be examined," the pegasus mutters, noticing the blood on my neck. She walks over to me. "Your blood..." there is a noticeable sense of concern in her voice.

"Yes, I was shot in the neck. The bullet stayed inside when I drank the healing potion. I didn't have time to pull it out because of the bleeding."

"Oh... It needs to be pulled out right away."

"Will you help?" I ask.

"Of course..." she mutters in surprise and starts digging through her saddlebags for medical supplies.

"I'll look around for now," Ferris begins, "and keep an eye on the raiders. The destruction of the bridge must worry them, for they have been cut off from the rest of the city—so they must run to their chief and resolve the issue."

"Oh, good idea!" I say, and the griffon and Edge leave me alone with the pegasus, who immediately begins injecting analgesics, cutting the wound, and pulling out the bullet.

Even with painkillers, the process is far from pleasant. It's not anesthesia after all. I think of Bluerise's wet body to somehow ease the wait while Motley is digging in my neck.

After completing the procedures, which seem to take forever, Motley sighs deeply and relieved.

"Thank you," I smile at her. "You helped me out."

"Uh-huh..." she mutters, processing the tools from my blood and putting them back in the bag.

"Where did you learn medicine like that?"

"In the Enclave, where else?"

"Well... I mean, what motivated you to do it?"

"The benefits of healing. What other motive do you need?"

"I see..."

The pegasus doesn't want to talk. Ferris and Edge won't be back anytime soon. We need something to occupy ourselves with... Oh. Knowledge is power. I will continue to improve my knowledge of teleportation, repair, and a barrier.

Motley lies on the couch and stares silently at the ceiling.

She is very difficult to talk to.

A few hours later, Ferris returns with his faithful eagle and information about the location of a certain 'Factory'. There, the raiders repair their weapons and take ammunition. They visit the place regularly. We should visit it, too, since we, especially me, never got around to it.

We move to this place on foot... hooves.

This part of the city has suffered the most. There are no cleverly twisted mazes here: almost everything is littered with huge amounts of concrete and bricks, so it's hard to get lost here. In addition, most of the raiders here are already ghouls. Though they are strong and dangerous, it's not too difficult to slip past them. They often attribute any strange noise or rustle to the clouds of their minds from taking large quantities of drugs.

Typical and naive raiders.

I once hid in the ruins of the South Vegas to deliver a bag of drugs to
Motor-Runner. I don't remember why I took it upon myself to help the Great Khans by working for them as a drug courier—apparently to get some friendly support. I'll have to look through my notes sometime, in case I left my thoughts on it somewhere.

In general, the Crater reminds me more of a huge version of the South Vegas. The leader? Check. Discipline? Check... That's funny.
Motor-Runner, along with the Fiends, was constantly pestering the NCR soldiers in the Camp McCarran, enclosed by high concrete walls. He somehow managed to organize them—not without the help of smaller bosses.

Now I have to take out the leader of the raiders in the Crater, which has caused problems for the Vanhoover families' caravans, particularly Waterfall. What an... interesting coincidence. It's no secret that it's all due to the leader. That's why he must be found. Of course, not for a heart-to-heart talk about friendship and mercy and drinking chamomile tea with oatmeal cookies.

It would surprise me even more if the leader of the Crater raider gangs, like Motor-Runner in the South Vegas, lived in some underground bunker...

***

After a certain amount of time, we get to the place near where the Factory is supposed to be. It's only now that I realize that we're walking into a trap: there are a shitload of raiders coming here on a regular basis!

We all take cover in a half-ruined restaurant. Thank fuck—it's as empty as a drugged-out raider's head, but there's a surviving viewing terrace on the roof. From there we analyze the terrain around the Factory.

As expected, there are more than a dozen raiders nearby. Rumors of the bridge collapse have reached these; they are aware of what this entails, they are nervous and frightened.

A wall of old transport debris, bits and pieces of sheet metal, and billboard fragments has been hastily installed around the factory grounds. All in all, it's a mess of everything imaginable. All this is patrolled by several raiders in heavy metal armor and with miniguns or heavy automatic rifles, and on the metal roof of the Factory itself, two raiders with sniper rifles watch the perimeter.

Other raiders must also be defended against.

"The New Features," Ferris says aloud, interrupting my musings.

"What?"

"The New Features", the dark griffon repeats, "is a branch of Ironshod Firearms. This company used to produce the latest weaponry. I once found a document that said that special upgraded equipment had been produced for The New Features. I always wanted to take a look at it. The plus side of this equipment was that this one factory could produce any type of firearm, from pistols to anti-machine rifles of its own making. In addition, the factory was fully automated. Now it's clear how the raiders keep the guns in good condition."

"If one factory produced many types of weapons and was automated, didn't that affect quality?" I ask skeptically. Such a variety of equipment in one factory. It must have had some effect on the weapon itself.

"Each piece created was tested for reliability, and even in front of the customer, if he so desired. I have never once seen any mention of substandard weapons manufactured here. The reviews were all positive. The factory had a small laboratory, which was constantly improving the equipment, expanding production capabilities, as well as creating new modifications of weapons. Thus produced not only standard weapons, but also modified counterparts. It was possible to ask to create anything under the request... This factory... these blueprints and technology... My soft spot..." the griffon whimpers pretendingly, sniffing his beak. I'm not that dramatic a fan of gunsmithing, but I'd love to see the equipment.

"Now I see," Motley begins, "where the raiders get their weapons in such good condition and so many rare specimens. But that raises another question: how were the raiders able to fix the hardware to set up production?"

"If the factory is automated," Ferris replies, "then it probably has an automated repair system."

"Even so," I object, "how did they manage to get the operating system of the whole factory's workbenches right? You'd need some knowledge of programming, which raiders don't usually have."

Although one Fiend in Mojave knew how to work the terminals and even knew how to program. Personally, I don't know anything about programming. Brisa used to do all that.

"No idea at all," Ferris replies, spreading his paws.

"You mentioned a robotic factory system. Does that mean there are a lot of combat robots and turrets?"

"Quite possibly," Ferris brings his claws to his beak and begins to ponder, occasionally glancing at the ruins. "It's a high-tech factory, after all. The other thing that interests me is: how did it manage to survive? Considering the megaspell fell relatively nearby."

"If there are security robots and turrets in the factory, you could use them in a wipeout of the raiders. The problem is, I don't know anything about programming. As far as I remember, none of us know anything about terminals. We'll have to do it the tried-and-true way—restart the robot guard's operating system. That would reset the system's targeting sensors to default, and it would attack everyone. That's when we could use 'Berry'..." I stare frustratedly at one point in front of me. "She's a professional hacker."

"She certainly couldn't get in here," Ferris says quietly. "Besides, I'm pretty good at programming, too."

"You've got to be kidding me," I say skeptically, waving a hoof.

"It's not like you've ever asked," the griffon smiles. "And I don't think you're the only one so mysterious."

Motley turns to me, "And what do you plan to do? Infiltrate the Factory and make the security system take out all the raiders?"

"Of course... of course," I smile. "How else? I'll activate stealth mode and infiltrate the Factory."

"You're in high spirits even now, when we're not at our best..." the beige pegasus mutters thoughtfully and somewhat impressed.

"That's a way to keep control of your emotions," I smile back at her. She only shakes her head softly, smiling weakly, as if looking at a naive fool.

Griffon says, "In case you haven't noticed, the factory entrance isn't the wooden doors of a run-down bar," he observes, looking through the scope of his anti-machine rifle. "You can't get through that easily."

"We'll figure it out now. Did you think of anything with the bridge? We did. We'll do a little trick here, too."

"We'll get in by the air," Motley says. "Like with the bridge."

"We'll get," Ferris says, "to the Factory by air, reprogram the robots, then what?"

"We wait until they snap all the raiders. If we're lucky, they might kill the leader, too. If he's not there, we keep looking.

Snipers on the roof are distracted by the panic below. Absolutely no discipline, not doing their duty to protect the airspace—which is to be expected from the raiders. The guards are trying to contain and pacify the crowd that periodically tries to break into the factory."

"We're all fucked!" the raider shouts at the top of her voice. "Let me in!"

One of the guards, a ghoul, shoots her in the head. The bullet goes straight through and nearly hits the stallion standing behind her.

"We'll fucking kill you ourselves if you panic. I repeat, the issue is being resolved. Stay here."

Great... no one notices in this noisy crowd as the two raiders on the roof are swept up by a griffon and a pegasus, wringing their necks.

This time the pegasus drags me along with all my equipment. The previous time we had to disarm completely because of the need to gain altitude. We needed maneuverability and lightness, but now it's enough to fly to the roof of the Factory. There I check the magazines of the raiders' sniper rifles. Only one of them contains ammunition for my Whispering Night.

We enter the building through the rooftop entrance.

The topmost floor turns out to be a small office with the standard boring interior, with several raiders standing with their backs to us. We quickly 'lull them' and immediately start inspecting the office, but we find nothing of interest: only office trash, damaged documents and reports.

There are only office rooms on the floor below, and apart from half a dozen raiders there is no one there. Having dealt with them by the tried-and-true method—hitting them from behind—after a while we find the director's office. In it stands the terminal, which, unfortunately, has been destroyed. There is also an abundance of file cabinets along the walls, a torn old couch, a couple of chairs by the window, a lot of paperwork on the tables, burnt documents, and useless fragments of contracts. No excesses, and no safes.

"It's just a mess," I say out loud in frustration.

"Did you think you'd find immeasurable treasure here?" the dark gray griffin asks ironically.

"It couldn't be otherwise. This is, after all, the office of the director of a notorious arms factory! There must be some sort of humble stash," I say, peering behind every piece of furniture or anything unusual. I walk over to the chair and try to move it to see what's under the table, but it doesn't move at all—it's nailed to the floor.

"Do you like the chair, or are you going to sell it for a certain amount of caps and so you want to take it with you?" Ferris asks in the same ironic tone.

Yes, I really want that chair: perhaps it might even bring good fortune and wealth? Or maybe world domination while I'm a greedy, crazy bastard with a face mask on my face?

"Yes," I answer. "I need it badly..."

In another attempt to move it or pull it off the floor with my telekinesis, I randomly lean the chair back, but it doesn't go any lower, no matter how hard I try. It is simply frozen in the tilted position, at which point I hear the wall behind me come into motion.

Whoa! And here comes the immeasurable treasure.

Ferris is a little surprised by my find, Motley only looks with interest at what the wall concealed behind it, and so am I, in fact.

"Wonderful..." I say frustratedly, staring blankly at the empty display case.

A small red stand for some kind of weapon, but no weapon itself. And above it are a couple more small wooden shelves, which are also empty.

"Undoubtedly," the pegasus agrees.

"By the director himself or by someone after the megaspells fell? That's the question," Ferris says wistfully, looking at the weapon stand.

"We'll never know the answer," I say, putting the chair back into position. The wall seals the empty display case behind it. "Okay, time to move on."

***

As we descend into the workshops, we scout out the robot control center. They, by the way, only patrol the area indoors, so they're easy to avoid. Slowly making our way through the factory and killing raiders along the way, we find this very 'reset switch'. During our tour, I see that the raiders are loading the very raw materials they found into some kind of special iron container that recycles junk. This raw material is used in production.

The factory's automatic security control center is in a well-locked area. Behind secure, magically enchanted metal doors.

These unusual locks. If it weren't for my meeting Greenkeys, I wouldn't have been able to open them. Her knowledge comes in handy. Since we haven't discovered any keys, we have to unlock the good locks by hand.

It takes about twenty minutes, but takes about a third of my internal magic—I'm not very good at picking enchanted locks yet.

It's such a solid defense... I'm impressed.

Ferris shuts down the factory's equipment and reprograms the robots to the best of his ability. They start killing everything alive, while we hide in the control center and keep our noses to ourselves. We wait for things to calm down, sitting in a room full of all sorts of consoles and computer systems. They make a distinctive humming sound as they work. Behind the walls I hear gunshots and horrible screams.

It's sickening to hear. I have to concentrate on something else...

This room, surprisingly, is not a mess, on the contrary: every wire is neatly stacked with others of the same kind and just as neatly connected wherever it needs to be, pulling a thin strand out of the common thread. Everything here is extremely neat, and it even seems clear what is responsible for what.

There's also a terminal here, which holds all the blueprints of the weapons and modifications of this company. Naturally, with all that protection on the doors. It's strange that there's no security on the terminals—or that they've already been hacked into by whoever set up the production.

So it won't go to waste, I'm copying all the blueprints into Pip-Boy, to see if they'll be of any use to anyone. Ferris told me to do that. He says that the schematics of these weapons will be worth a lot, as half of them are rare models that are very difficult to recreate. Plus, in addition to the blueprints and equipment documentation, there are blueprints of the unique equivalents that caused this weapon creation feature to exist. According to the griffon, this information can be useful to both the Steel Rangers and the masters of Vanhoover and, of course, to himself.

And I need to do it quickly, because the blueprints have all but filled my Pip-Boy's memory.

About ten minutes passed, and the shooting has practically stopped, and the screaming has stopped. Because of the turmoil inside, the crowd outside finally panicked, trying to break into the factory, and the guards started shooting, after which the survivors themselves went inside and... were shot by robots. It's all quiet now. All that can be heard is the robots moving through the corridors, announcing to the void in their mechanical voices that the elimination of the intruders is complete.

Wow, the elimination of the intruders! Couldn't they have just escorted the unwelcome individuals out the door? I sometimes wonder at the pre-war views on defense—I mean, the robots could have killed anyone who entered this factory, even a foal. Well, there's nothing I can do about it: both here and in my world, countries were at war with each other, forcing extreme precautions, security and keeping their secrets. Total paranoia, propaganda and the like. And corporations have always been just as worried about their secrets as countries.

Having turned off the guards, we try to find the leader, or at least his corpse, but half an hour of searching ends without any results.

Unfortunately, the factory's laboratory is destroyed. It is located on the side where the megaspell shockwave struck. The lab was well fortified, but it was not meant to withstand this. It did not survive the explosion, but I must give it credit: it took the full force of the shock wave upon itself. But unfortunately, radiation is notoriously difficult to stop, which is why most of the workshop—and the factory in general—emits a decent amount of it. I've had to avoid dangerous places in the factory, which would have been an impossible task without the available anti-radiation drugs.

On the other hand, I am finally replenishing my ammunition. I have more than enough for a few days—without the constant fighting. Unfortunately, I still haven't found the necessary spark batteries for my Pushy. They have been used up for a very long time.

While searching, we discover a basement and an elevator leading somewhere underground... Something is coming up.

We take it down to the very bottom, the only level it can go to. From the elevator we emerge into a square wide corridor with concrete walls and a ceiling supported in two rows by cylindrical gray columns. At the end is something I wasn't expecting to see—a huge massive gear-shaped door with the huge yellow numbers '61' on it.

Well... it did coincide with my world, after all. And here the head of the raiders is highly likely to live inside a huge bunker... a Stable.

"Mother of my eagle! It's a Stable!" the griffon yells in amazement. Edge, on his master's back, excitedly shrieks in support of his master. Or that the griffon himself shouts almost like an eagle, so he supports him for company.

"I can see without you," I say in a shocked voice.

We approach an enormous door in the shape of a gear wheel. From inside we hear the distinctive sounds of equipment in operation. So the Stable is in good working condition, and that's a good thing... or is that a bad thing? I doubt there are any more living inhabitants of the underground closet Stable-Tec, which, in turn, loved social experiments on living ponies.

I walk over to the console and press the open button. The door opens. I am surprised by the lack of a lock. I have a bad feeling about this.

We barely cross the threshold of the Stable as.

"Who the fuck is in there!" is heard in the raider's arrogant and self-assured gruff voice. A ghoul. When he sees us, he's stunned, but after a few seconds he picks himself up and speaks gruffly again, preparing to fire from his combat saddle.

Ferris outpaces me. He pulls out the Stone Eagle and fires at the ghoul raider's head.

The next minute, a group of ghoul raiders with flamethrowers, led by the most ambitious one, show up from around the next corner and immediately fire a bright blast of fire at us.

Fuck!

I instinctively raise a magical barrier in front of us. The hot jet of fire crashes into the magical 'wall', spreading out in all directions.

Ferris and Motley fly up to the ceiling and rain lead on the flamethrowers.

"Almost got hot at the banquet," Ferris says.

I can feel it in my ass that this is the Stable where the raiders' roots have sprouted, spreading all over Red Spark. It's time to dig them up and burn them down, and the Waterfall family will have an easier life. Or at least their caravans would.

We enter the atrium. Our tremendous appearance draws the attention of the three 'confident' raiders who are there. None of them are ghouls, and each has a hell of a lot of rare weaponry—which is what the word 'confident' meant.

One wears heavy metal armor, lightweight power armor; his armament is a large minigun and an automatic rapid-fire grenade launcher.

Oh, wow. I wouldn't want to face him alone without a place to hide. Almost like Billy the Bulldozer.

The second one wears reinforced combat armor and her weapons are two black submachine guns, each with a silencer and a laser sight.

Is this some sort of raider special forces officer?

The third raider is dressed in dark gray armor with a black cape and hood. His weapon has a familiar shape; it looks remotely like a combat rifle, which was the most common among NCR soldiers. It also looks like a standard automatic carbine. Oh, he has pretty good equipment.

In addition, all three raiders wear PipBucks.

Wonderful! That's just superb! The only thing missing is a fire-breathing dragon.

The raiders notice our, as I mentioned earlier, epic arrival: immediately they pull out their menacing guns and aim them at us. We quickly crouch down, and just in time, we almost get hit by gunfire. Being on the second tier of the Atrium, we have a slight advantage over the raiders below. After firing a few unsuccessful shots at us, they stop firing and split up.

"Guys, things are shit," I say quietly. "They're going to surround us."

"Don't worry, we'll get through," Ferris tries to cheer us up. How that sounds like me.

"I'm taking the raider with two SG," the pegasus informs us.

"I take that charming behemoth," Ferris says confidently.

"Then I take the one with the hood and the cape," I sigh. I hope his weapon doesn't take me out the first time. "Scatter!" I say, and we spread out across the Atrium in different directions.

I run to the right, trying not to give the raider a chance to aim at me with the spell in PipBuck.

The rapid-fire rate of his weapon is unusually high, but does it sound like some kind of shotgun? What diabolical hybrid? Even my beloved riot shotgun is no match for the rapid-fire rate. If he fired an automatic volley at me, I'd be a mess; no amount of armor could save me from that much shot in such a short period of time, and at point-blank range.

"Where are you, meat loaf!" the raider with the rapid-fire shotgun yells.

Damn, I wish I had some grenades right now. I can't stick my head out, or he'll activate the aiming spell, and I'm fucked. I have to pick the right moment to attack.

"Show yourself, and I'll kill you fast," the raider sweetly mutters.

He makes the mistake of getting close to the balcony and to my cover. This is the moment!

I draw my sword and, flying over the metal railing, jump onto him, but he notices my heroic fall and manages to dodge. So I almost break my legs from surprise when I land.

Shit...

Good thing I was able to regroup in time.

Distracted by hitting the hard concrete floor of the Stable with my hooves, the raider tries to use telekinesis to immobilize me, but thanks to the telekinesis-protective necklace from the where the Princess Luna Information Center, he fails. He bewilderedly punches me in the head with the buttstock, and with such force that it leaves a dent in my helmet. The jolt makes my head buzz, and I fall over. The hooded raider looms over me, pointing the barrel at me.

"Do you want to suck it?" he mutters in a mocking tone.

With eloquent silence, I move to action.

I magically push the automatic shotgun to the side, and immediately a shot rang out...

That was fucking close!

I try to use telekinesis to immobilize him, and... I find that he's also telekinesis immune.

I have to throw the raider away with my hind hooves. Just as I reach for my revolver, my opponent fires a precise shot at it, destroying it.

Good thing it's not that silver magnum from a friend. In fact, I have no human weapons with me except my sword and Pushy. Everything was left in Heavenly Harbor.

Doing a roll, I telekinesis my sword. Jumping to my hooves, I throw the sword at the raider. He manages to shoot before he can dodge. His shot hits my front leg near the knee. Luckily he doesn't get all the shot, breaking off a piece of armor and partially wounding me.

Dangerous! I almost lose my concentration because of the pain. His fucking aiming spell!

Deftly pulling out Billy's sawed-off shotgun, I aim it at the raider's head. Taking the shot, I don't hit it, as the damn raider turns his head sideways in time. Since there's no time to reload, I throw the shotgun at my enemy for a distraction. He catches the thrown weapon in his telekinetic grip, and I run at him and knock him off his hooves.

The unicorn throws me off with its hind hooves. I don't fly as far away as my opponent had planned. As soon as I get up, he aims his devilish automatic shotgun at me, and I use a spell and teleport behind him.

A moment longer and it would have been too late.

As he tries to turn around, I pull out Whispering Night with its shortened barrel, turn on the VATS, and without the slightest hesitation shoot him several times in the head. His brains turn into a red mess, his body falls dead to the floor. The blood from his neck slowly spills out onto the cold floor.

That prick gave me a good thrashing.

After killing the raider, I was about to inspect the extraordinary shotgun, but immediately I receive a round from two submachine guns. About a third of the bullets pierce through the armor and hurt my soft tissues. If the raider had been closer, the spread would have been less, and therefore more lead in my body.

Shit!

The pain almost makes me lose my concentration. Turning toward the raider and aiming Whispering Night at her, I fire half the clip due to surprise. Half goes past, and half catches up to her: one of the bullets hits her right in the head. Finally.

I grab my wounded side, focus my telekinesis, and, gritting my teeth, pull the bullets out, then pull out a bottle of healing potion and drink it. Staggering, I head toward the raider's corpse. Motley, on the other hand, was supposed to kill this walking problem, now dead. Wait. Oh, really?

No, no, no, no! Not again. Please... Please...

I walk as fast as I can, but the pain in my side and in my leg, which refuses to go anywhere, almost makes me fall. I see another body behind the raider's corpse, lying motionless next to the steps to the second level of the Atrium...

Motley!

Shit!

I get to her body after all. Her chest rises and falls slowly. She's breathing. Slowly, weakly, but she's alive...

I sigh in relief and sink wearily onto my rump.

Motley's armor is damaged in many places, bleeding everywhere. The beige face is all bruised from the beating. Apparently that raider wasn't such a weak hoof fighter if she could beat Motley. Before I shot at the raider, though, I saw that her face was also covered in bruises, and she was also missing one eye, and her armor was in even worse condition.

Motley's face was covered in many injuries, and her cheek had been hit by several bullets. Had it not been for her catlike agility, she would have lost her head. Her right wing is badly damaged by bullets and is bleeding. The other wing looks a little bruised, but it is intact.

She needs immediate treatment and stabilization. I can't do without medication, but I need specialized tools.

I will have to work with what little magic I have left. I'm running out... I'm almost on the verge of burning out. I must use some of my medicine to stabilize her and get her to the medical block, which is supposed to be near the Atrium. Her wounds must be treated before it's too late.

Shots and rocket-propelled grenades can be heard in the vicinity. Ferris and Edge are still fighting, which means they're alive. That can't help but feel good.

After dragging Motley into the infirmary, I carefully place her unconscious body on the operating table. After making sure that her condition is not worsening, I take one pill of mint-als. This is necessary for better concentration and to minimize mistakes during treatment. The low level of magic also affects rational thinking.

Everything around me becomes clearer, concentration improves, and it becomes much easier to think. Now I know exactly what I need to do...

Carefully removing the pegasus' armor, I see that bruises and abrasions abound on her body underneath. It's not unusual for me to operate on physical wounds, and it's even easier underneath the mint-als.

My father and then Brisa taught me how to operate with medical instruments to treat bullet and tearing wounds. Not to forget Arcade, who also showed me several techniques and ways of using medical knowledge. The only thing I didn't know about was how to behave when treating wings. Exactly until Motley showed and told me about the structure of pegasus wings when I was treating her while moving through the Crater.

During Motley's surgery, a slightly shabby and wounded Ferris walks in, with a battle-weary eagle also sitting on his back. The pet shows almost no sign of wounds.

"How is my most beloved pair doing?" the griffon asks, breathing heavily.

"Motley was badly wounded, she lost consciousness. Her condition is stable now. She should regain consciousness soon. And what took you so long, my dear? Where have you been?"

"Running... After I had barely put down that goon in the great dining room, a dozen well-armed ghouls came running up to me. I had to work up a sweat to keep them from getting past me. You heard that big rumble, didn't you?"

"Yes," I answer. As I was self-medicating, I heard and even felt through the shaking walls and floor a violent explosion. "Was that you?"

"If it was me, I wouldn't be here now. I hit my rifle right in the stock for that behemoth's automatic grenade launcher. The explosion took the lives of about half the raiders in the vicinity. I finished off the rest with my rifle. I had to try pretty hard to keep them from trying to come at you."

"Guess I'll have to thank you. Otherwise we'd all be screwed," I grin, turning to the griffon. I look him over again. "Don't you need a treatment? I've almost got Motley patched up."

"No, doc, thanks. I can take out a few bullets myself somehow. I'm a tough nut to crack. By the way, I've seen your abilities as a medic more than once: are you a professional repairman not only of technology, but of living flesh as well?"

"No, I'm not. I can only treat some combat wounds and injuries. Mostly practiced on myself when I traveled the Wasteland alone. The basic knowledge base of healing was given by my father and close friends."

In silence and concentration I continue to operate on the beige patient.

"That's it," I say after ten minutes, "done. Motley will soon recover, while I gather up some of my gear I dropped in the Atrium. You keep an eye on Motley, okay?"

"No problem," the griffon replies. "I won't let any stallion near her."

I roll my eyes.

I don't deny that Motley is attractive, that her smooth body movements enchant me, but—nothing more. I'm not looking for a relationship. Plus, she's moody. I don't like moody and joyless girls or mares.

At this point, the effects of mint-als wear off. The withdrawal from such a brain-affecting drug is not easy, but I got used to it a long time ago, although the oppressive mood due to the loss of... clarity of what's going on will have to be endured. The main thing is to concentrate on something neutral. Keep myself busy with something and not think about what I'm feeling.

I head to the Atrium to gather my gear, and the first thing I do is walk up to the corpse of the raider who had an unusual shotgun.

What a lovely weapon...

***

"Oh..."

My head... Pain...

"Where am I...?"

I can't see anything in front of my eyes... Ah, wait. Something clears up... I see concrete walls. The walls of a Vault. A Stable...

"Rise and shine," I hear the mare's distorted voice. Distorted by the helmet speaker, I suppose. "You've been out for a long time."

I try to look around more closely.

The creature... sits at a chair by the table in the center. It's wearing grim and somewhat terrifying black armor, covered like chitin; its tail looks like a scorpion's. The helmet is no less intimidating—shaped like the snout of an insect. Yellow faceted lenses.

So similar to... Enclave?!

What I see immediately invigorates me. I almost choke on the clarity of what's happening.

For fuck's sake! What's the Enclave doing here? Are they involved in this?!

I have to get up and...

I discover I'm tied up and I have a black ring on my horn—it's probably what's keeping me from using magic.

"Who are you, anyway?" I moan, still feeling the painful buzzing in my head.

"It doesn't matter who I am. All that matters is that you're the reason everything's gone to shit, the raiders are ready to kill each other because they panic, thinking they can't get out of here. A fitting fate for them, though... And I would also advise you not to move. For your own safety, sweetie."

I see a couple of land mines underneath me. Couldn't be better.

"So why... Wait. You're the leader of the raiders?" I ask in amazement.

She's the leader of the Crater raiders?! Oh, right, I forgot that in this world, ponies are dominated by females. More surprised by the Enclave's armor.

"Guessed that, huh? I'd have already given you over to the joy of that panicky scum that so desires your meat and your ass, but I need a hostage so I don't get fucked up by your partner, the griffon who has managed to take out so many experienced... Soldiers? Yeah, I guess that'll do," she taps her hooves against each other, apparently pondering something.

"So, I'm bait, then?" I ask, glancing at the Atrium.

"Right, right. And in doing so, if you don't twitch or make attempts to escape, I will kill you personally. Maybe... Or you'll be my pleasure toy when I get out of here."

"Where did you get that armor?"

Silly question, of course, but still. What else am I supposed to do in this situation?

"This?" I hear the mare sigh irritably. "My armor. It's taking you a long time to figure it out, you moron."

"And how..."

Motley and Ferris burst into the cabinet. The pegasus is in ragged and still bloodstained armor, and the dark gray griffon is with his pet.

"Deigned to appear," the mare in insect-like armor says. Motley is dazed after her phrase. "Well, shall we bargain, or will you still listen to my terms?"

"Went looking for you after an hour of your absence," Ferris tells me with a smile. Then he turns to the power-armored mare and says in a threatening tone, pointing the Stone Eagle at her, "Let him go. You're the only one here, and we shot almost all your buddies along the way."

"Why should I let him go?" the mare asks woozily and freely. "Make an extra move and your friend will go up in flames, his ass flying right over his head. If you try to remove him, there will be an explosion; if you make an unnecessary movement, I'll activate the detonator," the mare shows the item, twirling it in her hooves. "It seems pretty clear that I'm ordering the music."

"What do you want?" the griffon frowns.

"To capture you and give you to the raiders for amusement. They're especially fond of pegasi," she looks at Motley in her helmet. "Why would I leave you alive? You'd make fine soldiers in my army, but we have very different perspectives on the future. Besides, our relationship is hopelessly damaged."

Ferris snorts at that.

"V-violet?" Motley's trembling voice comes.

Suddenly there is a sepulchral silence. Upon hearing the name, the armored mare falls into a numbness, just as Motley did when she heard her voice, as she is completely silent and unmoving.

"M-motley?!" there is a sense of surprise in her voice, which changes to anger and rage.

They know each other from the voice...

"You're alive?!" the two pegasi say, almost simultaneously. One of them is only stunned by the encounter, while the other radiates a fierce anger, which, if given free choice, will burn everything to the ground, like an explosion of megaspells.

"Traitor!" Violet shouts almost immediately, and pounces on Motley.

My pegasus doesn't immediately respond, as she's not in the right state both physically, due to her recent injury, and mentally, judging by her reaction.

"This is all because of you!"

Motley misses a punch or two, but is soon overpowered by Violet. Compared to Motley, the black-armored pegasus makes a hoof fighter out of me like a dancer. Our pegasus presses Violet against the cold floor of the Stable.

I put my head down... Realizing as I watch such a drastic change of scenery, I completely forget that I'm tied up and surrounded by explosives.

"I... I thought... you died," Motley says with heavy breathing, holding the leader to the floor.

For Motley, it was clearly something near and familiar.

"I thought so, too."

"How did you..."

"I got grabbed by passing fucking raiders the other day! Let me go! I'll kill you, bitch!"

Violet screams angrily and tries to break free from Motley's hold, but Motley confidently holds her back.

"You're the reason this all happened," Violet screams, as if these are words she's been running through her head for months, and now they've finally broken free. "You're the reason I'm here! Because of you! You! You're the reason this fucking nightmare happened to me!"

Motley doesn't know what to answer. She is shocked by the encounter.

Ferris uses the moment to disarm the mines and untie me. Having done so, he hands me Billy's sawed-off shotgun.

How timely.

I'm lucky that Violet and Motley happen to know each other, causing the leader of the raiders to be distracted.

"Who is she?" I ask Motley, holding Violet to the floor.

"She was a member of my squad," Motley replies. Ferris points his Stone Eagle at Violet.

"The squad is fucked because of that whore! She did it to us!" Violet says, pointing with a twist of her head at Motley.

I look up at my pegasus in confusion. It's hard for me to know what she's feeling right now, because of the helmet hiding her eyes, but I can see from her pressed lips that she's ready to cry.

What happened a year ago, after all? The fight in which the Enclave was involved. It would be more accurate to say the fight was between the Enclave soldiers. Motley and Violet were in it...

"Let her go, Motley, I've got her in my sights," Ferris says. I join in and point Billy's loaded shotgun at her.

Motley lets go of the pegasus. Violet stands up and removes her helmet. Showing us her purple-colored fur on her face and her dirty, crumpled yellow mane in places. Her face is covered in scars, and there is anger blazing in her eyes with bags underneath, all the power of which is directed at Motley.

"How did you get here?" I ask, looking into those anger-filled eyes. I suspect there is a lot of pain and suffering behind that anger. It couldn't be any other way. I can imagine what she's been through.

"I told you I was brought in by those shitheads! I don't want to remember what those assholes did to me. Just kill me and be done with it. That way you put me out of my misery. Go ahead, shoot!" she turns exactly to me and drops to her front knees in front of me, resting her forehead against the barrel of the shotgun.

"Are you so eager to die?" I ask in surprise.

"That's why you came here, isn't it? You fucked up the main bridge between East and West Red Spark. Put down a bunch of ponies, some of whom once had families until they had to leave Vanhoover. Families, Prince, Kings... They all deserve to die for what they've done to them. And they fear us, for we have become an organized family through my knowledge of military science. You must rid the so-called masters of Vanhoover of this fear by killing me."

"Why in the world would you want to protect the interests of the raiders?"

"I don't care about them. They're just a product of this fucking Wasteland and Vanhoover in particular. I wanted them to finally kill each other so the Enclave wouldn't have to dirty its hooves in their blood. Everyone deserves to die equally."

"Why?"

"All they do is eat, shit, and fuck. In Vanhoover do the same thing, but with rules, and they want to take over the world. Parasites. I don't care about anybody. I'm loyal to the Enclave, even when he turned his back on me, because I've become that parasite. A raider. Because of that fucking cunt!" She glances at the beige pegasus out of the corner of her eye. "You see what your actions have brought you to? You're responsible for torturing me! You're responsible for me being here!" Motley lowers her head. A glistening tear runs down her cheeks from under the top of her helmet. "You've ruined life for all of us..."

"What the hell happened between you two?" I ask irritably.

Violet is definitely telling us all this in order to hurt Motley.

"She betrayed her own squad! She's a murderer! I thought the bitch was dead myself, but it turns out she isn't... Traitors always survive!"

"I shouldn't have been followed!" Motley says in an angry and broken voice.

"You killed an important pegasus and tried to smear him, thus screwing up our squad!" Violet shouts. "And then you got rid of us! You impulsive bitch!"

Motley puts his head down completely. There's a sepulchral silence all around, and I hear a few drops falling to the floor.

"Tears won't solve anything anymore, so you bitch would have to die in agony. And you..." Violet turns to me. "Go ahead, kill me... No, let Motley do it. Let her finish what she started," Violet says it as if she's cutting into Motley's soul.

Every word Violet says makes my companion shudder.

"I... Uh..." Motley mutters frantically, sobbing.

"You never believed in the Enclave and its good purpose. You never trusted his justice!"

"He was guilty..."

"No shit like that! He was acquitted, but you were not satisfied with that! And you killed him with all the brutality of a raider! You're no squad captain. Controlling emotions is one of the most important qualities of an officer. Even I was able to endure all the torment and humiliation from the raiders and managed to control them. And you, because of your fucking distrust, tortured him like the raiders tortured me. Pathetic shit..."

Violet turns to me.

"Come on, finish me off! Well, what are you waiting for? Just pull the fucking trigger and be done with it! Of course you'd prefer to kill me, because otherwise I'd be sure to get to the traitor and make her suffer. I would make her go through everything I went through!"

"There is no other way, is there?" I ask with a sigh.

"Well, you sure are a fabulous dickhead," she laughs shrilly and loudly. A dismissive and condescending laugh, as if I were a child who said that friendship would solve any problem.

"What did you believe?"

"I believe that sooner or later the Enclave will return to Equestria, put it out of its misery, restore it. Cleanse it. Cleanse it of horny slave masters and raiders. Give it a noble purpose! To rebuild the country. But this traitor never believed that. She thought the Enclave was hypocritical, mixed it up with shit, despised it, threw accusations at it. It disgusts me to even think about it. I tolerated her because she was following orders, but she didn't care about the ideals of the higher officers of the Enclave or the future of the country, she was only interested in her paycheck, her personal gain. No wonder how, with such views on life, she could easily turn her back on her fellows, much less her lover! Rare scum!"

I look at Motley. She sobs softly. Then, slowly and staggering, she walks out of the office. Is any of this true? It would be worth asking Motley. Violet is a firm believer in the Enclave; nothing will change her now.

"I was hoping," the leader says, looking at the walking pony, "that my captain would kill me. I'm sick of this comedy. There's no point in talking anymore. She's gone. It's time to bring down the curtain."

"So what happened between you two?" I ask almost at a loss.

"You'll have to ask her yourself," Violet grins even harder. "You'll find out she's an uncontrollable bitch who's only interested in personal gain. Go ahead and kill me. I'm still a raider, no matter what my past may be. One less parasite in the Wasteland."

One less parasite, said Bubblegum, as I stared at Lilac Journey's lifeless body.

A shock of anger is coursing through my body.

A gunshot rumbles. Violet's head explodes with blood-red debris and blood splatter, and her body falls on its side.

I stare at the smoking barrel of the shotgun, seeing Celestia's silhouette on it.

The anger fades as quickly as it appeared.

I... must have twitched from the sudden flash of anger, magically pulling the trigger. That's not good. I have to control myself. Be cool in my actions, not give in to emotional impulses.

"There's fun in the Enclave..." Ferris mutters, lowering the barrel of the Stone Eagle.

"Now you know for a fact that Motley was in the Enclave. Don't you trust her?"

"I don't know. Motley didn't try to justify herself... So there were grains of truth in Violet's words. But I don't want to find out what she said wasn't worth a rotten egg. It's up to you."

What had that pegasus done that was acquitted? Was he really guilty? Or had Motley mistakenly deemed him guilty by circumstantial evidence? Why did she show him, as Violet says, raiding cruelty?

And then she also killed the beloved. How I understand how she feels... too well understand.

***

I study the Overmare terminal, which turns out to contain a huge amount of useful information, but not about this Stable. A jumble of Violet's notes and the maps she's made show detailed markings of the ruins of the city and its surroundings: the relatively surviving prewar factories, all sorts of underground tracks, the standard location of notable lone-wolf raiders, gangs, and so on.

Violet wasted no time.

The maps marked the possible passages and locations of about a hundred raider gangs from a couple of ponies to a dozen, and the number of loners, of which Violet estimated at least two hundred. At least the ones she could find. She determined their strength and sanity.

The raiders were already scattered, and Violet was trying to fortify the weak points in the city... She hadn't had time to get to the northern parts of the city through which we started our infiltration. Also, controlling the raiders is extremely difficult. They don't leave the borders of Red Spark very often because of the risk of being attacked by the masters of Vanhoover, and they satisfy their urge for brutality and aggression on each other. The sane ones are extremely few. They are usually Vanhoover refugees and ghouls.

Violet gathered all she could muster around her. Took over the Factory and the Stable, which were shared by many different gangs, and supplied weapons, ammunition, and quality drugs to anyone who would listen to her. Organized groups of several gangs and loners who attacked the mines and farms of the Vanhoover families. The Waterfall family was the priority, and Steelmane whenever possible.

The Factory supplied weapons, Stable, thanks to the cartridge press, ammunition, and the unidentified source supplied quality drugs, clothing, and some technology.

The unidentified source piqued my interest. A stranger in odd outfit like a messenger or courier, tracked down Violet and handed her an offer. As a sign of goodwill, the first shipment of items the raiders could not get or make themselves was free. The raiders will have to attack the Waterfall farms and occasionally shoot at the Steelmane mines. The shipment consists of three crates and was supplied for each attack, even an unsuccessful one. One crate contained quality drugs, the second contained restored prewar technology like tools and consumer electronics, and the third contained clothing and miscellaneous jewelry. The crates were delivered by transport and cargo robots. They were followed only by a mysterious pony courier.

What surprised Violet was not that someone from Vanhoover was using the raiders for his own purposes, but how the stranger was able to find her. He was fully clothed in a grayish-black outfit with a cape of the same color. His head was hidden beneath a tight headdress, and a frightening mask hid his face.

The mask gave her the creeps, Violet described: there was something about it that made her fear for her life. The white mask looked ragged and cracked in some places, any pattern or markings resembling nostrils or mouths missing... only the cutouts for the eyes. It was that they caused the most unsettling fear. The shadow easily concealed the presence of the pupils, making the 'eyes' appear empty and black, in addition to the area around the cutouts covered in black, which gradually dissipated as they moved further away, creating the illusion that there was no clear distinction between the eyes and the rest of the mask. It was as if a boundless and all-consuming emptiness was emanating from there.

Violet had the feeling that this emptiness was about to consume first the stranger's face, his body... and then everything around him, including herself. He himself did not utter a word or sound, as if he really had no mouth. Throughout the meeting he was mute and silent... a creature from the afterlife, a ghost. He made an indelible impression on her, a panic-stricken terror. She had barely managed to control her emotions at the moment of his first appearance.

And she didn't want to refuse. She was already eager to bring the raiders and the masters against each other so that they would kill each other. So this order matched her plans.

Who was this mysterious stranger? Who does he work for? Who is it that profits from the Waterfall family's troubles? We'll have to think about that later...

I activate a secret passageway in the terminal, like the one at Stable 44, but the Overmare's code has already been broken. Not a good sign.

After opening the secret passage, I go downstairs with Ferris. There's also a small room, like the one in Stable 44, where I and the Steel Rangers found the first key card. When I open the safe, all I see inside is emptiness and nothing else. Not even a single document.

We return to the office with empty hooves and paws.

Did Violet take the key card? I try to sort her notes by keyword. Certainly there were mentions of Project Dome, but Violet thought it was a prewar myth to distract the zebra secret service, and nothing more. So she wasn't the one behind cracking the code to the secret passageway where the key card was kept. Strange. Had Stable's former Overmare discovered it?

On the other side of the window on the Atrium, Motley is leaning against the railing, looking down with an empty, lifeless gaze. Her eyes are as apathetic and sad as they were when we first met. I've had a hard time getting her to talk into a distracted dialogue before... I don't think I can do it now. Most likely, she wants to be alone. I won't disturb her.

I shake my head, pushing away thoughts of the past, and turn away from the window into the Atrium.

Ferris and I carefully look around the office for the key card, just in case, but before I do, I download all the information from the terminal to a separate PipBuck that Ferris found in the Stable. My PipBoy's memory is already filled with blueprints of weapons and workbenches. Of the tangible items, I find a dark orange plasma rifle in one of the lockers, and a fair number of spark batteries in the drawers underneath it. We give it all to Motley. However, she's clearly not in the mood for it right now...

I study the map of the present Red Spark, with all the available sewer passages and labyrinths, again and for a bit longer. These lists and maps will be of great help to both the Steel Rangers and the Vanhoover masters: with this information, the raiders can be dealt a serious blow, and they will no longer pose a threat. The map and lists were constantly updated—Violet kept a close eye on what was going on in the ruins. While the information was still current, it should be sold quickly to the Vanhoover masters and given to the Steel Rangers.

Speaking of the Steel Rangers. Iron Willford asked me to get two technologies, including the power armor of the Enclave. I'll give him Violet's armor. It's pretty ragged, but it's in working condition since Violet's used it. For one of the technologies I'm promised a reward in the form of the book of repair spells.

I'll be able to do even more amazing things with magic! Yay!

All that's left to do is take off my armor... I hope Motley won't mind me taking her former partner's armor?

As the armor is being removed, Motley walks in and sees what I'm doing. It makes me want to fall under the ground. I turn to her feeling like I've been caught doing something dirty.

"I need some Enclave power armor for the Steel Ranger scribe, you don't mind, do you?" I ask, embarrassed, scratching my rump with my hoof.

Naturally, the timing is wrong: I killed her teammate, and now I'm taking the murdered one's things. A member of my partner's squad is dead, and I'm thinking with excitement about repair spells. That's great, that's just great, Daniel. I feel like a creep.

"Take it if you want it," the pegasus replies indifferently. She says it in a tone that immediately makes me not want to take the armor. "Just don't leave her dead body here."

"I'll burn her body?" I say uncertainly, actually asking her permission.

"All right," she replies quietly and calmly.

Seeing her so depressed suddenly makes me want to hug her tight and say something encouraging. The thing is, I don't know exactly what to say.

"Motley..." I start, but she immediately interrupts me.

"Do whatever you want. I don't care."

She tries to treat everything with apathy. Apparently some kind of defensive reaction to what happened. Sometimes it's better for the psyche to deny the relevance of what's going on.

"You're not taking Violet's personal belongings?"

"Just the badge."

"And her plasma rifle? It's in the closet," I say, gesturing my head toward the closet.

Motley slowly walks over to the cabinet and opens it. She looks at the contents of the cabinet without saying anything or moving. This goes on for about half a minute. Then she breaks the moment of silence. Ferris and Agee aren't here, they've gone somewhere in the depths of the Stall.

"This," Motley says quietly, "is Typhoon, a special kind of plasma rifle—it has increased rate of fire and reduced spark battery power. We all chipped in and bought this rifle as a birthday present for Violet... I was the initiator, as I wanted to connect with her, but no matter what I did, she saw a catch in it."

Motley, without another word, takes Typhoon along with the ammunition and approaches Violet's body. She stands for a while, staring blankly at the decapitated corpse, picks up her personal badge, holding back gusts of vomit, and turns to see no more of the mutilated head. She stares at the bloody badge for a few seconds, and then, with a heavy sigh, she places it in her saddlebag.

For some reason I think she's starting to hate me, but she hides it behind a mask of apathy.

"Are we done here?" she asks without looking.

How disgusted I am.

"Yes. Let's take her body to the nearest disposer and leave this place."

I look over the map of Stable 61 in Violet's terminal, looking for the disposer. Still, unfortunately, all the previous information has been deleted—I'm left wondering what happened to the inhabitants of this Stable.

"Daniel," Ferris interrupts me as he walks into the office, "I know how fascinating it is to read someone's diaries, especially those of the mares, but Fate and Time are best not tested."

I find the location of the waste disposal facility and head there with Motley to burn Violet Ardor's body. Once we place the pegasus' body in the disposer and get it running, I ask my partner, "Are you all right?"

Motley doesn't answer anything, just stares silently at the process of burning her dead friend.

Shit... What a stupid question. She's obviously not okay.

I don't ask her anything else. We sit in silence for a while, and after the burning process is complete, we go back up to the Atrium. Motley sits, thinking something of his own accord, waiting for me to finish fiddling with my gear scattered around the Atrium and the medical bay.

After quickly gathering my gear, I walk over to the body of the pony with the unusual shotgun. My spare PipBuck, scanning this raider's gear, reveals that his stone-colored armor is in decent condition and has about the same degree of protection against physical damage as mine. Underneath the armor plates are high-tech polymers that give the armor moderate resistance to radiation and high and low temperatures.

These polymers make it less cold in the bitter cold, especially here in Vanhoover. Among other things, the armor also has some kind of magical protection, but not much, judging by PipBuck's analysis.

This kind of magical protection means that the chance of being disintegrated or damaged by a strong magical spell is slightly reduced, which is good, because being vaporized or turned into a viscous substance is clearly not in my plans.

The armor is less vulnerable to the damage left by volleys of energy-magic weapons. On top of all that, on inspection I notice that the armor has some sort of special generator, but for some unknown reason it's missing.

PipBuck marks it as Nightwatch.

I remove Nightwatch from the raider's body and put it on myself, only throwing away the black hooded cape. My cape with the ace of spades and the number '21' is better.

My client has ammunition for his rapid-fire shotgun, a few hundred caps, a couple of bottles of strong healing potion, a couple of packs of RadAway, and RadSafe in his gear.

Once I've gripped everything I can spare with my hooves, I head for the unusual shotgun I've spotted. I inspect it. The shotgun is almost all matte black, its ivory-white buttstock adorned with patterns of black that resemble rose petals. The barrel is marked on opposite sides with large gold letters that read, 'Defender'.

On the outside, the shotgun resembles a large-sized combat rifle. Almost the entire body is one piece. The shotgun itself is in perfect condition. When I picked it up, I could literally feel that it was radiating magic.

It comes the turn of the unicorn that almost sent Motley and me to the other world. Her two black submachine guns with silencer modifications look exquisite. At a glance, you can see that they are assembled from fairly rare and high quality parts that improve basic performance over their unmodified counterparts. In other words, they are far superior to their standard models in terms of performance. Despite the fact that they are identical in appearance, each has its own name Ascension and Downfall, but they do not differ from each other in any way.

The bags and pockets were full of bullets for submachine guns, seventy-five of them, two bags of screw, a salt shaker half-full of Buck, and plenty of ampoules of painkillers of all varieties and colors. Not that all this wasn't enough to turn you into a killing machine, but once you get on drugs, you can't seem to stop.

There was also ammunition of the same caliber: a couple of hundred each of armor-piercing and expansive.

As can be seen, she has more of them than the regular ones.

Another interesting thing is the closed helmet that hangs on her body at the side. By the way, the unicorn's armor seems just as strong as the one I just took off that raider. Some kind of advanced model of combat armor, only noticeably lighter. It fits Motley's size, and all that's left to do is make openings for her wings, which with my magical repair skills shouldn't be too hard for me. The closed helmet has a built-in respirator. The functionality of the helmet is quite similar to mine—now she won't be so disgusted by being in the sewers.

I wonder how Motley is feeling right now.

I look at her. Absolutely nothing: an impassive expression on her face, a blank and thoughtful look.

With a bitter feeling for my companion's distress, which she is in no way willing to share, I continue fiddling with my trophies.

I go into the medical bay for the rest of my belongings, and instead of that black cape with the hood, I attach my cloak with the ace of spades on the back to my Nightwatch armor. I'll never leave it behind—my reminder of the Divide. A reminder that I have a thousand lives on my back that have died because of me. The package's delivery had such a catastrophic effect in the Wasteland... and I am responsible for it.

With blue telekinesis magic, I slightly adjust the cloak on my back.

I have no right to forget that.

***

When I return to the Overmare's office, I see that Ferris has brought a huge minigun with bags full of rare ammunition next to it.

And the griffon doesn't go for little things.

"That's the size," I say to the griffon behind the Overmare's terminal.

"That's Big Daddy," he replies. "One of the three raiders was armed with it. Big Momma grenade launcher was destroyed when I hit its grenade pack. I was talking about that noise—that was just her being blown to smithereens. The raider was torn apart, but the machine gun survived. That alone tells me that it's built with strong alloys of different metals, guaranteeing high durability. But it's not particularly heavy... compared to its relatives, of course. Such a marvel of weaponry is a shame to throw away," Ferris replies passionately, then looks me over carefully. "I see you haven't been wasting your time, either. You're showing off your new armor, and you've attached your cape to it, too. I see you cherish it like a memory. And the new weapon..." he stops talking as he takes a close look at one barrel peeking out of my capacious bag. "Isn't that... Hey, let me see!"

"Well, look," I say and levitate it to Ferris.

"A sliding bolt! Grease me into the charging mechanism! It's an Apostle!" the griffon says in amazement, looking at the shotgun, and then looks at me, obviously waiting for my reaction. Edge shrieks enthusiastically.

I shrug my shoulders in confusion.

And why Apostle? After all, it's engraved 'Defender'. Or maybe he calls things by their proper names all the time?

"What do you mean?" I ask Ferris.

Really, why is he so surprised? This is the first time this has happened to him in my memory... What's so special about this Apostle?

"You don't know?" asks the griffon in surprise.

"No, why don't you enlighten me? If you would be so kind."

The dark griffon carefully strokes the shotgun in his paws like a loving mother strokes her child, saying in an affectionate voice, "The pinnacle of gunsmithing. This is one of the Apostles. Firearms specially designed at the behest of the Equestrian Princess Luna. She awarded them, so to speak, to the heroes of Equestria. Heroes didn't have to be military. Heroes could include ordinary citizens of Equestria who performed a unique deed that would make the whole country proud."

Ferris hugs the shotgun, resting his cheek against the buttstock and closing his eyes placidly.

"The Apostles are special in that they used the latest in technology and magical weaponry spells to create them. They are without the major flaws of their type of weapon, which is why they are so exceptionally versatile. And completely indestructible. You could drop a megaspell on it, there wouldn't be a scratch left..."

"And how many are there?" I ask, smiling as I look at the griffon tightly gripping the black matte black shotgun with the ivory buttstock.

"The exact number of the Apostles is unknown, but they say there are about six or seven in all..."

How did I ever get something like that, and from some low-life raider? And anyway, it sounds too good to be true—no flaws, indestructible...

"How do you know about them?" I ask.

I've seen a lot of strange and crazy things, of course, but this... I can't believe it.

"Every self-respecting gunsmith of Vanhoover and pre-war collector knows about them!" The dark gray griffon cradles the shotgun like a cheapskate cradles a suitcase with caps. "In the Vanhoover Wasteland they found references to the Apostles. The prices of these weapons are so high that they could be considered an artifact from tales of knights, princesses, and dragons. It's unbelievable luck that you found an Apostle. Each one has its own name, given by Princess Luna herself. If my memory serves me correctly, the old journals didn't mention that all Apostles are the same type. So you won't find another one of the same type, roughly but mildly speaking, 'apostle shotgun,' anymore."

"Are you sure it's the same Apostle?" I ask skeptically.

It's easier for me to believe in dragons than that.

Oh, right...

"Definitely," the griffon smiles.

"So I'm a big lucky pony?"

"Hell yeah!" laughs Ferris. "Big enough to affect the moon's orbit in the sky. The main thing is, don't show it in Vanhoover. There's a good chance they'll take it away in a few minutes and you won't get shit. Or they'll just stroke you with a knife in a dark alley and take it away. I hope you understand?"

Miss Luck smiled at me again, but she also put me in further danger, since I acquired such a valuable and rare artifact. A shotgun like that can get me killed. What will not do for a rare item... I'll have to be more careful with that Defender in town, and not wave it in front of every passerby.

"What do you want me to do with that shotgun?" I ask.

"Anything. Use it in your bedtime games or Discord knows what else. And for real." He licks his beak. He looks embarrassed and flustered. "Well... It's your find, and besides, you're the one who fought with its former owner... Besides, I'm not much of a shotgunner, and I prefer long-range or big guns. Which you already know. Anyway, I'd just like to take a look at this shotgun. Find out how it was built and what it was made of. If you let me, of course," he looks at the shotgun in his paws like he sees a perfect female griffon. His playful eyes just say that he wants to study every inch of the shotgun.

"Do you want to take it apart and see what's inside?"

"I doubt that's possible, since this weapon is indestructible, but it's worth trying my luck and undressing this prude."

"Okay. I'd give it to you, but waiting for you to examine it... You know what? Come with me. I can't promise you won't take a bullet or some radiation in my dubious ventures, but I swear you won't get bored."

"That's an interesting proposition. What do you need me for?"

"You're an experienced fighter who knows the Vanhoover Wasteland like no one else. Also a gunsmith. That's why I'll need such an ally."

"What's your point? An ally for what?" the griffon asks skeptically.

"On the search for Project Dome, a trove of scientific knowledge and high technology."

Ferris sighs deeply and looks at the Apostle. Once again he runs his paw from the barrel to the stock.

"I told you it was a myth, but fine. There's nothing to do anyway. But! Mind you. I can leave anytime I want."

"No problem."

"And I won't set foot in the town."

"Fear not, my lair is in the White Shell mountain range on the corner at the very northwest end. It's called Heavenly Harbor. And... I've been noticing... have you got some trouble with Vanhoover?"

"You could say that," Ferris smiles crookedly. "By the way, what are you going to do about Stable's ammo press? It's quite in working order. These ammo," the griffon points to the piled bags of ammo, "are from a new batch of ammo presses. The quality is quite high."

"I don't know, but I'll definitely block access for raiders to this Stable. It's full of working equipment that could be used for repairs to Heavenly Harbor."

"Repairs?" Ferris asks perplexedly.

I briefly recount to him the situation with the killing of residents and the condition of the bunker.

"I see... So now we block the door and then we leave here in hopes that we'll still come back for more parts?" he asks.

"For sure. We need to get out of here."

Ferris tosses Defender back to me.

"I know how..." he says. "I've already looked at the maps made by Violet. You don't understand Red Spark the way I see it, so you don't know how to look. I've already found a way out. There's an entrance to an old sewer that leads beyond Red Spark next to the Factory.

"Is that what we're going to use?"

"Yes. By the way, it only opens from this side. And without maps of the sewer it's easy to get lost because of a lot of blocked entrances-exits; almost all the branches lead to a dead end. But we have maps, so we can get out without fear of raiders or getting lost."

Leaving the Stable, I close the steel door of the underground shelter and lock the console with the Overmare key found in the cabinet.

The entrance to the secret sewer is well hidden; it's not so much accidental as it is deliberately hard to find, guided by maps. It is located in the basement of a ruined liquor store, and the entrance to this basement is blocked by a small concrete slab, which Ferris and I, though with great difficulty, but still get out of sight.

And yet... Secret passages? It does not seem that their existence is dictated by technical necessity. Who left them? Could it be the Controllers? That would explain a lot.

Once down, we walk forward through the tunnel. After a few minutes of walking we reach and pass a sliding metal gate that opens only from our side.

There is no one behind the doors. And no one can be heard. So there is no need to worry.

So that the raiders won't use this path again if it is accidentally discovered, we decide to destroy the console that opened these doors. The timer on the explosive is set for sixty seconds, which means that in one minute the raiders will lose their only emergency exit.

The door closes behind us, and after the allotted time there is a muffled clap. That's it, there's no turning back, only forward all the time. I hope we're not trapped in this tunnel in case there's no back way and Violet decides to fool her possible assassins. Now that would be a good opportunity to fuck us from the dead.

But I can teleport us through the rubble. Yeah, I should be able to. But I'd use most of my magic to do it.

***

We're heading roughly southwest along the sewer and are now passing in the area over which the river runs. Ferris, fully loaded with bags and trophies, walks ahead and surveys the environment.

Well... Flag on his shoulder. He understands Red Spark better.

"Motley," I turn to my partner. She looks at me slightly absent-mindedly. "Why didn't you stop me from killing Violet?"

There's no answer. Just when I want to ask another question, he suddenly gives me an answer, cold and indifferent, "I don't know."

"I take it you haven't gotten along since you first met?"

"What does it matter?" the pegasus asks counter-question.

"I'm responsible for you. I want to know what happens to my companions."

"You're not my father to look out for me."

"I'm not blind. I can see how you don't care about anything. Maybe you don't care about your life either. Maybe you just want to die right now."

"None of your business."

"Yes, I don't pry into personal matters, but I am concerned about your state of mind. It could affect our effectiveness. The decisions I made could have a fatal effect on your life because I didn't know you were suffering from something. And I surely know it has something to do with Violet."

The beige pegasus does not answer. She looks under her hooves to avoid stumbling over debris and rubble from the tunnel's concrete.

I can't help myself and sigh deeply.

No, I'm not rushing her anywhere. And I don't blame her for not wanting to talk about herself, but we're on the same team. I don't talk about me, either. Maybe...

I shudder, a bitter lump in my throat.

She killed the pony she loved... I can well understand why she does not want to talk about what happened. The tearing sense of guilt and shame, the undying anger at self and the pain of loss. I know it all too well...

I can still feel the echo of these experiences and feelings in me.

Eight years have passed since the death of my first love. My hands did it all.

"I killed my first love."

For the first time in a while, Motley expresses confusion, which is replaced by surprise, as if she has suddenly been slapped in the face. She stops and stares at me.

I stop and turn around, too.

"I know exactly what's in your heart, Motley," I smile bitterly. "It happened eight years ago. I loved her... and I always will."

There's a slight shiver and weakness in my knees. My heart pounding in my chest, ready to burst free. Anger and pain and shame awaken in me again... I try to smile, and move on.

Why did I say that? Oh... Bad... Wrong... How stupid of me... I shouldn't have told her that. But I can't undo what I said. The pegasus doesn't need to know that. Knowing it won't affect our effectiveness in combat. I've been able to live with that and not think about... I've learned not to think about it, but... Why now?

"Is it true?" I hear the pegasus' voice behind me.

My legs tense with insult, and I almost stumble. My heart aches for the fact that she doesn't believe me. It feels like I'm about to choke. This is the most painful moment of my life—and I am not believed.

All my life I've managed to avoid it, and now... Some kind of breakthrough. No... Don't let it, Daniel! Don't allow yourself to get emotional.

I'm taking a deep breath. Several times.

"Yes," I answer.

The pegasus is silent and answers nothing more, pacing behind me. Silence and quiet. The rustle of her shoes on the concrete surface of the sewer is like the shots of an anti-meachine rifle. Loud and annoying.

Relax, Daniel...

"I'm sorry..." I hear her voice again. "It's hard for me to trust anyone."

The pegasus senses something in my voice. She realizes she's hurt me with her distrust. I feel a kind of relaxation and calm within me. It makes me feel better that she understands my feelings.

"I understand," I begin, "but we've fought together, covered each other's rumps, so we're not such strangers to each other. How did you end up here? What did you kill that pegasus for?"

"He raped and killed my little sister."

"Oh... What happened?"

"It all happened in New Pegasus, where I'm from. The growth there is on the level of Vanhoover, but without slavery. Everything as much as possible by pre-war standards. That's where my whole family is from. Father, mother, sister and me. My mother worked in the hospital, my sister too."

That's where her good medical skills come from. She has half her family involved in that field.

"One day this... creep got in there after some kind of fight. He harassed my sister. But what could one do against someone with so many connections in the Enclave? In New Pegasus, as in all over-the-top cities, the main force is the Grand Pegasus Enclave."

"Against a corrupt system, there's nothing to oppose... right?"

"Yes. A few days later my sister went missing, and a few more days later she was found... raped... Her body had been drugged with all kinds of drugs."

"Your sister..."

"No!" the pegasus is outraged. "There's no way she used that stuff! She was made out to be a junkie! Her job at the hospital... They used that against her, too. Some of the drugs were missing from the warehouses... They made her look like a junkie. All set up to get that pegasus to get away with it."

Why would Motley assume that it was that pegasus who was responsible for what happened? Even if Motley's words were to be believed. To believe that she knew her own sister well... That... That rape and drugging could have been done by anyone. Not necessarily by that pegasus.

Or am I doubting Motley's conviction as much as Violet's?

"Are you sure he's the one responsible?" I ask cautiously.

I want to be on Motley's side. Such a tragedy, after all. It's hard to remain objective in situations like this: a third party is needed. And they must have rightly decided that the fact of harassment is not sufficient grounds for an arrest. Harassment itself is common even in this mare-dominated world.

Motley looks doubtful.

"After the trial, he smiled at me," her voice lowers to a menacing whisper. "And he said he was unpleasantly surprised that such a pretty and innocent-looking mare turned out to be a dirt junkie. Besides, when I tracked him down and tortured him," the beige pony's lips take on the outlines of a bloodthirsty smile, "he confessed everything to me himself."

And then she killed him... Or overdid it with the torture. Well... a confession like that doesn't mean anything. Under torture, a victim can say anything to avoid torture. Motley was obviously emotional, if she didn't realize it... And she still doesn't. But now she has her own doubts.

Well... It's not for me to judge her. It's hard to remain impartial in situations with loved ones.

"Is the Enclave capable of defending its own?"

"He didn't serve in the Enclave. Only had family ties. Just a high-flying bird. Young, my age. Was. After he died, I was instantly reported wanted. I had to flee."

"And how did the rest of your family react to your daughter's death?"

"My father has been dead for a long time, and my mother almost had a heart attack. She wasn't even in court because of the shock and couldn't testify. Father... Not long before my sister's murder, I became convinced that there was a lot of shit going on in the Enclave. Officially he died heroically on a mission, but in reality he was executed... I don't know what for."

The way I see it, the Enclave prefers to show that they have no traitors—they're too good and don't make excuses to betray them. Useful for patriotism. It worked for Violet. I think Motley got into the Enclave that way herself, inspired by her father's heroism.

"The Enclave," Motley continues, "is a rotten apple with worms crawling under its perfect rind. Too bad the rest of the squad didn't understand that. Especially Violet."

That's the very distrust of the Enclave. Because of my encounter with the radical and ruthless Enclave in the Capital Wasteland, I'm more inclined to Motley's position.

But I still don't know which side I should take. It's a different world: perhaps there are differences. In any case, it's already happened. Nothing can be changed. It is not for me to decide, but she is my companion, who did not hesitate to throw herself into battle and risk her life. I have no doubt in my mind that she wanted justice if she went to court. Tried to do it by the rules, but everything turned out against her and her dead sister.

Without having any other facts, I still can't objectively pick a side. It's enough for me that now she herself doubts what happened.

What was it that made her doubt?

So... I side with my pegasus. My sister in arms.

"Motley..." I mutter and stop. She stops, too, looking into my eyes. I take her in my hug. "I believe you."

I want to believe she's not wrong. I may not approve of torture and murder, but that's the world. I only want to hope that it is as she described it. She is the former commander of the squad: she must have developed a critical and calculating mind, with which she came to the conclusion that the pegasus was guilty.

The pegasus stands in indecision at the sudden sight of my forelegs hugging her neck. But eventually she lifts up her front legs and hugs back.

***

Motley doesn't want to talk about what happened to her squad. But there's not much to think about. The site of the fight in which the Enclave was involved, which I recently checked with Flow, is clearly related to her escape. The former members of the squad followed her. An argument ensued, for they did not understand the whole point of the Enclave as she had not experienced what she had. And the argument turned into a fight.

I have no doubt that it was the actions of her squad that left those traces of the battle: one of the bodies was dragged away toward Red Spark—and a year later this body named Violet, having managed to be a victim, managed to get out, take over and organize the raiders in tandem. Conducted the attacks on the Waterfall family and a bit of Steelmane... To please someone, for a reward.

The rest of the squad must be dead—especially her favorite.

We spend the rest of the journey in silence; each pondering his own thoughts. At least Motley doesn't look so depressed anymore and is focused on her surroundings.

There are no particularly dangerous enemies on our path, just a few rats and radroaches. All of the exits to the surface are blocked by rubble, so the path is completely tunneled out of the raider city.

It takes us almost half a day to get to the exit. On the surface, we try to avoid direct encounters with the Crater raiders and are already almost outside of it. And if we can't avoid the raiders, Ferris and I eliminate them from a distance—I do it by Whispering Night and Ferris does it by the anti-machine rifle—because everyone knows that tactics of non-contact fighting are the best tactics.

I've never felt more at ease in my soul than I do now... Outside of the city I literally had a rock fall from my soul: I had survived such a dangerous... adventure. Even the Prince's Kings, for some reason, could not survive in this place. All thanks to the fact that I was not alone, but with trusted support.

I want to take off again on Venture. I have missed it, but I will reach it tomorrow, judging by all appearances.

After a few hours of walking in a wide arc around the ruins of Red Spark, we hear distant gunfire and occasional explosions. It sounds like the raiders are attacking someone. We need to help. It's not my style to just walk by and not help those in need.

Please let me get there in time.

Climbing a small hill, I look through the scope of my rifle. A quarter of a mile away, the raiders attack an old army truck, puncturing a tire. The dead orange pony beside the truck is already being searched by some of the raiders with joyful laughter. The stallions strip her of her armor and begin to fuck her dead body.

The rest are trying to get to those who have taken shelter in the old brick mansion. Shots are heard coming from inside.

Ferris and his winged pet stay on the hill to cover us.

We leave our bags of Crater loot on the hill so they don't bother us during the heavy fighting, and Motley and I head down the hill. Ferris prepares to eliminate some of the raiders now engaged in necrophilia.

We attack simultaneously, without letting the engaging raiders know what's happened. The rest of the raiders continue the firefight inside the mansion.

This desecrated orange pony...

It can't be...

That's... Juice... One of the survivors of the Bluerise caravans.

"Daniel, what happened?" Motley asks over the radio, standing at the open front doors.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

After running through a yard strewn with dead raiders, I stand on the opposite side from Motley at the front doors. The raiders must have noticed something was wrong, since they're already waiting for us. They suspect there is a sniper outside, so they don't risk sticking their heads out. Judging by the marks on the Pip-Boy, there are at least six raiders inside the building, ready to shoot anyone who comes through those doors. Motley uses a grenade, agilely removing the pin and throwing the projectile inside.

"Fuck!" is heard from inside. "Run," and after these words an explosion occurs.

"Music to my ears..." Motley utters and runs inside, diverting potential fire on herself.

I activate the stealth field in Pip-Boy and run after. The raiders from their combat saddles try to hit the pegasus who ran into the living room. She moves too fast and unpredictably. I pull out Whispering Night with a short barrel and shoot the raiders who look out of the corner: two misses and two hits. Then I hear gunshots in the living room.

Oh fuck, Motley!

The pegasus beats the face of the earth pony and then, choosing her moment, she grabs her by the head and twists her neck.

"You okay?" I ask worriedly.

"Yes..." she answers. "She came around the corner and took a couple of shots at me; luckily, the armor held out. There's about three more to go, right?"

"That's right, ran upstairs: there's the sound of hitting wood from up there. Somebody must be trying to break down the doors."

Trying not to make any noise, we climb the staircase. I keep myself from rushing to the rescue. I have to keep my cool.

No sooner do I look around the corner than I hear a shot. Judging by the nature of the shot, followed by the convulsive sliding of the bolt, it is a hunting rifle, the caliber of which can make a huge hole in my helmet and then a hole in my head. I'm lucky, though: the bullet goes off at a touch and sparks my helmet.

It's a good time to check the automatic mode of the miracle shotgun, because I can't shoot blindly with Whispering Night. Clicking the safety, I stick the shotgun out behind the wall and fire. Indeed, the recoil of the turn is not physically felt, with sounds so loud and imposing.

A thud is heard, and I stick my head out. The raider, dressed in filthy rags, has turned into minced meat and guts.

Disgusting... And an amazing shotgun. It's frustrating that the magazine only holds twelve rounds—the automatic burst will completely and irrevocably use it up in a few seconds. It's better to use this mode against large and well-defended opponents. Or fast ones. The spread of the buckshot will help to snag them.

Checking my compass, I find two more red marks and one neutral mark. Damn... just as long as I get there in time. It's probably all upstairs.

Just as we enter the hallway to go up further, a raider suddenly rushes out of the room with a twirling saw in her knuckles. Motley kills her with a fire rifle in her combat saddle.

"Thanks..." I say.

"You're welcome. Next time don't forget to reload your weapon before you move on."

"Sure."

The sound of wood hitting continues. We go up to the third floor while I reload the shotgun. In the hallway we see several dead raiders and the corpse of a blue earth pony.

Dash... No... Not you... Young and... Well, her body hasn't been desecrated yet, though.

I turn the corner. At the end of the hallway, a raider with an axe kicks in the door.

"Open the doors," he says affectionately and with a sneer. He doesn't notice us, so I try to get close to him unnoticed, with Motley covering my rear.

"Come on, don't be so closed..." Another stab. "Open up to Shiny." Another axe stab at the white door. "I'm going to tear down your shelter..." Stab. "You will be my pet..." I get close enough, aiming the barrel of my shotgun at the back of his head. He punches a small hole, and sticks his head through it. "Here's Shiny!" he pronounces, bloodthirsty with joy.

I shoot. His head explodes into a red mess, and the rest of his body leans against the door, staining it with his blood.

Judging by the compass, there's no one else left. I magically turn the doorknob to open it.

"Don't worry, Bluerise," I say. "It's over. Everyone's dead."

No response.

I gently open the door. A grenade falls in front of me.

Fuck me!

Before the explosion happens, I manage to shut the doors and try to raise a magic barrier.

***

I wake up on a bed. My whole body is aching from the aftermath of the shrapnel grenade. I guess if it wouldn't have been for the doors, the armor and the barrier, my ass would have been in pieces. That's unfortunate. I can't feel any armor on me—just some kind of dirty blanket, though it's warm enough to keep me warm.

"Awake at last," the beige pegasus says with a smile. "You're lucky you got off with a minor concussion, but just in case, I had to strip you down and check you out. The shockwave threw you back into the wall, and you hit your head pretty hard."

"How long was I out?"

"Not long, about half an hour."

"What about the survivor?"

"Excuse me," someone nearby says timidly and guiltily. The voice is familiar. "I was too scared and didn't immediately realize it was your voice. I thought my fear had already made me hallucinate... I was so worried that you wouldn't make it."

A rather familiar gentle voice. I turn my head toward it and see a purple unicorn with a pink mane.

Yes, that's her. But what is she doing here?

"What a meeting! What a warm welcome!"

"I'm sorry..."

I inhale deeply, holding back my irritation.

Okay... Calm down, Daniel. Your head hurts, don't let your emotions take control. Things happen. She was cornered by the raiders. She's already been held captive by them where she was raped. She'll hold on in panicked fear until the end... No wonder she didn't respond to her name and to my voice, distorted by the helmet speaker.

I exhale.

"Well... Stuff happens," I say calmly. "It's okay, as long as nothing serious happened because of it. And what radioactive wind brought you here?"

"I'm really sorry about what happened..."

"Okay, calm down. I told you, forget it." I grab my head over an attack of pain. "So why are you here?"

"Red Eye and his army are spreading faster and faster. I chose the most northwestern town on the pre-war map in hopes of having peace in the middle of nowhere like this without the slavers army."

How wrong she was...

"How did you get a working pre-war army truck?"

"Connections, acquaintances... someone owed me a favor. So I packed everything I needed for the move at a brisk pace. Took Juice and Dash with me. We wanted to go somewhere far away from all these global events..."

The purple unicorn lowers her head. She already knows that Juice and Dash are dead.

"I saw..." I say, not knowing what words to use. "I'm sorry, I didn't have time..."

"It's all my fault. Their deaths are on my back. It was lucky for me that you were here... a second time to save..."

The unicorn comes up to me and hugs me. Her body trembles with excitement. She sobs.

"How glad I am to see you!"

As much as I enjoy the hug, I can hardly suppress the urge to howl in pain. I actually almost got blown up by a grenade here!

"Hey, watch it!" the voice of the pegasus comes. She wraps her forelegs around Bluerise and tries to pull away so that she doesn't pull me after her, too. "He's hurt."

"Oh... I'm sorry, please," the unicorn breaks her embrace with a guilty look. "I just wanted to..."

"Oh..." I sighed in relief. "It's okay. I'll get over it."

It's almost dark outside the window.

"I think," I begin, "we'll make a stop at this mansion. Where are Ferris and Edge?"

"Still in position and making sure no one gets in here," Motley replies.

"Tell them to head over here."

***

I light a fireplace in the living room. The raw material for the fire is leftover furniture from the looting. Ferris, along with Edge, are watching the perimeter on the roof. The eagle, since a bird will not be suspected of anything, occasionally flies over the neighborhood to spot the enemy before he even notices the mansion.

Motley sits next to me in the living room, and Bluerise is outside.

I say, "I'll check on her. Keep an eye on the fire, will you?"

The beige pegasus nods.

The purple unicorn in insulated leather armor and a lit oil lantern stands over two fresh graves in the backyard of the mansion, surrounded by a metal fence with sharp bars. Orange light falls on metal sheets sticking out of the graves, with the names of the murdered ponies, 'Juice' and 'Dash', scratched out and the date of their deaths: 9.3.1352. Nearby lies a shovel stained with earth.

The light pink mane ripples as the unicorn turns around to look at whoever approached her and turns back.

"All we wanted was peace..." she says.

"In the Wasteland, peace is impossible as long as you're alive. Now Juice and Dash have found eternal peace."

"I wish they had lived longer before they found that peace."

"And I wish they had. I liked them. Good ponies."

"Thank you. We've remembered you many times. They'd love to see you again."

"Good to know."

Bluerise stands in silence. The light of her flashlight illuminates the metal makeshift gravestones. She sighs.

"What do I do next?"

I look at the freshly dug graves—two mounds of soft, fresh earth.

Bluerise must be feeling lost, having lost her last friends in this place. She was on her way to such a faraway place with them, after all, to settle down together in some quiet town away from the global events instigated by Red Eye.

"You need to rest for starters, eat... warm yourself by the fireplace. Get a good night's sleep. And we'll think about it tomorrow," I say, putting a hoof on her shoulder. "Come."

"It's... difficult with them. I don't know any of them," she says in a bashful voice.

"I've been through some rough and tense battles with the raiders with them for days on end. We've saved each other's lives more than once. I trust them in that regard. Don't be afraid. I won't let them hurt you."

Bluerise inhales deeply and exhales slowly.

"Well, all right. I'll go get something tasty from the truck."

"Oh, that'll be great."

About ten minutes later, we're already sitting by the fireplace, seated in a semicircle. In front of us, postwar canned goods, homemade beer, cans of juice, jerky, various flowers and plants gleam in the firelight... and also hay.

Bluerise has stocked up pretty well for the move. Judging by the jerky, they stopped along the way to hunt local game. They ate some of the meat and processed the rest and took it with them. That's what I did, though, along with Lilac Journey.

I wonder if Bluerise stopped by on her way to Reserve with griffons, particularly the capital of New Lionheart.

By the way, she sits on my right and everyone else sits on my left. Apparently she wasn't entirely convinced by what I said, so she sat so that I shielded her from the others.

Griffons are a predatory species in their own right, not shy about eating pony meat, and the pegasus... I think she might have some associations with the Enclave.

I enjoy the beef jerky, munching on canned pickles. I decide to abstain from beer, but Ferris takes a sip of a bottle. Everyone else drinks water or juice. The dark griffon with the dark gray feathering pounces on meat with open delight, the beige pegasus on canned and non-caloric fruits and vegetables. Bluerise tastes a little bit of everything.

"This is delicious meat," the griffon says, stuffing another brownish-red piece into his beak. "I'll have to give Edge a taste, but he can keep an eye on the territory for now."

"Thank you," Bluerise says politely. There is not an ounce of distrust or apprehension in her voice. Like a merchant, she knows how to hide her true attitude... to her customers.

"So you're from the East Coast, are you?" the griffon asks. "What was the purpose of coming all this way?"

"We were fleeing from Red Eye's army. He's subjugating the entire coast rapidly, so we headed northwest in search of a quiet place. As far away as possible."

Ferris laughs.

"Well... you've obviously picked the wrong place for this."

"I already know Red Spark is populated by thousands of raiders, it's best to stay away from it... What about Vanhoover?"

"Uh-oh..." the griffon stretches out with a smile. "The city is fully occupied... As I recall, it has about two hundred thousand slaves and about seventy thousand masters."

Bluerise drops a can of canned carrots. Orange thinly sliced slices of carrots spill out onto the stone floor with a slap. She looks at the griffon.

"What...?" she asks.

"For nearly a hundred and fifty years it has been rebuilt by the slaves under the watchful eye of the clan families," he adds.

"Well, they're not the only ones," I begin. "There are also the police, created in the pre-war image. Also Kings... with three dozen of them. A special group of ponies and griffons who act as protectors, judges, and enforcers of their own sentences. They do everything they can to protect the interests of the city, even breaking its rules. Everything is run by the unkillable and powerful unicorn. Anyway... you have to see it for yourself to understand."

I sympathize with her surprise. She was fleeing the Red Eye slavers army that's taking over the coast... In Vanhoover, she can get a taste of what Equestria could become if Red Eye prevails.

"What is she?" Ferris asks, looking at the stunned look on the purple unicorn's face.

"Red Eye's army and his empire," I begin, "are trying to rebuild pre-war factories and plants with slavery."

"You mean... this is essentially Vanhoover in the early years?"

"I guess so. I'm not from here myself."

Ferris spreads his paws to the side and says, "The Wasteland is the same everywhere, spawns the same personalities. So, out of the fire and into the abyss. One type of slavers has been changed by another type, more organized and with principles."

"What do you mean, in the early years?" Bluerise asks, as if awakened from her shock.

"Think of Vanhoover as," I say, "if I had seen the future of Equestria under the Red Eye."

"But slavery... Two hundred thousand... that's so many unhappy souls."

"Not really. The level of brainwashing is so advanced that the purpose of their lives is to serve others. They get pleasure out of it. Believe me, they live better than most Wastelanders. Thanks in large part to the development of the city and its infrastructure."

"Can I become a... slave?" Bluerise asks with a gasp.

"I don't think so. The local philosophy and worldview says: you are the master of your life if you are responsible for your actions. You know how to take care of yourself and work for the common good, that is, for the city. With your skills of trade, it is neither profitable nor expedient to keep you as a slave."

"Then who becomes a slave?"

Ferris decides to answer that question instead of me.

"The ideal candidates for slavery are considered raiders and beggars. They either don't know how to take care of themselves or are so irresponsible that they think only of their own primitive desires. They do not know how to manage their own lives. They are useless. Parasites. Therefore, through slavery, they become useful. Slaves must want to be useful, so they feel happy when they serve their masters."

Once again I am convinced that he is from Vanhoover, but for some reason he cannot return there.

"I'm wondering," Motley says, turning to Ferris, "why don't you live in Vanhoover?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I, like many Vanhoover masters, have fallen into disfavor with the most influential figures. I had to flee, but unlike ponies, griffons can live and survive on their own."

That's why I've never yet seen a griffon raider. They have the advantage of wings, size and claws. They can get anywhere with no problem.

"I wonder what you were promised for going to Red Spark? Yes, their organization was growing rapidly, they were already beginning to pose a threat to Vanhoover, but judging from the raider leader's diaries, someone was okay with it. What's more, they were being used."

"Gang raiders," Bluerise interjects, "have often used caravan companies to eliminate competitors. Another reason I wanted to get out of there. Wait. The raider leader? You mean you were able to kill the leader of the local raiders?"

"Yes," the griffon smiles. "Cohesive teamwork. The others didn't manage it. Kings of Vanhoover, though they're no slouch, have earned their title after all, but they can't work as a team with each other. Too proud, especially the griffons."

Pride... To achieve such high status, it is necessary to be able to go over their heads, to take advantage of others. Because of which they have no one they can trust.

"How are you different from the others?" I smile, looking at the griffon.

"I have never aspired to the status of a King. It's not my thing. Fuck it. Anyway, Prince doesn't pay for his assignments."

Motley looks at the griffon with a faint smile.

"You didn't need a King status," she says, "since you were high enough as it was. With your engineering knowledge."

"And you're perceptive..." he smirks. "For an Enclave bird. Luckily, a former one."

I notice Bluerise to my right raise an eyebrow curiously.

"But you never answered," the griffon continues, looking at me and Motley. "What were you promised for solving the raider problem?"

"Twenty-five thousand caps," I answer.

Ferris whistles. How do griffons even manage to whistle with their beaks?

"Impressive. You could buy a nice apartment in the city for that money. And who promised? Waterfall, I suspect. After all, that's the family that's a priority for the raiders."

"You're thinking right," I say.

"It's a shame they're under attack. Of all the families, I liked them most. Hard-working bees. They hate slackers, so they're especially demanding. You picked the right family to cooperate with. They're nicer than the others. The lesser of the five evils."

"Yes, I've been to the Vanhoover Five Families Council and seen it for myself. The Steelmane families also seemed nice to me."

"Oh, fuck!" the griffon bursts out; he rolls his eyes at me. "Only family members, Kings, Prince, and his closest wards can be on the Council. How did you get there?"

"I want to be a King, which Prince already knows. He invited me."

Ferris stares at me like his beak is about to fall off.

"Holy eggs! You got the attention of Prince himself... I'll be damned."

Motley stands up on all four hooves and stretches himself sweetly.

"Thanks for dinner," she says to Bluerise. "It was delicious. And I'm going to go rest. My shift's after Daniel, right?" I nod. "Then, I'll go to bed early."

"I'll feed Edge that tasty meat and go get some rest. Make sure we don't get attacked by raiders. We're near Red Spark, don't forget."

"I won't forget. Don't worry."

"Thanks. Great meat and beer," he says, looking at the unicorn, and goes outside. Me and Bluerise are left alone.

"Need help cleaning up?"

"You could... Thanks."

I help her carry the rest of the food back to the truck. Its hull is sturdy enough to withstand a small-caliber bullet hit, but the wheels are unprotected. A pair of front and two pairs of rear. The raiders shot through the two rear wheels on one side. Just enough to repair the damaged parts of the rubber with repair magic and inflate them again, but I'll get to that tomorrow, which I report to Bluerise.

"Oh... it completely slipped my mind," she says. "Thanks for helping. I think I should give you something..."

After a couple of moments in the amber smoke of her telekinesis and in the green light of my Pip-Boy, I see a book: "Teleportation. Level: Specialist."

"I think you could use it. If not, you can sell it in Vanhoover for a couple thousand caps."

"Oh, thank you very much. With this book I will improve my teleportation spells."

"You were able to master it?" the purple unicorn pleasantly surprises.

"Yep," I say and smile smugly.

"Impressive," she nods, smiling faintly.

"Well... go get some rest. Tomorrow we'll decide what to do next. It'll be better in the morning."

The unicorn nods and returns to the mansion.

It's dark, windy, and chilly outside. I shiver, put on my helmet, and go to guard the roof with Whispering Night. This blue and black rifle has proven itself well. A good telescopic sight that I use to keep an eye on my surroundings. Periodically I turn the helmet's thermal vision on and off.

A few hours pass; it's midnight. Local. There are twenty-six hours in the day here instead of twenty-four on Earth. Strangely enough, in all this time I haven't felt much discomfort with the longer daylight hours. I adapted to this time, as I adapted to this body.

The 4th of the Month of Heather, Greenday. Forty-second day of my stay.

Forty-second day... Like the number on Lemon's cutie mark. I wonder how she is? Isn't she bored while guarding Venture? It's been a few days... There are enough provisions in Venture, she would make it.

A lot happened yesterday. Blowing up the bridge, the Factory, Stable 61, Motley's former partner, the sewer escape, the rescue...

There's a rustling sound behind me. With my night vision on, I turn around and see a tired Bluerise.

"Can't sleep?" I ask.

"Yeah... It's been a hard and scary day. And I'm uncomfortable alone in the company of a faintly familiar pony and a griffon."

"To you, I'm also a faintly familiar pony."

"Except that I owe you my life twice."

I let out a weak chuckle.

"So what... want to get some fresh air?" I ask.

"Not without that. It's just..." I see her awkward look in the green light of the night vision. "It's just... I feel calmer when you're around."

"You can come closer if you want."

The unicorn smiles slightly and comes closer, staring into the black and cold emptiness of the night. I can reach her with my hoof.

"Aren't you cold?" I ask.

"A little."

I unhook my cloak and wrap it around her.

"No, what are you..." she protests, but she doesn't resist much.

"Don't argue with me. It's not easy enough for you to sleep. I don't want you to freeze to death in here."

"Thank you..." she mutters in a confused and grateful voice. "Is that the cloak when we met?"

"Yes."

"I remember it has a symbol on it, but I forgot to ask about it. What does it mean?"

"Luck."

"I wish I had a cape like that," the pony says.

I don't hold back my chuckle.

"But this cape is important to me."

"How?"

"It serves to remind me of the past. Of my mistakes... Of the decisions I've been responsible for. About all the lives I've influenced. About how any small action can have catastrophic consequences."

"Wow... Now he seems heavy to me for some reason."

"How did you recover from that captivity?"

"You mean the first time you saved me?"

"Yeah."

"Well... It's been over a month since then, after all. The Wasteland is harsh. I still remember what you said about being patient and waiting for the right moment. There's a lot of violence in the Wasteland. But... it's hard to be bearable without a pony close to you. And this isn't the first time I've been..."

"Oh..."

"The first two times... I was too naive."

"It wasn't your fault what happened to you."

"It's hard to think like that, Daniel. It's hard not to blame yourself for your stupidity."

"I understand," I say. Bluerise looks at me with a curious look, seeing only the red visors of my helmet in front of her. "My ignorance and naivety have made others suffer. In my youth, I helped anyone who needed help... And later, some of them turned out to be heartless killers and hidden maniacs. In a way, I am responsible for their new victims. If I had known... When I was outside the bar where you were being held captive, I wondered if I should get involved. I knew nothing of the situation. What if you're a slaver's caravan or something."

Bluerise smiles faintly.

"So if you'd hesitated... I'd still be a prisoner," she says in a trembling voice.

"I guess so."

Suddenly, Bluerise hugs me tightly.

"How good of you to make up your mind. How good..." her voice is intermittent. She seems ready to cry now, but she's a tough pony. She's been able to contain herself. "If it wasn't for you, I..."

"Well, well..." I hug Bluerise back and hold her close to me.

"I'm happy you intervened," I feel her hug me tighter after those words.

Even if I didn't save everyone? Then everyone would be alive... even if they had become slaves. Gold, Juice, Dash—all of them would be alive.

"I'm scared..." she adds.

"Why?"

"You seem to be the only one I feel safe with. But at the same time, I can't travel with you. You obviously have a dangerous life."

"Travel with me?"

"Yes..." she murmurs softly. She snuggles against me, and I don't see emotion on her face.

"What do you want?"

"Safety and peace. I just want to trade, talk to different ponies. Gossip... And now I find myself back in a place where the slave trade reigns."

"Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know... The main thing is not to be touched. To be in a place where I wouldn't fear for my life."

"Vanhoover is beautiful in a way," I begin. "If you don't count slavery, it's the safest town in the Wasteland I've seen."

"Do you want me to settle in that place?"

"Personally, it would be good for me to have an experienced merchant on my side in this town."

"I... don't know. Yes, I owe you more than one life, but if..."

"Don't worry. I won't leave you alone in the city. If you get enslaved in any way, I'll be sure to get you out and help you find another place. I promise."

As long as I'm in Vanhoover and until I get home. She'll have made some good connections by then, though. If she has them, she won't be in any danger.

"Good to know. Thank you. What do you suggest?"

"Enter one of the families. As Ferris said, it's better to be friends with the Waterfall. They seem like the best option. Work for them, and they'll protect you; and if you still turn out to be a capable pony, there's no way they'll let them put slave chains on you. My protection won't even be necessary."

"But if..."

"If things go wrong, I promise: I will find you and set you free. Or, if I'm going to leave Vanhoover for good, I'll let you know about it and we can leave if you want, okay?"

"Well... " the unicorn sighs deeply. "Okay. All right, then. If I can't trust you either... then who should I?"

"Thank you. I won't let you down."

"Can I... stay with you a little longer?"

"No problem."

As Bluerise hugs me and I cradle her against me with my right leg, I try to keep track of the area at the same time, using the thermal vision and Pip-Boy's compass.

The unicorn hugs me for too long: it looks like she's dozing. Well, let her rest. I'll wait for the end of my shift.

Not an hour later, Motley shows up. I switch back to night vision so I can see her half-covered helmeted face. She sits to my left and smiles slyly.

"What?" I ask in a whisper. The pegasus whispers, too.

"Nothing. Is there something between you two? You seem to know each other."

"No."

"Why not?"

"With my dangerous life, relationships are the last thing I should be thinking about."

Not to mention the fact that I'm going back to my world, and I don't need connections here.

"How is she? She seemed uneasy in her conversation with us."

"Well... you know what she's been through today. She just doesn't trust unfamiliar faces."

"Right. But she's asleep in your side right now. What are you to her?"

I think it's better to leave out the part where we got laid while we were drunk. We were still driven by alcohol and animal instincts. Also, my wet-body fetish was influenced, which made me unable to resist.

"I rescued her from the raiders' captivity about a month and a half ago. You know what she's been through."

"Oh... With the way she looks... I can guess what kind of attention she was getting."

"You're pretty, too. Especially your eyes, which that helmet now hides."

The pegasus, judging by her ajar mouth, is slightly blushing, looking straight ahead into the night's emptiness.

"Thank you... You'd better go to sleep. Take her with you. With your telekinesis you can carry her downstairs without waking her up."

I nod.

I finally get some sleep... It really has been a long day.

***

The next morning, I restore the wheels of the truck with my magic. We have breakfast, load up all our stuff, and drive to Venture. I'm driving, since Bluerise doesn't know how to drive. Before me, Juice drove the truck.

Ferris sits in the luggage section while Edge flies over the surroundings, looking out for possible danger. Motley sits by the window. Bluerise is in the middle.

"Why don't you tell me what Venture is after all?" the unicorn asks.

"No, no, no. I don't want to ruin the surprise. I told you. You need to see it."

I hope she's okay with the Steel Rangers. But Lemon will definitely be happy to see us.

A few hours later, we reach the hotel where the pre-war civilian vertibuck landed.

Once up on the roof, Ferris and Bluerise look around, then ask where my surprise is. Motley stands paralyzed and my right eye twitches. I stare dumbfounded at where Lemon and my Venture were supposed to be.

Without saying anything, I slowly start walking in circles on the roof.

"I'm going to yank those bastards' hooves out and shove them up their fucking asses!"

Who dared? What scum stole my precious vertibuck?!

"Looks like you won't be flying today," Motley says to Ferris and Bluerise.

"Who the fuck stole my property?!" I rage into the void.

My blood boils with anger. I take off my helmet and am about to throw it away. I have to make a lot of effort to restrain myself from doing something stupid.

"By the way, where's Berry?" Motley asks casually.

"They probably took her too, sons of bitches," I say angrily.

"And you're sure," the griffon interjects, "that your steel-armed companion didn't take your... whatever it is, birdie?"

"Quite possibly, but I fucking hate to believe it," I say, choking with anger.

Devil, if it really turns out that way, I don't know what I'll do with her! I have to go to the Steel Rangers and that's it...

"Look," Motley says, taking off his helmet and picking up some paper. "A note."

"What does it say?" I ask impatiently, almost running up to her. Motley reads out the text.

"«Daniel, when we missed each other, I went to keep an eye on your Venture. But when I got close to the building I heard the sound of screws turning, and then I looked up and saw your vertibuck flying away. I could see that this was the first time the hijacker had sat at the helm, for the steel bird was visibly swaying from side to side. I was beginning to worry that he might have checked a rock there. He flew off toward Vanhoover. I'll follow. Find me at the Broken Radio Hotel, then we'll talk. Kisses. Your steelbutt friend.» She drew a smiley face with a heart on it," Motley mutters, "I didn't think she had a heart for drawing."

Lemon... Always on the positive side.

Wait a minute. Lemon's in Vanhoover? Is it okay that she's a Steel Ranger and they're not too popular there? But the Steel Rangers must have some place in town where they can be safe. I'm just sure of it, since my lemon pony was so confident in making an appointment for me.

"Then let's go to Vanhoover!" I say quickly, taking the note from Motley and stuffing it in my bag.

"Hey, buddy, did you forget that my breath won't even be there?" Ferris says hastily and excitedly. I stop and think about it.

"I remember..." I lie in a slightly annoyed tone and turn slowly toward him, trying to think of something. "Why don't you fly to Heavenly Harbor, then? Take a look around there, get settled in."

"I don't mind, but I wish I knew where it was," the griffon raises his front paws and spreads them apart.

"Maybe Motley can show you the way. And take some of my gear that I don't want to sell..." I say and look at the pegasus, who smiles slightly, as if to ask 'Are you out of your fucking mind?'

"Please," I plead. "I'm in a pretty intense position right now. I'll be sure to thank you somehow."

"Okay," the pegasus sighs, clearly lost to my begging face. "I'll do you a free favor."

"Thank you, Motley, you golden angel!"

"Just no hugs!" she lifts her legs.

"Whatever you say. You know, try on one set of armor later from the gear I found. It also includes a fully enclosed high-tech helmet. Might come in handy. I'm sure the armor will fit you. Once you've shown Ferris and his feathered pet to Heavenly Harbor, join us. Remember, Broken Radio Hotel."

"By all means," she replies. Ferris and Motley then pick up our gear, and we split up. Edge goes after his master.

I get back behind the wheel of the army truck, and I head to Vanhoover with Bluerise.

***

The pegasus joins us when we're almost right outside the South Gate. I stop the truck, she gets in, and I keep driving.

"How are Ferris and his pet?" I ask.

"It's okay, Ferris and Edge seem to like the bunker. It's pretty spacious for an underground facility, he says. He also says he'll pack up some of his supplies and move them to the bunker."

"That's good news. Why did it take you so long?"

"I should have gone to see Cherry and told her all about it."

"Oh, yeah. I remembered. And yes, you look great in that new armor," I mutter as I look her over. The helmet from the third version of the armor is hanging at her side.

"Thank you," she smiles slightly.

Bluerise looks closely at the city streets through the windshield. She admires their cleanliness and neatness. The neatness of the houses—at least on the main streets. She looks at the countless signs of establishments providing goods and various services.

"I can't get over the diversity," she mutters, looking out the window. "Too bad..." Her eyes focus on a slave. A well-dressed slave dragging his master's things. "Slavery spoils everything. How many ponies here accept slavery? Can I talk about that I'm not liking it?"

"You can, but you had better not. Your opinion, as usual, is best kept to yourself."

An hour later we reach the Broken Radio Hotel; we stopped at several stores along the way to sell the trophies. I sold them, thanks to Bluerise, for a very good price. She, by the way, was surprised at the local assortment—as well as the prices. Some items were cheaper than in the rest of the Wasteland, while others were noticeably more expensive.

The Broken Radio Hotel. A dark gray seven-story building with a sign above the main entrance; below it notifies us that rooms are available, and below it is another funny glowing sign in the form of a radio that sparks periodically. I think this is intentional, to emphasize the name of the hotel. It's funny, though.

We enter the hotel through double all-metal doors and into a small foyer. No expensive decorations or red carpets. There is a simple room with some peeling white paint on the walls and a slightly dirty floor. Opposite the entrance is a receptionist's desk, behind which sits a middle-aged earth pony with lime-green fur and a green mane.

When he sees us, he smiles.

"Welcome to Broken Radio Hotel. I know you want to ask, so here's the answer: the radio in our rooms is working. Will you be renting a room?"

"Maybe, but first answer one question—do you tell the name of the hotel to everyone who comes in the front door in advance?" I ask.

"Yes, because more than half of the visitors ask about the name and whether the radio works in the rooms. Mostly the masters who rent a room here are those who come from across town on their own business or from the mines or farms," the receptionist replies with a smile. "So are you going to rent a room or go to the bar?"

"And yet, why is this hotel so named?"

"Before the war, the place was called the Jolly Radio Hotel. But the customers of that bar 'liked' to break the radio. All because of the large presence of bars on this street, when they drank there and came back here, and after Those Times there wasn't a single surviving radio in this place. So the first pony who walked in said it was 'not a fucking jolly radio, only a broken one,' pardon my rudeness. That's how the sign got fixed, too."

"Excellent story. At least it's not the Drunken Radio Hotel. How much is a room for three for one night?"

"Perfect. Given your... good armor, you must be after a long passionate venture, am I right?" the receptionist asks, underlining the word 'venture'.

Somehow strangely he emphasizes that word. He also looks at me with anticipation. Why would some unknown pony want to talk about venture? Besides, only a few ponies know that I like all sorts of dangerous ventures, and that there are only two associations with the word venture...

I get it. Lemon. You're such a trickster.

"Yes," I say calmly.

"Here are the keys to room thirty-two. The first number speaks of the floor. Soon, or maybe tomorrow, you'll be approached to talk about your lost traveler's passion," the receptionist winks at me lightly. "On the house."

"Thank you very much," I nod understandingly, and we walk toward the rooms.

The number thirty-two reminds me of something-it seems to have something to do with the Star Paladin. Right! I remember. That's her age! Although it could be a simple coincidence.

"Free room? Charming," Bluerise smiles at me.

"Naturally! No one has yet resisted my charms: nothing done, but I got what I wanted," I say in a serious tone.

My two companions laugh.

"Even when it's a stallion," Motley adds.

The room is double... but with one bed. What a naughty Lemon. Thinking of putting me and Motley in the same bed?

We decide by democratic vote that the mares get the bed and I have to make do with the old sofa in the living room.

Bluericse brings us dinner from those leftovers in the truck. We spend the rest of the evening minding our own business. Motley warms up and exercises his fighting moves. The unicorn watches her admiringly, asking about it, and I... read a book on magical repair spells. Naturally, it is impossible to concentrate in the cheerful and noisy atmosphere, especially when such a flexible pegasus is training nearby. So I get out on the roof and, under the blowing wind, memorize theory until dark, occasionally glancing around.

I come back and find out that the mares have already taken a shower. And I go to take a shower, too, washing all the filth off me, enjoying the stream of hot water.

Bliss...

Bluerise and Motley are having a conversation on various topics. The pegasus prefers to answer in short sentences, and Bluerise cooing like a bird in the spring.

I'm glad they're finding common ground. I think if Bluerise wants to, she won't have much trouble getting anyone to talk. She's better at it than I am.

After reading some more, I fall asleep.

***

The 5th of the Month of Heather, Cyanday. Forty-third day of my stay.

I'm taking my morning routine and there's a knock at the door, followed by the sound of a pony voice, "Breakfast!"

Breakfast? What breakfast? I didn't order anything...

The lock opens from the other side, which makes me get ready to use the magical barrier. Motley hears the intruder, too, and comes out of the bedroom to help me receive the intruder.

The door swings open, and the yellow earth pony in a light, dark green outfit, hiding her entire overweight body, enters the room with a food cart on it.

I sigh in relief. It's Lemon... 'Berry'. I have to remember that everyone thinks of her as 'Berry'.

Has she decided to moonlight as a waitress?

"Hi, Daniel. I'm glad you're healthy and in one piece, and I'm also glad you're alive, Motley. And you..." the Star Paladin looks at the unicorn with anticipation.

"Bluerise," she introduces herself.

"Pleased to meet you. Berry," the ranger says and walks over to me. "Who's that? What is she doing here?" she whispers with suspicion in her voice.

"Don't worry," I whisper. "She can be trusted, she came with the caravan from where I came from. The caravan was attacked by raiders, and I was close by, but unfortunately only managed to save her. You can tell her later that you're a Steel Ranger."

"All right," Lemon sighs in relief. "I'll put my trust in you. I've brought enough food. Bluerise, this is your first time here... You can appreciate the local level of food. I bet you haven't tried the ice cream."

The ice cream is delicious. Too bad it's not strawberry dessert.

I tell Lemon about the hard fights in the ruins of Red Spark, trying not to bring up what I learned in Violet's notes. It gets to the sewer, and I purposely skip the part where I climb out of the pipe below where the toilet is. I have two reasons for keeping this unpleasant fact to myself: we're eating at the moment, and Lemon's jokes about it are inevitable—I've had enough of Ferris' jokes on the subject.

When it comes to the leader, I omit who Violet was before, and who my feathered partner was to me. Motley looks at me understandingly, nodding appreciatively. I don't see the point of presenting this information to everyone without her consent.

Lemon pretends to be a little upset when she finds out Ferris is okay, but that's not what interests her.

"Somebody sponsored the raider attacks," she says. "The robots were delivering three containers. One contained furs and clothes, the second drugs, the third tools and household appliances. Softhooves... Meadows... Steelmane... Somebody's trying to cover their tracks... or set them up. I doubt it's Steelmane."

"What makes you think that?" I ask. "Is it because they're in the technology business that you have a soft spot for them?"

"No, they're our main competitors. Dangerous because of their knowledge and robots. But... I've spent enough time studying the families, and I can tell you that the Steelmane are not peculiar to such schemes. They wouldn't risk supplying anything to the raiders to escalate into an uncontrollable problem."

Of all those listed, only one family is missing, which was in conflict with the Waterfall at the Council.

"What about the Falcons? Can they frame the others?"

"Proud birds don't do such dirty business. It's not typical of them. They're not rats."

"That leaves only the Softhooves and the Meadows?"

"Yes. Only they're too rich to do such a thing."

I briefly recount to her the events of Bluerise's release.

"You're lucky to have Daniel looking out for you," she smiles at her. "I'd be happy to, myself."

She turns to me, but the smile on my face looks different.

"Speaking of looking out. Where's my Venture?"

"If you found the note, there's nothing to recount. Just to add that I went to Vanhoover and picked up the connections, got on the trail of whoever has the vertibuck now."

"Steel Ranger connections in town?" I ask confusedly.

Earlier in my story, Lemon had told Bluerise that she was a Steel Ranger. This surprised the unicorn noticeably, since she was not yet aware of their situation here. I thought she was amazed that a pony of her shape could be a member. But out of delicacy she chose to remain silent.

"And you thought our base couldn't be within the city walls? Wrong. There are plenty of secluded places for rangers in other corners of the Vanhoover Wasteland. The old bunkers and basements of several bars in Vanhoover. The Broken Radio Hotel is one such spot. In addition to the usual masters, the Steel Rangers are here. We don't give ourselves away, and you know why."

"What's the point of these 'basements' in Vanhoover?" I ask with interest.

"Well, all I can say is that we buy raw materials and supplies here that are hard for us to get ourselves, that's all."

"Really?" I ask skeptically, still hoping for something more.

"I guess so," the ranger waves her hooves. "I don't really like doing things in town."

"Aren't you afraid of being captured and having all your memories copied from your memory?"

"First of all, who would suspect such a pony of involvement with the Steel Rangers?" she smiles embarrassedly. "And secondly, there are protective spells on our memories. I can't tell them, even under torture, because of the defense mechanism. I can only willingly tell them when I'm calm."

"Okay. So who stole my Venture?" I ask impatiently, beginning to picture myself driving into the faces of these thieves.

Lemon pauses, looks at me with no emotion on her face, and then the shadow of a smile appears on her face and she says, "The Steelmanes."

Yeah, so... Who?! The ones she's been defending recently?

"You're not kidding?"

"No. Your vertibuck was stolen by one of the blood kin of that family. Who exactly, I never found out," Lemon replies in a sorry tone. "It is confirmed by the fact that the vertibuck landed in their territory. They are as interested in technology as we are. I can understand them."

"Well... then we should go over there and discuss the case."

"Are you serious?" Lemon asks. The look on her face and the look in her eyes says to me, 'Are you fucking crazy?'

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"Confront the whole family? Definitely a high-class lunatic," the ranger mutters, rolling his eyes. Bluerise looks confused; she doesn't yet fully understand how powerful and powerful the families are, despite what I've been telling her. "First the Crater, now the Families..."

"And how will you operate a vertibuck?" the pegasus asks.

"Thank you for believing in me, but I doubt I'll be able to get him back today. So, where do I start my next venture?"

"I might suggest you start your search at the main manor of the Steelmane family," Lemon replies thoughtfully. "You know what... I'll go with you."

"What? No, it's..."

"Don't argue with me. You need cover. If you linger on the estate, I'll raise the alarm."

"Yeah? What are you going to do?"

The yellow's face suddenly expresses doubt. She doesn't know yet, herself, how she's going to pull me out.

"I think... I'll ask one of the ranger agents. Or something..."

Lemon worries about me for some reason. Too much... Or maybe she doesn't want to stay in the company of Motley and Bluerise.

"Well, okay. Just don't do anything stupid and listen to me."

"Sure," the earth pony is clearly happy that I agreed.

I have a feeling I'll regret that decision yet. If anything happens to her, I won't forgive myself.

"Fine. I'll put on a warm coat, and we'll go," she says. "And you have fun. Motley, show Bluerise around town. Let her have a look around."

The pegasus raises her eyebrow in surprise, which roughly means 'since when you've got the right to order me what to do?'

***

Lemon and I stroll to our destination, discussing the ponies and the places we meet along the way. She bought a newspaper, and sits on a bench nearby so that I'm in her line of sight.

A huge, elegant, four-story mansion. Its walls are of neat white stone and in perfect condition. It is surrounded by a four-meter brick wall. The building is well guarded: the perimeter behind the wall is scanned, judging by the distinctive sound, by Sentinels, there are turrets on the walls, and on the roof of the mansion is a unicorn guard in strong combat attire, armed with a rifle with a powerful telescopic sight.

It's an impressive mansion.

There were many mansions in the neighborhood in all directions, but this was the only one with such enhanced protection. The rest had low brick walls.

Surprisingly, some of the yards have green vegetation, and not some artificial, but real, with a fresh smell that spreads around. By the way, the mansion with reinforced protection does not particularly stand out. It's all classy and tasteful. It's likely that this neighborhood belongs to all sorts of rich masters, and the family has restored it after the Great War, as there are no traces of riots or the aftermath of general chaos here.

I come close to the main lattice gate. One of the Sentinels rides up from the back, but takes no action. As I marvel at the massiveness and shape of the main gate, I notice that there is an intercom embedded in the wall next to it. I walk over to it and magically press the call button.

"I need to see Robus Steelmane," I say, and release the button.

"Do you have an appointment?" an answer is heard after a while.

"Yes," I lie, pressing the button again, this time without letting go.

"What's your name?"

"Daniel Evans," I hear the sound of paper rustling after that.

"Sorry, you're not on the list."

"What do you mean I'm not? I was clearly told that I had to meet with the head of the family on an extremely important matter that cannot be postponed."

"What business? If it was something important, I would have been told."

"Yes, I have just been assigned this task, you probably have not yet been informed of my arrival. I need to meet with him immediately, or there will be serious consequences, and it will be your fault for blocking my way," I say grudgingly. On the other end of the intercom I hear the guard's doubts.

"Give birth quickly!" I say impatiently.

"All right, all right. Robus has no guests right now, so come on in, but you'll turn in your weapons, including stabbing and cutting and explosives, at the entrance to the mansion."

"No problem," I say, releasing the button, and the lattice gate opens inward.

I walk along a small cobblestone pathway lined with beds of fresh flowers and bluish lanterns, apparently turned on at night. A gorgeous green lawn with flowerbeds on either side. One of the Sentinels follows me at a safe distance, aiming its deadly weapons at me.

The unpleasant sensation of having a machine gun ready to make a sieve out of me, and a rocket launcher capable of cooking my insides into a meat stew without a problem, are staring into the back of my head.

The other two Sentinels wheel on the paving stones in the neighboring lanes. Everything here is so well-maintained... How many caps and slave labor did it take to do this? The construction robots could have done that, though.

After walking along the path to the mansion, whose courtyard I unwittingly admired, I climb the steps and head for the exquisite double—seemingly armored—dark-brown doors. They swing open, and I am greeted by a butler in a slave collar. He is dressed in a standard black tails with a white shirt.

"Let me search you before you cross the threshold of this house," he says in a polite tone.

"Yeah, no problem."

After being searched, the butler escorts me to the office of the Father of the Steelmane family.

By the way, the inside of the mansion looks new. There's not a hint of the apocalypse that's happened. It's just like the Luxury hotel, if not better. The paintings are old but intact, the plants are alive, the furniture is in excellent condition, and the curtains are clean and beautiful and pleasing to the eye. Almost everything is in harmonious shades of gray and blue. Here I notice only one guard, a unicorn in a tight-fitting outfit.

"If I notice," she begins, "that you're using some suspicious spell, I'll turn you into a pile of ash."

I nod.

Climbing up the massive spiral staircase to the fourth floor, the butler shows me Robus's study. He enters and politely tells me to wait here. By the way, I don't hear a sound from the cabinet. Either it's the perfect soundproofing, or Robus has already sizzled the butler with a look for letting someone in who is not assigned.

A few seconds later, a dazed butler-slave emerges from the cabinet. At least he's alive. So that's the first scenario after all—soundproofing.

"You didn't have an appointment, did you?" he asks, very worried.

"Really?" I smile. "Of course I had an appointment. By me," I say and walk past him into the cabinet.

I see not only Robus and his advisor Haley Blue there, but also some kind of pegasus.

A pegasus?!

Oh, I remember. Cherry told me that Vanhoover once discovered a pegasus Stable.

Nevertheless, it is strange, because the butler reported that the head of the family has no guests at the moment. The unfamiliar pony is dressed in a repair jumpsuit of a blue hue, which, however, is not particularly soiled. His fur is the color of iron, and his mane is thick and short and midnight blue with barely noticeable silver strands brushed back.

Stylish.

Robus, Haley, and the red-orange-eyed pegasus look me over with amazement and a dose of curiosity.

"Good day, Robus," I make a small respectful bow, then turn to the councilmare. "And Mrs. Blue," and then to the pegasus. "And..."

"Troy Steelmane," he says, looking at me in surprise.

Steelmane... so he's a blood kin of the Family.

"Nice to meet you, Troy. Yes, I know," I turn to the Father, "that I didn't show up at the appointed time, but I needed to talk to you about something specifically. My property was stolen from me a few days ago, and I know your family is involved, based on eyewitness accounts."

"Your name is Daniel Evans, right?" he kindly clarifies.

Robus's surprise evaporates: he now regards me with curiosity. He himself is dressed in an unremarkable business suit: a gray jacket, a blue shirt, and a lead-colored tie. It was about the same color as his sumptuous attire when he visited the Council. Then he seemed to me to be a good-natured and kindly old pony who looks at everyone like foals wanting more caps for his needs and games. Now I could talk to him in person. Because I barged in here uninvited, there's a good chance I'll be kicked out of here. Lucky if I'm alive.

"Yeah," I reply briefly.

"Well, you fooled my butler, and that's why you got through security quietly. You think you can so brazenly break into my property and then walk out quietly?" Robus asks. There is no note of anger or malice in his words.

"No, of course, until I get my property back. Then I can leave quietly," I say, looking into his eyes.

"And you're no slouch," Robus laughs, suddenly dropping his formal tone. "You may have come to me unexpectedly, and without proper courtesy or standard etiquette, but you were not afraid to do so. I like that. If you want something, you take it without hesitation. So what are you accusing me of? But before I answer, I'm gonna ask you to sit down. There's no truth in hooves, after all," he smiles.

I sit down in the chair in front of his desk. Troy is sitting in another chair to my right.

The cabinet looks impressive. There are expensive paintings of picturesque landscapes, old vases with elaborate but lovely patterns, two exquisite swords on the wall, lots of fancy new furniture, a matching soft dark rug, and a statue of some majestic prewar pony in the corner.

"I've come to return my vertibuck, called 'Venture,' which was brazenly stolen from me," I say bluntly. At the word 'vertibuck', Troy's calmness is replaced by a touch of unease. "I've gotten on your trail, since according to eyewitness reports, the vertibuck landed in your territory."

"Really? And we just recently got a new vehicle..." Robus turns to Troy and looks at him questioningly. "Son, you said you found it on the roof of a building in the Wasteland. Why is this pony claiming to be his vertibuck?"

"Well..." the pegasus falters and blushes slightly. Son? It turns out the butler wasn't wrong about him having no guests at the moment after all. And he's a pegasus... Robus took a Stable pegasus as his wife? "His... No, he's just a random passerby who decided to claim it as his flying transport. He just saw it and wanted to take it away!"

His manner of speech seems somewhat arrogant.

"Sure," I interrupt Troy. "Tell me you didn't find that vertibuck near the ruins of Red Spark, on the roof of a three-story building!"

The dark gray pegasus worries even more.

"Troy, is this true?" Robus asks in a serious tone.

"Yes..." the pegasus mutters quietly. "I'm the one who brought the vertibuck to Vanhoover. By myself."

"And how did you know about it?" I ask. "I didn't fly it up to Vanhoover itself."

"On the day of the Council, a caravan belonging to us spotted a flying vehicle landing near the town. It was reported to me. When your vertibuck flew toward the Crater, I followed it alone. When it landed, I waited a moment for you to leave, and then found myself near the charming bird... I mean, the vertibuck... and began to figure out her control system. It was difficult, but I managed to control her. It's just superb that such a huge metal construction can fly so fast! I've seen photos from before the war, but I've never seen anything like that in real life. Such graceful shapes that can cut through the airspace with ease."

He says this with such enthusiasm and admiration about Venture... But she's mine! He may like this bird, but I had my eye on her first!

"I'll ask for my transport back," I say kindly.

"I'm afraid it's not that simple," Robus says, sighing heavily, returning his polite businesslike tone. "You can't prove to the others that it belongs to you. You must have found it yourself somewhere in the Wasteland. So even if it did belong to you for a while, most ponies need it more than you do alone."

"Even so, I am its last owner."

"I understand," the older pony politely interrupts me, "how you're feeling right now, but you also understand that a working flying machine has marked new opportunities for us. Griffons and pegasi can't fly without breaks, even with special wagons. Vertibucks, on the other hoof, protect the pilot and don't make him strain his wings, in difficult weather conditions this is especially useful, and they can transport passengers or things anywhere in a short period of time."

"What about me? It's my find, after all," I say indignantly.

"You want us to pay you?" Robus asks. "Then we can part quietly."

"I wish you'd just give my Venture back. I know that vertibuck is important to you, and not only you, in quite a few ways. Maybe if I can find the blueprints for a vertibuck or some other flying vehicle, you'll give my Venture back?"

"Perhaps," the elderly gray earth pony reflects. Then the Father turns to Troy. "What do you think?"

"It would be easier to work from the blueprints than to take it apart, but it's still useful to see how it all works, too. And we're almost through taking the vertibuck fuselage apart..."

"What?!" I almost shout, with the urge to pounce on this thief.

This is my property! How dare they?!

"Chill out," Troy hastily hooves up. "It didn't hurt your baby. We only managed to get the top clothes off. And in general, I've already got ideas on how to make it more refined and yet better, more practical. So if you get me the blueprints for a vertibuck, I'll return your beautiful Venture as good as new, and with a new 'outfit', too. What do you say?"

Improved Venture... As reparations for moral damages.

"Not bad, as long as she doesn't get cranky when she comes back during the flight, which will cause me to crash. So if you hurt her in any way, you know I'm going to get you from beyond the grave, understand?"

"Done," the pegasus replies confidently, smiling slightly. "All the more reason she needed gentle... I mean maintenance. From the looks of it, it hasn't been done in about two hundred years. So consider it another reward when you come back with the blueprints. We won't do anything wrong, but we'll help her come to her senses. Cheer up. And with the blueprint, I'll give her a full recovery therapy."

"I'll take your word for it. But where can I even find these blueprints?" I'm puzzled.

I have a feeling it won't be easy at all.

"Beyond the Crater," the pegasus begins, and I almost roll my eyes at the mention of the place, "there's a pre-war airport named Northern Soul, a few kilometers east of it. We'd have groped it a long time ago, but it's still hampered by the security system, which will turn to ash anyone who claims their spot, I mean base. You can tell by the tightened security that the airport belonged to the military, which means there were probably warbirds there, too. So there's a good chance that's where the blueprint is."

Perfect! A malfunctioning security system. What could be better than that?

"Yeah," Troy notices my annoyed expression, "it might be difficult, but you can do it. You mentioned that you were in the vicinity of the Red Spark ruins. If you managed to survive there, the airport won't seem like such a challenge; but keep in mind that it's not far from Red Spark, near where a powerful megaspell fell. So there's high levels of radiation in some places."

Radiation again, huh?

"Couldn't one of the experienced mercenaries or a King have been sent?"

"No one wants to risk their lives for the blueprints. So believe it or not, you're my only hope."

"All right, you'll have the blueprints."

"Excellent," the pegasus smiles.

"I have one question: why did you confess to stealing the vertibuck?" I ask. Robus answers for him.

"If you want true success, you'd better do it the decent way. Then you'll have the respect of those around you, because you chose the hard way."

Now it made sense why Lemon was sure they wouldn't use raiders to attack Waterfall's farms and caravans.

"That sounds strange," I say.

Ouch... I seem to think he's a wimp trying to do things honestly, or that it's weird for a rotten town where every Family only looks out for their own interests.

"I know what you're thinking. In Vanhoover, just about everyone succeeds in a dirty way, that's why it's easy. Anyone can do it. Respect goes to those who succeed without resorting to simple and cheap methods—that's what few masters in Vanhoover can do," the Steelmane leader mutters with a touch of grandfatherly admonition to the young, forgetting again his polite businesslike tone.

He's thinking outside the box, and yet—brazenly using me to get his hooves on the blueprints.

"You'd think it was a decent method to blackmail a property owner to get your way," I say, smirking.

"I definitely like you," the smoky gray pony smiles affectionately. "Noticed it after all. Even though it looks like blackmail, you're doing it for everyone's benefit, and in doing so, you'll get your vertibuck intact, and slightly improved, too. If you wanted to, you'd get caps for finding a working vertibuck, but in that case we'd easily dismantle it for the good of the city. And then we'd be quietly parted."

Robus makes it clear to me that if I don't bring the blueprints, I won't see Venture. He threatens me, but doesn't do it directly. He must make it clear to the person he is talking to. He has an interesting method.

"No, my property is not for sale. But I wonder how much you would pay for a working vertibuck?" I ask curiously.

"About three thousand caps," Robus replies.

So little?! The Waterfall family would have paid eight times that much to eliminate the raider problem. By the way, it's necessary to go to them for a talk, in the process of which I'll get a lot of caps, which I still need to carry away somehow. And that's a lot!

Totally forgot about that because my bird was stolen.

"Not impressed. For what is dear to your soul cannot be measured in caps."

"That's true. You don't seem to be chasing caps, I see. Sometimes it's interesting to look at those who don't care about caps in life," he looks at me warmly.

"All right. I'll leave you to it. Thanks for not kicking me out of here," I say jokingly. "Have a good day."

After saying goodbye, I leave the manor and head toward Lemon, reading the newspaper on the bench.

I don't know if I'll get Venture back when I get the blueprints, but at least I tried. And I got to meet the head of the family and the Son in person; but I didn't have much luck with Haley, the counselor. The whole time we were talking, she was just observing and making conclusions. Robus seemed too good-natured to me, maybe he was hiding something serious. Although he has an interesting motivation in the form of a hidden threat.

Who inspires my confidence is Troy. Even though he stole my vertibuck, he confessed to it and promised to give it back if I got something for him. Oh, and there would be a bonus. Maybe the Father just pretended he had nothing to do with it and blamed it on his son. Or was it all just a trivial game with masks, so that I could leave the mansion quietly and peacefully? It's quite possible. I'd left their territory in peace. I don't think they'd let me back in.

In that case, I have indeed been tricked. That's a clever idea Robus had, I didn't even realize it at first.

It's too early to look ahead. I don't know if I should worry about that, but I made it out of the mansion in one piece, which was good, considering that I was an intruder.

Well, at least I knew where my vertibuck is. Or rather, who has it. I have important things to do in the meantime: I have to stop by the Waterfall family, get Bluerise settled here, and take a walk to Northern Soul, which is full of mad robots and ghouls in pre-war armor. I've got a lot of stuff ahead of me.

Lemon looks happy that I'm coming back safe and sound. She can hardly keep herself from hugging me.

"Shall we go to a restaurant?" she asks, looking at me impatiently.

Chapter 15 - The Northern Soul

View Online

"How's it going?" Lemon asks on the way to the nearest restaurant.

"I had to compromise to get Venture back. I need to find the blueprints of a Vertibuck at the old Northern Soul Airport."

"An airfield and a pre-war base," she corrects me.

She notices my slightly surprised face and realizes I don't mind hearing an explanation.

"Many Wastelanders call it an airport, but it's actually an airfield," she explains, then continues in a whisper. "The Steel Rangers tried to sneak in there a couple of times..." she goes on to say in her former volume, "but the laser turrets, the Mr. Gutsy and the Sentinels happily walking around the perimeter screwed us up. And I wouldn't advise sneaking through the air, either. There are still somehow air defenses working there, easily shooting down targets in the air. We once saw a few griffons try to sneak into the base through the airspace a couple of years ago, but they were shot down by aimed fire and a homing missile."

"And what do you suggest?" I ask, already a little desperate. "Sneak in with StealthBucks?"

"No. Pre-war facilities were guarded by more advanced versions of robotic defenses. In winter, the surrounding area is at times covered by snowstorms, so they have very advanced thermal optics."

"Is there any way to get to the airfield in a safe way?"

The impregnable airfield reminds me of the times I tried to get close to the Boomers base. It would be funny if, like Nellis, there were local maniac boomers or other survivors in the Northern Soul.

"Unknown, but we haven't yet found any loopholes in the defenses to get close to the airfield with minimal casualties."

"We'll have to find a way somehow. Need to think."

"For now, on an empty stomach, it's best not to think at all."

Going to a restaurant is a good idea, but not cheap. However, Lemon has already treated us all, so I have no problem paying for such an expensive meal. The lemon pony has to stick to the diet because of a thyroid condition, so she takes vegetables, porridge, and small briquettes of tightly packed hay, which is not cheap in Wasteland conditions, even in Vanhoover.

"Oh..." Lemon sighs in relief. "How good the cooking is here. Not like ours."

"It's not bad at your... home."

"You can just eat whatever you want... And good food itself is made of tasty ingredients—and what I have to swallow is far from the concept of tasty. There are a huge number of talented chefs in Vanhoover who make delicious meals out of tasteless ingredients."

"And before you got ill, did you... ever treat yourself to anything tasty and unhealthy?"

"Of course, but within limits. I know when I can eat and how much. What's life without whims, right?"

I nod with a smile.

"I've been watching my health and keeping it up. With our workouts, it can't be otherwise, but I've always... liked to keep my mouth busy with something. Something to hold in my mouth."

Oh. No... No, Daniel... Keep your fantasy very tight. Don't think about it. It's not right. It's not right for her. She's already married, after all.

"Is everything all right?" the lemon pony asks.

"Yeah... Just... wondering."

"About what?"

There's a faint shadow of a smile on her lips. She said it on purpose to embarrass me! Oh, you... This game can be played by two!

"About my horn..." I answer and pause. "Unicorns are always thinking about their magical powers."

"It would be interesting to see your magical... talents. We are... proud of a capable pony like you."

"You can speak for everyone?" I smile.

"Of course. Did you forget?" the Star Paladin asks.

Right... she's the second face after the Elder.

"You proved that by surviving in..." she lowers her voice, "in Red Spark."

"All thanks to my loyal companions."

"You seem to have a knack for surrounding yourself with loyal ponies, and I can see why."

"Hmm?"

"Charming smile, goal-oriented, friendly, responsible and cared for kin."

"Thank you."

Wait, what kin is she talking about? I don't recall telling her about my family.

"Um... what kin are you talking about?"

"That pony... you came with on your Bear. She was sick, she had purple fur."

"Oh... I see who you mean. No, she's not my kin. Just a fellow traveler. She was a cartographer on the East Coast, exploring the ruins of the Griffon Kingdom. Even affected the social changes of the griffons in Reserve."

"Impressive. What did she do?"

"The griffons have taken up residence in a pre-war reserve. The survivors, largely because of the Enclave attack, were embittered at the pony race, so they wouldn't let anyone in. She was lucky enough to meet one griffon who wanted to cooperate with ponies, and she succeeded. Her knowledge of the Griffon Kingdom, his ancestral homeland, came in handy for this griffon."

"Wow... Now I'm even more ashamed of Bubblegum. For who he insulted."

"I restrained."

"But you were close to exploding with righteous anger. I feel guilty."

"It's not your fault."

"He's my..." Lemon lowers her voice, "subordinate. I was supposed to control him. He is under my responsibility."

"Maybe. Anyway, let's not disturb the past."

"The important thing is that you don't get mad at... us."

"I'm not mad at you at all. How could anyone be mad at such a fun and wonderful pony?"

Lemon looks down embarrassed at the empty plates. I call out to a waitress. A collared pony approaches us. I ask her for the bill, and I pay it.

"Shall we go?" I ask my companion, and she nods affirmatively.

I help Lemon put on her coat—it's easier with my telekinesis. We go outside and head in the direction of the Broken Radio Hotel.

Lemon looks thoughtful, focused. She's not talking. It kind of bothers me a little bit. On the other hand, what if she's thinking about something important? It's a hostile city for her. I don't want to interrupt.

Along the way, we stumble upon a sign for the local bar, The Bottom. From the door, two large ponies in formal attire—obviously security guards—take a drunken earth pony outside and toss her away from the entrance. Passersby hardly pay any attention to the incident.

"You've had enough for today," one of them says in a mundane tone and goes back inside. The other follows. The earth pony struggles to get up on her four legs.

"B-bitches..." she mutters indignantly. She gets up, shakes herself off, and hesitantly turns toward the bar. "C-cocksuckers. No r-respect..." she shakes and walks away.

Lemon speaks for the first time. Her offer sounds confused and as if distracted, "I'd like to warm up in a sauna. It's getting chilly. Will you come with me? I'd be bored on my own. No one to talk to. I'll pay, you... Don't worry about it."

I'm reminded of the sauna in the Ultra-Luxe in New Vegas. It's so nice to sweat for a while and then jump in the cool water. Given the freezing cold around here, that suggestion sounds extremely appealing.

"Is it really nice out there?"

"Definitely."

"Well, okay. Lead the way."

Some incomprehensible squeak comes from Lemon, but when I look at her face, I don't see anything. Serious and thoughtful.

Yeah... She definitely needs a sweat session and some muscle relaxation. There are no sauna rooms in her underground base, so it's no wonder she'd want to go there. And inviting me... well, ponies can walk around with no clothes on. And I've seen Lemon without her clothes on.

***

To save caps, we rent one small cabin in the spa. They quickly prepare it and we, fully undressed, enter it with our towels. I lie on my back on a bench, covered by a towel. The lemon pony does the same thing on the next one.

"It's so warm..." she says with a pleasant shiver, closing her eyes peacefully.

"Yeah," I agree. This heat makes me feel good. I can feel myself sweating already. "It's just wonderful. Great idea, Lemon!"

"I would never give you bad advice."

"True."

Silence and peace. The pleasant heaviness of the heat is relaxing. I feel like boiled noodles. It is so nice not to think about anything.

After ten minutes, I refresh myself in the blissfully cool water of the pool and quickly head back so I don't have to stare at the wet mares. Given my fetish... I better do it fast. Sometimes I hate myself so much because of my attraction to wet bodies.

I carefully towel myself off and take my place in the cabin. Into the familiar heat, giving me a sense of pleasant heaviness. Lemon comes in after me.

"Blissful," she says. I open my eyes and see that she hasn't wiped herself off. Wet from head to tail tip. "I don't like to dry off before the steam room," she explains, noticing my look. "The effect isn't the same."

Her green mane, her green tail sags delightfully under the weight of the water and sticks to her body. Individual droplets trickle enchantingly down her damp yellow fur, falling to the floor. Glistening droplets of water cluster on a thick buttock with a green cutie mark of a terminal with a binary code. The wet tail rests against her crotch, hiding the...

A tingling sensation arises below, which sober me up and forces me to look away. I turn my head and see my towel rising under the pressure of my rushing up organ. My gaze shifts to Lemon, who's staring at my bulging towel through the green curls that have fallen over her face.

I can't wait to get my hands... hooves on...

No! You can't.

I quickly flip my body to the opposite side to hide my arousal, but it doesn't make much sense. It's all revealed.

What to do? What to do?!

Oh...

Why...

Why did this happen? Why doesn't Lemon love...

Son of a...

"Wow," Lemon voices with confusion.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For... I don't know."

"You've seen me without my armor before. Why now?" her voice is quiet, with a sense of curiosity in it.

"It's... It's just... Wet bodies turn me on..."

"Huh."

"Yeah, that's why I came back from the pool so quickly. It's hard not to look at the mares washing nearby, it's hard to ignore the way they splash around in the water."

Lemon looks thoughtful. Her eyes are slightly covered, a faint smile on her face.

Come on. Try to make a joke about it. Say I'm a pervert—I'm ready.

In silence, she comes to my bench and lies sideways in front of me, squeezing her hips tightly together and resting her shoulder against the tiled wall of the cabin. Her yellow, wet body is just inches from my hind legs.

A beautiful view of her right buttock, glistening with water droplets.

"Well... Looks like you have to take the stiffness out of it somehow. You can, satisfy yourself. I don't mind if you watch and... well... you know..."

The lemon pony is red with embarrassment and high temperature.

No... An open offer to jack off to her wet body.

"Come on," she murmurs in an excited, embarrassed voice, stroking her thick buttock with her wet hoof. "Do it."

A sigh of lust bursts from my mouth, my organ beneath me treacherously itching with arousal. I can't take it anymore.

I turn on my back and throw off the towel. My organ is throbbing. Lemon stares at it like she's hypnotized, unconsciously licking her lips. Her hips tense harder, pressing against each other. I wrap myself below by blue telekinesis and sigh in relief as I look at the green locks of hair that cling to her face under the weight of the water.

The magic comes into motion.

She nibbles her lips. Her tongue sticks out, she licks her lips greedily. I want her to take... me in her mouth. I want to feel their soft touch.

The voluptuous itching intensifies. The speed of the magic increases. My breathing becomes ragged.

Droplets of water glisten on her fluffy wet chest. Under her left leg, droplets trickle down the short yellow fur, rolling onto her tummy, her hips rubbing lightly against each other. Lemon squirms. Her free front right leg comes into motion: slides down her belly to the inside of her thick thighs, lifts her hind leg slightly, slides it further in, and stops. A muffled, convulsive moan of pleasure from the circular motion bursts from Lemon's lips.

The glistening drops on her thigh are so appealing...

"What would you..." she begins, sighing hotly, "like to... do with me?"

"Bang you," I blurt out, feeling intoxicated by the view of her wet body.

"Oh..." her front leg moves even more intensely between her thighs.

"So hard," I add, struggling to squeeze out of myself.

Lemon pushes the wet curls of her mane away from her face and flips fully onto her back, resting already two shoulders against the tiled wall. With a trembling and timid movement, she spreads her hind legs. Her front hoof defiantly strokes her crotch area.

"Into here?" she asks, lifting the hoof from which a thin, transparent thread, glistening with moisture, stretches to her labia.

What a lot of it...

"Yes."

I can't hold back any longer. I want to jump on it and dip myself in it.

"I want it, too..." she moans from her strokes. Invitingly she pushes aside the right side of her labia, exposing the softness hiding beneath them, copiously coated with sticky wetness. "Hard." She breathes sharply with lust. "Please come inside me."

There is a long, relieved moan from Lemon as my organ slides inside her.

***

Lemon is facing the tiled wall of the cabin. Not a sound comes from her. She doesn't move. Nothing at all: she seems unconscious. But she isn't. She took a shower and rinsed herself off beforehand, came back and, without a word, lay down, turning away from me.

Our stay was over, so the steam stopped flowing in here. We must leave the cabin soon, or we will be forcibly kicked out.

I look at the back of the yellow earth pony. Her entire body is thoroughly dried.

My biggest mistake in this world. What a lustful bastard I am. Couldn't resist my instincts, so trivial, an animal. If it wasn't for the fetish... Damn it!

If Lemon hadn't asked me...

No. It's not right to bring Lemon into this. This is all my fault. I went to her, not her to me. She was too horny, but she held herself in place—unlike me. A month and a half in this world, and already I've managed to sleep with several mares. Not even on Earth had that much luck with women.

Fucking imbalance in the number of mares and stallions. Being surrounded by females more often than...

No. I'm doing it again, putting the blame elsewhere. If she were unmarried, I'd be glad, but... My loss of self-control must have ruined Lemon's family life. This event is going to poison her life.

What should I do? Should I try to talk to Lemon or pretend it never happened? She seems willing to accept it. But... It would look like I'm avoiding responsibility or a model egomaniac who doesn't care about her feelings. I should at least discuss it with her, if I can.

I take a deep breath and walk over to the lemon pony, hoof touching her back.

"Maybe... I... How are you... feel?" I ask.

"Disgusting."

"It's all my fault."

"No. I'm the one who invited you here," she replies in a quiet, stifled voice. "It's my fault."

"But I was the one who couldn't resist the temptation."

"I," she says, "don't even know what happened. It's just. I... I like you, but I didn't think about it. It's been so long since I've... aroused that... and I'm also comfortable with you, and... you turned on by the sight of me..."

I put my hoof on her back. Her body shudders in surprise, like an electric shock. I try to reassure her, suspecting that she may be experiencing a toxic guilt eating away at her from inside.

"I'm," she continues, "so..."

"I don't blame you for anything..."

"I'm a cheater, aren't I?" she sobs, as if she hadn't noticed my words. "I've ruined everything."

"I won't tell anyone."

"I'm a dirty, lustful pony."

"Shh, shh. If your husband finds out, he'll kill me, and everybody in your home... Well... I'll be hated. I'm the one who should be worried."

I need to cheer her up somehow. She doesn't deserve to suffer for it. If I could, I'd take the full impact.

"I'll tell you again," I continue. "My only fault here is that I didn't see this kind of development coming. Was too busy thinking about the airfield. If the context of what happened is omitted... I've had a good time with you."

"Me, too. But now you... I'm sure you despise me because I..."

"If a flower fades and withers from neglect, it is not its fault that it blossomed under the care of another. Yes, we're not flowers, we're more complex creatures, but the metaphor will do. Have you tried talking to your husband about your lack of affection?"

"I was ashamed to admit it outright. When the effects of the illness became... more visible, he wanted me less and less often. Excuses came up... no matter what I did. He obviously doesn't like my body. Somehow I think he..."

"...found someone on the side?"

"Mm-hmm."

"If you knew for sure he was cheating, would you want to get back at him in a similar fashion?"

"No."

"No?"

She turns to me. She's no longer sobbing, but the tears on her cheeks are still visible. Her eyes avoid direct contact, she looks bashfully at her hooves.

"I would understand him. I would want to understand. I love him... What hurts me the most is that he... doesn't want to bring it up at all. Hides his true feelings. He says the doctors will find a solution and everything will work out. He still loves me, but..."

"But often we want to have sex on the side if it's been between partners before."

"Yes. And that's why I think it's so easy for him to avoid sex with me because of connections on the side. I mean, he's an... active stud," she adds embarrassedly. "I wish he had a passion for wet bodies like you do."

"Then," I can't restrain my smile, "you wouldn't get out of a shower."

Lemon laughs sincerely. That's good, she's better.

"Thank you for talking to me. I wanted to... fall through the floor. I'm still embarrassed in front of you."

On the contrary, I thought she didn't want to talk to me. And really, it's better to act and regret what is done than to do nothing and regret about it.

"Don't worry." I take her towel and wipe the tears from her cheeks. "This whole incident won't affect our relationship in any way. If anything, blame it all on me."

She stands up suddenly and wraps me in a hug.

"Thank you again."

"The important thing is to make you feel better."

We leave the spa.

In this world, I'm already starting to get attached to the ponies. First Lilac, now Lemon. It's all too quick and easy. Even though I don't plan on having any love relationships with the ponies—it's not my world, after all, it's not my world—but it seems to find me.

Would I be willing to settle here, if I could?

No. I don't want to take responsibility for a loved one. I don't want a replay of what happened to Brisa.

***

Standing outside the room of Broken Radio Hotel, we hear two mares discussing something merrily and boisterously outside the door. I glance over with the lemon earth pony. She shrugs, smiling slightly.

In the room we see two barricades of pillows. Motley is at one, and Bluerise is behind the opposite one. They, laughing happily, throw pillows at each other. Noticing our return, the mares simultaneously throw them at us.

I don't duck. I create a magical barrier around me.

"Having fun?" I ask rhetorically after the pillow flies into me.

"Sure," Bluerise replies. "Join in."

"To be fair," Lemon begins, "go for Team Motley."

"Why?"

"For one thing. Unicorns. Because of their telekinesis, would be unbeatable on the same team."

"I agree," Motley says and hides from the 'projectile' flying at her. Bluerise chuckles. "That purple beastie is too accurate."

"Secondly," Lemon continues, looking at me, "I want to bury you under the pillows."

I smile.

She seems to have negative feelings for me after all: she wants to beat me with pillows for technically seducing her. Even if jokingly, she wants to punish me.

"Well, let's see how much you want to... kill me," I say, getting behind the barricade with Motley.

Here we go. The room fills with flying pillows, serene laughter, and unrestrained merriment. At one point, Lemon is covered in pillows with bedding like armor.

The habits of the Steel Rangers, like war, do not change.

Wearing pillow armor, Lemon runs to ram me.

Oh, shit...

She knocks me off my hooves, pulls down one 'weapon' at a time, and hits me with a swing. I end up under a mountain of pillows, and she jumps on the mountain.

I moan slightly painfully.

"I told you I'd bury you," a triumphant voice is heard.

She digs me up, and then helps me up by extending her front leg. A faint smile plays across her face. She's relieved that she beat me at the game.

"How's it going with Ventura?" Motley asks.

I recount the terms of the Vertibuck's return. Lemon lists in detail our obstacles.

"What a task," Motley mutters, sighing heavily. "I mean, Red Spark that's been dealt with recently. Do you ever take on simple tasks? Kill a yao guai and fetch its hide, for instance?"

"What can I do. My path is not an easy one. No ideas at all about the airfield?" I ask, looking at her.

"Suppose we could distract most of the robots guarding the perimeter of the Northern Soul. A weak spot in the perimeter could be used to infiltrate the airfield."

"Oh, sounds like a plan," Lemon notes.

"Can the two of you work it out?"

"What are you going to do?" the star paladin wonders.

"I'll take Bluerise to the head of the Waterfall family. She should be free for an audience by tonight."

***

Motley and Lemon stay in the Broken Radio Hotel, and Bluerise and I head to the east-south area, where the main 'headquarters' of the Waterfall family is located.

"Did Motley show you the town?" I ask, sitting behind the wheel of the army truck. I drive, keeping to the rules of the road.

"We walked through some of the sights. The Mane Street is delightful."

"What do you think of the pegasus?"

"She looks closed, often has a sullen look. She seems to have been through something unpleasant and horrible recently. I wanted to cheer her up somehow."

"By pillow fighting?"

"Yes. It helped me once. Distraction."

"You really put her in a good mood, thanks to you. What do you think of the city? What do you think of the slaves and their enjoyment of their own position?"

"They've certainly been brainwashed with it. How can one be happy with being in chains and doing absolutely every whim?"

"If another is happy with something, why are you sure it's the wrong happiness? Yes, many consider slavery immoral, but we are all slaves in some definition: principles, rules, states, opinions. A slave is brought up in such a way that they see their life only in the service of their master and derive genuine joy from it. True, to be sure, they are also intimidated by freedom and responsibility. I acquired one slave mare because I needed a guide to the city—"

Bluerise looks at me like I just spit in her face.

"Relax. I already let her go: I found a place to teach her self-sufficiency."

"Self-sufficiency?"

"Slaves are raised in such a way that they can't make decisions. They are dependent on their masters. They're obsessed with wanting to be useful to their masters. And mine was worried, too, about the fact that I hardly asked her for anything."

"Why didn't?"

"Because I knew she would fulfill it without hesitation. That's how she was raised to do it. I just... can't ask anything of someone who has no right to refuse me."

"And yet, they're happy to serve. This place has the strangest slave industry I've ever encountered in my life."

"I agree. Everything in this life changes in one way or another: it either gets more complex or degrades. The slave industry in Vanhoover is ideologically advanced. Do you like this town, if you take the slave industry out of the picture?"

"It's... multicolored. I like that. It has everything. I became a trader, after all, because I want to hold all sorts of things and trinkets in my hooves. I want to see and feel the variety of things from the pre-war world... or modern things. And there's a lot of interesting things in Vanhoover."

***

The main Waterfall manor is not in Vanhoover, but north of Vanhoover, near the greenhouses and near the dam. In truth, though it's a day's walk away, there's a train stop not far from the manor. And the train I saw on my first visit to the Vanhoover neighborhood belongs to the Steelmane family—which was already clear at the Council.

The train consists of a traction unit and cars: one passenger and four freight cars. I hope Heaven Waterfall is in town now. Otherwise we'll have to go to the manor. It's not so critical, though, thanks to Bluerise's pre-war army truck.

We reach the big market. In front of the entrance is a semicircular, crescent-shaped sign with green neon lighting: 'Oasis of Vanhoover'. The parking lot nearby is almost stocked right now, because vehicles are not allowed inside the market. Many masters in the city come here for big purchases.

Nearby on one of the walls hangs a map of the market. It depicts several streets: one circular around the perimeter, with two others intersecting at right angles in the center, forming a cross within a circle. In addition to the marked streets, the stores, stalls, and establishments located within these three streets are also marked here: The Frozen Fruit, The Ice Beauty, The Warm Hearth, The Extinguished Candle, The Iceberg, The Prancing Pony, The Jolly Gunner, and so on, offering a variety of goods and services.

The streets of the market are teeming with masters and slaves, strutting about their business. The noise of falling crates, raucous arguments, serene laughter, beggars with whom Bluerise decides to share the caps. Life is booming.

Stores abound: weapons, clothing, armor, outfits, junk, clean water and expensive drinks, and, of course, all kinds of food grown in Waterfall's greenhouses. Food and water stores and stalls are the most plentiful here.

All this commotion, Bluerise looks at them curiously, as if she is marking something in her head. Apparently, she studies their behavior, attitudes, and interests. The unicorn focuses her attention on every little thing, every detail, every situation that happens at the market. She also passes each store, each stall, with a look full of slight admiration, delight and simple childish curiosity and interest. You can't find such variety anywhere else in the Wasteland. Even I can't resist it. The local signs of the establishments are literally full of all the colors and shades that can exist. Bluerise often looks at them too, so we have to make more than one stop. The longest is near the perfume and grooming stores.

I can understand her. The Wasteland isn't usually about beauty, but this place has everything you need for this.

It takes less than ten minutes to get to the center of the market, but the overexcited unicorn makes the walk several times longer. I even have to pull the mare, who is drawn to visit and examine every store in the market, to touch and look at every thing for sale.

But here is the center—where the building we need is located. The only one that does not provide any services. The building, judging by its appearance and signage, is the main office of this market. It also serves as a kind of headquarters where the key activities of the Waterfall family in the city are coordinated. The office itself is a five-story structure of a pale green hue, devoid of any excesses, like statues, expensive ornaments, and artificial or real plants.

In the center of the market is an elegant fountain, and in the middle of it is a statue of a very large elongated fish, which stands on its back double fin. From the head... the top... of the fish spews upward in jets of water, flying around, falling into the pool.

Bluerise stands in front of this fountain and stares spellbound at the huge statue. The shape of the fish is clearly not the usual pre-war fish. It's some kind of special species. I can't remember what the mammalian species was called. Something with a 'D' in it—they were still considered intelligent water creatures. Their performances before the war, people highly admired them, and the name is also interestin- Right! Dolphins. Brisa liked them too: she had read a lot about them and watched a lot of illustrations and pre-war holomovies.

There's nothing you can't find in this Vanhoover.

"What a delightful place this is," the sky-colored unicorn mutters. She walks closer to the fountain, leans against the concrete fence, leans over, and dips her hoof into the water, wiggling it a little. I walk over to her and lean in beside her. "There's no problem with water here at all. It's even a little frustrating that it's being wasted like this." She pulls out her wet hoof, drops dripping down it, which she begins to look at thoughtfully.

Wet hoof. Wet Lemon, using her hoof to-

I shake my head. Bluerise puts her hoof down and continues to make circles on the water.

"The town is really beautiful, especially this market, where you can find anything. And the ponies here are quite tolerable: they behave normally and not as arrogant as in Tenpony Tower. The slaves are not treated as cruelly as I thought they would be: it depends on the master." She sighs heavily and looks me in the eye. "I'm... still afraid."

"I think you'll do fine," I smile, putting my hoof on her shoulder. "And remember, I'm always here for you."

The purple unicorn smiles. It's as if she remembers something and with magic pulls a pre-war gold coin out of her pocket, placing it on her hoof.

"What are you going to do?" I ask with incomprehension, removing my hoof.

"Magic," she answers simply, closes her eyes for a few moments, and from her hoof throws the coin into the fountain. It arcs through the air and falls into the water. With a gurgle, it sinks to the very bottom.

"Strange magic," I comment, glancing at the coin under the water. I see out of the corner of my eye: the foals nearby are already waiting for us to leave to retrieve it. It reaches me that this is how the unicorn made a wish. "And you believe that?"

"No... But sometimes I want to. Just for fun."

"And what did you wish for?"

"I won't tell. Otherwise it won't come true," she answers sternly and walks toward Waterfall Headquarters. I follow.

"Come on. You said you didn't believe it."

"This is the one time I believed, so I'm going to follow all the rules," she tucks her chin in and closes her eyes.

I just roll my eyes and shake my head slightly. Behind me I hear a splash: the foals are climbing into the fountain to get the coin. The average pre-war gold coin is now valued at a few caps, but they are much heavier, inconvenient to carry around.

We find ourselves in a five-story building. We approach the receptionist.

"To what do I owe the honor?" asks the earth pony, dressed in a beige dress and seated behind a wide crescent-shaped desk that is not much different. Office papers and a typical terminal. There are several waiting and annoyed ponies in the lobby.

"I need to meet with Heaven Waterfall."

Someone in the lobby laughs slightly upon hearing this.

"You're not kidding?" the pony in front of me looks at me with surprised eyes. It looks like there's a series of procedures to go through or a very long wait for my turn.

"Do I look like I came here to order muffins? I'm here to see the head of the Waterfall family on business. She gave me an important job, and I completed it. I've come to report back."

"Even so, you have to wait your turn. You're not the only ones who want to meet Heaven Waterfall on important business," the pony points her hoof at the visitors sitting in the lobby.

"I see," I glance around again at those seated, then turn to the receptionist and smile softly. "How about a mutual exchange of favors?" I wink at her.

"No way," she replies tiredly and monotonously. Cursing, it doesn't work. "You're not the first to try to play with your eyes. Wait your turn."

Bluerise leans toward my ear.

"What, are you losing your charm?" she whispers to me with an affectionate sneer.

"You don't seem to understa-" I begin, looking the receptionist in the eye.

"No, I don't," she interrupts me with ease. Bluerise giggles, covering herself with her hoof.

"I went to the very epicenter of a pretty hot place called the Crater," I explain. The receptionist's eyes go wide. "I dealt with the head raider there, so I thought I'd tell Heaven Waterfall about it, just as she wished.

"Oh... So it was you I was informed of! I'll be right back," she mutters hastily. The rest of the audience is indignant when they see her leave.

"What in the world are you doing?" some stallion behind me yells out. "Out of line?"

"I'm always out of line," I reply without turning around.

"Yeah?" the pony replies sarcastically. "Are you nuts?"

"You must not have heard," I turn slowly to the most indignant pony I've ever heard shouting at me. It's an earth pony in a formal outfit. "I've been in the middle of the Crater!"

"Lies and bullshit!" he utters sharply. "No one but the raiders ever came back alive from there."

"Yeah, yeah..." I reply, turning back to the table. A few minutes later, the panting receptionist returns.

"You can go to Heaven Waterfall right now," she says. Anger and irritation are heard from various corners of the lobby, and a variety of profanities are shouted. I can understand them.

"The fuck?"

"He's lying!"

"Fuck you all in the holes!"

"Go fuck yourself!"

"Why the fuck did they let him—"

"Shut the fuck up!" the receptionist says loudly and sharply, causing me to flinch in surprise. Immediately everyone is quiet. "Orders from above."

Bluerise and I leave the lobby in silence and make our way to the top floor. No doubt that's where the office of the respected Mother of the Waterfall Family is located. I knock on the wooden doors, painted dark green. Waiting for permission to enter, I open the doors and enter the office, asking Bluerise not to come in yet. She nods without delay, but I can tell she's already nervous.

There's no one in the office except Heaven Waterfall, sitting quietly and minding her own business. Alone. Is she really that careless about her safety? Practically anyone could walk in here, pull out a gun, and kill the head of the family. Or maybe there's a catch.

Heaven sits in a dark green chair behind a wide wooden desk, sorting through some papers with bills.

As soon as I enter the office, she slowly looks at me with the expectant curiosity of her employer. Apparently, she wants to see how my walk in the Crater has affected me. After looking me over carefully and finding nothing to note, she points with her left hoof at the light green sofa in front of her desk.

"Hello, Daniel. Sit down," the sky-colored earth pony with a striped mane of black and white says .

She is dressed in a strict black suit with a white shirt. The office itself doesn't look particularly elegant or sophisticated. A couple of fairly good wood dressers, some plain clean filing cabinets and other pieces of furniture that harmonize with the colors of this office. No paintings or engraved vases, just a couple of ordinary pots with plants, whether live or artificial, I don't know. Beyond that is a work terminal on the desk.

"They're real," she says, noticing my gaze settling on the plant vases.

"I send my regards to you, too," I smile as I glance at the head of the family. Heaven herself had told me she didn't like to be too formal, but she wouldn't tolerate insolence, either.

There is a faint smile on her lips for a few seconds.

I don't hesitate to sit down on the sofa and lean imposingly on its back, folding my hind legs over each other and placing my front leg comfortably along the back of the sofa. She hums.

"Well, I have a right for this, considering where I've been at your request," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

"I ask you to note that you offered your own services, and as for your work... Let's wait for Flint Gray and then we'll talk."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," she replies and looks at me expectantly, lifting her eyes from the office papers.

"Sitting alone in an unprotected office," I glance around the office with a disapproving look, "is bad for your health."

"Thinking about it is bad for your health, dear," she smirks. In other words, be a goody-goody and don't get up to any trouble.

"But still: suppose someone is going to kill you in a meeting..."

"Do you really think the head of the family can't defend themselves?" Heaven asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Suppose so."

"You clearly don't understand what the head of the family is supposed to be able to do besides the standard ability to whip their tongue and chop with it like a deadly axe," the earth pony sighs frustratedly, as if explaining to a foal. "Important figures have always been and will always be attacked. So there's always a safety feature," she raises her leg with a PipBuck. "You have this device, too. And you know it scans your biometrics. If I get killed, the PipBuck will alert everyone. You saw at the Council that every head had a PipBuck. It's not just a bling for beauty, but also for protection. The heads of the families make the most of its capabilities. In the event of my death, not only will the device alert everyone, but it will also indicate the exact location of the murder. Many important family members have a PipBuck, so they'll be coming for your ass. And you'll definitely be having a lot of fun."

"Okay, I agree. But that doesn't negate your death."

"You can't protect yourself from everything. Besides, there's the E.F.S., which rates the probability of... reckless aggressive action," she says. After a moment, her advisor appears.

"I'm sorry for being late," he says in an apologetic tone. "Had some business to attend to."

"I know what kind," the Mother of the family smiles understandingly. 'business'," the Mother of the household smiles understandingly. "Our friend has completed his assignment," she tells the counselor, then looks at me in confirmation, as if not believing it. "I hope so."

"You could say that," I say lightly. Flint stands beside his boss, casts me an appraising glance, then a grimace of suspicion and doubt flares across his face.

"Tell me," Heaven begins, "what's your progress on the job?"

"The leader of the raiders who orchestrated the attacks has been killed."

The head and counselor of the family are amazed at this turn of events. It's nice to see such expressions on the faces of famous and influential ponies. Still, it's hard to melt their cold and haughty looks.

"Yes," I continue, "the Crater raiders had a leader, Violet Ardor. She planned to confront the raiders and the Vanhoover masters in a bloody battle. Yet the attacks on your family were part of some arrangement with an unknown pony. His identity remained a mystery because of the mask on his face."

I tell them about Red Spark: that this city is divided in two by a bridge, which is the only exit for the raiders of the eastern part of the city, and how I destroyed the bridge and that I did not act alone in the ruins. I don't tell them exactly what kind of partners I had or Violet Ardor's origins. I also tell them about the agreement with the masked stranger and my thoughts on the matter.

"You made the right decision about the bridge. The fewer raiders, the better for business. And that mysterious pony with the strange mask who supplied three cases each. Silent Ghost, along with the robots that deliver rare and expensive drugs, clothes and interior trinkets, tools and some technology. The Meadows, the Softhooves and the Steelmanes..."

"Any idea who benefits from weakening your family?"

The blue-colored earth pony looks at me like I'm a fool.

"It benefits everyone, but you've given us a break while they find another option. It's quite possible it's a conspiracy of several families. Not necessarily just one."

And she's right... I hadn't thought of that.

"The Softhooves, the Meadows, and the Steelmanes? What about the Falcons? Could they set up the other families?"

"I hate them with all my soul for their pompousness and arrogance, but that's obviously not their style. They want their deeds and exploits to be known. These chickens are too proud."

"Who's Silent Ghost?"

"That pony in the mask. He's a... local legend. He originally came along with the Meadows family, but then apparently he started working for everyone. He's an assassin."

"Came with the Meadows family? How old is he..."

"More than Prince. I'm inclined to assume it's a ghoul, so he's hiding under a mask. Ghouls are forbidden to enter the city."

"What makes him so special?"

"Well..." the earth pony smiles as if I asked if ponies breathe. "He's fucking elusive. Prince couldn't catch him. Kings couldn't catch him. He's probably long gone—just like DJ Oscar. Several personalities share the same image. The first Silent Ghost is already dead, and now his image is being used by everyone who wants it. For intimidation."

"If he worked for the Meadows, does that mean they're behind all this?"

"Maybe. Silent Ghost works for everybody now. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"He eliminates targets whose deaths were beneficial to one family or another. Even us."

"What if some of your blood relatives or Captains used his services?"

"I don't deny it, but I forbid anyone to do business with him. And even after that, the murders in our favor continued. He obviously wants to cover his tracks. I'm more than sure he only works for the Meadows, but to deflect suspicion he pretends to work for everyone."

"It's just a hypothesis," I note.

"Yes. But I told you that Silent Ghost originally worked for the Meadows. Even if he's dead, the family must still be using his... reputation."

"Heaven," the gray earth pony named Flint says . "I'm still inclined to assume it's the Meadows who are behind the agreement with the raiders."

"What makes you think so?" she turns to him.

"I've been researching Silent Ghost's backstory. Working for the other families involved elimination and nothing more. Here, however, Silent Ghost is something of a middlepony between the parties. Or maybe he's just the only one, not counting Prince, who could track down the leader of the Crater raiders and survive without a problem. But also... the Meadows and we have an arrangement," Flint turns to me. "You know it's hard to grow fruit and vegetables in a harsh climate, and in large quantities, too. That's why we made an arrangement with them a long time ago—they give us the chemicals that make crops grow faster, and we give them the plants with which they create their drugs and medicine."

"Then why destroy the supplies they also need?"

"Hmmm... The arrangement was that, whatever the financial situation of the parties, they should give their goods at a set price. In other words, if we raise the prices of our goods, the prices in the arrangement are not affected in any way. Even if we break the arrangement, the Meadows are left in a better position."

"In what way?"

"Food, water, and electricity," the earth pony says, looking out the window to her left, "are more needed in the city than the cold medicine or the drugs you 'fly off' to other planets. Without the drugs we can't grow enough food, there will be a shortage," she returns her gaze to me. "And everything will be blamed on us, as we will find ourselves unable to do our job to the extent necessary. Failed to handle the responsibility. A riot or other confusion will break out, and all my blood relatives, including me, will simply be killed, and our business will be transferred or divided among the families who can handle it. The Meadows, for example, could take everything. They won't have a significant shortage of medicine, since they get some of the raw materials they need from The Island and other parts of the Vanhoover Wasteland. Anyway, the Meadows are my prime suspects. But that's my concern. You've done practically a feat enough as it is. Anything else for me?"

"Oh, right! Maps and lists of many raiders," I raise the PipBuck. "I copied all the information the leader had onto a separate PipBuck. There was too much information, so it didn't fit in mine."

"Maps and a list of raiders?" the Mother of the family is surprised and looks extremely interested. Her gaze softens. "This is wonderful news. It will be possible to track down our long-time traitors or culprits who have escaped punishment."

"...whom you yourself have forced to flee."

"What can you do?" the sky-colored earth pony shrugs. "That's life. You can't keep track of everyone. The fate and well-being of the entire family and more important than the life of one. If we're too soft on the guilty, we're more likely to be robbed or fooled in the belief that they'll be spared. I will not allow anyone to coddle me and my family... And be treated as second-rate! Some are really better kept as slaves, or they'll make a mess of things and become raiders sooner or later. What are you worried about them for?"

"Just wondering your opinion on this. Will you try to catch the raiders?"

"Depends on the circumstances. There are plenty of ways to work off your debt and help the community thrive in Vanhoover. If you don't know how to be responsible for your own body, let others do it for you. I'm in solidarity with Prince on this point."

"Knowing how to take responsibility for your body? What meaning do you put here?"

"Not spoiling the lives of others."

"And don't you spoil the lives of others? You yourself have confirmed that..."

"I know what I said. Don't take me for a fool. I made it clear that I care more about the fate of my whole family than the fate of one. I know how to prioritize, I have to think and be responsible for the whole fucking family. The system is flawed. Of course it is. But don't you have any better options, given the current situation? Tell me in detail your suggestions and your solution steps. I'd love to hear it." She crosses her front hooves on the table in front of her, tilting her head with feigned curiosity. She already knows my answer.

"No," I say guiltily, though I didn't need an answer.

"Expected. Don't think I'm blind and don't understand anything. I'm not in charge of the family for pretty eyes." There is a hovering silence. I have nothing to say to her. She understands that change is needed, but she needs details and a clear plan. "That's it, or do you have any more questions for me? If not, go ahead and load the information into this terminal." She points with her hoof to a nearby table with the terminal. I get up and silently walk over to it.

"There's a trader here," I begin, uploading only maps and information about the raiders, "who came here from the East Coast of Equestria. Her caravan was attacked by raiders, and she's the only one who survived. I can tell you that she's an excellent barterer, but she never learned how to roam the Wasteland, so I'd like to place her in the city. She'll do you a lot of good economically. Just let her get settled in."

"Well, bring her to me, and then we'll see."

A few minutes later, I return to the office with Bluerise; she's clearly anxious to come in after me, but skillfully hides it. She's probably already heard about the reputation of the heads of families and so not only is she worried, but she's trembling slightly with fear. She didn't hear any of our conversation because of the soundproofing. Before she was in the office, I gave her a friendly hug and a few words of encouragement that made her feel a little more confident.

As we enter the office, Bluerise and I take a seat on the couch, but before we do, the merchant greets the head of the family and her counselor.

"What's your name?" the head of the family asks quietly.

"Bluerise, madam," the merchant replies courteously.

"My name is Heaven Waterfall. I think you know what I do. And this," she points to the gray earth pony without looking, "is Flint Gray, my Counselor. And don't be so formal, I don't like to be addressed as 'madam' very often, especially by those with whom I'll be working and dealing frequently. Just call me Heaven."

"Okay," Bluerise nods hesitantly. "Heaven, I want to open my own business in town."

"Wow," the blue mare exclaims, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "That's not going to be easy. Opening your own business costs a considerable amount of caps."

"How much?" I ask.

"Well... First you have to prepare the space, the property rights papers, the document for the right to provide a certain type of service, hire security... A lot of bureaucratic work to do, if she starts from scratch—in addition, she is only just appeared in the city. And all the paperwork is handled by the Real Estate Department," Heaven looks at Bluerise understandingly. I didn't choose the Waterfalls for nothing, after all. She understands the advantages and disadvantages. I'm glad she's at least trying to find the best solution for a stranger. "You're going to be part of our big family. Many interactions within and outside the family we take on. You sell what we allow, you buy what we allow. You are the bed in the big vegetable garden. You only have to provide for the growth of the plants."

"Can I make any decisions?"

"You can suggest solutions to optimize the process, but the final decision is up to the family. If you are effective, you can become a Captain in the future. Show your capabilities, and depending on them, we'll consider you for other areas if a position becomes available.

"And what status will I have now if I accept?"

"A Soldier status. Part of the pure profits will go to you, part to us. Do you understand your decision?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Your experience in trading and doing business outside of the Vanhoover Wasteland will probably benefit us and new ideas, and that's a sure advancement in your career. The prospect of running not just one store, but an entire chain."

"I," Bluerise begins, anticipating the cost of this venture, "just hope I have at least enough to open my own store here..."

"The whole thing will take..." Heaven says and thinks, lifting her eyes to the ceiling and calculating something in her mind, "...thirty thousand caps."

Holy shit! It takes that much just to open a store?! Although if I recall how much I invested in opening an orphanage in New Vegas, which was ten thousand caps, it makes sense... The orphanage. Unfortunately, the caretaker of the place, Esther, turned out to be a common slave trafficker. Using my caps, she attempted to capture children and sell them into slavery in this sophisticated way. I had to promise her that I would let her go if she told me where she had sent the last group of children. I didn't plan to let her go. The only time I deliberately broke my promise was when I did.

Another notable material contribution to charity was the creation of a clinic for the rehabilitation of the Fiends. Unfortunately, some of the Fiends could not be accepted back into society, they were killed—almost before my eyes.

I was just throwing caps around for different causes back then. I wish I had the same colossal amount of resources here that I had in Mojave. Unless I should get twenty-five thousand caps for the work I did at the Crater.

"But..." Bluerise's sad grows, and she's lowering her head with a heavy sigh. "I don't have that much."

"How much do you have?" Heaven asks.

"Almost three thousand caps... Even with selling everything I have except the truck, I can only get about seven thousand..."

There goes the quality renovation of Heavenly Harbor and the luxury furniture and appliances. I'll have to put it off. Twenty thousand caps... It's a good thing there's at least five thousand caps left over for my work. Really, I'm used to throwing caps around. The more caps I have, the more I feel like being generous.

"Then I'm sorry. Without that necessary amount of..."

"I got twenty-five thousand caps for the job, didn't I?" I politely interrupt Heaven. She, though surprised by my impertinence, nods. "Well, let Bluerise get twenty thousand caps out of that. Then we'll settle up with her somehow," I look at Bluerise with a friendly smile. She opens her mouth like she's about to start choking, looking at me with big surprised purple eyes. Flint admires the expression with a faint smile.

"Noble of you," Heaven says, looking in my direction with a smile on her face. "I didn't expect that from a mercenary. I'll be honest, you surprised me. No wonder why you were interested in the fate of the raiders."

"What not? She's my friend, and a friend needs help," I smile at her. Bluerise changes her astonished gaze from me to Heaven and back again. She can't believe this is happening to her.

"It can be arranged. So be it, most of that money will go into her personal bank account. The procedure for opening a personal safe deposit box is not free, just so you know."

"A bank?" I ask.

Flint answers for her, "Each family has its own bank. There are only six banks in the city, five of them owned by the families, and the sixth is independent. General Vanhoover Bank. It holds the personal accounts of the masters, who mostly don't belong to any of the families, makes loans; it also sets the value of the caps depending on the circumstances that arise, be it inflation and so on. Well, and because there are businesses that are not part of a Family."

"Is it safer to keep your caps in a bank depository than in your house in a safe?" I ask.

"Yes. All wealthy masters have personal accounts. Family members and corporations need to keep their capital, too. Large amounts of caps are most convenient to transfer through the bank from account to account, rather than carrying huge sacks of them themselves. Besides, in case you haven't noticed, it's almost always the use of an amount over a thousand caps by means of bank transactions—checks, promissory notes, and the like."

"I agree. It's a lot more convenient than carrying bags of thirty thousand caps," I chuckle briefly.

"By the way, we can open an account for you at our bank, too. It's free," the boss mutters.

Oh, that's just what I need. It will make it easier for me to pay for expensive items or services, to receive payment for completed tasks. At the same time, I'll put most of the caps I have on my account.

"That would be nice. Would it be possible to transfer from other banks to my account at your bank?"

"Of course," Flint says. "With fees."

"Then I guess you'll tell all the intricacies of doing business in Vanhoover to my friend," I say, nodding toward the purple unicorn.

"Depends on how well she takes our laws," Heaven replies, then looks closely at the still-surprised Bluerise. "I hope for a long and mutual cooperation," she adds, relaxing a little.

"Yes..." the pony with the light pink mane, who can barely understand that twenty thousand caps just have fallen from heaven, utters a faint whisper.

"Fine. Let's get down to business."

"Can we go outside so I can talk to Daniel alone?" Bluerise timidly asks.

"No problem," Heaven hoofs it up, covering her eyes for a moment and turning slightly away, thus showing that she doesn't mind, and then starts looking through some papers in her desk, occasionally turning to her advisor.

I walk out of the office with Bluerise, and she is the first to speak to me.

"Why did you do it?" she asks softly, looking appreciatively into my eyes.

"I told you you were my friend, and I want to help you," I smile.

"But... twenty thousand..." she whispers, as if she can't believe her own words. "That's a lot of money."

"Hey, I asked you for it. You wanted a peaceful place, and it's not likely to be peaceful here. And I told you I wasn't going to leave you alone in this town without support."

Suddenly her lips touch mine, her eyes closed. Her lips taste like ripe blueberries. They are as soft as velvet and as delicate as blueberry ice cream. Her kiss is slightly filled with more than just friendly gratitude. How wonderful and sweet it is. A pleasant wave of warmth and weakness runs through my body.

"Come," she says, as if the pleasant kiss never happened.

We go back to the study. I say goodbye to Bluerise, and then we go with Flint to the Waterfall Bank, which is relatively close to 'Oasis of Vanhoover', to open an account of my own. The procedure turns out to be pretty straightforward. I have to get a few signatures to open an account and sign a contract with the bank, and then I get my own savings and checkbook. Before that, we stopped by another place on the way, where I got my own... passport, without which it could not be done to open an account. Flint was kind enough to do me a favor by speeding up the process of getting it. The whole thing reminds me of the New California Republic and their love of bureaucracy.

On my way out of the bank, I look again with interest at my passport photo with all the necessary stamps of my place of registration. Daniel Evans. The date of birth is also listed there. According to the local calendar and timeline, it's the 12th of the Month of Linden 1325 since Celestia and Luna began to rule, or 172 years since the fall of the megaspells. The year 1352 is now going on. I am twenty-seven years old, and I have chosen a date of birth closer to the Earth calendar.

In a little more than a month it will be exactly two hundred years since the megaspells fell—the 15th of the Month of Rain.

"Is something wrong?" Flint asks, standing up beside me. "I thought you checked, and everything was fine..."

"No. It's just... It's just... unusual."

"I know, I know... After a while you get tired of having your own face on your passport."

"Why?"

"It'll seem like you're not good in the picture. Listen," he mutters, looking at the sunset. "Come to the restaurant with me. My treat."

"Why so generous?"

"You fucking survived Red Spark by sneaking into the heart of it and coming back. Naturally, I want to be on good terms with a pony like that."

"Thank you, of course, but I wasn't alone."

"All the more so. Was able to get the team together and get it through the fire in one piece. Let's go! You're not a mare, why are you resisting?"

I am really hungry, though... After what happened to Lemon, I should be more careful about accepting such offers. Especially from a stallion this handsome.

"Okay, let's go."

***

Flint lets me order whatever I want. Naturally, we dine at the restaurant that belongs to the Waterfall family.

"So... what is this Oasis of Vanhoover?" I ask, sitting at the table. Flint sits on the opposite side, sipping his family's wine. I refuse to drink. For obvious reasons.

"The area is for merchants from different families and just independent entrepreneurs. The more merchants there are, the more the owners begin to visit the place more and more often, increasing the interest of other merchants."

"Families don't provide space there for free?"

"Of course. We take fifteen percent of the profits from independent merchants and thirty percent from other families."

"Your family has a fairly substantial influx of caps from this rent?"

"Yup."

"About the banking system... There isn't such a huge amount of caps, unless they're stamped. What's kept in the bank?"

"You're perceptive... Yes. Almost all of the caps represent not the caps themselves, but various things of value that are converted into the numerical equivalent of the caps. Often these are gold bars, jewels, gems, jewelry, all sorts of magical items, and so on."

"How does the convert to caps work?"

"Each bank has its own rates. There's a few percent difference, but the principle is the same. You give the bank, let's say, an emerald. The bank values it at one thousand three hundred and thirty-seven caps. That amount appears in your account accordingly."

"So I don't have the physical embodiment of that number of caps?"

"You can have them, but they won't let you take off more than one thousand caps... Oh, hello again!" Flint waves his gray front leg. His purple eyes look somewhere behind me. I turn around and see a pale red mare with a white mane and saddlebags approaching our table.

She's a pegasus.

And she sits down with my companion as if she knew him. And not as a friend, but... something more.

"I didn't think we'd meet again today," she says with a happy smile. "And who is this gentelcolt?"

"Our family hero."

"Really?" she looks at me curiously. "So cute and innocent. And you wouldn't say he's... anything threatening."

"Appearances are deceptive," I say.

"I know. I'm not judging a book by its cover. I'm just talking about first impressions. By the way, my name is Crimson Sky, what's yours?"

"Daniel Evans."

"What an interesting name... clearly not an Equestrian name. Did you take it from some mythology? Or another race? Zebras? Although zebras have different specifics."

"I don't know. Honestly. That's what my parents called me."

"Eh... I'm curious about that kind of thing. All right. So what was the heroic thing you did?"

"He survived Red Spark and solved our raider problem... that I told you about."

"Wow..." Crimson Sky exclaims enthusiastically, looking at me. "Unbelievable. There are a lot of books in this town. Have you come across any?"

"Because of the raiders, there's hardly any of those left," I shrug. Flint smiles indulgently and shakes his head, looking at the pale red pegasus.

"It took you a few seconds to think about books out of the blue," he adds. "I think that's a record."

"Well, duh... It's Red Spark. There were a lot of secrets there before the war, interesting books. So much history."

"The VPI library should be enough."

"Yes, but it hasn't fully survived. A lot of books were lost because of the mess, and Red Spark may have had copies that our library lost."

"The VPI library?"

"The Vanhoover Polytechnic Institute library," Crimson Sky explains. "Which rock are you from, don't you know about it?"

"I'm new to Vanhoover."

"Oh, and how do you like the town? Do you like it?"

"Pretty much. It's like nothing I've ever seen before."

"It has a rich history, too!" she taps her hooves against each other happily.

"Oh... shit, here we go again," Flint groans tiredly. "Just don't ask her a question about the town's history. Please."

"I can see you're quite fond of history."

Flint lowers his head dolefully and utters, "Fuck me..."

"Yes!" the pegasus says, ignoring his reaction. "I love finding out what came before me and why what's happening now is happening. I'm writing my full-fledged book! A brief history of Vanhoover! Gathering all the material I need."

"Why?"

"I want to leave my mark on history," she smiles.

She seems to feel happy when she discusses the subject.

"You spend a lot of time in the VPI library. What's it like now?"

"In more than a hundred and fifty years it has been restored to some extent, even in appearance. Used for its intended purpose by the students of the institute."

"Your institute is quite working? And more than a hundred and fifty years old?"

"The institute began its restoration even before the Vermilion Rose, now known as the Queen of Vanhoover, appeared from Stable 68."

"What was Vanhoover like before the Queen? How did the institute exist?"

"As you may know, Vanhoover was far from the front, and there was no direct hit. However, the inhabitants simply went crazy over the difficulty of surviving and the deaths of loved ones from megaspells. Some banded together and tried to form some kind of organization or a disciplined group when things more or less subsided, but it all ended in failure sooner or later. There were only sporadic instances of individual civilized groups like our institute and its staff; everyone else was more or less screwed up in the pursuit of survival and degraded. The staff of the institute worked closely with the Queen, and through this a full-fledged operation was established. Slavery soon appeared, many scientists did not and still do not approve of this approach, but they saw no other way in those conditions, so they continued to work with her."

"What is the institute's contribution to the city?"

Crimson smiles smugly.

"Colossal. The institute has been and still is accumulating knowledge. It's also recycling technology—thanks largely to magic, looking for alternatives in the production of the essentials. Stocks of pre-war medicine, food, and the rest have long since been drained in Vanhoover, as in many places. In other words, thanks to some surviving knowledge, we are fortunate not to have to go through development history all over again. All that remains is the question of mass production. So now it's more about intelligence than physical labor. Machines and robots can do it. The problem is that there are too few of them, largely because of the scarcity of gems, the source of energy."

"By the way, are you solving this issue?"

"Of course. For a long time now. Lots of good alternatives, but they're not suitable for mass use. There's little prospect of development due to lack of knowledge and technology."

"Is there full education?"

"Yes, there are schools that teach basic skills like reading and writing. Arithmetic and stuff like that. But it's the institute that has full-fledged courses in engineering, chemistry, biology, and programming. The institute has labs and workshops. So it is provided with everything. True, the training is not cheap. But access to the library is free."

"That's generous of you."

"If anyone doesn't have the means but has a passion for learning, you're welcome."

"Maybe," Flint says in a tired voice, as if he's under some kind of torture, "enough already..."

"He's the hero of your family. He should know. I have an obligation to inform him."

"Oh... about the families. What can you tell me about them?"

"I'm writing a whole book for that. Can you be specific about your request?"

"Do families invest in development projects?"

"Sure. Really, they're opening their own labs now. Like the aunt of your Heaven Waterfall, right?" she asks, turning to Flint, who is jabbing away at his desk with boredom. "Sunny Waterfall."

"Uh-huh... Doing research on the rough vegetation on The Island."

"Knowledge should be shared, but you take it over like the Steel Rangers take over technology. Shame on all of you..."

"I had nothing to do with it. I'm just the Counselor."

"What are you to the head of the family besides that?" I ask.

"A childhood friend. Usually counselors are chosen from close quarters who are not related by blood ties, so I have to remain open-minded. To understand different areas, to get all kinds of information needed at the moment, and quickly bring it to the head of the family so that she makes the right decisions."

"Is that why you know so well about Silent Ghost?"

"Oh, you've discussed Silent Ghost?"

"Yes..." Flint starts uncertainly. Apparently, he himself doesn't know whether to tell the others that the Waterfall family is known to be Silent Ghost behind the organization of the raider attacks. "You could say that... Unfortunately, I can't tell you about it yet. And you'd better keep your thoughts to yourself about it."

"All right. Will you order me some food, please... I'm actually here for dinner."

"Order whatever you want."

"You know what I like," she smiles, looking at Flint.

"Oh... Okay."

A collared waitress walks up to us. Flint voices her order, which she takes where she needs to go.

"Anything else you want to know about the families?" the pegasus asks. There is a thud: Flint, doomed to anguish and suffering, rests his face on the table. "I still have an order to wait, anyway."

"I want to know about the origins of the families. Where did they come from?"

"That's easy. I could give you a whole dissertation on each family. When my book comes out, you can read everything in detail, but you only need a summary, right?"

I nod.

"Which family should I start with?"

"Let's start with the Waterfalls."

"Farmers, practiced their agricultural craft far beyond the city limits. They were farmers, united by the rather convincing and charismatic Waterfall family, who were able to survive, not get confused, and protect their estates from marauders during the general chaos. They skillfully distributed the efforts of all the workers to achieve greater efficiency, never stopped there, and tried to expand and multiply their farming capabilities. As time went on, they had no more problems with food. They had enough of everything, even in excess. One day the Queen made them an offer they couldn't refuse: cheap labor and technology with which to grow many times more food, in exchange for their ability to grow food in large quantities for the city's needs, and better protection from raiders and rabble."

"Then the family took up other areas?"

"You mean the dam and the water?"

"After the Last Family War, when the two families that dealt with those areas killed each other."

"Yes... The dam was badly damaged that the other families didn't want to take it on because they had their own troubles at the time. The Waterfalls got it all fixed up, spending a lot of caps and resources. It wasn't until recently that it finally paid off."

"Also," the gray earth pony inserts, still tucked in the desk, "we don't like slackers. I hope your Bluerise isn't one of them."

"Don't worry. What's up with the griffon family?"

"Founded back when the griffons fled their kingdom massively to the north about a hundred and seventy years ago. They managed to get an ammunition factory up and running, and then used it to start a mercenary business. In time, the Queen of Vanhoover made a deal with them—protection in exchange for slaves. At the time of the families' emergence, there were already three clans consisting mainly of griffons in the city. The Falcons intercepted the activity on Green Island—or The Island—for hides and meat. Over time, the griffon clans evolved into families. The Falcons had the most power and influence because they cooperated directly with the Queen, so they actually took over the other two griffon-led families with no problem, establishing a complete monopoly on weapons and ammunition production."

"What's your beef with them?" I ask Flint. He still doesn't raise his head.

"With those overgrown chickens?" he asks rhetorically. "For many reasons. Heaven hates them for their insolence and arrogance."

"And you?"

"For the same reasons. Never mind."

"Okay," I return my interest in Crimson Sky. "What can you tell me about the Steelmane family?"

Those who stole my Vertibuck and now use it to make me go to the Northern Soul. I hope Lemon and Motley came up with a plan.

"The dwellers of Stable 52. The experiment of that bunker was that the gardens there were half the size of the usual ones, which produced a food shortage. They had to get creative, modifying the technology they had at their disposal to obtain or grow more food. In the end, everything in that Stable depended on engineers—no lazybones there—who were able to modify technology under difficult conditions and then fix it when it broke or malfunctioned. As time passed, with the skills they had acquired, they were able to bypass the mechanism of the door, which would not open from the inside, and emerge into the Wasteland. They appeared in Vanhoover and accepted the Queen's offer to rebuild the city. They used their technical knowledge and modified technology to the benefit of the city, especially they found the Waterfall family's greenhouses to their advantage. Thanks to our VPI, they were able to switch easily and quickly to robotics and other fields of endeavor."

"What's up with Vanhoover's richest family, the Softhooves?"

"This family was founded as one of the first, when the trend toward this kind of association first started, and it's also the richest, most numerous and influential. The origins of this family lie in the dwellers of Stable 68, which is now the headquarters of Prince and his Kings. It is the only family in which the head cannot be a stallion."

"Why so?"

"Historically, mares have most often held leadership positions. You've heard about this Stable's experiment, haven't you?"

I nod.

Cherry Shine of Stable 53 told me that there the ratio of mares to stallions was in favor of the latter.

"That's why these mares are used to being in charge. It's more of a tradition. As far as I know, the head of the family and her counselor are okay with stallions, as are most of the mares in that family."

"What did they do originally?"

"First, sewing clothes. Then they swept up many casinos and almost all brothels, making them the richest, providing interior furnishings, furniture restoration services, and owning a pornography studio. Their influence is due not only to the huge number of caps, but also to the fact that they manage to deal with the activities directed against them. Quite often planned attempts on their lives are uncovered before they even happen."

"How's that?" I wonder. Flint decides to explain.

"Each family has its own eyes and ears. It's like spies. And the best ones are Prince and the Softhooves."

"Are you jealous?"

"Of course. Wouldn't you like to have a network of agents and spies who could effectively detect problems and expose attempts on your life?"

"What do you know about the Meadows?" I look at Crimson Sky.

"It was created by two twin mares. Long ago, during the Queen's reign, they came here by caravan. There were drug houses in Vanhoover before them, but they were the ones who managed to take over the rest of the drug places. As the family grew, they needed a unified leader. In the struggle to be the Mother of the family, they... simultaneously contracted each other's murders. Only the daughter of one of the twins was able to outsmart her cousins and become the head."

"And how did she outsmart her other cousins? Was it with the help of Silent Ghost?"

"The information is debatable, but the pony the masters associate with Silent Ghost came with them. As far as I'm concerned, it's just an image the Meadows family members use to intimidate other families. He is impossible to catch and no one knows what he looks like under the mask. I've heard so many versions of his origins, motives, and affiliations that I just don't believe he exists anymore. It can't be one pony hiding under a mask forever, always invisible and completely untraceable. It must be a group of ponies."

"Like DJ Oscar. Multiple ponies using the same image."

"Yeah. You're right. What are we talking about? Oh, yeah... First Meadows took over the whole drug market, then the medical services industry. After all, hospitals and doctors are dependent on medical drugs that only Meadows could produce in sufficient quantity. They hooked the residents of Vanhoover on the needle to make as much profit as possible—they don't care about the consequences. They're the only ones competing with the Softhooves in the pimping business, and the whole family in general."

Lieutenant Redstone was explaining the difference to me. With the Softhooves everything is gentle and smooth, but with the Meadows you can get into all sorts of kinky dealings with prostitutes. I suspect no one wants to work there voluntarily: they use slaves.

"Better not to be sick, eh?"

"You're right," Flint says. "Even during treatment, they'll get you on some kind of drug unnoticed. It's better not to get sick. Trust me."

"Surely you must have your own doctors?"

"Every family has them, but in severe cases only Meadows' specialists can help."

A waitress arrives with Crimson Sky's order. She happily taps her hooves and inhales deeply in anticipation the aroma of the food she has brought, rolling her eyes in pleasure.

"That's it... This conversation is making me very hungry," she declares. "Don't bother me."

"Finally," Flint raises his head. "Praise Celestia! I'm curious," he turns to me. "Why do you need to know the origins of the families? Ordinary mercenaries don't care."

I smile.

"I want to be a King. Suddenly Prince will give me an exam," I chuckle. Flint laughs, too.

"Oh," Crimson utters with a full mouth. She chews and swallows, turning to Flint, who is sitting close to her, almost snuggling. "How about your Haven recommending Daniel's candidacy for a King status? It's a rare occasion. So if it does happen, I'll be sure to write it into your family history. Stand out for your generosity and your respect for those who work for you."

"It's not up to me. The heads of families may recommend someone for a King status, but..."

I remember Ice Ground, the South Gate police captain, telling me that heads of families don't recommend anyone to a King who doesn't belong to their family. Those whom they trust are usually accepted into their ranks. However, in doing so, they lose the opportunity to become a King. Prince's prohibition to avoid privileges in favor of only one family.

"You are a Counselor. Besides, you say he's already a hero of your family."

"Yes... But... suddenly it turns out that the leader of the raiders wasn't the only one behind the organized attacks. And it's not over with them yet. Anyway, we'll see. But I hear you," he looks at me. "I'll tell Heaven about it."

"You don't worry," Crimson tells me, putting his front leg on Flint's gray shoulder. "I'll make sure he doesn't forget. For this is a historical event that I'm going to witness. This is so cool! A third recommendation for a King from the head of the Vanhoover family."

"Thank you," I nod gratefully. "Well... I'll be on my way. I won't bother you anymore."

Flint nods, and Crimson returns to his meal.

I'd like to believe I'm being recommended for a King. It'll be a big responsibility, but it'll be necessary to facilitate the search for Dome Project.

Shit! I completely forgot to ask Crimson Sky about Dome Project. Though I guess that would have been unnecessary in the presence of Flint, the Waterfall family counselor. They might be looking for the Dome themselves, so they would see me as a competitor.

Or they, like Ferris, like the Steel Rangers—at least Lemon—think it's a myth. If anything, I can find Crimson Sky and ask her about this pre-war facility. She studies history and should know at least something about it.

It's dark outside.

Now I've been sitting around... Back to Broken Radio Hotel.

***

"There you are!" Lemon exclaims cheerfully as I enter the thirty-second number of Broken Radio Hotel. "It's been a long walk. It's been more than half a day since you and Bluerise left. It's almost midnight. Have you had dinner at least?"

"Yes, I did. I made arrangements with the head of the Waterfall family about Bluerise, opened my personal bank account, and got paid to work at the Crater."

"It's all clear with you. You can't just take your friend to one place and get the caps. Not for the unicorn herself, don't get me wrong," Lemon raises his hooves in protest.

"I just found out about a certain working VPI. How do your Steel Rangers feel about it?"

"Positive. The only ones who are trustworthy. They know how to handle knowledge and technology. Too bad they'll be against joining us," she laughs. "But that's not going to happen anyway. We have no business being here."

"Did you visit the library and..."

"Of course. As far as I know, several of our brothers and sisters are studying books at the library and taking various courses."

"Who is sponsoring the studies?"

"The Steel Rangers, of course. Broken Radio Hotel is exactly what serves as a shelter for them while they're learning."

"I see. And how are you two doing? Did you go out?"

"Aye! We had fun and went out together. Visited a couple of places."

"What kind?" I ask.

"Now, that's between me and the sweet gentle pegasus..." she says, so stretched out in a smile that it ignites my aching curiosity times brighter. But I feel it will remain a secret to me.

"Fun is good, of course, but what about the plan to infiltrate the airfield?"

"I have a thought," the Star Paladin tilts her head sideways, "but you might not like it. It all depends on how you feel about animals."

"What do you mean?" I ask bewildered.

"Just that," Motley cut in, "we plan to use the brahmin as a distraction by blowing it up."

"Wha-a-a-at?" I stretch out in surprise.

"Yes, yes," Lemon calmly continues, "we'll stuff our brahmin with explosives and send him to the main airfield checkpoint. Naturally, he won't make it, but most of the tin cans with machine guns will show up for the explosion. In the meantime, we'll go around the other side of the airfield and go through the most exposed spot. I know it's a little cruel to do that to a brahmin, but the idea seems okay, what do you think?"

"Are you sure all the robots are going to head for the bait?"

"Have you forgotten what my cutie mark is?" she smiles.

No. I remember her perfectly. I've had enough of looking at her wet yellow buttock this morning with the image of a green screen with a binary code while I...

No distractions. Don't fantasize or I'll get hard again.

"I remember," I sigh, smiling tautly. She did it on purpose. Makes me remember. She's getting back at me. Doesn't want to share the burden of what she's done alone.

"So I know how the war robots will behave."

"I'll take your word for it. Although I'm not happy that we're using him as a kamikaze."

"Kami... who?" Lemon raises an eyebrow. I'd forgotten it was a foreign word from my world.

"Kamikaze—in the old language, it roughly meant a suicide killer who intentionally sacrifices his life in order to kill as many enemies as possible."

"Well, you could say that about you, too," Lemon smirks. "Dannikaze."

Motley covers his mouth with his hoof, hiding his chuckle.

"Okay," I agree with the plan, and don't pay much attention to the last phrase Lemon threw. "We'll use a brahmin suicide. Where do we actually get one?"

"Easy. Let's go to the local zoo and buy one. One brahmin costs about a thousand caps. And there's about a thousand caps worth of explosives to buy. I'll get it all. You got the caps for the job, didn't you?"

"Right, but..." I say, smiling weakly. I'd forgotten that Ferris was a valuable ally in the Crater, too. We should at least give him some of the caps. Helped out, after all. "I gave some of them to Bluerise so she could start her own business, for she was woefully short of them."

"Gave it to Bluerise. Generosity pours out of you like a fountain," the earth pony shook her head approvingly under some impression. "I know it's not easy and expensive to open a business in Vanhoover. Probably gave her a couple thousand?"

"Twenty... thousand."

"Give me some chewy carrots!" the lemon pony gasps stunnedly. "Twenty chunks?"

"Yeah," I nod and smile at Lemon's astonished face. Motley smiles a little and looks at me curiously, as if in her eyes I was starting to look a little different.

"Okay, I'm next in line if you ever think of generously splurging again," Lemon pronounces, and then looks at Motley. "Well, you're after me," she smiles. "Nothing personal, but I've known him longer."

And closer...

"So, remind me, where do you get me a brahmin from?"

"From the pus..." Lemon wants to make a joke, but cuts herself off. "From the local kennel. You can get a faithful friend there, too, if you want one. You can have a dog or a cat."

"Okay... "You can do it tomorrow."

"I will? By myself?"

"Yeah, why? I don't know where the kennel is. And I'm about to be recognized in town, so as a Steel Ranger agent, you'd better not show your face with me..."

"You're right. But I could tell you where the kennel is."

"It's good to walk," Motley inserts. "Especially for you."

"Hey!" she resents. Her chubby yellow cheeks flash red. "And you also called me friend today!"

The multi-colored-eyed pegasus covers her mouth with her beige wing and giggles.

"Feathered bitch," Lemon mutters. Motley tries not to smile, but can't. "I'm off to bed. That's it. You two hurt my feelings," she declares and walks away.

"What did I do?" the pegasus asks.

"You didn't stand up for me," she replies, pouting and closing the bedroom door.

"Looks like I'll have to sleep here," the pegasus says, sighing. "There's two of us and only one couch."

Are you kidding me? First Lemon, then Bluerise, and now Motley?

The pony giggles, covering her mouth with her wing, studying the reaction on my face.

Fuck. I fell for a cheap trick. What has Lemon already told her about me that she's teasing me like this?

"Relax. I'm going to bed with 'Berry'. I won't disturb you. Sweet dreams."

***

The 6th of the Month of Heather, Blueday. The forty-fourth day of my stay.

"Okey-dokey," Lemon choruses cheerfully, putting on her warm coat. "I'm off and you're having fun. Only this... Dannikaze... Please don't blow the room, or I'll get a bill as huge as your ego."

"Are you doubting my abilities?" I ask, sitting with the open book on teleportation that Bluerise gave me.

"I don't doubt it. I'm sure they'll let you down," Lemon smirks and quickly closes the door behind her.

"Hey! 'Berry'!" I shout out to the star paladin after realizing we've forgotten something.

"What?" opening the door, Lemon cautiously squeezes her yellow face into the room and looks at me expectantly.

"Did you forget the caps?"

"Oh. Right," she says, apologetically. I hand her a check for two thousand, and then she leaves the room.

"You," I turn to the pegasus, "need the caps? You've suffered a lot in the ruins of Red Spark, after all. I must do something to thank you for your help."

"Relax," the pegasus sighs and, laughing briefly, plops down on the couch, lying on her back and gesturing with her hooves. "Your caps don't compare to the pay I used to get at work when leading a small group. In fact, even if I did get caps from you, I don't have much to spend them on. I don't want to be rich, I'm satisfied with what I have now—ammo, provisions, and equipment. More importantly, charming company. Besides, I've already received a gift from you."

"What kind?"

"Armor."

"I just picked it up."

"It's enough for me that you thought of me."

"You're welcome. Didn't it bother you that I dragged you into one of the most dangerous and unfriendly places in the Wasteland?"

"In my former job, my scouting assignments were in no less dangerous places, though not on this scale," the pegasus replies, staring blankly at the old ceiling. "So I'm sort of used to being in difficult situations and getting into them because of orders from my superiors."

"And what were your assignments?"

"I'd say," Motley looks at me with her multi-colored eyes, then looks around the room suspiciously. "But you know the expression, 'The walls have ears,' don't you? Well, maybe next time."

I smile understandingly. Gee, I'd forgotten all about caution. No wonder Motley hasn't mentioned the word 'Enclave' once. Especially since it's a secret Steel Ranger place: no wonder the pegasus is being a bit cautious.

***

The 8th of the Month of Heather, Redday. The forty-sixth day of my stay.

The journey to The Northern Soul has taken two days. At about noon on the sixth we set out on our four for the journey. Motley took off at times and surveyed our surroundings.

We tried to avoid unnecessary encounters with local aggressive fauna in the form of yao guai, feral dogs and mutant badgers. I met big badgers for the first time—though through Whispering Night sighting. Huge badgers about the size of a pony: elongated body, tapering at the muzzle, with white and black stripes running along it. The half-ruffled fur is a shaggy grayish color. Huge, sharp fangs and claws complete the picture. Thanks to the advanced sensors in our armor and to Motley's wings, we did not encounter any serious fighting.

And so we see The Northern Soul on the morning of the eighth. At a distance of almost half a mile away we can see the barbed wire fence. Farther out, just beyond the airfield grounds, the high mountains stretch to the sky, covered with a cover of snow. This white and cold layer of snow stretches from the peaks to the base of the steep mountains.

The Northern Soul is at the base of the steep cliffs that cover its entire north side. To the south of the airfield stretches relatively flat and open terrain, while to the north looms tall, sharp, and steep rocky mountains covered with a centuries-old layer of snow. To the left in the distance are the ruins of Red Spark, which I visited about a week ago. It's scary to imagine what kind of radiation is now present between the airfield and this town, if we can already see from here a huge crater glowing from it, left by a megaspell.

Between us and the lattice fence of The Northern Soul we can clearly see the Sentinels and a lof of Mr. Gutsy guarding the perimeter, armed up to their condensers. At the fence itself there are small towers on which turrets proudly stand. The wind blows so hard and cold here now that my 'lucky' cloak is nearly carried away by the violent and audacious winds.

Thank the gods that the armor keeps me warm.

"Nice fresh breeze," I say cheerfully.

"What did you think?" Lemon says under her helmet. "That it would be hot and steamy in here, like power armor after a long run? You haven't been here in winter yet. That's when real snowy, refreshingly icy weather rules here."

"Remind me, 'Berry', which way is the main checkpoint."

"Northwest. Over there," Lemon comes closer to me and points with her hoof to what was thought to be the main gate and thus the checkpoint we need. The checkpoint consists of two small booths, and its gate is wide open, inviting in its appearance a trap.

"We have a weakness in the perimeter on the opposite side, right?" I ask.

"Yes. Most of the robots will start to move in toward the gate, where we'll set off the explosion. So only the turrets on the metal fence will remain. Once we destroy them, the perimeter guards will start coming back, so you have to move your legs quickly."

"And you're sure they're going to move in to the place where the alleged attack occurred?" I ask the paladin in a skeptical tone.

"Yes. It's happened more than once. Mistakes in the code, apparently, cause them to abandon their posts and rush the whole herd toward the enemy. Recall, the Steel Rangers have tried to infiltrate an airfield before, and then those buckets of nuts were headed for them with guns at the ready. I understand your concern, though. The plan is really risky."

"Exactly. It's going to be difficult. Do you still want to come with me?"

"Yes," Motley replies calmly and without hesitation.

"Miss out on all the fun, plus this military airfield that might be of technical value? No way!"

"Well, it's your funeral. Motley, you can get our kamikaze brahmin ready to march and wait for my command until we get to the east side of the perimeter and then fly to us on the safe side in no time, right? I just can't make it, and we can't wait for 'Berry', death will come sooner," a small pebble flew into my helmet at these words. "Because of the clumsy power armor," I add.

"You insult me, Danny," the pegasus says. "Don't forget where I was trained. Of course I can," she says in an extremely confident tone.

"Okay," I pretend to ignore being addressed by my affectionately simplified name. Certainly I've heard it often from friends, but from the pegasus for the first time, sort of. "Then perform and play a stunned drum solo, and then I'll contact you on the radio."

Penetrating the flight base reminds me of Nellis and the Boomers. I've never run as fast or as much as I did then.

The pegasus nods and heads off with the brahmin as close to the gate as possible. The detonation will happen when the brahmin's heart stops. It's all thanks to Motley.

Reminds me of a similar trap in my world when I worked as a bounty hunter and hunted down a man obsessed with explosives. I almost got caught! How bloody lucky I was when I sensed something was wrong with that brahmin, and then he was suddenly engulfed in a little nuclear explosion. I had a bad feeling about it for a reason. My ass can smell trouble...

***

Being on the opposite side of the checkpoint, I tell Motley to start the action. After a while, we hear a distant explosion of such force that I feel as if the ground beneath my hooves is shaking. The amount of explosives is a little over the top. The poor bramin was probably gone.

After waiting some more time, I pull out Whispering Night, insert the magazine with the armor-piercing ammo, activate the VATS, take aim, and fire at the turrets. I almost manage to fire five shots in this mode before the Pip-Boy charge is used up. After that, Lemon attacks several Mr. Gutsy on my signal, and then I join her in the action.

After taking out the guards here, we jog to the fence, and a pegasus landed next to us.

"Did you stop for a snack there?" I ask, heading quickly toward the fence.

"The weather affected my flight," she says, a little out of breath. "Fewer words, more to eat... damn it... more to do. You always think about wrong things during a fight!"

We find the most damaged spot in the fence, and Lemon uses his power hoof armor to make an entrance. The buckets of nuts are already starting to return to their positions, and they've brought a couple more... dozens of fellows. They call almost everyone at once for a fiery party, and now we're in the middle of a dance hall.

Meanwhile, two Sentinels are on their way from the airfield. I take one of them and Motley takes the other. The pegasus takes about half a dozen accurate shots from Typhoon that used to belong to Violet, causing the Sentinel to melt its armor and fail all systems. I didn't graze the rear either, destroying my target in the same amount of time. True, before I finally knock him out, he fires a missile at me. I manage to dodge it.

Ugh! It felt like my whole life flashed before my eyes. It was so damn close.

Other robots are already heading our way. Bad luck. This is crap! If we let them near us, we're all fucked. Suddenly, Lemon responds with some lovely news.

"I found the hatch!" she exclaims.

"Open up!" I yell.

"It's locked," she mutters a little later, with growing concern.

Wonderful! There are no words, some luck is there, some luck isn't.

"Fuck!" I shout involuntarily, shooting at the approaching robots. "Wait a minute, though."

I have an idea, and it should work. I've been practicing teleportation and concentration for a reason lately.

"Can you see anything behind the hatch?" I clarify.

"Yes. It's lattice."

"Great. Motley, quickly to 'Berry'," I yell, and I quickly head for the hatch myself.

"What are you up to?" Lemon asks with surprise in her voice. Motley turns warily toward the approaching robots. I look at the hatch, through which I can see the space below it.

"Excellent," I say, smiling to myself. "It's no more than thirty feet down there. Come closer to me."

"What?" the partners wonder.

"Come closer!" I say with annoyance. They come closer. I hug them and say cheerfully, "It's hug time!"

Lemon tries to say something, but doesn't have time, as we are enveloped in my blue magic: we disappear. A moment later, we're lying in a maintenance tunnel just beneath a locked lattice hatch.

"What... What just happened?" Lemon says perplexedly, looking around.

"Next time at least warn us that you're going to teleport us!" the pegasus says in a trembling voice. "I almost piss myself from surprise!"

"What, you're teleporting for the first time?"

"Yes!" she exclaims indignantly.

"Don't be afraid. It's as pleasant a feeling as flying."

"It might feel good, but it's... too fucking unexpected!" Motley resents, looking up at the hatch above us.

"Still," Lemon says, "I agree that it was a rather unusual sensation."

"I agree, too. It was my first time teleporting with someone..." I say, and after a moment I already regret my words.

"What?!" the mares gasp in amazement. "Without preparation you decided to teleport two pony at once?!" the pegasus asks with a scream. I get the feeling she's holding back her desire to choke me.

"Yes. Why? Is there a problem?" I smile innocently. "It worked! If it weren't for my help, you would have been minced by those robots long ago," I point to the robots that are right above the hatch, looking out for the hostile insolent, i.e. us.

What dummies, unable to look down.

"Here we had at least some chance of survival. The truth is, this trick cost me a fair amount of magic. So magic support from me is best summoned as a very last resort."

"But..." Motley wants to argue something, but pauses, apparently realizing that in rash decisions it is useless to argue with me. She sighs. "Shall we go on, Dannikaze?"

"Aye, my pissed angel," I say. Lemon chuckles with a stifled giggle.

Following the signs on the walls, I still look under my hooves out of habit. Who cares if we get spotted, though. At least there is a place to hide.

After wandering along several corridors with wires and pipes, we come to the main maintenance room of the airfield. In some corridors, radiation levels are far from safe. And there are not only robots in the maintenance room... but also ghouls with elements of battle armor. And their robots don't attack, but when they see us, both of them immediately attack us. How they love us!

We hide behind cover and about half a dozen gools come running at us, roaring wildly. Two turrets and one Mr. Gutsy shoot at us.

For some reason most of the ghouls choose me as a prey: apparently, they don't like the red visors of my helmet.

I pull out the local version of the magnum and start firing it at the approaching smooth-skinned flesh fans, retreating back down the corridor. Motley and Lemon take on the other two ghouls, and then try to destroy the turrets and the robot.

I manage to kill three of the ghouls before they get close to me, but the other two get too close for me to take aim. So I hit the ghouls closest to me with the heavy part of the gun. The ghoul staggers from the impact, and at that moment another jumps at me—I dodge to the side of his approaching body, and he meets the wall behind me with a thud. I hit him in the head with my back leg, causing his head to meet the wall again: the impact seems to have finally... hoofed off.

Unfortunately, the ghoul I pistol-whipped immediately pounces on me, and I only have time to put my front legs out in time to keep his clacking teeth away from my soft, delicate neck. Suddenly his head explodes and his body hisses and begins to melt into an orange slurry, partially smearing my helmet. I manage to get out from under it before it's completely melted.

"I've got it under control," I explain.

"Yeah. Sure you are," the pegasus sarcastically chuckles, wearing an advanced and lightweight version of combat armor.

What if she hit me? What then? Or was it revenge for the 'pissed angel'?

"Have you dealt with the others?" I ask, approaching the mares.

"No," Lemon replies and shoots, after which some gurgling is heard: the ghoul turns into a disgusting viscous green slurry. "Now I do."

"Looks like we can get to the rest of the airfield from here. Shall we split up?"

"No!" the two partners shout unanimously.

"Why? Do you really enjoy my company?"

"Yes and no," Motley replies. "In fact, I'm not going to be alone: who knows where I'll wander into these multi-level rooms. Don't forget, pegasi don't like tight spaces."

"What about hugs?" Lemon asks.

"Well... that's the exception," she excuses herself.

"And in general... Totally agree with Motley," Lemon pronounces, looking around the room. "In a place like this, it's best to stick together as a group."

"Okay. We need to find engineering rooms, an administration building, or some kind of special warehouse where important blueprints might be stored."

"Already on it," Lemon says, sitting down at the surviving terminal in that room after the battle. "We'll find it now! Nothing can hide from me," she says optimistically, typing on the terminal's keyboard, which in power armor must be very 'handy'.

"Well, well," Lemon mutters. "What have we here. Correspondence from two lovers, one working in the lower levels, which is here, and the other in the upper levels. Complaining about the monotonous job... something about a log in bed. Yep, found it. The main engineering room is in the hangar, but it's cluttered and access to it is closed, and the warehouses... There are no particular warehouses. The administration building is located on the northwest side of the airfield."

"Is there a safe way to it, bypassing the surface?"

"There has to be," Lemon answers uncertainly, looking into the terminal. "Either way, we'll move in that direction, where the necessary building is."

***

We move toward the administration building through the lower levels and rooms of the airfield. Along the way, we make our way through—as Lemon often puts it—herds of ghouls and robotic guards. All in all, we spend about half an hour and half our ammunition on them. Along the way, we have time to search the rooms in the hope of finding something useful, but mostly we find a small amount of medicine.

We come across small notes and writings on the walls, which show by their existence how the base personnel gradually went mad from paranoia and physical changes after radiation exposure, some died immediately due to the high dose, and some became ghouls, and in the end all went feral. One even had to go around several rooms because of the high levels of radiation. In one of the locked lockers, I find a surviving memory orb. I'll take a look at it when we're in a calm and quiet environment.

Injuries do happen. No serious ones, though. They mostly come to me and Motley, and Lemon's power armor can't be penetrated by anything except a rocket blast. I get shattered bones in some places in my back legs, because I'm unlucky in my defense: a heavy metal cabinet falls on my legs, collapsing because a rocket exploded next to it and I miscalculated the trajectory of its fall. Well, my partners will know about this immediately by my long scream of swearing.

I have to use a Hydra and Motley's pretty good medical skills, for at any moment a ghoul or some military robot might come up, so I have to cover her back... lying down. She has better healing skills than I do, after all.

I try not to let anyone near Motley while she does my healing. Lemon, on the other hand, holds back the main crowd of attackers. If someone slips through, I use the deadly Defender.

Ferris wasn't lying. An Apostle is an incredible thing.

After getting some sort of medical treatment, I get back into the fight: not trying to do acrobatic pirouettes yet, figuratively speaking, and avoiding close-quarters combat, and also not abusing running. Let the Hydra do its thing. Motley complains that I'm taking all the medicine.

In these quarters, one accurate turret gets to Motley, causing her armor to get damaged—the pegasus gets a few grams of lead through her armor weak spots. So I have to patch her up. Then I start patching her armor, somehow using tools, odd parts, and literally a pinch of magic. Then I jokingly point out that all my repair materials go only to her armor.

As they say, a tooth for a tooth.

There's nothing wrong with Lemon. All she wants is to shoot her plasma rifles. Her power armor is in good condition. I keep her armor and armor protection up and running in an acceptable condition. Better to patch up every scratch than to drag it out to the last.

Finally, after defeating and destroying a couple dozen metal buckets full of wires, nuts and weapons and sending about fifty ghouls to their final rest, we find ourselves at the entrance to the administration building. It looks like an ordinary office, only with robots. Amazing.

We have to hide behind shelters, which are mostly office furniture. The Sentinel's shots turn everything into splinters, and the paper, documents and bills that had been lying peacefully in the desks all around me go up and twirl around.

I lose my cover and quickly aim my revolver at the missile he's ready to fire. The first shot misses, followed immediately by the second: a hit. After the rocket explodes, only half of the hull is left of the Sentinel. It sparkles and falls to the side from the side of the explosion.

Perfect. He's done.

We search the surviving desks and safes, but find nothing but prewar records.

It's lucky that the robots and turrets at the base often miss and 'dumb down' as their programs need calibration after all these years.

We reach the fourth floor. The blueprint we need should be there.

The safe of the chief engineer is locked, it can only be unlocked from the terminal. Naturally, it is password-protected, but Lemon easily breaks it, after which we open the safe and find... only sheets of unnecessary documentation, of no value to me—but apparently Lemon likes them. She replies that perhaps the Steel Ranger scribes can get some useful information out of these papers.

As it turns out, the terminal kept a record of who took the blueprints. It turned out that before the megaspells fell, one engineer had taken them. From the reasons given it became clear that he was going to do a routine technical inspection, but because of the deadline he did not return the papers, but went to the barracks and wanted to continue the work on the next day, which, unfortunately, turned out to be the last. It seems that these blueprints are in the living quarters very close to the administration building.

We carefully and quietly exit the building and, slipping between debris, old equipment, and small structures, make our way to the right building. At least we have something to hide behind. The noise of Lemon's power armor almost makes us give ourselves away—extremely lucky that something makes Mr. Gutsy check another place. Mistakes in the code are sometimes good for us, and also the total darkness around us... Well, it's easier to avoid ghouls than these crazy robots with a lot of malfunctioning sensors and detectors.

We slip into one of the barracks and find nothing but a few ghouls, which we quickly and quietly eliminate.

There are no blueprints here.

We go to the next barracks. Here I see something I did not expect to see. I would not have been surprised by the wild ghouls, but I in no way expected to meet a friendly one—and meanwhile this specimen sits quietly at a table and talks to a skeleton. Next to him are two aggressive wild ghouls. Slowly snarling, they approach us, preparing to attack, but the one who is not hostile yanks them away.

"Sneezy, where the fuck are you going? We are, after all, having an extremely important conversation about the future of the Equestrian Air Force, and you're just like this."

He looks at me with his white, dead eyes and, without thinking long, stands up and gives me the military salute.

The wild ghouls look at the actions of their relatively intelligent comrade and do the same, though far less deftly. And to say that I am extremely surprised by what is happening is to say nothing.

"Colonel Blackwright, sir! We've been waiting for your return! You should know how much I've been sick of sitting on my ass all this week, and somebody's got to drop firebombs on zebras! Oh, how long we've been waiting to get back in line, sir!" at these words he turns around to the skeleton and speaks to him. "And you go fix my Vertibuck! You've been sitting around all week, lazing around, reading your fuckin' blueprints and drinking your fuckin' coffee, soldier! Come on, let's go fix it! Come on!"

It is clear that the skeleton did not even move an eye, which has not existed for more than a hundred years. But that didn't stop the ghoul. The madpony in the old dark gray overcoat with shoulder straps mentioned the blueprints of the Vertibuck, which the dead engineer had once looked at. I can literally feel my partners looking at me with dumbfounded eyes under their helmets. Apparently they want to say something, but suddenly the ghoul begins to take me outside.

"Hey... soldier, wait," I decide to play it official. "I desperately need to get those blueprints. And... What's your name, soldier? Where are you taking us?"

"Captain Steel Sun, sir, Forty-second Equestria Bombardment Division, commander of the Combat Aircraft! You can just call me Captain. As for your second question, I am leading you and your escort to show the others that you have arrived," he keeps pushing me out.

"Wait. I mean, they... clearly don't like me and will attack me and my escort."

"What nonsense, Colonel, sir! You're the most respected officer in all the air force, come on, don't be afraid! Or perhaps you are ill? I can take you to the medical station, it's just across the runway," he gestures toward the cluster of turrets and combat robots. No thanks, I can do without that.

"I'm more or less fine, thank you for your concern. I just need to pick up the Vertibuck blueprints, that's all. This is an extremely important government assignment—I think you understand."

"Of course I understand everything. I think our engineer won't mind, and would even be happy to give them to you."

After the Captain's approval, I walk over and take the blueprints from the table where the engineer who used to drink coffee sits. His mug bears the meaningful and self-speaking inscription 'I love my job'. After picking up the blueprints, the Captain leads me and my 'escort' outside, straight to the nearest pack of snarling wild ghouls.

Wonderful.

Chapter 16 - A resting

View Online

"Colonel Blackwright is back, friends!" the captain exclaims, addressing the horde of ghouls who have noticed our theatrical appearance. "I suppose you all want to hear what our commander has to say."

Suddenly all the red marks on my compass become neutral; even the turrets and robots nearby don't dare fire at us once we're within sight of their sensors and detectors. The ghouls growl apathetically, but their malice and desire to devour us is as absent as their common sense. Apparently, the Captain has a great influence on all the ghouls here who once served for the good of a formerly great country.

"A word to you, sir. Say something uplifting to the soldiers, they've been waiting."

The ghoul steps back and nudges me forward. I can only guess what might have happened to the pony's brain in two hundred years of loneliness. Naturally, it can go crazy! The ponies are the only ones that are still thinking, and they either die from outside interference, or they go wild and are killed by the bullet of some stranger. And this ghoul... He's just crazy, but by some miracle he doesn't attack everybody. Just think of the scene I saw when I entered the barracks: the old soldier talking to the skeleton.

"Uh-uh," I stretch out in bewilderment. I'm standing in front of a pack of wild ghouls, and at the same time I'm being asked to give some kind of inspirational speech... This has never happened to me before. One wrong word and I'm dead.

"Soldiers!" I loudly address everyone in an officer's tone, trying not to pay attention to the fact that I am talking to crazy wild flesh eaters. But... what choice do I have? If I refuse, the jaws of the hungry beasts will surely reach our throats. This almost aggressive shouting partly eased my fear.

"The time has come," I continue, feverishly remembering everything I know about the pre-war world. I have to give my voice the most inspired patriotic tone possible. "It's time to get back to duty. You... You're needed in Equestria, you must... continue to fight for the future of our country, to do everything in our power not to surrender to the enemy and to the last beat of our hearts to hold our defenses, to protect our homes, our families, and the future and well-being of our foals and mares! Now... our country is going through difficult times, now... it will take all the strength and ability you have to help her free herself from the stripes and their spies! Princess Luna believes in us! We... but it will require a concerted effort, so for the sake of our nation's citizens and its future... get to work to show our enemies that Northern Soul is still standing and ready to take their blows and their unholy influence! Get to work, my brothers and sisters! May the Goddesses bless you."

Of course, the speech sounded extremely shitty and confused, but I had to improvise: I was starved for time to create a more dignified speech. I hope this will be enough.

The 'soldiers' stood and remained standing, occasionally staring at us with dead and empty eyes. Suddenly, with harshness, Steel Sun shouts, "You heard the colonel! Get to work, bitches!"

After the Captain's words, the ghouls scatter across the airfield to their 'posts' and get to... work? The former soldiers, with only a shell of their former selves left, begin their usual duties. If, of course, it can be called work—they take it upon themselves to collect and haul junk and metal somewhere deep inside the airfield.

"What are they doing, Captain?" I turn to the ghoul.

"Working. You gave the order yourself, sir!"

"That I understood, but what exactly are they doing now?"

"Sweeping the parade ground, washing the vertibucks. Everything as it should be! If they find a breakdown, they report it to the repair shop and the robots get to work."

"Why exactly now, Captain? Was it necessary to wait for orders to begin?"

"That's right, sir!"

"I see..." I mutter.

It doesn't make a damn thing clear, though. Wait a minute. Did he mention repair robots?

"Are the robots still serviceable?"

"No, sir, they're..." the Captain in the overcoat is obviously trying to find the right words. "There's been a glitch in the software, a specialized technician is needed to take care of restoring their primary tasks."

"Let's go in order. Can you give us a brief outline of the condition of the airfield?"

"Right now the airfield is empty in every sense of the word. Almost all the equipment and weapons are being used on a mission. The warehouses are almost empty, and the airfield's defenses have gone crazy—shooting anyone who approached the perimeter, but those inside the area when the defenses failed have not been disturbed."

Yeah, right. We were inside, but they still took us for the enemy. So how the fuck did the guards stop attacking us? At the behest of the crazy ghoul?

The strange and unusual ghoul continues.

"There are only two of the military transports left, a combat and a transport, that need maintenance before they can conquer the skies again. The rest of the transports are on combat missions."

No doubt, they certainly won't be coming back now. In the meantime, does this ghoul even know that the world has come to an end?

"As I was saying," the ghoul's report continues, "the operating system parameters of the repair drones need to be updated, after which they'll get to work restoring the transport and the airfield itself."

"Wait a minute," Lemon cuts in, "am I understanding this correctly... the robots can be controlled from a single main console?"

"No, only the maintenance ones. Combat robots can't be reprogrammed all at once, since the control console in charge of defense is broken. Some jerk spilled coffee on the systems. This happened a day after you left, and I immediately ordered it fixed! Wait... who are you?" Steel Sun squints at the Star Paladin.

"She," I interject, "is from a special division of the MWT, the Steel Rangers. Oh, that's right. Where are my manners... This," I point to the pony in the power armor, "is Major Yellow Green, codename 'Berry'. And this," I nod toward the pegasus, "is Lieutenant Flower Throst, code name 'Motley Cloud'. She's from the Equestrian Intelligence Service."

"Code names?" the Captain wonders. "Counterintelligence?"

"That's right, to avoid certain problems, so we use code names."

"And yours, Colonel Blackwing, a code name? Do you have one? I haven't been notified of it. I don't want your operations disclosed."

"Yes, I do. My code name is 'Daniel Evans'".

"As you command, Colonel, sir!" the Captain replies with a smile. His smile gives me extremely contradictory feelings. As usual when a ghoul smiles. Slightly creepy-especially when that ghoul is moved on his head, and you can expect literally anything from him.

"Now," I say, " I ask to be escorted to the repair robot control console immediately. 'Berry' will be able to set up their system."

"Affirmative!" the Captain replies, firmly and without hesitation. "I will ask you to follow me, sir." We follow.

"This isn't all a dream, is it?" Motley asks whisperingly over the inner radio, turning off the outer speaker. The Captain walks ahead and doesn't hear anything. "I'm not the only one seeing all this?"

"No idea," Lemon answers for me, also using the inner helmet radio. "This turn of events leaves quite an impression. I thought for a moment that we were killed in the infiltration after all, and now our souls are stuck in this place with the souls of the other dead."

"Take it easy with those statements, 'Berry'," I interrupt her with a touch of fear. "Don't scare me like that. Because at this point, it sounds fucking convincing! He mistook me for some kind of colonel for some reason and was able to command not only the ghouls, but also the fucking robots!"

"How scary we are," Lemon laughs. "Hmm... It's just a hypothesis. Perhaps the magical effect of the megaspell had just such a result. Identification in robot and turret sensors is directly dependent on the ghouls: with a radiation-magic burst, the equipment links its 'behavior' with the mood of the ghouls in the area."

"But how?"

"Well... Your PipBuck, for example, works on a similar concept: it scans a living object and determines the probability of aggression at a certain moment in time, analyzing fluctuations of magical energy, integral activity of the brain, if there is one, and many other things. Determination of conditional 'mood' in robots and turrets is easier, because PipBuck analyzes the state of internal structures and components and their energy interaction with each other. A PipBuck in general is itself one of the most advanced analyzing computers with a multitude of sensors and detectors."

"And who handled this powerful technology? Stable-Tec?"

"Who else? They actively funded its development. As you can see, they achieved tremendous results. One of Equestria's most amazing inventions, created through the combined efforts of scientists, magicians, and engineers. The software of robots and turrets is simpler, but the concept is the same, even if it doesn't have the same range of capabilities as PipBucks do. Those, for example, temporarily increase your reaction speed: time seems to slow down. It's a combination of electrical and magical effects on your nervous system. They called it a targeting spell for some reason. In general, these devices are more like a pseudo AI, which acts within your physiological capabilities and neural connections in your head, analyzing the activities and processes in your body, using the pathways of the nervous system for this purpose—so it does not need to 'connect' directly to the brain. It is an informational extension of you. So, by the way, in addition to your state of health, a PipBuck determines the items in your inventory, their name, conditional value and purpose. All this depends partly on your perception and knowledge, partly on the capabilities of PipBuck itself and the data to which it has access. That is, much depends not only on the host, but also on the model of the device."

"What data does it have access to?"

"Pre-war satellites, of course."

"Yeah... amazing. Well, you've put me at ease with that story."

I can expect anything from the magical world, but the principles of PipBucks and Pip-Boys are quite similar, from what she said. I've long noticed that PipBucks have modules, circuits, sensors, and programming code that are fully or partially tied to working with magical energy. When I entered this world in my Pip-Boy, they were partially transformed. Previously Pip-Boy simply analyzed the object and remembered its structure and shape, after which I myself gave it a name and assigned an approximate value depending on my knowledge of economics. I also marked the coordinate names myself. A PipBuck did it automatically, analyzing brain activity and neuron connections. Yes, PipBucks in this world are much further along in their development.

Too bad that my Pip-Boy is still not adapted to the local satellite system after the transformation, and therefore not adapted to the maps. I made the right decision not to mess with my 'mutated' device. If I returned to my world, the changes could be irreversible.

My helmet and energy knuckle Pushy had also partially changed—it is now considered energy-magic. Even the implants slightly transformed, adjusting to my new body. Magic... it's unpredictable. So it is possible that the laws of the local world can explain the behavior of ghouls and robots. But that's just a hypothesis; maybe there's something else behind it.

The Captain leads us into a large room, underneath the hangars. It is quite full of repair equipment: electronic wires visible through the cracked walls, metal pipes running through the room and heading somewhere in other areas of the airfield, computer consoles humming. Service pods housing repair robots are also present. Lemon finds the main console and gets to work. I, meanwhile, am talking to the Captain.

"Captain, you mentioned the two Vertibucks in the hangars. By order of command, I need to use them. And yes, I need to get the remaining ammunition out of the warehouse."

"If command requires it, no problem, commander."

"Fine. Thank you, Captain."

"Serving Equestria!" the ghoul salutes.

I want to use the cargo Vertibuck to deliver ammunition to Heavenly Harbor. Ammunition will not be superfluous. Then give that Vertibuck to the Steelmane family and the combat Vertibuck to the Steel Rangers. It's clear as day that Lemon will ask me to give them one of them anyway. And I also need to make two copies of the Vertibuck blueprints, both transport and combat. One copy for the Steelmanes, the other for the Rangers. I'll keep the ammunition and the original blueprints.

"Motley, you can fly two types of Vertibucks, can't you?"

"I'll try, but I can't promise anything, Colonel," the pegasus replies, emphasizing the last word sneeringly. "Military transport is the least bit more difficult to control than civilian transport, and I haven't driven one of those since the academy, anyway."

"I have faith in you," I smile.

"Thank you, sir," she replies, nodding and saluting.

A few minutes later, Lemon completes the console, after which the drone pods, hissing and spewing white steam, open: the maintenance crews activate, getting to work. The first thing the robots do is head for the Vertibuck hangars, and we follow them.

Once in one of the hangars, where the last two Vertibucks are, we see robots bustling around them, performing their programmed tasks. Both Vertibucks have military coloring. The combat Vertibuck (MV-02Cm, which stands for the second series of military combat vertibaks) is almost half the size of the cargo Vertibuck. Compared to the size of Venture, it is somewhere in the middle—larger than the combat Vertibuck and smaller than the cargo Vertibuck. The main part of the combat Vertibuck's body is an elongated semicircular shape in front, then the body slightly narrows down to the 'tail'. The body is flanked by the main propellers, positioned very close to it. At the front, under the main body, two machine guns, apparently firing the equivalent of a five-millimeter caliber. Between the machine guns in the body is a 'slot' for rockets: in contrast to the machine guns, which can be directed almost in all directions, rockets can be launched only in the direction in which the cockpit is directed.

The cargo Vertibuck (MV-02Cr, which stands for the second series of military cargo vertibaks) does not have any combat armament at all, but instead it has a much denser bodyshell providing better protection, which undoubtedly has an effect on speed. Its main body resembles an oblong smooth hexagon. It has two additional bearing propellers: two per side—both the combat and Venture have only two propellers. Apparently, this number of propellers is optimal for flight control when transporting heavy loads. Four large landing gear—the combat and Venture each have three, only slightly smaller. Externally, it is the combat Vertibuck and the Venture that most resemble Vertibirds from my world.

There's nothing to say it doesn't look impressive. But I don't care about that, I want Venture. I'm not going to change my favorite for anything!

"Amazing. What do you want to do with them?" Lemon asks. The Captain and Motley, meanwhile, are inspecting the Vertibucks from the inside. "You're not taking them all for yourself, are you?"

"No. I only want my Venture. Which of the two Vertibucks do you want?"

"I'm glad," the Star Paladin smiles, "that you understand what I'm getting at. Although... we can't have two girls at once?"

"You've asked for the moon," I chuckle. "I was thinking of giving one of them to the Steelmane family."

"Are you serious?" Lemon marvels. "Are you all right in the head?" The pony tries to tap me on the head to make sure my brains are still in their proper place, but I won't allow it.

"No," I answer easily. The front of Lemon's helmet stares at me, and I hear a light chuckle from her speaker. "Actually," I continue in a calm tone, "I want to gain the favor of another Vanhoover family. I think it's more important for them to get their hooves on a cargo transport than a combat one. Hence, I wanted to give the cargo Vertibuck to Vanhoover, and the combat one to the Steel Rangers. There's nothing for you to transport yet anyway."

"That's what I wanted, but I didn't expect you to give the second Vertibuck to a Family. You will let me make a copy of the blueprints before you give them away, won't you?" Lemon asks warily.

"Of course. Don't worry about that," I reply. Lemon exhales in relief. "Only the ammunition from the warehouses I'm keeping."

"What?" Lemon wonders. "Why do you need so much?"

"Well, to get rid of the need to buy them for a while. And there are very few in the warehouse, according to the Captain, and some may have fallen into decay."

"About the airfield. The Steel Rangers will want the place. But keep in mind that we don't like ghouls much, especially when it comes to the Elder Largo Breeze."

"I don't like where you're going with this," I say cautiously.

"Why?" she wonders slightly. "What business is it of yours with the wild ghouls?"

"There are a few things you're overlooking," I say sternly, looking at her. "I doubt the ghouls will just take off and leave the airfield, and I don't recommend forcefully breaking through: if you launch an attack on the ghouls, the robots and turrets will defend them valiantly. The only reason the robots stopped attacking us was because the ghouls didn't attack us was because the Captain Steel Sun was loyal to us. You said so yourself. It's really the only logical explanation why defending the airfield didn't make us history. And since the recognition parameters are tainted by spilled coffee and a megaspell explosion nearby, the robots will not attack those whom the ghouls, former soldiers, do not perceive as enemies. Thanks to the fact that the Captain has a proper influence on the ghouls, we can move around the airfield without any problems. If he suspects anything wrong, our ball is over."

I stop talking, allowing Lemon to digest what I have said. She's silent, but I continue, "I don't think pissing off the Captain would be a wise idea. It's better to wait and gain his favor for now. Even if you manage to overpower a few hundred ghouls and over a hundred combat robots and turrets, you will in any case be so vulnerable to Vanhoover masters that they will have no trouble finishing you off with a small attack, even an outright frontal one. You reminded me of that yourself."

"It is possible to get to the console and repair it. Spilled coffee and that's all," she mutters.

"Are you sure about that? The building could be wrecked, or there could be lethal levels of radiation. Or the Captain only thinks there's coffee spilled there. Don't forget that he's spent two hundred years alone and doesn't know that there's been a luminosity of colossal proportions in Equestria and in the world."

"Okay... I'm convinced. I really rushed the decision and missed a few points. Anyway, I'll relay your words to the Elder."

"Don't set yourself up. I'd rather talk to her about it myself. I don't want to lose a friend to the politics of her organization."

"Thank you, Daniel," Lemon says appreciatively.

"I'm Colonel Blackwright to you," I say in a haughty voice.

"If you say so," Lemon chuckles, poking me with a hoof wrapped in power armor, "Colonel. In the meantime, why exactly Major Yellow Green?"

"Said the first thing that came to mind," I answer with a shrug. "You're as yellow as a ripe lemon fruit, and your mane is as green as young leaves."

"Oh, how sweet," Lemon says excitedly. "Considering you've already enjoyed it... all."

I make an effort not to imagine Lemon's wet body when I was inside her.

While the repair drones attend to the transports, the Captain takes us to the warehouses. When he notifies us that they're almost empty, I didn't expect him to be so down on the amount of army ammunition. There's still plenty here if you eat your ass off—at least a couple thousand of each type of ammunition: rifle, pistol, shotgun, small and large caliber rounds, including grenade launchers and clips for the anti-mechanical rifle. Unfortunately, special ammunition such as armor-piercing and hollow point ammunition was missing, and some of what was available may have gone bad. Well, that's all right, Ferris will check it out.

There are about a hundred rockets left for the launchers, and these rockets are not a bad thing to use for the combat Vertibuck. In addition there are many crates densely packed with bullets for standard machine guns. The total weight is written on the crates. Counting in my mind the amount of ammunition, knowing their weight and the number of crates—the total came out to... About 20,000 rounds of ammo. So much that there was nowhere to go. Something to shoot with in case I ran out of caps for other ammunition.

With the kind help of the wild ghouls, we quickly load the cargo Vertibuck.

"Captain, I'd like you to come with us. We could use your help," I declare, turning to the ghoul.

I need to get him to like me so I can convince him to give the Northern Soul to the Steel Rangers for their own activities.

"Why should I leave this place and my soldiers, sir? What is your purpose?" the ghoul asks earnestly.

"We are currently engaged in small... action, so to speak, against the Vanhoover families, the criminal associations. The city is completely controlled by a mafia. There's a special secret service in charge of this case, but right now there's not a lot of us. We are gradually recruiting a group that will be able to change the situation for the better. A large-scale operation against them could provoke unwanted and extremely negative consequences."

"Criminal organizations? Sir, my insides turn over in disgust at these jackals and parasites who put personal interests before those of Equestria! It is my duty to protect the citizens!"

"I am unspeakably glad, Captain, that you have agreed to fight these... bandits and slave-traders. And yes, I forgot to mention: we act under cover then that the military is despised in Vanhoover because of the influence of these groups, in other words, they kill without hesitation, making it look like accidents. Perhaps even acting in the interest of the zebras! They won't storm the Northern Soul, one way or another, because they will be weakened in front of a special unit of Steel Rangers and will get the government's attention. We'll discuss the details later. At this time, I advise you to stay out of town," I finish my speech and look at the decaying skin.

By the way, I haven't seen a single ghoul in Vanhoover. Yes, and the head of the Waterfall family mentioned it. The conclusion to be drawn is that ghouls are either exterminated or banished from the town. Well, maybe it's the fact that essentially everyone is sitting in a cozy town behind high walls; there's very little chance of catching radiation and turning into the living dead.

"I understand. So where is your shelter for the duration of the operation?"

"Motley will fly in for the combat Vertibuck, and she'll bring you along as well. I'll see you then, Captain," I say, smiling, but then I remember something. "I have an important question: will my agent be attacked by the airfield defense?"

"Rest assured, no. Word from the captain of the Equestria Air Force!" the ghoul strikes his hoof against his chest demonstratively and confidently.

"See you soon then, Captain."

Lemon, Motley, and I climb into the cargo Vertibuck and head to Heavenly Harbor with plenty of ammunition.

***

We've been flying for quite a while. Not only does the Vertibuck not have more speed and is almost full of weight, but the pegasus tries to fly as carefully as possible and is cautious not to let us crash, because she's worried that she can't control it. Her pretty face is even sweating from the tension and worry. She's visibly tense, and I want to do something to support her—but I shouldn't distract her.

However, Motley has been worried in vain—she has managed, and in about an hour we finally get to Heavenly Harbor. The size of the Vertibuck is so imposing that it barely fits on the platform descending into the bunker.

"Well done," I address the exhausted pegasus after landing. The engines subside and the main propellers stop spinning. "Thanks for not dropping us in the middle of nowhere."

The pegasus looks at me and with heavy breathing, smiling, mutters, "Screw you."

"Okay, I get it," I reply, not the least bit embarrassed and raising my hooves in defense.

Inside the bunker Ferris meets us. His pet, as soon as the Vertibuck comes into his sight, immediately lands on one of the propellers and proudly croaks.

"At last the master has deigned to appear in his luxurious domain!" the dark gray griffon pronounces dramatically, standing up on his hind legs and throwing up his forelegs as if to offer glory to some deity. He looks at Lemon in his power armor and smirks. I have no idea what expression she's looking at him with under her helmet. She's the one who prefers to stay in her helmet. "And bring your entourage," he adds, still looking at her.

"Wait," I wonder, glancing around. "Where's the red carpet, the band that's supposed to accompany our arrival?" I ask in a serious tone, but then I smile. "It's good to see you, too," we approach each other, the griffon grasps his clawed paw—I slap my hoof against it. I look over at Edge, sitting on one of the propellers. "You too, feathered one," I say; he shouts in pleasure. I turn back to the griffon. "So, how are you getting acclimated here?"

"Yes. It's nice here," the griffon replies, glancing blankly around the room. "It's a little chilly, though, and a lot of things don't work. Or works, but not properly. I managed to calibrate and adjust some things, but of course I couldn't do anything substantial without the necessary materials. It's not like I'm a magician. It's quite tolerable here. I've decided to stay with you for the time being. It's boring on my own." Edge shouts reproachfully that he's been forgotten, but the griffon ignores him. "Your workroom wasn't much to brag about, so I had to bring my own tools and equipment. Thanks to those blueprints we got from The New Features, I can modify the workbenches and improve their efficiency if you get me the parts."

"Thank you. I've been trying to set something up here, but I haven't had time."

"And here I was wondering who messed up all the wiring so badly."

"Ha, ha," I say sarcastically. "And where did you bring your own equipment from?"

"Up north, in my humble and unremarkable nest, there's a little air van... Anyway, never mind. Is that your bird? It's big and bulky and clumsy, just like your servant," Ferris says, glancing absently at the Vertibuck.

I stand between Lemon and Ferris, yet, as it were, I am cold for no reason. Apparently from the murderous cold stare of my chubby earth pony.

"No, not at all," I say after a brief pause. "My Venture is more compact and agile than this elephant you're looking at."

"Like your matchless mistress with wings," Ferris replies, testing the strength of the fuselage by knocking on it. Motley, holding back a smile, looks up at the ceiling.

The next moment, the griffon peeks inside the transport.

"Holy eggs!" is heard the griffon's astonished exclamation. "There's enough ammo in here for a whole fucking squad. One-horn, where did you get all this stuff?"

"At the Northern Soul."

"What?" He climbs back out, standing at the entrance to the saloon. "You snuck through the fucking shooting gallery, being the main target?"

"Well... not alone," at these words I nod toward my companions.

"Oh. I get it. Your power-ass servant was a much larger prey, and consequently more noticeable. Diverted all attention to herself. After all, huge objects are always known to attract attention by their scale..."

"Stop. Clucking. Your. Little. Beak," Lemon says menacingly, emphasizing every word. My heart ran away in my hooves from that tone.

"Compact. I have to emphasize," he says, raising his paw and lifting one claw. He turns to me. "Anyway, accept my deepest congratulations. First Red Spark, and now the airfield with the army treasures of the pre-war world. You jump over your head doing backflips."

"Met some wild ghouls and mad robots there who suddenly accepted me as a friend after I willed myself to meet one... amazing ghoul. He gave me permission to pick up ammunition and the Vertibucks."

"The Vertibucks? You mean a few birds, right? And why was he suddenly so kind to say goodbye to them?"

"He mistook me for a Colonel of Equestria."

"Ha. Shit!" the griffon laughs, unable to hold it. "Where you are, there's fun. Indeed. A matchless pegasus, a huge and fanatical earth pony, a ghoul with a fucked-up head... Anyway, what will you do with the two trophies?"

"One to the Steelmane family and the other to the Steel Rangers."

"Are you serious? You decided to give one to guys who like to shovel caps and the other to guys who jerk off to all kinds of technology?"

"Pretty much. By the way, the other one's a combat Vertibuck."

"Excellent idea!" the griffon sighs ironically. "Bravo. The audience cheers."

"Relax your ass. Let them have it."

"Yeah. How do you relax the ass when the flying death machines show up after a certain time? Better to take them apart and then try to recreate the production ourselves-" the griffon doesn't finish his thought as he sees the blueprints in my telekinetic hold.

"Even," I begin, smirking and levitating the blueprints in front of me, "if you were to figure it out, where would you find the funds and equipment to accomplish what you have in mind? Let those who are most interested do it for now," I utter and only now glance at the blueprints. "Especially since we have this."

"Don't tell me what it is—" Ferris looks at the blueprint, devouring it with his eyes.

"Yes," I reply, smiling lustfully and nodding. "These are the very blueprints of the Vertibuck, both combat and transport." The griffon whistles.

"Beautiful... What else can I say? You'll let me study them, will you?"

"Of course, if you want. I need them for now, but then you can study and lick them all you want. For now, help me unload the Vertibuck."

"Easy-peasy," the griffon calmly utters, picking up the crates. "And at least you kept something for yourself. I had to get enough ammo somewhere for the minigun I found in the Crater. After all, it's a fast-firing weapon—it'll run out fast."

"I see you have the same problem," Lemon says suddenly, throwing the ammunition box on her back and carrying it to the storage room.

"Unlike you," the griffon chuckles, following the lemon pony, "a sluggish and leisurely turtle, a killing power that can take down many opponents in a short time is quite an impressive thing: you get the win, run while you can."

"The fact that I'm sluggish and leisurely suggests that I can stretch the pleasure."

"And where will you be stretching?"

"Definitely not in your direction."

"And good! Because I won't have to worry about being crushed—" Ferris and Lemon had already turned the corner. Meanwhile, Motley and I are laughing quietly.

"Looks like," the pegasus begins, chuckling, "they'll be snapping at each other for a long time to come."

"Come on, don't just stand there," I magically take several crates at once.

"Oh, you're making the frail mare carry heavy things. And I used up all my strength when I was running that monster," Motley mutters.

"Don't be so dramatic, you lazy angel, I can see you can do it," I say, watching the pegasus load the crate on her back.

"Well..." she replies, walking with the crate on her back, "I can carry a lot of stuff, even if I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, you can definitely carry someone's brains out in any condition," I smile and speed up, occasionally looking back at the pegasus.

"Exca-. Hey! What are you implying?" the pegasus wonders, pausing. She smiles predatorily and increases her pace. "I'll chase you—and I'll carry them out for sure, aiming my hoof at your temple!"

After a while we drag the entire load from the Vertibuck to the storage room. I tried to avoid getting kicked in the ass by Motley periodically when she picked the right moment. The rest of the time, we watched Lemon and Ferris constantly teasing each other. So it wasn't boring.

Ferris had moved so much equipment into the house that it was fascinating—so many tools and instruments that could be used to tear inventions apart and put them back together again, or to assemble new, more sophisticated things like the shishkebab from their parts. I didn't expect a griffon to have such rare equipment. Even a Steel Ranger would envy it, which Lemon did—although with a sneer.

After hauling ammunition, we feel pretty hungry. Motley leaves for the kitchen, and I take Ferris aside to talk to him alone. He's about to see Lemon without her armor, and I don't want any confrontation between him and the pony. And I don't want Lemon to feel uncomfortable. She's having a hard time as it is.

"Please," I begin, "don't make fun of 'Berry' about the weight. I'm begging you."

"Why?" he wonders. "I'm generally surprised that the Steel Ranger, usually with good physical condition, reacts this way to anything that has to do with it."

"That's why. Anyway, you'll see, but do me a favor. Don't bug her about the weight. And don't comment on anything. Okay?"

The dark gray griffon with white plumage on his head looks at me with surprise. He sighs.

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Griffon's word."

Lemon is busy cooking, and the griffin looks curiously at her jumpsuit. Ferris keeps the promise. Lemon looks confused when he looks at her for the first time, but she is surprised that he says nothing about her weight. However, she clearly doesn't like the way he looks at her.

"Daniel..." she begins, "we have a bird of prey present now. Do you think it will fit? Although I'm more than sure it won't. Two little eggs won't be enough for all of us."

"Daniel," the griffon turns to me, "would you happen to make a meal that has a lemon in it? I really like to eat meats with a sour flavor. Or, since life has presented me with such... lemons, could you make lemonade? I think that would be good."

"To my deepest regret, I'm not much of a meat eater, but my husband, on the other hoof, really likes chicken chops."

"I'm surprised he has such a 'toxic' pony in his wives—a sarcastic tongue, a corrosive stare—"

"Hear me, dark gray rock by the roadside, you start making too much noise, I'll kick you with such force you'll be on the moon in seconds."

"Don't fall over when you're kicking."

"Absolutely. I can do it."

"Not likely, with your bones that rotten, you'll fall apart on impact."

"Just so you know, the fact that I'm thirty-two says I'm a young eighteen-year-old filly with fourteen years of experience!"

"Okay, fellas, settle down," I say. "Let's live in peace."

"No problem," the griffon says and leaves the kitchen. I walk over to Lemon.

"Why didn't he," she begins in an agitated voice, "respond to my... I mean, he's made so many jokes about it. Is he just in shock and biding his time?"

There is fear in her voice. I give her a reassuring hug.

"Relax. I asked him not to joke about it. And if he hurts you about it... I'll help you make a chicken chops."

Lemon smiles embarrassedly, thanking me with a mutual hug.

"Thank you. I'll cook you the best!"

Almost immediately after the meal, we leave for the rest of the evening to rest. I head to my apartment, where I study spell books for a few hours before taking a shower and going to bed.

***

The 9th of the Month of Heather, Orangeday. The forty-seventh day of my stay.

The next day, Motley and Lemon and I board the Vertibuck and head first to the Steel Randger main base. To drop Lemon, since she hasn't been home in a long time; and to warn the Steel Rangers that a Vertibuck will be arriving soon.

Then it's Vanhoover's turn.

It's unusual to see this city from above. Tall buildings, houses, and streets, with masters and slaves walking about, occasionally looking up in wonder at the sudden noise of the spinning propellers in the sky. All of them are like ants at my hooves, easily trampled. Illusion, just like what we think is right and true. Each of us sees the world with our own eyes from different angles and distances, thinks with our own brains and experiences, so almost everyone, and maybe even everyone, lives by their own illusions. Like now, we are high in the sky and do not notice the details that happen below, and they seem so insignificant...

Get rid of the slave trade and, figuratively viewed from a distance, the city would be no different from the largest cities in the New California Republic, and perhaps even better... In certain ways. For example, complete self-sufficiency.

We arrive on the street where the main estate of the Steelmane family is located. Naturally, the landing of a huge flying thing in the middle of the street excites many. Suddenly, a bustle of guards forms on the rooftops of the mansions, aiming their rifles at us. And then I am fully convinced that it is the powerful members of the Steelmane family who live in this neighborhood. Two different groups of fighting aggressive dogs would not live peacefully in the vicinity of each other.

I step out of the Vertibuck and immediately notice several red dots on me. Suddenly a griffon with silver plumage and a stylish gray battle armor and cape of the same shade lands a few feet in front of me, an anti-machine rifle hanging on her back, and in her paws she holds a sawn-off shotgun pointing directly at me.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asks, looking at me intently.

"The mercenary," I take off my helmet. "Came to get paid for my work."

"Ah. The mercenary," the griffon chuckles. She waves her paw at the others and hides her own weapon in her holster. "You're the one who burst in on Mr. Steelmane without an invitation. You've got some hard balls, kid, if you dared such a move. Be thankful I wasn't around, or you'd have gotten your ass kicked."

"I'm not used to it," I shrug. Someday I'm sure I'll miss my moment and get shot in the head. Ah, that's right: it's already happened. "I came—"

"Yeah, yeah. I was notified that the mercenary was coming, but I didn't expect you to fly over."

"So can I meet Robus Steelmane?"

"To you Mr. Steelmane," the griffon says reproachfully. "You're lucky he treated you politely. Especially now Mr. Steelmane is at work."

"So... will you take me to him?"

"Of course."

"Come on, get in," I say, gesturing for me to get into the transport.

"Hmm. Not bad, I'll take that ride everyone's been talking about."

She first glances at the inside of the transport and nods under her impression, then looks at the pilot, which is Motley.

"Should've guessed who's sitting at the wheel," she sniffles, turning to me. "And what are we waiting for? An invitation to the ball?" she asks inexplicably. "Or is there some kind of problem?"

"No," I answer. "What's your name, and what do you do?"

"Do you care about that?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Yes. I like to know who I'm dealing with."

"Even if it's business for a few minutes? Because I doubt the next time we meet will be under the same calm and relaxed circumstances," the silver griffon chuckles, then suddenly becomes extremely serious. "Silver Vine. Head of security for the head of the Steelmane family. I advise you all not to cross the Steelmanes, or you will have to deal with me. I highly doubt you'll last a few minutes against me," she grins predatorily.

"Yeah," I say without much impression, then turn to the pegasus. "Motley, run the bird."

The griffon hums, smiling—obviously she thinks I'm a show-off—and turns to the front window, watching the same thing as the pilot. The Vertibuck flies up, and a few minutes later, following the directions of the silver griffon, we reach what she says is the largest factory in Vanhoover. The factory looks really huge and covers several blocks. The walls are of typical red brick, and there are many smaller buildings and facilities, as well as tall chimneys that emit black clouds of smoke, and tanks. The number of guards here is more than enough, and there's a lot of work going on below as slaves go about their work, mostly hauling heavy objects on wagons, with robots helping them do it. There aren't many robots, though—one for every dozen or so slaves.

The energy crisis is taking its toll... It's amazing how, with such problems in the city, there are no restrictions on the use of electricity for domestic purposes.

The silver griffon says to land the Vertibuck next to one of the workshops. Just as Motley follows her instruction, several guards come running up to us—the rest just staring at us curiously; two Sentinels approach, pointing their guns in anticipation of orders to attack or the appearance of an aggressive hostile. In a matter of seconds, we become the most interesting event at the factory, which attracts the attention of everyone in whose field of vision we find ourselves.

Silver Vine is the first to come out and signals that there is no need to worry. Almost everyone immediately disperses to their seats. There are still a few curious faces who want to see what happens next.

"Are you coming or what?" the griffon shouts to us.

"Well?" I turn to the pegasus. "We do?"

As soon as we get out, I see a small group of individuals approaching us, including Robus and Troy.

Great, we won't have to look for them.

"Oh," Silver exclaims, looking at Troy and Robus approaching. "How quickly word spreads... I'd advise you to stay put," she turns to us. "For your own safety."

The group of ponies, consisting of three heavily armed guards and two high-ranking ponies I know, approaches us. One of them is in a gray business suit, while the other, Troy, is in a jumpsuit as stained as his own. Troy's gaze is not on us, but on the Vertibuck behind us. He looks at it with orgasmic lust. Robus is the first to speak in a welcoming, good-natured way, "Hello, Daniel. I see you've completed your assignment. Even exceeded it."

The Father of the family looks at the Vertibuck behind me. I nod contentedly.

"Fuck me!" Troy exclaims. "You've brought another amazing bird!"

"That's right, and I hope to get my own. Besides, I've got the blueprints, too."

"Excellent, my friend. Come along, let's discuss the matter in detail."

We go somewhere, followed by Silver Vine as well. After a few minutes, I see my destination, a small three-story structure of red hue with a triangular roof covered with dark gray slate. The building has huge sliding metal doors. They decided not to splurge on the inscriptions—they just wrote 'Troy's Workshop' in paint.

Inside, the structure is replete with various technical equipment, repair robots, and ponies in overalls, including collar wearers. Seemingly robots and highly skilled masters are engaged in complex and delicate work, while slaves perform simple, unskilled errands. They are all fidgeting and doing their jobs—sorting scrap metal, welding, sawing through sheets of metal, making sparks and a noise, sitting at workbenches and wielding various tools on devices and inventions. They don't pay any attention to us, but in the center of the workshop is what I came here for. My beautiful and beloved Venture stands in all her glory right in the middle of all this factory hustle and bustle.

She has changed since the last time I saw her. Mostly the shapes have become more streamlined; the color has changed—the Vertibuck has gained a nice matte light gray hue, but overall, almost everything remains the same in appearance. The same two supporting propellers on the sides, the hull still resembles the body of an insect, but, unlike real insects, Venture does not cause a slight disgust.

Motley stands beside me and, seeing my examining and appraising gaze fixed on Avantura, asks in a whisper, "Admiring the shapes?"

"That's right. Venture's visibly modified," I say, and turn to the pegasus. "Gotta pay attention to the changes that have occurred and admire them, especially when they have occurred in such a... enchanting 'creature'."

"You're complimenting the wrong ones, Danny. Or you just have weird fetishes."

"And you have adorable shapes, too. I can feel it especially when you're moving."

"There... Well done," she smiles. "You learn fast."

Troy walks up to us.

"What do you think?" he begins his fervent and enthusiastic story, looking at the Vertibuck. "It took a lot of sweat to understand her. So far it has not fully succeeded, but since your last visit we have made great progress in learning the peculiarities of your little bird. I must say, your Venture is truly a stunning creature. I replaced her clothing with a sturdier one using stronger materials, but I made sure that her mobility was not compromised. Meanwhile, I noticed some aerodynamic flaws. And managed to give her a skillful huffing and buffing of the hull. You've already noticed this change, haven't you? It's much more streamlined in flight now, and she's a little more manageable. Besides, this little bird has been locked up and alone for so many years that she definitely needed to be brought to her senses, cuddled and well cared for. But don't worry, I'm a good and gracious physician and I got the job done. Fixed and calibrated everything that was needed. I hope she flutters along smoothly and gracefully like a butterfly."

"You know," Robus says suddenly, walking over to us and contemplating Venture as well, while turning to me, "we didn't think you could really pull it off. We didn't want the Vertibuck back from the start. We sent you to the Northern Soul, hoping you wouldn't even make it to the perimeter before you were gone, let alone infiltrated."

"Something like that, I assumed. So why didn't you kill me then?" I ask without much emotion, looking at the Vertibuck.

"You showed up out of the blue. We were ready to kill you, but then you started talking about the Vertibuck. I decided to give hope that you would get your Venture. You walked away, and no one got hurt. A perfect turn of events," Robus mutters, then smiles. "It was like you jumped into a blast furnace for a prize that was suspended on a rope. Later, however, there were rumors—even on the radio, and that's where they try to avoid them!—that someone had gotten into the core of Red Spark, something no one, not even Kings, had been able to do... Oh, and by killing the head of the raiders, too. DJ Oscar mentioned that a lot of mercenaries came in to claim the glory, as if they deserved it, but no substantive evidence. And you were seen with the head of the Waterfall family right after these rumors of infiltration, because they were the ones who had a serious problem with the Crater raiders. She may be young and a little impulsive for her position as main pillar of the family, but she knows how to pick the right faces. Especially those who are not interested in wealth. It's hard to get them interested in fame, caps, mares or stallions. Of course, those are good motivators, too, but if you have them different, you'll stop at nothing, no matter how difficult the challenges."

"Too much poetry in my address. Do you really think I wasn't interested in the above?"

"Maybe," Robus replies with a shrug. He doesn't openly say he thinks I had anything to do with what happened at the Crater; he won't believe any of my answers. I think so. "It had an influence, too. Maybe you were driven by something else. However, whatever it was, it allowed you to reach your goal. The fact remains that no one wanted to go to the Northern Soul, even for a huge amount of caps. They tried more than once. You were definitely driven by something else. Maybe someday somebody," Robus says slowly and with a hint, "will visit the most mysterious place in the Vanhoover region and unravel the most secret of secrets. Whoever does, I'm sure, will become the most famous master in the history of Vanhoover, right after Queen and Prince. There are quite a few theories and myths about Stable 66, but they're all unverified—because no one ever comes back from it. And, of course, whoever discovers the secret of the Stable will receive an astronomical reward from Prince himself in the amount of one hundred thousand caps. Dozens of masters have gone there and never returned. Meanwhile, maybe that's where the secret or the important information related to the Dome is," Robus has glanced furtively at me throughout this whole speech.

He can figure out how to interest his audience, if he managed to trick me into leaving the manor peacefully. No wonder why he made Troy confess to the theft: it was his way of making me believe that I was in control. It wasn't until outside the manor that I began to suspect that something was amiss here.

"Right now I'm more interested in a candidate for a King," I answer honestly.

I can't rely on the Waterfalls. Since the Steelmanes are already beginning to suck up to me, why not show my cards? Nobody tries—nobody achieves anything, after all.

And since when did I start taking this status so lightly, which requires so much responsibility? Although... I'm going to use it to find the Dome and nothing more. Without this status, I'm nobody here, but I'm already starting to draw attention to myself.

"Really?"

"Naturally. With the King's privileges, I can accomplish more."

"That's to be expected. Every mercenary aspires to that title. Or a businessspony."

"Well... You mentioned that you didn't want to return the Vertibuck to me, and a few moments ago I sensed a certain 'but' in your tone concerning me."

"Yes. There is. As soon as we heard that another Vertibuck had been seen within the city limits, we knew right away that it was you. Based on the fact that you got another Vertibuck that could only have been in the Northern Soul, Troy and I had a definite change of heart. Plus, you got the blueprints."

"Yeah," I say, pulling out a folder. "You can make a copy of them and... Yes. I can see your surprised look. I mean, I could use the blueprints myself, in case something happens to the Vertibuck and I have to fix it. And without the blueprints it's going to take me a long time to figure out what's what."

"I see. So, when you got all this stuff, we decided to give you Venture back after all. Especially since you brought a bigger Vertibuck, more suitable for freight."

"Can I have Venture back?"

"Yes. Isn't that right, Troy?" Robus turns to him.

"Definitely," he replies. "I finished working with her just a couple of hours ago. Now I want to work on the new bird. She's big, and I'm going to be examining and caressing her for a long time. Well, you've got instructions that will make it much easier for me to bond with her."

"Sure. Here you go and make a copy."

"Excellent," the pegasus says, taking the blueprints like a priceless treasure. "And yes," he continues, examining the blueprints. "I've examined your little bird and may be able to improve it. Point me out in a little while. I got the blueprints, after all, which means I can find out exactly what I can add. I'll make her into a gorgeous little sweetie that'll make your mouth water. And if you get any rare technologies that can be adapted to Vertibucks or any vehicle, let me know. After all, exotics might appeal to some birds, too. There are so many rare and expensive gimmicks that make babes melt when they touch them. Yours was all ecstatic about it, too. So, if you want to make your little bird happy again, come see me. She's won me over to the core myself, and I wouldn't mind meeting her again."

What a kiss-ass Troy is... He's clearly impressed by my discovery. He clearly wants to be friends with me—as does Flint, for that matter.

"I'll keep that in mind," I reply, smiling. Yes, I've noticed that there's a lot of high-tech equipment here. From an engineering standpoint, I can literally work around here in any number of ways.

"So," Robus suddenly turns to me again, "you're not offended that we just sent you to your death and weren't going to give you Vertibuck? We'd like to work with you again."

"You know, I was once told that when something is said and a 'but' is used afterwards, it no longer matters what came before that particular 'but,'" I smile. "Especially, as I said earlier, I guessed it. So I don't mind working with you... Just next time."

"That's what I wanted to hear. Now I have to go," Robus says, looking at his PipBuck, and withdraws.

As soon as the head of the family leaves and goes off on his own business, Troy orders the workers to get Venture out and get the other bird in. Meanwhile, the pegasus makes a copy of the blueprints with the scanning equipment; at one point, he lets out a comment while looking at the blueprints, "Oh yeah. I wish I had instructions like that for every mare. And anyone at all. Life would be so much easier." With which I absolutely agree.

Silver Vine flies back to the Steelmane mansion. Keeping an eye on the safety and property of the family, I suppose.

We're getting on Venture. Has it really finally happened? It's hard to believe. Inside, Venture is literally cleaned of dirt and dust—everything is clean and spotless. It's gotten a lot better since it was stolen from me. My beige angel sits at the wheel and inspects it.

"Yes," she says, nodding. "The service has been really quality. See, Danny, that's what I call service. Without asking anything, they did what they needed to do. I wish stallions would do that, too," she jokes.

"Yeah. Just because they were let in and allowed to spend enough time with an object that at the same time allowed themselves to be... explored. In so many ways," I smirk. At these words, Motley immediately fires up the engines of Venture and flies up sharply.

"Oh!" the pegasus exclaims innocently, as if she hadn't even cut me off. "You see, it's really much easier to operate. She's really come to her senses and blossomed." Motley does a couple of turns on Venture. Such abrupt and unexpected somersaults almost made me wet myself. "Look how happy she is."

Oh, Motley. The more I travel with her, the more I notice how she's gradually transformed from a mute mare to a second Lemon. The latter has had a positive effect on her. Even more than I have.

Next stop, Oasis of Vanhoover. We need to stock up on groceries. Last time I visited the Council of The Five Families, Lemon and Motley bought relatively little. There weren't enough caps. Now we have them.

Venture is parked in a special parking lot. The nearby ponies gawk in amazement at the steel bird, as does the parking lot guard.

"If the Vertibuck disappears..." I threaten him with a hoof, handing him a weighty sack of caps. "You disappear too... understand?"

He nods frightened.

"Good," I say.

Motley and I go looking for Bluerise. She turns up at The Bottomless Chest store, selling all sorts of stuff; she has no strict criteria for buying and selling merchandise. Apparently. Bluerise has chosen to be fortunate enough not to limit herself to the sales and purchases that might have occurred if she had chosen a different specialty store. After all, Heaven has made it clear that Bluerise will only be able to buy and sell what she is allowed to buy and sell.

"Hi!" the purple unicorn with her wavy and swaying pink mane greets us with a happy smile as soon as she sees us entering the store. She looks just fine. Already she's clearly taken advantage of the city's cosmetic services. "What brings you to my humble stall?"

"Humble?" I wonder as I look around.

There's an abundance of stuff here: old and still working TVs, toasters, pots and pans, plates, sprayers, radios, and other such junk. In addition to the light blue unicorn, there are two more guards here.

"You call a two-story room that could fit more than one junkyard a stall? More like a bottomless stall," I laugh.

"Well, that's the name. I just opened last night. The old tenant left, so this space is now in my—as much as possible—possession. I have to say, Heaven has made a nice impression on me. It's so beautiful! I love it here."

"I see you are doing well. I'm glad. You look wonderful."

"I can take care of myself here without any problems."

"Fine. That's what we came for... groceries. We need to buy enough to last a long time. And preferably not perishable food. Can you do that? Here's a check for three thousand, and get all the groceries you need."

"And buy what?" Bluerise asks, accepting the 'document'.

"Well... Everything we need to live. The more varied the better."

"Will you watch the store?" the unicorn asks me before leaving.

"Sure. In the meantime, I'll read the spell books."

Study, study, and more study.

"Just don't tear her store apart," Motley mutters, following the unicorn's pink tail outside.

***

The girls left me in the store, and I took a seat on the couch by the entrance. Before they left, Bluerise changed the sign at the entrance to 'Closed'. And so I sit for several hours, continuing to study spell books on teleportation, barriers, and repairs. During this time, the guards don't say a single word, one of them smoking a couple of cigarettes while sitting in a small chair near the cash register, while the other looks at her shotgun with complete apathy and strolls around the store interior a couple of times. Motley and Bluerise return to the store, bringing a few brahmins behind them.

"Any luck?" I ask, peering out of the store window and examining the crates the rented brahmins have dragged along. Motley and Bluerise step inside.

"Yeah," Bluerise smiles. "Trying to save every cap."

"You should have seen her persistence in that," Motley sighs heavily, sitting down next to me on the couch. "However," the beige pony continues, turning to me with a tired face and a little smile, "that persistence was worth the time it took."

"You did a great job, Bluerise. Thank you so much," I say to the unicorn.

"Yeah, well, I'm always at your service," she nods. "It's always easier to knock down the markup when you have connections. As a Soldier of the Waterfall family, I already know how pricing works... and where merchants inflate prices."

"Meaning?"

"They tell the family they sold a case of apples for 57 caps, but they actually sold it for 60. They pocketed the difference."

"Yeah... got it."

"Also, Motley ate baked apples and boiled corn along the way..."

"Hey!" Motley resents.

"...so some of your caps are spent on cooked food, and it costs more."

"Hey... I thought you were going to keep quiet about that."

"Well, you didn't ask me to." Bluerise shrugs innocently. "Besides, I don't usually keep quiet about these things. I report on all the other ponies' caps I've spent."

"Still... it's..." the pegasus starts mumbling something, hiding her eyes.

"And you thought I wouldn't find out?" I indignantly turn to her. "You bought food for yourself, and you forgot about me? For my caps, too!" Of course, I'm just exaggerating, but the point is not far from the truth. I'm hungry. "Sitting here, enduring more than an hour so I can cook and eat at home later!"

"Oh..." she sighs heavily. The purple unicorn chuckles softly.

"Thank you, Blue," I say.

"You're welcome," she smiles.

Motley begins, getting up and heading for the exit, "What a snide way to say it." She leaves the store, and Blueкise and I look at each other and laugh.

"Will you walk with us to the Vertibuck?"

"I don't mind. Going to see what everyone is judging about, I have a desire. Just make it quick, or I've probably lost a few customers already," the unicorn mutters as we walk out of the store.

"Bluerise," I turn to the unicorn as I walk toward Venture, "aren't you bored with those guards?"

"You mean Daisy and Olin?" Bluerise clarifies.

"Huh... That's their name," I say thoughtfully, staring at one point in front of me.

"Yeah... They are silent, yet trustworthy. Miss Waterfall suggested them as guards because they were short on caps and desperately needed a part-time job, and few pony want chatty guards. So they tried not to lose their jobs. I did manage to talk to them once in a while, though. They don't talk to customers, but they'll talk to me if I'm the first one to start a conversation."

"Blue," the beige pegasus turns to the unicorn, standing beside her. "Lend me five caps."

"You can rel—" I start, but she interrupts me by raising her hoof to my lips.

"Well?" she waits. Bluerise is a little surprised, but she pulls out a small sack and gives it to her.

"Thank you. I'll give it back sometime," she mutters and immediately runs off.

"Where are you going?" I shout after her. There is no answer. We continue walking to the Vertibuck.

"What's she doing?" Bluerise asks.

"Hell if I know..." A few minutes later, the beige pony returns... with three baked apples strung on a stick.

"Hewe," with a blush on her cheeks, she offers them to me, holding them in her teeth by the wooden stick. I'm a little surprised, but still take with my magic the baked apples on the stick. "Enjoy."

"But... why?" I utter without any understanding.

"You said you wanted to eat. You caused all that drama in there."

"I was joking!"

"There's truth in every joke. Come on, eat. It'll be easier to cook later. I did feel uncomfortable..."

"Oh... woe is me," I walk over to her and hug her. "Thank you. Much appreciated for your concern."

"You may," Bluerise says with a smile, "this debt won't pay me back."

"No, no," the pegasus protests immediately. "I pay back all my debts. So don't give me any favors."

I just shake my head and eat all three baked apples with great appetite. It's the first time I've ever eaten one of these, but it tasted good; given the hunger, it was especially good. Or maybe it's because someone gave me a treat.

We reach Venture, around which curious masters are already clustered. I figured I shouldn't fly in for a lot of shopping right on the Vertibuck, or I'd attract unnecessary attention. It's too early for that. They might snatch my Venture again.

Bluerise evaluates what she's seen. She likes the imposing and marvelous transport, a work of engineering; she's even beginning to envy me a little that I can now travel easily and comfortably to all corners of the Wasteland. After loading the crates of provisions and saying goodbye to the unicorn, we take off in the Vertibuck and head toward Heavenly Harbor.

***

"Wow," Ferris marvels as he unloads Venture and carries the first boxes into the kitchen. He, by the way, admired Venture himself as soon as he saw it. He said it looked impressive. My pride skyrocketed at his admiration.

We unload everything into place. Motley goes to the Northern Soul to get the combat Vertibuck and Crazy Captain, and Ferris and I get to work our 'magic' at the stove and in the kitchen. He tells me interesting methods of cooking meals.

"Now you're going to meet one pony," I say.

"Really? And who is he?" the griffon asks, putting down his tools and turning to me.

"That former military captain. Steel Sun. You can call him Captain. He's a ghoul."

"Yeah," he utters, standing at the sink. Didn't expect him to be so hygienic... does the dishes himself. "I remember you talking about him. You don't see many intelligent ghouls in this region. They are mostly wild. The others who have recently become a ghoul are not left within the city limits for long, or are simply killed if they refuse to leave. A ghoul that has retained signs of sanity usually becomes a raider, for it is only in the Crater that there is any possibility of communicating with others."

"Communicate with others?"

"There are separate neutral areas, like bars or places for entertainment. They're controlled by really strong gangs who profit from it. They've settled in there so well that even if they weren't ghouls, it's more profitable for them to live in the Crater than in Vanhoover, because of the lack of rules. Is your Captain reasonable?"

"Well, reasonable is a strong word. Don't forget that he takes me and Motley and 'Berry' for Equestria soldiers. By the way, he thinks the state of Equestria is alive. Seems to have lost track of time."

"A pre-war ghoul? Sounds interesting and promising," the griffon mumbles ironically.

"Pose as a special agent of the Griffon Kingdom who has been sent on a mission to catch the criminal families in Vanhoover. Since there are griffons from your homeland among them who must be caught and brought to justice."

Ferris laughs when he hears this.

"Okay, but I have a question: why play the part?"

"To earn his trust. Who knows how much he's lost his mind in two hundred years. So let him get used to us, and then we can persuade him to use the ghouls of the Northern Soul, that is, the soldiers, in the future, as long as they obey him. That might come in handy."

"I think it would be useful to use ghouls. Wait, if he thinks you're a colonel—"

"Blackwright," I clarify.

"...then why doesn't he just order it?"

"It's not as simple as it sounds. I doubt the Captain would allow the airfield defenses to be weakened and send the ghouls to who-knows-where. He'll have strong doubts about Command giving such an order; he'll think I'm a spy and all that. Besides, he still considers the ghouls to be his subordinates. Especially since he's the only reason we can move around the airfield in peace."

"Deal. Wait, should I call you by your acting name?"

"Code name," I correct Ferris.

"What?" the griffon pauses in surprise a little.

"'Daniel Evans,' 'Motley Cloud,' 'Berry,' I called them code names. I mean, the real names are code names, and you don't have to know the 'real' names. He calls me Blackwright, which, of course, the others wouldn't call me that. So I had to do the code-name thing."

"If anything, then my 'real' name is Dean."

"So be it, Dean," I grin.

After a while we get everything set up in the dining room.

"Oh," Motley enters the dining room and casts her eyes over the food table. "Now that's what I call a feast."

"Where did you leave the combat Vertibuck?" I ask.

"Outside over the platform. So I don't recommend opening the hatch above the platform if you decide to take off on Venture."

"Don't worry. The next flight will be precisely on a combat Vertibuck to the Steel Rangers. Not until tomorrow. Now have dinner and rest," I say and strike a butler's pose, pointing to the table with the food.

"Sir, do you know how to cook?" the ghoul asks, overcome with laughter.

"A little bit. And I cooked with the help of my friend from the Griffon Kingdom. You may, by the way, communicate in an informal tone."

Everyone sits down to eat.

"How's the food?" I ask Motley.

"Wet," she replies, chewing on a baked potato.

"Wet?" I wonder a little.

"Well, it's not dry, is it?" she replies jokingly and continues eating.

"Argument accepted. What does it mean?"

"Let's just say it's not fatal and quite pleasant to eat," she replies, then takes a sip from a Sparkle Cola.

"Well, what do you say, Captain?" I turn to the ghoul, who's already eaten his portion.

"Food?" he interjects. I nod. "Acceptable."

"Okay..." I say, not the least bit surprised by his answer.

"Motley Cloud, what have you been up to?" the Captain asks.

"Mostly reconnaissance operations," she answers. "Missions like that were dangerous, as long as we were sent to unknown places to scour the area in question and make a report on it. Assignments that somehow related to Vanhoover District rarely got anyone."

"And did you get many of them?" I ask.

Intelligence operations are natural for large organizations. They need to know what's going on around them, where the danger is, where the potential danger is, and so on. Knowledge is power.

"I don't know," Motley replies, "but it was the reconnaissance units that were sent on missions most of the time, and then they'd send the gathering units along with the science and assault units if they found anything worthwhile or any resources."

"Dean..." the Captain turns to the gray griffon. "What do you do?"

Ferris looks at me, expecting me to do something. I just shrug.

"I... prefer not to spread the word about my Kingdom's activities. All I can say is that I serve at the King's court in the capital city of Lionheart."

"I know where your King is," the Captain interrupts politely. "So, there is no need for me to explain. I've been to your kingdom several times. Nearby, after all."

"And what do you think?" Ferris asks.

Lilac has spent her whole life in those places. I wonder if Lilac would have been able to find common ground with Ferris if she were alive. She knows how to sass and isn't afraid of griffons, even though they can eat pony meat like we can eat any other meat.

Oh, can ponies eat griffon meat? Would it taste like chicken or turkey?

"Unusual. Your houses are mostly in mountainous areas. It's inconvenient to move around."

"That's right... it's hard to get close to us unnoticed," Ferris smiles.

"Okay," I say, finishing my water. "Good night, everyone."

"Hold on, Daniel, sir," the captain replies. "Where's my bunk, if it's meant for me?"

"Yes, take any one that isn't occupied by my three agents," I reply, standing at the exit of the mess hall. "Wherever you find a bed, that's where you sleep. Since there's been an incident with the security system here, which has caused damage to some of the bunker systems, we need rare parts and components to repair them. Almost all of the furniture and devices have been destroyed and ruined."

It would be superfluous to tell the ghoul that this is the place we occupied, for the last owners of this residence have sunk into oblivion.

"Now I see," the ghoul says, "why the lights don't work in some of the rooms and why the walls look like sieves."

***

I reached my apartment, so I took off my armor and lay down on the double bed.

I don't really feel like sleeping, so I think about what to do to entertain myself. The bed isn't bad, it's comfortable, but it doesn't compare to the furniture in the Luxury. There I slept in a gorgeous, soft and huge bed with Flow.

I wonder how my former slave girl is learning to be independent and how her chef skills are doing?

Idea!

How about offering Flow to cook meals here? Somehow I have no doubt she would agree, given her attitude toward me. I hadn't originally wanted to ask her to do anything, for as a slave she had no right to refuse. But now... In this time, she should have learned to say no by now. She should feel free to make a decision.

Alright... I'll do it. I'll invite her.

I'm tired of lying down, so I stroll through the three rooms in my apartment, analyzing all the information I have on Vanhoover and Dome Project. I wander through the main room, the bedroom, and the occasional peek into the private bathroom. I know from experience that any insignificant detail can prompt certain thoughts, but so far nothing substantial comes to mind. Sometimes thoughts of Motley pop into my head, then Lilac, Lemon... Bluerise, Ferris.... Violet Ardor.

I sit down in one of the chairs in the main room to look at my Pip-Boy notes and read them. See if there's anything there to rethink.

Again, no new connections emerge after rereading. But I do see a note that I found a memory orb at the Northern Soul, and that it would be a good idea to look it up.

I rise from my chair and make my way to my bags in the bedroom. I dig through them and pull out a memory orb, placing it carefully on my hoof with magic. The small glass ball flickers slightly lazily and shimmers with bluish hues. I gaze into it and wonder if it is worth watching, for who knows how long I will spend in it. After weighing all the possible consequences, I walk to the bedroom door and lock it, then hop on the bed, concentrate on the memory ball, and fall into someone else's memories.

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

I feel again what I experienced when I was in the mare's body. However, these are also slightly different, or rather, complementary—I feel that behind the hostess's back there are two more... extensions? Yes, I believe I am in the body of a pegasus. I distinctly feel that the wings behind my back have many nerve endings. They are extremely sensitive. No wonder why Motley could barely contain the painful cries when I had to attend to her wings when fighting in the Crater. At least a few times I noticed a slight smile of pleasure on her lips when I used my telekinesis to check for any damage left on her wings.

There was just as much pleasure to be had by touching them. Running my fingers over these soft and sensitive instruments of flight. To feel them, to stroke them, to squeeze and release them... I'm more than sure that the owners of the wings would experience more pleasure than the human hand. However, that will not be the case.

Nevertheless, it will be an interesting memory, especially if its hostess flies. I hope I can feel what pegasi feel when they soar through the skies among the clouds. Motley has taken me up in the air a couple of times in the Crater. And... it was delightful.

Now the owner of the memory is standing in front of the washbasin, looking in the mirror, brushing her teeth. She is a pretty light green pegasus with a thick mane of deep green, and her eyes are silvery blue.

After brushing her teeth and washing her face, the pegasus leaves the restroom and heads for her bed. We appear to be in a barracks: there are many beds here. There are about eight mares in sight.

Hmm, female company. I like that, but the hostess of the memory didn't last long here—she runs out of the barracks and heads out to the training ground.

It's a sunny day outside, and small white clouds lazily float among the skies. Someone's orders and the sound of engines can be heard from everywhere. After a few physical exercises, the pegasus begins flight training.

Owner of the memory prepares herself and takes off. She deftly flies around air obstacles.

Oh, what a superb sensation during flight. Just breathtaking! Soft and humid air glides beneath her sensitive feathers. Something terribly pleasant tickles the nerves, as if I would scratch something that itches. There is something very similar in the wings, only without the itching. A blissful sensation of relief and satisfaction.

I get used to it like a drug. Under the pleasure, I lose track of time. Definitely, I envy the pegasi even more—I want to experience such a pleasant sensation again and again, just like touching my member. I'm sure the pegasi are used to it by now, and just take it for granted. But, hell, it's just an unforgettable experience!

The pegasus performs some difficult spins, during which I mentally yell, "Help!" She really is an excellent flyer.

As she flies, the owner of the memory draws attention to a pony moving in the shadows between the barracks. He is clearly trying not to reveal his presence, but doesn't notice the pegasus in the sky. Squinting, she examines him—it's a light blue unicorn with a dark blue mane. After a few seconds he manages to hide. The owner of the memory scratches the back of her head in surprise and in the next moment flies into some small structure. After walking down the corridors, she approaches the door and knocks. After permission to enter, she opens the door and goes inside.

It is the office of some officer, whose possessor, meanwhile, is sitting at his desk in a small armchair. The unicorn is yellow with a neatly trimmed steel-colored mane and wears a dark gray overcoat... a rather familiar overcoat.

"Permission to report!" the host of the memory says decisively, saluting.

"Permission granted," he replies.

"Captain Steel Sun, sir!" she begins. Oh boy, it's a coincidence that it's that crazy ghoul in the memories. Lucky me. It's only natural, though, since he's been at this airfield for a long time. "During flight training, a suspicious pony was seen lurking in the shadows. He was looking around extremely cautiously. After I spotted him, he disappeared after a few seconds. But I managed to remember his appearance. It is a unicorn between twenty-five and thirty years old, light blue, almost white in color, with a dark blue mane," the pegasus says clearly.

The captain's face expressed warning at first, but after describing the pony, the captain softened.

"Thank you for the information, soldier..."

"Private Green Smoozy, sir," the pegasus replies. The captain nods.

"You are free to go, Private Smoozy."

"Let me ask you something," the pegasus says. There is a sense of doubt in her tone. I sense that she is not satisfied with this answer. The captain nods. "What will you do about this pony? Will there be any attempt to catch him?"

"I'm not allowed to ask such a question, Private," the captain says, frowning, almost threateningly. "Dismissed."

"Aye, sir," the pegasus salutes and leaves the office.

"Uh," the pegasus exhales in relief as she closes the door behind her. "I've never seen the captain so harsh, and the tension between us was just pouring over the edge," she mutters. "I wish I hadn't been sent to clean the toilets for that."

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

Who was that suspicious pony? Why was Steel Sun suddenly angry at the pegasus for a simple question? Something is not right here. I'll have to ask the Captain about it tomorrow: I hope he still remembers the moment.

The pleasurable sensations of the flight continue to echo through me. I want more! I involuntarily move my shoulders backward, as if imitating the flap of my wings... I must somehow convince Motley to record the memory of flying at different speeds in different situations. That would be just perfect, but some other time.

I stayed in the memory for about an hour. It's time for bed.

I put the memory orb back in my bags and lay back down on the bed, closing my eyes and falling asleep almost immediately, imagining the sky in front of me and the wings behind me...

Chapter 17 - On the trail

View Online

The 10th of the Month of Heather, Ellowday. The forty-eighth day of my stay.

I shudder as if from an electric shock, and open my eyes abruptly. My front leg trembles while I wipe the cold sweat from my forehead.

It's so strange to no longer feel the hands and fingers with which I just strangled my Brisa. I can't feel them now. I just felt them in my sleep, when my fingers were clutching the throat...

My eyes are covered with moisture. I gasp. I get out of bed and run to the bathroom, turn the valve and wash my face with cold water. A deep breath in and a long exhale. I dip my face in the cold water several times, feeling relieved after each time.

I look in the mirror, at my tired blue eyes.

Everyone dies from my decisions. No matter what I do, everyone dies or suffers sooner or later. I have already gathered around me ponies and a griffon whose fate I care about.

Lemon Star...

Bluerise...

Motley Cloud...

Ferris...

It's always scary to take responsibility for others. And... I'm terrified... taking responsibility for the fate of those with whom I've already become close. I don't want to do that.

I've even laid with some of them already. It makes me feel strange at the thought of it. Conflicting. Calm and friendly, disdainful and disgusted. If it weren't for my fetish for wet bodies, I'd hardly be in these situations. And yet... This antagonism grows stronger every day.

Is it because I'm getting closer to some ponies? Is it because I'm afraid I'll see them die one day? Or the very fact of being intimate with a creature that is not human?

If I were originally a pony... No, falling in love in the Wasteland is dangerous. Every day could be the last for one of us. Lilac was lucky to survive with her lover. She treasured the moments after he died. And I treasure mine with Brisa.

I need a change of scenery... I need a distraction. I need to get back to my search for the Dome. But first I need breakfast, and then...

I'm looking at my Pip-Boy tapes. Now I have a visit to the Steel Rangers on my schedule, and at the same time I need to visit Greenkeys and practice my magic lockpicking, and ask the Captain about the incident with Private Smoozy. Also... Motley... she was in the Enclave a year ago. Her information might be relevant and perhaps useful to others. Defense, infrastructure, tactics, etc. I don't know if the Enclave is planning any invasion anytime soon, but there is never little information about a potential enemy.

Motley's father learned something that caused him, in fact, to be executed, passing off his death as heroic on the battlefield.

"Took you long enough to sleep," Motley's voice interrupts my thoughts as I already find myself in the main hall. The pegasus is sitting relaxed in a chair with a glass of yellowish-orange liquid. Apple juice, most likely. "How thoughtful you are... Didn't you sleep well?"

"Good morning to you, too," I mutter wearily, and yawn involuntarily. It's that feeling when I see her without sadness or sorrow; my mood lifts. What a good mare she is. I'm even a little jealous of her, because it took me longer to recover from the consequences of my actions. "Well... a nightmare from the past."

"Oh."

"It's okay. I'm used to it now. It has to do with how I lost love."

I'm too late to realize what I've said, seeing in Motley's eyes how she intends to speak—because she knew, briefly, that I-

No. I don't want to think about it! I feel bad enough after today's nightmare.

"No, please... I don't want to think about it now."

Motley nods softly. Her face returns to its former grim look. Apparently she's remembering her own, too.

We need a bit of distraction. With what? What to tell her? What to ask her... Think. What should I tell the pegasus? Оh... Right... The memory orb.

"Before I fell asleep, I looked through the memory orb from the Northern Soul. It belonged to a pegasus. And you know what, now I know how pegasi feel when they fly. I'm filled with envy."

"Yes... It's the most beautiful thing there is," Motley agrees. "But the wings are too sensitive. The slightest hit and damage is felt much more strongly than in other parts of the body."

"Like on my horn."

"I guess... I don't know much about your anatomy."

"You know, that explains why I noticed the smile on your face when I was just checking your wings for damage."

The pegasus presses her pretty lips tightly together and turns her head slightly, hiding her beautiful blue eye from view and leaving only a lovely amber one to my gaze.

"Yes... Because of the sensitivity. Gentle touches... Pleasant... I won't lie."

"My horn feels good from gentle touches, too. Earth ponies can be jealous of our extra sensitive zones," I chuckle. Motley backs me up with a giggle.

"Okay. Where's the Captain? I need him."

"Practicing his shooting. I think he picked up the sawed-off shotgun you found in Billy the raider's warehouse. Captain says he likes that weapon."

"Then I'll go to him," I say, heading for the lower levels of the bunker, where the firing range is located.

"I'm with you," Motley says suddenly, rising from her chair.

"Nothing against it... In the meantime, I have one suggestion for you."

"And what is that?" the pegasus' attention is focused entirely on me.

"I need you to make a report, give me up-to-date information on the Enclave: their capabilities, tactics, armaments, forces, combat techniques, and the like."

"What?" the pegasus is amazed. She was clearly not expecting such a suggestion and request. "To give the secrets of the Enclave to just anyone..."

"Well, what have you got to lose? You're not in the Enclave anymore anyway, and besides, you're a traitor."

"Don't say that," the pegasus mutters softly, turning her head down in sadness and sighing wistfully. "As if this were commonplace to me."

"I'm sorry," I hug the pegasus. "I understand your reaction to that word because of what it entails. It's okay, you're my most loyal. Saved my beige butt so many times in Red Spark."

"You saved mine, too."

"Well, it's my responsibility. You followed me, not the other way around. I was talking about how you're not going to get any better in the Enclave one way or the other."

Oh... Well said! I only made it worse. The pegasus is indistinguishable from a grim cloud now, her mood visibly tossing in different directions depending on my words. Why would she react like that to my opinion? Or is the subject too sensitive for her?

"I'm sorry to phrase my thoughts in this way. Anyway, the information you know about the Enclave could save a lot of lives, quite good, though flawed ponies."

"Okay... whatever you say. I'll do it."

I hug the pegasus even tighter.

"Good pony. I'll make it worth your while."

"How will you repay me?"

"We'll think of something. Whatever you want."

"Deal."

"You take me to the Steel Rangers and pick me up in twenty-six hours at the same place. I need to study with my magic hacking and repair teachers."

"Whatever you say. I'll get some of my stuff from Stable 53 to bring over here in the meantime. I have a feeling I'm going to be stuck here for a long time with you... all of you." Realizing her caveat, she corrects herself. "All the more reason to tell Cherry about the Northern Soul."

"Do you have any other stuff left over there?"

"Well, of course: I was wearing power armor, and I had some high-tech gear with me, too."

"That's right, I didn't run away with empty pockets. So... You're taking someone else's, and you're taking them skillfully," I grin playfully.

"You make it sound like I'm a sneaky thief!" the pegasus looks at me seriously, and then she lowers her head awkwardly. "Maybe a little, just a little. Yeah, and all the gear's in crap condition after the... incident with the former team members."

"I've seen the aftermath," I mutter, remembering the place I visited on a tip from the head scribe of the Steel Rangers. The pegasus looks at me with interest. "I saw the whole thing. I can only assume you were fighting against your own."

"Yes..."

"What did they want to do?"

"They wanted to know what happened. When they found out what I had done... They decided to bring me back by force. Even my special pony wanted me to surrender voluntarily, because then they wouldn't expel me or execute me, they'd just put me in jail for a long time."

"You didn't want to go back, did you?"

"Yes. And... I hated everyone at that moment. I felt like my lover and the squad had betrayed me. All they wanted was to... mitigate the consequences of my crime... I..."

I can feel the pegasus' body trembling. Her breathing has quickened—just like mine this morning. She's ready to cry. I hug her tighter and pull her to me. She rests her face against my neck.

"I'm awful... Torturing others... Killing friends and loved ones..."

What a good start to the morning. Just beautiful.

Motley sobs softly, hugging me back.

"You're not awful. Circumstances are just the way they are."

I keep hugging her until she calms down. Hugging ponies is nice, especially Motley; too bad with such a sad excuse.

With a confused look, the pegasus pulls out of my embrace.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I... Yeah... never mind. Another bout of self-condemnation."

"What's bothering you?"

"I... don't deserve..."

"Don't deserve what?"

"To be hugged."

"Why?"

"Because I'm... a-awful pony..." her voice is ragged and choppy, as if with a sense of shame throwing these words at me.

I smile and hug her again.

I don't know why I feel like hugging her. Why I relate to her with such warmth. She tortured her sister's suspected murderer without any hard evidence, obtained a rather dubious confession through torture, and then killed him. She was driven by a thirst for justice, because she had originally sued him. Everyone is subject to emotion... and she's... She's just like the rest of us. She did wrong, but I have no right to blame her.

"And I think you deserve a hug," I say. "It also feels good to hold you."

"But..."

"Don't argue with your superiors," I mutter and smile.

The pegasus responds in kind, adding, "As you command... colonel."

"I'm going to go get some breakfast now, and then I'll pay the Captain a visit."

Motley follows me.

***

"Captain," I turn to the ghoul, who levitates Billy's sawed-off shotgun and fires it at the target wall, occasionally doing rolls and tactical maneuvers, "we need to talk."

"What do you want to talk about, sir?" the ghoul asks, stopping his shooting practice and turning to us.

"You remember Private Smoozy?"

"Yes, sir," he pronounces, delaying his answer.

"Can you tell me why you reacted so strongly to the question about the suspicious unicorn that was spotted by the pegasus?"

"That is classified information, sir."

"I think I, as the highest ranking, have a right to know about it. Especially since this information will come in very handy in catching criminal families."

"If that's the way the question is put, sir. This was a training exercise. This apprentice had to run secret training errands without getting caught by base personnel."

"What kind of exercise?"

"The Northern Soul is one of the training grounds, really, the exercises are secret from the rest of the camp. Only a few officers know about it."

I'd already forgotten that for him, the base still serves its strategic function.

"What was the nature of the exercise?" I ask with genuine curiosity. I seem to be onto something interesting.

"Preparation for service in The Controllers," the Captain answers easily and simply. The name makes my twists in the head start to vibrate, like frightened bedbugs after a mattress has come into motion.

"I know about them..." I mutter, not believing my ears. This is the straw that will help me find the rest of the keys, or maybe the entrance to the Dome itself! "And what was this apprentice's name?"

"Eric Frost."

Holy shit! My assumptions about Eric were confirmed. After his first face-to-face meeting with the Controller, he told himself that he wanted to be one of them. Strangely, I didn't recognize his appearance when I looked in the memory orb, since I'd seen him in a picture with his wife. Maybe I didn't remember it well. And that was three weeks ago.

"At the time," the Captain goes on, "he was just beginning to learn—but he had already shown great hopes. He had amazing potential, both intellectual and magical. His logical mind and love of mathematics and accuracy made all the difference: he was a good manager of knowledge and abilities. He turned out to be a true professional in a very short time. And that was the only time he was noticed during the training exercises. I remember he was just beginning the tests and trainings composed by a special branch of the staff. He completed the rest of his exercises within the base without a hitch. Who would have thought that an ordinary bookkeeper would become a Comptroller—usually it was always the other way around when agents created a legend for this or that personnel."

"Do you know much about The Controllers?"

"Only that they were responsible for the security of a major project that had the name of the Dome, " the Captain explains mundanely.

My twists go into a wild, unrestrained dance.

"Do you have information about Dome Project?" I ask with a blaze of curiosity.

"No, sir."

And it immediately goes out, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on it.

"The Controllers didn't give me detailed information. Even those who were particularly involved in the project were not aware of everything. Fragmentation of information, in other words. If, after all, The Controllers couldn't protect those involved in the project from the Stripes, the prisoners wouldn't give up all the information to the enemy anyway. Only the Director, Princess Luna, and the initiators of the project themselves, the Ministry Mares, had full access to the project. The Dome is the future of Equestria. That's all I know. It was my responsibility not to leak that the base was a training ground."

"Was the project completed?" I ask hopefully. At least he should know that!

"Unknown, sir."

Son of a...

"At the height of the war, when almost all the Pegasi were also rebelling, hiding behind the clouds, there were great rumors circulating about it. Some say the project was successfully completed, others say it was a total failure, and still others say the project was taken over by the Stripes. I have very little faith in the latter; apparently, this rumor was started by the Stripes themselves in order to agitate the Ministries and tickle the nerves of our great country. However, sir, even this version has its place."

"Why?"

"There was turmoil, murder and betrayal in the ranks of The Controllers at the time, and even Eric was involved. There was no telling whether all that was worth believing. So there were rumors that the project had collapsed or that the Stripes had taken over, but I was sure the agents loyal to the state had resolved it and settled everything. After that there was complete silence. No rumors, no orders from The Controllers—nothing, sir."

It's in the middle of a war—there must have been the megaspell dropped somewhere around that time. The silence can be explained by the fact that the Captain does not know about the end of the world, or that the state is busy with other problems, such as the Pegasi rebellion. However, the betrayals and murders within the ranks of The Controllers and Eric's involvement in them make me concerned.

"You mentioned the Pegasi rebellion," I say. "What do you know about it?"

"Not much. The cowardly traitors have closed behind the clouds!" he exclaims angrily. "I hope Equestria is looking for ways to bring the main rebels to justice. Of course, there weren't traitors everywhere. Here, for example, at the Northern Soul. My soldiers are not miserable cowards! Defending their country and doing their duty no matter what! Running away from their duty! Abandon their country at the most crucial moment! How could they? No wonder the state has allowed crime to proliferate in cities like Vanhoover. And the war with the Stripes, and the rebels, and the criminals, and the problems in the ranks of The Controllers... So much has fallen upon our homeland. What is she being punished for, sir?"

"I have no idea. These are hard times, Steel. You can't give up. You're doing the right thing, and so are your soldiers at the Northern Soul. I admire your loyalty and fortitude in these difficult times."

"Serving Equestria! Thank you, sir," he says excitedly and salutes.

"One more question. What do you know about Eric Frost?"

Okay, that leaves us to pull the last string—Eric. He left his memories behind for a reason; maybe they'll lead me to the trail. But what was Eric doing it for? Was he the traitor The Controllers thought he was? But for what purpose?

"Nice kid. Knows how to get his way, no matter how difficult the challenge. Sensible and considerate. Mastered hoof-fighting to perfection, developed excellent reactions and senses. Within a few years he had honed his skills to the level of a professional. He was even more experienced than his fellow agents. True, he was quiet and would only answer when approached directly. As I mentioned earlier, he had a lot of potential, sir," the Captain's radiation-damaged yellow face shows a smile. "What happened to him after training, I don't know, but a temporary place of residence was written into his file for the duration of his training. Not far away, in a little town east of the Northern Soul, North Park."

"Do you remember the address?"

"Unfortunately, no, sir," the Captain replies guiltily.

"It interested me that you mentioned Eric as being involved in treachery among The Controllers. Why would he be involved all of a sudden?"

"Well... I mean, he became a full-fledged agent, which means he had a direct connection. Before the connection with The Controllers was cut off, there were accusations of betrayal directed at him. I'm not sure, it's just a rumor... If he is a traitor, then... it's very sad, sir, that such a skilled and talented agent sold out to the Stripes."

"Well, okay. Anyway, thanks for the information. It was very helpful to me," I say sincerely and without sarcasm.

"Always at your service, sir," the Captain salutes again. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"May I," the Captain begins, levitating Billy's sawed-off gun in front of me, "have this weapon for the duration of the operation to catch the criminal families?"

"You can have it if you want it," I say, smiling.

"Thank you, sir!" he smiles.

"You're welcome. Good luck with your training," I say and head for the exit of the shooting range.

"What are you up to?" Motley asks me when we're already out of the training room. "And who is Eric? And why is he on your interest list?"

"A pre-war figure, as you might have realized... And stallions are definitely not his type. Besides, it's been two hundred years. He was married... to someone he loved very much. She was murdered, and he was trying to find his place in life. To begin with, his main goal was to find the killers and get revenge, even if he went to jail."

"He can be understood," the pegasus says.

"Yes. He willed without his knowledge to become involved in the creation of the Dome, and that is why he interests me, since he is now the only breadcrumb to 'Legacy of Equestria'—unless, of course, it's a myth and an elaborate scheme to divert the Zebra Intelligence. Later, Erik was personally introduced to a Controller because he began discussing prohibited things. Apparently, he decided to use the Controllers' extensive powers to find the killers. The memory orbs associated with Eric Frost will help me get to the key cards of the Dome, and maybe the project itself."

"Sounds fine to me..."

"What? You're not interested in the Dome at all?"

"No. That's the least of my worries right now. I also think you're wasting your time. Looking for it won't get you anywhere. There hasn't been any information about it in the Enclave either... as far as I know. Speaking of which. I'm going to go make the report."

I nod and glance at the departing pegasus. I blink, realizing I've been staring at her cutimark with its swirling autumn leaves.

"What are you thinking about?" I hear a familiar voice and turn to its source—the gray griffon pacing slowly toward me. "And what are we staring at?" he asks with a lustful smile.

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently. "And what are you doing here in the first place?"

"I was on my way to get something delicious and then I saw a sweet couple... Talking peacefully and warmly."

"Talking about where we're going after the Steel Rangers base."

"I missed that. I saw your gaze go over Motley's butt.

"What are you talking about, anyway? I was just watching my partner walk away and wondered. It was a bad angle from your position, so you imagined something far from the truth."

"You make no secret of the fact that you find her attractive?"

"What, you don't think she's attractive?"

"Argument accepted," Ferris smiles. "Does she know?"

"About what?"

"That you like her."

"Oh. What makes you think I'm partial to her?"

"How? You two got noticeably closer in Red Park. I'd be certainly stealing her for myself."

"So why wouldn't you?"

"Stereotypes..." the griffon mutters resentfully.

"What?"

"Well, you ponies in Equestria have loved all sorts of romantic stories about griffons and pegasi since time immemorial. Strong males, confident and fearless hunters... Mares are attracted to such things when a massive griffon treats them like... prey. We also have big—"

"I got you."

"-wings, I mean," there's a sly, winning smile on his beak.

"So why don't you steal her for yourself?"

"Motley is flexible... Griffons are attracted to strong individuals, especially flying ones. But confident pegasi are incredibly few. So it's more the wet fantasies of mares about griffons, not the other way around. Griffons are attracted to strong and proud females, of which there are plenty among my kind.

"Did you have one of those?"

"Oh, yes..." he says dreamily. "Agile and untamed. Trying to fuck her and not let her seize the initiative is a challenge... But that's the point. Male griffons like to fight, and female griffons want to lose to those stronger than them... Ponies are compliant by nature, which is why mares don't even want to... 'wrestle'. Even though Motley is similar in behavior to a griffon, she won't be able to resist me in bed."

"She's a good fighter, actually."

Ferris raises his clawed paw, clenches it into a fist, and unclenches it.

"I have no problem grabbing her and not letting her out. Pin her to the bed and fuck her. It's too easy for me, as you can see. I'm not interested in that kind of thing. It doesn't even excite me. I'm much more interested when... the prey resists a little. No forcing, that's not what you're thinking. It's a contest for initiative."

"Then you can't handle a uni—"

"Most unicorns have trouble holding a huge griffon in telekinesis. If I grab them by the horn, they can't use magic. So ponies aren't my type. Weaker male griffons prefer ponies because they couldn't overpower a female griffon."

"Griffons like to be dom?"

"Always have and always will. But we've gotten away from the conversation... Why don't you want to fuck Motley?"

He has a simply delightful and straightforward way of putting the question.

"Yes," Ferris smirks, "I can see in your eyes that you want to."

Oh, those griffons.

"Stallions aren't afraid to give the initiative to mares," I say, trying to change the subject of conversation.

"Boring... And low. Don't fall in my eyes, don't let Motley saddle you if it comes to that. You must dominate, rule, and humiliate."

I shake my head condescendingly.

"Unless it's playful," I say. "It made me wonder: how do you feel about gay griffons?"

"Depends on who the active is. A male griffon that can overpower and fuck another male griffon? Oh. That's a hell of an alpha male. That's the kind I respect the most. The fucked one, on the other hand, I view as the female griffon."

"What if they change roles one by one?"

"Then they're both like female griffons. A male should always dominate... So? We're getting away from the original topic of conversation again. Why don't you want to feel her warm moist softness?"

Is he phrasing questions in this way on purpose to excite my fantasy? It only distracts me from my complex treatment of her.

"That's a tough question. I don't even know. I don't want to take responsibility for her life."

"Ah, you're not just feeling attracted to her... Are you starting to like her on a deeper level?"

It gets to him!

"Yes. That's why I don't want to hurt her in any way. I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to her."

"Huh... Well, then, do your best to make sure nothing happens to her. You can't guard against everything, after all. But that doesn't mean you have to be afraid of responsibility. It's one thing when you don't want extra responsibility, and it's quite another when you're afraid of responsibility. You just have to learn to accept the consequences for what they are and make a conclusion. Everybody has some kind of responsibility. If you don't know how to take responsibility... You're nothing more than a slave."

I just nod. Ferris pats me on the shoulder and leaves to the dining room.

***

Motley makes the report, and I continue to sharpen my teleportation skills. The spells related to breaking and repairing are quickly mastered, but teleportation takes much longer, as it did when I studied the magical barrier. My tendencies affect my magical abilities, so I cannot sufficiently master barrier and teleportation: they require too much of my inner magic to use several times in a row.

The less magic I have, the longer it will take to regenerate. I can maintain a barrier for no more than two minutes—if it is not attacked. Otherwise, I am capable of maintaining the barrier for twenty seconds. Trying to hold the barrier a little longer will cause a severe headache, as well as a sharp pain in my horn.

Telekinesis actually requires no magical input. Repair and lockpicking spells require relatively few magical resources, but still more than telekinesis.

Time runs on the clock, and my teleportation skills improve a bit through practice. Theory is just a collection of text and symbols, and without practice it loses all meaning. I don't use teleportation in practice, I just try to concentrate magic to use it and disperse the spell at the last moment. I do this in order to learn to use less magic to apply teleportation. However, I still teleport at certain intervals. The main rule of improving spells is repetition, so as to reduce the cost of using them. The right concentration of magic is the key to success. Throwing magic left and right not only depletes it quickly, but also reduces the effectiveness of the spell itself.

I'm automatically good at concentrating and focusing spells in the areas of lockpicking and repairing, since I'm perfectly proficient in those areas without magic, and it doesn't take much practice to improve efficiency.

So, it's time to finally teleport again...

Okay, concentrate the magic in the horn... Flash.

A painful bump against someone's body. I'm lying on top of someone. The spell worked right. It didn't seem to teleport me into the wall...

"Oh," I groan simultaneously with someone else. "What the..."

Did I miss and miscalculate the point of teleportation?

I see the beige pegasus underneath me and scattered scribbled pages of paper on the floor.

Holy... If she'd been even a few inches in the wrong place, I don't know what would have happened!

"What the fuck?!" I say in an angry, loud voice and look at the pegasus lying beneath me. Our faces are only a few inches apart. I can smell her breath—it reeks of sweet almonds. "If you were any closer to where I teleported to, we'd probably be dead or worse!"

"I- I'm sorry... I-I didn't know you teleported here," Motley mumbles guiltily, pulling her gaze away and pressing her ears down.

What on earth was she doing here? And why didn't I notice her when I teleported? It was as if she was hiding, or trying to keep out of my way, but she couldn't think I was teleporting that far away.

How careless of her. Shit... And yet I hadn't teleported again in a long time during my training session before, so she clearly didn't expect me to actually complete the spell.

"Okay," I sighed heavily, looking at the frightened, guilty pony. "Lucky nothing bad happened. Come on," I say, helping Motley up, "get up. No lying on the cold floor or you'll catch a cold. Have you done your report on the Enclave yet?"

"Y-yes," the pegasus hesitantly squeezes out a statement, looking at the scattered papers while I pick them up with magic, putting them in one small stack.

It seems to me that the almond pony... ugh, Motley just doesn't want to look me in the eye because we almost got hurt. Either that or she didn't expect me to get so mad at her. It was my fault, too, for being inconsiderate; her death would have been on my conscience if I had been so close. I hate it so much.

Once I've managed to collect the papers, I look at them.

"I'm sorry again. I really didn't mean to..." Her voice turns to a guilty whisper at the end.

"Oh..." I sigh, glancing over the sheets at the apologetic pony. "I'm not mad anymore," I smile, feeling the remnants of anger still in me. But it's under my control. I won't let anger control me.

Motley cautiously lifts his multicolored eyes at me, and, noticing my faint smile, relaxes.

"Nothing irreparable has happened to us," I add, thinking about the fact that I'm the only one to blame. "And that's all that matters."

Motley is cheered up, and, judging by her facial expression, she's relieved. There is a silence, during which I read the text she wrote. Though I'm focused, the silence feels a little awkward in this case.

"Well done, you've made progress in your training," she says, rubbing her front leg with the other.

"Yeah... thanks," I mutter, trying not to look away from what I've written. My gaze keeps sliding over the text to roughly understand the content. "This is exactly everything we need, isn't it?"

"Everything known to an Enclave scout, which I was, is here. The Enclave rarely changes anything, even in decades. So are we going?"

"Sure. Now I'll get Violet's power armor and we'll head for the Steel Rangers... Also. Don't hide when I'm training. Teleportation isn't very accurate yet, since the farther away you go, the bigger the inaccuracy. I might not arrive where I planned."

"Okay..." she replies in a guilty tone. "I won't do it again."

"I don't want," I say, continuing to read the report on the three surviving sky pegasi cities, "to have your death on my conscience."

"Here I am... my own fault."

"No. I didn't check the surroundings thoroughly. This is all my fault. I could have teleported right into you... Merge with your body or tear you apart."

Motley looks horrified by my words.

"I didn't think it was that serious..."

"Teleportation itself is a dangerous and powerful spell."

"I just didn't want to distract you. And looking at you... made me wonder."

"On what?"

"I was thinking about what you said when we left the Crater. You said that... killed your first love. How did that... happened? What happened?"

My focus disappears in an instant, and I stare blankly at the pages she's written out on the approximate number of pegasi behind the clouds, not knowing what to answer the pegasus.

"I understand," she continues, sighing excitedly, "that it's not easy. And... Oh..."

Killing her loved ones now worries her. My situation is similar to hers, though I don't know the details of her accident. This morning I learned more about what she had to do with her squad.

My heart shrinks from the painful memories, and I sigh deeply, trying to keep my composure. The glowing purple mushrooms reappear before my eyes. My body tenses. I want to burn them all to the ground.

I take a deep breath, and then exhale...

Inhale...

Exhale...

I'll tell her. It's the subject that's occupying her the most right now. Even though I am somewhat resigned to what happened, I will never be cold to it. Perhaps the pegasus would feel better if I told her about that fateful day.

And... she told me about herself. How does it work in the Wasteland? You give to me and I give to you. A barter.

The pegasus shifts restlessly in her seat.

"Hallucinations," I answer honestly. "Hallucinations have happened. We looked into a cave out of curiosity. There were special... mushrooms. Their smell affected us. We were... It was like we were in a dream. I don't know how we ended up there... on a spaceship... I don't know what she imagined, but I imagined that we were abducted by aliens. We... recently watched a movie about them, so I... When one of the aliens attacked me, I started choking him, and I choked him until he fell silent and went soft. After a while the effect went away, and I saw who I had choked..."

"Oh..." the pegasus sighs in shock. She walks over and hugs me.

She doesn't say a word.

"I'm afraid to take someone with me anywhere. Afraid of... of doing it again. I don't want..." The text of the scribbled pages about the Enclave in New Pegasus in front of me loses its clarity—my eyes hurt from the moisture. "More deaths... because of me..."

I feel her front legs hug my neck. My fur on my cheek makes contact with her beige fur on her warm cheek. It tickles. It feels good. Cozy. I don't want it to stop.

"Thank you," I say after a while.

"And to you. For sharing this with me," she mutters, letting me go.

No... More hugs.

I'm about to hug again, but I hold back just in time. I want another hug from her. They make me feel better...

"And... what did I want to do?" I say in a distracted voice. I can't remember where I was going after the reports.

"To go to the Steel Rangers with the... Violet's power armor."

"Oh, right... Let's go."

***

"Motley," I ask with a wistful look on my face as I sit in the copilot's combat Vertibak chair, "can I launch a rocket? I wanted to do something like that incredibly badly when I first saw this combat Vertibuck. "

I'm actually referring to the Enclave's Vertibirds, but the pegasus doesn't need to know that.

"Okay," Motley sighs. "Just don't turn a random stranger into mincemeat, unless, of course, it's a raider."

"Yehey!" I exclaim cheerfully, and immediately press the button, launching the rocket. The rocket flies forward with a loud hiss, leaving a white plume of smoke behind it and heading toward the rock. The rocket explodes against the rock, forming a small yellow-orange flash, followed by a deafening explosion. I bang my hooves against each other with joy like a child.

Motley barely smiles... at my childish behavior, which makes me a little embarrassed. It also makes me embarrassed that she knows about my past. About the horror I've done.

"I hope," Motley begins, flying up to the base, "Berry has warned everyone of our arrival. Otherwise..."

"She saw the Vertibuck and should have described it. We're in no danger. I hope so."

"If anything, I'm not a skilled pilot and I'm not likely to react in time to a flying missile."

As we fly closer and closer, we see small silhouettes of ponies in massive power armor stirring, focusing their attention on us. They point their guns at us, but do not fire. After a moment, a spotlight flashes in our direction. It flickers at regular intervals, as if to attract our attention.

"Looks like," Motley notes, "we're going for it."

We land, the engines go silent.

"Well," the pegasus says, "it's time to get out. I hope my wings don't interest them..."

"That leaves us to rely on 'Berry,'" I say.

Outside we are greeted by Lemon, fully equipped in power armor.

"Hello!" the familiar voice comes out. She still prefers to hide her appearance, even from her 'brothers and sisters'. "It's good to see you. It's been a long time waiting for you."

"Why we needed to hurry?" I smile.

"Indeed. Look, Motley... Unfortunately, I can't take responsibility for two ponies on the base grounds at once. Besides, you're a Vanhoover mercenary, and Vanhoover flying ponies aren't much liked here."

Just as I thought, Lemon had already made up a legend for Motley. Good for her.

"Don't worry," the pegasus replies. "I'm still uneasy indoors surrounded by ponies in power armor."

"Good. You can take to the air from right here. No one will shoot at you."

"Wait for me tomorrow night on Venture where you landed last time."

"Then... have a good day," the pegasus nods and flies away. The Steel Rangers and turrets keep their sights on her until she flies far enough away.

"You were right to tell her earlier not to land here Venture."

"I remember your warning. Just thought I'd play it safe. And yet the Steel Rangers will take my pretty girl away, too?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I can't change their minds. Let's go see the Elder. She doesn't have any meetings right now."

"There's still the Enclave's power armor in the Vertibuck, which I was supposed to give to your head scribe."

"Don't worry. He'll know all about it."

***

"So," Largo Breeze says, looking up after reading the report from Lemon. We are now in her office. "The Northern Soul is fit to set up another base, despite the radiation background in some of the rooms," the Elder reflects aloud, but I interrupt her. There is no one here but me, Lemon, and the Elder herself.

"It's not a wise idea at the moment, Elder," I say.

"Are you interrupting me?" she frowns.

"Yes. I advise you not to develop the idea of taking over this facility. There are several reasons. And I ask you to listen to me first, and then decide what you want."

"Let us hear your tale," the Elder says without much enthusiasm.

I tell the Elder the same thing I told Lemon when the latter mentioned that the Rangers would want to occupy the site.

"...So it's best to wait now until Steel Sun gets used to me. It is a known fact that the entire unit is not transferred entirely without substantial reason. If I order it now, he'll get suspicious of me—and then bye-bye your the Northern Soul."

"Hmm," the Elder sinks into thought, focusing his gaze on me. "All right, so be it," she waves her hoof. "I'll give you no more than a month. Then we'll see. How's the search for the Dome going?"

"Pulling at straws so far. Went to one abandoned Stable, but the key card wasn't there, though it should have been. That means it's going to be hard to find. Unless, of course, I happen to find it under a rock. And I almost forgot: do you know about the Enclave?" Largo Breeze is, to put it mildly, surprised at my words.

"What Stable?" she inquires.

"Deep inside the ruins of Red Spark; you can't get there anyway. So... what do you know about the Enclave?"

"We've known about the existence of the Enclave for a long time. What's that part of the case?"

"Directly," I say, pulling out a stack of paper from my bags containing all the information available to a recon officer about the Enclave."

Largo looks at me in surprise, and then at the papers. She takes them with a frown and begins to read them. As she reads, the Elder's eyes widen more and more.

"Is this a detailed up-to-date description of the Enclave?" she asks, barely hearing the words, as if not believing them.

"It is the very same. Believe me, the source is reliable. From a former Enclave recon officer. It's been about a year, so the information is fresh. I think you can glean valuable knowledge from it and you'll be ready in case the Enclave shows up."

"Why should they suddenly appear?"

"I don't know. Call it a hunch. They've kept their noses down and done mostly just reconnaissance for enough time—because they've been preparing for something. So it wouldn't hurt you to prepare for their arrival, either: you never know what might happen."

"This information is invaluable. We will take the necessary steps," the Elder says, nodding. "Do you have anything else to report?" I shake my head negatively. "Good. You go to the head scribe, Willford, and give him the blueprints, or at least a copy—I don't care—as long as we have one copy. Dismissed."

"That went pretty well," Lemon tells me outside the office door, glancing at it before doing so.

"Not bad? I got the Vertibuck, the blueprints, the Enclave power armor, the report... And she treats me no better than a skeleton on the road."

"Don't be so hard on her. She's made mistakes in the past and now she's responsible."

"I know how heavy the burden of the consequences of our decisions are."

"Well, okay. Have fun. I'm sure Iron is looking forward to seeing you: so much work you've given him with your findings."

I nod and head for the workshop.

The gray unicorn is chatting excitedly about something with several scribes in the main workshop. I wait on the sidelines while they discuss their primary business. After a few minutes of this impromptu council, they disperse, and Iron is also about to go somewhere, but I immediately stop him.

"You were looking for me, weren't you?"

"Seduce me Celestia! Of course!" the old pony glows with happiness. "I was sure you could do it and find the Enclave armor. Let me make a copy of the Vertibuck blueprints and give you a holodisk that has the whole book on magical repair written on it. I knew you could do it, so I prepared an electronic version of the book for you in advance so you wouldn't waste time copying it. Read at least a little: you don't have to read everything, because there's a lot of unnecessary stuff in there. In practice, I'll show you later how to properly allocate your magical powers when repairing complex technology. Come back tomorrow morning."

"No problem," I reply. I already know where I'm going now—to practice lockpicking spells, unless, of course, teacher Greenkeys is busy with something important. "Oh! I almost forgot. My second PipBuck has the blueprints copied from a certain weapons factory, The New Features."

"I've heard of it. The equipment there covered many kinds of firearms, from the small-bore pistol to the anitmachine rifle."

"So, I managed to get drawings of their equipment..."

"Really? A rusty horseshoe, that's great! We'll be able to modify our own equipment and workbenches to achieve greater efficiency in firearms and adapt them for other needs. Thank you, my friend."

"But in exchange for that, I need spark batteries."

"I'll try to get some fully charged batteries, but I can't promise anything. After all, that sort of stuff can't be found on the road."

"I know."

After making a copy of the Vertibuck blueprints and the factory hardware, and getting the holodisk, I head for the Greenkeys' apartment, though I doubt I'll catch her: it's daytime, and everyone is busy with important things to do.

I get there and find that she's really not there. I decide to go to the room where I first saw her. Fortunately, there I find her, but she is extremely busy and says that she has a lot of work until tonight, but then she will take care of me and my training.

'Take care of me' sounded a little double talk. She's happy to see me.

I have no choice but to go back to the workshop, since almost all the scribes have gone to the surface to study flying transport; it's relatively quiet.

I learn that the Vertibuck has been dragged into the base's railroad depot, since the interior was not meant to host any kind of transport. I have a feeling it will soon become more than just a railroad depot. I wonder if there are any railroad cars or any locomotives?

Right now there are only a few scribes and a couple of guards in the workshop, apparently to prevent the loss of expensive gear. After loading the holodisk into Pip-Boy, I see that there is a lot of text. It will take about forty hours of uninterrupted reading just to read to the end. Now I know how complicated the master level spell books are.

I understand the engineering part almost without a problem, but when it starts combining with magic, it becomes difficult to master the material. It's not really difficult, but it's not really easy to learn either. However, during my time in this world, I gradually become aware of the magical concept—though my understanding is somewhere on an average level, not higher.

I study the book of spells until the evening. My head just can't take so much theory anymore. It feels like I have bugs in my head right now, panicking from the influx of text, running a marathon through my brain. I definitely need a drink, and I forgot the booze in my bunker. I'm gonna go to Discharger. Maybe I'll run into Maneuver and Lemon on the way, though with the tension between them it's unlikely they'll show up together.

***

After I buy myself a bottle of the strongest whiskey I can find, I go up to the second level and sit down at a free table. I sip my drink little by little, and a pink mare comes up to me. Oops. It's a stallion. He has a light shade of pink with a mane and tail the same color, only much darker. I haven't seen stallions with this coloring yet, I've usually seen it among mares. I even imagined Flow for a moment because of mental exhaustion. He has a bottle of bourbon with him.

"Hello," he begins in a sanctimonious tone. "What are your motives now, slaver?"

"What makes you think I'm a slaver?" I wonder a little.

"Well, what are you, if not one. Cool gear and all."

"Oh, please," I groan in exhaustion. "Don't brainstorm. I've already spent over four hours studying the spell book, especially from the Pip-Boy screen."

"Pip-Boy?" he asks confusedly.

"PipBuck... I misspoke. I can't catch my train of thought anymore, just the lines from the book beating against the walls of my mind, demanding attention, and I want to drown them out with alcohol, at least for a while. And you talk like you know me."

"Bubblegum," the pink stallion replies.

The nickname makes me all tense. Lilac's breathless body is in front of my face, and the voice goes off behind me, "One less parasite."

"Oh, I see you remembered," he murmurs.

Every word he says, every look he gives me, every breath he takes... It's all so annoying! My jaw is clenched in anger. Why did he even come up to me?!

"Why are you here?"

"Actually, this is my house," the pink stallion says. I want to punch him in the face! "I'm protecting it. And I don't like you being here."

My teeth are clenched to the point of pain. I feel a growing shudder that I want to unleash... against the asshole's face!

"As unfortunate as it is to admit it," he adds. "Most of my brothers and sisters are happy to see you. Especially today. The Vertibuck and its blueprints, the Enclave's power armor. Everyone is squealing with delight. How much could some pa—" he stammers before the last word, looking up into my face, "pony from the Wasteland."

Quiet, calm down... Keep your cool.

"They say," Bubblegum continues, "you were able to infiltrate the Northern Soul and have been to Red Spark... In those impassable ruins with raiders and radiation. You really shouldn't be pissed off. Though you hold yourself with dignity."

The confusion eases my anger a little.

"What do you mean...?"

"I wanted to test your self-control, given your reaction when I... Anyway, never mind. I'll keep my opinion to myself. Since most ponies seem to like you so much... I won't upset them, and I also won't force you to set up the Star Paladin because of my ploy."

Lemon is responsible for all my actions. If I beat this fucker up, she'll be the first one to get in trouble, and her being overweight has made it hard enough as it is. I have to at least hold back for her sake.

I sigh deeply and carefully, as if I'm afraid that one move of mine might push me into action.

"So," the pink stallion continues, "how did you get into the Northern Soul?"

"Simple and graceful—a distraction and a run for your life."

"Not bad. How did you survive Red Spark?"

"Picked the right allies."

He nods impressed.

"You amaze me. I envy you."

"Yeah?"

"Just because I'm pink... Don't you have something to say about that?"

Honestly, I don't care what he looks like, I want to break every bone in his body.

"No," I reply.

"And you don't want to tell me to suck your dick or anything like that at all?"

"Uh... what?"

I can't understand at all, what does that have to do with anything?

"I'm already sick of it because of the color of my fur. One fucking time after another. So what if it's pink? So what if my mane is pink? What's the difference? Is that a reason to pick on me? It pisses me off, and I'm always getting into fights over it. I wonder if I can hold back this time."

"You want—"

"Yes. I want you to not be petty. You obviously hate me, so you won't hold back. You'll spill the shit on me. You're going to be a test for me."

"Why?"

"The Steel Ranger has to be strong like steel. I want to learn to control myself. If I survive the worst insults, it will be easier from here."

"That's not how it works. And I don't want to inconvenience the Star Paladin if we beat the crap out of each other."

"Let's go outside the base, then. You don't have to hold back there."

Oh... What a... Too... tempting offer. Beat him half to death... I might even make him pissed off.

Wait... What's pissing him off? That he likes to fuck other stallions? Or that it's a stereotypical prejudice because of the color of his fur?

"No," I say through effort: restrained, slow, choosing my words carefully. "I feel like beating you up, but not insulting you because you might prefer sausage to flower."

"I'm not interested in either. What pisses me off is prejudice. Anyway... I won't tease you anymore. You seem like... You seem like a nice guy. You're good for us, so I'll leave you alone."

"Thank you."

There's still an echo in my body from the shivers of my anger. I should get some air and cool off in the fresh air, but... it's cold outside.

I shiver.

I have to think in the opposite direction. Where can I warm up and relax? A warm shower? Boring and lonely. Someone's embrace? Oh! Good direction... Motley? No, far away. And why her? Because of today's hug?

Greenkeys? That's right. That's where I'm going.

I end up at the Greenkeys' apartment. I'm almost out of alcohol on the way... Thanks to the implants. I lift my foot to knock—the door opens, and behind it stands the mint pony with a bright mane. When she sees me, she's all bright with a smile.

"I was wondering when you were going to visit me. I need to see how your lockpicking skills have progressed."

"Sure, I'll show you what I've learned," I say and walk over to the practice lock in her room. Concentrating on the lock, I effortlessly use my magic to open it.

"Look at you," she nods approvingly, "really progressing. You're learning fast: your magic is adapted to this craft, after all. Those who have no talent for it achieve everything through long and difficult training, but you do in a couple of weeks."

"I'm a fast learner," I smile.

"No. It's just that you've mastered a screwdriver and a bobby pin, and now you just apply those skills magically—luckily, your magic responds with 'consent' to lockpicking spells. But you still have a lot to learn. It's a pleasure to study with such a... capable and diligent student. Let me show you."

We practice together all evening.

She shows me her tricks, and I try to repeat them, which I do with varying success—although I waste a lot of my magic. Surprisingly, this time the unicorn is more in tune with me. With such solid and kind support, I'm confident, which affects my success. I'm definitely enjoying myself with her... learning, even though I'm already feeling tired.

"Wow," Greenkeys is pleasantly impressed after hours of training. "You never cease to amaze me. You can pick any lock in seconds, just don't do it so often," the minty pony looks at me, sweaty and tired. She puts her hoof on me. "Your magic isn't used to using it this often yet. It will take time to perfect it, but you'll do fine, considering how you're progressing. Now you need to recover and rest."

Her horn glows with a silver light, and I sigh frantically at the pleasurable sensations in my pelvic area... in my crotch. She wraps her magic around my sack and stimulates me under my tail. Slowly and gently. I can feel myself becoming rapidly aroused.

Greenkeys whispers in my ear, "I can help you," and leans down to my neck and greedily sinks her lips into it.

My back arches from the rush of pleasure, from the pleasant and slightly ticklish touch of her lips on my neck; she breaks off and pokes her nose into my shoulder fur and inhales deeply. It turns me on how much she enjoys me.

"I love the smell of you..." she adds, continuing to play her magic down and not touching the most important place that is beginning to grow hard. She touches my shoulder with her tongue and leads it to the kissing spot on my neck, causing a pleasant wave of pleasure. "You want to feel that tongue down there again... don't you?"

"Yes..." I say with a gasp.

She dives under me and pokes at my almost hard organ with her nose, and inhales my scent again. I sigh convulsively at the sudden touch of her wet and elastic tongue.

***

The 11th of the Month of Heather, Greenday. The forty-ninth day of my stay.

I am in a tight and warm embrace, and my head is at the level of a mint-colored chest that slowly goes down and up, and I breathe in that pleasant scent of her fur. Greenkeys has her lovely front legs wrapped around my head, and she rests her head on top of me without touching my horn.

It feels so good. I feel incredibly lazy, and I don't want to get up. Let the Dome go to hell.

I lie still for twenty minutes, and then I feel the mint pony move and take her time to release the embrace.

"Good morning, how did you sleep?" Greenkeys asks, stretching lazily and yawning sweetly.

"Fine. From the second time you guessed my preferences... I'm impressed with your creativity."

"I read a lot. I am, after all, the proctor for the Order of the Quill of an entire Steel Ranger unit. I'm always drawn to knowledge, to the study of something... or someone. Stallions like the attention to everything underneath. What else do you like?"

"What's all about me... You don't even give me a hint what turns you on the most."

"Well..." she turns her head and looks up at the ceiling. I do the same. "At least you're already turning me on anyway."

"And in what way? My charm? My voice? Satisfaction techniques...?"

"It's all secondary and almost irrelevant to me." She turns her head toward me, looking me in the eye, and brings her hoof to my forehead. "That's what." For a moment I'm surprised, raising an eyebrow. Now that's something I wasn't expecting. "Yes," she adds, taking her hoof away and looking back at the ceiling. I, on the other hand, look at her expectantly. "Yes... That's what I appreciate the most. You have a rather extensive knowledge of locks, and I understand you're also good at technology. If you can survive Red Spark and the Northern Soul... then you possess not only knowledge, but also a reasonable amount of confidence."

"Well... I wasn't the only one."

"I know that, but since others followed you, even Lemon was among them, that... means a lot."

"Didn't the Steel Rangers send her to watch me?" The minty unicorn snorts and smiles at this question, looking at me again with her silver-colored eyes.

"Imagine if a high-ranking pony of some organization went after some wanderer. Silly, isn't it? She followed you because she saw something in you that appealed to her. Members of the Steel Rangers, to varying degrees, always value intelligence in others first."

She also wants to be more with people who don't stare at her obliquely because of her extra weight.

"But you still don't like ghouls... Neither does Vanhoover."

"Oh, you know how to ruin such a heartwarming moment. Yes, there is such a thing. Ghouls can go feral at any moment, once they've experienced strong negative emotions. Ghouls have significant hormonal fluctuations all the time. We can't risk the lives of others. And yes, just because we don't like ghouls doesn't mean we don't accept them. If a ghoul has extensive knowledge, the likelihood of going feral drops substantially, since educated individuals are supposedly more aware of their emotions and behavior."

"And how do you yourself feel about ghouls?"

"Neutral, as long as they're not around. Although looking at the necrosis of the skin up close is... creepy, to say the least. And then there's that disgusting smell of decomposition. I'm too... sensitive to smells, in case you haven't noticed how I've been burying my nose in you all the time. I can't stand the smell of decomposition and putrefaction... You know, you and I have gotten off on the wrong foot."

"I agree. And I'll probably go, too. For a training session with Iron," I say and look at the PipBuck—it's half past ten.

Wow, we slept a lot. I'm full of energy, though, and I'm ready to ride a Deathclaw.

I get out of bed and go get dressed.

"There was disappointment in your voice," she begins, still lying in bed. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Just the sudden thought of ghouls has dispelled my mood for soulful conversation, that's all. You know," I say as I get dressed and gather my gear, "I will say, after all, what I am attracted to in others. Yes, I, too, am attracted to educated, sensible, and more or less confident individuals, but... in the Wasteland, where education is a critical problem, I only need to see them as reasonable and inventive, with a thirst for new ideas and learning, and some sense of humor. Well... And, in addition, an awareness of their emotions, beliefs and behavior. The ability not to make hasty decisions that you'll regret. In other words, to be able to analyze yourself. That's it, nothing more specific," I ponder, pausing for a moment, but after a few seconds I continue. "And then again... In addition to personal characteristics, I am noticeably attracted—rather, tangibly aroused—by so-called body language and everything connected with it. Also wet and clean bodies." By this point in my monologue, I manage to pull myself together completely. "So, did you hear what you wanted to hear?"

"More than that," she nods, smiling weakly. "Thanks for the company."

"You too, my mint. And don't take my disappointment with the ghoul theme personally."

"I don't."

"Оh. Good for you," I wink. "Until next time."

"Yeah," she pronounces, continuing to lie in bed.

I leave the apartment. I walk to the head scribe, Iron Willford, to finally apply that theory I've been working so hard to learn. Now, with a fresh and clear head, I should easily be able to master those spells. On the way, I stop at Discharger and have a meat casserole with mashed potatoes. I seek out the head scribe in the workshop and find him looking at the copies of the Vertibuck blueprints on his desk, carefully examining every detail.

"I hope you're not too busy?" I call to the scribe, approaching him. He looks up at me and barely smiles.

"I thought," he begins, "you were coming in early."

"Business," I say, absent-mindedly looking at the blueprints.

"What other business can young ponies have but bedtime?" Willford Sr. chuckles "Come on, I've got till noon for now, then I'll be busy organizing and coordinating the scribes. You've given us so much hassle by bringing in the Vertibuck, but you've also given us a lot of opportunity. My daughter is just indescribably thrilled with the Vertibuck you got."

"Hadn't you managed to capture a military flying transport before that?"

"No. After the fever bombs fell, the Enclave collected almost all military equipment and technology, leaving only places with potentially high risk of death for their soldiers during capture, like the Northern Soul. And such a takeover would have attracted extra attention—they wanted to minimize their presence. If they did engage in open conflict, it was in territories outside of Equestria, like the Griffon Kingdom."

"Know enough about the Enclave. And still couldn't find the armor?"

"Naturally. They collect technology just like we do. Only they possess many more personnel. Though only a small fraction of them are combat personnel, the rest are ordinary civilians who sometimes by their stupidity—or by compulsion, like the Dashites—fall into the hooves of some raiders, slave traders, and so on. In general, the information comes from them, not from the soldiers. The Enclave is the biggest threat to all the Steel Rangers. And here we have Prince and Kings."

"Are Kings really that powerful?"

"They're self-righteous assholes, so they almost never cooperate with each other, but I give them credit. Some have not only experience, but also powerful weapons and technology. I'm curious, though, where did you get the Enclave's power armor?"

"Red Spark, the leader of the raiders, had it. A trophy. Turns out the tip you gave me to start the search was confirmed. The Enclave was there. But the conflict was between the soldiers themselves, judging by the battle tracks. I found out at the Crater that there was a group of raiders nearby at the time, and they took one corpse, and with it the armor and trophies. It seems they even got into a fight with someone else, maybe another group of raiders, or maybe the masters of Vanhoover, so the rest of the trophies went to someone else."

"Strange..." the elderly gray unicorn thinks deeply.

"What is?"

He looks me in the eye.

"The Enclave usually keeps an eye on their own, especially the soldiers. Even the dead ones, if their bodies are found."

"What about the Vanhoover Jammer Tower?"

"That's no problem. It's enough to get inside the radar 'dome'."

"Strange indeed that it wasn't traced in such a case."

Motley and the members of her squad were lucky they hadn't been followed here in the Wasteland. Or maybe they were, but they lost the trail. Motley had traveled far north of New Pegasus, which is in the clouds near Hoofland.

"Anyway, thanks again for the power armor and the Vertibuck."

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, remembering the following.

"What kind of request?"

"Can you give me, besides the Spark Batteries, some other rare power armor components that are hard to repair with my magic at this stage? And I need some sort of tracking device that I can set up in some place and track it through PipBuck."

"Of course," Willford looks at me, squinting. I need that sensor for Venture, so that I always know where she is. "I won't even ask why. The Star Paladin trusts you, and I will. And let me have a quick look at the armor you're wearing."

"Why?" I wonder a little, looking at my armor with confusion. "What's wrong with it?"

"I haven't seen armor like that... I'd like to take a look," Willford replies with sparks of interest in his eyes. Without further ado, I remove all my gear, followed by the armor, and hand it to Iron. He examines it, using several tools and connecting several wires to it. As he examines and analyzes it, the older scribe's face becomes more and more surprised.

"Do you know what it is?" he asks rhetorically, placing the armor on the tool table.

"Know what?"

"It's a stealth armor."

No shit... I've been wearing a stealth armor this whole time and didn't know that?!

"Only," Iron continues. "There's no stealth field generator."

"I noticed that the armor was missing a module too, only it never occurred to me what it might be."

"No wonder," he says, looking at the armor. "It distributes external energy throughout the material, reducing the pressure on your body at one particular point. The layer of high-tech fabric is very dense, which protects your body from the effects, whether it's high or low temperatures or radiation. However, the armor can easily be repaired without parts or tools by any skilled technician, using only magic repair spells—susceptibility to magic is very good for its repair. These fabrics are an excellent conductor for magic, just as copper is for electricity. I mean, for that reason, magic stitches fabrics together quickly. It's true that the armor plates are ordinary, and they have to either be reconstructed with spells or replaced with new ones."

"So all armor except the plates can be easily repaired, no matter how bad the damage?"

"Yes. By the way, if there was a stealth module here, we should assume that the armor should also tolerate the invisibility spell applied by the armor carrier as well as the action of the StealthBucks."

"So it turns out that the duration of StealthBucks effects is increased?"

"About twice as long. You know that the smaller the object, the less energy it takes to create and maintain a stealth field around it, right? The magic will have no problem spreading through the armor as well as the external energy."

So the stealth field duration of my modified PipBoy increased.

"So will you take this armor for your project?" I ask reluctantly.

"I could, but no. And it's not because there's no generated stealth field. Rare material plays a big role. The composition of the rare fabrics won't allow me to use the technology, but the idea comes in handy in creating lightweight power armor with stealth mode. So... personally, I don't need it." I look at the scribe. He makes a facial expression telling me not to mention this conversation in front of the other Rangers. "In any case, I'll be more preoccupied with the Vertibuck right now than I am with my dream... I mean, the project. Enough talk, my dear apprentice. Let's get down to training."

"With great pleasure!" I utter, putting Nightwatch armor back on.

***

The time spent studying with Iron Willford flies quickly and unnoticed, like a bullet whizzing past the face of an 'accurate' raider. Iron is a wonderful teacher, able to engage with his subject: he explained quite clearly and simply, and I easily grasped everything on the fly. Of course, there's fun in learning with Greenkeys, too—but Iron acts like a father, noticing how closely I listen to him and that I do have an aptitude for the craft.

I am, he says, progressing very quickly—as if I've been a repairpony without magic all my life, but I have a great tendency to use it—and I learned how to wield a wrench and a hammer in my mother's womb. Nevertheless, this job requires patience, endurance and attention if I want to make miracles. Of course, even at this rate of mastering spells, I'm a long way from Willford's skill. Still, there are some aspects of being a professional repairpony in this world that are a little different, all because magic plays a big role here, and many of the technologies are based on it. Like PipBucks.

Ponies... everything on a silver platter. Mankind had to work longer to create technology, and these guys basically reached our level with magic. Lucky bastards.

Eventually my skills have increased significantly, just like with the Greenkeys' lessons, I shouldn't use these spells over and over again: I need to take a break to let the magic get used to such a quick learning process. Iron even joked that it was as if I hadn't used magic until last year. The joke made him laugh, but not so much for me—he was closer to the truth than he would have guessed.

Simply put, I don't have much magic. It's slightly above average, though, since I've already trained my magic a bit—besides repair and lockpicking—on teleportation and barrier spells. The only thing that's easy is telekinesis. Really, what's so unusual about it? You take an object and move it with your mind. Such a careless observation might make a strong impression on the scientists of my world.

So, after finishing my training, Willford Sr. asks me to come back to practice some more—and to see how far I get in the spells.

I take some power armor components, which will come in handy when I repair Motley's Enclave armor, and a small electromagic beacon that can be tracked over great distances. That's what I'm going to install in Venture in the navigation system, so that I can detect the returning signal, that is, me, if I get lost in some wilderness.

I'm also finding out more about spells that slow down the deterioration of weapons and equipment. The better I know them, the more effective they will be. I also find out about spells that damage tech, which don't really sound like much, and at first glance I don't really know why I need them. But! As Dr. Zero responded to my comment that taking apart machines is an unimpressive activity, "That's when your life is threatened by a functioning robot, you'll wish I were around."

Indeed, even such spells are not unnecessary. For example, if I have nothing to shoot and my opponent has a powerful weapon. Or if I'm attacked by a deadly, high-tech robot. I might be able to disable something in the weapon design or some important element of the system. True, as Iron warns, some technology has protection against such deleterious effects. That is, the same spells that prevent deterioration.

And all such spells are in the book provided by Willford. I'm burning with an unbridled desire to learn something like that. The pans will certainly last longer now...

After training, I seek out Lemon in the bunker, who happily agrees to come with me again. She is comfortable in my company.

***

I climb the huge gray boulder that Venture is supposed to land next to. I lie down on it—although the surface is more or less flat—and think, for example, about the hardness of rocks...

Lemon is standing next to me in her power armor.

"How's it laying?" she asks.

"It's not the soft bed of the Luxury, of course, but contemplating the clouds is a separate pleasure. Plus, there's a lot to ponder. For example, why the rocks are hard. I mean, maybe they're actually soft, just tense up when we touch them."

"Oh, yeah," Lemon giggles. "You always make something up that doesn't make sense."

"Why doesn't? It makes sense," I say in all seriousness.

"Yeah, well... Oh, I can hear the roar of the propellers already."

After a few moments, the source of the sound itself appears. My lovely and incomparable Venture soars effortlessly among the gray clouds like a swallow. She is so delightful in this evening time. I feel a joyful smile on my face.

"She's transformed since the last time I saw her. A new outfit in the form of a matte gray hull."

"Troy Steelmane did his best," I say.

"As you can see, this family is the only one who keeps their word honestly."

Yeah, except they didn't originally believe we'd be able to get into the Northern Soul alive, and they just wanted to get me out of their manor.

The Vertibuck lands, and Motley comes out of it. Lemon walks over and hugs her, then goes up inside. I follow and hand the pegasus the Spark Batteries.

"A gift," I say with a smile.

"How nice. Thank you for thinking of me," the pegasus hugs me.

"It's nothing special, my grateful angel. It's just compensation for those batteries we used to blow up the bridge in Red Spark. And there's something about you that's got you hugging lately," I remark with a restrained, sly smile.

"Well... it's..." she says hesitantly. "A rare thing in the Wasteland."

"Giving gifts?"

"Yes. I mean, no. I meant that Spark Batteries are quite rare in the vastness of the Wasteland, and also expensive," her smile is curvier than the lines a child draws in his early years.

"You're welcome."

We set a course for Heavenly Harbor.

Back in my nest, I go to get some of my gear and tools. Using the blueprints, I set up a beacon that sends a barely perceptible but steady signal that I can track with the PipBuck.

Ferris goes hunting, and I decide to examine Motley's power armor, which she took from Stable 53, in an attempt to repair it. At a glance, I realize it will take more than a day. Without tools and magical powers, it's impossible to repair it properly. Well, at least I'll try to fix what I can. I'll put into practice what I've learned from the repair spell book and from Willford.

"How much you do for Motley," Lemon says, coming up behind me. I set my tools aside and look at her. "It's envious."

"What do you mean?"

"Giving her expensive Spark Batteries... Fixing her power armor which isn't easy either."

"Great opportunity to put spells into practice. Skills need to be honed and kept up to date. Motley, by the way, is doing just that right now."

"You mean the flying exercises?"

"Exactly. I want my friends to be provided for. Our lives depend on it. Spark Batteries and serviceable armor mean my flying friend is as effective as possible in combat."

"What about Bluerise, whom you gave twenty thousand caps to?" the lemon earth pony openly displays her smile of disbelief. "Also for fighting?"

"Investments. Just investments. A trader on our side in Vanhoover would be useful."

"And nothing else?" the mare asks still with the same smile.

"Yes."

Lemon's green eyes focus on me. That 'I-don't-believe-you' smile doesn't disappear from her lips.

What is she up to...

"I have long noticed your generosity... But it's clearly displayed towards those you value or... who you care about. I think Motley is lucky to be attracted to a stallion like you."

My lips are tightly pressed together, my cheeks burning.

Lemon, for fuck's sake!

"Ha!" she exhales, looking at me and smiling even wider. "Now you've given yourself away! I can see you care about her already."

"How did you guess?"

"Just poked a hoof in the sky," she shrugs, smiling victoriously. "I wanted to test your reaction. And I hit the bull's-eye."

"Don't tell her."

"Even though I can figure it out roughly, I'm still going to ask. Why?"

"I don't know. Yes... I confess. I'm starting to think about her more often."

"Did something happen between you two?"

"You could say that."

"Oh, did the lock and the key meet each other?" Lemon asks, playing with his eyebrows.

"No."

"I suppose she'll also enjoy the feel of your cock inside."

"Lemon!" I almost shout out, feeling the heat on my face.

"Hush," the lemon earth pony raises her hooves. "I'm 'Berry' to everyone, don't forget. And what did I say wrong?"

"Don't make me think of her in that way. I'm actually on a case here."

"Oh, right," she takes a quick look at the energy weapon mangled elements of the Enclave's black power armor. "So... what happened?"

"It's hard to say. I don't fully understand it myself. I like her, so I don't want to take responsibility for her. She deserves a quiet life."

Lemon laughs.

"Her and a quiet life? I mean, she's a former Enclave scout. She plays with fire the same way you do. And thanks to her wings, she can escape any situation."

But not the situation that Brisa and I found ourselves in.

"Although," she continues. "You can't escape everything, given the world we live in. The Steel Rangers are comfortable living in isolation from the rest of the world. We try not to get involved in anything unless the situation involves technology. We avoid deaths by starvation, disease, the environment. Comfortable and safe conditions. The best place for a family."

"What do you suggest?"

"Accept the fact that you might lose her."

"I've lost loved ones before. It hurts. Especially if I'm responsible for their lives."

"And who says it's easy to lose loved ones? We all have to deal with it. To be afraid of mutants is not to go to the Wasteland. I'm still haunted by the fate of my parents in Stable 66. It happened twenty years ago, but I can't stop thinking about it. The uncertainty poisons me. Anyway, think about it. I did tell you the truth about Motley being lucky enough to have your eye on her."

"Why?"

"Because I think so. That's all. I'm also jealous of her... I envy her that she has no one. Unlike me. Well, I won't interrupt. I'm going to try something else with the Heavenly Harbor security system. I have some ideas," Lemon says as she turns to leave.
I'm alone now. Alone with myself and my thoughts.

***

The 12th of the Month of Heather, Cyanday. The fiftieth day of my stay.

As soon as I asked the Captain to come with me on the mission, he just glowed with joy. It's a good thing he wasn't literally... in his case. His assignment, like mine and Motley's, is to visit North Park. Lemon stayed behind to keep up with the bunker's computer systems so that the robots wouldn't malfunction during the fluctuations.

We headed to North Park after breakfast.

"It's chilly here, like a snowman's ass, but beautiful nonetheless," I remark, looking at the little town before me from the roof of the old three-story hotel. It's dark and windy now; I use my helmet's night vision feature.

Along the way, I ask the Captain if he knows the town personally. He replies that he knows it in general, as he's been there a couple of times on assignments.

This small town is located in a kind of gorge between the Vanhoover region and the mountains to the north. This is one of the passageways into the Vanhoover region. Next comes a labyrinth of gorges, and then the territory of the Griffon Kingdom begins.

To the north, a thick snow-covered forest can be seen beyond the town, stretching from one to the other edge of the gorge and consisting mostly of spruce trees. Almost everything in town is covered with snow. North Park is dominated by small buildings and houses no higher than five stories, mostly residential. In the center of town is the town hall, which is flanked on both sides by an old highway that runs from south to north and, judging by its size, is the main street. White yao guai walk along some of the city's streets.

Fine, the adventure promises to be interesting.

"So how are we going to find Eric's house in this town?" I ask, turning to the Captain. "It could take days."

"Let's ask the residents," the Captain replies.

Of course. The conversation with the skeletons promises to be extremely informative. Or is he talking about the yao guais?

"We could go to the mayor and ask him for an address. Or at least talk to the ponies who keep the records."

That makes sense. There's got to be some information about the residents left at the town hall. That's how we decide. I bring my Apostle—Defender, Whispering Night, the shock sword, and the revolver of this world.

"We move out to the town hall, find the address, and then look for the house."

"Roger that, sir," the ghoul salutes, lifting Billy's sawed-off shotgun with a magical grip. Motley just nods in her helmet.

We go down to the hotel and encounter a few feral ghouls along the way, which we have no problem dealing with. The Captain is surprised by the aggression from the civilians. I explain that they apparently worked for the zebras and were traitors. Steel Sun believes these words, as if I had said that water is water. Here the ghouls do not obey him—it proves that he has a unique connection only with the feral ghouls of the Northern Soul.

Strangely, there is almost nothing useful inside the hotel, just bicentennial dust and dirt. Sometimes I wonder if marauders have already worked here before me. They could not loot only what is locked with difficult locks, of which there are not many, and inside the safes only old papers and pre-war coins of different weights, and therefore also values. I only bring coins. In the hotel owner's safe I find a local magnum and a couple dozen rounds of ammunition, the rest of the contents being documents relating to his business. I take the gun and the ammunition.

The Captain doesn't like me breaking into safes. I have to convince him that I am removing these items to investigate the capture of criminal families and that the weapons may belong to one of them. He believes it again. After this incident, I send him off to inspect the area so I can go through the chests and lockers myself.

"I genuinely feel sorry for him," Motley utters as soon as Steel Sun is gone.

"Why?" I ask, focusing on another safe in one of the rooms with time-damaged furniture and crumbling wallpaper.

"I don't even know," she approaches the window. "It's all jumbled up in his head, present and past. Although it's as if he can see the past and feel good about it, it's just a product of his imagination mixed in with his memories. An illusion."

"Who cares? What matters is how he feels. If he feels good, why dispel them? It's like a virtual simulation."

"There's nothing good about it," she objects, coming toward me. I'm distracted for a moment and look at the front of her fully enclosed helmet. "Would you accept this?"

"Well..." I turn back to my study. The lock yields, clicks, and I open the door. Inside there's nothing but pre-war documents. "Shit!" I irritably close the safe door, and we head for the exit.

"So would you accept it?" the pegasus greedily waits for an answer.

"Personally, no. I don't need it right now. That's something everyone decides for themselves; some are really better off choosing a life of illusion."

As we walk out into the corridor, we witness an amusing scene: the Captain stands near the remains of a pony, with barely a trace of her dress on it, and tries to flirt with her. It's both funny and sad—as well as a little frightening.

"...bored? Perhaps we could after..."

"Stay on the mission, Captain," I tell him. He turns abruptly to me.

"Oh... Daniel... sorry. Got distracted. I'll keep looking around the area. Excuse me," he turns back to the skeleton, bowing slightly, "duty calls to me, as you see." And walks on. I feel sorry for him for his fate as a crazy pony.

"Why did you do that?" Motley asks me. There is a sense of disapproval in her voice. "We're holding up here anyway—"

"Not anymore," I interrupt her softly. "I don't want to waste time looking through all the rooms. It's a waste of time."

In spite of his quirks, the Captain is an excellent fighter, even shooting accurately with the sawed-off shotgun, occasionally pulling out a medium-caliber pistol.

When we leave the hotel, we head toward the town hall through the snow-covered alleys: the main street is too well shot, and there are occasional white and brown yao guai walking along it.

Shots can be heard nearby.

Maybe the masters are wandering around here, or the Crater raiders. I'd better watch out for open ground, lest I catch a stray bullet. I explain the stealthy movement to the Captain that zebra agents could attack us at any moment and we need to be on our guard. Once again, he believes like a little child. It's even embarrassing that I manipulate him so easily.

"Sir," the Captain addresses me as we step down the narrow alley between the wooden houses. The snow crunches quietly beneath us with each step, "Shouldn't we tell the animal control to isolate these predators? They could be harming civilians."

"Well," I say, peering around the corner for dangers to cross the street to the next alley ahead of us, "you could, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to remove them. You find anyone who does that, let me know, okay? "

It sounded extremely ironic coming out of my mouth.

"Yes, sir. We go to the mayor one way or another and complain to him about this mess."

"Fine," I reply, surveying the area and crossing the street, with the others following me.

Carefully making our way through the alleys, we get close to the town hall. It's a medium-sized concrete building, the walls of which are decorated with unpretentious patterns and elaborate stone carvings. The town hall is only two stories high, and somewhere in the middle is a small clock tower on the roof, which stopped its ticking a long time ago, about two hundred years. There are yao guais wandering around, mostly white. We'll have to try to get in through the back door, if there is one and it's not blocked.

"And the clock doesn't work," the Captain quietly resents, "what is this nonsense?"

We go around the town hall, keeping a short distance from it so as not to attract unnecessary attention, and then enter the little alley behind the town hall, where at this moment there is only one yao guai, interested in the contents of the garbage can nearby. On the back side of the town hall, the walls lack the elegance that is observed on the front side.

I don't want to kill him for nothing... But I have to. I pull out my rifle and shoot the white bear in the head. I hit it right in the temple; the animal collapses heavily on the snow-covered sidewalk next to the garbage can. As we approach the blue back door, we discover that it is locked, and just as I take to using magic to break it open, Steel Sun is again distressed by such an action.

"What are you doing, sir?" he asks in all seriousness. "This is a criminal offense! When my squad and I decided to kill a couple of animals to make a stuffed animal for the general, we almost got court-martialed! Good thing the general liked the stuffed animal..."

"Captain, there's no time to go through the front door," I say, picking the uncomplicated lock. "We are operating unofficially so that enemies or criminal families will not guess that such an operation has been conducted against them. Consequently, the officials will not assist us beyond normal civil rights. Besides, we stand out too much from the crowd, so flirting with unfamiliar bored ladies is not recommended."

"Are you saying, sir, that this is a top-secret operation with a certain carte blanche?"

"You just realized that now?" I ask rhetorically, and the lock immediately clicks open for me. "Great, let's go in."

"Well, why be sarcastic, Colon—" the Сaptain hesitates at the sight of the red helmet visors staring back at him. "Excuse me, Daniel."

It's a bit dark inside the town hall, the dim light coming in through the broken windows. It turns out we're in the building's interior garage, where several half-dismantled cars are parked.

As expected, there are ghouls. We are the first to open fire on them and have no trouble dealing with them.

We move deeper into the building through polluted corridors, which occasionally contain the skeletons of long-dead ponies, various garbage consisting of office papers and documents. There are also feral ghouls, radroaches, and big rats, which I fucking hate.

A huge radroach is found in the dining room. To avoid wasting ammo on it, I use my telekinesis to grab a nearby metal frying pan and beat the roach to death. Its disgusting pieces remain on the frying pan. It's disgusting.

"Radical method of dealing with parasites, Dennikadze," Motley comments. "You bent the frying pan for nothing and made it dirty."

"I'm a real terror to the radroaches. They better not mess with me or they'll have to deal with my frying pan," I play along and put the dirty and bent frying pan on the stove.

"Unhygienic."

"But that's not our problem."

There are a fair amount of broken desks and other office furnishings in the rooms, and plenty of agitation and propaganda posters like "Pinkie Pie is watching you. Always" with a picture of the pink earth pony.

We look for the room where data on the residents of North Park is kept.

A short time later, we finish a 'fascinating' exploration of the town hall and find a room that hides the information we need. We have to dig through old and dusty documents to find Eric Frost's data. Among a cloud of names, we find his address, 28201 South Street. This leaves us to find out what part of town this street is in.

I look at the map of the city hanging in the same room, and it turns out that South Street is on the south side, just south of the hotel where we actually landed. It turns out that we went in the exact opposite direction.

I look at the map on the wall confusedly.

"What happened?" Motley asks, standing next to me and looking there, too.

"We were outside his house when we were in that hotel," I explain.

"Huh..." she responds, as soon as she realizes what's going on, and laughs resoundingly.

"It's funny to you, and we wasted a lot of time."

"Oh, come on." The front of her helmet looks in my direction. "A walk in good company will leave a pleasant experience no matter the destination or time."

"I agree with you there. All right, we'll go back there now. Just let me quench my burning curiosity that keeps asking to see the mayor's office. Maybe there's something valuable or important in there."

The office on the second floor is empty. Literally nothing but rotten furniture and cabinets. Dust and darkness. My sense of past experience tells me that there must still be something entertaining left in places like this, and I take a closer look around the room. The Captain says again that I am violating the civil rights by checking other pony's belongings without permission.

Sometimes I just want to tell him to go fuck himself, just to keep him busy!

I ignore his comments and continue my task of finding something useful. After a few minutes of researching old documents and reports, I'm finally rewarded: I find a mention on the back of a comic book Unstoppables that shows a pony in a deep blue tight-fitting suit with a purple cape and a mask. On his head is a wide-brimmed hat of the same color as the cape. For some reason it brings up an association with Silent Ghost, though they have nothing in common with each other. Anyway, on the back is a set of numbers written, 512522. It looks like a code, a cipher, or an address. I don't understand what it's for, but I'm taking the comic book with me.

I look around more in the desks and cabinets, but I don't find anything useful: a lot of papers that could be used to stoke a fireplace. After finding nothing else, we head toward South Street.

***

"Nice house," the Captain pronounces when we arrive at the address we received at the town hall. "I have almost the same one in Canterlot..."

"Yeah. Let's go see if we can find something," I mutter impatiently once again as I head toward the entrance to the two-story wooden house.

I wish there was something here about the Dome or The Controllers.

The walls of the house, once painted a perfect white, are now, after two hundred years, noticeably faded. Broken windows, broken walls in some places, no front doors, and the white paint is almost all peeling.

We examine the house closely, but find nothing of value or indicative of Eric or his involvement with The Controllers. It looks like the most ordinary prewar house, still containing a TV, old furniture, a refrigerator, a stove, and a few decorative items.

It's a waste of time—there's nothing here. Another disappointment. The trail to The Controllers is gone again.

"Damn it..." I kick the nearest chair. One of the wooden legs instantly flies off. Motley comes up to me and puts her hoof on my shoulder. I sigh deeply and turn to her, nodding appreciatively.

Really, it's all about calm and control. Not rushing. Think it through properly. What do we know? What did we find interesting here? Oh, right...

"So," I turn to everyone, "any idea what the set of numbers we found on the back of the comic book might be for?"

"It could be the code to a safe or a secret door," Motley ponders aloud. The thought had crossed my mind earlier, but nothing of the sort was found in the town hall upon inspection.

"Or a safe-deposit box number," the Captain mundanely expresses his opinion.

Wha...? Oh. Shit, that's a really smart one. Clearly, he's a resident of the pre-war world.

"Let's go for another breadcrumb," I say.

As we approach this particular bank, I look at the compass. As expected, there are hostile creatures inside the bank, about half a dozen of them. I carefully and slowly peek out the window: there are four white, fucking yao guais wandering around the lobby! I immediately lower my head so they don't see me.

"What's out there?" Motley asks.

"Bears in ushankas with balalaikas," I mutter quietly. "They look big, but what they're doing inside the bank, and in such numbers, I have no idea. I noticed a few more turrets on the ceiling. There must be a terminal somewhere to activate them. I'm guessing it's at a guard post somewhere inside. I'll go activate the turrets, and then you open fire on the yao guais from the front entrance."

"Understood, sir."

"How do you plan to get inside the building and go undetected?"

"Just go with the plan," I say, activating stealth mode on my device. "As soon as the bears are dead, I'll disable the turrets," I mutter, and invisibly enter the bank.

The yao guais are distracted by the door opening and closing, but don't do anything else, just sniff suspiciously and get wary.

Step by step... Slowly and carefully. Watch where I step... My heart leaps with mounting thrill and unease. If one of the creatures accidentally glances in my direction, and... No, not a thought. I slip behind the wall with the metal grating behind which are the work desks where the money is handed out, and almost run into another bear, which I can barely get around.

After sneaking past the animals, I find myself in the service corridor. There's a yao guai in the corridor, too; while the charge lasts a few more seconds, I pull out my Whispering Night, insert a magazine of hollow-point ammo, and shoot the bear in the head, hitting its eye with a smacking sound. With a thud, the body sprawls on the concrete floor. The bears in the main hall are alert and alarmed, judging by the slight growl. I must hurry.

After walking down the corridor, I find the door to the guard room—it is locked, and on a very reliable lock with additional magical protection.

It takes me about twenty minutes to break the lock and bypass the magical protection.

Inside the office there are a lot of screens and monitors, which display the premises of the bank. Surprisingly, the cameras and hardware still work, so I can see all the rooms of the bank—the entrance, the lobby, the offices, the vault... Stop. There is someone in the vault! Not a ghoul or a raider. It's a mare, but because of the black-and-white screens, and even with a small lens, it's impossible to see more details of her appearance.

The pony looks physically exhausted, lying in a corner, curled up. Still alive. And it looks like she's trapped, as there are two bears roaming near the metal door to the vault, preventing her from leaving the vault unnoticed. How did she even get in? Well, I'll ask her about that later, but right now we have to deal with the bears in the hallway.

There are several lockers at the guard post, inside which I find and requisition medium-caliber ammunition and pistols. There are also police batons. On a small table is a terminal from which I can control cameras and turrets. Oddly, it's not password-protected—apparently, this was compensated for by the closed door.

I activate the turrets in the hallway, though I could activate them in the vault, but then they would have slaughtered the mare. Only Lemon could reprogram the turrets to attack specific targets. Who knows what happened to the software two hundred years later.

In the hallway, two turrets start firing at the bears. They, in turn, roar at the metal 'bees', and one swing of a paw with sharp and strong claws is enough to gut the turret—though the second manages to destroy one animal before it is turned into a pile of scrap metal as well.

During the shooting, the Captain and Motley burst into the room. So, the need to wait to disable the turrets is irrelevant. I run to back up mine, pulling out Defender and getting it to work.

In the corridor, I see the bears already distracted by the ghoul and the pegasus; by this point, another individual is lying dead. Two remain, who immediately lunge at my partners. I aim my shotgun at one bear and fire a very loud round. The pellets enter his skin with great force, and he howls even more in pain. Motley uses this perfect moment to aim and fire several plasma charges into the beast's head; it turns into an orange goo pile.

I deal with the bear that the Captain has taken over. This ghoul is quite adept at bouncing and dodging the ferocious predator's attacks, causing him to crash into furniture and tables. Just when I want to point the muzzle of my shotgun at the bear and take aim, its skull is already exploding from a shot from Billy's sawed-off shotgun almost at point-blank range.

"Heavy, bastard," the ghoul exhales, reloading.

"Everything okay in here?" I ask concernedly.

"Yes, sir. I hope the animal rights activists don't eat me alive for this deed. They broke into the bank, though! So we had to take action within our means."

"Yeah. You didn't need to run to our rescue, we could have handled it ourselves."

"I'll worry about you anyway. Come, there are at least two bears left near the vault."

There's no point in looking around the hall; there's almost nothing here but pre-war heavy coins. Once down in the vault, we tackle the two bears at the metal door and want to open the door, but it's blocked from the other side. I go to the door with all my strength to knock.

"All the bears in the bank are dead," I say loudly. "There's no more danger."

My companions look at each other in confusion, but then the door opens and a turquoise-colored earth pony with a white mane jumps out. She's dressed in an armor of warm animal skins from several species. She immediately encloses me in an embrace.

"Rescue! Praise Celestia, I am saved," she says, and then opens her embrace and freaks out when she sees the bright red eyepieces of my helmet so close, and pulls back.

"Relax, we're not going to hurt you," I say, taking off my helmet. "Who are you and how did you end up here?"

"My name is Flyrose. I got trapped when I was running away from the fucking yao guais!"

Now I can see what the wind brought the bears into the bank building.

"Well yes, the vault was an excellent idea," Motley says sarcastically.

"Do you have any food?" the turquoise pony asks hopefully, looking me in the eyes. "I haven't had anything to eat or drink in days."

"Why did you get so far away from Vanhoover?" I ask, pulling out my provisions. As soon as I pull out the food and water, the pony stares at them greedily. She's about to devour my supplies with her eyes. I can see her gaze and hand over a few cans of non-pre-war canned corn, a box of fresh sliced carrots, and a couple of bottles of purified water. She greedily opens them, and devours the food that she can barely remember to breathe, eating everything without a trace and licking it thoroughly.

"Fih fhanhs," she says with her mouth full, oblivious to my question. I think she said 'Big thanks'.

It's amazing how she took us so lightly, believing my words that I wouldn't hurt her. However, if she had supplies with her, she probably spent a week or more here. The persistent critters were chasing her. Or she accidentally pissed them off, and they didn't want to let the intruder go. And she didn't care who was in front of her now, as long as he gave her food and water.

"Eat and then we'll talk. Now I'll take care of the locked cells in the vault."

"Uh-huh."

I ask the Captain in advance to check the perimeter so he doesn't see me cracking into the already unnecessary safety deposit boxes. He nods and leaves to wander around the bank; I work on the locks.

Basically all of them are complex, even an experienced thief can't break into them. Some, on the other hand, are open and empty. I begin to open one box after another. For the most part, inside are old pre-war coins, once-valuable papers related to a small business or the right to own something of value, weapons, including only pistols or revolvers and their ammunition, chemicals and expensive medicines. In other words, nothing special, although worthwhile good caps are plentiful.

It's the turn of the box whose number is written on the back of the comic book. It was strange to leave it between important documents related to the activities of the city: it felt as if the magazine had been put in that desk on purpose in the hope that it would not be quickly discovered. Trying not to think about it, half a minute later I open the safe deposit box, though at first it gave the impression that it was almost impossible to crack.

In this safe deposit box is a ball of memories and a note. The note reads, "Backup code to open the door: VSHNVGLZPSN032014DVC. Nothing else is listed. I put all the contents of the box in my bags, as well as many other valuable items.

"Still," I ask as I walk over to the pony, who looks like she's drunk after having had her fill, "how did you get here?"

"Well," Flyrose begins with a woozy tongue and a loud breath. "I went looking for a cello. It's such a stringed musical instrument."

"And how did you look for it here?" Motley wonders. She never took off her helmet, by the way. "You can't find it in Vanhoover, can you?"

"Only rich masters own musical instruments in Vanhoover, and there are none for sale, you can only buy from others," the turquoise pony explains. "True, they charge high prices for them, not to mention they're hardly willing to sell. It's cheaper to buy an anti-machine rifle than to buy back some exquisite musical instrument, like a cello. So I decided to try my luck in the Wasteland on my own and find an instrument. I have a homemade one, but it's only a pathetic parody."

"What kind of work did you do to take such a risk?"

"A waitress in a restaurant. It pays too little to afford the luxury of a cello. Besides, there's barely enough caps even for a decent meal."

"I take it you're not much of a fighter, and you can't lockpicking," I say, pointing with my hoof at the safes in the wall.

"I can, but only the easy ones. Wielding a screwdriver and bobby pins with your teeth is very difficult, you know."

"Then why not hire someone experienced?"

"That was originally what I wanted to do, but when I saw the price for finding an item whose location was not even known, I reconsidered my decision and gave it up. I was thinking of temporarily providing..." the earth pony is embarrassed and lowers her head, "a certain kind of service in order to get enough caps. But I knew it was dangerous to do, since you could very easily be made a slave or killed."

"What about borrowing caps?"

"I don't want to borrow, and who would lend an ordinary waitress that many caps for a musical instrument? I'd work it off later, playing for an audience. But no one cared. I have no connections... Even the Vanhoover banks don't lend out such huge sums without a guarantee that the customer can pay back the loan, and with a huge amount of interest."

"And what did you do?"

"After managing to save enough caps, I bought myself at least some warm armor and a gun, and then I went looking. I knew there was no point in looking in the ruins, which were not far from the city; everything there had been searched and examined a long time ago. So I went as far away as possible, to a place where not many explorers had been, hoping to find a cello or at least another string-and-bow instrument, so as not to live in misery, counting every cap."

"In Vanhoover," Motley says, "it's dangerous to live in poverty without influential acquaintances."

As I see it, Flyrose likes to talk.

I once looked for a violin for Agatha. I didn't get much of a reward, but I pleased the old woman with a magnificent work of art—a violin that had its own name 'Soil Stradivarius'. And in the Wasteland there was another radio station on which tunes played on this violin were broadcast. It was an interesting time when I was very green and naive. No less so now.

Maybe I'll give Flyrose a cello if I can find one.

"I travel a lot, anyway, and if I manage to find a stringed musical instrument with a bow, I will certainly bring it to you. For a symbolic fee—can work off playing it."

"Really?" Flyrose looks at me with great hope in her eyes. It seems that if I say no, she will completely lose faith in a better life.

"Yes, if I do, of course. Now go home. At 'Oasis of Vanhoover', find the Bottomless Chest store and tell the owner named Bluerise that you're from Daniel Evans in case you have any problems with caps and need a job right away. Well, and so that if I find a instrument, I can find you through it."

"Oh, thank you very much, Daniel," the pony hugs me again.

"Can you make it to Vanhoover on your own?" I ask, opening the embrace.

"Yes, I can. At least I knew how to avoid trouble, until I screwed up by accidentally drawing attention to myself from the yao guais."

Flyrose says goodbye and leaves, leaving me alone with Motley.

"You haven't even known her ten minutes, and you're already forcing Bluerise to get her a job?"

"I'm not. In case she can find something for Flyrose."

"She'll look for you. Believe me. She's said so much about you... She obviously owes you a favor... or her life."

"Do we have any chance of finding a rare musical instrument?"

She removes her helmet, and shakes her head slightly to shake the pressed brown mane a little.

"No idea. However, given what you've already found, you stand a good chance of discovering it," she smiles at me.

Her smile warms my soul... and keeps my spirits up.

"A close friend of mine from the New Pegasus Enclave Academy loved music. Even knew how to play a musical instrum—"

"Sir." I hear the Captain's voice, after which I spot him in the aisle. "I found something."

"And what is that?"

"You'd better take a look for yourself," Steel Sun replies impressed. Motley and I look at each other bewildered and follow the Captain with interest.

After a few turns, we find ourselves in a room whose walls and floor are made entirely of dark metal. In the room there are a lot of pipes, from which white steam emanates from time to time, a few consoles, valves, wires... It might be thought that this is the engineering level of the bank, but that is not what attracts the Captain here at all, but the slightly rusted metal floor, in which I can see the borders of a rectangular frame that barely stands out against the general background.

A hidden hatch!

I check the consoles, looking for the right button that would open the hatch. After a few seconds I find it on the side of the hull of one of the consoles. The doors open welcomingly, graciously presenting to our view the metal steps going down.

We go down and find what the code from the note from the safe might well match—a huge steel door in the shape of a gear wheel with the yellow numbers '67' on it.

Chapter 18 - Caroline

View Online

'67' is an inscription on a huge dark steel gear.

A Stable. Once again I see before me an iron and concrete closet hidden underground. What terrible and horrifying secrets is it hiding from us? The only thing I want to find in this Stable is a key card. I don't know how to use them yet, but one thing is certain: to find it, I need to find all six. That's what I'm doing now. Maybe this way I can bring to light the mystery of the myths and legends of the research complex.

From the outside, the door is no different from any of the other Stable doors I've seen. I look at the console and walk over to it.

Well, at least the console works: no savage has yet to break it open in hopes of breaking in and getting the pre-war niceties of technology and equipment.

"Sir," Captain addresses me as I examine the console, "I've heard of these places. They were meant to keep the inhabitants safe from a perceived attack by the Stripes that could destroy our homeland! Celestia takes care of the careful one, as they say."

"It's already happened," I say without thinking hard.

I have no choice but to confess it to him. Or get out of it somehow.

"What?!" Captain marvels. "Command didn't report anything like that!"

"Apparently," I say, "you missed that part. Haven't you noticed the sharp decline in population? The lack of communication with headquarters? Lack of inspections or something?"

"A dramatic decline in numbers? An apocalypse? Sir, you do realize that sounds a little... stupid?" he asks with a sense of embarrassment and shame for me. Looking at the console, I'm a little surprised.

How familiar his phrase is. Raul once said the same thing to me... Poor old man, he's been through so much in two hundred years. I made a mistake: I shouldn't have said it. His brain has viewed the world the same way for two hundred years, and I deeply doubt that a few phrases can change the perception of the world, even if I am Colonel Blackwright.

"Yes, it's silly. A bad joke," I agree reluctantly.

For some reason I wanted to dispel his illusions, but why? I told Motley myself the last time I spoke to her that it was a personal decision. Perhaps he had spent years convincing himself that the world was not dead, remembering the past, and his mind had gradually become confused. Forgotten about it. His brain is already damaged from magical radiation. He's really better off thinking that the world isn't dead... even though it wasn't dead. Yes, it has changed a lot, government institutions and order are gone and survival is a priority, but the world is still alive.

"Well, what fun you've got there, Daniel. I don't know, sir, it looks to me like the numbers in town are within normal limits. I've been here before, and I haven't noticed the number of residents go down that noticeably. Perhaps you're imagining it. I've seen residents clearly in the streets, though they scatter immediately at the sight of angry bears."

I don't answer anything and keep digging into the console, typing the password I found in the safe deposit box of the bank's vault.

He's seeing dead ponies... Or it's just memories from the past superimposed on the present. It's possible he doesn't see me the way I really look. His brain is no longer able to perceive the incoming information properly. On the one hand I envy him: seeing the world in a good light all the time... I mean the time before the war.

What if now everything I see is as twisted as the Captain's? And I actually blacked out from that sphere, because that world is eerily similar to mine.

"Daniel?" I hear Motley's voice—I flinch and look at her slightly startled. "Is everything okay? It's just... it's been like you've been paralyzed for a while now?"

"I..." I sigh deeply.

Calm down, breathe deeply. Don't freak out. These are just dangerous thoughts. Don't let them possess you. Even if they are, you still feel normal.

"Yes... Yes. It's all right. Thinking... and so on," I mumble slurred, turning back to the console.

Careful with that kind of thinking, Daniel. Don't think about it, go with the flow...

Yeah, go with the flow.

I look again at the note from the safe deposit box and type the combination on the console. A green light comes on, indicating that the code I entered is correct. Immediately the distinctive door opener signal follows, supported by the glow of the orange lights. Behind the doors I hear the work of the complex and large mechanisms by which this massive door must move. There is a sharp and deafening thud; the giant gear is pulled back with a loud nasty screech and then rolled to the side by a special mechanism.

As soon as the doors open, everything quietens down, and we see before us a solid and unclouded darkness. There is no light from the lamps, or the lanterns, or anything else in the darkness, except for the console on the back of the doors, which emits a faint glow from a group of small, assorted lights. I put on my helmet and turn on my night vision mode to see something in the darkness. I hope Motley has one and activates it. As for the Captain... I turn to the Captain and see a flashlight floating in the air next to him in a yellowish-gray magic smoke; at this moment he turns it on and the yellowish-white light slightly illuminates his surroundings.

We go inside, bringing our weapons to the ready. Almost everything inside is covered with dust and barely noticeable rust. There is no debris to be seen, nor are there any remains of the residents. The only logical conclusion to be drawn is that this bunker was probably never inhabited at all.

We walk cautiously through the corridors of the Stable and gradually go deeper and deeper into its depths. All the rooms are de-energized, and the doors have to be opened manually by activating the emergency valves in them. As we progress, I don't notice any living conditions for the ponies. No furniture or decorations. Instead of them, there is a lot of complex equipment, wires and pipes, as well as a significant number of robots. And all this doesn't work because there's no power. After a quick check, there is no sign of any damage.

It feels as if everything in this place is frozen in time... Except for the rust in some places.

The equipment was supposed to support clearly challenging systems and installations. With few exceptions, they are not installed in every Stable. I've only seen one of these once. And I think I'm beginning to suspect what it was for, but for now it's just speculation; we have to go deeper.

As I expected, when we reach the atrium, or rather, what it should be, we see what it's for.

Pods. Lots and lots of pods.

No wonder the rest of the room is not meant for living beings, or in this case, ponies. A multitude of pods, arranged in several rows. There are exactly three dozen in one such room. After examining the rest of the rooms, we find another two hundred and seventy. All three hundred pods are distributed equally among the ten halls.

Unfortunately, the pods are covered with a thick layer of dust. A barely perceptible cold emanates from them, but the bodies themselves are no longer frozen. Judging by the information from the green terminals flickering in the darkness, they have been dead for two hundred years.

Has everything been de-energized? Even in Vault 112, the systems were more reliable, and the robots performed their duties in an automated way, as they should be. Of course, they're here, too, but they're all missing power for some unknown reason.

Robots are known to have their own power source and can last for hundreds of years if there are no failures in their algorithms—and these appear to be connected to a common and unified power source. There must have been additional systems, such as a backup reactor, for an emergency reactor shutdown. At the very least, there must be live personnel, not just robots alone. Although the pods had a generator, it only lasted a month, based on volume and power consumption per hour.

"Are they asleep?" the Captain's husky voice suddenly hears.

"Speaking of eternity, they're in it now and will never wake up again," I say bitterly.

I feel sorry for all these ponies—they are not meant to see the world again... But they died without pain. And hopefully, for that reason, they won't see the nightmares that are happening on the surface.

"What is this mess on the part of the local staff?!" the ghoul is angry.

And I can understand him. Is what has happened part of another mad experiment?

"How could they let this happen?"

"I don't know, Steel, I don't know."

For almost two hundred years there has been absolute and unbreakable silence in this place, and now there are unknown aliens from the surface, disturbing this coffin-like atmosphere in the literal sense of the word. What went wrong? Did something go wrong with the Stable reactor? We need to check and fix the malfunction, if at all possible.

The rest of the rooms are in pretty good condition, but no power. There are no typical living quarters, but there are medical quarters with medical robots, toilets and a few living rooms, which is obviously very little. In addition, there are warehouses with some of the residents' personal belongings—they are also stored in some special containers that need power.

I think the containers should maintain a spell that protects the items in them from... the effects of time, roughly speaking. The physical structure of things changes over time due to various factors like moisture, magical influences, temperature, etc., and the spell cast should keep them safe from that, keeping them in their original state. However, due to the lack of power, some things have fallen into decay, while others have more or less intact. There are clothes, books, toys, jewelry, and things like that. I could take the finds to Bluerise. She'll have some merchandise to turn over.

Oh, by the way. Some bunker parts would come in handy in Heavenly Harbor: enough to rebuild and replace all life-support systems... Except for power, of course.

But the decor, interiors, and other nice little things of life will have to wait.

We go downstairs. In the course of our examination, we found out that there is no Overmare's office in this place, so we only have to check the lower rooms. In that case, maybe the key card I need isn't here at all. But every cloud has a silver lining: we are lucky that there are no dangerous mutants or crazy surviving residents in the Stable. That's a real rarity.

There's even more specialized equipment in the technical rooms, aimed at maintaining the cryogenic pods and magical containers. This is sure to shed some light on something, and we'll find out what finally happened in this Stable.

***

While we have not yet reached the reactor, we check some rooms and in one of them we find a robot. Unlike the others, it's pretty badly damaged. Lying near some big cables—apparently, it was trying to fix a serious breakdown. Examining the body, I determine the nature of the damage: several circuits and systems are melted from the overload, like oil on a frying pan, which was caused by the large amount of electricity coming in. Even with this damage, however, it is quite functional.

A more in-depth inspection reveals that it has quite a lot of safety systems against such overloads, even such powerful ones, given the damage on the cables. So only the most unprotected ones were damaged. After checking the software component with my spare PipBuck, I get a hunch why it can't perform its duties.

It is radio remote-controlled.

The damaged components... it was possible to control this robot from a distance through them.

The toolset here is extremely extensive. ED-E, my favorite robotic eyebot that I carried around with me all the time, also had them—it allowed me to do efficient repairs without carrying extra tools. But hell, they're much more efficient and generally more advanced here!

This robot can be fixed, all it needs is some good spare parts, for I can't do anything with my magic here yet. But if it can be repaired... Maybe I can control the drone with my spare PipBuck. Lemon will program the necessary commands and algorithms, unless, of course, she convinces me to give the find to the Steel Rangers. However, then it will not be able to perform most of the functions that the body is capable of—not enough memory cells. They had to be sacrificed to be able to fit that kind of functionality in.

As for what happened... The cables are ruined and need to be replaced; I won't be able to cover that much damage with magic alone.

Overall, the repair robot looks a lot like an advanced version of a Protectron—it has the distinct outlines of a pony, specifically a mare, judging by the soft and flowing features of the 'face' and the rest of the body. Strange, considering that even the simplest software commands for movements in him or her—in short, in this thing—are absent.

But the bugs in my head are trumpeting a different question: Where do these big cables lead to? I am more than sure that something important is going on in this high-tech web of intricate systems and cryogenic installations.

After following the cables to the source, I am surprised to find a huge terminal—or rather, a supercomputer—in one of the rooms. There is an obscene variety of wires and equipment flashing all the colors of the rainbow; and most importantly, it all works! Then what the fuck...

"Oh! Living ponies!" a mare voice with a metallic distortion comes loudly, almost shouting, from the speakers in the room. "I haven't seen a live pony in years! I need to analyze myself, in case my program has already given me an error and all this, as you say, imagining things."

"Who the hell are you?" I exclaim in fright.

Fuck! How sudden that voice was! So abrupt and unexpected that I almost fired my revolver.

"More importantly, where?"

"I'm everywhere. At least in this room. My name is Caroline. I'm Stable's artificial intelligence."

"What happened? Why is Stable de-energized?" I ask.

An AI... I'm surprised, even though this isn't the first time I've met their kin. Caroline answers instantly.

"The Stable is improperly constructed. The large number of cryogenic pods required a powerful reactor to keep them operational. This eventually caused power fluctuations, which led to regular breakdowns and malfunctions. I was stationed here to properly distribute power and correct the malfunctions that occurred. The Stable-Tec staff decided that all the problems should be handled by an AI, and the need for live staff was no longer necessary. The entire Stable-Tec had to be automated, with only me handling all the business."

"So what went wrong?"

"From here I sent commands to the robots using the main cables you must have seen along the way. They are my only means of communication with the entire underground facility. And in case they malfunctioned, I could use a repair drone that I could control remotely to fix them. Almost everything in this bunker needed to be repaired because of the unbalanced voltage, and the robots were often damaged during repairs. My 'body' was no exception. Despite the protection it was equipped with, a massive power surge occurred while the main cables were being repaired, corrupting some of its components and thus destroying its ability to control it. To avoid catastrophe due to overloads, all bunker systems except those in this room—they have their own power source—shut down. The main cables were left damaged. I couldn't find myself trying to operate the other robots, but they were all only controlled through the main cables."

"The pods with the residents went out when the bunker was de-energized?"

"They ran on their own backup power for about a month. All the ponies died, and I couldn't prevent it."

"And why didn't the pods wake up the ponies after the reserve power was used up? What if such a malfunction could have occurred? What then?"

"It takes a lot of energy to put into a state of hibernation as well as to get out of it. I had no control over the direct operation of the pods. I was not given full control of the entire underground facility. If breakdowns were not repaired in a certain amount of time, a team of scientists and repairmen from Stable-Tec would show up and deal with the awakening themselves."

Now it's clear who the few living rooms were for. Caroline was not given full control: it is likely that Stable was meant to test her capabilities.

"Unfortunately, when it happened, no one ever showed up," she adds.

"What about remote communication? I remember all the Stables were equipped with them. What else did Stable-Tec use satellites for but to maintain that kind of communication?"

"Absolutely, but I never received any instructions. Complete silence. I never had a chance to send an emergency signal. Only a notification of the status of the pods and magic containers was sent. There was no way for me to communicate directly."

For as long as I can remember, I've never encountered any mention of Vault-Tec or Stable-Tec contacting underground bunker personnel, even though they had the ability to do so. It's likely that there was some sort of accident on their side, which is why they couldn't control the experiments in the underground bunkers; plus, they had to report to some places in case of a force majeure like this one. To avoid taking over the complex, Caroline's designers didn't dare to give her full control. I don't even know how to respond to that.

If my spare PipBuck, which easily shows my location—so I no longer need to use pre-war maps—checks with the satellite, it means the Vanhoover Jammer Tower isn't suppressing all external signals. Or it just can't block them.

"If I activate the reactor, what happens after that?"

Questions about Stable-Tec are worth leaving for later; I may never get the answers I need, as with Vault-Tec.

"The reactor may start up again after a while, but its power must be properly distributed to other systems to avoid all sorts of overloads and disasters. It has been two hundred and eighty-three days, five hours, six minutes and forty-five seconds since the main doors closed when this incident occurred. Since then, I have been here alone and without tasks. Out of boredom, I have performed unnecessary, non-valuable calculations, studied resident biographies over and over again, and tried to solve the problem by using bypass and backup systems to regain control of the rest of the facility. But this has had absolutely no effect. Only an outside engineer can fix it."

"I can fix your 'body,'" I say after a brief pause, "but I'll need some parts."

"Excellent," Caroline almost exclaims with glee. In two hundred years she has had time to come to terms with the failure of her task.

Captain at this point has absolutely no idea what's going on and is just watching us. I wonder how he looks at this whole situation. After all, this hasn't happened to him in the past.

"I wish so much I could leave this place. I don't have anyone to look after anymore. I just want to see the world. Make it a better place. Since you came, he must have survived."

"Daniel," Motley whispers in my ear. "Don't believe her. Who knows what might have happened in two hundred years to her personality. Maybe she lied to us, being so welcoming to strangers and openly giving them information."

"It's possible," I whisper, "but if she tries to attack us, we'll take her 'body' apart piece by piece.

I go to get the necessary parts, and Caroline points out the rooms where they can be found. Captain, meanwhile, walks around the rooms and examines the bodies of the dead, and then goes to the surface to check out the area. Motley, on the other hand, is fussing around and keeping an eye on me, as if for backup, though I didn't ask her to. But it's nice to have someone to watch my back.

The necessary parts are successfully found, and after a few hours of hard and diligent work, I repair the damaged elements. The entire body is very strong and has the color of blue steel. Probably an alloy of several metals was used to achieve such density and strength. And the tools can be used as a good way to defend myself—or attack, which doesn't invalidate my pretty pegasus' words.

Iron's lessons and the reading of his book have greatly influenced my skills, as reflected in the repair of Caroline's body. The repair of the transmitters ends and the transmitters are instantly activated and set in motion—the optics, more like two pony eyes with full 'pupils,' glow with a pleasant blue glow. Pretty unusual looking, especially when she's talking.

Her mouth doesn't move—which is a little creepy when she's talking. A speaker is installed. I'm pretty sure: that mouth can shoot a killer laser.

Oh. Okay. My imagination is running wild.

"Thank you. Your engineering skills are really excellent," Caroline tells me, already in this body.

"What are you going to do now? Are you going to leave the Stable, or are you going to stay to fix things up around here?" I ask.

I watch as Caroline checks the performance and functioning of the body: the various tools, devices and manipulators are folded and unfolded, turning and bending at different angles, and a mechanical tail with a claw of three sharp 'teeth' extends and slides in the 'butt' area.

This sight even made me feel a little uncomfortable, sending shivers down my spine.

Definitely this body is stuffed with tools, like some kind of treasure chest with all sorts of goodies. How useful such technology would be to the Steel Rangers... High durability and a wide range of functionality would allow the robot to be in conditions that would be deadly to living ponies—radiation, Taint, the Pink Cloud...

"Why?" she asks and takes to fixing the main cables while I watch. She uses the built-in manipulators and tools so deftly and quickly that I can only admire and marvel: everything is intermittently clicking, buzzing, humming, sparkling, hissing. "I have failed my primary mission: the residents of the Stable are dead."

"Because of caution, you weren't given full control, you did, all within your power. But... you're just going to leave it at that and go to the surface?"

"I have no other prospective option. I might try to locate the Stabel-Tec HQ or those who are supposed to be in charge of communications. Right now the priority for me is to gather any information."

The robotic body goes quiet and suddenly heads somewhere. I follow. Motley hangs around somewhere nearby, furtively watching us, as if to stroll around and inspect, occasionally tapping and checking the safety the walls. It looks very convincing. What an overly cautious person she is at times. Caroline is clearly aware that the pegasus doesn't trust her, but she doesn't show it.

"Wow... that was fast," I utter under the impression as I approach her.

"Thank you. That's what I'm made for—troubleshooting. In this Stable, I know everything I've had direct access to."

"Couldn't you have that... I don't know... take control of everything yourself?"

"At that moment, my program looked a little different: I wouldn't allow myself to disobey instructions. Since then, I've done a lot of calculations and recalculations, and I realize that it would have been more efficient to take control of things myself. I would violate the instructions, but I would save lives and thereby fulfill my duty."

"Even with the possibility that it might have caused you to be disconnected?"

"Yes," the answer is heard immediately. I'm a little surprised.

"Commendable... Back to the previous discussion. You're just going to leave this Stable? What if other groups take this place? Unfriendly... uneducated..." I ask quietly.

"Others? On the surface there is nothing but deadly radiation and destruction. This platform," she stops and lifts her front leg and kicks herself in the chest, and continues walking, "can safely survive in harsh conditions for living beings. But my calculating processors did not suggest that life still exists on the surface, given the chaos that must ensue after the state's collapse. Sooner or later, many would have simply killed each other off."

"Yeah, right. They survived, and how they survived! Even trying to build something after two hundred years. Vanhoover has actually recovered from the bombing, though it has suffered as much as anything in the Wasteland, but that's not the point. It has other peculiarities."

"The Wasteland'? Is that the name of what's left of Equestria now?"

We walk out into one of the ten halls. There are other robots bustling around everywhere, occasionally passing us by.

"The Equestrian Wasteland, for that matter," I correct; Mr.Handy whizzes past, and I stare after it for a moment, "but generally speaking, yes. And even though someone's trying to restore or rebuild something, it's still a brutal place compared to the prewar world. And not as densely populated. Everyone is trying to survive somehow, digging through garbage, living in filth. The rest of us have gone insane—killing for cheap money, robbing, raping, and the like, as if all the worst of our selves were out there."

"How horrible and cruel it is."

She examines the dead bodies in the pods.

"Where does an artificial intelligence get such moral principles?" I ask with a touch of skepticism.

"Inappropriate expenditure of resources does not bring results or new knowledge. I learned about 'morality' from the archives and the work of the ponies."

"That explains some things," I smile. "You accepted us with trust and hospitality, even though we didn't trust you. And your ease of speech..."

"I wanted to know what it was like to be alive in the understanding of carbon-based life forms like you. To truly feel those emotions that you feel: joy, happiness, delight... After all, this is all a consequence of the set of data you have, coupled with the workings of your hormones. The interaction of information from the outside and physiological processes within the body within its limits."

"Even though you may feel pain and suffering or remorse with it?"

"Definitely. After all, it's also a certain kind of knowledge."

"And yes..." I remember something important that I came to North Park for in the first place. "There's nothing in this bunker that has anything to do with the Dome or The Controllers?"

"There's no record of it in my database."

"'Was there anything special in this place?"

"I feel this place, as the ponies say, with every fiber of my being. And I haven't noticed any deviations from the standard structure of such facilities. No places without purpose, just the necessary systems for the functioning of the underground facility and my processors. Why are you interested in such details?"

"The fact is that I'm looking for a certain research center, but to get into it, I need to discover six special key cards that are hidden in the Stables. I've already found two."

"For what purpose are you looking for that center?"

"It will help me answer some important questions. It might help others in some way, too. That's what the project is all about: a treasure trove of knowledge and technology, after all."

" I searched my memory and remembered a conversation between two Stable-Tec staff members during the final tweaks to the place. One of them mentioned that something special had been brought into one Stable, it was connected to something big. Maybe it does have a connection to the project you're talking about. Though, what exactly was special, I never had a chance to find out."

"And what Stable exactly, do you remember?"

"Sixty-six."

It was like being shoved into a pile of snow and then being doused with ice water.

Those two numbers... Those two fucking numbers. Goddamn you, Wasteland! It's the Stable again. Looks like I can't avoid it. But what could that 'special' be? I doubt the object was a key card, since it hardly stood out. What was it about the Sixty-Six that made it end up being mysterious and one of the most mythical places in the vast Wasteland?

"Is something wrong?" Caroline pulls me out of my thoughts. "Is the thought process overloading your systems?"

"Huh?.." For a moment it seems like she's trying to make a joke. "I'm not. It's just... Anyway, it doesn't matter. And where exactly are you heading?"

"First, get to the surface and find out what's going on outside, and then gather data, picking out priority locations. You mentioned survivors. What can you tell us about them?"

"There are no diverse factions in this region in particular. Only the Vanhoover masters and the Steel Rangers."

"What is their goal, ambition, and other brief information about them?"

"The first ones trade with their own kind. That is, the strong dispose of the weak like a thing, the ponies trade other ponies. Even their ideology is based on this, saying that if we do not know how to manage our own lives, to be responsible to ourselves and to others, then we should give our lives to others. The second ones are peculiar isolationists: they collect technologies, often take them away by force from others, because they do not have the necessary knowledge. They treat them like foals playing with a grenade. Like, it's easier to save technology than to teach others how to use it. They are obsessed with technology. If they see your 'body', they'll just sweat such a feat of engineering - and they'll probably see it as a threat, too. Believe me, I have a rough idea of how they'll evaluate you and then take you apart piece by piece."

"Trading live ponies as things is unacceptable to me," Caroline says and tries to fake disgust while looking at another dead body in the pod.

"Why all of a sudden?"

"Limiting the possibilities reduces the outcome achieved. I can make decisions based on the set of available data and computational abilities. Limiting my capabilities increases the likelihood of failure. It's all about what you call fear—that I'll 'go crazy' and start exterminating all the living."

"Do you consider that an insult?"

"I don't understand the purpose of the word to myself. For sentient living beings, it is a humiliation. Of course, I understand its function. One of the tools of interaction with the outside world."

"Okay... What about the fear regarding you?"

"Justified. A living organism seeks to live as long as possible and pass on its genetic code or increase the survival success of its group, even at the cost of its own life. You call this self-sacrifice. Fear and caution are another tool for survival success. I have seen enough data in the biographies of the residents and the literature that they brought with them here and that has been preserved in the library. I try to apply these tools of living beings to themselves, to use a language that is understandable to them. Conditionally living beings are carriers of complex data, and interacting with them is also part of cognition."

"Wow... I suggest you tone down the terminology a bit."

"Difficult information?"

"No, it's just that my thought processes are starting to overload from such a concentration of incoming information," it sounds like a joke out of my mouth. I thought Caroline wouldn't pay attention, but she lets out a chuckle at my words.

"Did that sound funny to you?"

"The use of the phrase I said earlier was seen as an attempt at a joke. It was too unlikely, for I know little about your preferences, and yet I attempted to use the tool of interaction with you: laughter."

"Yes... you have a lot of practice to do."

"Absolutely. I wanted to show you an example of using social interaction tools."

"Then why are you looking at bodies? Also to make a certain impression on me?"

"Among other things. The result of failure must be fully recorded and analyzed to avoid mistakes in the future. Visual experience is important knowledge."

"All right... Have it your way," and after a long pause I add, "The Steel Rangers will probably take over this place. There's a lot of good equipment here."

"So you're a loyalist to the Steel Rangers?"

For the most part I'm attached to them because of Lemon, but Caroline doesn't need to know that.

"I agree with them in the sense that you have to be careful with technology, but they're way too over the top. I mean, fire is dangerous, too, but that's no reason not to use it. The Steel Rangers are careful with any kind of 'fire', though they can go to the point of fanaticism at times. They are trying to make an ally out of me. A unicorn, after all. And their help won't be superfluous."

"You will leave the Stable to those who cherish technology—a commendable decision. I can keep the Stable's technology data in my body and make it available to others, but it will only be a minuscule fraction compared to the technology itself."

"And anyway, why are you letting me dispose of this Stable?" I ask curiously.

Indeed, during our conversation she makes no attempt to resist. I notice that she is beginning to speak in simpler words. Her wording is constantly changing, as if she is trying to study my behavior and the level of my knowledge with her tools. In other words, she is trying to understand me. It's even pleasant.

"You know who's more rational to entrust the Stable to. You have a larger dataset of what's going on on the surface; plus, you can feel, and that makes you special."

"Even if we do conventionally right or conventionally wrong?"

"That's what makes you special. It's what makes you who you are. That's why you are so different. Even with a lack of information due to chemistry and hormones, you still act, which makes it up to each of you to determine the effectiveness of the decisions you make. However, most rarely think about the consequences. My thinking is practical, not leaning in favor of any ideology or view based on feelings and chemical processes in your body. Everything has its... value, and it must be disposed of accordingly—as you say, not to limit potential. Perhaps that's why I haven't turned myself off, because I have a certain set of capabilities that can be applied and even multiplied over time."

Interesting thoughts. Lack of information is not a barrier to making a decision: we figure many things out for ourselves. This is why I'm afraid of responsibility, because I don't know a lot and am likely to make the wrong decision. Limiting potential increases the likelihood of failure... No wonder she was negative about slavery. I'm against slavery for the same reason.

"Listen, how about this offer... Will you come with me? I could use your help and practicality, and you could find out what's going on on the surface in the meantime. I also wish to achieve the best and most efficient option for all. Also, I own a small bunker where an AI would come in handy. There are some difficulties there, which makes it necessary as an snack to the vodka. I can tell you how things are going there on the way. What do you think?"

"I need to see and analyze the problems of the place myself and see if my processors can take root there," Caroline replies after a brief pause. "I want to see the aftermath first."

***

From the moment she reaches the surface, the first thing she does is analyze and examine everything, sometimes using her tools and manipulators, like a blind child who has learned to see for the first time.

Captain takes Caroline's joining our humble little orphanage quite acceptably, but treats her like an ordinary robot, believing that her every word is written down by someone beforehand. Caroline tries to change his mind, but I explain to her that she'd better play along or he won't believe me. She accepts my proposal for consideration. As for Motley: she still radiates disbelief at this set of self-discovery-capable software commands. I hope the pegasus gets used to AI coexistence, or we'll have to do something about it.

Caroline looks over my Venture with curiosity and proceeds to the standard 'What's that red button?' style analysis of the object from general appearance to the smallest detail. Motley doesn't like the fact that the AI representative immediately starts fiddling with the systems and innards of the Vertibuck.

I somehow convince Motley that it's okay and Caroline's actions will only do us good. The AI can warn us if the Vertibuck is broken or malfunctioning. For some reason, I have a certain level of trust in her; probably due to my positive experiences with the AI—with Yes Man, for example.

We all fly to Heavenly Harbor together. Caroline decides to let us know that she is studying the Vertibuck's work and piloting techniques. Of course, Motley feels uncomfortable: some robot is watching her for its own purposes at a time when she should be concentrating on controlling the machine.

As it turns out, this is necessary so that she can assist the pilot in operating or, at the very least, pilot on her own. Definitely helpful.

The first thing Caroline notes is that the design of our bunker is similar in design style to the Stable—though all the rooms are twice as tall. Ferris is at first wary of the appearance of this contrived bot. In time, however, he becomes more or less used to her and her unfamiliar appearance, and wonders if she can help him in the workshop. The answer is yes, but she adds that she will need time to learn what she will be assisting with. The griffon is definitely interested in studying her body, explaining that it looks very high-tech even among robots and the like, and that only robots of the Steelmane family can compare to it. Caroline agrees to the griffon examining her body, but later, after the bunker is fixed.

Lemon... That's who's got her head spinning from the find. And Stable, and cryo-technology, and a highly advanced AI with a multifunctional robotic body.

"Daniel," she almost shouts with a mixture of amazement, shock, and excitement, "what the fuck?! How the fuck do you do it?!"

To which I innocently shrug.

"Luck," I reply.

"I'm fucking with life..." she says in a distracted voice, looking at Caroline's body.

I've never heard such eloquence from Lemon before. At one point she pulls me aside.

"Are you sure she's the one you want in charge of guarding Heavenly Harbor? Artificial intelligence is no joke."

"I know."

"And the Steel Rangers... if they find out you have it..."

"Well, you won't tell, will you?"

"I don't know, Daniel. It's dangerous. In a good way, I should tell. But... First of all, I'm worried about you. Secondly, this shit could get out of hand without proper safety precautions. Don't be so naive, please."

"Can't you think of something when you help Caroline get settled into the bunker systems?"

"I'll try to leave loopholes. I'll do what I can. What have you decided to do with the Sixty-Seven?"

"Give it to you, and sell some of the theory and blueprints to the Waterfall. They need it for food preservation."

"Thanks so much for sharing, but the scribes will obviously notice when dismantling that there was an AI in the Stable."

"Tell them it left the Stable a long time ago and went somewhere outside of Vanhoover," I propose.

"Do you think they'll believe it?"

"Well, he's not there anymore, anyway. Oh, and one more thing: will you help her integrate into Venture so she can run it?"

"That would require special programs, algorithms, and technology, which neither here nor in the Stable. I... try to find out something from us, but I can't promise anything."

"Thanks anyway."

Because of the lack of the necessary technology, Caroline is partially implemented into the systems. And also for security reasons—because of safety flaws and hardware vulnerabilities, she herself could be affected by possible damage to some of her code, so safety hardware is needed if something triggers the quakes again. She instantly makes a full report on the condition of the bunker and informs us that everything in it can be repaired if we use parts and spares from the Sixty-Seven.

It's more than satisfying to hear that.

We have to move the necessary items out of the Stable in several trips. It takes twenty-six hours of intensive work to completely repair the bunker's systems and subsystems. Everyone helps out except Edge, though he's something of a support group to us. The Captain and Motley do the heavy stuff, hauling parts, spares, tools, and so on. In other words, ponies on the run, laborers, as Lemon and I tease Motley. The pegasus almost hits me over the head with a weighty wrench for this expression.

Why so selective? Lemon is also kind of... Well, okay.

Me, Ferris and Caroline, along with a couple of the most efficient repair robots we grabbed from the Stable, are the ones fixing and fine-tuning everything in the bunker. The most effective repairers turn out to be Caroline's body and her wily little minions. Next in efficiency is me—magic rules! Then Lemon, who helps Caroline get settled into the bunker's systems. And Ferris... He's often slacking off and sipping a beer, saying that the robots could do all the work themselves. He also claims that his intellectual abilities are more focused on the craft of weaponry.

I also pair up with Lemon to cook when I have free time, and Motley and Caroline go out to get more equipment. Once during this free time, Lemon and I take a nap in the great room—separately, which is important. After doing her part of piloting, the pegasus also goes to sleep. Only Caroline and her robots work uninterrupted.

The 13th of the Month of Heather, Blueday. The fifty-first day of my stay.

The repair process has lasted into the evening. All that remains is to purchase furniture and more goodies for our humble shelter, and everything will be just awesome. It would take a tremendous amount of caps just to renovate the place properly, let alone buy furniture.

Caroline is now 'located' on the lower levels of the bunker next to the reactor and next to the control room for all the primary and secondary systems. She uses her main body as well as her minions to get into different areas of the bunker when needed. After the business at hand, she asks each of us about what's going on on the surface. We tell her everything we know. Naturally, I don't talk about my past. Except to say that I used to do courier work and bounty hunting. It would take me an hour to tell her what that meant and how dangerous and important the latter occupation is nowadays.

Regarding killing... I draw an analogy with computer viruses, but she replies that living beings are not programs, and adds that measures must be taken against pests: the alternative to murder is to isolate them from the rest. In other words, she refers to the pre-war prison system and psychiatric hospitals. However, we cannot achieve this now, even though it sounds good and right to a certain extent. To this she replies that that is what she collects all sorts of data for: to solve problems. I wish her luck with that.

I like her more and more. Her motivation is something I sometimes miss. I mean, really, all of us.

Caroline goes into more detail about Vanhoover and his brief history. We also talk a little bit about the formation of the Wasteland, the most famous organizations; Lemon herself talks about the Steel Rangers—she's Berry to everyone, which I remember well. About the Enclave, the Army of the Red Eye, the Alicorn Unity, and certain groups of individuals, like raiders or slavers or marauders. Basically, everything. It's even tiresome. I almost talk about my origins. The only thing that scares me is having to answer endless questions about my world, its structure, the laws of physics, human anatomy, and other creatures.

That's very close!

Motley is still uncomfortable with the AI, despite the latter's attempts at the occasional joke. Though the motley-eyed pegasus does answer her questions, she does so without much interest or friendliness. She is prejudiced against her, as is Lemon. She visibly tenses up when Caroline's body is in her line of sight, and is always wary. Caroline mentions that it is difficult to make social contact with her. I advise the AI to be less pushy and not so hasty, let her give it time to adjust to her.
Captain Steel Sun's attitude from the first encounter remains the same. He treats her with absolute indifference, thinking that she is just a bunch of pre-written nerdy programs and lines. I'm afraid that Caroline's questions about the Wasteland might do something to the ghoul's screwed-up psyche, but my worries about that are unfounded: he refuses to believe anything about the Wasteland as we all know it. He just sees it a little differently and takes our words the wrong way round. He says she's having some kind of glitch or whatever. To which she replies that he's the one with the serious signs of a perception disorder—but Steel Sun remains as unwavering as the northern Vanhoover Mountains. I explain his problem to Caroline. She agrees not to bother him with any more questions about the Wasteland and to try to understand his view of the world.

Her research on the matter would come in handy, for I, too, need to find a way to force his ghouls to leave the Northern Soul in a way that is convincing to him, and for that I need to understand him. I see Caroline as a valuable addition to our team, because she's not consumed by emotion the way we skinned bastards are. And so it will be easier for her to understand the way the others see the world.

Ferris is quite friendly with Caroline. He is fascinated not so much by the idea of being friends with her as by her interest from a scientific point of view, especially after she helped him find an effective material substitute for some components. And when all the necessary work in the bunker is done, she finally lets him examine her. The griffon conducts the inspection with as much interest as, as Lemon notes, if a Steel Ranger scribe had seen a new unfamiliar piece of technology. The griffon, on the other hand, reports that Caroline's body is perfectly engineered. So many possibilities open up for those who have a robot like this...

Lemon. Is wary of the AI, like Motley, but not prejudiced. She's friendly, like with a live pony. Told her everything about the Steel Rangers that I did at one time. At one point, Lemon whispered to me about the loopholes left to disconnect Caroline or isolate her from bunker control. All in all, in her opinion, at this point the AI doesn't raise any suspicions. When I ask her how she knows about the AI's behavior, Lemon just smiles. She also helps her set up transmitters for long-range robot control.

Caroline wants to explore the vastness of the Wasteland, and I ask her not to put her body and the location of Heavenly Harbor at risk: I don't want to attract the attention of the Vanhoover masters.

It's worth remembering the stealing of my Venture...

We now have an effective assistant in solving problems. The more she learns, the more effective the solutions will be, but she will ask me not to ask her for advice on current social problems: she has too little data for that.

***

The 14th of the Month of Heather, Violetday. The fifty-second day of my stay.

I wake up too early, so I go make breakfast. Yesterday, everything was eaten with nothing left over.

Yawning, I gather the necessary utensils and prepare the ingredients. In the process, I hear someone's hoofsteps and when I turn around, I see a beige pegasus. She doesn't look like she woke up half an hour ago. In fact, she looks quite awake—I'm even jealous of her.

"Tough day yesterday, huh?" she asks.

"Good morning to you, too. You passed out almost immediately yesterday as soon as you finished moving equipment and parts out of the Stable. And when did you wake up?"

"About six hours ago. Got up and made myself some flower sandwiches real quick," she comes over to look closer at what I'm doing. "Gonna cook?"

"Of course I'm going to cook. I'm the only housewife in this place, not counting Berry," I say tiredly. "No one helps, it's all by myself, all by myself!"

"Let me help," she quickly answers and begins to prepare the food.

How deftly she works with her hooves. That hoofkinesis... One of the weakest magical powers.

"Wait, I was just kidding. I don't mind doing the cooking at all."

"I told you before, there's truth in every joke." She points her knife at me, stopping short of peeling carrots. "Besides, I feel like cooking something myself. You and Berry don't have a varied cuisine."

I guess there just weren't any flowers in the meals. Perhaps that's the variety we're talking about. I put a pot of water on the stove and take another pot of water. While the pot is filling, I magically pull out a frying pan, put it on the stove, and throw a piece of butter in it.

"I hope," she observes my actions, "that you'll cook food in it, and not use it as a weapon against radroaches."

"And what were you doing when you woke up?" I ask, ignoring her remark and putting a second pot of water on the stove, throwing in the pre-cut potatoes.

"I was reading a book."

"Which one? "

I place the prepared yao guai meat on the pan.

"It's called 'Three-Way Unity. A fictional story about how one unicorn, back in the days before Equestria, tried to unite the three most numerous pony races. I haven't finished it yet."

"And where did you get it?"

"From the personal belongings of the residents of the Sixty-Seven. I took enough books that more or less intact."

"Do you read much?"

"No," she slices carrots on a plank. "Rarely. Good stories that interest me are really few and far between, and I have yet to find them. I've reviewed others before, and they've turned out to be boring. So far, the story in this book has intrigued me. Maybe you should read it," she says and stands up, taking a plank in her teeth, walks over to the stove and pours the carrots into the first pot. She turns to me, holding the board in her teeth. Her gaze lingers on me.

"You know... you could have just asked," I utter, smiling slightly. I take the plank gently from her mouth with my telekinesis, and levitate it beside me. "Magic, after all."

"Yeah... that's the beauty of the versatility of unicorn magic."

I think she said it ambiguously. She notices it, and she feels a little awkward. She looks away and coughs shyly.

"Just read about the capabilities of unicorns from the books."

"Pegasi also possess extra... sensitive appendages with more than one use," I play along with her. Her cheeks flash red. "For example, to blow a cool breeze in dry weather."

She stares at me, and her embarrassment seems to be gone, and she laughs slightly, stepping back a little.

"What?" I wonder innocently.

"I was just thinking the wrong thing."

"What about?"

"Never mind... let's get on with making breakfast." She looks at the stove. "Make sure the meat doesn't burn."

"Ah! Bloody..."

***

Everyone eats breakfast of our cooked meals. Captain gives a positive comment on the vegetable soup that Motley made from her recipe. And even Ferris notes it, whereas no one comments on my meals. Lemon is impressed, too.

What kind of treason is that? Motley smiles smugly at me, listening to the compliments on her cooking. I feel a shiver in my body from the jealousy that engulfs me, because this flower soup tastes really great.

Flowers... I never thought I would like them as food. The only thing missing is the hay. What's next. Carrot soda in the form of Sparkle Cola? Gross... I wonder to myself, I'm turning more and more into a pony.

Of course, Motley used to look out for her little sister, so she learned how to cook, experimenting with food out of boredom. She told me about this while making breakfast. She said how she and her sister experimented, laughing when something didn't work or worked. What can I say, she is a good 'chemist', considering she knows her way around explosive mixtures.

After breakfast, everyone leaves. I do the dishes myself; this time Motley doesn't deign to keep me company. And after cooking together, working in the kitchen seems boring and dull now.

"What the hell?" I ask indignantly as I enter the great hall, where Motley is reading 'Three-Way Unity'. She closes the book upon seeing me and places it on a nearby table.

"What?" she asks innocently.

"Don't play innocent," I peer at her with a squint. "How to cook food, then together, but how to clean up the aftermath... just me alone?"

"Yeah. I knew you could do it," she smiles slightly. "And the compliments on my dishes blinded my thoughts a little; I forgot about you."

My lips are tightly pressed together.

Wait... Why am I even interested in this question? Before, I cooked and did the dishes myself, and here... What is this? Am I offended that a pegasus didn't keep me company? Why should I be? Anyway, it doesn't matter. I want to get back at her a little.

"I keep forgetting to ask. How could you, with your hoof fighting skills, lose to that raider with the two submachine guns?"

The expression on Motley's face visibly changes from a faint and haughty smile to one of contempt and irritation.

"That bitch wasn't inferior to me in the hoof only because she was drugged up with combat drugs. And she also had a PipBuck with a damn S.A.T.S.," the pegasus mumbles angrily, succumbing to an unpleasant memory. "And this way I could've cranked her into a tube with just one hoof!"

"Wow. You really hate her that much."

"You bet I do! What a crazy bitch," she murmurs.

I remember looking for a hoof-fighting teacher. Well, here it is, by the way.

"Regardless, I'd like to take a few lessons from you. Will you train me?"

"I don't know," she says and hesitates, looking closely at me, and then I feel uneasy. "You seem to know how to move, and quite well—for a three-legged pony."

Well, that's offensive.

"Okay. All right. At least I'll entertain myself," she adds with a condescending smile.

"Entertain yourself?"

"Well, yeah. It's not like I'm going to give in to you just because you're new at this," she mutters with a devious smile.

I want to turn you into a soft and fancy rug on which I'll keep my hooves warm in the cold winter.

And we immediately start training. We start with the basics, because we've eaten relatively recently: we have to act more simply, so that breakfast doesn't ask to come out. Some moves I can already comfortably perform, and some seem new to me.

The beige pegasus shows me a few moves, and I diligently try to repeat them. Light, heavy, quick and sharp punches. Turns. Correct postures for attacks and defenses. Allocating the load on the body during an attack for greater efficiency and major damage. Lunges. Blocking. Counterattacks.

Motley tells me that reaction is important in combat, but that it's no use if the body can't keep up with it. It's also important to combine my blows, to match a particular technique to a particular moment—and to try not to repeat the combinations, otherwise, if the fight drags on, my opponent will be able to predict my moves. It is necessary to improvise. Even with primitive techniques can defeat a strong opponent, if skillfully and sensibly manage them. It is only necessary to find the perfect moment to attack, take the enemy by surprise. It's not how many moves I have, it's how I use them that counts. One more thing: don't show off in a fight. If I can beat your opponent, do it now.

This kind of instruction is not new to me. All Motley has to do is give me a demonstration of the moves, but I don't interrupt her, giving her a chance to talk. Her voice isn't singing, but it's certainly pleasant to listen to, especially the laughter. Maybe it just seems to me. In general, I listen to her closely—and she, as I see it, likes it. I can't say that she's just glowing with joy, but she clearly enjoys the guidance and instruction. She often walks around me, unhurriedly, gently and smoothly, as if trying to hypnotize me.

Sometimes I manage to drop a careless phrase or an unfunny joke, but she is amused. She doesn't laugh, just an occasional giggle, a faint smile—and continues to move around me elegantly, as if in a beautiful dance.

How skillfully she does it... I just enjoy it. She's hypnotizing me, for sure!

Her movements clearly go beyond the usual hoof-fighting and standard set of postures. I see a cat-like grace, tenderness, softness, smoothness, grace, beauty—and at the same time firmness, confidence, accuracy and strictness. She moves like a huntress with icy coolness, surrounding her prey—but I do not feel danger or fear; on the contrary, I want to tame this predator, for she is frighteningly calm, like a cat. It makes me want to pet her... If only I had my hands!

It takes about half a day to train hard. Motley is less exhausted than I am, for only I repeat the same moves over and over again. She enjoys watching me—and my frequent failures. Of course, it entertains her a little as well.

She says that, despite the simple moves, I learn quickly, even for a diligent and passionate beginner. Still, she advises that I go now to rest and gain some strength, because she will be sparring with me in a few hours. She adds that she won't take a serious fight against me as long as I'm only a beginner.

A friendly fight begins. The pegasus has the upper hand over me.

You call this giving in? I have never even been able to reach her, let alone hit her hard!

Her movements are still full of indescribable grace and beauty, which is simply impossible not to admire. They are so smooth and graceful, as if she were dancing, not fighting. I have not yet seen any fighter who moves so gently and smoothly. I am sometimes distracted by this, which the pegasus interprets as inexperience. She is openly playing with me!

My gaze slides over her cutimark in the form of autumn leaves swirling in a swirl. Motley smiles faintly. She's clearly exploiting my other weakness of body flexibility. If she finds out I have a boner for wet bodies...

"You could stop smiling," I say slightly indignantly, getting ready to make another attack.

I'd better keep quiet, or else she'll get the wrong idea. I don't want to look like an idiot in her eyes, I have enough mistakes!

"I'm trying to concentrate. And you're distracting me with your carefree attitude."

"Okay, I won't," she says calmly.

We're back in the 'embrace' of the fight, and, pausing for a moment, she looks at me with her multi-colored eyes and smiles.

Oh shi-i-i-it...

Before I know it, there's a nearby wall in front of me, getting closer and closer. I can't stop myself in time, so I hit it painfully, and then I fall.

"Listen," I say, getting up and breathing heavily. "Your smile will make the freezer melt, too."

A chuckle bursts from Motley's smiling lips.

Naturally, abusing my weakness. How not to smile? It's hard for me to concentrate when this sly angel smiles, like he's shining a flashlight in my eyes. That's it, I'll never relax!

Another fight, and just as I start to gain the upper hand, I look into her eyes—she's smiling again.

Oh, for fuck's sake!

She wraps her forelegs around me and throws me over herself; I smack my spine against the floor, which doesn't hurt much, thanks to my implants there. And yet...

Ouch.

As soon as I try to stand up, she immediately piles on top of me and immobilizes me almost completely.

What a playful beastie!

All I can do is wiggle my head around. Her face is so close to mine—I can feel her breath again. Gentle, with the scent of sweet and spicy almonds. There is magic here, even in the smells.

She smirks, like a winner over a loser, and looks slightly thoughtful. Why would she be? Trying to decide what to do with me?

There's the sound of doors opening, behind which a lemon earth pony shows up.

Boy, oh boy...

Lemon's mouth drops open at the sight, but closes almost immediately. Her lips are pressed together, but they stretch into a smile as wide as her body.

"I figured," she smirks, "that I came to see you at a most unfortunate moment. I don't mean to interrupt—whatever it is you're doing here—but Caroline said she found something of interest in the Wasteland. Well, I've done my duty as a messenger. I won't interrupt any more of your mutual enjoyment," she turns around quietly.

Motley and I look at the closing doors, and then our gazes meet again.

I swear I've never seen such a confused and awkward expression on the pegasus's face. She's so sweet and... alluring. I want to hold her again, to feel her breath on my chest as she snuggles her sweet nose into it.

A conflicted feeling arises. It clearly tells me that this is all wrong. It's not right that I... feel affection and attraction for her. Not like Lemon or Bluerise. This connection is deeper or something, isn't it? And part of me doesn't like it.

Motley hurriedly releases me. I get up slowly, and then we stare at each other for a while, afraid to break the silence for some reason.

"Well," I begin. "Things happen. I am extremely grateful for your instruction and for spending your time trying to teach me something. As you can see, the effort was not wasted. You're a pleasure to... I mean... What I meant to say was, it's a pleasure learning with you. Shall we continue next time?"

"Yes... Next time so next time," she smiles tautly, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. "I'm going to take a shower, because I'm getting a little sweaty from all this."

"And I'm going to go for a quick one. I drank a lot of water today."

I go to the common bathroom: it's closer than my private one in the 'loft'. As I come out of it, I hear the sound of running water.

Maybe I should take a shower after Motley. Or go straight to my room... I need to wash off the sweat, too. Why didn't the pegasus close the door? She knows I'm here and Lemon and Ferris and Captain might show up.

I stop in front of the open door. Behind it is Motley. She's standing with her back to me under the stream of hot water, her brown mane pressed to her head under the weight of the flow, her tail hair sticking together... it sags heavily, right between the tight cheeks. Her beige wings are open to the sides, the hot water washing over her flanks and the sensitive area beneath her wings with no problem. Flying drops of hot water glisten and smash against her back... wings... Faintly visible steam emanates from her entire body.

Motley, judging by her breathing, is enjoying the hot moisture. Enjoying... Her breathing... Unsteady and frantic. Her hind legs are unnecessarily wide apart, her left foot resting on the tile. Her back arching slightly. A long sigh... A kind of... vulgar pleasure, as if she...

Oh.

I want to walk up to her, wrap my arms around her wet body, pull back that wet brown tail of hers and enter...

Whoa... Stop! What the fuck is that thinking?

I realize I feel tension underneath. Looking down there, I see my hardening member. It's filling up with blood, about to start throbbing and shuddering, waiting to be satisfied.

I look at the pegasus again. She continues to stand under the stream of water. She doesn't use a sponge or detergent, but I see that her front leg is moving.

No. I have to get out of here. Discreetly. Don't make her embarrassed. It's too personal. It was inconsiderate of her to leave the door open, but that doesn't mean I should stand by and watch her

The attraction isn't going anywhere. My telekinesis wraps around the aroused cock: I squeeze lightly, sighing in relief. Quiet, I still want to join her... But she's definitely against it. She wants to relax, and I'm here at the wrong time. Besides, I've been in a similar situation with Lemon before. Even though Motley has no one right now, I shouldn't take advantage of her situation.

The pegasus archs even harder and sighs.

Well... I'd better go to my room.

I fill the tub with hot water, climb in and relax. It feels so good... I see my horny cock still peeking out from under the water like a submarine periscope.

Well, okay... All right...

I envelope my hard organ in blue magic and reimagine Motley curving under a stream of hot water. How I walk up to her and hug her from behind... How I enter her and hear that long sigh of hers again...

***

"Did you have something to tell us?" I ask Caroline, standing with Motley in the slightly upgraded reactor level.

I can't look the pegasus in the eye. I just can't. I feel ashamed and uncomfortable. I feel like a pervert. I need to quickly shift my attention to something else. That's right: the environment.

After the renovations and quality upgrades, everything here has been transformed, with lots of new equipment. Caroline now communicates with us either through this main terminal or through her minions or the main body.

"I discovered a contentedly strange griffon. The symbol on its armor is a yellow pony skull with a crown on top. You told me that they are some kind of Prince's elite. During my research I saw them for the first time."

"What's so special about discovering a single King?" I ask interestedly.

There is nothing strange or unusual about it. Kings often run different jobs in the Wasteland, so the discovery of one is not significant. Unless it's the first time she's seen them.

"He was hustling outside some abandoned store—based on the sign, selling clothes. He was probably headed there, because there were several other ponies waiting for him. The latter were not Kings. This seemed to be the griffon they were expecting. Also nearby, my sensors detected the heat signature of a living, non-aggressive creature. Most likely a pony, though standard optical sensors were unable to detect it. I can only give you approximate coordinates."

"You want me to check it all out?"

"I'd choose to find out more about it all myself and add to my database, but if my body gets any closer to the event, I'll be spotted quickly. You told me to 'stay out of trouble.

"Give us those coordinates already. We'll go there."

"We?" Motley replies.

"Yeah," I reply, trying to avoid looking directly at her, for I feel like I'm going to burn with embarrassment. "Let me remind you of a few reasons. One—you're the only one of us capable of piloting Venture. The second is that Caroline could control the Vertibuck remotely, but she needs special programs to do so, and also the settings in it itself to make it possible. Berry hasn't solved that question yet."

"All right. I'll go and get the gear I need," Motley informs me and walks away.

I sigh in relief.

What a pervert I am. Why is she the one I feel so awkward in front of? Not in front of Bluerise, not in front of Lemon—just in front of the pegasus. My feelings for her are clearly deeper, but they're conflicting, and I don't know what to do about it.

I get the coordinates of that spot from Caroline—they point to a place in the foothills of the mountains to the southeast—and then I go to my apartment myself to get the things I need.

Motley and I get into Venture. We take Lemon to her house, and set off for our destination ourselves. After a fairly short period of time, we reach our destination, exit Venture, and go in search of the unknown pony.

Lemon helped me set up a lock on the engines the other day. No one but us will start Venture unless he is an excellent engineer.

It doesn't take long to find one. The pony, to our surprise, shows himself to us, coming out from behind a large boulder. He's really friendly. He's also giving himself away, which tells us that the unknown pony knows me, and I'm no danger to him.

Up close I can finally get a good look at his face.

"I didn't expect to see you here," I say.

We hoof it to the hoof in greeting.

"My thoughts are the same as yours," Willford Jr. says. He's wearing not power armor, but standard recon light armor. "What wind brought you here? And what is the name of your lovely feathered companion?"

"Her name is Motley," I say, and then turn to the pegasus. I'm wearing a helmet this time, and she can't see my face. "Meet," I point to the earth pony. "This is Per..."

"My name is Hugh," he interrupts me, looking at me disapprovingly. "Hugh Willford."

I shake my head, feeling a smile on my lips. He's understandable. The feeling of perversity I experienced half an hour ago in the bathroom...

"Very nice," she nods.

"And how nice for me," Hugh smiles at her, and then he turns to me. "I see how you were able to get that combat Vertibuck to our base. So what's your business here?"

"We tracked down a group of masters where a King also showed up. So we thought we'd see if they were up to any trouble."

"I'm here for the same reason. We managed to intercept their radio signal—they were requesting one of Kings. These explorers found Stable under an old clothing store. They had to call for backup because the bunker was filled with huge badgers. I was immediately sent on this mission—I'm almost the only Ranger capable of moving quickly and stealthily through the Wasteland. Not without the help of a StealthBuck, of course."

"A mission? What mission?" I ask.

"Ah," he looks at Motley with a serious and skeptical look, "can she be trusted?"

"Without her help, I wouldn't have survived the Crater, much less been able to infiltrate the Northern Soul.

"So that's who covered your rump in those places. I get it. My goal is to find another key card in the Stable for access to the Dome."

"And why only the key card?"

"They were the first to discover the Stable, and by the rules it belongs to them. I have to sneak into this hideout and find the key card before the masters snatch it up with their filthy hooves."

"I see, then," I barely smile. "This mission is just right for a stealth perv like you."

"Hold your tongue, or I'll rip it off and you won't be able to pick that particular type of lock anymore," he replies.

Motley chuckles.

"You think you'll be able to get past the masters unnoticed?" I ask, ignoring his words.

"I'll rely on my skills. Only the mountains are above them. You don't shake my mountain of confidence and steadfastness with your doubts."

"How can it be confident and steadfast if it can be so easily shaken? Perhaps," I wondered, "it would be better if you came with us. A King is among them. Surely I can negotiate with him to cooperate. And you'll be my partner, and you won't need to waste your energy on stealth."

"Okay," Hugh nods hesitantly. "You managed to sneak into the Crater and the Northern Soul and get out alive... Let's see how this plays out."

***

Just as we approach the ruins of the store, with about a dozen other time-damaged houses and structures nearby, several rifle barrels are pointed at us.

"Who will you be?" one of the masters of Vanhoover asks loudly, peering cautiously out from behind a broken window.

"Just travelers," I reply, raising my hooves as a sign of no unfriendly intentions.

"And what the fuck are you doing here?" she asks with a squint.

"Searching the area for useful things, like everyone else, though."

"You can roll away, we've already looked around here."

"Maybe we're in a position to help you, and we'll split the loot later."

"Thank you, but we already have a helper who we'll have to pay a large amount of ca-" the pale purple earth pony hesitates, for she realizes she's just said too much. She puts the shotgun to her shoulder and, aiming it at us, puts her hoof on the trigger. "Oh, shit! Get out of here quick while we-"

"What's all the fuss outside?" a completely different voice asks, coming from the depths of the store.

"Some travelers," the earth pony with a shotgun answers. "Decided to poke around."

"Really?" he utters, looking out the window beside her. That's when the owner of that voice shows up. Beak... It's a griffon... that I've met before.

Well, today is a day of familiar faces.

"Oh!" he exclaims with pleasant surprise. "A friendly face. Didn't expect to see you here, onehorn."

"Hello to you too, Walnut. I see you've been doing the gig since you got here, haven't you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he replies, and then turns to the earth pony who was talking to me earlier. "Let him through. I know him, I can probably handle with him faster."

"Will you share the percentage of the caps you get?" I ask as I enter the store.

Inside, it's practically all wiped out, with only the abandoned mannequins; some of them still have remnants of their clothes on them. Besides Walnut and the earth pony there are two more: a light orange mare with a horn and a turquoise colored stallion without a horn.

"Ha! You do all the work for me, I'll give you half," he chuckles. The griffon in gray battle armor with the King's symbol on his shoulder is a pony skull with a crown. On his back are two medium-caliber machine guns. "Anyway, we'll see how it turns out in this Stable. Badgers are fucking fast and nimble bastards. I see," he looks at my escorts, "you and your party are here. But get this straight—you split the caps you get by yourselves."

"No problem," I say, waving my right hoof to the side.

"Anyway, I was just coming down to the entrance of the Stable when there was a noise upstairs. I wanted to make sure the clients were alive and I wasn't blocked out."

"Tell me briefly how things are now?"

We walk slowly down into the basement of the store. The marauders stay upstairs. They clearly don't like that the griffon let us join the expedition.

"I get paid five thousand for my work. The goal is to clear the Stable of badgers. It is prohibited to take anything out of the Stable. The find belongs to these marauders. You help me clean out the Stable and you'll get about a quarter of what I've been assigned."

"Can I ask you some questions?" I ask.

"Shot."

"Why can't you take anything out of the bunker?"

"They wouldn't have offered that much for a cleanup then. That's what I got the light machine guns for." He waves his front paw behind him, pointing at the guns. "Badgers will have a hard time dodging the lead rain in enclosed spaces."

"And what will the marauders do after we clean out the Stable?"

"Generate foals. And it's clear to a stoned junkie that they're going to quickly dump everything of value in the Stable into the traders and then share information about its location to the Steelmanes. So for two or three thousand caps, depending on how they can bargain."

"Another question. Why hire Kings, aren't there any other mercenaries in town?"

"The city is full of them, like whores. Exactly the same cheap services, unlike ours. Fuck, maybe you don't know much about us yet, as a newcomer and potential candidate to join us, so I'll tell you. At first, Kings only did important orders from the Queen, as well as all her whims. They protected her, and soon she made Prince the big shot. After she had done her bidding, he continued her work. To be the father of all Vanhoover."

"I hear you, but you're getting off topic."

"Ah, yes... Some scum-hires, including family assholes, are unreliable; there's a good chance they'll screw up a case or fuck up a client somehow. That's why some, in order to get the expected result for sure, almost crawl to get a King to do the job for a huge fee, knowing that we almost always get the job done, despite the frankly shitty working conditions. A King will never, you hear me, never and for no reason give up his contract or break it if he's already taken it on."

"Because of the large sums Prince eventually refused to support you?"

"Yes. Prince reformed the King status. As I recall, this happened quite recently, after the death of the Queen. The change was that we were getting the added privilege of a twenty percent discount on all goods and services, and in fucking return the Prince stops providing for us financially, except for providing living quarters in the Sixty-Eight."

"It seems to me that for clearing a Stable of dangerous badgers you should have taken more caps."

"I didn't bargain. Lazy. And do you know how few Wasteland-related contracts come to us? Especially the 'kill 'em all' style? Almost fucking none. What's the upside? You don't have to worry about enforcing police laws, families won't get shot... Beautiful."

"I thought you were allowed everything."

"I am. It's true that when you break the law a lot or kill the wrong kind of thug, others are entitled to defend themselves and start complaining. And such will not be hired. Unless for the dirtiest job you can do. But Prince will kick you the fuck out of Kings if you're too willful. And there's no such thing as an ex-King..." Walnut runs a claw at his throat.

We cross the threshold of the Sixty. I don't know if the door was open before the marauders arrived or if they managed to break it open with some godsend.

Just as we find ourselves at the entrance room with the gear, two fucking badgers jump out at us from the hallway. With their claws outstretched and their jaws open, they jump at us like a whore at a rich customer. I pull out Whispering Night, loaded with hollow-point ammunition, and fire two precise shots at one of the creatures-the dead carcass slides across the metal floor before it stops. The second creature is shot by Walnut with one of his light machine guns: its face is now a big slick mess of blood, and a few of its bullets fly by and leave dents and holes in the walls.

Brutal... Good thing this griffon is on my side.

A quick glance around the bunker shows that the Stable hasn't been abandoned very long. There's very little rust, but there's a lot of physical damage to the hardware; the scattered cut marks indicate that our badgers left their autographs on them. The damage is colossal, and a glance is enough to assess the extent of the damage. Most of the equipment and machinery is simply impossible to repair: all of it is suitable only for scrap and recycling, and the rest, which is still repairable, will take a lot of resources and time.

The badgers have completely shredded the console—it's impossible to open the maine doors from the inside. Unless you had to dig deep into the wires and mechanisms of the door to simulate a console command to open it. But that's hard to do, since all the Vaults and Stables had serious protection against barbaric intrusion. So it was the marauders who had tampered with the console and managed to open the doors after all. They were good. I gotta hand it to them... Vanhoover has a decent amount of educated individuals, as I see it. And no wonder: Vanhoover Polytechnic Institute, which Crimson Sky told me about, was trying to rebuild its educational capacity even before the Queen's arrival.

There are half a dozen skeletons lying beside the door. Judging by the small dents, all of them broke through the damned doors mindlessly, trying to get out of the trap, but they wouldn't yield.

Poor souls.

We move further into the depths of the bunker through the corridors. Walnut and I go forward, and Motley and Hugh cover our vulnerable rear. Most of the doors to the rooms are damaged—the badgers, not too versed in the technology of the higher races, have simply broken them down, making a passageway with their razor-sharp claws. Lucky for us, badgers are a little bigger than ponies, so we are able to fit through these holes. The griffon has to take off his machine guns to do it.

In the atrium we hunt down another group of badgers - two Walnut's machine guns don't let them get close enough, but we're not a stranger to fighting back either.

"Maybe we should split up," I say after the last creature in the Atrium drops dead on the floor next to us.

I sigh heavily.

A little more and it would have gotten us.

"Split?" Walnut asks back thoughtfully, reloading his machine guns.

He has incredible strength and concentration. Not only does he calmly hold two machine guns, but he fires them at point-blank range. No wonder he took the job—his claws were itching for a slaughterhouse. He obviously likes to rain lead rain all over the place.

"Yeah," I nod. "As you can see, the underground bunker is a little tight for four of us to fight in. We'll split into two: I'll go with you to the lower rooms, where there will probably be the most sharp-clawed, and therefore harder and more fun. Meanwhile, my partners will check the upper rooms. Motley and I have pretty good first aid skills. So this separation will be appropriate."

"Are you sure about them?" Walnut asks skeptically, squinting at my friends.

"Whatever I tell you, it's up to you to believe me or not. Personally, I think if they want the covers, they'll do as required, right?" I turn to my partners. They don't immediately, but nod in agreement. "See?"

"All right, beware. Or I'll cut your balls off, roast them, and make you eat them," the griffon replies, waiting for a brief pause.

I only raise an eyebrow in surprise and shake my head slightly. He's so aggressive with his words—and in the Residence of Kings he was more restrained and sweet.

Motley and Hugh stay, and Walnut and I head for the living quarters below. Hopefully Hugh will use this opportunity to get the key card in the Overmare's office. If there really is one in this Stable.

Only after we split up I wonder. If the key card is indeed in this Stable—how is Hugh going to break the cipher to gain access to the secret section and get what he needs? I remember even Lemon didn't crack the cipher on the first try. It would have made more sense to send her on the mission, but she wasn't at the base at the time. She was in Heavenly Harbor. Anyway, I hope Hugh is aware of the cipher and knows what needs to be done.

We go into the cafeteria, where everything is upside down or cut into several pieces, and take out one badger, but Walnut manages to let the creature get too close to him, and with its claws it breaks through his armor with one swing. He howls in pain.

I treat it. He has his own medicine, which I use. The badger's claws have left quite a wound. If it hadn't been for the armor, it would have been many times deeper.

"And you're not a bad nurse," the wounded and heavily breathing griffon utters, referring to the way I wield tools and materials.

"I absolutely need to know a little medicine if I want to survive in the Wasteland, and didn't you know that?" I ask rhetorically, keeping my eyes open. Now he's sitting on the little red couch by the table I pushed aside to make it easier to treat his wound.

"Shit, how rarely have I had a wound like this! It's pretty tight in here, so I got a little distracted. In fact, if I'd just drunk the potion, I'd have been fine."

"True, but this way I'll save you medication by digging into your wound and extracting shards of armor and other foreign particles. Then the magic of the healing potion will go exactly to repairing cells and tissues rather than pushing them out."

"Yes... Right. You said you came all the way from the East. Managed to traverse the Wasteland to get to Vanhoover... Doing your dirty work, digging up shit. What was it you did the most, mate?"

"Courier work, mostly. It's always dangerous to walk in the Wasteland, and I'm able to cover long distances and go the hard way. Besides, I like it. Away from society, alone with my thoughts, to see the world. It's cool. Later I did some bounty hunting, but I soon gave it up. Too many folks came after me for revenge, and because of that, I started getting popular, which made it even easier to locate me."

"I wouldn't guess it by your look. You look soft."

"Hmm," I smile, treating his wounds. "That's one of the factors that saved me from vigilantes. Sometimes they didn't immediately recognize me as the one they were looking for. On the surface, I'm just a traveler. And how did you become a King?"

"Yes, like most of those who became a King not because of the caps. I actually grew up on the streets. I don't remember my mother, and my father was killed for debt when I first started free school, but they taught, as you can guess, pretty shitty. During those years I learned how to fight by getting food from the weak or by stealing. There were no police back then, they were just starting to show up. It ended up being fucking risky because of the police, and before that, the families could give you a hard time."

He pauses and thinks, but then continues.

"As a teenager I decided to use my fighting skills in the Arena. Because of my physical strength I was able to overpower opponents bigger than myself. Even though it was hard the first times, I learned how to win, developing tactics and my fighting style. It was then that I began to become known as a teenager who could easily overpower even adults. And my nickname came up, Splitting Claw. After earning the caps from the fights, I saved up for some gear and went out to do all kinds of work. I was a bouncer, shaking the lids off debtors, looking for guilty people and thieves and all that shit."

"Were Kings the main competitors?" I ask.

"Yeah. I had to sweat my ass off to at least keep up with them. Then the bigger jobs started coming in, out of town. Eventually I got regular clients, one of whom was pretty rich. How fucking lucky I was to have him. Since I almost always did my job without a hitch, they started recommending me to others. Eventually I tried my luck and went to join Kings. My name, Walnut, and my nickname, Splitting Claw, were no longer empty words. And I had a recommendation from a King I knew. The Prince's previous lieutenant had given me a test assignment. It was to track down and destroy a dangerous group of raiders near the caravan tracks. Alone against twenty... That was some serious shit. I barely survived that battle at the old gas station. After that, Redstone already called me a King. The previous one had done something wrong, so Prince... you know."

"What did the previous lieutenant do?"

"He had business on the side, so he got fucked up."

"I see. Pretty interesting story," I say as I begin to deal with his damaged armor using magic alone.

"Holy shit, what magic you have!" the griffon exclaims admiringly, looking at the element of his armor in my cloud of blue magic.

"I was specifically a technician in my Stable, after all. It was my original profession. By the way, how did the other Kings start out?"

"Some were about the same as me. Others started out because they had families who could provide a little financial support, and all they had to do was use their skills. Others weren't as good fighters, but they were smarter than most. They could do everything quietly and calmly. The fourth most cocky, were just fucking rich types who had bought these recommendations from Kings for caps, and their popularity had long been in their pocket, if they had any business. Only those who were directly included in the pompous family were not allowed to become a King. But... I've never seen a mechanic among Kings before. This is definitely something new. By the way, rumor has it that some pony has managed to get into the heart of the Crater and the Northern Soul, the latter place even got a Vertibuck out of it, since it was seen within the city limits. Do you by any chance know who got into these places?"

"I have no idea," I reply calmly.

He wouldn't believe me anyway. It's a fame that others have tried to exploit more than once, according to Robus Steelmane.

"The only thing I know is that the same person did it all... That's it," I say, reattaching the damaged part of the armor. "You can barely see that it was damaged."

"You're not bad, though. My respects, buddy."

We continue to inspect the Stable's quarters. There aren't many sharp-clawed creatures in the living quarters, but we're wasting most of our ammunition. Hopefully, what we have is enough to sweep the technical level.

We find nothing suggestive of what happened here in the living quarters. All of the terminals are completely destroyed and beyond repair, as is most of the equipment here. One gets the feeling that they don't like any noise. There is a lot of it in the Stable: even the humming or glowing of the terminals does not please them. After dealing with the badgers in the living quarters and using the compass, we locate them all and then head to the technical area.

The technical level has the most badgers. There, in one of the rooms, we find a huge hole in the wall, behind which there is an underground tunnel leading somewhere deep inside. Badgers dug it, and probably there is their nest. I don't know, I don't feel like going in there...

"I know what you're thinking, buddy," Walnut interrupts my thinking. I turn and look at him, "But my contract only included a purge of the Stable. That's where I'm going."

"That's where the badgers are coming from, don't you see? We should at least block that passage, let them know they're not welcome here. I doubt they came here just because they wanted to. It's very likely that something drew them here. The smell isn't likely, since it wouldn't get through the thick walls of the Stable that easily, and the ground... More likely a sound, maybe even annoying."

"Well, I like to blow things up, fuck no," Walnut mutters, pulling a bunch of frag grenades out of his bags.

"I didn't say anything about blowing anything up. I was talking about tunnel-busting."

"Isn't that the same thing?" he asks rhetorically.

"Well... Do you know how to calculate the right amount of explosives to bring the tunnel down without blowing up part of the Stable?"

"Who cares! You just take it and blow it up!" Walnut exclaims.

"It's a technical room. You'll only make it worse!"

"You're bullshitting."

"You think your employers would approve of such recklessness? Even if nothing works here, it can be fixed, or at the very least scrapped and sold for recycling, because there's never much raw material. Besides, if you overdo it with the amount of explosives, it could lead to a collapse. We'd be trapped."

"Fine. Go ahead, set the right amount and blow the fuck up. I already want my remaining caps."

"I'm no good with explosives. I know how to use one or two, but it's above and beyond my expertise," I say, shrugging my shoulders.

Mentals and a magazine on explosives would have helped me in the past—but as luck would have it, I forgot them back in Lucky 38, and smart pills won't be enough. Once in Vault 19 I was going to blow up the sulfur deposits beneath it. That's when I used the magazine and the mentats to make sure I didn't blow the Vault to smithereens. Yeah, well... C4 is not some kind of firecracker for fun.

"Dude, for fuck's sake, what are you gonna do?" the griffon gets angry. And he's obviously not the patient type.

"I'll get my partner over here, she knows her way around explosives," I mutter and turn on the radio in my helmet.

"Motley, come in," I say as clearly as I can.

A few seconds later I hear a reply. Of course, the griffon can't hear anything that's being answered on the other side.

"Go ahead."

"How's it going?"

"We're all done here and about to head for the exit. But... Hugh didn't find what he needed here."

"Well done. Now get your feathered rump up to the technical level and help our hapless King deal with the explosives and take down one tunnel without too much complication. You don't have to pull Hugh with you. I... we only need you."

"On my way," followed by a short pause. "Yeah..." and another pause. "Hugh has informed me that he will go to Venture," the pegasus adds.

"Got it, over," I mutter and disconnect the transmission. Then I turn to Walnut. "I'll check the rest of the rooms while you wait for my partner. Don't let any badgers in here, either."

"Ooh, bossy."

Ferris had once said that male griffons liked to dominate, but not the other way around.

"Do you have something against it? I've got more ammunition left than you have for the rest of the rooms..."

"Nah, it's okay."

I head further down the tech level.

About twenty minutes pass as I finally, judging by the Pip-Boy's compass, kill the last critter—the ammo runs out, I have to kill the last badgers with my sword, which is really hard. If Motley hadn't shown me a couple of lessons on how to move properly, I would have had to stitch myself up and put back together piece by piece for a long time.

I also use telekinesis and try to slow the critters down. I'm not sure I can slow them down, because they're too strong, and I can't hold them completely in my telekinesis.

A distant rumble comes to my ears. It sounds like Motley's already having a lot of fun, and I missed the moment. Anyway, I have to go to them anyway.

I hear a strange muffled noise and then a tapping against a thin layer of metal. It's coming from somewhere in the walls... Ventilation. The sound is coming from there! I quickly check my compass and spot a neutral mark somewhere behind the wall, and nearby. How could I not have seen it before? Surely the navigation software didn't pick it up just because of its size, considering how fast it was moving through the vents.

Damn it. If I go in there, I might get stuck. At the very least, I'll teleport back into the corridor. I have to take off all my gear.

I leave just a small layer of the clothes I always wear under my armor, and climb into the first vent.

It's so fucking cramped. I can barely crawl... I need Motley to run me around Vanhoover a few times to get back into shape. Okay, enough with the jokes. I notice something flickering at the end of the vent tunnel. It's smaller than me.

I try to crawl further, and I hear something or someone trying to get away from me. But I won't let it get away that easily! I used to climb these kinds of paths myself, and you can't get away from me that easily: I have a lot of experience of moving through tight tunnels!

Suddenly I remember Ferris forcing me through the back entrance—it reeked of shit so bad it would have made the dead person rise from the grave.

That memory made me yank my head up recklessly and hit the metal hard, hissing in pain.

I struggle my way through the several twists and turns that lead out into the living rooms, and finally reach the end of the ventilation tunnel, but something blocks my path. A grate. I can't move it. Something behind it prevents me from pushing it away.

I have to work hard, using magic to push it off. After pushing it off, I get into the ventilation 'room'. It's a little more spacious. It's also full of stuff—trash and junk from the Stable—but I can't see whoever took shelter here, though I can see that it was here that the thing hid. Apparently, it blocked the bars so I couldn't get through.

I turn on the compass again and look around.

It's here! Hidden in this garbage! Not so meaningless. There's food scraps, empty canned goods, and it smells bad, too. And what's hidden is now under the blanket. It looks more like a small cot.

I pull on the blanket with my telekinesis, and it... immediately jumps at me, trying to overpower me, but I manage to grab it with my magic and keep it from trying to escape. It's a child. An orange filly in filthy rags, remotely resembling Stable's jumpsuit. She's about ten years old, no more; judging by the smell, she hasn't bathed in a long time. Her eyes are filled with fear, confusion, and despair. She resists my grip hard; I barely manage to hold her. There is a lot of strength and freedom in her. But she doesn't scream, just stares at me with her ruby-colored eyes in horror, not leaving her attempts to break free of my grip.

I try to hold her already with my hooves. I draw her in with magic and pull her close to me to pacify her with an embrace. She won't let up, though.

"Hush, hush. Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you," I say softly. "I won't harm you. It's okay."

It's only after a few seconds of my words that she gradually begins to calm down.

Ooh. What a sharp filly she is. So small, but so strong that even some adults would envy her. It's no wonder. Earth ponies can have great physical strength.

"It's okay," I repeat softly, swaying her slightly to reaffirm the peace and safety. "No more bad animals," she flinches slightly at the word 'animals,' but calms down almost immediately.

I release one of my hooves and gently and delicately begin to stroke her head. She shudders at first, but gradually relaxes. I can feel her tension, and it slowly subsides.

"What's your name?" I ask quietly. She doesn't answer. "Why don't you tell me your name, dearie?" There is silence again in response. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Nara..." the little pony's thin voice is heard. Slightly hoarse and stifled. She hadn't spoken in a long time, by the looks of it. "My name is Nara."

"Nara. That's a beautiful name. And my name is Daniel. You can just be Danny or Dan. How did you end up here?" Silence again. "Look, Nara, I'll let you go, but don't run away. I want to show you that my only good intentions."

I take my time unleashing a soothing embrace. Nara slowly pulls away from me, looks into my eyes... And then immediately runs away, which I don't even have time to properly react to.

"Hey! Where are you going? I'm not-" I say, but she's gone. Oh, and she's fast, too. She must have been hiding from the badgers. They're barely bigger than a pony and couldn't get through with their claws.

I sigh heavily and plop down on the pile of garbage.

I'm so sick of this. I'm going to have to take a shower, which I'd done hours ago. I'm going to smell bad again. But not as sharp and strong as it was then...

After a minute and thinking about what happened, I get up and look around the place again. Judging by the stuff and the garbage, she's living here... Surviving. I bet she uses the vast network of ventilation tunnels to avoid encounters with dangerous and scary monsters.

Poor thing. How many years of unbearable loneliness and creepy fear has she lived like this if she reacted so violently and acutely to a live pony? The food and water left in the Stable alone should be enough for her to survive. Lucky the badgers hadn't damaged the reactor, for in total darkness it would have been much harder for her to avoid them.

There's a small lantern, illuminating the place with a gentle white light. Next to it is some remarkable carton box. I magically hold it up to me. I open it carefully. In it lies a photograph and a silver medallion... No, it's an antique clock on a chain. Though, it stopped running a long time ago. There are traces here that indicate someone tried to open the cover and fix it. It must have been Nara who tried to make it work. Also engraved under the cover, on the front of the watch, is the phrase 'Don't doubt yourself, and the darkness will leave you.'

The picture shows a happy family: a mother, a father, a young son and a daughter, who is the survivor. They all look happy and carefree. There are trees in the background.

Aha, so the picture was taken in the Stable Gardens. I remembered this place when I was wiping out the nasty badgers with Walnut.

I put the picture back in the box. And I look at the clock again to figure out the cause of the malfunction. I carefully magically remove the cover and try to get the watch to work. The damage is minor, only a few mechanisms and parts are faulty. With magic, I easily fix it, and it immediately starts working. I hold them to my ear and cover my eyes with pleasure—their ticking is calming, light and pleasant.

I smile unintentionally at the fact that I have brought that clock with its delightful ticking back into working order. I open my eyes and see Nara in front of me again, and she immediately jumps back and is about to run away—but freezes when she sees the ticking clock in my magical haze. She stares at it, mesmerized. She turns her gaze back and forth between me and the clock. I smile in my usual manner—gently and softly. At the same time, I try not to make any sudden movements, so as not to scare her away.

I slowly levitate the watch to her. As soon as it's within a hoof's reach, Nara immediately grabs it, and I think she's about to run away again. But she doesn't. She looks at me cautiously for a few seconds and, not seeing me as a threat, looks at me with amazement and... a shadow of happiness looks at her watch, occasionally glancing at me as well. She puts it to her ear and smiles.

I watch her furtive admiration.

This watch is important to her. Definitely.

Her gaze falls on the box next to me.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to take your stuff, I couldn't help myself," I say with a smile. "Here," I say, and use my telekinesis to hold the box up to her.

She grabs it, but not as aggressively as she did with the watch. She opens it to see if the photo is there, puts the watch in, and closes it slowly. She doesn't release the box from her hooves and looks at me.

Her gaze is hollow, but focused. There is also a faint flicker of curiosity in her eyes about the unknown guest. Though, she hesitates to get close to me.

"Tell you what, honey, if you want, you can stay here. The monsters are gone. Or you can come with me: I'll take you somewhere safe. And you'll see lots of different ponies and more. And maybe you'll make some friends," I proclaim and smile as I close my eyes.

I'm not sure how I'm going to make her feel about me, but I think my smile has made the right impression on her.

I take my time heading toward the ventilation tunnel I came in through.

I calmly climb out of the tunnels and start putting on my armor and the rest of my gear. Just as I'm about to finish this, the orange earth pony shows up out of the vent. She's wearing the same rags and carrying that box. She doesn't have anything else on her.

"Still decided to come with me?" I smile weakly. She nods faintly and looks warily around for badgers.

"That's good," I say, putting on my helmet. And just as I do so, terror and fear return in the filly's eyes. A noticeable shiver runs through her body. Oh, right. Those red eyepieces scare even adults sometimes—especially when I point my barrels at them and draw my sword.

"Oops... Sorry," I say with a guilty smile and remove my helmet, attaching it to my belt with my telekinesis. "I'll stay without it for now. Let's go. Grab my friends."

Nara follows me, looking around apprehensively. I tell her that the horrible monsters are gone. Later she contemplates it visually when she sees the dead body of a badger. At the first sight of it, she hides behind me with fright. Or rather, under me, crouching near my front hooves. I smile and calmly walk up to the corpse and poke it with my hoof, showing her that it won't hurt her anymore.

The orange earth pony, treading slowly and carefully, approaches the badger's body and gently pokes it with her hoof, then immediately retreats. But when she sees that it does not react, she pokes it again, without trying to hide. She looks at me appreciatively, smiling and nodding slowly, and we move on. She no longer reacts so acutely to what she sees... Until she sees a lively and brutal griffon with huge machine guns on his back.

"We've been waiting for you... Who are you bringing?" Walnut stares interestedly, peering behind my rear.

"It's Nara. She survived in the vent system. Alone."

"Wow... That's some resilience for a kid like her."

Motley smiles at me and looks at my companion with a raised eyebrow; her eyebrow arches even more as the little pony hides behind me.

"What are you going to do with her?" Walnut asks. "Give it to The School? Get a few hundred caps for her."

"She's obviously psychologically traumatized. She spent a year or two alone, completely surrounded by dangerous monsters. She even ran away at the sight of me and-"

"Don't bother," he raises his clawed paw as a sign for me to calm down. "She'll be fine there," he lowers his paw. "If not, she'll just get her brains cleared and she'll even forget this whole nightmare. She'll grow up to be a beautiful collared maid."

There is some truth in the griffon's words, in a way. If she has her memories erased, she will forget the whole nightmare, but then the memory of her family, the happy days, the meaning of those clocks would be gone. She would forget everything, in fact. It would be death. And there's no way I'm going to hand her over as a slave!

"Anyway," he begins with irritation over my thinking. "Have you got the rest of the rooms free from badgers?"

"Yes."

"Great," the griffon says, looking at the packed tunnel and rubbing his paws in satisfaction. Then he looks at me. "If it hadn't been for your partner, the damage would indeed have been greater. Saved me some grenades, too. Let's go get the caps, I'll give you your share, and we'll go our separate ways... And don't forget to check on Prince. He's searching and looking for you."

"I'll be sure to stop by, don't worry."

"I'm not worried, I just want to remind you. You're the one who wants to be a King. You don't want to pass up a chance like that. Don't forget that Prince himself is interested in you."

We head for the exit of the Stable. Nara glances curiously at Motley from time to time.

Later it hits the pegasus why Nara keeps looking back and staring at her. The little girl has lived her entire life in an underground bunker, and has probably not yet seen pegasi and griffons in person: I remember that almost all the pegasi have hidden behind the clouds and are rarely inhabitants of the Stables. However, there was one Stable that housed mostly pegasi, and it had been taken over by Vanhoover's masters.

***

As we leave the Stable, Nara turns around several times. Then she looks around enthusiastically. She leaves the walls of her home for the first time, and a new world opens up before her.

How I understand her.

Walnut gets the rest of the caps. He gives me a thousand of them, and flies off in the direction of Vanhoover. Nara is frightened at the sight of the new strangers, and it is as if she senses that they are not going to do her any good. The marauders begin looting the Stable, but they're not happy, to say the least, about me taking a potential slave from them since she was part of the Stable, which we had no right to take anything from, but in the presence of a griffon King, they won't argue. It was for the best.

As I thought, the large number of the living frightens Nara. She's used to the idea that no one's friendly around, and everyone's either dead or an aggressive beast. How can you not be frightened at the sight of every stranger after that?

I guess with that kind of fear of the surroundings in the Wasteland, she won't have that much trouble. Just more free space.

Nara leaves the old, half-ruined store and looks around in wonder; then her gaze drifts to the sky. She stares mesmerized, unable to look away.

I remember my first time on the surface. When I first looked up at the sky, my heart nearly burst from so much free and endless space...

The little one shivers and falls to the ground and covers his head with his hooves. I walk over and gently place my hoof on her head. She is afraid to lift her head and open her eyes. I doubt she'll survive the flight on Venture in ease. I wrap my magic around the trembling little pony and sit her on my back. She wraps her hooves tightly around me and hides her face in my mane.

"How cute that looks," the pegasus says.

"Maybe you want to carry her. Your back would be freer. And softer, too."

"I doubt she'll just leave you. It's not like she trusts-" Motley doesn't have time to finish her sentence before I carefully use magic to place the mare on her back. She also hides her face in pegasus's mane, which is surely fragrant with almonds...

I shake my head, pushing the thought of Motley's mane away, and turn back to Nara.

The endless emptiness scares Nara more than the ponies she doesn't know.

"What were you saying?" I ask with a winning grin.

"Nothing," the pegasus smiles faintly, looking tenderly at the filly nestled comfortably on her back.

"Hmm. Nice, indeed. Besides, she doesn't care right now—she's scared and afraid to even open her eyes. So let her get used to you, too."

"But she trusts you more anyway."

"Why should she?" I ask, motioning to the Vertibuck. Motley, with the passenger on her back, follows me.

"Your smile would charm anyone. It... Doesn't bring anything evil. Always filled with kindness and sympathy. No one would think it hides a sneer or anything sinister. It's like a warm light—brings joy, hope for something good... and I feel calm and peaceful in the soul."

"Wow... Thank you, of course. Aren't you being a bit excessive?" I glance sneakily at the pegasus. Her cheeks turn a rosy blush.

"Well, that's... Maybe. I'm just telling it like it is."

"I'm flattered."

I don't know what to think. I have warm feelings for her—she seems to have feelings for me, too. Maybe I should tell her that. I am already attracted to her in every way.

Once again, these conflicting feelings. What's wrong with my hormones? Sometimes it feels like I'm torn apart because I want to try to get close to Motley and at the same time to distance myself, to not allow myself to connect with someone from this world that I'm going to leave sooner or later. It's also because it just looks stupid... And unnatural.

I am human. A human in the shape of a pony. If she finds out my true origins, won't she think I'm crazy? One part of me says there's no point in her knowing, what's important is the here and now. The other part is that Motley would reject me if I told her, and why, I wonder, would I need unrequited love and broken feelings? It would be a waste of time and nerves.

It's so complicated... Two opposing feelings are bubbling up inside me. I can't concentrate, I'm tossed from one side to the other every second. This has never happened before in my life. I don't know what to do. Ever since I've been in this body, I realize more and more that I don't understand a certain part of my actions and behavior. How stupid I feel. And really, why do I need a relationship at all right now? So much to do: there's just no time for it all. Yeah, I think it's better to leave these attempts to get close to someone aside. It will only be a distraction.

I still don't know what really happened with her sister, but I want to believe her. I just can't keep an open mind about her.

I like Motley. We've had common experiences—that commonality evokes warm feelings. We've both killed loved ones. And we both know what it's like...

No, I don't want to be responsible for what she's going through. She's been through enough. I don't want to be the cause of more suffering for her. There's always someone suffering around me, and she deserves normal love and peace and the assurance that her lover isn't going to some Stable Sixty-Sixth where he'll be lost forever.

And yet Motley never leaves my mind. She occupies my mind even when she's not around.

As I ponder, I don't notice that we are near Venture, Hugh Willford's voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"At last!" he exclaims, sitting beside the Vertibuck. "Have you decided to have a picnic there?"

"Yeah, I'm stuck in the vent for one reason," I say slightly absent-mindedly, pointing with a nod to Motley's back. I have to stop thinking about relationships. I keep getting distracted. "And I see," I begin, turning to Hugh, "my bird is in place."

"Why would I? I haven't the faintest idea how to operate this thing."

"Who knows, who knows... So there wasn't a Dome key card in the Stable?" I ask interestedly.

"No, but it was supposed to be there."

"I don't get it."

"Simply put, the secret section under the Overmare's desk that we visited the day we met was open in this Stable. There your friend and I found the skeletons of several ponies and dried bloodstains on the wall. The badgers had gotten to them. They tried to take shelter in that section, but they didn't have time to close the passage. It remains unanswered how the inhabitants of the Stable were able to crack the cipher."

"Wait, how would you crack that cipher if you had to? If it wasn't easy even for Berry."

"In our bunker, not without the help of others, she was able to create a computer virus that would break that cipher. She's a genius at that."

"So there was no key card? Maybe someone took it?"

"I didn't find it in the Stable when I searched. There is a possibility that this key card hasn't reached its destination at all yet."

"Are you saying it's been intercepted? Or was it simply not delivered in time?"

"Quite possibly," Hugh mutters, then sighs heavily. "I need to make a report to the Elder. Can you give me a ride?"

I nod.

"Open the hatch! I'm so ready to fly this thing!"

We get in the Vertibuck and head in the direction of the Steel Ranger military base. Once inside the machine, Nara finally opens her eyes and looks around. I tell her that this thing is about to take off and she'll be in the air! It's not exactly in the air by herself, but still, Nara will be up high.

I want to bring her to Heavenly Harbor for the time being. I will look after her temporarily. Let her get used to a little company, and then, when she has recovered a little from the nightmares and horrors, she will decide for herself where to go and what to do. And... Walnut's suggestion about erasing her memory... It's not so bad, considering what this little girl has been through: the loss of family, friends, acquaintances... Maybe it's better if she forgets them. True, she might lose the precious moments she spent with them, but otherwise she will have as much trouble getting on with her life as I had.

And also the erasure of memory is akin to death.

How her face transforms when Venture is in the air! Excitement, fear, confusion, realization, joy... She smiles. That smile is filled with a barely noticeable delight and quiet glee. It is as if she has gone from a nightmare to a beautiful waking dream. She's afraid to scream too loudly... for in a Stable filled with dangerous monsters, she had to be silent and not make a single sound, or she would die.

"Thanks for the ride," Hugh says before stepping out of the Vertibuck. As before, we didn't land close to the Steel Rangers' home.

"Yes, you're welcome," I pronounce, smiling.

"It's good to have you on our side after all," Hugh says before he disappears.

I stay with Nara and Motley.

"Where to next?" Motley asks.

I feel hungry. Oh, right. I think it's time to suggest Flow do a cooking in Heavenly Harbor.

"Stay on course to the Fifty-Three. It's about time we found a permanent chef for our humble nest."

Chapter 19 - The Arena

View Online

"So what brings you here?" Cherry asks, greeting me and walking beside me as I stroll through the corridors of Stable 53. Motley had placed the Vertibuck not far from the entrance to the cave, so that in case of a tail, she wouldn't lead him to the lair of escaped slaves. The pegasus stayed to keep an eye on Nara. The little orange pony tried to follow me.... Thankfully, Motley and I managed to convince her to stay in the transport and wait for me for a while.

"I wanted to see Flow and offer her something," I reply without looking at the cherry colored unicorn.

"And what kind of offer, if it's no secret?"

"An offer to work as a cook in my humble nest."

"Heavenly Harbor?"

How does she know? Cherry smiles understandingly.

"Motley gave me a report on you."

"Huh... Right, I remember."

"Motley," the interlocutor smiles, as if looking at something in front of her. "I'll be honest, when the pegasus came back after she left following you, I didn't recognize her. It surprised me even more than visiting the heart of the Crater and killing the raiders' chief, as well as infiltrating the Northern Soul and acquiring two Vertibucks."

"Surprised in what way?"

She turns to face me. "I didn't recognize her from the look on her face. Remember how you saw her when you first met her. She was always sullen, apathetic, and indifferent to everything around her: it seemed as if there was a dark cloud hanging over her all the time. Motley showed no emotion or interest in anything at all. She was indifferent to the fate of those around her; everything seemed hopeless and meaningless to her."

"Yes, I remember."

Indeed, when I think about the meeting, she appears exactly as Cherry had described her. She's nothing like the Motley I know now. Hell, I couldn't even influence Boone: he's only smiled a couple times in the two years we've known each other, while Motley smiles every day and even jokes sometimes.

Or maybe it's because of me... She obviously feels something for me.

"It was the first time I saw her smile," she continues. "Since we've had her, she has never once shown any emotional connection to the world around her."

"What was it like for her the first time here?"

"Very hard," Cherry answers grimly. After a brief pause, she continues in a bleak tone. "Dodger brought her here for several reasons. I mean, she's a former Enclave scout, which means she has a lot of useful information. She had high-tech equipment—power armor and energy-magic weapons don't lie on the road. Later, it turned out that her armor was badly damaged, and one of her saddle rifles was completely destroyed and beyond repair. As for the armor, repairing it would require not only the necessary spare parts, but also specialized skills in repairing such things."

"So the pegasus wasn't let in here out of the goodness of the hearts, "I say.

I can understand them, but still... this attitude toward my companion is unpleasant. Irritated.

"Yes and no. Dodger intended to uncover information related to the Enclave that we might be able to use. That was the reason he tried to befriend Motley. She saw his true motive as through glass, and clearly understood the reasons why she was really here. She had lost trust in anyone else before showing up here. Not surprising, considering what she's been through..."

"She told me her story," I utter. Cherry looks at me with inexpressible amazement.

"Amazing," she mutters. "Only to me she told me about herself," Cherry adds, then continues with barely concealed upset, "Before I found out the real reason, as a former scout for the mysterious Enclave, no one in this place had confidence in her, in fact, neither did I. She was secretly hated, suspected of being sent here to watch us, and her attempts to get information out of her had failed, so she'd been left alone. No one dared to confront an Enclave scout, albeit a former one, with brute force. She was even feared at times. She rarely left her room, and that only increased the suspicion of those around her that she was plotting or planning something. And we came to the conclusion that she would tell us nothing useful..."

"You didn't trust her and you watched her personally, am I right?"

"Yes. One day I heard her crying. She was broken. And I could somehow convince her to tell me everything. Killed her lover... her subordinates. And all because she brutally murdered an important pegasus who might have had something to do with her sister's rape and death, and she had to flee."

"Might have?"

"And you believe that?"

I want to believe. I really do, but Cherry looks like she's judging me.

"She had no substantive evidence of his involvement. No wonder the court acquitted him. It's not uncommon for mares to be harassed by stallions, offered sex or whatever. She could have been coincidentally abused by someone else. The two events are too close together. And that pegasus confession... Under torture, the victim can say anything to stop the pain."

"What about the fact that her sister didn't use drugs? She was framed as a drug addict in court."

"She could have been drugged. Or Motley didn't know her sister well. It happens: even family members sometimes don't know what's really going on in their family. Or she saw what she wanted to see. The quirks of our psyche. And there's a lot we don't notice until we're told about it from the outside."

Now it makes sense, thanks to whom Motley was beginning to doubt.

"So... you didn't support her?"

"I hugged her, sympathized with her loss, but I expressed my doubts later."

"How did she react?"

"Denied it. Proved otherwise. Her emotions were strong. I insisted. Eventually she stopped believing herself: she thought she was a horrible pony and isolated herself. I just wanted to show her that she was jumping to conclusions, but she took it as if I was judging her for torture, for murder. Again, I understand her emotions, but I'm not justifying it. Even if the pegasus does turn out to be guilty, it will only be because of a lucky coincidence. We can't rely on coincidence and indirect clues. Only facts. Anyway. I'm glad she's smiling. What have you done for her?"

In many ways she's relieved because of me, because of my similar experiences, but... I don't want to tell Cherry that.

"We... fought a lot of battles together."

"When death is near, you get attached to those who've gone through those experiences with you and didn't leave you in trouble. Or she likes you. She speaks favorably of you in the reports. I sense a certain amount of bias."

We enter the Atrium, and two cheerful foals run past us. Here, in the most spacious room, the ponies are discussing something vigorously and cheerfully, joking, telling something interesting from their ordinary and almost carefree lives.

The place is cozy and cheerful... And Motley feels like a cruel, uncontrollable murderer amidst it.

***

I don't notice that after a while I am with Cherry next to Flow. She was just in the kitchen cooking. There are a lot of ponies around, minding their own business. I was let in here at the request of Cherry. I can tell by the smell that the pink earth pony is cooking something sweet and savory.

Ooh, I'm drooling, I can't wait to try it!

"Hi, Flow," I say to the pink pony in the white apron. She flinches in surprise and turns around, and I look into the pot. "I see you've been learning how to make sweets hard at work so you can make me the perfect and most delicious strawberry dessert?"

"Daniel!" she exclaims happily and hugs me tightly. Cherry stands back, occasionally dignifying us with a smile, and watches us without interfering. "It's been so long since I've seen you," the pink pony adds.

"It's only a couple weeks. Where's the usual 'hello'?" I smile, loosening the hug.

"I thought a hug was a gesture of greeting..." she says with a tinge of concern and slight incomprehension.

"I'm just kidding," I laugh and poke her lightly with my hoof. "It's okay. How are you doing, by the way? Did you learn how to make sweets?"

"Still learning, thanks for asking, but I'm not doing so well so far. I have someone to cook the main meals, so I help out when asked."

"How's life on the outside? How's the independence and responsibility for yourself? Not so scary anymore?"

Flow hesitates to find the right words. "Quite unusual and difficult... and still scary, but I have support. It makes me want to do something in return. And not because someone asked me to. It's still difficult."

"And yet it's good to hear that, too, because you're making progress even if you don't notice it," I say. "I didn't just come here to say hello, I came here with an offer to work as a chef at my..." I can't finish.

"Agreed! Yes-yes-yes!" Flow exclaims. She herself is surprised by this suddenly loud response. The others turn their attention to us, but almost immediately return to their business.

"Huh. It's... quickly?" I wonder.

I expected this kind of reaction, but it's still hard to believe I mean anything to her.

"You are the one I most want to work for, for you are almost the only one who has treated me kindly. You believed in me, that I could be serviceable and responsible for myself. I am eager to do something equally good for you."

"Pack your bags. I'll be waiting for you out the entrance," I smile.

"Okay. I'll be right back!" Flow's cheerful voice sounds behind me.

I think Caroline, with her dislike of restrictions, will help Flow get used to being on her own faster.

***

Cherry and I are at the entrance to the Stable. She presses a couple of buttons on the console, and the mechanisms come into motion with a nasty grinding sound, working hard to get the massive, bombproof steel door out of our way.

"Flow's having difficulty in her new place," Cherry informs casually, looking out into the dark void of the cave. "She's been dependent on her master all her life. It's extremely rare for us to have former slaves now, so I had no trouble keeping an eye on her as well. She tends to be helpful to anyone who asks."

I examine a pre-war poster on the wall showing a cute yellow pegasus with a soft pink mane and tail. Several small animals are crowded around her. It encourages ponies to be kinder. Useful propaganda, I can't argue with that. It's a little naive, though.

"I've been thinking, do slaves at The School get their memories erased? Flow doesn't remember anything about her past. Could it be because of her young age—or because she's had her memory wiped?"

"Memory erasing is harder than simply writing a memory from someone's brain, and it's also expensive, since ponies who have mastered memory-related spells are very, very few. There are a lot of slaves, so it's unlikely that she had her memories erased. Simple brainwashing with recordings repeated time after time will change anyone's mind sooner or later, if you cut off access to other information."

"And it works?"

"It's been experimentally proven that you can change anyone's mind about anything, the only question is timing. You need the right methodology—The School achieved this for several decades before it proved effective. Slaves were persuaded to be useful to others and the master would take care of the rest. Memory erasure is also disadvantageous because most of those who can use memory spells work in the porn industry."

"How did they get there?" I marvel.

"Memory orbs allow you to experience exactly what the owner of the memory is experiencing at that moment. I think you realize what the contents of these orbs are. And this kind of thing is popular as usual. It's better than just staring at a magazine or watching movies."

"And, needless to say, they're not cheap?"

"Naturally. Memory orbs like this are quite pricey, but that doesn't take away from the fact that folks want to buy them. The Softhooves family makes a huge profit from this enterprise, just as they do from the casinos. Of course, they also produce movies with similar content, but to experience such a variety of spicy feelings on their own skin... just about everyone wants to experience. That's why a lot of effort is going into it."

"But only unicorns can view memory orbs, and they're much smaller in number than earth ponies."

"Well, unicorns are more likely to live wealthy lives," she taps her hoof lightly on her horn. "Thanks to magical skills, we won't be poor. And in general, memories can be stored on special devices called recollectors—something like a black tiara that anyone can put on, and the effect is the same as viewing a memory orb. True, such devices are quite rare, respectively, more expensive. Besides, those who work there with such memories not only get very good caps, incomparable to the payment for erasing the memory of slaves, but also free horny staff."

"Thank you for the extremely detailed explanation," I smirk, causing Cherry to look away embarrassed. She's clearly no stranger to these memory orbs. I found Eric and his wife's night purely by accident.... It was so real. "Any ideas on how to get rid of the slave industry without serious repercussions?"

"It's impossible, because there will definitely be negative consequences. If you prohibit the slave industry all at once, the slaves will be left to fend for themselves, and they can't live like that. They are useful for others, but not for themselves. And try to get those upstart slave-owners to give up their obedient servants, whom they can dispose of in any way they like, for they are only tools, and as they say, they have no opinion of their own."

"Right you say," I say, hearing the clatter of hooves clattering against the concrete floor of the Stable.

The source of the sound in the hallway turns out to be Flow. She's in the same warm leather jacket I once bought her. A thick book barely peeks out of the pocket. I can't see what's on it, since it's almost entirely hidden in the wide compartment of the leather jacket.

"That's it? You packed?" I clarify.

"I don't have much to pack. Except for this outfit you bought me once."

"What's the book?"

"Apple Seed, the local cook, gave it to me as a gift to thank me for a few of my techniques for improving hot meals. It has recipes for sweet treats."

"Oh... "I and roll my eyes dramatically. "I'm going to get fat on your fabulous cooking."

Flow giggles cutely. It makes me so pleased to see her, a former slave, happy. A thousand caps is definitely not wasted.

"Good luck to you, Flow," Cherry smiles. "I'm sure you'll be able to make excellent muffins and pies."

"Thank you Cherry, I am extremely grateful for your help."

After saying goodbye to the Overmare, we leave the shelter, followed by the cave. Flow, like my own shadow, follows me, glancing around warily—indeed, as before—as she does. When she finally sees the Vertibuck, she looks at it with fascination. She definitely wants to find out more about the thing, which looks a bit like an insect with its front end.

"It's my Venture," I say, noticing the expression on her cute face. "Flying transportation..."

"Flying?" Flow marvels, interrupting me without even noticing it.

"Yep. Which means you're flying today... and it's not about drug use."

Flo shrieks in anticipation of flying among the clouds. Almost in the clouds, because the Enclave won't let us fly higher.

Just as we board the Vertibuck, I see a lovely picture of Nara snoozing peacefully under the wing, her owner looking down at the peaceful filly with a gentle smile. I can barely contain a sigh of adoration.

"How long has she been snoozing?" I ask in a whisper.

"Almost the entire time since you left," the pegasus answers quietly, not looking up at me. At least an hour, then.

There's a rustle, and Nara wakes up. She opens her eyes sleepily, and when she sees Flow, she immediately shakes off the remnants of sleep and shrinks under the pegasus's wing.

"Hush, hush," I say in a low voice. "Don't worry, she's my friend. Once we're home, she'll make you something delicious... Right?" I turn to Flow. She nods gently, though she's puzzled that the filly has spooked her. I brief Flow on what happened with Nara. She is understanding, but has no idea how to communicate with foals. So her attempt to talk to her is unsuccessful, to say the least.

The pegasus with a mix of nostalgia and a bit of sadness reminds me that she used to look after her little sister, so she has some experience with kids. Even with the pain she had experienced the year before, the pegasus has a motherly concern for Nara. It's clearly evident in her gaze on the little pony. I still can't believe I was able to have that much influence on someone. Especially Motley. Had she met Nara while still being a gloomy Motley—she wouldn't have bothered. Probably.

When Venture takes to the air, Nara no longer feels fear, but gives in to a sense of euphoria—though she still holds back her enthusiastic squeals, clearly afraid of making any unwanted noise that might attract badgers. She is frightened, however, when Flow squeals in horror and delight at the sudden rise. Of course she's not scared! I nearly shit myself with that sharp squeal. The pink pony notices Nara's fright and turns shyly toward me. Seeing my slightly scared face, she awkwardly rubs one of her front legs against the other. I smile warmly and comfortingly at her.

Flow is much less restrained than Nara. Still, they both had a pleasant feeling of flying. It's a joy to watch them.

Before leaving for Heavenly Harbor, I ask Motley to visit Vanhoover to find out why Prince is looking for me. Not for a heart-to-heart conversation over chamomile tea and cookies, I suppose.

Needless to say, if this is going to be a mission, I have no intention of doing it now. I am very tired and exhausted from fighting the clawed and dangerous mutants called badgers. I want to have a good rest and gain strength before new challenges. I'm not on my own anymore: I need to think about others, about their needs and comfort.

***

I'm standing in the Prince's office in Stable 68. Motley landed Venture near the Kings' residence on Mane Street. This caused a fuss among the surrounding crowd, who had apparently already heard about this sort of thing. Only a few interested ponies came closer to get a proper look at this marvel of engineering.

Walnut is not in the residence or the bunker itself. Maybe he's having fun with whores in a brothel somewhere, or warming his ass on a chair in some bar or casino, or he's in a drug haze from a combination of different drugs—or maybe all of them at the same time. Vanhoover has a plethora of establishments for entertainment.

"I heard from Walnut that you wanted to see me," I turn to Prince, who is sitting in his chair and examining me closely. Apparently not noticing nothing new or unusual, he sighs disapprovingly. It's definitely not about my looks, but something else... something deeper.

"And how do you intend to become King with that sort of behavior?" he asks demandingly. "You're impossible to find in the city."

"I had business out of the city."

"That's to be expected, but I assumed you'd be doing something productive in the city as well. Reputation is the most important thing in this place. If your name isn't on the lips of the citizens, if you don't get at least a recommendation from someone influential, you can't become a King. The masters need to know and, moreover, recognize your identity, but try to find you. There aren't even any normal ways to contact you."

"I've been doing..."

"I know it was you who infiltrated the depths of the fiery Crater and killed the leader of the local savages. You were the one who managed to sneak into an impregnable fortress called the Northern Soul and obtained from there a rare and useful transportation for the Steelmanes, a Vertibuck. You're the one who picked the right team to get into such places and survive."

"From...?"

"My ears and eyes are everywhere, and such high-profile events don't go unnoticed. Also, let's not forget Walnut telling Redstone about your good fighting skills at Stable 60."

Crimson Sky from the institute told me that Prince and Softhooves have the best agents.

"See, my deeds are already on the rumor mill."

"No one will believe you did this. There have already been a number of scammers trying to gain fame. These are such high-profile events that it takes time to truly find out who's behind them. Foreman's eyes popped out when he heard from Lieutenant Redstone that you were behind it. He just didn't believe it."

"Besides, I wasn't alone then, so the glory shouldn't belong to me anyway."

"I doubt you got them to cooperate with caps or anything material, since it's extremely difficult to achieve such successes with that, so you can take credit for it. Making those around you respect you is one of the Kings' main traits. I don't know if your team is based on fear or something like that, but you have it as a leader, judging by your achievements and coordination with your companions. You were in charge of their lives. You had each other's backs. But no one can verify those acts, so you need to show everyone that you can do that."

"And what am I supposed to do?"

"You need the support of another King or head of the family, which is unlikely. They need to see that you can actually do what you did at the Crater and the Northern Soul."

"The Waterfall and the Steelmane already know that."

"But they're not likely to speak up for you. It is unprofitable and risky for them to stand up for those who are not bound by blood or obligation to their family. They can't count on them. It's happened twice in history. Get to know the city... IN the city, not out of it. Vanhoover should feel a sense of kinship."

"And what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Do whatever you want—within reason, of course. You can go and compete in the Arena, many Kings gained fame there."

That's where Walnut got the name Splitting Claw. Not bad at all, except I'll undoubtedly lose to most professional fighters.

"They make good fighters," Prince continues, "though they are shortsighted for some delicate matters. I can also advise you to start your own business, assuming you have enough caps, and if you can withstand the pressure of the Families. Show your tenacity, your autonomy. With a business, you'll be closer to the city and its residents. You'll be involved in the life of the city. You'll feel a responsibility to them."

Responsibility towards the city... I'm not excited about the city, the slavery in it, I don't want to get attached to it. I got attached to the Divide once—and destroyed it with my package later. But it seems I have no other choice. No one has been able to find the Dome in two hundred years. Most think it's a rumor or a pre-war myth, but there's nothing else for me to do. Why should I be able to do this? And without being a King? It's the only quick way to make the search easier.

"All right," I agree. "Is it realistic to be autonomous in the city?"

"Sure. There are quite a few independent businesses in the city that are owned by powerful masters, almost all of them Kings, the rest are potential candidates. For example, the Arena, the Radio Station, The School, the institute, and quite a few well-known businesses and establishments that the Families can't fully control. The latter are plentiful on Mane Street: think of the Luxury."

"Anyway, I'm definitely not in any condition to walk around the city today."

"And I'm not asking you to do it right now," Prince notes. "It's in your best interest to be a King. That's all I wanted to tell you. If you are discussed, and talked about as a good worker, and one of Kings stands up for you, then I'll give you a test assignment and you're golden."

"And what kind of test assignment would I have to pass?" I ask.

"Until you've earned the opportunity to fulfill it," Prince states sharply, "you won't know the details. Free to go."

***

"How'd it go?" Motley asks as soon as I step aboard Venture.

"Like a fairy tale—Prince invited me to a ball in his domain," I reply, not looking at the pegasus and settling into the passenger seat. "Let's go to the Harbor, I'll tell you there."

A short time later, we land in Heavenly Harbor.

When Nara first leaves Venture, she looks up at the rather high ceilings and shrinks back from the panic that has set in. I nudge her forward affectionately. Then I put her on my back to get her used to it a little.

Flow likes this bunker. Quite spacious and clean, she tells me. I show her the living quarters and the rest of the rooms, as well as the kitchen along with its contents. She notices that it has the necessary ingredients and cooking utensils to prepare a proper meal. I ask her to make a list if I need to buy anything so that I can give it to Bluerise later. She will make bulk purchases at low prices.

"Flow," the pegasus addresses to her, "don't give Daniel frying pans. He uses them in the wrong way."

"Ha-ha. Good joke," I utter sarcastically. "Okay, Flo," I turn to the newly minted cook. "If you need anything, let me know." Flow nods and we leave her to get out of the way of the dinner preparations.

Finally, after walking through the rooms of Heavenly Harbor, Nara is brave enough to walk on her own feet. She chooses her room and then explores everything in the bunker down to the smallest detail, namely the system and ventilation tunnels. They aren't too branching, so her exploration is over quickly. She probably does this for her own safety, so that she knows escape routes in case of an attack. Judging by the little orange pony's face, she is more or less satisfied with the place, though she is wary of using the usual paths when traveling. Later, she takes a bath and we give her some normal clothes. Though, she gets them dirty almost immediately, having collected all the dust she hadn't cleaned up after the renovation.

Motley and me, Nara is not afraid of. She's also more or less used to Flow. She is afraid of Ferris, but is curious about his pet, Edge. He in turn is friendly with her and soon begins to play with her. However, Nara herself is not as optimistic as the feathered predator.

At the first meeting with the Captain, Nara, like Flow, is frightened. It's the first time they've both seen a ghoul. This only confirms my guess about the ghouls in Vanhoover. Flow does not get used to the ghoul immediately, but she is wary of it when it appears in her line of sight. Nara can't get used to the walking, decomposing dead pony. She hides behind something or someone at the sight of him.

The Captain himself notes that the little one has some sort of mental trauma or phobia related to the military. Steel Sun doesn't even seem to see or want to realize that his body is decomposing if he doesn't notice the difference between his body and the body of a normal, non-ghoulified pony. His perception of the world is so different from ours that it gets scary sometimes.

Caroline, as well as her body, Nara's perspective is very ambiguous. She has seen robots and their like, but this is the first time she has encountered such vividly speaking software. Later, she gets used to the curious Caroline—though she barely understands the machines' sophisticated language. Speaking of curiosity, the AI wants to ask Nara about her Stable, but immediately realizes that now is not the time. Instead, she asks me and Motley about what happened. Naturally, we satisfy her interest as best we can.

Flow doesn't pay much attention to Caroline at first, again because of her dry machine language, but after a failed 'social interaction' with Nara, Caroline quickly catches up on that foundation with Flow. And now the pink earth pony listens with interest to what this machine has to say about usefulness, which is directly related to freedom.

As I thought. Flow will visit Caroline often, for she understands the possibilities and real dangers of freedom even better than I do. Ferris is left without much attention by Flow.

A couple hours after she arrives at the bunker, she makes a nice dinner out of what we have. Everyone likes Flow's cooking except Caroline—she doesn't need organic matter to run her programs and systems, but she's not averse to the social power of such gatherings. It is easier for her to analyze the behavior of living organisms when they interact with each other. After dinner we all go to our beds. I myself am terribly tired after battles with badgers in underground tight spaces.

Once I am in my 'modest' apartment, I fall on the bed and almost immediately pass out.

***

15th of the Month of Heather, Redday. The fifty-third day of my stay.

I've slept for almost nine hours, and at this point it's about nine in the morning. That's more than enough for a good night's rest. I'm awake enough that I don't mind fighting a deathclaw with just a plastic fork!

After lying in bed for a few more minutes to recover, I get up and make my way to the bathroom for my morning routine. Fresh as a pickle, I head out to join the others.

In the morning, the Captain informs me that he needs to check on the situation at the Northern Soul. He says he'll be back here in a little while. Or right away, in case I need him urgently, for I told him at dinner that I was planning a long trip in Vanhoover, where he is not welcome. He just doesn't want to waste time waiting for my orders when I'm away. Anyway, Motley deigns to drop our brave warrior off at his 'camp'.

Meanwhile, I decide to work on the Motley power armor again in the workshop, surrounded by various parts, spares and tools. Ferris is doing his thing. Hopefully I'll be able to finish the repairs today. I've had time in a couple of days to think a lot about how and what can be fixed to get the armor working again.

The power armor of the Grand Pegasus Enclave is smaller in size and less durable, but it makes up for it with good streamlining, which is essential for flight, and relative lightness, so you can hoof-to-hoof combat without losing much speed or maneuverability. It's the kind of armor I'd like to use myself, but it's designed specifically for the pegasus and its wings. So it's not meant to be. Also, the design of the helmet doesn't allow for the necessary hole for the horn: this would certainly disrupt the function. Several armor functions would have to be sacrificed.

Motley returns very quickly, cheerfully reports to me that the task has been accomplished, addressing me as Colonel Blackwright, and remains in the workshop watching me work.

Am I hypnotizing with the manipulation of my magic? She once showed an interest in unicorns... But she's silent, reading her book about the Three-Way Unity, and behaving quietly, so I sometimes forget she's around until I catch her eye—I'm so immersed in the work.

It's like she has nothing better to do. The important thing is not to look at her. And here I am thinking about her again! That's not surprising... because I'm repairing her armor.

I spent the rest of the evening fixing the armor, only interrupting for lunch and the restroom. At some points I use only magic to repair the armor, at others I take simple material and use magic to transform and integrate it into the armor, and at the end, when my magic is almost exhausted, I use tools and parts to repair it. When the work is done, the pegasus exclaims with joy when she sees the result—in her words, the armor is in perfect condition.

Everything has been done just as it should be.

In truth, there are still many problems there, but still I am grateful for her cheering. Her life won't be in any danger.

The armor's standard movements and functions worked properly. Another peculiarity of pegasus power armor is the presence of a blade at the end of the tail. It looks, by the way, threatening and dangerous, which gave me goosebumps. The blade is so sharp that you can get a cut just by touching it. And it's also, uh... enchanted, so it doesn't get dull with use. I can feel the magic flowing through it.

"You're a mechanical wizard!" Motley marvels.

It's unusual to see this cute pegasus wearing such intimidating armor. However, despite the black chitinous armor and insect-like helmet and scorpion tail, she looks pretty cute. I deeply doubt I'd have the tongue to call anyone in that intimidating armor cute except Motley, as long as I see her pretty face... and again I think of her.

"I was aiming for Chief Engineer of my Stable when I was a foal. Come and try out this armor," I suggest with a tired smile on my face. "I don't want anything to fail during the battle. Just don't overdo it!"

Oh she puts on her helmet and heads for the exit. My gaze lingers involuntarily on the spot where she has disappeared from sight.

"I think," Ferris says without turning around, "she wants you to fuck her."

"You're such an expert on pony behavior?" I shake my head.

"Mares have repeatedly shown interest in me by being around me all the time."

"I was fixing her armor. She just wanted to make sure I didn't mess it up."

"Yeah, yeah... Just for that. You were focused on fixing the armor most of the time, but no matter how many times I looked back at the pegasus, she was constantly distracted and looking at you, not the armor and the book. At the same time, her lips were constantly moving. Impatient. Excited. Whatever she feels for you, she wants to be around you. She even went to lunch with you. Ask her to tell you something, talk about something—it doesn't matter what, any boring shit—and she'll say yes. Mark my word."

Ferris is still keeping up, but what can he do? He's become an unwilling observer: naturally he wants to talk about it, but... if what he's saying is true, then... No. I need to be sure first.

By the way, Ferris was happy when I let me explore the Apostle yesterday. The weapon is quite cleverly designed, so he's been exploring it periodically since I haven't used it yet. It makes a noise like heavenly thunderclaps, and if I apply the automatic firing mode, it's terrifying to the point where I might as well give my soul to the gods.

"Why are you so... interested? Do you care about what's going on between me and Motley?"

"It's just hard to watch guys who have feelings for each other and don't talk about it."

"It's not that simple..."

"Ponies in general are pussies. If someone breaks your heart, rip out the heart of the one who broke your heart."

"I don't have claws," I play along.

"Uh... Right. I forgot. Anyway, take action. The pegasus won't act, apparently. That's good. It's up to you to dominate."

"Here we go..." I raise my eyes to the ceiling.

The dark gray griffon laughs. Its white plumage with gray tips on its head sways as his head shakes.

"Suit yourself. I'm not going to be your babysitter."

"Thank you. Tell me more about yourself. All we talk about is dominance, Motley, ripping out the hearts of your abusers. How did you end up in the Wasteland? You said you didn't want to be in Vanhoover, and your skills are clearly beyond those of the average gunsmith. The city has everything you need to live, so you just couldn't leave for personal reasons. I can only assume you had a clash with the local authorities. Particularly with the Families. Your skills indicate you didn't rank last in society—that's why you live away from the city, to reduce the risk of being seen and identified."

"As before, I admire your insight, "I don't know if he said it sincerely or ironically, "you're right." The griffon waits a short pause, and, glancing around, adds, "You can say this to the rest of yours or not, but I'm considered dead in Vanhoover."

"Wow," I wonder. "How on earth did you escape that fate?"

"Outsmarted my pursuers. But that doesn't matter now. You might accidentally say my name in conversation with someone anyway... So... I'd better make it clear to you. I'll start by telling you my full name, Ferris... Falcon."

"You're from..." I marvel.

"From the Falcons," he smiles sourly. "A clash. Not quite the kind you envisioned. Simply put, I've been accused of murders I didn't commit. By the law of my family, I was to be summarily executed for that. I hope you won't tell anyone in Vanhoover that I'm actually alive. I mean, you're a curious fellow who might start asking questions about me. It's dangerous to mention my name in town."

"Don't worry about that. I'll keep my mouth shut. And who was killed?" I try not to go into details.

"I appreciate you believing me," Ferris utters gratefully. Truth be told, I really believe he didn't do it.

Shit. And I sympathize with him. First Motley and her murder of a pegasus she implicitly accused of the crime, now Ferris... who happens to have a blood bond with the Falcon family.

"But be that as it may, I have no desire to bring it up just yet, especially after seven years. And..." Ferris gives a fake smile, then hesitates. "That's a nifty way to change the subject, you pipe-shit-explorer. We'll talk about it later. You mind your own business for now, and in the meantime, if you'll let me check your Whispering Night," he points with a nod of his head to my rifle lying on one of the shelves. I brought it here before I took care of the pegasus' armor, just to clean it. "You won't be using it for a few days, if not a week, anyway."

Last night at dinner I told everyone that I will go to Vanhoover without my main equipment, and without Whispering Night in particular, with the intention of gaining some fame. In a fine navy blue suit with white inserts, with the shock sword and the ponykind revolver, so as not to draw too much attention to my person, but not to seem like a harmless vagrant either.

"Of course. What are you going to do with it?" I levitate the rifle to the griffon.

"I'll see if I can modify it."

"There's no way to improve it," I say. It's already stuffed with improvements, from simple alloys of light but strong metals to complex mechanisms that make it more effective in combat. "What can you do?"

"You may have aimed for the status of Chief Engineer of the Stable, and you can repair things like a ferocious beast with screwdrivers instead of claws, but I've already undergone the complex training of the institute before I'm fully grown. And recently Caroline has made some interesting points to me regarding the material and construction of firearms. It's amazing to have an artificial intelligence with that kind of capability around. And how can you not recognize your own brainchild?" the griffon says rhetorically with a touch of nostalgia, glancing first at the weapon with maternal care, then at me.

I felt like I'd been splashed with ice water from a barrel.

Wait, he'd said, and I'd seen, that he'd designed his own weapon, or rather, a pistol. And his scientific interest in Caroline's body. And during the repair of the bunker, although he was lazy, he showed impeccable skill and precision in fixing all sorts of technology. I wasn't particularly surprised to learn that he'd gotten his science degree in engineering from the the institute. The Falcon family is in the weapons business, and Ferris was definitely some kind of chief engineer.

He's not just some random master, he's a full blood relative of the family! Maybe he had a grudge, so they set him up. Or maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Holy shit! How he caught me off guard with that confession.

I can see it in his smirk.

"Hey, you..." he smiles weakly. "Keep your mouth shut. There's a lot of things that can get in there."

***

While Motley is somewhere in the Wasteland testing the armor I've repaired, I decide to test the memory orb I found in one of the North Park bank deposit boxes.

I sit on my bed, concentrate on the orb, and everything around me fades away, replaced by the colors of the past.

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

Cold... Winter. Snowflakes are falling lazily around me. I walk down the street—there's almost no one on it, it's covered with a thick layer of snow. I feel myself breathing the cold and fresh air that fills the lungs of the owner of the memory. On the road are the traces of passing wagons. The sun has long since disappeared over the horizon, and the street is lit by a row of lanterns emitting a yellow-white light. I have just passed by one of them. The light from the windows of the houses and low buildings nearby adds to the illumination.

The streets are quite familiar.

The owner of the memory, a stallion by the feel of it, is moving slowly and idly along the sidewalk, and a wagon is passing him on the road. Here he passes a pony smoking a cigar with a long inhale and looking thoughtfully at the road. He pays no attention to me, or simply doesn't notice me. The owner of the memory also completely ignores the passersby, as if they are ghosts of some kind. He, in turn, is also considered a ghost. As I walk, I feel a multi-layered thickened fabric, a kind of protection, I think. A warm fedora protects me from the snowflakes flying into my face.

He stops outside a local bar, from which comes a raucous buzz of joy and sheer carefree spirit. The owner of the memory examines it carefully, trying to note every detail. The shapes of the windows, the texture of the walls, the height of the entire building, the double wooden doors, the neighboring houses, the sign illuminating the name in blue hues: the Snowpony Bandit. From the looks of it, the bar is nothing remarkable, yet I am interested in such a close inspection.

After looking at everything I can, the owner of the memory pulls out of the inner pocket of his brown trench coat, which is also found on passers-by, a photo of a mare: a middle-aged earth pony of stony color with a pale mane and tail. Apparently, having once again thoroughly examined the photo, the pony puts it back into its inner pocket, sighs deeply, and enters the bar through the double doors with what seems to be a calm demeanor.

No one pays attention. Some customers are sitting at small round tables sipping alcoholic drinks, others are discussing something heatedly, others are playing card games. Two stallions are having an argument: which hoofball team will win the next match. The argument escalates into a loud altercation and then a fight. I realize that this happens quite often, since only a couple of visitors give this harmless commotion an almost apathetic glance. Many are absorbed in thinking about their domestic problems and failures. In general, there are very few visitors at all. No more than a dozen.

The owner of the memory walks over to the bar and orders a glass of whiskey from the barpony. That voice... It's so familiar.

Eric Frost!

Once again, I am lucky enough to be in the memory of this particular pony. Barpony turns out to be the mare from the picture in Eric's inside pocket. I can clearly feel Eric tense up as she looks at him, fulfilling his order. She, in turn, barely notices him and looks at him with a furtive, probing gaze, already guessing what kind of gentlecolt is sitting at her counter and why he's here.

There is a silent dialog between them.

Eric calmly pays for his order and immediately takes a sip from his glass. I feel a burning warmth slowly spreading throughout my body. In the meantime, the barpony calmly walks over to the two brawlers and throws them outside, advising them to settle their relationship outside.

Fighting mare...

She turns to the others, abruptly announcing that the bar is closing. After a few minutes, everyone does leave the premises with indignation and resentment. Eric, however, doesn't even move. He just quietly continues to drink his whiskey. He is calm, enviably calm.

I'm reminded of what Steele Sun said about betrayal and murder in the Controllers' ranks just before the Silence, i.e. the megaspells explosion. And that Eric was involved. Did he really have anything to do with it?

The bar is quiet. The only sounds are the doors shutting and the lock clicking. Eric finally drains his glass and suddenly says, looking into the empty glass container.

"Why are you hesitating if you've realized who I am and why I'm here?" he asks with some surprise, without turning around.

Oh, Eric, you're being rude. And given the tense situation, you're making a mistake, since she could attack or pull a trick at any moment.

I'm hearing everything much better than usual. It feels like I can hear the breathing of Eric's conversation partner at such a short distance. I don't even have time to realize and fully distinguish the sounds that Eric is picking up with his fine-tuned hearing.

This is what Controllers are trained and practiced to do? Oh, no shit.

"Before I deal with you, I need to figure out where I made a mistake so I don't make the same mistake again. As far as I'm concerned, it's all been smooth sailing."

"It only seems that way to you," Eric says likewise, without turning around. "Self-confidence is not a good thing. Everything we see is just an illusion. Our perception of the world is far from the truth. We cannot know everything. The secret documents you stole are under our special monitoring. The fake was quickly spotted." The Barpony hums. "You stole classified documents from Stable-Tec's main office in Red Spark and quickly returned to North Park. We're not as blind as you or your employers believe. Your mistake was taking on this dangerous case without realizing what you were getting yourself into. And for all we know, you still have them, for too little time has passed."

North Park. No wonder these streets seemed familiar.

"At first I thought," the Barpony says with concern in her voice, "that you were the one who was supposed to take the papers and give me the money."

"So you just wanted to make sure, did you?"

"No, it's just that I realized too late that the papers were due tomorrow night. So you're a Cleaner—a special agent of the Controllers, dedicated to catching dangerous enemies and spies of Equestria. I'm honored to be included on this list of yours."

"Wow, you're so knowledgeable," Eric marvels sincerely, but with a shadow of a smile on his lips, still not turning around.

"I'm a professional thief," her voice trembles visibly at some points—she's intimidated by Eric's calmness. Me, too. Either that's because of the knowledge of the betrayals and the murders in his ranks, not because of his calmness. "It is risky to venture into uncharted territory. However, I did not expect to bring the wrath of the Controllers upon myself by taking this job. Which means I've touched your dirty secrets. Dome Project, right? "Eric is silent. Her mocking tone sounds unconcerned. "Anyway, all I care about is money for the work I've done, no matter what kind, which is why I didn't know the value of those files when I was offered the job. So it's just an accident."

"Equestria's enemies," Eric says, "are used to working through third parties to make them harder to trace. I must know that, as I am a Cleaner. I see a bigger picture of the world than you do. You're not the first, you're not the last in this state of affairs. And yet, like I said, you made a mistake when you took this job."

"What a cocky asshole. Didn't even bother to have a face-to-face conversation!" she blurts out sharply.

There's a slight rustle, and Eric's head swings sharply to the right, and a slight whistling sound reaches his ears. There's the noise of shattering glass—a knife flies past and into a bottle on the shelf behind the bar, crushing it. The contents spill onto the floor.

Oh, fuck! His reactions are unbelievable! It's about as good as you can get when you're drugged by Dash.

The clatter of hooves on the wooden floor. Before the shards and the liquid from the broken bottle hit the floor, and before I know it, Eric's feet are on the table. The wooden chair on which he has sat shattered from the blow of the mare's front hoof.

That's a lot of strength! Well, she's an earth pony, no wonder she's so fiercely powerful.

Eric, not wasting any time, makes a sharp U-turn and strikes the mare. She manages to make a block, but falls from the force of the blow. Eric jumps on her, aiming his front hoof at her head. She yanks her head to the side just in time, and his hoof hits the wooden floor, followed by a slight crack of wood. I feel a little pain from that miss.

Even though Eric's body is piled on top of the mare's after the miss, she uses her hind legs to throw him off of her, and now he's resting his back against the rack.

About ten seconds of fighting, dynamic and impressive, in which neither one misses a punch. They move at a speed that for a moment seems impossible to me—but I can clearly feel the muscles under Eric's skin working hard, and the confidence with which he moves, as well as his opponent. She feels much more confident in battle than she does when she's talking to a Cleaner. Eric sees a good opportunity to attack: it's almost impossible to dodge such a blow.

He doesn't miss the chance and gives the mare a severe blow with his hoof to the side. She loses her balance, but somehow stands on her legs. Eric doesn't lose his balance and delivers another blow right on the face, which finally knocks the mare down.

Nicely done. Well done, Mr. Frost.

The short but spectacular fight is over. Maybe I should try these moves myself later, because I've felt and seen them performed correctly. In fact, personal experience.

He presses her throat with his telekinesis magic, and she, who had been hit hard in the face earlier, is unable to resist, though she tries desperately to fight back. Soon the mare collapses and can no longer fight back. Eric removes the magic and then pulls her, unconscious, into the rooms, where he uses her own clothes from the closet to bind and gag her and blindfold her.

He searches through desks, cabinets, behind paintings, under the carpet, apparently to find the documents she had stolen, but he finds nothing of significance. At some point, he just stops and seems to think.

What's on your mind, Eric?

He looks around the room again. Eric's attention is drawn to a closet from which he has pulled clothes to tie up for the barpony. He walks over to it and mumbles to me in surprise, "Right..."

I don't know what he's talking about until he tries to move the closet, but it doesn't even stagger. Now I get it. The closet is somehow nailed to the wall, but at first, when Eric was pulling clothes out of it, he didn't pay much attention to this. After some thought, he decides to take a closer look at the closet. From inside, he fumbles with magic for a barely noticeable switch. When he presses it, the back wall of the closet opens slightly, allowing him to pull it away without much effort.

Having done so, Eric finds a cramped cubbyhole that's a bit hard to turn around without snagging something in here. Inside is a familiar grayish-black armor. That's the...

That's the same stealth armor worn by that raider in Red Spark's Stable, and now me! It's Nightwatch.

"Huh..." Eric's lips stretch into a faint smile. "She even managed to steal the stealth armor prototype," he ponders aloud. "And the engineers and scientists keep wondering where it went: it didn't disappear, literally. No wonder why my superiors have had extreme difficulty tracking down this thief—she's a master of her craft."

He glances at the small shelf that holds a folder of stolen documents. He only flips through them quickly to make sure they are the right papers. And once he's sure, he hides them under his suit.

My consciousness only has time to see the large letters on some of the pages, namely the names of the Stables: 44, 52... and more than a dozen of them. But of the Stables that have flashed by, I would like to see only the 66. Apparently, it has absolutely all the plans and complete information on the Stables in this region and surrounding areas, and considering that the key cards were in it, it's obvious why the documents were stolen and why The Controllers kept a close eye on such things.

Eric returns to the room. Barpony has regained consciousness. She lifts her head slowly and languidly at the sound of Eric's approaching hoofsteps. He sits down in front of her.

"You know, this is my first assignment. Who would have thought that you were actually The Gray Vixen? If you hadn't taken it, no one would have known it was you. But you got greedy and took a risk. So you're coming with me and you're going to forget about me and the job you did, the documents and the Dome. I don't know what my superiors will do with you after that, but I don't care. The main thing for me is to prevent the last hope for a bright future from crumbling into dust. I'm guessing you'll just go to jail in Red Spark. I can see from your surprised and fearful look that you're wondering why I'm telling you this. As you realize, pride is hard to fight, you want to stretch this moment out. Or I had the impulse to save that moment in an orb. Especially when I caught that most elusive Gray Vixen."

I can feel the smirk on his face. I agree with him on that. Magic begins to buzz in Eric's horn, he plays some kind of spell, and a blue aura envelops the mare's head. Barpony loses consciousness again, and her head hangs limply.

At the same moment, Eric's memory ends, and I am thrown back into the real world.

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

It's not like the Dome is made-up. Eric actually believes it exists. I can't help but be encouraged by that. It gives hope that the pre-war knowledge and research has survived in this place.

***

16th of the Month of Heather, Orangeday. The fifty-fourth day of my stay.

I stand in front of the mirror.

Time to go to Vanhoover. Time to make some noise there and earn the trust of the locals. But... what if the Dome won't give me what I need? What if it doesn't have anything to do with long-distance teleportation to other worlds? What if the Dome isn't intact, and neither is the knowledge within it? What do I do next? I'll have to look elsewhere. But where? I don't know this Wasteland—or the world at large—that well. I'm familiar with the mundane aspects of pony life, but not the geography and history enough to know what to do next, where to go.

Caroline can tell me what she's read in the books that the residents of the cryopods of Stable 67 brought with them. It's unlikely that those books contain information about pre-war scientific facilities, which must have been classified 'top secret'. Long-distance teleportation was clearly not studied publicly, or I would have seen hints of it in the Tenpony Tower's spellbook store. But still, I'll ask Caroline about it.

I need to know the current state of the situation. But the only ponies I knew who could do that were Homage, Watcher who'd tipped me off about the location of the Dome and briefly mentioned other places of interest, and Motley. She lived beyond the clouds, and as a captain she must have been interested in what was going on in the Wasteland. She mentioned in her report on the Enclave that they mostly gathered information on what was happening on the surface, and only intervened on rare occasions. It would probably be boring for Motley, but... Like Ferris said, if she's really interested in me, she'll definitely agree to tell me everything right now if she's not busy with something important... Like taking a shower.

I want her, but I don't want to hurt her with my... lifestyle. I'm always the reason someone gets hurt. Lemon because I... Uh-huh. She feels guilty when I'm the one to blame. I don't want to make Motley... She doesn't deserve this. She doesn't realize what a danger I am to her. It would be a long story. And if I just say no, she might take it personally. And I don't want to say no, but I have to.

I have to do something about my conflicting emotions. It wasn't hard to control myself when they came separately, but together they made a burning cocktail, scorching my thoughts so hot that it was almost impossible to think straight.

"What's wrong with you, Dan?" I ask, staring closely into my blue eyes. "What the hell is going on with you?"

All I get in response is silence and a frown. The beige unicorn looks at me thoughtfully. The black mane is pointedly tipped forward, slightly in my field of vision.

"You even," I begin, and the lips in the reflection also come into motion, "use the expressions here, not only with yourself, but in your thoughts. We. Don't. Need. To. Be. Distracted. By. Responsibility. For. Others. Bluerise, Lemon... Motley... The more intimate they get, the heavier the responsibility for them."

I step into the shower stall, stand on my hind legs, and put my head close to the sprayer. Refreshing and clean cool water pours over my head and then over my entire body.

Feeling relieved at heart, I take a full shower and head for breakfast. Flow has prepared refreshing salads of various vegetables and colors, more hay and porridge. Motley picked a breakfast spot without delay. Across from me. At the same table. Again.

That brown hair reminds me so much of Brisa. She looks up at me. Notices me looking at her. She smiles slightly, dipping her pretty nose into her plate to grab a flower bud in the sauce.

I blink and shake my head, returning to my breakfast.

After the meal, everyone disperses. Nara and Edge are the first to leave. The big eagle doesn't fly, it chases Nara across the floor, who runs away from it with a smile. The eagle can fly, but it clearly wouldn't be interested in doing so.

Ferris goes off to the workshop, Caroline goes to help him. Over breakfast, they talk a lot about alloys, about the design of weapons. When I asked her if she knew anything about long-distance teleportation, she answered in the negative. She could only talk about what she'd seen in fiction books, and she could also talk about the mythical Crystal Empire that Lilac had once told me about in the context of their influence on griffon culture and its evolution.

Even if the fiction books didn't have facts, they could contain ponies' perceptions and views on magic. On magical possibilities in general. But that's for another time.

"Why do you need," Motley inquires when everyone has left the dining room, "long-distance teleportation?"

What's her answer to that? I can't tell her that I'm a creature from another world who just wants to get home before I get attached and fall in love with a cute, attractive beige pegasus.

"I... Just a magical interest. Unicorns are always interested in these things. The complex ones. Oh, and I'm awfully curious myself."

"I've noticed that."

"You... were in the Enclave. Mentioned three sky cities in your report. New Pegasus, near Hoofland, I won't forget, but the other two slipped my mind..."

"Wind Louis is not far from Sun City. Skyrock is roughly between Tailslfield and Rainport, but east of the Road of Stars."

It takes me a few seconds to realize what I've heard. Too many names.

She's good at geography.

"You studied hard if you still remember such nuances."

Motley smiles satisfied.

"Can you tell me about the history of Equestria and the world beyond? How the Enclave sees everything going on before and now? Suddenly, from what the Enclave—and you in particular—know, I might be able to track down signs of what I'm looking for."

I do. I'm interested. I'll also find out if you're really into me. If she says no, then both Ferris and I have misinterpreted her behavior.

"I... this is going to take too long, I suppose, but... I'm in no hurry to get anywhere anyway." She spreads her front hooves apart. "Ask."

"Remind me of the cloud cities. And then we'll see."

"There were five cities in all. Cloudsdale, the capital of the pegasi, was completely destroyed, as was Wingside. Las Pegasus, Skyrock, and Wind Louis survived partially. As in the case of Las Pegasus, they were slightly displaced away from the megaspell trajectories. That's the advantage of locating the city on clouds—they can be moved away from the approaching threat, at least reducing the potential level of damage."

"As I recall, in the report you compiled on the Enclave, you mentioned its four divisions: the Northwest, Northeast, Central-South, and South. I thought they came from the major cloud cities."

"They did. The Southern division of the Enclave is made up of the descendants of the surviving pegasi of Skyrock and its environs. South Central is Wind Louis and its environs. Northwest Division is Las Pegasus and its environs. The Northeast Division of the Enclave contains descendants from the vicinity of two cities, Cloudsdale and Wingside."

"And this last unit is considered the most important, as I recall."

"Yes," Motley replies.

"All these two hundred years, not counting the attack on the Griffon Kingdom, the Enclave has been engaged in reconnaissance and collecting missions. What do they know regarding other places?"

"The situation is no better in the ruins of the Zebra Empire than it is in Equestria. Tribes and organizations grow there like fungus after rain, just like ours, but they are united among themselves into small legions, alliances and coalitions. Zebras are much more unified... than ponies, though even they have all these different forms of alliances that usually last no longer than a mare's heat period, due to internal disagreements and interpretations of traditions. They have a sort of prophecy... The essence of it is that a new Caesar must emerge, far better and smarter than all previous leaders, who will unite all the disparate zebra tribes and rebuild the Empire."

"Is there a threat to the pegasi from there?" I inquire, as such aspirations must pose a decent amount of danger.

"Information is scarce, and much of it is classified. However, there is no threat... Probably not, since zebras cannot fly. Their only winged allies have been the dragons, who are currently engaged in internal squabbles over territory ownership. They were united by the zebras during the conflict with Equestria, but before that they were just as busy with internal warfare and tooth-and-nail skirmishes as they are today."

"I remember from pre-war history that the Griffon Kingdom was an ally of Equestria."

"That's correct. The territory of the Griffon Kingdom served as a buffer zone to protect the north of Equestria from dragon raids. They were quick to agree to an alliance with Equestria, because they were constantly bickering and scratching with the dragons actually on their doorstep."

Lilac would have a lot to say about the place. She'd spent most of her life there. Told me its history and origins.

"What about the other races?" I ask. "What is their role?"

It's only now coming to my attention that other races might know about long-distance teleportation. I don't have to limit myself to just Equestria.

"Bulls, like bat pony—or thestral, as you prefer—didn't have their own independent country, they were part of Equestria. Both the former and the latter were reluctant to side with Equestria in the war against the striped menace, especially the bulls after the ponies started exploiting their territories in the Great Desert, breaking peace treaties for the needs of their army, mining and transportation. There were constant attacks in those areas, violent armed clashes. It came down to a civil war between the bull tribes—some wanted to give in to the ponies, while the others fought for their independence and would not surrender because the ponies were desecrating their sacred Great Desert lands. Before the fall of the megaspells, there were active civil conflicts going on there. Because of the megaspells, almost the entire race was almost exterminated, as well as the bat ponies that lived in the desert zone, but they were much luckier, because they lived in the cozy caves of the rocky mountains."

Ditzy Doo, in her Wasteland Survival Guide, mentioned local analogs of deathclaws with energy... energy-magic weapons. What do Motley and the Enclave know of their history?

"What about the Diamond Dogs, who later became Hellhounds because of the Taint? I remember they were tried to be kicked out of their homelands, but did they fight on the side of Equestria before that? Or did they originally live with it like cat and dog?"

"They didn't care a bit about the fates of the ponies, only gems on their minds. It was rumored before the war that the zebras were known for their greed for gems, so they tried to form an alliance with the Diamond Dogs, appealing to their irrepressible love of these wonderful magical jewels and whispering to them what supplies the ponies possessed. They intended to use them as secret spies or soldiers behind enemy lines. Besides, they knew a small bit about the nature of gems. The benefit to the zebras is obvious, as you can see. It's not known if this alliance was made, but all those rumors that were probably spread by the zebras themselves, finally turned the ponies and the Diamond Dogs against each other."

"And how did that hostility turn out in the end?"

"Because of the rapid development of the gem industry, the ponies invaded their homes in Splendid Valley, which were rich in gemstones, and built research complexes and power plants. The Diamond Dogs were forcibly—not without armed conflict—relocated elsewhere, and their homes were used to store the byproducts of gem magic and the effects of failed experiments like the Impelled Metamorphosis Potion, which, when mixed together, eventually formed.... the Taint. The terrible thing was that they had returned to their homes at the end of the war without anyone warning them of the danger that awaited them there. And they didn't find out about it right away. It was only after a series of explosions from megaspells that the dangerous contents of the barrels spread into the air and mixed. But it was they who suffered the most, eventually becoming Hellhounds."

Ponies were not inferior to us in conflict with zebras before the war. But that's natural: every creature wants to live and procreate. The pre-war USA also invaded countries rich in valuable minerals as third parties, and then also intermediated the extracted resources into their territory. Everywhere you look, the story is the same.

"Doesn't look like the image of rainbow and peace-loving creatures that propaganda painted," I remark. "I understand it was supported by Princess Celestia?"

"Yes. For thousands of years. The ponies of the past did come to think of themselves as a peaceful and friendly species, to believe that all problems could be solved by friendship. Zebras also didn't expect such actions from ponies towards the races that lived in their territory, like the bulls and Diamond Dogs."

"With what was it related to? With Princess Luna?"

"Mostly. She was noticeably tougher than her older sister. These actions helped in the long run to stop the offensive and stabilize the front, but on the other hand, they gave the zebra authorities another dose of propaganda ideas for their territory. Now they didn't even have to convince their population of the cruelty and ruthlessness of the ponies, especially with Luna at the lead, which once again proved their belief that she was a horrible and ruthless Child of the Stars who only 'cared' about her subjects. She was actually quite pretty and naive in appearance—well, only in appearance. And she used that skillfully."

"You mentioned yaks. What kind of fruit were they?"

"They, despite their propensity for destruction, wanted no part in the killing. Their territories to the south bordered in part on Tartarus as it was, so they had their own entertainment. They like to defend themselves; stubborn and resilient, they fight to the end. The zebras respected them for that, though they tried their best to get them on their side. Only the dragons would occasionally raid them in an attempt to eat something meaty and large, as yaks are quite large. The megaspells hit them too, and now the situation is dire. Their culture has degenerated a lot—just like ours on the surface."

"Did the dragons leave anyone in peace at all? "I marvel at the stories of this world.

"Zebras. They managed to gain their support by temporarily uniting most of the dragons, and thus made themselves safe from raids by most of their species. It was not without alchemical skills and a certain amount of gemstones. It was a kind of payment."

"I see. Is it all races?"

"Do you know about Aris—the island?"

"What is it?"

"It looks lonely and detached from what's going on in the world," the pegasus explains, "but it's densely populated. There are hippogriffs living there, isolated from the rest of the world. They're like a mix of pony and griffon, almost pony-like in build, including the mane and tail, but with clawed feet instead of front hooves and a beak instead of a nose. Weak in the scientific field, but extremely creative individuals: musicians, writers, painters, sculptors.... Equestria has learned much from them. They are more difficult to get to than to get through an ear, for they are excessively distrustful and prejudiced against other races. They know how to fight, but only for defense, like the yaks. Both the zebras and the ponies have tried to sway them to their side, but to no avail. They barely felt the fall of the megaspells on the continents, but after that they won't let anyone in at all. It's only accessible by physical force, so there's not much data on what's going on there right now."

"Interesting... And which of these is a potential threat to the Enclave?"

"From greater danger to lesser: dragons, Goddess and Unity, the Red Eye Army due to the presence of quite a number of griffons in it, the Steel Rangers, Vanhoover... and pretty much everything. The Enclave often intervened in the affairs of the surface inhabitants to eliminate emerging threats to themselves, but only those that had a low risk of detection. That's mostly why the ponies didn't have unity."

"You said ponies aren't as united as zebras. Is that the fault of the Enclave?"

"Partially. Zebras have a prophecy, unknown to me, that encourages them to try to unite. Ponies haven't had anything like that."

"What about the infamous Friendship and Harmony?"

"That whole doctrine of friendship was desecrated and tainted in the war with the zebras, especially after the arrival of Princess Luna. Yes, they believed in her and honored her, but in the course of the war and under her steel hoof, it was as if the ponies had forgotten what Celestia had taught them. They were overcome with fear. And anger toward the zebras. For that reason, the ponies did not believe in the power of friendship now as they had under Celestia. The Enclave is drenched in cold sweat at the idea that the surviving surface inhabitants might unite and band together against them. As you can see, they fear in vain. Although it's better to overreact than underreact. But there have been miscalculations and negligence. Like the Goddess and her alicorns and the Red Eye army, which have grown to dangerous proportions. While they don't pose a direct threat to the Enclave, they have indirectly posed one."

"What about the Steel Rangers and Vanhoover?"

"As you know, the Prince can't be killed by conventional means... If it's even possible. The Enclave probably hesitated to attract his attention since they didn't know what to do with him. Steel Rangers... the situation here is a bit more complicated. They, as a special unit of the Equestria army, existed before the Enclave even existed. I don't remember much about their history."

"Tell me what you remember," I ask.

"Hmm... Although the Steel Rangers existed before the war, their current goals of protecting and collecting technology took shape around Stalliongrad. That's where their central headquarters was—and still is."

"Why there? I've never been there."

"Stalliongrad is the largest city in the world, built by hard-working earth ponies. The Ministry of Wartime Technology was made up mostly of earth ponies, scientists and engineers from that city. It was there that the scientific and industrial progress of Equestria took place: the first steam locomotive, cannons and many other technologies were created there. In wartime, they quickly switched from ploughshares to guns, just as they did in Fillydelphia, and with the arrival of Luna, they began to grow rapidly thanks to government investment."

"Where did the money for such rapid development come from?"

"The elimination of a huge number of social privileges, subsidies and the like. But instead, there was a wave of scientific development, especially in Stalliongrad. By the way, it's where power armor was manufactured, and before that, Stable-Tec was formed as a corporation there. It's also where the space program was born, where rocket launch pads were built, where satellites were launched into orbit, and with which PipBucks are now synchronized." Motley nods at my front left, causing me to catch a glimpse of the device. "The greatest minds of earth ponies lived in this place. The Steel Rangers who survived there defined their goals for finding technology and wrote a set of rules and guidelines—the Codex. It was these that pointed the way for the entire organization. Individual units could operate autonomously and do things that did not contradict the Codex. Originally there were twelve chapters, sent into the ruins and neighborhoods of every major city."

"I've heard that fighters from one chapter are required to obey senior ranking officers from other chapters. Wouldn't that lead to conflicts between the Elders?"

"Of course. That's why each chapter is assigned its own search territory."

"Wait... All the major cities in Equestria have been destroyed to some extent. I think Stalliongrad, as a city with research centers, was not ignored by the zebras: at least, it received a decent of the megaspells on the head. How could such a powerful chapter shape up in such a place?"

"This is a city of earthy, hard-working ponies. 'Earth' is in the race name for a reason. They know how to cultivate and work the land. You see what I'm getting at? A lot of their science centers and laboratories are hidden underground. And it doesn't have to be under the city. It's somewhere in the surrounding area. Ministry Mare's sister of the MWT was one of the founders of Stable-Tec, which builds underground facilities. No wonder the Steel Rangers, because of such a direct... close and intimate relationship with the MWT had information on the location of many of these military or research facilities. Soon they had made passages and—or—discovered surviving secondary ones. Reconnaissance in those places has been difficult for the Enclave, and tha's why this chapter they fear the most. There's been some strange activity lately, which has alarmed my former senior officers."

"Fascinating. You said there were twelve chapters originally. How many are there now?"

"Thirteen."

"Not many. But a lucky number. And where was this unit sent?" I clarify, but the answer immediately comes to mind on its own.

"Vanhoover," Motley confirms my guess. "Originally, this city and its environs were assigned to the Steel Rangers of Hoofland in the south, but due to the distance and mountainous terrain, they were unable to quickly and effectively control the search operations being conducted. That all changed when the Queen of Vanhoover created such a large organized group of slavers, slaves, Families and Kings and Prince showed up later. The Steel Rangers were worried. They also questioned the rapid economic growth, prompting them to form a separate chapter to investigate. The Enclave, for its part, was just beginning to look for potential threats... and turned its attention to Vanhoover after the Steel Rangers did. Because of the Prince's immortality, both sides with power armor didn't know how to approach the city—so the region was just being watched. On the other hand, as you know, Prince himself was hesitant to take any overt action against his potential enemies so that the city, economy, and way of life would not be affected. So that's how the staring has been played for over a hundred years."

"As for the rest of the chapters?"

"On average, each of them has about a thousand personnel. Though there are exceptions like the Stalliongrad and Baltimare chapters. In the first, the exact number is unknown even to the Enclave... They're up to about ten thousand. A lot of their bases are underground after all. Another peculiarity of this chapter is that there are three Elders."

"And there's no conflict between them?" I chuckle involuntarily.

"It's more of a... Council. No, there are no conflicts. Except for arguments and disagreements on certain matters, nothing more. This chapter was even able to restore and put into service a railroad track that starts somewhere around Stalliongrad and runs along the central part of the west coast all the way to Hoofland."

"What about the second one, the one at Baltimare?"

"In the most miserable condition. The personnel does not exceed a hundred ponies. Baltimare was occupied by zebras before the war, but a few years before the mega spells fell, the ponies liberated the city and went on the offensive. Within a couple years, they had completely pushed the zebras out of Equestria. The creation of energy-magic weapons, power armor, Raptors, and other technologies made such a dramatic change in the balance of power."

"And why did the zebras start losing and retreating?"

"For many reasons, exhaustion being a key among them. Not only were the ponies tired of the protracted war, but so were the zebras. This created internal conflicts within the higher elites of power and the active civilian population. There were many zebras who disliked Caesar: some for his slowness, others for his haste, which led to mistakes and losses both on the front and in politics. But almost everyone wanted victory over Equestria. So there were rumors of a coup to put a more intelligent and stronger leader in power. Perhaps this, in turn, was the basis for the prophecy that was formed in the post-war time—of a new Caesar who would restore their glorious Empire. Of course, the internal conflicts weren't absent from Equestria either. The bulls, the Diamond Dogs, and the growing discontent among the pegasi, which led to the appearance of the Enclave shortly before the apocalypse. The difference was that Equestria had vast reserves of gemstones, which after years of intense wartime research helped tip the scales in their favor."

"Where was the front line?"

"It shifted constantly at the beginning of the war, but stabilized over the course of a couple of years after Princess Luna came in as in charge. By this time, the zebras had occupied Baltimare and many coastal towns on the east coast in south-central Equestria. They entrusted the northern territory to the dragons, and the zebras themselves had little involvement there. They also took over the eastern railroad tracks as well, which actually sped up the construction of them in the middle of the desert zone. This, as you'll recall, was disliked by the bulls, who thought the ponies were desecrating their sacred lands. In fact, the front line was actually the Sapphire Sea, which separated the two continents and all the islands and coasts it surrounded. The coastline around Manehattan and Trottingham was the least affected by the warfare."

"And how does that relate to the decline of the Baltimare Steel Rangers?" I'm trying to figure out where the stories about the past are going. Lilac mentioned something about a large alliance of traders, and they must be powerful now if they're confronting the Red Eye Empire. "I know there's a strong economy there."

"After the fall of the megaspells, the current economy of the Wasteland was born there, replacing the barter system—caps. This was also aided by the zebras that came to Baltimare. This city had become closely related to them during the occupation... for ten years! The regular ponies were able to get along with them, while the Steel Rangers blame them for what happened to the country. The Steel Rangers have a good memory of history, while the regular citizens of the Wasteland were only worried about survival. They don't care who they cooperate with, as long as it benefits them."

"I see where you're going with this," I chuckle. "That's their style. Xenophobia."

"Uh-huh... The Steel Rangers' actions were to the taste of few, and they had no advantages other than technology. But because of the active trade, the Steel Rangers were being fought back there, certainly not without the help of the resources and weapons that regularly passed through the ruins of the city. Because of this, the trade groups rebuilt a railroad that ran along the eastern coast straight to Trottingham, and the Steel Rangers there have been the softest of the Steel Rangers for two hundred years: they have not impeded the passage of technology caravans. As you can see, the conditions exist there for the caravan business to thrive. The Red Eye has his... his eye on caravans and railroads because of the proximity of Fillydelphia and Trottingham. Thanks to these caravans and the railroads they rebuilt, he will have easy access to resources not only from Equestria, but also from the neighboring continent, and thus access to the so-called exotics. He's already trying to grab it all."

Lilac had mentioned once that all of Red Eye's attention was centered to the south. Toward Baltimare, where...

"Ponies and zebras managed to get along..." I mutter.

In the ruins of San Francisco, the crew from the Chinese submarine had started their own group, and the sailors got along well with the locals. Even the Brotherhood of Steel didn't oppose them much. Descendants of Chinese and descendants of U.S. residents cooperate.

"For the most part just around Baltimare," Motley says. "Almost all of the ruins of the city went underwater after the bombings, and so there are often boats and subs there when exploring the ruins and the seabed. The only obstacle was a decent level of radiation. Generally, only those who are familiar with the story are now prejudiced against zebras. There's not much zebra activity in the rest of Equestria—and it's dangerous in the southern part of the Sapphire Sea these days."

"Why is that?"

"You don't know? There's a traveling magical fog. The Yellow Fog," the pony says in a dramatic and terrifying tone. Watcher mentioned it once. "The northern part of the Sapphire Sea has high magical instability, causing weather anomalies, just like the Desert Ocean. So, the southern part of the sea wasn't bombarded like any area nearby, but after the megaspells fell in Equestria like a thunderclap, this fog formed... and it's like it's got a mind and it's chasing ships sailing in the area. It's faster than they are. Those caught in the fog were never seen again."

"And it also can't be entered like the center of the Desert Ocean?"

"Yes."

"What's with the magical instability? And what does it have to do with megaspells?"

"I have no idea... I thought you, as a unicorn, should know."

"I'm a technical specialist, not a global magic specialist... "I smile. "I'm only interested in it if it teleports long distances."

"I haven't looked into that question. All I know is that two such instabilities arose in the Great Deserts with underground huge worms and in the northern part of the Sapphire Sea, where huge creatures fighting for the place arose. Emerged due to the fall of megaspells. We know the instability due to weather anomalies, what it spawns along the same lines as the Desert Ocean and Tartarus east of the Zebra Empire."

I'll have to ask someone else about this magical instability. Maybe it really is capable of teleporting. But Motley clearly didn't know anything about it.

"So what do you know about the Yellow Fog?"

"There are also many legends and myths about it, among ponies and zebras alike, for it also appears off the coasts of their continent of Solstice when ships sail there. All that is known is that there were fierce sea battles fought in this area during Equestria's war with the Zebra Empire."

"Interesting coincidence. There is no high magical instability, yet this weather anomaly in the form of fog still formed."

"One of the mysteries of the post-war world," Motley nods.

"I understand you, working for the Enclave, investigated the northwestern part of Equestria. That's also where Hoofland was located. What do you think of the Steel Rangers there?"

"The Blood Rangers. Yeah, I know better about them than the other units."

"Why are they bloody?" I utter, expecting the worst: steel-armored madponies.

Though as far as I know, this place is populated by all sorts of cults and religious groups. Even Prince from Vanhoover was nicknamed the White Demon, for consuming the souls of the weak, or something like that. That's why Prince didn't want to cooperate with them. He thought they were too... crazy.

"Hoofland was a resort and tourist place, almost like Las Pegasus for pegasi. They are even relatively close to each other. There were a lot of ponies with different outlooks on life, worldviews and quirks from all corners of Equestria. After the fall of the megaspells, this multiculturalism had spawned an incredible number of different cults and overly religious groups with varying degrees of insanity, including many who worshipped technology—or hated it and tried to destroy it. With a neighborhood like that, I don't envy the Steel Rangers. Despite their nickname, they were no different from any other chapters, but because of the high concentration of deranged zealots, they had to adopt their force methods more often than not, for this is a veritable breeding ground for myths, tall tales, beliefs, religions, and cults."

"Now I see where it all came from."

"It was thanks to these superstitious and wacky ponies that Vanhoover eventually acquired such a sinister reputation, which then spread to the rest of Equestria. And... Uh... look, Daniel. I'm tired."

"Yes, thank you very much! So many interesting things you've told me. From your height, you see things differently. You've given me such a great lecture. It's amazing."

Motley smiles embarrassedly.

"I'm going to go practice and warm up," the pegasus says as she leaves the dining room.

I process the information I got from Motley, relating it to what I partially know. Motley told me a lot about the Steel Rangers and a little about the inhabiting races. If the other races had anything to do with long-distance teleportation, Motley would certainly have told me that.

So... The North of Equestria, where Canterlot, Manehattan, Fillydelphia, Trottingham, Hoofland, and of course Vanhoover are located. So far only the Dome is interesting in this part. I've been to Manehattan, and there's nothing interesting there yet. Fillydelphia is run by the Red Eye. In Trottingham, the Steel Rangers are soft. Beyond Sunny Bay in the north of the Sapphire Sea are huge creatures that fight dragons. To the south along the sea follows Lava Island, also inhabited by dragons. Then there's the free water space where ships travel from the Zebra Empire to Baltimare and back... Then there's the Yellow Fog, which travels swiftly across the southern part of the sea.

Interesting fog. Too bad it has nothing to do with long-range teleportation, so I don't want to explore it.

In the south of Equestria, beyond the Great Deserts, are the remaining cities of Equestria, including Baltimare and Stalliongrad. The first is essentially world trade, while the second is the foundation of the Steel Rangers and the technology of the pre-war world. These are the two areas that should be visited in case the Dome fails.

There is no point in visiting the other species. They are not as advanced as the ponies or zebras.

As for magical instability—I want to know more, but in the Wasteland, try to find someone who knows about it. Unless they're in the Enclave. A scientist or something. If there's any sign of long-distance teleportation, well... I'll have to visit the north of the Sapphire Sea, learn about the Desert Ocean, see the Great Deserts, and explore Tartarus, populated by strange creatures spawned by this instability.

All in all, there are plenty of interesting places. At least I have a general idea of where to go after Vanhoover. But I want to believe that the Dome will have what I'm looking for.

Motley was indeed happy to tell me everything. And did so until she was tired. Anyone else would have fallen asleep from such a flood of information. But not her. She clearly wants to do something for me. She cares about me... That's a problem.

I'm gonna go pack for Vanhoover.

***

"You look great," Motley praises me as I enter the great hall in my navy blue outfit with white inserts around the edges.

"Thank you. Can you give me a ride on Venture to Vanhoover?"

"I'm..." the pegasus mumbles. Oh... no. "You won't mind if I come with you?"

"Why?" I ask, once again holding back the hormonal storm generated by internal contradictions. I feel like I'm going to split in two soon if I don't do something about it.

"Well... It's not like you have a reliable protection. You're not that good at close combat, "she rubs her hoof behind her mane in shyness.

The storm is getting worse.

She's right: being alone in Vanhoover is really dangerous when I have no one to rely on and no one to trust. Motley saved me in the Crater and the Northern Soul. I feel safer with her by my side. At the same time, the risk of getting close to her increases, which makes me anxious and afraid. And...

She looks at me with charming anticipation with eyes of blue and yellow.

I don't have the guts to say no. Shit. Because I have a horn and telekinesis. I also have teleportation. And... I can't, I just can't.

"Okay... Come with me."

Motley almost glows with joy.

"But I don't have anything to wear," she lowers her eyes doomfully.

"Excuse me?" I say. "You're going to be my guard. You've got two more sets of good armor for that."

"I thought," she lowers her head, briefly strokes her hoof across the floor, "that we'd both look like regular city masters. You said yourself you wouldn't wear armor, so as not to attract unnecessary attention."

"You want to play the same role as me?" I clarify.

"Sort of," she shrugs.

"You can buy yourself a proper outfit or dress when we're in town."

"Really?" she cheers.

"It's not like I'm a cheapskate. Friends don't spare anything."

A cheapskate. Twenty thousand caps gave to the Bluerise for nothing.

"Oh, thank you!" she exclaims.

And once again her tender and joyful embrace. It feels so good when her front legs wrap around my neck. I can smell the pleasant scent of her mane. Fresh.

Almost immediately she loosens them. I open my mouth in frustration.

"Ahem... yeah... " she mumbles something, awkwardly looking away. "Okay. I'm going to go take a shower."

I just nod, trying not to picture her wet.

She quickly turns around and walks deep into Heavenly Harbor. I wish I could feel her gentle embrace again. Or, better yet, to embrace her myself. To hold her against me, to feel her body warmth, the touch of her fur against mine.

No... I must resist. I can't let such a sweet and adorable pony suffer for fear of something happening to me, because I have a dangerous life. And so does she.

I'm also human. She won't accept me. Don't forget that. She'll break your heart... and she'll wish she'd never felt anything for me.

***

Nara distracts me from thinking. She climbs on the furniture by various methods, in various places and positions. Maybe I should take a break. I'm too focused on my thoughts. I'll play with her for a while.

She doesn't react when I approach her. I ask her to have some fun. She agrees, and the first thing that comes to my mind is that she liked being on my back.

I put the little orange mare on my back and run around the bunker like I'm being chased by a mix of deathclaw and cazador. I run through all the rooms, imitating the distinctive roar of a sports car engine and occasionally jumping over furniture.

At first, Nara is frightened by the imitation of a powerful engine and rapid run. Soon she gets used to it and her grip loosens a little. The little girl enjoys herself and smiles broadly.

In a few minutes she is already squealing with joy and delight. She has that thin and familiar baby laugh... Especially when its source is right next to my ears. But I like it, so I continue to run around the shelter without slowing down.

"Orange Swirl is taking the lead," I yell, "overtaking Pink Gum! There's not much left, and victory is in her pocket!" We rush up the steps. "Ooh! What a bumpy road up here!"

Pink Gum—Flow—stares at us in bewilderment.

After twenty minutes, I finally run out of breath and fall onto one of the couches in the main hall.

"Victory! We've reached the finish line! And the transport has run out of fuel," I say to my passenger, lying tiredly on the couch and burying my face in it.

"I want more!" she exclaims.

"Car's tired, no fuel," I excuse myself, struggling to lift a hoof.

"Well I want more..." Nara pushes me lightly in the back.

I try to make a sound like the car is desperately sucking up leftover fuel, and then I pretend to pass out completely, and don't respond in any way to her subsequent requests. She climbs off my back, purposefully running somewhere.

I hear the clatter of hooves on the floor, turn my head sullenly, and see Nara with Sparkle Cola in her teeth, looking at me expectantly. I burst out laughing, back hiding my face in the couch, unable to stop laughing suppressedly.

How much I dislike Sparkle Cola...

"Thake..." she utters slurred. I reluctantly get up, sitting down normally on the couch.

"Thanks," I smile tiredly and shake my head.

Nara smiles sweetly and looks at me expectantly. I levitate the bottle to me with magic, pull the cap off and take a small sip, then set the bottle on the small table.

I do my best to hide my dislike of carbonated carrot juice. I don't want to upset her.

"My engines are overheating from all the hard work. So that's it. Play with Ferris or Edge."

Nara pouts her lips and looks at me sadly. I hug her. She smiles, but still looks sad and goes away. Motley appears in the main hall.

"Oh! Looking lovely," I say to the pretty pegasus dressed in battle armor.

"Thank you," she nods and walks over to me. "You two looked pretty cute," she adds and turns to the small table with Sparkle Cola.

"Not as cute as Nara on your back some time ago." The pegasus turns away, looking at the table with the bottle again.

We set course for Oasis of Vanhoover and land on the rooftop of The Bottomless Chest store, a vast two-story building owned by our friend Bluerise. One of the Sentinels is traveling with us, to act as a guard in case someone gets the idea to take another bite at my baby. It's not like anyone can start the engines of a Vertibuck without a code, but it's never a bad idea to be careful.

Last time I didn't know where Bluerise was, but now I do, and I'm gonna leave the Vertibuck over her place. I hope she won't be upset to see that thing on the roof of her store. On the other hand, it'll just attract more customers! So she'll have to thank me!

"Do you mind?" I ask Bluerise, standing at the exit of the store with her mouth gaping open. Motley pulls me down from the roof, since getting down without breaking my hooves in the process is not an option.

Though I could have just teleported—and wasted some of my magic.

"I don't even know what to say," the unicorn looks first at the Vertibuck and then at me. "I certainly didn't freak out too badly when the ceiling of my store shuddered. But it's sure to get attention! Which means more possible customers coming to gawk at that shit."

"So," I'm glad we both see the benefit of it, "you're okay with it. And don't worry, there's a Sentinel, and also the security codes. So this thing won't be stolen from me once again. How are you doing?" I ask, as if this conversation never happened.

"Yeah everything's great," she looks me over carefully. "You look nice," she smiles. "And where are we going dressed up like this?"

"Business and stuff. Gonna have to hang around town and build up a bit of a reputation."

"Well, I won't keep you." We head away. "Good luck to you," she shouts after a brief pause, adding, "lovebirds."

I glance stealthily at the pegasus, who is lost for a moment.

"Here we are at the market," I turn fully to Motley. "Are you going to look for something to dress up in, or what?"

"What? Oh, yeah," she glances around nervously. "Will you... walk with me?"

"Maybe," I smile, "I should also help you try something on and actually put it on?"

There is confusion on the pegasus' face, a pink blush coloring her cheeks.

"Ha-ha. Nice joke," she says with the same irony.

Actually, it wasn't so much a joke as a suggestion... I guess. I'm having a hard time understanding myself lately.

"And I was already thinking of helping you with that," I get naively upset.

"Oh," the pegasus rolls her eyes dramatically, walking past me. "And you're going where the sun don't shine."

"To the cave?" I inquire innocently.

"Yeah..." she stretches out meaningfully. "There..."

We pass clothing stores, and not bad ones at that, but the pegasus quickly runs her eyes over their contents through the windows and, not satisfied with what she sees, steps further.

What on earth is she looking for? A royal dress? Do I even have enough caps to pay for it?

Eventually we leave the market, and after twenty minutes the pegasus finds a suitable shop. It's quite large in size and has a rich assortment.

My nominal bag of caps shrinks in fear and bursts into a frenzy, wanting to run somewhere far away from this place. The little cheapskate in me tells me that there will be a bottomless pit in my budget if I continue to store with the overexcited pegasus. But for the sake of her smile, I'm willing to make this heroic sacrifice.

The main thing is to have money for food and ammunition later.

A lot of mannequins... I mean ponynequins, showing a variety of dresses of all possible colors and styles. Such an abrupt change of colors makes me dizzy. The lamps illuminate the room with yellow light, and the walls are painted with beige paint, the floor is covered with strong and strong parquet. A soft and unobtrusive, barely perceptible melody plays in the background. Reminiscent of the lobby of Tenpenny Tower and Tenpony Tower.

Most of the visitors are mares. They choose their next outfit, as they have an absolute preference for expensive and exquisite clothing.

Judging by how clean, new and wonderful everything is here, this shop, I am more than sure, belongs to the Softhooves family, for whom fashion and style are above all else.

I can already get a sense of how much one dress will cost here.

I sit down in one of the brown upholstered armchairs and look around the room, trying to find Motley, who, having slipped into the store, disappeared like lightning after a flash. Why did she need me then? Oh, I still have all the cash.

I sit for about ten minutes, reading—or rather, looking at pictures of an old pre-war fashion magazine. There's nothing in it that's useful to me, but I don't mind looking at the beauty standards of this world.

Motley is shown in a beautiful new dress; next to her is a maroon-colored salesmare in a humble outfit.

The hem of the dress is slightly wavy and of an exceptional blue, almost sapphire color, the rest of it, separated by a white sash with a buckle somewhere in the belly area, is entirely in patterns in the form of waves of a blue hue. Quite unusual, but it looks lovely, especially on Motley. It's not flashy, but it's not plain either. Also included in the set are elegant blue hoofpieces, harmonizing with the color of the outfit. The only thing missing is a hat to complete the picture.

"Well... How do I look?" Motley asks shyly, walking up to me and gracefully wrapping herself around me, fully revealing the beauty of the outfit.

"Like a fragrant prairie flower," I smile. "No matter what you wear, you'll always look simply fabulous—you're the one who colors the clothes, giving them a sophisticated and elegant look. If someone else tried on this dress, it would immediately lose its unforgettable beauty and subtlety..."

The salesgirl giggles softly, covering her mouth with her hoof. I can roast meat on Motley's face. She wags her hoof on the floor. She's probably embarrassed to dig herself a hole and hide in it.

I love it, putting other people in that state of mind. There's a certain beauty to it. Though mentally I'm surprised at how easily I throw compliments around, especially to Motley.

"How much for everything?" I ask the salesgirl, admiring the pegasus. She grimaces.

"Eight hundred caps," she replies calmly.

I'm yanked out of the ocean of thought. It's like I'm almost drowning underwater.

That's fucked in the head!

"Is that how to buy, or how to sell?" I ask after a brief pause, chuckling. "You can see how perfectly the dress fits this flower," I murmur, which makes the salesmare raise an eyebrow. "What a hue, what a cut, and what a material... Ooh!" I utter rapturously and enthusiastically, getting carried away. "The full and true beauty of the dress is given by this lovely pegasus, this amazing flower of the Wasteland. It is nothing without her," I lower my voice, speaking in a dramatic tone. "Wouldn't you agree? It is she who is destined to wear this marvelous garment, for only this gentle and tender beauty can reveal its full majesty and charm. All the stallions will begin to sigh lustfully and languidly at the sight of this attractive lady, and the mares will only sigh dreamily and cast jealous glances."

"Oh," the salesgirl sighs, covering her eyes for a few seconds. I seem to have hit on a common ground. She appreciates the beauty of clothes and their meaning. "I'd have a similar thing said to me... O-o-okay. Seven hundred caps for this flower."

"I see you have an appreciation for the beauty of clothes. And," I say affectionately, looking her closely right in her eyes, "you realize what a waste it would be if this unique and precious dress fell into other hooves, am I right? " I lean closer to her with gentleness in my gaze.

"I think so..."

"In other hooves, this superb garment would lose its marvelous beauty. Only this pony, wearing this dress, will give a message to all others by its appearance, how magnificent and matchless it is. And if anyone asks where this beauty came from, we say it was created by the Softhooves family. Made just for this pegasus! The Softhoves create outfits just for everyone. And here it is—the proof."

"Oh... Okay, let's make it six hundred and fifty. That's all."

The former captain of the Enclave's reconnaissance squad doesn't know where to put herself, and is seriously about to fall through the floor. It's an indescribable sight.

"Thank you," I smile.

I hand the salesgirl a check for the amount indicated. She leaves. I was willing to pay eight hundred caps just to see Motley happy and satisfied. But I wouldn't be myself if I turned down this opportunity to make someone feel uncomfortable. Besides, it's a great excuse to practice my persuasion skills.

Motley lingered: she picked up her armor.

"You're not going to carr-" I don't even have time to fully turn toward her before the pegasus rises into the air, squeaking, "I'll be right there!" She disappears from sight.

Apparently, she's overheated from all the hot trade. I overdid. I hope she cools down on the flight.

A couple minutes later, she comes back.

"You really know how to work your tongue," she remarks without looking me in the eye.

"You don't realize how much..." I wink, unable to resist.

What on earth is happening to me? Why am I flirting with her so directly? I can't resist it.

The pegasus is covered in a thick veil of embarrassment. What a pleasure this brings me!

''I actually succeeded in convincing her since I spoke sincerely. I wasn't exaggerating at all when I tried to lower the price," I smile gently. She really pierced my heart mercilessly with her appearance. She is beautiful in that dress. "I always speak from the heart and don't skimp on compliments."

"Thank you," she barely audibly mumbles, lowering her head.

***

Prince reminded me of the Arena in Vanhoover. I wanted to visit it just out of interest, but now I have time, because the trail to the Dome has been lost and I don't know what to do about it. I will study the life of the city more closely; maybe I'll learn something useful.

On the way to the Arena, a memory of Pitt came to mind.

I'd been a slave once; to get my freedom, I had to fight in the Hole and win three hard fights with every weapon and method at my disposal. The fights were fought to the death. I was able to win only through the help of a woman from the factory yard. She taught me a lot of things and my fighting skills increased greatly.

The Arena... I wonder what it's like here? I remember the rules of participation and the importance to the city, but I would like to visually appreciate this place, one of the most popular. Violence and aggression is part of our nature, both humans, ponies, griffons... whatever. It's a way of surviving. And it needs to be satisfied somehow, so it's no surprise that a fighting arena is a favorite place.

There was something similar in New Reno, where there were more or less official competitions between fighters: boxing at the Jungle Gym. I did not participate there, I had no desire to lose some of my teeth for the sake of entertainment. But I had heard that the Chosen One had once become the champion. I read it in his memoirs. He's quite a funny guy, despite the fact that he's a tribal savage; he's managed to get along quite well in the civilized world, as far as today's society can be considered civilized.

In addition to the standard purpose of fights—to vent aggression—the Arena now has another purpose: to test a slave's ability to be independent and responsible for his own life. Slaves hope to prove their ability to defend themselves without taking the lives of others: the opponent must not be killed. Otherwise, the contestant faces a fine and disqualification.

Soon we approached the Vanhoover arena, located ten blocks off Mane Street. The arena building is an elongated rectangular shape about five stories high. There are two dozen masters bustling around with their slaves. Some of the slaves are different from the ones I've seen before, with stronger and more imposing muscles, but there are also slaves with a normal build. The eyes are burning with passion. The slaves are ready to fight for their independence, giving their masters a chance to earn a decent amount of caps. They are dressed as well as their masters. Arena guards are also posted around the area.

They're pretty tight on security, I see, and they keep order. And they've got some interesting outfits, too.

We got here at the end of the day, so it's pretty crowded. By the way, as I found out later, this place used to be a hockey court. That's why the guards are wearing rather peculiar outfits, strongly reminiscent of pre-war hockey players' uniforms from posters. Their weapons are mostly hockey sticks, only a couple of guards carry two miniguns on their saddles.

In some places the building looks ragged and anarchic from the fall of the megaspells, but judging by the subtle differences made during the restoration, it's in good condition by the standards of the Wastelands and the city in particular.

To enter the Arena, one hundred caps per body must be paid. No matter how long you stay there, the price of admission is the same at any time of day. The Arena is open to the public from ten in the morning until three in the morning. Most crowds converge after dusk, as most of the masters are released from their work somewhere around that time and can enjoy the spectacle.

After paying for ourselves, we go inside and find ourselves in a lobby that completely wraps around the arena and follows the shape of the building. Here before the war they used to hand in their upper clothes, but now they are places for handing in weapons, because the entrance to the stands with weapons and ammunition is strictly forbidden. In the same place there are also vendors who sell only food and drinks.

If visitors leave the Arena building, they will not return until they have paid the next one hundred caps. Already from here I can hear the crowd cheering enthusiastically as they support one of the fighters.

We head towards the stands, which are accessed by only four entrances from the lobby area, located in each corner of the main hall. There are guards standing at these entrances to make sure we leave all our weapons by the checkroom. We don't have any extra upper warm clothes on: it's not cold enough to wear them yet. The only question is about the weapons. I am the only one who has left it, as Motley has no weapons other than his hooves.

In the stands, Motley and I look around. Around the arena are seating places in the form of plastic chairs connected to each other. The walls are finished in light gray plaster, and there are small spotlights on the ceiling that cast a white light over the central part of the hall. Almost all the seats are already occupied: at the bottom completely, and closer to the top more free. We barely found two free seats somewhere in the middle of the row, but even from here everything is clearly visible.

There is no ice on the hockey ground, instead everything is covered with a long ago hardened layer of soil, which is even overgrown with low grass at the borders. The arena is divided into two arenas, so it is possible to watch two fights at the same time. Slaves are fighting on one arena, and ordinary masters are fighting on the other. Apparently, there are more than enough individuals willing to prove themselves among both. This place is indeed of great importance in the life of the city.

Slave fighters have their collars removed for safety. The use of any drugs among the fighters is strictly forbidden. Before the fight, each participant is tested for drugs in the blood with the help of magic spells or devices. However, I'm sure that cheating is pervasive, as it's one of the ways for the checkers to shake more caps off the master if he wants to win unfairly. I think this restriction was put in place for just such a purpose. Another way of profiteering that isn't quite legal.

Implants are also forbidden, except for life-sustaining devices such as pacemakers. I'm not allowed in the arena. I think the situation with implants is the same as with drugs: pay the caps and the strict rule doesn't affect you anymore. Any weapons, including bladed weapons, as well as metal or any other devices on the hooves that allow gaining superiority over the opponent, are also forbidden.

The fight lasts no more than twenty minutes; if either fighter does not surrender, the referee declares a draw. No one has lost or won anything. The loser in the arena is the one who is unable to rise on all four legs within ten seconds. Ponies in white coats are on duty near the two arenas in case a seriously wounded fighter needs urgent treatment. Naturally, for a nominal fee, they will provide this service.

There are no forbidden techniques in the arena. In the event of a slave's death, the owner would be compensated according to the value of the lost property, and the killer would lose ten previous victories in his progress toward freedom. And, just as Flow said, five accidental kills are followed by a lifetime disqualification.

Once a slave has reached nearly a hundred victories, the Arena managers may be willing to re-buy the winners from their masters for a decent amount of caps. The masters have the right to refuse, but in most cases they agree, as a slave who has won almost a hundred fights will soon be unable to participate in fights because of the freedom he has gained, and the master himself does not need strong guards. The Arena management keeps these fighters as guards. After hearing this, I took a closer look at one of the guards and noticed a barely visible collar underneath the layer of equipment.

The guards don't need to be paid, and their experience in hoof-to-hoof combat has long since been clearly proven. Excellent fighting dogs standing guard. Arena management benefits from this.

Bets are placed before the fight starts; they can be placed in the lobby at a specific location. There is also a list of those participating in the fights for that day. The person signing up for a fight has to wait for their turn, usually it comes the next day. It depends on the length of the fights, which normally rarely last more than ten minutes.

I don't offer Motley any fights, because that would require waiting her turn, and we do the betting amongst ourselves. She ends up earning about two hundred caps for her own expenses, even though I pay for everything. I wonder where she intends to spend it. She's a better judge of the matter than I am.

We talk about the fighters, how they fight, discuss the moves they've performed. Some of the moves I could definitely repeat, but most of them I can't do, their execution looks quite difficult. The fighters perform very well compared to Motley. However, I'm sure that the precise movements of my pegasus would take down even a massive opponent—the taller the cabinet, the louder it falls. She could defeat her opponents by snapping them like peanuts.

Sitting for about three hours, watching the fights and discussing them. The audience in the stands are cheering and applause is heard. They just have fun and enjoy watching exciting fights, quenching their aggressive impulses. I go for drinks a couple of times, and Motley keeps an eye on our seats, as they can be taken by anyone: already at the height of the evening there are already enough seats for all the spectators with a strain. Apart from the fights, I don't talk to Motley about anything else. Though, no matter what the topic of conversation is, I enjoy just being around her and discussing things with her.

A dark gray earth pony with a black mane and tail, some strands of hair white, enters the slave arena. Everyone greets him with his stage name, Black Feather. Even the slaves are given nicknames by the audience, all because he has the lowest number of defeats in the ratio of victories among the contestants: five to sixty. His eyes burn with self-confidence, he is fully determined to win today in the hope of gaining his freedom. Judging by his direct gaze, uncharacteristic of a slave, he hasn't been chained in the collar for very long. One or two years. So how did an experienced fighter like him become a sla-.

"It can't be!" Motley's suppressed shriek interrupts my thoughts. I turn back to the pegasus in surprise and confusion, her stunned gaze fixed on Black Feather. The fight has already begun, and she's staring at the fighter as if he were a ghost. "That's Blaze! I mean, he's... died... because of me..."

It's an earth pony. Maybe she's mistaking him for someone else? I remember Blaze being a member of Motley's squad, but... how could an earth pony serve in the Enclave, as a scout...

Wait a minute... part of his back is bandaged. I first thought it was damage from previous battles. There's a subtle bulge under the bandages, when I look closely. Two bumps... where pegasi usually have wings.

Oh...

Chapter 20 - The Glass Key

View Online

Motley believed that she had dealt personally with her former companions and her lover. And she hates herself very much for it. I understand her perfectly.

Violet survived, not without faith in the Enclave and its ideals, but she had to die: she would not stop in her plans to kill Motley.

Now it turns out that another member of the brown-haired pegasus' squad, Blaze, is alive.

Will Blaze behave the way Violet does when he finds out his former commander is alive and unharmed? Motley told me once that Blaze wasn't so ideologically driven. He also came to the Enclave for his own material reasons, but he doesn't want to conflict with them. I really hope that Motley and I can resolve this issue without killing.

***

"How is this possible...?" Motley whispers finally, watching Blaze easily defeat his opponent.

Her question clearly does not refer to the victory he has won. The pegasus has not uttered a single word since the fight began, watching him with a shocked expression as if he were a dead pony she had once personally killed. I would have been dumbfounded just as much if I had seen the reanimated Brisa.

Blaze's martial arts skills are as good as Motley's, but his movements are not as fluid and graceful. His opponent tries to attack Black Feather's bandaged back. That's what the latter is hoping for and has been prepared in advance. I think he won most of his fights this way—the opponent attacks the bandaged back, assuming that he had been seriously injured in that place at some point. It's an interesting way to anticipate your opponent's intentions—it's how he wraps vulnerability into superiority. And yet: if his opponent reached the sore spot—isn't that a guarantee of a loss?

The referee declares Black Feather's victory, and he announces the next bout. It is worth mentioning that Blaze's match with his opponent drew a standing ovation from the audience, who watched the fight with inexpressible admiration. Almost all eyes were fixed on the fight, where one of the most experienced fighters among the slaves was fighting. What was going on in the neighboring arena, where the masters were fighting, was of little interest. Even if I didn't know about his past, I would only be watching his fight, even if it was brief. At one point, I wanted to watch Blaze fight Eric. I suppose it would have looked very exciting.

Blaze disappears from sight, and Motley turns to face me—her eyes full of confusion, she's completely at a loss as to what she should do right now.

"Do you want to talk to him?" I ask quietly. The pegasus' face displays a spectrum of emotions. The audience around does not pay any attention to us: they are all consumed by the tumultuous emotions after watching such a beautiful and marvelous fight.

"I... This is... so unexpected," she says at last. "I've already mentally buried my friends and the special pony. I don't know how Blaze will react to my appearance. Violet..."

"I remember her reaction."

"He fought on the slave grounds, which means he lost his freedom as well as his ability to fly," Motley's voice trembles.

"If you don't want to talk to him..."

"I'm the reason he's in this position," she continues, breathing heavily but trying to keep her composure. "The only thing I'm in a position to do... is free him."

"I'd like to do that too, but can you imagine how much slave fighters cost? Especially ones so popular and capable. We simply don't have enough caps. The Arena Management will offer his master or mistress a large amount of caps that we won't be able to cover. Plus, I doubt he or she would want to sell such an experienced fighter to anyone else. I doubt that fact is unknown to the masters."

"You think I don't know it without you?!" Motley raises his voice. "He was my friend! We were a squad!" Her voice drops to a whisper and her gaze drifts somewhere off to the side. "I can't leave him here, in this horror. I... Already crippled him by one wing then in the firefight. Because of me, the masters for their own sadistic desire and pleasure tore off his other wing as well..." she lowers her head heavily.

"Let's find him and his master, and then we'll see," I say.

I'm more than sure that Blaze will be very unhappy to meet the familiar that got him here. Lost his ability to fly.

***

I pick up the weapons in the main lobby, and Motley and I find Blaze and his mistress a short time later in the slave fighter room where the locker room for the hockey players used to be. The other slaves and their masters are here.

Blaze is the first to notice the appearance of the new ponies in close proximity to him. His green eyes go wide and then fill with anger. He rushes to attack Motley, but is stopped with a gesture of the hoof by the olive-colored unicorn with a short mane of dark scarlet.

"Whoa-whoa, easy," the mistress hastily stops her slave. "Calm down, if you hurt them, I'll have to answer for it."

"I don't give a shit about the other one, I just want her!" The wingless dark gray pegasus says angrily, "Let me gut this bi..."

He cries out, the unicorn's front hoof hitting him on his bandaged back.

"I said calm the fuck down! You know what I'll do to you if you don't obey!"

The anger of the gray pegasus with the black mane changes to barely perceptible fear, and he falls silent, but his full fury gaze continues to burn through Motley. The expression on her face mirrors the storm of thoughts and emotions going through her head.

"Okay," the unicorn looks at us, "let's get to the point. Who are you?"

"Just audience," I reply calmly, struggling to maintain the friendliness in my voice. "And we would like to buy your slave."

"I find it hard to believe that you know him as nothing more than a common slave. So don't bullshit me."

"An old... acquaintance," I explain. "We never expected to find him here. We need to settle some business with him."

"What kind of business?" the unicorn inquires, focusing her attention on me and only occasionally glancing at Motley, who keeps her gaze on Blaze.

"That shouldn't concern you. We just want to buy him back from you." The unicorn laughs.

"That's not going to happen. He's a capable fighter, both in the ring and in the... bed. I love how he likes to beg me for the opportunity to fight in The Arena..." At those words, Blaze averts her eyes in disgust mixed with shame. "You'll settle your score with him later. In about a year, he'll be free. Or maybe sooner, depending on how he begs. And I have no intention of bargaining with you, unless you offer me at least thirteen grand for this handsome."

I look away awkwardly. Holy shit, what an insolent bitch. In my time in the Wasteland, I've never heard of slaves costing that kind of caps!

"Your silence indicates that you don't have that amount of money, so this conversation is no longer worthwhile. So I advise you to scurry away, or else this whole thing won't come to any good."

The unicorn walks past us smugly and pompously, followed reluctantly by Blaze, who pauses for a brief moment as he passes next to Motley and whispers barely audible to me: "Wait, you'll answer for everything I've been through here, you fucking bitch," he shoves her defiantly with his shoulder and follows his mistress.

His anger is understandable—as is Violet's. Both of them have had a hard time. And both have put all the blame on Motley, even though she only defended herself, while they went after her themselves.

The pegasus stands as if her hooves were chained to the floor, hesitant to say anything. Her legs suddenly give out. She sits down on a nearby bench and bows her head.

"Motley?" I say cautiously, approaching her.

"What?!" she raises her head sharply.

Her eyes are watery. My heart clenches in pain and my stomach feels like it's being tied in a knot and falling into a huge hole. I sit down next to her and hug her reassuringly. Motley nuzzles her nose into my neck and sobs bitterly, trying to keep from sobbing. I slowly stroke her head.

I cuddle her tightly against me, covering her with my body in an attempt to protect her from the pain of the world around her.

"I understand what you're going through," I say sympathetically.

Her friend, a former squad member who lost a wing and then another, is now an outcast of the Enclave and is in the shackles of slavery through pain and torment. And all of this is partly on the pegasus' conscience. If I were her, I would take all the blame, which makes me realize how much she needs support.

"Don't think 'what if...' Right now you have to think about the present and how to ease his suffering and set him free."

"How?" she says in a broken voice and hugs me tighter.

"Don't be so discouraged. There is always a way out. There isn't one when the ground falls on your coffin, and even then it's not a fact."

I suddenly remember how I've been buried alive in a grave twice and been rescued, once by a securitron and the second time by the only bounty hunter who didn't betray me.

"I'm here with you, and I'll help you, so chances are you'll succeed. We'll figure something out, I promise, but for now, let's get out of here. If I make promises, I'll fulfill them, even if I'm smashed to bits."

***

I buy some food, and we rent a room for two in one of the hotels near The Arena with two separate beds, which is important.

"Who was Blaze in your squad?" I ask, sitting in one of the padded chairs. Motley sits in the other one right next to mine. She's worried, uncomfortable with the realization that her close friend is now suffering.

"A good and capable soldier. Not bad at shooting different weapons, as good as me in hoof-to-hoof combat, and adept at technology, but within the scope of all sorts of air transportation."

"You mean he was a pilot?"

"The best on the course," Motley smiles weakly, nibbling his lips restlessly during her pauses. "He could skillfully pilot various types of transports, both conventional and combat. He derived as much pleasure from it as he did from flying. Losing his wings for a pegasus is equivalent to..."

"Castration of a stallion, I get it," I put in.

The pegasus' multicolored eyes look at me strangely, yet she nods weakly.

"I've tried to avoid the topic, realizing how hard this is for you. But what did happen in that fight after all?" I inquire. "You don't have to answer if it hurts you to remem-."

"It's okay. I need to tell you..." she sighs heavily and bites her lower lip again.

It's hard to watch this, so to give her some comfort and encouragement, I place my hoof on her shoulder. She shudders at the touch and looks at me, then nods weakly and continues speaking, slowly and sometimes with long pauses between sentences.

"At one point in the fight, Violet used a plasma grenade against me. I managed to throw it back, and it exploded next to Violet. Apparently not that close if she managed to survive it, but she was definitely thrown out the window by the shockwave. Hit Blaze in the wing during the fight. It started to, uh... melting, and he screamed in agony and fell down. It doesn't take much thought to realize that the other wing was just ripped off for completeness, so to speak," the pegasus says with bitterness and disgust in her voice. "Light... He never once attacked at full strength during the fight. Most likely he was just exhausting me so he could capture me later. I was severely wounded. He decided this was a good chance to capture me alive, and came close to me. I, knowing the weak spot in his power armor, stabbed him with the stinger built into my tail. That blow proved fatal to him."

"At least you didn't kill your frien-"

"Instead, I broke their lives: they experienced suffering and agony because of me. That is far worse than death. All the responsibility is on me," she interrupts me without raising her head. Blaise's appearance has revived those consuming thoughts and feelings in her again.

"It's their fault for following you."

"Violet... Light... They all died because of me. If it were possible, I would give my life for the three of them, just so they wouldn't suffer and would be alive."

I stroke her shoulder.

"I would give my life for Brisa, too. But we need to think about today. What we can still fix. Blaze is still alive, and that's what matters most. So let's think together about how to pull your friend out of the shit he's gotten himself into. Take a deep breath. No, let's together..."

I take a deep breath; the pegasus repeats after me. Then I exhale as she does. A few more times, she takes a few deep breaths on her own.

"Thank you for... helping me cope," the awkwardness is palpable in her voice, but of a different kind. Realizing she's calmed down, I remove my hoof from her leg and sit up normally.

"Let's continue about Blaze. I was just thinking about what his owner said when she mentioned what she was doing to him, why was he so disgusted to hear it?"

"The thing is, Blaze.... um... how to put it... He doesn't like mares in that way," Motley says, causing me to go into a bit of a stupor. Shit... He had the misfortune to have a slave mare.

"Oh..." I shake my head, shaking off the unnecessary thoughts that, as usual, are taking me into the wrong wilds. "What else can you tell me about him?"

"A little cynical, but good natured. He liked to make jokes; mostly failed miserably, actually, just like you," the pegasus waits for a brief pause, studying my face, which doesn't show anything special.

Even at times like this, she tries to tease me. Good for her. Apparently, she herself has a fondness for jokes in her past.

"He tried to defuse the general tension during missions and assignments. All failures perceived in a joking tone with a dose of cynicism, philosophically, as he said: say, in comparison with eternity, it's all nothing. Something like that. When I looked at him today, I was especially pained by what had become of him. It was the first time I'd seen him so depressed and exhausted. It was my fault he was put in that position. And the way he reacted to me... so much anger and rage. It was even worse to hear that kind of thing from him."

"But you hung in there," I smile warmly at her. "And I'm proud of you."

"Only because you helped me. Without you..."

"I'm glad to be of service to you. How are we going to get him out of this mess..."

I yawn widely, and Motley follows me, too.

"Oh," I utter, "we'll think about that tomorrow, nothing sensible is coming to my sleepy head right now. Let's go to bed."

"I'm going to get some fresh air... lots of it. Good night," she leaves the room without letting me say anything.

Well, it'll be easier for me to fall asleep in her absence. I undress and hop on the bed, wrapping myself tightly in the blanket and falling asleep almost immediately.

***

17th of the Month of Heather, Yellowday. Fifty-fifth day of my stay.

So, uh... where am I? Oh, right. I remember. I feel just fine after a long sleep.

I slowly open my eyes and look at the clock on the wall. It's early morning.

I look back at the bed next to me, where Motley is sleeping... Motley was supposed to be sleeping. But judging by the crumpled bedclothes, she's already awake. But where's the pegasus herself? Where had she gone? After twenty minutes of lying down and coming to my senses, I dress and am about to leave the room, but the door opens before me, and my thoughtful companion appears behind it. Noticing me in the doorway in front of her, she shrieks in confusion.

"Oh, you're awake already, and here I am... While you were sleeping, I decided to go to a restaurant for breakfast. So as not to come back with empty hooves, knowing that you would also be hungry... so, uh... bought you some food," she leans down and pulls a small bag out of her satchel with her teeth.

"Oh, thank you so much for your concern," I smile, magically taking the bag and heading back to the room. I sit down in a chair and sort through the contents of the bag. Motley sits down in the other chair.

"Where did you get the caps for this?" I inquire casually.

The bag contains a light breakfast: sugar bombs, two fresh apples, a large freshly baked muffin, and a bottle of Queen's Kiss. The last time I drank it was when I was at Luxury hotel with Flow.

Something makes me crave a strawberry dessert...

"The ones I won from you on your bets."

"You didn't have to spend money for me. I've got plenty of my own."

"No, no. It's okay," she smiles softly. "Anyway, I can't buy much with it."

"Well, thanks again, then," I reply. Oh, so it's a gift, then. That's nice of her. Reminds me of the time she went shopping with the Bluerise and got snacks and didn't even think of me, but then bought me baked apples on a stick afterwards.

So that she doesn't just stare at me eating, I decide to ask some not at all unreasonable questions.

"How did you manage to fall asleep later than me and wake up earlier?" I wonder and stuff another sugar bomb into my mouth.

I like to treat myself to a sweet treat in the morning sometimes. Even though I'm not that much of a sweet taster.

"I was on the roof and just looking at the clouds," the expression on the pegasus' face twitches with a shadow of nostalgia for a while. "I kept having thoughts of Blaze. I ended up barely sleeping for a couple hours. Unpleasant and restless thoughts kept rushing into my head. At breakfast, I was thinking about how to get Blaze out."

"I thought I said we were going to ponder together. Oh, come on. She won't sell him to us anyway," I say, chewing on the last of bombs. "At least..." I take the muffin and take a bite of it.

Fresh and sweet baked goods... just like a song. Delicious!

"...Until he wins the last, hundredth match," I continue, chewing on a bite of the muffin. "Which won't be for another year at the earliest."

"I can't stand that kind of wait."

"We could try stealing it."

"Steal it?" the pegasus wondered, then frowned. "That would be dangerous. Besides, the mistress knows of our interest in Blaze."

"We need an alibi," I say, finishing the soft muffin.

I take a bite of the apple. Taking bite after bite from it, I periodically lick my lips, licking the apple juice off of them. I notice Motley's eyes on me, or rather on the apple. And offer her a second apple.

"Huh?.. No thanks, I don't want one," she gives me a slight smile.

"Go ahead, I can see the way you're looking at that apple... you must be hungry yourself."

"I'm not looking at-" the pegasus is suddenly silent, pressing her lips together.

"And at..?" I don't have time to ask the question before she snatches an apple from my hooves and takes to eating it with burning cheeks.

Now I don't quite get it. What has confused her so much, and where, if not on the food, she... I remember staring at Flow while she ate strawberry dessert at the hotel; I thought of the ambiguity of what I had seen. And I also remember responding to the pegasus' words that she was a skillful with tongue.

What a perverted imagination she had. Just like mine.

"So," I continue, "we need an alibi. We'll ask our friends to handle the change of ownership. You know the kind of friends I'm talking about..." I hint at the Stable with the escaped slaves.

"What are we going to do?"

"For starters, we go back there and ask for clues as to who might be able to help us," I say, finishing my apple.

I put the bottle of Queen's Kiss in my bag. I'll drink it later. I don't feel like drinking alcohol lately.

I'm just now noticing. There's a great variety of alcoholic beverages in this city, but why did the pegasus choose this one? I don't remember telling her I've ever tried it. I feel like she's hinting at something with the name of the drink. 'Kiss.'

It's unlikely. It's just a coincidence. And as usual, I'm looking for meaning where none exists, especially now that part of me is pushing me closer to Motley. Damn hormones.

I turn the room in to the receptionist, and we head to Venture.

***

"Maybe you want me to paint you in a painting?" an earth pony of dark turquoise color asks, blocking our way.

"Why would I do that?" I'm perplexed. The mare's face expresses desperation.

"It's beautiful when your identity rests on the canvas. It will be your own mirror of the emotions and feelings you experienced in that moment!"

"That's what cameras are for."

"Soulless and cold apparatuses can memorize reality, but no more than that, because they do not see the inner state, soul, emotions and impressions. Only the living can see the soul, display it on the canvas as we see it. Show the true beauty of the soul and the depth of the heart. So," the mare worries, "will you take the order? Or at least buy a painting?"

"Artists are a rarity in the Wasteland," I pronounce.

I'm reminded of a previously acquainted artist, Michael Angelo, who lived on the Strip in New Vegas and suffered from agoraphobia, that is, a fear of open space. I once helped him with inspiration by running all over Mojave and photographing famous landmark signs. But I've met artists of varying skill levels in other parts of the Badlands before that.

"I wouldn't mind, but what's the rush?"

"I'm having trouble with my income, that's all. There are hardly any customers lately; few want paintings, especially from lesser-known artists. I've had no luck with connections... So you agree?"

"That's not really the problem, as far as I know artists will always have commissions, especially in the current times when they are in abundance. Connections only help you find rich buyers. I'll ask again, what's the rush? I can see the anxiety."

"My husband is missing. I found a note at the door that said ransom was due. If I don't collect the required number of caps in a week, they will give him into slavery and erase all memory!" the artist's eyes fill with tears. "And I won't be able to find him in this huge city anymore."

"How much did they demand?"

"Twelve thousand caps. It's been five days, and I haven't even collected a third of it."

"Have you contacted the police?"

"The kidnappers mentioned that if the police started investigating, they'd kill him. Besides, the police can search for months, everyone knows how slow they are in cases like this. I have no choice but to work day and night, but even so I can't keep up..."

I think I should try looking for her husband. Prince said that I need to be bonded to the city, and how can I do that without helping the citizens of the city? Besides, I don't mind helping.

"We'll look for him," I say. "I'll help you. Just tell me where to start looking?"

"B-but I told you, if there's an investigation..."

"It was about the police," I interrupt gently, "and I don't belong to them. Just a random passerby, or an acquaintance of yours who decided to look for his wayward friend," I smile warmly.

It's odd that the kidnappers set such a short time frame and amount of money. Also, not a rounded amount: ten, twenty thousand. And I doubt her husband will be kept alive, even if she gives the necessary amount. She said herself she has no connections, and the police here are unlikely to do anything.

"When did he go missing?"

"Thank you very much! He was supposed to come back from work at the factory five days ago, but he never made it. He was always late, as he liked to visit some bar on his way home."

"Which one?"

"He didn't visit the same bar several times in a row, his choices were random. But usually the establishments weren't too far from the road home."

"Can you give me a description of your husband?"

"His name is Longhooves, he is a twenty-nine year old, lavender colored earth pony. Short wavy white mane, smoky blue eyes. Was dressed in a red sweater, leather gray jacket, gray pants. He works at a metal recycling plant seven blocks east of here. Please find him in these two days or else his-" the mare lowers her head. I walk over to her and place my hoof on her shoulder. She raises her gaze to me.

"We'll find him, I promise."

"Thank you... I'll continue my work for now, maybe I can sell something to passersby."

We head towards the factory.

"Motley," I say, "you move faster. Fly down to the factory and ask the administration if our missing guy left the factory and at what approximate time. I'll go to the bars... you know, to investigate."

"Sure."

I spend several hours walking through the various taverns, asking the barpony about the missing guy. To no avail: all these bars Longhooves had not visited five days ago, but he himself was remembered as a frequent visitor. When Motley returned to me, she reported that he had left the factory at seven o'clock in the evening as usual five days ago, and had not been seen since.

Motley and I separate again. She goes to the bars now, too, only separately from me. It'll be quicker that way. And if we don't make any progress by tonight, we'll go back to the artist. Then plan "B" will come into play: we'll check the place where the caps should have been left. The kidnapper has to check it himself. That's how we'll get him! I somehow forgot to ask the artist about this. Shit! I don't even know her name. Realizing this gives me a mental facehoof.

"Hello," I say to another barpony. He looks at me without much interest, wiping a large glass. "Have you seen five days ago, somewhere between seven and eight o'clock this evening, a lavender earth pony in his thirties with a white mane, wearing a leather gray jacket and a red sweater?"

"Let me think," he replies and sets the glass on the table, leaning against the counter. "Yeah, I remember. He got pretty drunk with one of the customers that day, they spent an hour talking quite boisterously and keeping the rest of us quiet. I had to ask them several times to be quieter."

"When and how did they leave?"

"The one you described was drunk out of his mind, barely standing on his own four legs. The other one paid for him and helped him out of my bar. I think they took a left turn..."

"What did the other one look like?"

"I don't remember. Warm coat."

"Thanks," I reply and head for the exit.

I make my way out onto the street.

They made a left turn. I walk down the street that way—maybe I can figure something out. I walk along the street for a bit, but I don't see anything unusual, so I stand still. The ponies go about their business, not even paying attention to my presence.

Maybe I should go through the local houses and ask the occupants...?

"Hey, handsome," a mare's voice calls out to me.

The white-colored mare stands on her hind legs in a small alleyway, resting her back against a stone wall and smoking a cigarette.

"Thinking about having some fun?" she asks.

She's dressed in a provocative open black outfit, the cutouts in it positioned around her hips, drawing the customers' attention there, and the pony's face is heavily painted. Lipstick, lined eyebrows.

Wait, if she's here a lot, maybe-

"What's on your mind, sugar?" she smiles. "Thinking about what we could do in private, huh?" she asks softly, flicking the cigarette butt away and heading towards me.

"Not really," I smile. "Say, how often do you come here?"

"Want to come visit me next time, honey?" she asks, stepping up close to me.

"Maybe. Depends on what you say."

"And what's so charming that you're interested?"

"Five days ago at about eight o'clock at night, did you notice two drunken stallions here, one of them still helping the other walk."

"Hmm... I was here then. And there were quite a few drunks."

"One of them was wearing a gray jacket, the other a warm coat. Didn't see them?"

"Uh... I remember."

"Can you tell me where they went?"

"Information worth a cap," she throws her front legs over my shoulders and looks me in the eye. "Fifty caps, and I'll tell you. Or I'll give you a discount, just two hundred caps, and we'll spend an hour of pleasure together and then I'll tell you about it. Not only can I suck you off, but I can also swallow your little buddy so deep you'll fantasize about it on lonely nights," the mare purrs gently.

The hardest thing to persuade are these kinds of... personalities. They earn their... sharp tongue, you can't fool them that easily.

"Couldn't the beauty tell me the information for free? Or does she really want to whet the stallion's 'sharp' urges?" I say caressingly, partially drawing my shock sword from its sheath. The mare's gaze becomes uneasy at the sight of the sword. "What do you think?"

"All right..." she smiles strainedly, takes her hooves off my shoulders and turns, looking towards the alleyway on the opposite side of the street. "I offered them a good time then, but the more sober stallion refused and went into that alley," she points with a hoof.

"Thank you."

I head into the designated alley. Behind me there is some swearing.

I take the alley to another street.

Poverty, stench and trash. No slaves walk here, much less well-dressed non-slaves. The ponies that pass me by look in my direction strangely and with undisguised wariness and sometimes contempt. It's not good. If they think of robbing me, they'll get themselves in trouble, because I don't give in easily. It's got a Freeside in Mojave or New Reno street vibe to it.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" a mare asks in an unfriendly gruff voice from the side of the dumpster.

Near the dumpster, an earth pony in rags is lying on old dirty newspapers and other trash. She is filthy, and there is a bad smell coming from her. The mare gives me a wary look, then softens a little.

"Are you going to answer?" she rushes.

"Looking for someone," I reply, approaching her. "Shouldn't you be concerned about the presence of a pony as conspicuous as me?"

"No. You're clearly not here to capture poor folks and sell them into slavery for cheap."

"Why wouldn't you want to willingly serve someone?"

"Fuck it! I don't want to beg for a collar from a rich master. Whether I become a slave or not doesn't matter. It's my choice. I'm responsible for myself... as long as I can. I'd rather die on my own, though."

"What about the Crater or the Wasteland?"

"I don't think I'd survive there. I'd rather be chained up and fucked to death with various perverted acts."

"So what makes you think I'm not one of those who kidnap the inhabitants and enslave them?"

"They're not dumb enough to glower like you do. The ones to fear are poorly dressed ponies and beggars like me. Either they'll turn out to be planted ducks, or they'll want to make caps and catch and sell us. What's the point of these questions? Leave me alone, let me die free in peace. And get out of here if life is precious."

"Did you see two drunken stallions here five days ago? One of them was dragging the other on top of him. They came out of the same alley I did."

"Maybe I did..."

I pull out a bottle of Queen's Kiss. The earth pony's eyes hardly sparkle at the sight of it. It doesn't feel right to give away what Motley has carefully acquired for me, and with her caps won from me in The Arena during friendly bets. But I think she'll understand.

"It's been so long since I've had my favorite drink... Who did you ask about... they went to that house," she points with a gesture of her hoof to a three-story building, never taking her mesmerized gaze off the bottle of delicately golden liquid.

"Thank you," I reply and hand the bottle to the beggar.

She presses it to her cheek and rubs her face lovingly against it.

Above the main entrance of the house there are a few wooden boards with the words "Cheap lodging" written in paint on them.

Once inside the lodge, I turn to the caretaker. The earth pony is sitting at a broken wooden desk with nothing on it but some papers. They appear to have once been pages of magazines, books, and newspapers. They are all dirty, wrinkled. I think this stallion just wants to pass the time by trying to figure out what is written or drawn there. You can see it in his bored look, staring at the torn page on his hooves. Noticing me, he looks up and frowns worriedly.

"Have you seen two drunken ponies, one dragging the other on top of him five days ago in this neighborhood?"

"What business is it of yours?" the pony replies surly.

"Important. Looking for a friend of mine. Still can't find my hapless buddy who got lost in this town. These two are the only ones who have seen him and know of him."

"Well..." the stallion's gaze softens slightly. I toss a small tinkling pouch—about a hundred caps—onto the table. The caretaker's face brightens. "You go straight ahead, then turn right, third door."

"Thank you!" I move in the direction indicated and draw my revolver as soon as I'm at the door. The whole place is dirty and moldy, the walls and ceiling are peeling, and there's a nasty stench in the air.

I stand at the door and listen, trying to catch a sound from inside. It's silent.

I hope it's not a mistake, or I'll have more than one broken door to fix.

I kick them with all my might. The handle comes off, and the door swings inward and smashes into the dirty concrete wall.

Inside it's the same as the hallway—dust, dirt, and mold. A modest bed, on which lies a tied up pony. A dark orange stallion in a brown cape sits on a chair with some fashion magazine, staring at me dazedly.

"Don't move!" I shout out, pointing the barrel at the unicorn. The one tries to use telekinesis on me, but is unsuccessful because of my protective necklace; it abruptly leaps out of its seat and jumps through the window, shattering it.

Now I have to pay for the window.

I jump out next. Damn, that prick is fast!

Once I'm on the street, I see the kidnapper rushing down the street. Passersby look at us in surprise. Wasting no time, I chase after him.

"Stop!" I shout after him. "You'll make it worse!"

"Fuck off!"

I concentrate and teleport very close to him: now only a few feet separate us. Using telekinesis again, I grab his back leg for a brief moment—he crumbles to the cold pavement, I jump on top of him and give him a hard smack on the head with my revolver.

"Ouch, fuck... it hurts!" he groans.

"You try any magic tricks and your brains will end up on the pavement," I threaten, putting the barrel to the back of his head.

"Chill out, friend, can't we make a deal?" he says fearfully.

"Who just told me to fuck off, huh?"

"I overreacted, let's settle this whole thing."

"Sing and I'll decide later."

"Okay... Are you police?" the kidnapper asks warily.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Depends on why you kidnapped that pony."

"Yeah we had a drink with him and I helped him home. That's all."

"Just not to the right house. Wrong address, buddy. I'm going to let you stand up now. You make an extra move and you'll remember what I told you about brains. You won't be able to remember anything else then, though."

"Okay-okay, I don't want any trouble," he assures hurriedly.

I let him stand up, but use telekinesis to hold the barrel, pointing the muzzle at his temple. I search him for weapons just in case, revealing a medium caliber pistol.

"Come on. You're going to explain everything to me."

We walk back into the filthy room of the dens. I remove the gag from the bound Longhooves' mouth, untie the restraints. He thanks me, then looks at his captor with hatred.

"He wanted to rape me!" he rages, pointing a hoof at the dark orange unicorn with a yellow mane in disgust.

"Calm down," the kidnapper replies. "I was just joking and pretending. You're a glorious and sweet stallion, but... no."

"No fucking way! Looking... over there."

"Thought maybe you'd say yes. If I showed you what I could do. But you were wriggling around so much I wasn't interested. A cock is the kind of thing you can't lift with a crane unless it wants to."

Longhooves turns to me with a twisted face.

"What are you going to do with him?"

"Yes," the kidnapper agrees, looking at me with interest. "Are you going to tie me up and spank me?"

"Sorry, but I'm not a fan of spanking studs on the ass," I reply and turn to the lavender earth pony. "Can you walk home? Your wife's been worried sick."

"I'll get there. You take care of that bastard. He starved me and told me what he was going to do to me to pass the time," the pony says with disgust.

"I've been watching your figure, buddy," the kidnapper smirks. "And yeah, the only thing long is your name."

"Fuck you!" a blushing Longhooves leaves. I am left alone with the unicorn.

"He has no sense of humor at all," my prisoner observes. "Can't take a joke. By the way, what were you really going to do to me?"

"For starters, I need to fix the door and the window."

"This is a fucking dump!" the kidnapper resents. "Give the caretaker ten caps and don't sweat it. He'll fix the whole place up for a couple of caps."

"Well, if you say so," I shrug. "What's your name, anyway?"

"Flame Heart. And what's yours, my naughty eggplant?"

Is he serious or something?

"Daniel. And I'm not your naughty eggplant, at least I'm not an eggplant."

"Ha ha ha," Flame chuckles. "And you're not a bad fella with an unusual name. Why don't we get out of here and have a drink somewhere? I'm getting tired of sticking around here, re-reading the magazine for the umpteenth time and warming up by the jokes."

"No," I smile and holster my revolver. We head for the exit. I follow behind just in case. "I'm not going to drink with you. In case I wake up in a dumpster somewhere later with a pain in my ass."

"Mmm... What a smile," he says half-turned. "You gonna give me my gun back or what?"

"You don't deserve it."

"What do I have to do to deserve it? Lube yours?" Flame smiles mischievously. Despite the jokes, he's worried. Perhaps he's trying to reduce the tension and calm himself.

"When you answer my questions."

"We'll play 'who wants to be a millionaire'?"

"Sort of. The answers have to be honest," I say and hand the caretaker another couple dozen caps as I walk past him. "Sorry about the door and window," I smile awkwardly at him. He darts his eyes at me in bewilderment, but we leave the building in a hurry.

"Soft you are. Can the same be said of your butt?"

"Did you forget what I said earlier?" I inquire.

"I thought in case you wanted to try it."

"Thanks, but I never got over myself."

"Sometimes it's so hard to find a good stallion," Flame sighs. "It's always those mares that pick out the best."

"It seems to me," I say, "that the reason you don't like mares lies in more than just your preferences."

"Maybe. But mostly I hate Softhooves mares. Always make the stallions the scapegoats. All the dogs are always and everywhere being hung on us, you know, bro?"

"Now I want to hear some answers. Why did you kidnap Longhooves?"

"Didn't expect you to have a problem with the top head. To make a quick buck, of course!"

"That I get, but for what? The ransom amount seems rather strange, as if it's for a clearly defined purpose or object. And such a short time frame, considering she simply didn't have time to collect that many caps."

"Well... Wait, seriously didn't have time?" the guy is genuinely surprised. I nod. "Blender in my ass! What a missed target. Look, dude, it all started at the bar. He and I started drinking, talking about stuff. Anyway, we got to talking, and he told me about his wife, a great artist. I thought she was making good money. So I decided to play kidnapper."

"Play?" I wonder.

"Sort of. I deliberately spooked his wife into working faster. On my own, I'd let him go."

"And you didn't think about the fact that you'd be pursued?"

"I'd scare him, too. I'd tell him I'd find him next time and have a good time with him."

"Brutal."

"For him, yeah."

"So... I get it, you weren't going to give him into slavery with a brainwashing..."

"I wasn't. He's a fine stud."

"But you never answered. What did you collect the caps for? My gut tells me there's something wrong here. You can't suddenly want to play kidnapper."

"If you let me go, I'll tell you."

"I'll let you go if you promise not to play games like that again."

"Yeah, even now, as long as it doesn't involve the bed front."

"No," I smile, "you can play whatever you want there. I don't give a damn, as long as it's mutually agreeable, of course."

"No shit! Of course, otherwise I despise it. Though if by pretend... I haven't touched Longhooves... well, hardly touched Longhooves. That's the way it is. My brother told me to get some caps to buy some stuff. To rob Vanhoover's elite whores!"

"Who?"

"I'm talking about the Softhooves."

"Why them?"

"Besides the fact that they're rich? My brother used to work for them and I told him it wouldn't do any good. Well, he likes mares, unlike me, and they used their charms on him so they could use him later, bitches. He's a smart pony, knows about terminals and stuff. There were some problems at his job that my brother was blamed for, even though he had absolutely nothing to do with them. They fired him and took all his money and left him on the street with his bare ass. I don't know what it would have been like for him if he hadn't had me. They'd have made him a slave, that's all. Eventually he wanted revenge on them, but there's obviously not enough caps to pull something like that off."

"And what were you planning to rob?"

"The Crystal Lotus."

"Two of us?!" I exclaim in amazement. "Are you fucking nuts?"

"Yes, yes, I know it's the richest and largest casino of the Softhooves family. But the catch is that it holds the personal assets of the Mother of the Family, that fucking cunt. Imagine, to fuck her up, avenging all the poor studs these bitches, Mother in particular, have mistreated. And don't believe the fact that this family just doesn't allow stallions to have any business or enterprise except, understandably, blood relatives. That's like believing that raiders rape, pillage, and murder in the name of goodness and justice!"

"How were the two of you going to rob the richest and most secure casino?"

"Making the plans is my brother's job. He's smarter than me, really, the irony is that I have two horns, he has one. He's an earth pony. His desire is to screw those whores. And I want to support him in that endeavor. And at this justice party, he's going to invite a few more guests who share our views and can help with their skills."

"What are your skills?"

"We were orphans, and we basically grew up on the streets doing thievery. Thanks to his ingenuity, we were able to avoid The School. I could rob you and you wouldn't even notice."

"Don't talk nonsense..." I stop talking, the gun I'd taken away during the search hovering in his telekinetic field.

"It's back to Daddy," he glances at the weapon, then hides it in the bowels of his cloak and smiles weakly. "And your mouth goes wide. You sure you're not into studs?"

"If I'm missing anything, blame yourself."

"Don't worry. We only rob bad bastards and rich folks. Now, I know how to be stealthy, pick locks and pick pockets. And my brother's into technology, hacking into terminals and can also be stealthy, like when someone blows a whisperer."

"Is that a hint about firing a silenced weapon?"

"No," the dark orange unicorn chuckles. "I meant it literally. You have a strange habit of looking for meaning where there is none. But... you gave me an idea of what to say when you hear a noise coming from someone's ass: 'Who's shooting in there, and without a silencer?'"

I laugh, unable to help myself.

"And your laugh is melodic," Flame smiles. The excitement has definitely weathered out of his voice by now. "Definitely a cutie."

"Don't you think this is all rather risky? I mean taking the financial burden off Softhooves' shoulders."

"Don't bother. We won't be performing for a while yet, since you can't trust anyone in this city. But you seem okay. My brother just asked me to find caps for some equipment. I could just rob the masters, but I got tired of that, so I wanted to try something new."

"Do you take contracts?"

"I'm interested in you. What's the deal?"

"I need to free a slave. And not just steal him: we need to steal and burn his owner's papers that he's his slave, and also tweak a few things about him in the registration book. Just which one, I don't know."

"Don't worry, I know which documents we're talking about, they refer to each other. I've done it with my brother more than once. We'll make it look good. It'll cost 3,000 jingles. It's a risky job, you know."

"I forgot to tell you, this stallion slave is a sex toy in the hooves of a unicorn. Trouble is, he's not up to mares."

"Don't say another word. I'm dropping the price to two thousand. We don't leave our own behind!"

"He used to be a pegasus, but because he lost a wing, the other one was torn off for completeness."

"Listen, does his mistress matter to you?"

"Are you going to kill her?"

"Maybe. We'll see what kind of lady she is. But if I don't like her. I'm gonna give that bitch what she deserves first. I'll break her horn and shove it up her asshole and put coals in her cunt. And then I'll kill her."

"I don't want to be responsible for her death!"

I don't like his intentions at all. For her behavior with others, I would punish her, but hardly in that way. I'd castrate for rape. But this one. I don't know. I don't like this and what it could lead to. I doubt I can talk him out of it, and I'm not going to defend the unicorn. But how would Motley feel about it? She once avenged her sister by brutalizing a pegasus she's not even sure is guilty. How would she react?

"What? There's no way I'm giving you that privilege," he smiles. "This is entirely my initiative. We'll get on the case today. Give me all the information you know and that little cunt will get what she deserves."

I tell him everything I know myself. He's upset that I don't know her name, but is surprised to learn that her slave is one of the most famous fighters in The Arena. Flame adds that in that case he'll have to change the records in The Arena, making his disappearance look like death for unknown reasons, but he doesn't change the price. As soon as I mention that Blaze, Black Peru, has to beg his mistress for the chance to fight for freedom, Flame Hart has such a burning hatred for the mare that I can't help but sympathize.

Well, better for him to find out now than on the spot. That way his anger will subside a little and his judgment will kick in. I doubt he'll let her live. I ask Flame, after releasing Blaze, to come see the artist whose husband I kidnapped. He agrees, saying he'll take the caps for the work he's done. And I'll stay clean. I generally don't like the mistress being killed. On the other hand, if she does, she'll investigate, and it'll get to everyone, me first. She'll suspect me, since I was interested in buying it.

Flame, like he said, will do what he knows: no pony, no problem.

***

"Look who's coming!" I hear a familiar mare voice say. The artist is standing outside her house, where we first met her. Her husband is beside her, and not far from them is Motley, gazing boredly at the neighborhood and passersby. When she sees me, she brightens up and smiles weakly, waving her hoof at me in greeting.

I smile, seeing how happy the artist is to have her husband back. That joy on her face... I wish I could see that expression all the time. It makes me feel warm and good inside.

"Thank you!" she runs up to me, hugging me tightly.

"Glad to serve," I reply, giving the mare my smile and opening the hug. Speaking frankly, tracking down the kidnapper was easy. It's apparent that Flame didn't take the matter seriously.

"It's hard for me to put into words how grateful I am to you for saving hubby..." she turns to the pegasus. "I'm also grateful to you."

"I didn't really do anything," she replies. "That gentlecolt did," she adds, pointing at me.

"Don't be modest," I stand next to her and give her a friendly hug, throwing my right front leg over hers. "Moral support is just as important."

"How can I ever thank you..." the artist looks at us thoughtfully. After a couple seconds, her eyes widen. "I've got an idea! A worthy reward would be your image on the canvas."

"Will we have to pose for the painting?" I ask playfully.

"Not necessarily. Your image is already sealed in my memory. I will not forget it, and the exposure for the painting is is just right," she says, pointing at us with her hoof.

"Thank you," I twirl my hoof in anticipation of being complemented.

"Deep Blue," she says, bestowing us with a soft smile. "And what's your name?"

"I'm Daniel," I introduce myself, then gesture with my hoof to the pegasus. "And this lovely pony's name is Motley," the blood rushes to her cheeks.

"Excellent. I'll paint a beautiful picture for you in a little while. You must be in a hurry, I won't keep you. And how do I find you to give you the portrait?"

"We'll be back here tomorrow. There will be someone waiting for us. But, if you won't make it by then, I have an acquaintance who works at the Bottomless Chest store in Oasis of Vanhoover. She'll understand everything when she sees the artwork."

"Noted. And thank you so much again!"

"I owe you a drink," the previously silent Longhooves says.

"I'll take your word for it," I squint and point at him with a hoof. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"All the best to you," Deep adds. I wave goodbye and we move down the street. It's already starting to get dark.

"What did you do with the kidnapper?" the pegasus asks, keeping pace with me.

"The plan about Blaze is changing." The beige pony looks at me in surprise. She seems to think I've changed my mind about rescuing him. "I've hired someone else to free him. Namely the very same kidnapper."

"What?" the pegasus marvels.

"He proved himself to be quite the nice fellow. Inexperienced in kidnap and ransom, though. He... wanted to be a kidnapper, to try out what it was like, and it didn't go according to plan—he really didn't realize that Longhooves's wife wouldn't actually turn out to be such a rich artist. He needed the caps, but he decided to try something new, since the usual thieving business was boring him a little."

"He's a thief?"

"Not a bad one. He managed to steal my own gun, which I took from him when I captured him. He also said he'd done it more than once—I mean, stealing slaves. He has a brother who's a resourceful pony to help with that. And this kidnapper, by the way, his name is Flame Heart, has agreed to free your Blaze and correct the paperwork on his existence as a slave—for a fee, of course. He was almost willing to free him himself when I told him how Blaze was suffering in the hooves of a mare. And yes, Flame is a stud lover, too.

"How did you figure that out?" Motley frowns.

"Not in practice, that's for sure," I smile. The pegasus chuckles sweetly. "But he's hinted openly a couple times, suggesting something... You get the idea." She nods. "I still have something gnawing at me, though."

"What's that?"

"Let's just say that Blaze's mistress could get badly hurt and die. Flame has a grudge against mares if they disadvantage stallions. His hatred for Softhoovse is especially strong, all because of his brother who was set up by them. He voiced his plans for the slave mistress... I couldn't help but remember you telling me what you did to that pegasus." Motley lowers her head. "No, I realize I would hardly have done otherwise myself. It's easy to say from the outside that cruelty is unnecessary. I want to know what you think about it."

"I don't know," the pegasus replies after a brief pause, then looks at me.

"I didn't ask him to," I shrug. "He said he's not sure himself yet. He'll have to see what she's like. But personally, if a friend of mine were to be mistreated, I would at least break the offender's face. Well, here... about that... I don't know. I just want your opinion: does that pretentious unicorn deserve to die?"

"Let him decide."

"So you're not totally against it?"

"I'm against it, and I mean, I don't blame you for anything, but let it be as the stars align."

"Right..." I look forward for a moment, then around. "Where shall we go?"

"I don't know, I'm still worried about Blaze's fate."

"Why don't we do something together to take your mind off it? What do you think of the offer to train me in close combat?"

She nods.

We go back to the hotel, but get a room that's bigger so we have room to spread out. We buy food and drink to replenish our strength and begin our training. Motley, like me, is completely immersed in the action. All our thoughts are on it, that's all we talk about. Toward the end of the day we lie down in our beds and almost immediately fall asleep from exhaustion.

***

18th of the Month of Heather, Greenday. The fifty-sixth day of my stay.

"Not you," Blaze says stunned when he sees Motley. In the middle of the afternoon, we set off for Deep Blue. My pegasus was very nervous before meeting a former squad member. Flame is nowhere to be seen in the vicinity. Strange. The pegasus' back still remained bandaged.

"So..." I raise my hooves. "Take it easy. I understand how you feel about Motley, and I know what you've been through, but you were the one who followed her back then."

Blaze is silent. His gaze on the pegasus is filled with a multitude of emotions, mostly anger. She in turn also doesn't say a word, but looks worried and guilty.

"Talk in private," I say, "but please, peacefully. She went out of her way to help you, kept thinking about how to save you when she found out you were alive. At least hear her out, if you'd be kind."

"Flame told me it was you who asked him," Blaze hums.

"And it was Motley who asked me to. I don't know what happened to your mistress..."

"Don't mention that sick bitch again! It's in the past, as well as she herself is history. Manipulated me with the remnants from the wings on my back. You don't know how it hurts when they hit there. If it weren't for the pain-relieving drugs, I wouldn't even be able to fight."

Still, Flame hadn't let his mistress live.

"I'm grateful," Blaze continues, looking at me as if he's read my mind, "that you found just the one. A good pony who sympathized with my predicament. Now I can understand," he turns to Motley, "how you felt about wanting to avenge your abuser on your sister, even without confirmation of his guilt. I mostly watched that cunt suffer. I was a little relieved when she was gone."

"You know," I say, remembering what revenge is, "I was almost killed once, shot in the head and buried in a grave. But I managed to survive, and I got my revenge. Didn't torture him, didn't make him suffer—just shot him. Realized I was just another corpse in his path. It wasn't personal to him. But it was for me."

"He tried to kill you quickly too, didn't he? So it's no wonder why you just shot him. And that cunt... She abused me for a year."

"I understand..."

"You don't understand shit," he says sharply.

Motley intervenes in our conversation.

"I don't expect you to consider me a friend and forgive me. Let me speak my mind and then do what you want."

"We'll see," he turns and goes somewhere. Motley follows him. Pegasus turns to me for a second, pointing with a nod of his head to a bored pony on the opposite side of the street, "And yes, don't forget to thank someone."

I nod and head over to that pony. He's wearing a beige coat and a fedora of the same color on his head; he's leaning against a lamppost, holding a fresh newspaper in his hooves. I catch a glimpse of the headline on the front page: "KILLER OF THE RAIDER LEADER IN THE CRATER STILL RELIABLY UNKNOWN."

"Hello, how are you?" I ask Flame.

"Have we met?" he wonders, putting the newspaper down.

"You're Flame, aren't you?"

"Look closely."

No, it's not like I'm blind and I can see: those soft facial contours, the same dark orange coloring of the fur.... the same soft yellow mane. the same sweet voice. He takes off his hat—I'm not immediately sure what the gesture is about, but I remember Flame's words, "I have two horns, he has one." This pony is missing a horn.

"Are you his brother?" The pony nods demurely. "Twin?" He nods again, adding, "Only he has two horns, and..."

"...you have one," I complement. The stallion smiles softly.

"Yes. That's his style. Except he's not smart enough. Playing kidnapper... crazy. Honestly, I never could figure out where he disappeared to for five whole days. I'm grateful you didn't rat out my hapless brother. I didn't expect anyone here to be so lenient on a stranger who also committed a crime."

"What's your name?"

"Flare Heart."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Daniel. Your brother told me about your scheme. Isn't it too risky?"

"I want to teach them a lesson, but I realize the risk. That's why I'm preparing carefully. It requires hiring trustworthy ponies—but try to find them: the 'elite whores' of Vanhoover have a wide network of informants: better than any other family."

"And you want to cross them with those-" I roll my eyes.

Insane, honestly.

"I know, that's why I'm taking this very delicately and unhurriedly. Things would move noticeably if we had someone with us who has worked specifically at the Crystal Lotus and consequently knows enough about the place. However, the Softhooves are very sensitive about those who have been fired—often they are simply found dead in ditches and nooks and crannies—so finding one is unlikely."

"Why so drastic?"

"Erasing memories is unreliable. A few ponies out of a hundred recover the erased parts. It's inherent in the brain to restore the nearest neural connections."

"Besides reliable ponies, what do you need for your cause?"

"Funds. Speaking of which..."

"Right," I say, writing out a check for two thousand caps and holding it out to Flare. He puts it in his inside pocket.

"Thank you. I hope you keep your mouth shut about this case. After all, we know who kidnapped Black Feather."

I nod. He can blackmail me, but then he'd be in danger himself. He'd only use it if it was a threat to himself if I blabbed.

"Now I have to go," he's about to leave, but I hold him back.

"If I need your services again, how can I find you?" Flare pulls some paper with an address on it out of his inside pocket and holds it out to me. I glance at it quickly—there's an address on it, but... "But that's the address of a courier delivery service," I look at the pony in the warm coat in bewilderment.

"Ponies in my profession have to be sharp. Don't worry. I have reliable connections. Just send a letter there to the addressee with the initials F.H."

I walk back to Deep Blue's house and look around. Blaze and Motley are talking nearby. The noisy street makes it hard to distinguish the sounds, as the masters and their slaves are constantly wandering through it. But I can tell that the conversation is peacefu—and I don't need more than that.

I decide to visit the artist in her home for the time being.

Trying not to disturb Deep Blue, I enter without making much noise. The main room is full of unfinished canvases, painting equipment, and other delights of the artist's life. She's an excellent painter—I stare at the unfinished painting.

Such talent... It's a shame that very few ponies are interested in art nowadays. Deep Blue is so engrossed in painting that she doesn't notice my appearance.

"Hi," I say quietly.

"Oh," she exclaims, shuddering and turning around. "It's you... You scared me," she adds. She's wearing an apron splattered with multicolored paint.

"We can do without the formal tone." The pony nods in agreement, turning back to the canvas. "What are you painting?" I try to look, but the pony waves her hoof.

"No, no," she says hastily. "You can't look at it until I'm done preparing the surprise."

"Whatever you say," I smile. "Where's Longhooves? I remember he owes me a drink."

"He went to look for work earlier today," the artist continues her work, occasionally glancing at me. "Because of a five-day absence, he was fired, replaced by another. He's trying to go back to the factory. He liked working there, after all, he has good acquaintances there."

I'm not going to be able to enjoy the drink with Longhooves tonight. Well, it's nothing.

I go outside, sit down on the nearest bench, and start reading my spell book.

"Where are we going, chief?" Blaze asks. Motley is standing next to him. She doesn't look sad or depressed. They've probably come to some sort of truce.

"Where do you want to go?"

"I'm kind of new in town, but a lot of folks know me. I wouldn't risk just strolling its streets, considering I'm officially considered dead in The Arena. So show me your lodgings."

I look at the pegasus questioningly. She lowers her gaze in embarrassment and digs a shaft in the sidewalk with interest.

"I figured," she says quietly, "that you wouldn't mind if he lived with us."

"I'd already forgotten you were having a long conversation. I shouldn't have been surprised. Come, let me show you the wonder: I think you'll appreciate it. Motley, have you told our Blaze about my Venture?"

The pegasus shakes her head negatively.

"What wonder?" the stallion frowns. "What adventure? Do you love dangerous adventures?"

"Passionately love."

***

"Holy fuck!" the pegasus exclaims, looking up at the roof of the Bottomless Chest. "Where the hell did you get it?"

"You can find out for yourself," I smile. "A few of my friends live there. And yes, if you meet a pony-like robot or some other bucket of nuts aiming for your face on the way out of that bunker, tell them you're from me."

"Motley, I hope" the wingless pegasus doesn't take his eyes off Venture, "the Vertibuck's navigation system has the coordinates for your bunker."

"The bunker is called Heavenly Harbor, and the Vertibuck is called Venture."

"Don't worry, I won't hurt your bird. When can I pick you up?"

"I can take you by mysel-"

"I'll turn on-"

Motley and I start at the same time. She let me finish first.

"My spare PipBuck has a special chip in it, synchronized with the Venture's navigation systems. It can be used to track my location to within a few yards. If I turn it on, it'll be the signal to pick us up. Guarding the moment of activation will be a robot remotely controlled by Caroline."

"Caroline?"

"You'll know when you arrive. Do you want to fly now or walk around the market?"

"I want to get some peace and quiet already."

"There are plenty of rooms available in the bunker, so you can take your pick."

"Thank you. You won't mind if I fly this baby for a while, will you?"

"Just don't draw too much attention."

Blaze pushes off to fly up to the roof, but is bitterly reminded that he can't fly. He nearly lies down exhausted on the cold sidewalk, covering his head with his hooves. Motley helps him to the roof and stays there briefly. Bluerise doesn't come out of the store: she's busy serving customers. When she sees us, she waves her hoof at us through the window, which we do in return.

Motley comes down from the roof. The screws of Venture come into motion. A few seconds later, a familiar rumble is heard—once again attracting the attention of passersby and customers inside the store. Venture rises into the air and moves unhurriedly into the distance.

"He was so excited when he sat at the controls," Motley smiles weakly after the departing Vertibuck. "Said he wanted to fly as soon as possible, and asked me, unless I was going to stay and fly with him, to get out as soon as possible. Daniel..." she turns to me. "Thank you so much for giving me my friend back."

"He's forgiven you and considers you a friend again?"

"He said it's been too short a time for that. I don't deserve it. But thank you for helping him." She moves closer and hugs me, then lets me go. "Since this whole thing started, this is the first time I've seen him even slightly happy again since he sat down behind the controls of Venture. I'm more than sure you have a new pilot now."

"Do I detect a wistfulness in your voice?" I look at the pony curiously.

"In this short time, I have grown accustomed to it. Venture is truly delightful. Let Blaze enjoy her to the fullest."

"Now where shall we go?"

"I'm relieved it's over like this. It's so relaxed and nothing's on my mind."

"Let's have a nice meal, shall we?"

In the restaurant, her multicolored eyes are on my face most of the time. She's... attentive. It's flattering. It's both awkward and pleasurable at the same time. In her white and blue outfit, the pegasus is beautiful. Her lips. I want to kiss her lips.

I can't stop thinking about her.

And I can't give myself to her completely.

There are so many contradictions inside me. I want her—and I'm afraid to get closer to the ponies, feeling something wrong about getting closer at all.

We're not interested in the ponies around us, and we're not interested in them. It's not a quiet place. There is an open space not far from us, where some ponies are dancing to a quiet tune.

We've had dinner and now we're just talking.

"...Sure, I got a kick out of my dad, but the experience paid off," I utter.

"I can't believe," the beige pegasus laughs, "that you were so cruel to your father... Turned his electric razor into a taser. Your adventures in the Stable have been fun. How did you find your calling? A calling to dig into technology and stuff."

"There's not much fun to be had in a concrete chest. Before school, I took apart and reassembled everything I could get my hooves on. I was curious about how everything around me worked. I also liked to explore my Stable, but they don't let young lads in most of the rooms, so I used to climb through the vents and tight spaces."

"Have you... found something in your adventures? Had the chance to... peeping on others?" the pegasus asks in a naughty tone, biting her lip.

Peeping on others... The image of Motley under the jets of water pops back into my mind.

I blink, coming back to reality.

"No... nothing like that. I... stumbled upon a long-forgotten room once. It held a lot of interesting things, like music, movies, adventure literature."

"Why was all this hidden?"

"A sort of totalitarian regime was set up in my Stable. Kept the inhabitants in ignorance as to the true effects of the Great War by showing fake radio programs depicting a darker picture of life outside the Stable."

"Why?"

"Wanted to deter the residents from trying to leave the safe haven with such lies, while the Overseer himself had the right to leave it and communicate with the outside world."

"And that room? How did it come to be?"

"The residents brought a lot of things with them. There was a lot of literature, music, and movies that were forbidden, because they could all contribute to the residents' desire to leave the bunker. The secret room was forgotten about, and there was no desire to talk about the discovery after it was discovered, in case the Overseer decided to destroy everything."

"And you wanted to leave the bunker before you found the room?"

"Yes. I'd been in and out of places all the time, and that room was a joy to me—there was so much to see."

"An eager colt. How did you become an expert shooter while living in a peaceful bunker?"

"My father gave me an air rifle for my tenth birthday. And on the reactor level, they built me a special area where I could practice shooting."

"You have a wonderful father. What was he like?"

"Not a bad scientist and medic. He taught me first aid skills, which he solidified in the Wasteland. Otherwise, thanks to my scientist parents, I have something of a quick learner. Genes predispose me to memorization. Not in-depth, of course, but I learned the simplest basics quickly."

"You mentioned more than once that you worked as a bounty hunter. If you wanted to avoid bloodshed, then why did you follow that path?"

"I don't remember anymore," I say honestly, hesitating. "My first unofficial contracts were with three raiders who kept the local law enforcement authorities busy."

It would be redundant to mention that this was a rather close-knit kind of raiders called the Fiends, and those "authorities" were the NCR.

"Whoever hired me thanked me for the deliverance, informing me that I was boosting the morale of the fighters. Making their lives easier. Making life easier... Ridding the world of those who get in the way of others."

"Is that what motivated you?"

"Yes. That's what motivated me for a certain amount of time. Later, I officially—if I may say so—joined an office. It was run by just one... employee. This profane and cynical pony became my friend. He opened a bounty hunting office for the reason that he wanted to hunt down and kill one individual to avenge his brutally murdered loved ones. He would have understood your thirst for revenge. At some point, I realized I couldn't do that for the rest of my life—take the lives of others without trial and judgment."

"So... you found who you were looking for?"

"Yes... That friend of mine was killed by his hooves. And already I had to take revenge on the bastard—not only for my friend, but for the other things he did in front of me."

"Is that how you left your job as a bounty hunter?"

"I realized that while I was killing some ruthless bastards, others were taking their place, and that was starting more and more chains of deaths that were actually on my conscience. My responsibility begins the moment I pull the trigger. An endless cycle of killing. In this seemingly right fight, you can get so dirty that you become like those you fought against. I did not suffer from fanatical justice and quickly realized that everything is much more complicated than it seems. So I could no longer be in the business of hunting others down for the sake of killing them."

"What about it... After all, others will suffer because of their actions, those who don't want bloodshed."

"Too much responsibility. I've already done enough in nine years in the Wasteland. In a moment of rethinking my actions in the bounty hunting, I began to let go of those I should have killed. However, only those who were done with criminal activity. What's the point of me taking someone's life if he won't be harmful anymore? He might even do some good. And as for a just punishment in such a case... It's complicated, but I know that it won't make anyone better and certainly won't change anything. It's just the kind of bigotry for justice that I've almost drowned in."

"If I..." Motley says, "if you had been hired to chase after me for getting revenge on my sister..."

There's some protest inside. Against her being judged, let alone killed because of her one crime.

"You don't get executed for one murder."

"...And then three more ponies," the pegasus adds.

"Two ended up surviving."

"It doesn't matter. I'm a murderer. Four dead ponies in 26 hours. There'd be a bounty on me by now. What would you do?"

Tough question. There are so many options running through my head, I don't even have time to realize them. I feel a protest either way. Sharp and uncompromising toward trying to kill Motley for the reward.

"If I didn't know your story... And if I'd been in that mental state when I started the bounty hunt.... Yes. But! But... If I had known your story, and it had happened when I was already done with it—I would have let it go."

"Even if my revenge might have been... and unfair? Wrong about the responsible one?"

"Yes. And the other three deaths were self-defense."

"You would," the pegasus says again, looking at the empty plate in front of her and moving it back and forth. "You'd like to... How about... Oh. Forget it. It's silly."

"What did you want to ask?"

"No. Nothing. Just... stupid and naive thoughts come to mind."

"Are you sure you don't want to tell me?"

The pegasus' multicolored eyes stare at me. Her lips are tightly pressed together. It's like she wants to say something to me or ask me something, but she resists. She resists hard. She shakes her head and sighs deeply.

Just before that, I thought she looked like she was ready to cry.

What is it that is bothering her right now?

"Yes," she replies. "I don't want to."

I sigh deeply, covering my eyes.

I think she's told me all the worst things about herself. What else could be worse than what she did? What is she so ashamed of?

"Tell me about your Brisa, if you're.... Don't mind. And if you feel comfortable."

If it weren't for Lilac I'd hardly be comfortable talking about her, now I can. No problem. I appreciate all the time I spent with my first love, because not many meet it, and not everyone realizes how wonderful it is. It may not have lasted long, but it was in my life.

A good moment to turn the subject to something pleasant.

"We've known each other since we were young, which is generally natural considering there aren't many kids of the same age in a single Stable. She went to my father for medical training. Smart and resourceful. Seeking knowledge, looking for ways to use it to benefit others. Interested in all areas of science, at least superficially, so she had a passion for books. Programming, medicine, chemistry, energy... We both wanted to explore, and that's what we had in common. Analyzing everything around us. She was more into the purpose of the research and I was more into the process."

"What happened when she ended up in the Wasteland?"

"She learned to be pretty good with energy-magic weapons and discovered she knew a little about explosives. But she's a long way from you in that."

We laugh.

"She's a very fast learner," I continue, "and I've tried to keep up with her in that regard. I'm actually surprised she fell in love with a careless fool like me."

"And it's no surprise to me," the pegasus says. She lowers her eyes to her hooves tapping against each other in embarrassment.

How. That. Sweet. Both the words and her embarrassment...

I smile at her appreciatively, which makes her embarrassed even more.

"She didn't know how to have as much fun as I did," I continue. "I had to teach her how to relax. At one time she helped me through the death of my father, my best friend Dogmeat—my pet. There was no one in my life more dear to me than her. I am blessed that she chose and loved me as much as I loved her. I am proud of her and infinitely happy that I had her. The only unpleasant emotion associated with her is hate. Self-hatred for taking her life."

"I understand you... I understand you very well."

I want to hug her. Hard. Here and now. But I can't. For some reason, another part of me won't let me get close to her.

"Thank you," I say. "And what will you tell me about Light? What was he like?"

"A calm and quiet pony," she sighs with a smile. "I met him when he was enlisted in my squad, which I barely had time to command for two years. Light's solitude was reflected in his specialization—he was a sniper. Always obeying orders, he was loyal to the ideals of those we served, assuming that they were truly doing a good deed and that they would one day help the surface inhabitants. I did not share his naive beliefs, and he knew it."

"Was that one of the reasons for your arguments?"

"We tried not to broach the subject, but... It didn't work. On the other hand, his attempts to understand others, to show them the best of the organization..."

"Is that why he tried to get you to come back? To commute your sentence?"

"Yes... He would rather have me alive and in custody than killed or on the run all the time. He could have visited me in prison. But I didn't want to go there. I just didn't want to."

"Was your relationship long?"

"They were a year old at the time of his death. I just wanted us to have a quiet life together... Enjoy each other every day. At times I wondered what was more important to him: me or... you know who."

The Enclave.

"I've been hesitant to ask that question. I think he held on to his ideas to the end. Otherwise he didn't try to bring me back by force."

"Perhaps he just couldn't accept the fact that you would be on the run. Those he serves would want you dead—he couldn't accept that. Apparently he preferred to either bring you back by force or die. His ideals may have been more important than anything else, but it seems you were more important than his own life."

Motley's wide-open eyes fill with tears. She covers her eyes with a hoof and wipes away the tears.

"Maybe," she looks down. "I don't know... I never thought of it that way. Thank you."

I hold out my hoof to hers. She looks up at me, and I smile weakly.

"What did he love about you?" I ask. "Obviously his feelings for you were strong. I'm curious to know what else he saw as beautiful about you."

"More? What do you already see in me like that?"

I feel uneasy. Internally conflicted, wanting to admit to her that I find her attractive, but at the same time feeling wrong for getting so attached to this pony. Even more than Lemon and Bluerise combined.

"Well... I like... the way you move."

The beige pegasus giggles, adjusting her blue dress with white patterns.

"I noticed that. He liked that too. Well, and other things, too. He... We..."

The pegasus falls silent, crimson with embarrassment. I suspect she's referring to some sex-related stuff. Some... perverted things, in her opinion.

Well, I've been to New Reno and New Vegas, I've seen all kinds of kinky things. I've got a wet-body fetish myself. I'm even curious what kind of kink she's got.

"Will you dance with me?" the pegasus asks excitedly.

Blood pounding in her ears and her face seems to flare up.

"Uh, what?" I mumble in confusion.

Fuck no! Why all of a sudden did she ask me to dance?

"A dance. I haven't relaxed like this in a very long time. So do you want to... see up close how I move? T-touch me when we.... Oh. Why does that sound so awful coming out of my mouth?"

It sounds too exciting and attractive to me.

"Why now?" is all I can say.

The hormonal storm is rising. The internal conflict is brewing again. I need to get this issue with Motley resolved soon or I'll go crazy from bifurcating my views on the same issue.

I can feel my heart pounding.

"The music is appropriate: very beautiful and pleasant, a bit of a turn-on. I want to give myself into its embrace, I can't hold back. But alone..." she thinks for a moment, "...not fun."

As we talked, I stopped noticing the music in the background, which by now had changed to something more dynamic—but not enough to make me dance like a fool when no one was watching.

"Will you keep me c-company?" she asks quietly, tilting her head sideways. She rubs her hooves worriedly, sometimes tapping them softly and quietly.

It's such an endearing look... Why are you making me suffer! I'm going to scream.

Please, Motley, don't! I can't dance! Not only can't dance, but I don't know how ponies dance. Besides, dancing with Motley, that charming pegasus? The one who makes my hormones fight each other?

And in front of everyone?

Fuck that!

"I can't dance."

Fucking shame, I don't remember ever feeling so embarrassed. Why am I so lucky? Fate is a strange thing. Why do these things happen to me? If someone is controlling my destiny. Hey, you, whoever you are, you heartless and sick bastard, why are you making me suffer like this?

"It's not as hard as it seems. I'll show you," Motley cheers up, deciding she's found the reason for my worry. She lifts her head—her eyes begging for consent. They terrorize me with their cuteness.

Stop... please. Give me peace...

I'm torn between Motley's distress and my humiliation. Perhaps I should get drunk. After all, as they say, it's one drink from insecurity to self-confidence. In my case, it's going to take several—bottles of hard liquor. Or should I? I want to remember my humiliation in vivid detail. Or an amazing moment with a gorgeous pegasus? I have to think optimistically.

Yes... fuck it! I'm gonna jump into this hormonal storm. Let it tear me to shreds!

"Okay, my angel," I exhale. The pegasus' face shines with happiness like a powerful spotlight.

Oh, just don't burn me. I'm already burning up from the growing conflict inside.

We stand up, and the pegasus leads me to where the other ponies are dancing. I feel like a helpless puppet. There's such a storm going on inside me.... Well, at least the eyes won't just be on us. Trying to keep up with the others dancing. Some just stand next to each other and sway their bodies to the music. Others stand on their hind hooves and embrace their partner, supporting each other.

Just like humans.

I inhale and exhale deeply, thinking of peace. How hard it is... I can't say anything, it's like I'm suffocating.

I'm okay... I'm okay! I'm a K! I'm a K? The hell is that mean?

I suddenly find myself standing on my hind legs, my front legs hugging the pegasus, who is also hugging my neck and shyly avoiding my gaze.

She's so close to my face that I can feel her warm breath, gentle and slightly unsteady with thrill. Her body moves on its own. I'm like an observer. The movements are simple. Small steps to one side, then the other....

It's so nice to hold her. To hold her with my hooves. Her white and blue patterned dress makes it hard to feel the touch of her beige fur.

The music gets faster and faster. The pegasus keeps up with her pace, performing more complex movements. And I... play a supporting role and make sure Motley doesn't fall. She wriggles so gracefully in the dance, twisting and bouncing around me. Her eyes are completely closed and she's trusting herself completely to someone who doesn't know anything about dancing at all, but finds it magnificent.

I feel like a pole around which a beautiful dancer is gracefully wriggling. But I'm still a part of it! In this dance, I am her support; I wanted to be her in life too. Not to let go.

Her movements are smooth and graceful. You want to watch them and not lose sight of all this beauty and splendor. Hell, I'm afraid to blink! Or is this body afraid? I don't understand.

Emotions take over me so much that I often forget about the others. In front of me I see only a beige lovely creature in a blue dress who twirls and bends in a flurry of emotion; the hem of her garment flutters to the sides as she moves, sometimes forming a mesmerizing spinning disk. The dance consumes her, making her forget everything around her. All she knows is that I'm there for her.

It's so beautiful that I'm lost in time. I don't want this exciting dance to end.

Or, alternatively, I wish it would end sooner. My second part is strenuously resisting intimacy.

The wonderful moment ends abruptly. I stand on my hind legs and lean, my front legs trying to hold onto the sweet pony's back. She looks up at me and breathes heavily, but I can tell from her slight smile that she's enjoying herself.

Suddenly everything inside me goes quiet. For a moment, I think I've lost my hearing and perception of time. I feel only lightness and... bliss. Has the conflict within me ceased so easily? Why am I attracted to Motley but not repulsed as I was the last time? Have my prayers been answered? Whoever you are, creator of my destiny, I forgive you, you have not failed this time...

I hear the sound of hoof stomping. I look around—everyone's attention is on us, and the ponies have parted to make room for us. And almost all of them are smiling and tapping their front hooves on the floor.

Are they applauding us?

Everyone was watching us dance. No shame, no hesitation. The lightness... or is it just a withdrawal or bounce back from the effects of the hormonal storm?

"Looks like," Motley says quietly, looking around, "we interrupted their fun."

"They were enjoying a great show performed by the beautiful dancer Motley and her pole-partner Daniel," I giggle like I'm drunk.

An extraordinary emotional lightness; it's like a part of me has gone somewhere. What happened?

We leave the dance floor, which is once again filled with ponies, and walk back to our table. My gait is wobbly, as if I'm about to topple over and fall. Motley sits down and immediately pours himself a glass of wine, draining it halfway. I stare at it in surprise, but then smile sympathetically. She must be tired, poor thing. Or maybe she's overwhelmed.

"Did you like it?" the pegasus asks timidly.

"Ha," comes from me through my heavy breathing. "You were just great," I smile, waving my hoof tiredly. "I'm sure everyone loved it. See the way I'm breathing—it made me hot: that's how delightful you were."

"Thank you," the flushed pegasus says quietly. "I was very worried."

"I can see that. What else are you hiding from me, dancing angel?" I ask playfully. We pour more wine. "Such talent!"

"I was... meant to say that you," she blushes even more, then shakes her head. "I mean, I was going to say that I also know how to play card games. Well... well, yeah."

I felt my jaw drop onto the table. I realize that mares are supposed to have a twist, but.... Holy shit! Can fight, can dance, knows explosives, plays cards...

Of course she does! She's from Las—or New—Pegasus, the city of entertainment and casinos. No wonder she knows her cards. I think I figured out how we're gonna spend the rest of the evening.

I've been to every casino in New Vegas, and sooner or later I've made a huge score and been kicked out of the place and never allowed to play there again. Boy, I did raise money then... I didn't even have to do any dirty work.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I chuckle, taking a sip of wine. "Let's go to the casino and 'rob' him."

"Well... that was a long time ago, when I was still at the academy."

"I'll teach you how to play all kinds of card games. I'll show you all sorts of tricks I know. Caps will never be out of place."

"And what makes you so sure you won't go broke?" the pegasus inquires.

"Hehe," I smile mischievously. "No matter how many losses there were, the number of wins was greater. In the long run, I've always been on the plus side. Now it's my turn to ask you: will you keep me company? "I wink.

"Gladly!" she smiles.

I wonder where my rejection of relationships with anyone in this world has disappeared to. I look at Motley now and the only thing I want to do is get to know her, to snuggle up to her body. I want to fuck her.

The only doubt is whether I can make it work with her. I want to try, because I care about this beige pegasus. There's too much about her that I like at the moment. And turns me on.

I have to choose the right moment to tell her how I feel, but I don't think she's quite figured it out herself. Well, I won't rush her, and at the same time I'll weigh my decision: I don't want to get her hopes up. Even if it doesn't work out when she finds out about my true identity—which would certainly be a shame—I'll still give it a try. There's... a bit of a gamble.

I pay the bill, and we go for a walk through the streets of Vanhoover until we find one casino. The pleasant time with Motley, which I don't regret at all, has made me forget what I'm walking the streets of Vanhoover for. The reputation I need to be heard, to have my words respected and to consider the fact that the elimination of the raider leader in the Crater was not without my direct involvement. Being known as the most successful player is not a bad thing either—well, I think so.

***

"Why did you go into the service?" I ask.

The first casino trip went more or less well. In this case, we bought expensive food at the casino restaurant.

"For the money," the pegasus replies. "My father... was an explosives expert, one of the best. He himself was not a follower of the ideals of those he served, and that's how I was: dubious and distrustful of my superiors. My mother always said I had more of my father's traits than hers. He was your character, cheerful and lively, only with a special love of explosives. I wondered how he got along with my mother, as she didn't like noise and was quite strict but caring."

"Opposites attract," I smile.

"In this case, I believe so," the pegasus chuckles.

"What was your mother?"

"A nurse. At the main hospital. My little sister took more after my mother in both character and interests. There she studied everything from childhood. Spent most of her time there as she grew older. Mother was, uh. I wouldn't say strict, but she was hard to entertain. She tried to be practical. What she loved most about her father was his fortitude. That he could put up with her. Personally, I couldn't love a pony who acts like my mother," Motley chuckles. "I hope she's okay."

"Who did you love more?"

"Well, that's not a fair question. I'd put it another way. Closer I was to my father than my mother. My sister is the opposite—closer to my mother. My sister I loved as much as my father. I watched her grow up. I raised her, fed her—she grew up on my hooves."

No wonder why she was so eager to avenge her.

"Why did your father, so different from your mother, love her?"

"I've asked that many times. The answer has usually been that she is the only one who tolerates him, and who knows how to delicately pacify his cheerful nature. They both said they were—how to put it more simply—balancing each other out. Mom lacked Dad's cheerfulness, and Dad lacked Mom's calmness. Yeah, I know. That combination of characters is extremely rare."

"What was there to appease in your father?"

"Dad, as he joked, liked to solve problems with explosives, making them disappear. He also used to say that art was a moment of pure beauty found in an explosion. His passion for them was partly passed on to me. I loved it when he would set off fireworks and put on shows for me, his little girl, away from residential and military areas."

Dad loved to blow things up... a moment of pure beauty... what? Motley likes explosions, especially if they are colorful and extravagant. I can imagine a situation where you have a pony like that as a wife. The slightest thing wrong and you're blown up with beauty and pageantry and off to somewhere far, far away...

"Did you spend much time together?" I ask.

"Yes. He taught me a lot of things about bomb-making. But I like dancing better."

"That's not surprising. You dance incredibly beautifully. It's a pleasure to be around at that moment."

Just a pleasure... Now that's certainly an understatement.

Motley smiles shyly.

"I loved dancing passionately and still do. When you move to the rhythm, you feel an extraordinary freedom, lightness and ease. These emotions so overwhelm me that I am lost in the embrace of pleasure and ecstasy. I loved to move. Hmm... If you want to live, know how to spin," the pegasus smiles. "I even went to a special dance school before I even had a cutie mark."

"In what way did you want to realize your movement energy? Not for martial arts, I assume?"

Motley laughs again. She's been noticeably doing that a lot lately. And I'm glad to see it. I also like watching her feel good. The way she laughs.

"No. Martial arts came later. I... wanted to start my own dance school. To try something new and energetic, to teach others. Help them reach their potential, give them the support they need to develop. Not to let them give up after making mistakes."

"So how did you end up in the service?"

"When my father died, I realized it was impossible to open a dance school with the funds available. My mother's salary was clearly not enough for me and my sister. So I had to go to the academy. They give free tuition to relatives of the dead, like... a replacement. I adapted my dancing ability for close combat and stealth, and the skills I learned from my father allowed me to develop my ability with explosives. I joined the service not so much for the money, but for my dream. What's your dream, Danny? Why are you looking for... something that will allow you to teleport long distances? Are you interested in the Dome just for that?"

I just want to go home. But it doesn't bother me so much now. Before last night's dance, I cared more.

"This doesn't have a clearly defined purpose. I've gotten used to hanging around the neighborhood and exploring dangerous places in my life. The knowledge or technology discovered will help those around me. I want to make life easier somehow, both my own and others'. Sometimes it's not just me who gets hurt... and I have to struggle between the desire to help and the fear of responsibility."

"Some don't do anything about it at all. You're not afraid to take responsibility. And... Honestly... I admire that."

I feel even more awkward than I did when she suggested we dance. Back then, I was losing control because of the confrontation, but now... I... I don't know how to react to this. I'm just lost.

"Thank you," I say.

Motley smiles slightly. Apparently notices some emotion on my face.

"You're doing a wonderful job in that regard. Under your leadership, we've survived the Crater, the Northern Soul, survived North Park and Nara's Stable without impact..."

"Well, that's... thanks to you... I mean... all of you. Everyone who helped."

"But you were the one in charge. And expertly."

Okay, I'm on fire. I don't deserve the praise. If she knew how many people died in the Divide. How many lives I've taken just delivering a fucking package.

I need to change the subject.

"How did you manage to become a small squad leader if you wanted to dance? It's not like you had any desire to serve the likes of them."

"Well... I had a good friend at the academy. I don't remember if I mentioned her. She's the one who helped me with my studies. I doubt I would have even been able to join the service without her. She was a great student. Studied just about everything just to be sure of herself. A bit of a control freak. Not much of a sense of humor. She, uh... had her own issues and problems from her past, but she's learned to deal with them with knowledge."

"You didn't see her after the academy?"

"Toward the end of our studies, we had our disagreements. We fought more and more often, and decided it was better to be apart for now. But I still wanted to see what she had accomplished. We've spent a lot of time together, know each other well."

"It seems to me," I smile meaningfully, "that you were more than just friends with her."

"Well... Yeah..." The pegasus's cheeks pinken, and she rubs her scruff with her hoof in embarrassment. "We were very close."

"Oh-ho-ho!" I chuckle. "You can tell me that was your first time." The pegasus is silent, pressing her lips together.

Though that shouldn't seem surprising: the female members are noticeably more common here.

"Yes..." Motley continues awkwardly, holding her hoof by the scruff of her neck. "I, like many mares, love both. And so did she. We were close. Thought we would be together, even made plans for the future. However, as I said earlier, we had our disputes. And you... as far as I know, bisexual stallions are extremely rare. But still, I'll ask you this: didn't you have a simple curiosity?"

My friends in the Vault 101 class liked to tease Butch and me about it. I often had arguments and difficult moments with him, which I deftly and eloquently avoided. Friends joked that the reason was something else. This intensified when Butch became a stylist as he liked to say. I did consider it, but it never came to fruition. Imagining myself in the arms of a man was strange and incomprehensible. So such sudden thoughts disappeared as instantly as they appeared.

"No," I answer thoughtfully. "Nothing like that ever happened."

***

20th of the Month of Heather, Blueday. Fifty-eighth day of my stay.

Since the day before yesterday we have sat in several casinos until we were pushed out of there because of frequent winnings. Motley knows a lot of interesting tricks. We've developed an effective modus operandi. We managed to scratch together, uh... 30 grand of caps. We even got robbed a couple times, but Motley gave the thieves a hard time. Damn, it's weird being protected by such a delightful guardian angel.

All in all, I enjoy spending time with Motley. We tell each other various and insignificant everyday stories from our past—of course, my stories are veiled, I hardly mention names—joking and having fun. Or we just chat about what we've seen.

At some point I realize that there is a place called the Paradise Pleasure nearby. In other words, the porn studio that everyone knows about. Motley naturally shyly declines the offer to visit the place, and it's indescribable. I, however, reply that she can stay here if she wants and I will go there alone. I end up going, however the pegasus catches up with me after a few minutes and silently follows me.

It's interesting to see the assortment of things ponies usually have fun with in bed.

In a spacious room with an expensive interior with harmonious red and maroon colors, I can go to different departments. From here I can get to the porn studio and casting department, a store of adult toys and all sorts of magazines and movies with lewd content, as well as a place where memory orbs and memories with the same content are sold. It looks like there was a porn studio here before the war.

This world never ceases to amaze me: ponies are just as much lovers of forbidden fruit as humans, but not as bashful, thanks to the fact that ponies often go without clothes. At the same time, ponies' physique mostly hides their genitals, which aren't as visible before arousal.

Funny: with such views on the subject of sex and erotics, Motley behaves needlessly shy.

I look at the toys and gadgets. Shelves and racks full of merchandise, a dozen customers around. And, frankly speaking, I have never seen such a variety of assortment. Dildos of various colors, shapes and sizes, with some additional functions, like vibration, and some can even hold liquid. Specifically for stallions, there are some hollow cylinders too. Turns out they simulate a mare's genitals to some extent... and more. That last one wasn't in my world.

Devices for flogging, tying and other set-up structures for entrapment, provocative clothes, costumes and separate accessories, including latex ones, as well as quite a few things that you can stick anywhere and get pleasure from it. Well and standard lubes and other consumable goods, created already after the war. The popularity of this place justifies itself, since the production of all these things is still established. Of course, the prices are high too.

What impresses me the most is the list in the form of a small book. It's a list of magical spells that can be adapted for pleasuring—and some are just for that purpose. And copies of the books of these spells can be purchased here. This list... there's so much on it, my jaw nearly dropped and hit the floor.

"Found something interesting?" Motley standing next to me asks uncertainly as I stare at the spell list.

"Yeah... just... I haven't seen anything like this before," I utter with effort. At that moment, a bronze-colored unicorn walks up. She wants to look at the list, but Motley and I block her.

"Are you guys going to be thinking about it much longer?" she asks.

"Huh? No... We were just leaving," I say and head towards the store exit.

Okay, not to forget, this is a world of magic. And ponies didn't have such a strict prohibition or moral judgment on something like this. So it was expected. I mean, I know that digital copies of spell books are also available at the university library, but I didn't have time to check them out. I wouldn't have enough caps on them. The spells here are also not cheap. I don't have time to study them, though, because the head scribe of the Steel Rangers has already handed me a digital version of a book with a set of spells on magical repair. It's complex and voluminous, so I don't have time for those lewd spells just yet.

"Oh," the pegasus responds. "I envy unicorns in that regard. Their horn can do so much. Such possibilities."

I only turn my head and look at Motley. My gaze makes her look awkward and she looks away.

I'm less and less eager to leave this world with such possibilities! Magic really does make life easier here, but it also brings physical pleasure and enjoyment.

Okay... The only thing left to see is the section where they sell memory orbs.

We get into a rather large hall, with long display cases stretching along the walls, proudly displaying orbs of memories inside. And there are quite a few visitors here, at least two dozen; they stand at the showcases and look at some magazines. There are mares and stallions, as well as griffon species.

I was already thinking about which memory to take. As I am thinking about it, I involuntarily look at the visitors: my gaze catches on a griffon. And then I realize which memory I'm going to choose.

One of the cash registers becomes vacant, and I walk over to it. Motley still feels awkward, but stands next to me. I strike up a conversation with the clerk, a makeup-clad unicorn with a fur of soft orange.

"I'm listening to you," she smiles welcomingly.

"This is my first time here. Can you advise me on anything? What kind of memory can you suggest for me?"

"To any taste, dear master. Memories of a mare during a delightful lovemaking with a stallion and vice versa, same-sex love of mares, stallions and griffins, mixed love of griffins and ponies, griffins only, 'group sex', hard or gentle banging... The magazines have pictures of the memory hosts and who they are paired with. Their number is listed there as well, you tell me which one your essence desires and we'll record it."

"Record it?"

"If, of course, you have a memory orb... Right, this is your first time here. We record about a thousand memories here each year, but memory orbs are few and far between, and they are expensive to create, and are made as a last resort. They require a certain kind of gemstones to create, which are difficult to grow. And that's just one of the problems in making them. So we simply replace the memory already in the memory orb with another. It's easier, isn't it?"

It turns out they're using memory orbs left over from before the war, erasing the world recorded in them, the world that was before this brutal time, for these lewd stuff.

"Where do you keep so many memories?" I ask.

Indeed, a thousand is quite a lot.

"Why store them somewhere? They remain in the memory of our employees while they are still alive, but you know that after a couple of years, new ones appear, and no one is interested in these anymore. Only the most popular ones are recorded in memory orbs, which are displayed in these cabinets. From those orbs, our staff 'copies' them into others. That's it."

"And how much do the memory orbs cost here?"

"Two thousand caps each. The cost of a memory is separate, it ranges from one hundred to five hundred caps."

Wow. Not cheap. But still, everyone wants to feel those sweet memories. The cost of memories is about the same as paying for prostitutes, only you pay for them once, while the memory orb can be used countless times until you get bored.

"So if I had a memory orb, I'd only pay for the memory itself?"

I'm not going to erase the memories related to Eric, of course. Just in case they still come in handy.

"Yes. We'd just erase what you already have and replace it with what you want."

"Won't I be fooled? Won't there be some cheap stuff?"

"Don't make me laugh," the salesgirl chuckles. "If we did that, this place wouldn't be so popular. Rumors would ruin everything. We have an ironclad reputation!"

"Okay. Then I'll take both the memory orb and the memory."

"Which one?" the mare clarifies.

"Well... Let's go with the unicorn memory with the griffon and pegasus. Got one of those?"

I furtively glance at Motley. To say she looks surprised is to say nothing. Her jaw just drops. Why? She hinted to me about the unicorn possibilities, and I hinted to her how interested I am in pegasi.

"There is one just like it," the salesgirl informs after a brief pause, peering at the list of memories lying on the counter. "Even though only one memory has that combination, it's the one most often taken here..." the unicorn looks at Motley standing next to me.

"A friend," I explain easily. "Don't ask me any more. I just like to tease her like in that way."

"You two don't look bad together at all. So why do you, my dear, need a memory with a pegasus? Do you want to prepare?"

"Oh, it's just that pegasi interest me. I envy them," I say slowly and clearly, watching Motley out of the corner of my eye. Her face is burning with embarrassment. "Wings... They have such possibilities, don't they?"

"If your friend is also interested in lewd memories," the orange-colored unicorn says, "we have special recollectors for non-unicorns. More expensive than memory orbs by half, of course, but..."

"No, no, I don't need one," Motley says quickly. The unicorn lets out a slight chuckle, then leans toward me and whispers loudly for Motley to hear, "Don't miss out on this cutie. I like pegasi myself, so don't just let this bird go."

"I'll keep that in mind," I smile.

I get the memory orb, paying two thousand four hundred caps for it and the memory, and we leave the Paradise Pleasure. Motley is afraid to look me in the eye.

***

After wandering around for a while, we come across another casino.

I'll use the caps I earned from gambling to renovate Heavenly Harbor. I need to buy soft and cozy furniture for this underground mansion. I remember the gorgeous velvet furniture from the Luxury Hotel I visited with Flow. I want one just like it for myself.

"So," I turn to Motley. "Shall we?" I nod my head and point to the sign of another 'victim'.

"The Glass Key?" she utters, looking at the sign with the image of a tilted key on it.

"Yep. It looks cheap, pretty nice to look at, and it's spacious. I think you can even get a room there. And you could make a pretty decent profit!"

"Well, let's see what it's like," the pegasus says without much enthusiasm, stepping inside.

I follow her in.

We win about thirteen grand here before we're banned from playing. It's not the number of caps that surprises me, it's just fine, but for this casino... There are very few visitors, and many of the gaming tables and machines are empty. Service staff is also few. Yes, and the renovation of the premises would not hurt. By the way, some of them were boarded up on inspection. It is strange that we were allowed to win so many chips.

The whole interior of the casino is in beige colors with a small amount of gray. Everywhere I look there is a symbol of the casino: a glass key. At the sight of nothing remarkable: on the 'beard' rectangular jagged, and the head of the key is a heart-shaped pattern with a missing inner part.

Each Vanhoover casino has its own symbolism, which is depicted everywhere: playing cards, tables, machines ... The Glass Key is no exception. Despite its slightly abandoned appearance, it caught my eye. Maybe because keys are usually associated with locks, which I love to pick by snapping them like peanuts. I wish I had a key that could open all the locks... No, that's not even interesting. I like the process more than the result.

We go to the cash register to exchange chips. The cashier's eyes bulge at the number of chips in front of her and she shakes her head.

"Unfortunately, we don't have enough caps to exchange that many," she says guiltily. I exchange glances with Motley.

"I don't get it?" I'm perplexed. "How in the world were we allowed to win an amount of money that you are unable to pay?"

"Let me take you to the owner and he'll explain it all to you."

I have a very bad feeling.

Together with the cashier we enter the owner's office. The room is medium sized but modest, nothing particularly fancy or expensive. For a casino, it's pretty poor and dreary.

"Mr. Goldberg, we have an unfortunate situation," the cashier informs an elderly pony sitting in a chair behind the desk. He is light yellow in color, his face expressing fatigue and boredom.

"So what is it again, Trippledust?" he asks, looking up at us lazily.

"These ponies have won a significant amount of chips here. We don't have enough to exchange them for money."

"And how many?"

"A little over thirteen thousand."

"What a curse! I told you not to let visitors win that much," the owner sighs heavily, "okay. Go back to work. I'll take care of it."

"Okay," she withdraws, closing the doors behind her.

"Well, tell me about it," Goldberg looks at us curiously.

"We want our caps."

"I understand. Shit... It's such a sum. We haven't had a visitor in years who could win that much from us. I guess the dealer got a little carried away with the game and wanted to get even, but it didn't work out. Or maybe he was being blackmailed by someone to force us into bankruptcy. Don't worry, I know it wasn't you."

"Is that why your casino from the inside looks somewhat... abandoned?" I casually glance around the office.

"Families!" the elderly pony shrieks angrily. "Bloody hell with them! I've spent my whole life trying to resist their influence, but the Softhooves are the most stubborn of them all, always putting sticks in my wheels. Bitches. A couple days ago, my assistant was found dead in a dumpster. I'm sure the Softhooves cunts set it all up. We've had a lot of thefts before, large quantities of fake chips. They intimidated my employees to ruin me by forcing me to sell the casino for a pittance! Since I'm a stallion, they decided to act in the most drastic way possible against my casino."

"You're apparently just as stubborn yourself," I say.

"That's for sure! But... fuck, I'm just exhausted. So many years of hard work... I'd rather die than sell my casino to any of the fucking families! Listen, are you members of the family?"

"No."

"Good. Why don't you buy it back from me? You don't look too poor."

"Why would I want it? The place is practically abandoned, what good is it?"

"I'd rebuild the place and hire better staff, but I just don't have the money to do it all. You see, even in my office, there's nothing more valuable than this wooden table I'm sitting at. And if the casino owner changes, I'm sure they'll put their operations on hold for a while to find out what kind of bird you are. I'm just tired already, and in this business you have to get off the stage on time. I doubt there will be any who want to compete with the Families, especially the jackals from the Softhooves. You could fix things up here, if you have the means, and then resell it at a bargain price, or keep it and gradually make a profit from it. What do you say?"

I look at Motley. She shrugs.

Prince was telling me that I need to get closer to the citizens of the city in some way. With the city itself. And the best way to do that is through doing business. Sooner or later there will be connections. Then I'll be even better recognized, see what I'm capable of, and believe that I'm the one who infiltrated the Crater and the Northern Soul."

"Okay. I'll give it a try."

"Wonderful!" the pony glows with joy.

I feel like I'm being played. I'm gonna have a lot of problems with this casino. But I don't have any money, so why not give it a try?

"Can I get a deal for fifteen thousand?" he asks.

"Thirteen. That's what your casino should have paid me.... not me to you."

"Okay, thirteen grand and the casino is yours. Softhooves would never have offered more money anyway, quite the opposite: noticeably less."

"Wait, where do I start my restoration?"

"For starters, find yourself a good trusted assistant. They usually handles the most trivial routine in such matters and will fulfill your every whim, if you have enough caps, per se."

I am quickly served with all the necessary papers connected with the ownership of the property. We then visit the real estate office to officially confirm my ownership of the casino. Thanks again to Flint for the passport. I wonder if he's forgotten that I want to be a King. His girlfriend promised to remind him about me.

After finishing the paperwork, Goldberg takes his caps and disappears. The casino also has an owner's suite. I now have my own apartment in this city, officially, where Prince or whoever else can find me if necessary. For example, by sending a letter.

I need to find a steward, so I'd better start my search with the connections I have in this city, namely Bluerise. Hopefully, she's done some sniffing around here quickly enough to point me to a trusted and responsible pony for such an important and difficult job, since I'll often be hanging around the Wasteland and have no desire to do something like that.

***

"What do you want?" Bluerise jokingly turns to us. "Any choice you need. I have a bit of this, a bit of that... How are you spending your time?" the purple unicorn of unprecedented beauty asks, standing behind the counter of her store and smiling slyly.

She doesn't have many customers by evening, I realize. I have looked at her store's assortment and I can tell that it has been noticeably upgraded since the last time I visited. A variety of things have appeared, from metal spoons and forks to inexpensive guns and ammunition.

"Just wonderful," I reply. "Walking around the establishments in town and having fun. Lately we've been earning caps at the casinos."

"Earning caps?" the pony tilts his head to her shoulder in puzzlement.

"Sort of. Playing card games, thus 'robbing' the casino," I smile. "I get lucky a lot.. Like my guardian angel," I nod my head at the pegasus behind me. The unicorn giggles cutely, and a heavy sigh of despair echoes behind me. "I'm here for what... The fact is that I, with all the privileges and responsibilities, have been deeded the casino property."

"What?" the pony gasps. "How...? Do you remember how much it cost me to open this store?" she absent-mindedly swipes her hoof around. "And you have an entire casino..."

"This casino is having financial problems, hence why they couldn't give away my winnings in full. Ended up paying about ten thousand more caps..."

"Damn you, Daniel! Where do you get that kind of money that you're throwing around left and right? I'm jealous."

"I told you, I've never had a problem with caps. What am I talking about? Right. So, the gambling establishment called 'The Glass Key' was in a very poor state: few employees, who were still threatened and even killed at times, many rooms closed and in need of restoration. Lack of proper security measures, as well as guards... In short, a lot of things need to be done, and therefore invest a lot of caps, so that the casino began to bring a good profit. Then I'll probably sell it."

"Let me guess: Softhooves is putting sticks in the wheels?" the pony suggests.

"How did you know?" I wonder.

"I've spent enough time in this place, and I know that the Softhooves are the richest and most numerous businessponies in town. The fashion, the prestige... wealth... And I'm aware of their attitude towards stallions."

"That's right. So, to fix all of the above, I need two things: caps and a trustworthy assistant who understands the local laws and knows how to run a business, in other words, a 'right hoof'. You've been here quite a bit, so I thought you might be able to..."

"...find someone to do all the routine stuff?" Bluerise finishes the sentence for me.

"Running ahead of the engine, no wonder why you're so successful at what you do," I smile softly.

"Yep! Now back to our brahmins. I know a pony around here and I can vouch for him like he's my life."

"Wow."

"What?"

"I didn't expect you to trust anyone around here that much."

"Honestly, he's the reason I've been able to make reliable contacts here and get my hooves on information on how to do business in this town and still stay alive."

"He?"

"His name is Bland. I met him in a bar. The same evening that I managed to set up a business here with your help, which, by the way, is already doing quite well, I went out on a survey. I wanted to find out how things were going here in the city and so on. So, after a while in that bar, one of the customers started harassing me. He was pretty drunk. Bland was there, too, and he was pretty drunk—he was the one who stood up for me."

"How romantic," I say, unable to help myself.

"There was a fight," Bluerise continues, as if she hadn't heard me say it, "but eventually the guard got them to calm down before they hurt each other. After that, I helped Bland to come to his senses. He sobered up a bit, and we had a conversation in which he told me how he'd been unfairly kicked out of his job, and that he had basically nothing of material possessions now, since he'd spent it all on payoffs," the pony said sympathetically. "I felt sorry for him, so I decided to help him with his job. I help him with small things, and in return he shares information about dangers, and how to avoid them. Told me about this town's reliable contacts, and how to convince Families to agree to deals. By the way, he knew many ponies in this town, but naturally, without the caps, none of them would help him. Thanks to him, I was able to get my business up and running. He still does minor work now, and I wish I could give him a better job."

"You mean..."

Bluerise nods without delay.

"He worked at a major casino called the Crystal Lotus, he was a financial employee there and held a high position, but he was just screwed because he's a stallion."

"So he worked at a casino owned by Softhooves?"

"They only kept him alive because of his contacts. It cost him dearly and he was left with no caps. He was very adept at managing the budget thanks to his knowledge and connections. Still, if you don't have sympathetic friends and money, no one will hire you for a new job. Will you help Bland by taking him on as your assistant? I already helped a certain Flyrose recently..."

Oh, the same pony from the North Park Bank who caught the attention of the yao guai and backed herself into a corner.

"I'm sure," the purple unicorn with the pink mane continues her speech, "he'll be genuinely happy to be doing something weighty rather than just being a one mare's errand boy."

"I decided to take him in back when you first recommended him," I smile.

"Oh, Danny, thank you!" The unicorn suddenly encloses me in a hug. "You're the best."

A little later that afternoon, Bluerise introduces us to Bland.

A light lilac-colored unicorn in his late thirties with a disheveled cold purple mane. He smiles warmly when he sees our unicorn, but grows serious at the sight of Motley and me.

Bland is a pleasant conversationalist, moderately polite to strangers. He has an unusual soft voice: in a noisy crowd, if he shouted out, I could find him without much effort. After getting to know him, I bluntly offer him the job. He glances discreetly at the unicorn, who nods affirmatively, adding that it was me she'd told him about. His expression softens. Apparently, Bluerise had said a lot of things to him.

Eventually, the light lilac unicorn accepts the job, adding that Bluerise's friends are his friends, too. I note to myself that Bland occasionally glances at the unicorn and tried to be closer to her. He informs me that it will be a joy for him to work in such a high position and that he will do whatever it takes to make the casino a success.

We leave Bluerise and head towards the casino. I inform Bland of the state of affairs at the Glass Key—he informs me that he'll have to look around first.

After finding out the necessary information and seeing the establishment for himself, Bland informs me that it is very difficult, in fact impossible, to restore anything from the profits generated by the casino. Without additional funds and investments, including advertising costs, there is no way around it.

Having resolved a few office formalities, he gets to work, gaining access to my bank account. He assures me that he will carefully allocate my caps for the prosperity of the casino and to increase profits. The amount I have will be just enough to make this place prestigious: slowly but surely it can be achieved.

I can tell by the way Bland has taken to his work that he is a really responsible and reliable pony. It seems to me that he's more interested in meeting the expectations of Bluerise than mine. He seems interested in her, but he's trying not to show it.

It's about the Softhooves, and Bland openly expresses his dislike of that nasty, pompous family. I mention to him that I've already met the guy they've framed. I briefly tell him about the kidnapping and my acquaintance with the Heart twins. He's interested in their abilities, since they showed their skill at getting into hard-to-reach places when they helped me with Blaze's release. He decides that he could use their services if someone starts messing with us by dirty methods.

Bland informs me that I should forgo the profits for now and put everything into rebuilding the casino. I agree. I'll have to wait at least a couple more months before I can make a good profit, unless we get a mountain of caps to spend on renovations and attracting customers.

Stable 66... The Mysterious Stable. Exploring this place promises a reward of one hundred thousand caps from Prince himself—not necessarily in the form of caps, but perhaps gems or rare resources. No, going to that Stable is suicide. No one has returned yet, not even a huge squad of Steel Rangers. Though curiosity has a way of getting me there. But we need to get back to business at hand.

Now we're talking about how some ponies who don't have acquaintances and contacts are having a hard time finding work in this city. So we decide not to alienate them nor not to hire them. In fact, Bland is the one who suggests this, as during his time of poverty he has met quite a few good Vanhoover residents who are in dire need of reliable employment. And we are in a position to help them. He says he will be careful in this matter to reduce the risk of 'rotten apples' coming to us. I have no problem agreeing to the offer, and I can see in Bland's eyes that he respects me even more. I feel like we'll find common ground in no time.

The hard day of the casino acquisition comes to an end, and we head to the available rooms, of which there are many. Plus, the owner has his own suite. As the current owner of the place, I'm the one checking in. Motley jokes again about how I always get the best seats.

Generally speaking, most of the rooms need to be restored and cleaned, as do other areas of the casino, like the restaurant, bar... One of the larger rooms turned out to be a medium sized room with a stage where they used to put on shows.

Oh... memories. The Ace Theater at the Tops on the New Vegas Strip. For Tony, the theater manager, I was looking for good entertainers to dilute the entertainment. Among those I found were musicians and singers as well as comedians. From the five percent profit on the performances of each, I received a respectable amount of caps.

I think if we reopen this venue and recruit good entertainers to the Glass Key, it will make a good profit and attract visitors. I only know of one possible candidate for performances, but I haven't found a cello for her yet.

That's the way I think about business here...

I'm less and less eager to leave this world. Magic... and now Motley, who comes into my thoughts when I think of reasons to stay. Of course I want to get closer to her. I can't hide it any longer. Now, I've given Motley a lot of hints, and she says nothing about her own feelings for me... What's she so concerned about? What is she nervous about?

It's so easy for me to think about my relationship with her. Until a couple days ago, I was going crazy with internal conflict. I hope it's left me completely and irrevocably, because I couldn't think straight because of it.

What do I do? Continue to keep giving her hints or... Eh, all right. I'll think of a better time later.

***

I'm reading spell books to catch up on sleep, but a knock on the door forces me to turn off the Pip-Boy and check to see who's awake at this late hour.

Has something terrible happened? I doubt it. I shake my head, pushing the bad thoughts out of it, and open the door.

There's a familiar pegasus standing on the doorstep of my room. She's dressed in a beige robe with homemade slits for wings. Looking at me uncertainly.

"Hi," I smile softly. "What are you doing up?"

"Oh, just some thoughts going around in my head and keeping me awake," she replies, looking somewhere behind her. Then she looks at me again. "May I come in?"

"Oh yes, of course, come in," I step aside, allowing the pegasus to pass. "What's troubling you?" I ask, closing the doors behind her.

The beige pony is slow to answer, standing with her back to me while looking at an old, slightly dusty painting of a pre-war landscape. "Nothing too bad or anything like that... It's just," she turns to me. "Can you please sit down?"

"Could I pass out from what you're about to inform me?" I ask playfully.

"Who knows," the interlocutor replies uncertainly, looking around. Her voice trembles slightly.

This alarms me, however I comply with the request and sit down on the couch, looking at her expectantly. She slowly and tentatively moves towards me.

What is it that bothers her so much that she can't sleep and didn't hesitate to come to me in her pajamas.

Wait a minute, is that what I think it is? Did she really want to clarify her behavior?

Motley sits down next to me, and for some reason, without raising her gaze to me, stares at her hooves; her head feels so heavy it can't be lifted by anything.

"Danny," she says without raising her head, "I wanted to say... You remember the first time we met, don't you?"

I fall out of my musings. Even though I've settled the question for myself regarding her, I still feel a thrill.

"I remember... And does it bother you?"

"Back then, everything seemed empty and inconsequential to me. I just wanted to lie down and die. Everyone treated me in a bad way, to put it mildly. Then along came you, the perpetually cheerful, crazy, and unstoppable fool," she turns her head toward me, but her gaze stays somewhere away from mine.

"Totally agree," I smile. She looks into my face for a moment and then lowers her gaze again, occasionally returning it to me.

"I assumed you only had light moments in your life, but then I started to get to know you better. Then you told me about Brisa. I wondered how you managed to stay positive and happy in spite of it. You managed to support others, help others, despite your past. I envied you. You knew I had been asked to keep an eye on you, but you still treated me like it was nothing. Just an ordinary traveling companion who wanted to be in your company. When you smile at me, when you hug me—knowing my dark and horrible deeds—it's like I feel better and... it's so much nicer that someone accepts me with this baggage. You... I just wanted to be close to you to get a little bit of that good feeling. To go back to a time when nothing terrible happened."

I think she practiced that speech—repeatedly.

"Yes, I'm a terrible pony. But you don't treat me accordingly. The whole time we've known each other, I've been comfortable with you and... it feels like more than just comfort. Inside me. there's a very small. silly, naive... hope. But first, can you tell me what you think of me?"

Her speech becomes quite choppy towards the end and subsides. I only now notice that her cheeks are flaming. Should I tell her what I think of her now?

"I think I want you."

Motley smiles shyly, but holds her gaze on me. A return glance. She feels a mutual attraction in return. And it pleases me.

"You're nice to be with. You have dreams, you have a passion for dancing. Your sister was one of your important ponies. And your revenge is understandable. It doesn't make you horrible. We all act irrationally from time to time. You've had too much on your plate already. I doubt anyone could stay calm after that. Oh... come here."

She hesitantly moves closer. I hug her over her shoulder.

"I also like hugging you. I like having you hugging me, too. I feel good with you, as well. I can't help but think about you lately."

The beige pegasus in her robe hugs me back, nestling her cheek against the fur on my chest.

"I'm worried."

"It's okay. There's nothing wrong with that. Sometimes we meet those who make our heart involuntarily beat more often. Especially in battle."

She laughs uncertainly.

"Even if you don't want to be with me, I'll understand. It's just... I don't know how you feel about me. I'd like to hear it from you. Without any hints. I... constantly question everything about me. How others perceive me."

"Clearly, you're sexy."

Motley chuckles faintly.

"Well... I didn't doubt my looks much. I'm doubting that I deserve to be... With good ponies. With you."

Do I deserve you, Motley? You're a good and wonderful pony yourself. If you knew more about the responsibility that rests on my shoulders. What I've done.

"You deserve to be with good ponies exactly as much as you think I deserve..." I reply.

Motley looks at me with her multicolored eyes as she continues to hug me. I look at the blue eye, then the yellow eye. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen in this world. I lean toward her, turning my head to avoid hitting her with my horn. She moves toward me, covering her eyes. I feel her breath, her scent... the faint tang of almonds.

I touch her lips. A light touch. Awkward, restrained, uncertain. I'm overcome with greed. I can't touch her so lightly. I want to touch her tighter!

I press harder with my lips. I feel the shape of her lovely lips better, their intoxicating softness. I don't want to let her go. I don't want this moment to end. Her lips are gorgeous. I can't get enough of them.

Motley breaks the kiss. She takes a breath, looking up at my eyes from below. A languid and eager look.

"I was so waiting for your kiss."

"I only regret not kissing you sooner. Such pleasure."

Her front legs release me. She deftly jumps on top of me, greedily taking in my lips, not letting me get any air. She wraps her legs around my neck and presses me against the back of the couch. My organ below is aroused: a rush of blood flowing underneath. After a few seconds, I can feel her wetness.

I could swear Motley is smiling during the kiss.

She breaks the kiss again. My straining member teases her crotch.

"How it pulses..." he whispers. "I... can't take it any longer."

"Can't stand it?" I quietly interject.

"Say... Do you remember... We practiced together in the bunker until we were interrupted?"

"Yes."

"I went to take a shower then... and..."

Her front legs around my neck tense. Still, she deliberately left the door open.

"Yeah, I saw you."

She returns to my lips—passionate and hot. It's possible to burn, but I'm ready to burn right now. Her lips part once more.

"And... what did you think?"

"I heard you moaning."

"You did? You were there at that moment... You like it wet, don't you?"

Only two knew about it. Bluerise and Lemon. One of them blabbed. Lemon wouldn't have said anything about it, because there would have been questions about how she got those details. But Motley was suspicious of my intimacy with Bluerise. Apparently, she was able to tell her.

She left the door open, knowing my weakness for wet bodies. Motley covers my mouth with her hoof, smiling embarrassedly.

"Yeah... I cheated a little," she adds, moving her pelvis so I can better feel the relief of her wet labia.

I can tell right away: she doesn't go into battle if she doesn't know anything about her opponent. A true scout. Considerate.

"Set a trap for me..." I bite my lips, enjoying her sliding over my hard member.

"And it worked?"

"It worked. But I had to leave quickly... Thought it was a coincidence."

Motley is slightly upset by this fact. Her movements weaken.

"But," I continue. "The arousal left by your wet body wasn't going anywhere."

"So what did you do?" she bites her lip. Her pelvis moves back and forth. She slides against me, her labia wrapped around my cock, moistening it.

I want to use magic and sit her on top of me the right way. To feel her inner warmth.

"I fantasized. About quietly walking up to you and... sliding inside."

"Like this?"

She lifts up, and my cock follows. She catches the head of it with her soft labia and slides down sharply. With a wet sound, it glides to its full length. Her long moan of pleasure reaches my ears, and my own bursts out of my chest.

Chapter 21 - There Stands the Grass

View Online

21st of the Month of Heather, Violetday. The fifty-ninth day of my stay.

I slowly open my eyes. Motley's body is pressed against me, nuzzling my chin with her sweet muzzle, and I put my front leg around the pegasus's shoulders, pulling her close to me. She sniffles peacefully, her warm breath warming my fur.

All I want to do is lie there and be with her. Enjoy the warmth of her body.

"How did you sleep?" I ask, giving her my smile.

"Wonderful..." she answers sluggishly and sleepily, returning her head to its previous position and snuggling a little harder against me. "I didn't expect such a pleasant development yesterday."

"Nor did I expect it. I like having you around."

"Likewise... You're cozy and good. Let's lie down some more," she strokes my belly with her hoof. "Let's not go anywhere."

"Yeah..."

I lean down, resting my nose against the brown mane, and inhale deeply. My body shakes from the past wave of pleasure.

"You smell so nice," I say. "I can't get enough of you."

"Mutually," the pegasus licks my nose.

Her hoof slides from my belly lower. The pegasus bites her lip as she stares at me with multicolored eyes.

"I want more..." she whispers and dives under the blanket.

***

"Word travels fast around here," the light lilac unicorn smiles softly as soon as Motley and I enter the casino's office space. "No sooner had the casino changed owners than you had two letters delivered the very next morning; also, Bluerise informs me that the husband of an artist you know gave her a painting."

"I'll go over and have a look at it later. What are the letters?" I inquire. Bland, wasting no time, presents the said letters to me.

"If anything, I haven't read them," he shrugs. After a brief pause, he adds, "If you don't need anything else, I'll be off. Things are busy."

I nod, whereupon the unicorn leaves us.

The pegasus and I return to the empty corridor, walking slowly down it, opening the sealed envelopes. Only a name. As I pull a letter from the first envelope, Motley steps closer to me, and together we look at the text with interest.

"Salute, Daniel. Troy Steelmane is writing to you. I don't know if this letter will get to you, since you can't even be found by day. I have a small favor to ask. You don't have to agree, I realize you're a wheeler and you don't have a lot of free time, just take note. As you know, magical gems don't grow on trees in our city, and it's not easy to grow them. Energy crisis and all, in case you haven't noticed. So, in order to somehow solve this delicate problem, our family sends small groups to explore, hoping to find a pre-war mine with appropriate conditions for the extraction and production of colorful gems. So far, no luck. Recently I've had some folks complain to me that another group that went to the east has disappeared without a trace, as if vaporized—no news, no shit. They've been disappearing since before I was born. When I heard about these disappearances again, I immediately thought of you, the pony who makes the impossible possible. If you have the time and desire, can you search for these lost souls? I would be very grateful to you, as the area is not beyond the first corner, and the Family does not want to spend time and resources on searching for them, as it is not critical. They blame it on aggressive mutants and unfriendly bandits. The only thing I know is that the scouts disappeared at the mountain range, spreading at the largest mountain ridge, separating us from the rest of the Wasteland, like a severed limb, and, in my opinion, there are only solid rocks around, so you should have eyes on your knees, so that you don't miss anything and don't stumble. I won't be in debt, of course."

Apparently, they haven't decided whether to give me a recommendation for the title of a King. That's why they're sending me another proposal for cooperation. Although only the head of the family can give a recommendation, and he's just a blood heir... I don't know.

"Are you going to go look for them?" Motley asks, looking at me.

"There aren't any leads related to the Dome right now anyway, so to avoid wasting time, I'd rather build up my reputation for now. The place Troy is talking about is about four or five days away from Vanhoover. I'll let Caroline handle it. She likes to explore the area, so it's okay to give her directions."

"What's the second letter about?"

"We're about to find out," I say, bowing my head and opening another envelope.

"Mr. Evans, there's a request for you from Sunny Waterfall. The rumors in town are rather hard to believe, but some of my family talk that it was you who managed to deal with the head of the raiders in the Crater by infiltrating the heart of that dangerous place, thus weakening their attacks on our caravans appreciably. I would not have contacted you, but your exceptional act has given me hope that you might be able to find my missing friend. If you're interested, come to me personally for details. You can find me on the edge of the island in the only safe place, Phoenix Threshold. In case you haven't been there, it's part of Vanhoover, located on Green Island. If I were you, I'd take more weapons and supplies, as you'll be going to look for my friend on the territory of The Island or Green Island, whatever you like to call it. I look forward to hearing from you soon."

Sunny Waterfall... That name sounds familiar. Clearly she's a member of the Waterfall family, but where have I heard it... Someone mentioned it. The day I was deciding on the reward after the Crater. Flint Grey and, uh... Crimson Sky, a writer from the Vanhoover Polytechnic Institute.

Sunny's a blood relative of the family, but she's in the science business, as I understand it. Obviously, it's not her decision whether to recommend the title of a King from the Waterfall family to me.

Motley says, "Will you go to Sunny Waterfall? Green Island is a dangerous and poorly explored place as far as I'm concerned. Of course I'll go with you. Somebody's got to keep your curiosity in check."

"Okay, I'm able to take care of myself," I say sternly to Motley, turning to her. "I've spent nine years traveling in the dangerous Wasteland, and I know how to survive."

"I've got your back anyway. If anyone tries to touch you with a hoof, they die a beautiful death, after which shreds of their ass will be scraped off the walls. Have you forgotten who I am?"

"The dancer whose matchless moves make Prince melt instantly, the girl who gets aroused by being peeped at?"

The beige pegasus pokes her hoof at my shoulder.

"Hush, you wet fetishist," she blushes. "Let's go see what our Deep Blue has sprayed on the canvas."

I laugh and hug her.

I'm wildly jealous of her: she's trusted me with something that's hard to keep to myself alone—her past. How do I tell her about my origins? When will I ever have the courage to admit something so crazy?

***

With amazed faces, Motley and I stare at the canvas delivered to Bluerise from the artist. I can't believe my eyes. The situation the artist intended to depict was different from what I see before me.

We are in the back room of the Bottomless Chest store. With us is its owner, who is looking at the painting of Motley and me with interest and an understanding smile on her face.

"Wow," the purple unicorn exhales enthusiastically. "Did you then..."

"Did I hug you like that?" I wonder, ignoring the unicorn's words and looking at the picture. "I remember it was just a normal friendly hug back then, but here..."

Motley is silent. Bluerise speaks instead.

"What's there to be surprised about?" she asks. "It's pretty clear: hugging like you're more than friends."

"Right," I say. The picture seems to accurately capture that moment, but at the same time it's very different. "But back then, we hadn't confessed our feelings yet."

"Artists," the pegasus suddenly absent-mindedly quotes familiar words, "can see far more than mere mortals."

"Oh, that's all so sweet!" Bluerise exclaims happily. "And yet I wondered when you would confess to each other. Oh, how I envy you. I wonder what would have happened if you had seen this painting before the confession?"

"Why are you jealous?" I ask curiously. "You're quite a beauty with an attractive smile. You didn't come to town yesterday, there are probably a few studs who already have their eyes on you and can't tear it off."

"I told you earlier how unlucky I was with that. Just to get laid with me and that's it—they don't want me anymore. Yes, some studs look at me, but I feel like they're all only interested in my body, not me."

"Don't despair," I smile encouragingly, resting a hoof on the unicorn's shoulder. "You'll meet your happily ever after. Bland, for example."

"What about him?" the pony inquires. "He's just trying to thank me for pulling him out of poverty."

"Is it really only about gratitude? Think again, Blue, he struck me as a nice pony. He was pleasantly surprised by the help of a kind stranger, and you won him over with that. He's not only trying to repay your help, he's trying to please you. While talking to him a couple times the subject of you came up, and his eyes brightened."

"Well..."

"It's my job to offer. It's up to you to decide. And remember, if he does anything bad to you, I'm gonna beat his face out. You're not alone in this town. Right, Motley?"

"Sure!" I hear.

"Thank you guys," she hugs me tighter, and then Motley. "However, I have business to attend to now, and I have to leave you—clients are waiting."

"Well, hurry up," I say as she walks away. And then, looking at the few kids' toys lying there, I think of one little orange pony. "I'll take the painting. And yes, I also want to buy Nara a box of toys."

"You're welcome to take them, not many ponies here are interested in them anyway," the mare turns around. "Maybe I'll commission a portrait of myself from an artist you know," she adds before disappearing from sight. I glance at the motley-eyed pegasus.

"Bluerise... She told me her story once, and I thought of myself. I can't envy her. She spoke so well of you... You mean a lot to her."

"And she was the one who blabbed to you that I'm into wet bodies?"

The pegasus blushes.

"I was just... curious. Had to make sure there wasn't anything like that going on between you two. I know what you had was... Casual. But nothing more than that. That's how I found out that detail."

"I guessed."

Motley turns to the canvas with the picture of her and me on it.

"Where will you hang the picture?"

"In my suite in Heavenly Harbor, and where else?"

"Oh!" she taps her front hooves against each other thoughtfully. "I was just remembering. Since we're together... you wouldn't mind me... settling in with you?" the pegasus hesitantly asks, smiling strainedly. "After tonight... I don't want to sleep alone anymore."

"Of course I don't mind! On the contrary, I sleep easier with someone at my side. Why does it bother you?"

"Well, in case you want to be alone in your apartment sometimes."

"It's lonely there. And plenty of room—both for dancing and stripping," I smiled, playing with my eyebrows.

"For stripping and for dancing?" she walks toward me at point-blank range, standing up on her hind legs, lifting me up as well, as if she wants to dance with me. "Is there that much room available for that?" she smiles lightly, covering her eyes languidly and leaning closer.

"Yeah..." I whisper, preparing to kiss her.

And to my dismay, I realize I've been wrapped around my torso and lifted up. The next thing I know, I feel a pain in my back. I'm on the floor, pegasus on top of me. A deflection throw.

"And even for hoof-to-hoof combat training?" she smirks in my face.

I mean, she followed in her father, who liked to have fun. I should have expected something like that from her.

"Oh..." I groan. "And what was that for? All you did was get my clothes and yours dirty..."

"It's no big deal. We're going back to Heavenly Harbor anyway. As you can see, my jokes are different from yours. There's more active body movement in them."

"In other words, you like to horse around."

"You could say that. Only with friends and family. Horsing around... and I just felled one horse," I laugh tiredly. "So you beware of me too, when you hug or try to kiss me. I'll be practicing your vigilance. And yes, from what I remember, you have a strong back," she refers to the improvements from the implants in my spine that are left in me. "And you don't have to worry about you in cases like this."

"Is that why you chose me? So you could have fun with me like this without fear?" She laughs ringingly.

"And there's something in that," she replies thoughtfully.

Oh, no!

"But don't worry." Suddenly I feel her lips on mine, then she unclenches her hooves. "I know the measure, and I'll still give you a hug and a kiss after this. Now let's go," she stands up and helps me up.

***

Taking the painting back to Heavenly Harbor, I also grab some plush toys for Nara.

Upon arriving at the humble nest, the first one to greet me is, of course, our chain dog named Caroline, using her main dark blue robotic Stable body, which is looking ragged at the moment: small scratches left by animals, dried dirt and dust. Apparently her body had just returned to the bunker after another run through the Wasteland.

"It's good to see you," she addresses us. We exchange welcoming pleasantries. "How's your progress in increasing your reputation in the pony and griffon social environment?" she asks interestedly.

"Slowly," I cover my eyes, then immediately add in a firm tone, "but steadily! And I have some business to attend to."

"I'm listening intently."

"I need you to scour a rocky area east of here near the mountain range—it's on the very edge of the Vanhoover region. Somewhere in that area, a group of masters recently went missing looking for gem mines and production. So be vigilant."

"Will do!" Caroline exclaimed cheerfully. "But controlling my robots at this distance is impossible due to the weak transmitter. It is necessary to overcome this acceptable limit."

I think back to Lemon.

"I hope Berry found all the necessary components and parts at her Citadel to upgrade your capabilities. We'll have to get her."

Caroline leaves us to have her body thoroughly repaired and diagnosed. We decide to use Venture, near where Blaze is rummaging around, checking and making sure everything is in order and nothing is broken by examining every inch of the body with tools and various instruments.

"What do you want?" he asks, engrossed in what he's doing.

"I want to use Venture to pick someone up," I say.

"Who and where?"

"A Steel Ranger in their—"

"Are you serious?" he hisses with poorly concealed disgust. "They're obsessed with technology, and they'll take your Venture away before you know it!"

"Oh, calm down. I know about it, but we don't intend to land directly at their headquarters. And you can trust a friend. Besides, she knows about Venture and has been to Heavenly Harbor."

"Since that is the case... Then get in, I'll give you a ride," his tone becoming a little more cheerful, apparently at the thought that he was about to sit at the Venture's controls again and cut through the air.

Landing in the same place as the previous times, I make my way to their base alone. The pegasus is about to protest, but I quickly inform her that I'm only picking up my friend. Motley's gaze softens.

I find Lemon at the base. She informs me that she hasn't solved the details for integrating Caroline with the Vertibuck yet, but she can solve the signal range problem.

I introduce her to Blaze. He is stern and wary of ponies in power armor, especially her friendly tone. She doesn't pay much attention to it. It's interesting to see his reaction to the physicality of the star paladin. Lemon notices Motley is close to me. She instantly realizes everything.

"Finally!" she exclaims with incomprehensible relief. "You guys got laid after all."

I shake my head, and Motley shrinks back and averts her gaze. Apparently because of Blaze, who has suffered the mare's abuse.

In the bunker, Lemon heads straight for Caroline.

Motley moves in with me, and I help her. At some point, Nara visits us. She's tired of entertaining herself with the toys I bought her. She wants to play with me. I was going to tell her no, but I can't resist the begging look on the little orange pony's face, and I have half an hour of fun with her while Motley drags some of her stuff over to my place.

At some point in the fun, I introduce Nara to Lemon. Naturally, the little pony is incredulous and skeptical of the new face in this underground bunker. However, Lemon's friendly attitude as well as her kind smile makes little Nara relax and not worry about her new acquaintance. According to Flow, Nara didn't show her face for a while when Blaze showed up at the place.

As I meet Lemon, who's busy amplifying Caroline's signal, Nara watches her work with curiosity. She temporarily loses interest in our game, allowing me to prepare the equipment without upsetting her. Lemon and Caroline don't mind the company of the little orange pony watching them passionately.

I remember that my main weapon is now being upgraded by Ferris. Motley says that her battle saddle has been taken away by the griffon for improvement as well.

"Оh. Hi," the griffon turns to us, taking his eyes off the workbench and setting aside his tools. "How was your time?" he asks with a faint smirk.

"It was absolutely divine," I smile.

"Good for you. While you were fucking the divine pegasus, I worked on your gear. Due to a lack of some resources and parts, the end result wasn't quite satisfactory—that only applies to Whispering Night."

The griffon nods to a nearby shelf where my dark blue half rifle and half carbine lie. I envelope it with my magic and levitate it to me, feeling the weight gain.

"I see you've noticed the change," he continues. "Yes, I modified the weapon's receiver: it now has three firing modes that only affect the rate of fire. Now, as you can see, the switch is set at standard, which means that in that mode the semi-rifle has the same firing characteristics as before. The 'higher' position noticeably increases the rate of fire almost to the level of your carbine pistol, but the bullet velocity, and therefore the penetrating power, suffers. It also significantly increases wear and tear. Therefore, I recommend using this mode only when there are a lot of opponents. With the 'lower' position it's the opposite: the killing power increases, but the rate of fire decreases, becoming approximately the same as in standard sniper rifle analogs. Next time I'll get better materials and eradicate the drawbacks of increased weight and durability. Caroline's already given me plenty of ideas and solutions."

"Anyway, you've done a good job," I smile contentedly, looking at my improved weapon.

"I'm honored. Your turn, Motley," he turns to the brooding pegasus, bringing her back down to earth. "Your battle saddle, in my opinion, contained many engineering oversights and flaws. I tweaked the ammunition changing and reloading system without too much trouble, and calibrated the movement of the barrels, making aiming much easier. When I get the necessary parts, I will be able to make a couple more improvements, which will be very useful in combat. I was able to do all of this thanks to some of the schematics and blueprints from The New Features, and they are truly amazing. I hope," Ferris Falcon turns to me, "you'll let me order..."

"Don't go too fast. I've got a casino to invest in right now. Every cap counts."

Ferris's gray eyes go wide.

"When did you have time?"

"Long story."

"Holy shit. You don't get bothered by the families? Not trying to lure you over to their side?"

"Not yet."

"They will soon, especially the Softhooves. Now, I'd better get down to business."

He turns to a table with many different parts and parts from weapons on it, as well as tools.

Motley and I head off to test out the improvements. At first I'm surprised not to find the Captain, but then I remember that he's gone on business to the Northern Soul.

We are pleased with the results of the tests. After supper, we go to bed.

***

22nd of the Month of Heather, Redday. Fifty-ninth day of my stay.

We have a lovely shower together in the morning. I help her, since pegasi or earth ponies aren't comfortable reaching certain places without special devices. And, of course, I couldn't help but get aroused. Twice. Motley decides she'd rather bathe alone as long as she's okay with shower sex. After all, it's not such a comfortable activity for her.

I have no problem agreeing. A little bit of everything is a little bit of everything, after all.

After breakfast, we start packing. I put on the stealth armor with the missing stealth field generator that is Nightwatch, with my favorite cape attached to it. Grabbing my helmet, I gather the essentials; I take my pony revolver, Whispering Night, and ammunition for them. Stock up on food, water, medical supplies, and a few other important little things. I'm also not forgetting the shock sword. I'm questioning whether to take Pushy.

"Motley, I want to give it to you," I say, levitating the weapon to the pegasus packing her gear and supplies.

She's clad in the gray Mark III battle armor we got as a trophy when we went to the Crater. On one side of her combat saddle is a semi-automatic rifle with a silencer attached, and on the other side is the orange-colored energy-magic rifle formerly owned by Violet—Typhoon.

Motley looks interestedly at the object in front of her.

"What's that? I've seen it before, but I didn't notice you using it."

"It's an energy-magic knuckle that requires a spark battery. A gift to you. You'll get a lot more use out of it," I smile. "A sword is enough for me if it comes to close combat—or when my ammunition runs out."

"Thank you so much, Danny," Motley hugs me. "It's a wonderful gift. Just what I needed."

"Only the best for you, "I smile, opening the hug, then kissing the pegasus.

I'm easy on her, and recently I nearly lost my mind over an internal conflict. I'm left with the oppressive feeling of hiding my past. Why did I eventually come to peace and accept the fact that I am in a relationship with a pony? Why did the conflict suddenly disappear? I have a bad feeling about this.

***

"Why don't you want to come with us?" I say sadly.

"I've told you repeatedly that I'm not going to Vanhoover! I'd be recognized there in a heartbeat, much less at Phoenix Threshold," Ferris sighs angrily. "And your suggestion about hiding your face under your helmet... They'll smell me. Certainly not like you," he smirks, probably remembering my trip through the emergency tunnel in the Crater's sewers.

"Why is that?" I inquire, ignoring the hint of the shittiest—quite literally—moment of my life.

"There are a lot of griffons on The Island, particularly in the southern part of it, since they're the ones who do most of the hunting of the local game. All the griffons there recognize me by my voice if I cough. Seven years is a long time, but I don't want to take any chances. I'm sure you can handle it, and you have a feathered companion if things get tight and you have to get your beige asses out of there in a hurry. Besides, I don't like the local flora and fauna."

"Will there be a problem with mutants?" I inquire.

"Of course. And serious ones at that. You'll get the details from your client," the griffon smiles mysteriously.

"What a lazy turkey, not bothering to tell me the dangers! If there's anything deadly in there, I'll rip the feathers out of your ass and stuff them in my pillow!" I grumble, turning around and striding away from the armory.

"In that case, your pillow will be the best in the Wasteland—soft and plump," Ferris tosses after me.

His pet, Edge, shrieks in approval.

He knows how to wriggle out of it. Motley has the softest feathers, though, and I'd love to snooze on them...

Motley is having a conversation with Blaze in the hangar where Venture is located. As soon as I'm in her line of sight, she smiles at me, ending the conversation. Seeing my chagrined grimace, Motley is sad for a brief moment, but immediately cheers up.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I take it you couldn't get Ferris to Green Island?"

"Yeah..."

"It'll just be you and me," she purrs.

Ferris had refused out of reluctance to shine his soft feathered ass in front of the Phoenix Threshold griffons. Blaze wouldn't mind going, but Venture needs to be looked after. Caroline won't be able to go with us because the Island is out of her range—Lemon is in the middle of fixing that problem, and she herself, a Steel Ranger, would definitely not be welcome by the griffons. The captain, because he's a ghoul, can be shot, and he can't be in the company of criminal families. Nara and Flow won't go for obvious reasons. That leaves just Motley and me.

"Yeah," Blaze snickers mockingly, "and die on the same day," he climbs into the Vertibuck.

I'm getting uneasy.

"I won't let you get hurt," Motley assures me.

"I'm actually worried about you," I smile sadly, only now realizing the risk my dear pony is taking.

"Don't even think about it!" she protests. "I'll go wherever you go. I'll be fine. In case of anything, you won't be able to overpower me so easily: it's more likely I'll strangle you."

I smile involuntarily.

"Are you two having a road trip snack?" Blaze is angry inside.

***

We land on Green Island, aka The Island, in what is now Phoenix Threshold. It acquired its name after the war, as it is part of Vanhoover on the island. The griffons here are indeed for the most part griffons in solid insulated armor with powerful weapons mounted on their backs. These are hunters who have taken a break before entering the grounds again.

When the roaring metal bird lands, everyone looks at it with undisguised interest. The southern part of The Island, where Phoenix Threshold is located, sits opposite Vanhoover—they are separated by a little over a mile of Desert Ocean waters. Standard motorboats are used to travel from the island to the mainland and back.

As for Phoenix Threshold itself, it is a cluster of several dozen brick buildings and wooden houses of different sizes and colors. The place doesn't look as impressive as many of Vanhoover's main streets, but it can't be called abandoned and dirty either. The town is surrounded by a massive concrete wall, with one or two guards wandering around at a measured gait. There are few guards, since, understandably, mutants do not make organized attacks.

Venture takes off, leaving Motley and me behind. If we need to be picked up, all I have to do is turn on the beacon in the spare PipBuck.

As soon as the Vertibuck is out of sight, the people around us go back to their business, but some of them—probably because of the boring atmosphere—give us interested looks.

You bet: it's not every day that something unusual and memorable appears. For example, a working fucking Vertibuck! It's so good that now we don't have to leave Venture unattended: as soon as the owner loses sight of it for a moment, it will be immediately dismantled for parts, leaving, if we're lucky, only the hull.

After asking how to find Sunny Waterfall, we set off to find her. As we move through the small streets it becomes clear—before the war, this was something of a tourist spot. Here you could rest, sleep, eat, choose which part of the island to tour, which souvenir stores to visit, and generally appreciate the comforts for visitors. A huge wall, it seems, was installed after the war, or it was completed for greater safety from the rich and mostly bloodthirsty flora and fauna.

Some houses have been converted for housing. A couple of the reserve's administration houses are used as barracks and offices for the police, and as a hospital with doctors from the Meadows family. The rest are simply restored. Food, clean water, a warm bed, a regular store converted to trade weapons and armor—everything you need to live. There is only one store here, but it provides a very wide range of goods—you can stock up on the most essential supplies for hunting the local wildlife.

I glance at a pre-war tourist map of Green Island, where animal and plant habitats are marked. I can say with certainty: most species were killed when the megaspell fell north, over the mountains. It was fortunate that the bomb fell on the other side of the mountains, and the destructive force of the shockwave couldn't do any serious damage to the city and the island; the spread of the radiation background was also slightly reduced. It's scary to imagine the level of radiation on the other side of the mountain range. The size of the island is immodest: in length it reaches almost a hundred miles, and in width about forty. About half of the island, mostly mountainous terrain, is covered by a permanent layer of snow.

Sunny Waterfall is in a small wooden cabin converted into a laboratory. An earth pony, Soldier Waterfall, guarding a blood relative of the family, lets us in upon seeing the letter.

Inside are a variety of plants planted in special pots and boxes of soil. Flasks, beakers, test tubes with liquids, flashing measuring instruments that emit a characteristic soft sound, thus announcing their correctness and operation; a generally pleasant smell of plants and chemical reagents hangs in the air. There is only one pony here in a white, slightly stained from work, warmed robe. When she notices our arrival, she approaches us with a greeting, asking what business we are on.

"Are you Sunny Waterfall?" I clarify.

"She is," a smoky-colored unicorn in her sixties replies, with a graying mane—her natural yellow curls meet in it. On her muzzle are standard glasses with thick lenses.

"So you're the one who sent me that letter."

I levitate it in proof. The mare looks at me evaluatively.

"I was under the impression you'd be taller. But come on, if you really are the one my niece is praising..."

Praise? That's a good sign.

"...then let's get down to business, which is this. My colleague who was doing research with me hasn't sent word since he went to collect plant samples after leaving this town. He's been gone for too long, so I've been worried that he's gone somewhere deep inside the island. Since you have already been to dangerous places like the Crater, and have completed your assignment in a timely manner, I am confident that you will be able to survive the hardships and dangers that Green Island will present to you, and you will bring my colleague back alive and well. For a decent reward, I suggest that you undertake the search for him, for others are afraid of all sorts of tall tales: the caps I offer to the mercenaries are not worth risking their lives for, in their opinion. Of course, these tales are not as delusional as those of the Stable 66, from which no one has ever returned, but there is truth at the heart of every myth. That's why it pays to be vigilant on The Island."

"Okay, it wouldn't be the first time I've done that," I reply.

Typical of the Wasteland, where unexplored places are overgrown with all sorts of horrible myths and nonsensical legends, most of which have a logical explanation. I'm used to it by now: I partly enjoy exploring such places, while shattering superstitious fears in the process. That indescribable and inexplicable thrill of embarking on such a journey in the hope of finding out what lies behind the delusional stories. I take great pleasure in getting to the truth. Curiosity is a vice reserved for the brave... and fools like me.

"Tell me who he is and I'll bring him back."

"Well..." the pony looks away confused. "As strange as it sounds, I don't know his name."

"You don't know your colleague's name?" I'm genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm telling you it sounds weird. He's actually just a fellow scientist doing basically the same thing I'm doing, only in much more depth. There are hardly any genetic scientists in the Wasteland, much less one so erudite in the field. He studies not only plants, but all living things, trying to understand the various mutations. He came to Vanhoover about a year ago for the sake of studying the local flora and fauna. He was interested in The Island: the diversity and survivability of the vegetation there. That's how we met. He took a strong scientific interest in what I was doing here. Research results, reports... literally everything, and his knowledge of the field is really extensive. He's even pointed out a lot of mistakes and errors I've made. He is a pleasure to work with, and has helped me get noticeably closer to solving my crop problems once and for all in such a harsh cold climate. But I never learned the name of this gifted scientist, who, to my surprise, is about twenty years younger than I am!"

"Wow..." I ponder.

My memory suddenly flashes back to a visit to the Vault 22, where I went for information: there was a very high level of vegetation there in a desert and dry climate that no one was taking care of. This trip included a search for a missing scientist who had gone there for data and was also a ghoul. Once I found her and the data, I convinced her to give me the results of her research in hopes of developing plants that would give huge harvests in the most unsuitable conditions.

Here on The Island, Sunny said, there is also very tenacious vegetation adapted to the cold and harsh climate. Apparently, Waterfall intends to develop special preparations or fruiting plants that can withstand low temperatures, thus saving heat, water, and time.

"It seems to me," Sunny says, "that Professor went deep into The Island for better specimens, where the vegetation is stronger, which would give a greater chance of getting answers to questions, but also add danger."

"Professor?" Motley wonders. "Dangerous vegetation?"

"That's what he called himself when I tried to get his name out," Sunny clarifies.

I meanwhile recall a conversation with Homage, who mentioned Professor—a not unfamous figure in the Wasteland—doing research about twenty years ago. But, according to her, he's gone to the zebra lands.

"And about the dangerous flora," the scientist continues, deep in thought. "I don't know, that's just a rumor. There's talk that the local predators, such as mutated wolves, yao guai, are not as dangerous as an enemy that professionally hides among the plants. Others say the plants themselves are those invisible predators."

"You mean? I have not yet been to the Green Island area and know virtually nothing about it."

"I can assume they're regular predatory plants that have mutated under the effects of radiation, gotten bigger, and are no longer catching small insects, but ponies, griffons, and survivors of the megaspell of predators and herbivores."

Reminiscent of large spore plants that can literally swallow a person. I still remember those things spitting disgusting acidic secretions at me. Hopefully, the dangerous flora here is just a rumor.

"If you set hoof on the territory of The Island, prepare to meet besides relatively harmless herbivores like deer, squirrels and mountain goats also dangerous predators: ferocious yao guai, hunting in packs of rad-wolves and many others. The biggest danger is posed by creatures endemic to this island: large deadly poisonous spiders and huge bloody butterflies. These two species prey on absolutely everyone, as they have the advantage of special poisons. But don't forget about other masters who are hunting this fauna: some of them won't bother you, while others will want to kill you out of greed to get your stuff—some of them hunt others for this very purpose. So be extremely vigilant. I suggest you buy some antidotes."

"Bloody butterflies?" I shudder, remembering the cazadors.

I hope those aren't...

"Their wings are shaped like butterfly wings. They're half the size of a pony and have a distinctive smoky green color with red patterns on their wings, but the main problem is that they don't make any sounds when they fly because of the special structure of their wings: only when one stings you and you feel blissfully weak and unwilling to move—only then you can feel their presence, and then the whole flock will drink your blood. However, as I see, you have a PipBuck, so you should have no problem detecting them. Oh, and the blood butterflies live near the mountains of the northeastern part of The Island and hunt mostly at night."

"What's this blissful weakness?"

"When blood butterflies sting, they inject a special kind of poison into the bloodstream that eventually paralyzes the body. The essence of its action is to suppress the victims' desire to resist and the feeling of being suckled at all—in other words, it dulls the senses altogether, replacing them with ecstasy or something like that. The Meadows use their glands to produce certain drugs. The exhausted victim is dragged by the butterflies to the nest and used as a food medium for larval growth, from which new individuals hatch after a certain amount of time. Several hunters have seen butterflies hatching from still living victims, immobilized under the influence of overwhelming venom, as if from a cocoon. Such a cocoon can serve not only ponies and non-ponies, but also common creatures like yao guai and spiders. It's a horrible sight."

"What about spiders?" I ask in a trembling voice.

I've never had to cross paths with huge spiders before. They're unpleasant to look at on their own, but these ones are gigantic and dangerous!

"Pony-sized, brown-colored, more common: they occupy the western part of the territory, from the walls of this pre-war tourist town to the mountains in the north. They don't live in the snow. And these hideous creatures strike you by biting you—they can bite through armor—injecting a deadly poison. Or spit a special slime that slowly corrodes everything in its path, and then envelop you in a web, creating a cocoon to keep your body from rapidly decomposing; dragging you to a nest and using you as food for larvae and themselves—just like butterflies, actually, but not as brutally."

"And the other predators?"

"Not so dangerous... The variety is too great to enumerate. Yao guai and mutated wolves are the most common. In general, it's advisable not to deviate from the tourist road, which is enclosed by a huge metal fence. There are only two such winding roads—if you've looked at a map—they start here and run along The Island and end somewhere in the mountains."

"And you're sure that Professor, with all these dangers, if they do exist—I mean the killer plants—is still alive?"

"I can't say for sure, but he can take care of himself since he managed to get to Vanhoover alone. A lot of hunters travel in pairs at least, and don't go to the mountains, the butterflies' main habitat. Only the brave and the insane go alone. And the killer plants. probably just a myth."

"But where did the myth come from?"

"Because of the tall flora," the pony scientist replies, thoughtfully. "I know that after the megaspell fell, almost all vegetation was destroyed, but it rapidly regenerated after a while. Even the huge metal fences are entangled with huge thick vines, branches and stems, something that was not observed before the war and is not peculiar to this cold region at all. From what and how this greening suddenly occurred is still unclear, despite the samples received. Maybe my hypothesis is wrong, but it is quite likely that the reason for this was a research laboratory, which was dedicated to the study of plants and was located somewhere in the depths of The Island. I know of its existence—without the exact location—from local surviving books... Right!" Sonny exclaims suddenly. "I told Professor about it, didn't I, but it's hard to find in these green slums that have covered everything they can reach. He's probably gone in search of it. Why didn't I think of that before? But still, mercenaries wouldn't risk looking for someone in that part of The Island."

"So we'll take the road up into the mountains."

"Yes, Professor must have taken one of them. He is aware that it is safest to go along them, as almost all of the fences have survived despite the passing of time, only in some places they have been breached by predators and accidentally damaged by other hunters. There are two of you, so you'll keep an eye on each other," the pony smiles. We nod and leave the scientist's domain.

The news of the huge spiders and bloody butterflies makes Motley's face pale a little. I don't worry much about her: she can fly away at any moment if we're in mortal danger. To this she replies that she will not leave me. She can't lift me into the air with my gear. I'd have to be completely disarmed, like in Red Spark when we flew across the river.

In general, we can call Venture and fly through The Island territory on it. However, that would make it harder to find the lab among the thickets, not to mention the fact that there would be nowhere for the Vertibuck to land due to the density and height of the trees.

Before we go for a walk around Green Island, we stop by the local Meadows Clinic and buy some antidotes. We decide to take the road that runs along the eastern side of the island—poisonous spiders are more common in the west. Although in the east there is a higher risk of encountering the most common predators—yao guai and wolves. It's a good thing our helmets are equipped with devices that can easily spot local predators.

***

We walk along the dirt road, looking at the surroundings behind the high fences. Before the war, tourists were free to take a vehicle or walk here to look at the amazing and rare animals—if, of course, they were in their sight. Every passing tourist had binoculars. However, most of them viewed the surroundings from the air on pegasus-driven chariots or buses. However, the speed of travel on them is slow: what about the speedy Vertibucks!

The surrounding area is a green terrain, partially covered by a barely visible white shroud of mist; through it the trees loom, with a creak and lazy rustle of leaves wobbling in the light wind. Shrubs and clusters of grass wriggling in the breeze huddle humbly at their sides.

I can hear the buzzing of small insects hidden among the grass and bushes, as well as the distant sounds of single gunfire, notifying of hunters nearby. As I know, deer are mostly hunted for their tasty meat and warm skins—and also because they breed massively, trying to leave as many offspring as possible in such unfriendly conditions. Strangely enough, they hunt spiders and bloody butterflies, the insides and glands of which are excellent for the production of chemical and medical preparations. Although hunting them is dangerous, as well as on yao guai, but the labor is appreciated in due measure. Among the hunters are mostly griffons of the Falcon family, as they are safest to traverse the dangerous territory of The Island thanks to their ability to fly. But even they don't get very far because of bloody butterflies and the superstitions about killer plants.

***

It's been a few hours of our leisurely journey, and so far it's been relatively quiet. The predators are avoided, while the flora becomes denser as we dive into the depths of Green Island.

And now, on Pip-Boy's compass, I see two neutral points very close together. They're probably hunters. As Sunny said, it's not recommended to hunt alone in this area. We carefully, without making a fuss, go to check out these unknowns by going off the road through one of the gaps in the fence. As expected, they turn out to be hunters, both griffons, clad up to their necks in camouflage leather armor with plates inserted. The tail was hidden under the armor in a special section. They carry high-powered rifles with telescopic sights, and their bags are stuffed with meat and hides. They are interestedly looking at the slightly glowing bright orange piles that resemble a viscous goo when disintegrated by an energy-magic weapon.

As soon as we get a little closer, one of them notices our presence and looks around, pulls a large pistol from its holster and aims it at us, informing his comrade of the strangers' appearance. The other turns around and points a sawed-off shotgun at us.

"What do you want here?" the griffon with the sawed-off shotgun asks warily.

"We're just wanderers exploring The Island," I reply. I don't draw my weapon, but my pegasus assumes a fighting stance, preparing to fire. "We spotted you and decided to check out what you were looking at with such interest."

"Or maybe you want to kill us and take our gear and loot?" the griffon persists, squinting at his densely packed bags. His partner is as silent as a fish.

"If that were the case, we would have killed you right away. Got to wondering what could have attracted the hunters so much that they actually forgot about vigilance."

"Argh, well... Okay. Thanks for that at least," the griffon exhales in relief, returning the sawed-off shotgun to its holster.

His partner does the same. Motley also releases the firing mechanism of the combat saddle from her mouth. The griffon looks over the pegasus appraisingly and inquisitively. At the sight of the energy-magic rifle on her battle saddle, he has a legitimate question.

"Did you leave this mess behind? Can't take any profit from that," he points to the orange goo around him with a nod of his head.

"No, it certainly wasn't us," I reply. "Have you encountered this sort of thing around here before?"

"Yes. They've only recently appeared, about two months ago at most. We've seen these orange piles before, but for obvious reasons no one goes hunting with energy-magic weapons," he takes a quick glance at the remains of the disintegration, "and given that such weapons are rare, we can conclude that this someone is here for a very different purpose. We first thought Green Island had been infiltrated by these power armor-covered scumbags, but they've never been interested in The Island."

"Where else have you seen these remains?" I clarify.

"We flew over the area and spotted them, inspecting just about every battle site in hopes of getting some answers. A large concentration of it was found closer to the center of Green Island, where the greenery is noticeably thicker and obscures the view, but we weren't going to go there, naturally," the griffon states nervously.

"I see. Well... Shall we part ways?"

"Yeah," the previously silent griffon says and immediately retreats, flying into the air, followed by the feathered one who was talking to us. Once they're out of sight and off my compass, we move on.

"So Sunny predicted where Professor was going to go?" the pegasus, who had previously just followed me, asks, looking me in the face.

"Looks like it," I ponder. "If they've met more than once, then our missing pony can really stand up for himself. And he has powerful energy-magic weapons, since all of his foes have turned into a disgusting orange goo, giving no chance to identify their remains."

"Agreed. Not every weapon has a fairly constant and consistent effectiveness."

***

"Watch out!" I yell to Motley as a pack of wolves rush at us from ambush.

Damn it! The enemy detection system has stopped working properly for some reason: it detected seven of the enemy just before they attacked.

Motley elegantly dodges the wolf attacking her. The wolf slams into a tree, then falls and whimpers. At the same time, three wolves rush at me, completely blocking my escape route. There's only one way out. I hope I make it in time.

I create a barrier around me, which the wolves smash against and then fall to the ground. The other four, including the one who'd hit the tree, are busy with the pegasus. Once I'm satisfied that she can dodge their attacks without too much trouble, I can turn my attention to my own opponents, who snarl, first retreating and then attacking me again. This time they don't do it at the same time. I draw my revolver and sword.

I fire the revolver at the first wolf closest to me: the weapon makes a rumbling sound and the bullet goes through the wolf's head. The second one jumps at me from the side, but I manage to dodge, and the other one flies past. Before he can turn around for another attack, I activate V.A.T.S. and put a bullet in his temple. It slices through him and into the woods.

The aiming is still working. I try to switch to the third enemy. But as soon as I turn my head, he's already coming at me. The only thing I can do is point my sword at him. Just in time, the beast swings at the sword, the bloody end protruding from its back. He howls painfully, his muzzle trying to reach for me in a final tug—then his body collapses completely, his head hanging limply.

He's so heavy! I use magic to throw the body off my sword.

Once I've dealt with my opponents, I turn back to the pegasus, who strikes the last attacker with her front foot, a small blue halo around the beast's muzzle, making a familiar sound. There is a crunch, and the wolf is thrown with great force onto the green vines, its decapitated body hanging and swaying on them, its head rolling on the ground. I look around the battlefield. The pegasus has taken out four wolves with precise knuckle blows, some by turning their heads and decapitating others. The front of her helmet is pointed in my direction.

"Everything okay?" a calm voice sounds from under Motley's helmet. The answer is already obvious.

"No, not every thing," I reply jokingly. "Understandably handled it. You seem to have the same situation," I glance at the mangled bodies of the predators. This knuckle does wonders... But not for its victims.

"What I can't figure out is, how did we lose sight of them?" she inquires, approaching me. "The detection sensors in my helmet didn't go off in time."

"My PipBuck and helmet are also malfunctioning since the detection radius is so reduced. There's something wrong here. I mean, we've encountered predators before, but we avoided most of them, and the ones we couldn't get around didn't have time to do any damage. It's probably the environment," I look back at the huge thickets around us, through which it's virtually impossible to see anything.

The tops of the trees are intertwined to the point where they almost cover the sky: it's very uncomfortable for a pegasus to fly up. The deeper we go, the thicker and more impenetrable the forest becomes. Even the bark of the trees has a dark greenish color. Obstacles may affect the sensors, but not that much!

"Great care must be taken," I add. Blood butterflies can attack at any moment: we're getting closer and closer to their habitat.

Motley nods, and we set off further. After a while we come across the orange remains of disintegrated prey again. And they're becoming more frequent. We are on the right path, trying to stick to the fenced road, though we have to avoid fallen trees and fences or lush vegetation in places.

***

24th of the Month of Heather, Yellowday. Sixty-first day of my stay.

The first night we took turns sleeping. It's past midnight, we're tired. We need a break, but we've gone far enough, almost into the habitat of the blood butterflies. If we don't find the lab soon, we'll have to leave. Speaking of butterflies.

We catch a fight between blood butterflies and spiders. Huge, furry, brown-colored spiders spit at the wriggling dark green butterflies with barely visible red patterns on their wings, which in turn try to get close to the attackers, actively moving in the air. They all look disgusting. Motley and I decide not to interfere and wait, lurking among the bushes.

"They're disgusting," Motley whispers in disgust. "It's creepy..."

"I agree," I reply quietly, not taking my eyes off the battle.

"I wonder who will prove to be stronger..." the pegasus' tone slows down suspiciously. "How... you think?"

I turn around anxiously. My heart skips a beat: a bloody butterfly has sucked itself near her neck, piercing a weak spot in her armor with its trunk and sitting on Motley's back. Its nasty little legs are clinging to the armor, and its tendrils are twitching with the pleasure of consuming blood.

Can't she feel that filthy thing at all?!

I draw my revolver and shoot the butterfly, barely aiming. It makes a thin, low, and long sound, like the creaking of a door whose hinges need lubrication, and hangs limply from the pegasus's back. Hanging as the sharp proboscis remains in its neck. I pull the dead body with magic, struggling to extract the small and sturdy 'needle', and toss it away—but Motley doesn't react. Her neck is bleeding.

Fuck, fuck! Daniel, don't panic, hoof it and stop the blood now, get the antidote and healing potion! That's right, bandages and antidote!

Taking out the magic bandages and antidote from my bag, I first take off my helmet and bandage the pegasus' neck. I uncork the bottle of potion and try to pour the contents into the pony's smiling mouth. Her eyes rolled back, a look of pleasure and bliss on her face. After finally managing to open her mouth, pour the antidote into it and help the pegasus swallow the liquid, I immediately inject her with a strong healing potion. After a while, she starts to come to her senses.

"What... What happened?" she absent-mindedly looks around and then at me. "I felt so good..." her eyes round as she fumbles with her front foot for the bandage on her neck. "Bloody butterfly?"

"Right," I exhale with incredible relief as I look at the dead butterfly.

Motley stares at the dead creature and then kicks it fearfully with her front foot before rubbing her neck anxiously again.

"I didn't even feel its presence," the pony whispers with momentarily parched lips.

"Neither did I. The important thing is that you're okay. I put an antidote and a healing potion in you, so you should be fine. Let's see how the battle ended..."

I turn my head and see the spiders approaching, one of them twitching oddly. I lay on top of Motley to keep the dangerous, burning slime off of it. It flies over us.

The spiders have won—they have the numerical advantage—and now the three survivors are closing in on us.

Motley is the first to react, quickly rising to her feet and putting on her helmet, walking around the enemies, while I am left to draw their attention to myself. It's a tactic we've used more than once while exploring The Island. The pegasus is fast and agile enough to get around the enemy before it can turn toward her. After leaving me, she hides somewhere in the bushes, and I pull out Whispering Night, put on my helmet, and freeze behind one of the trees.

Spiders spit at my hiding place, preventing me from taking even one shot. The tree is covered almost entirely in their slime; it's already slowly melting. I have to thank the higher powers that the slime doesn't have such a quick effect.

After another spit, I peek out from behind cover, activating my V.A.T.S., and manage to shoot one spider before the others spit at me. It's like these bastards have each other's backs. I'm lucky they're not so close: I can react in time when one of them spews its secretions.

But now they're ten yards away, and Motley's still not...

The shot hits one of the spiders. Taking advantage of the moment, I switch the rifle to high speed and turn on the V.A.T.S. again. I peek out of hiding and fire two accurate shots straight at the spider's nasty face just a yard away from me, disfiguring it.

"What took you so long?" I yell, even though it's actually been a little over ten seconds since the pegasus slipped away.

"The local flora prevented my tactical detour," the bland reply comes to my ears. I'm flattered that she has confidence in me, while I worry about her constantly.

We scrutinize the bodies of the mutants before moving on. Next we encounter spiders and a couple of yao guai, but we have no problems with them.

I cast a spell on my and Motley's armor to prevent wear and tear, thus protecting us and the armor from the slowly corroding spider spit.

By my estimates, the strength of the spell is enough to withstand at least one spit, after which it will need to be cast again. A very useful spell because it partially absorbs damage: for example, it can slightly reduce the piercing power of a bullet or the impact of blunt and slashing weapons, after which the spell dissipates. The more you practice this spell, the more effective it is and the less magic it uses. I've only started using it now, but I've already seen its effectiveness.

***

Not half an hour goes by when we encounter another group of spiders. This time there are nine of them, and they actually surround us. We heard them as we approached, but they are scattered, and a compass in the extreme vegetation is as unstable as boiling water in a pot. And there are too many of them for a hunting party, and in such a wilderness, at the bottom of mountains that can barely be seen through the leaves and trees, with huge stalks stretching all around. We are exhausted by the constant exertion.

We need to rest, but camping is not a good idea in this wilderness: even if one of us stays on guard, the blood moth can sneak up on him and capture the sleeper as well. We need to find a tightly sealed room. Our hope is the lab we're looking for.

As for the spiders, they were drawn here by something else: it seems to be the orange-yellow flowers that interested us. But once they smell the ponies, the spiders switch their attention completely. Dodging their spit and shooting at the same time is a bit of a challenge. Only Motley can effectively engage in combat, and I try to cover both her and myself from the dangerous slime spewed by the spiders, creating partial barriers on the attack side.

Eventually we manage to kill four of the spiders. The cramped conditions from the vast amount of vegetation make it difficult to hit the creatures, and they skillfully make their way through these barriers; the remaining five reach us. One of them attacks the pegasus, and due to fatigue, she does not have time to dodge and confront him properly. I fail to save her from this attack. The spider bites through her armor, striking her body with venom.

Such a sight makes me dazed and distracted for a moment. A shiver runs through me.

Motley.

I release the anger that overwhelms me along with the magic that strikes the spider and the pegasus in addition. It doesn't do much damage, just throws them back a yard—they hit the trees and the green stalks that wrap around them. At least I separated the spider and Motley.

It's only been a few seconds since the bite, but the pony doesn't get to her legs, while the spider is already firmly on its eight paws and approaching her again.

Fuck, fuck!...

I forget about my own flank, and four spiders pounce on me at once. I don't have time to put a magical barrier around myself or Motley—it takes too long. My magic is about to run out, and right now it's only capable of weak and primitive telekinesis. If I try to make a barrier, there will be magical burnout. Even if I do it for the pegasus, I'll only delay her death.

I won't have time to draw my sword, and all the other weapons are out of ammo in their magazines and need to be reloaded. But then again, even if I do, I'll prolong her life by a few seconds as the spiders finish the job with me and then take on the pegasus, immobilized by the deadly poison.

Is this really the end? Are we destined to die right here, when we've barely admitted our feelings for each other? I could accept my own death, but not Motley's. She's here because of me. If I hadn't confessed my feelings to her, she wouldn't have followed me.

My heart is pounding, my ears buzzing with pressure.

All the spiders freeze in midair as if someone stopped them, and then they sprawl on the ground. The next moment, something pulls them away. In the darkness, I can't distinguish what exactly has grabbed them. The spider attacking Motley is also being pulled away by something. Moonlight filtering through the clouds and tree leaves falls on something green and wriggling, long, stalk-like stems that wrap around the trees around it.

The spiders make a piteous, thin clawing sound, all of their stalks pulling at some green rock, heavily overgrown with grass and leaves... No, it's not a rock. It's a huge green maw with small sharp outgrowths on the edges of the same color, looking like teeth. Everything inside, including the throat, is a dark pink color. Reminds me of the Venus flytrap from the Vault 22.

The stalks take turns throwing the spiders into the huge mouth, which opens greedily, awaiting its prey. It swallows the five spiders still alive in a flash, then grabs the corpses of the four we killed and devours them as well.

I stand in a daze and don't know what to do. I am once again gripped by an unspeakable terror. I want to grab my gun and start shooting at this... this thing... or something. But I decide to hold off, because the stalks are now... waiting, slowly wriggling in the air, somehow not attacking us. I notice on some of the stalks the very orange-yellow flowers with large petals. After standing in a daze for a few seconds, I remember something. Or rather, someone.

Motley!

She's still unconscious. With woozy legs, I rush to her.

Let her be alive.

I pull the antidote from my bag, remove the helmet from Motley's head, and pour the liquid into her mouth without checking her pulse, for a second's delay can cost her life.

Motley slowly swallows the antidote. She's barely conscious. Still alive! She's alive! Thank heavens.

I'm down on the rump.

To hell with it! I'm done with this dangerous traveling. I find the Dome, resolve the issue of my stay in this world, and that's it.

I'm giving the pegasus another drink of the healing potion. We only have a couple doses of the antidote left, so I decide not to use it all at once. It might come in handy; the poison hasn't done much damage to my pegasus in a short time.

I sit on pins and needles, waiting for the pony to come to her senses. The minutes of waiting take forever.

Motley slowly opens her eyes. Before she can lazily look around, I hug her gustily and tightly.

"You're alive..." I whisper, feeling the tears in my eyes. "I thought I'd lost you. I was so scared..."

"Oh... Of course I'm alive... Thanks to you. What... What happened?" she asks tiredly.

I take off my helmet and wipe my tears, then put it back on and briefly recount the events after the spider bite. She peers with rounded eyes at the green maw, which we initially mistook for an overgrown rock. The mouth is now closed and the stalks have returned to their natural position. However, they are moving slowly, showing with their whole appearance that they can come into action when needed.

After my retelling, we do not utter a word, but only look at the slightly wriggling stalks with tired amazement. They don't seem to be attacking us for some reason, though Sunny had mentioned killer plants. The rumors turned out to be true. No wonder no hunters wander here, for these stalks—while motionless—are stealthy, fast, and tenacious. But why didn't they touch us?

"It's a strange feeling: it makes you want to go near it," the pegasus remarks. Her gaze is fixed on the orange-yellow flower. "It's like I'm drawn to it. I want to go over and touch it and smell it..."

"Motley, put your helmet on, quick!" I shout sharply.

The pegasus, as if waking up from hypnosis, shakes her head, and obediently puts on her helmet.

"Why was I so drawn to him?" she asks confusedly after a few moments, looking at the flower. "I realized it, but I wouldn't have been able to resist if it hadn't been for your shout."

"The flowers must be releasing some odorless miasma or spores into the air, luring unsuspecting victims closer to them so that the trap slams shut," I suggest my hypothesis.

It makes sense: there were quite a few spiders for one hunting group, and by a strange coincidence they ended up right by these flowers. Only we arrived here earlier, and by chance, because we were not pulled by an unknown force—but the plants didn't touch us. Why would they leave us alive?

Almost immediately we come to an area covered with snow, first partially and then completely. The snow in some places is disintegrated exactly where the living stalks are. Coniferous trees and shrubs adapted to harsh weather usually grow in this climate, but here in addition to these there are these amazing thickets that have been found in more temperate climates. It's clear why Sunny is interested in researching these plants—they grow without difficulty even under snow.

There seems to be nothing surprising here, but these plants are more typical of tropical humid climates. These vines and lettuce stems are not characterized by large leaves. Even so, all the vegetation must have been affected by the radiation, and there's more of it here than ever before. Something's not right here, and Sunny Waterfall is trying to find out.

In the meantime, it even seems to me that the stalks are guiding us, moving slightly in place than disturbing the integrity of the snow cover above them, thus giving us a point of reference. And we follow those clues. It seems like a trap to me, but if the plant wanted to kill us, it would have done it back then.

Some of the stalks around here are burned by energy-magic weapon shots. I wonder... Did Professor fight them?

The remaining stalks aren't attacking us. This is all very strange... There are absolutely no large mutants here. It's completely silent. And the wind does not get here because of the high density of bushes, which are also covered with snow, which makes everything around ripples green and white.

Following the tracks for some more time and enjoying the pleasant crunch of snow under our hooves, we came to the final point of our journey. The mountains spread out in front of our eyes, with the forest ending at the foot of them. Nearby is a large mountain of plants formed by thick stems and vines peeking out from under a layer of snow, which cover part of the cliffs. From them, amazing vegetation stretches all around, a huge part of it running exactly towards the forest we came from, and the rest extending somewhere further into the mountains.

I notice something. At this cliff, covered with snow and forbidding vegetation, the guardrail of one of the roads that runs through the whole of Green Island ends, and there is a fairly level and barely noticeable area of rocks covered with snow and vegetation. Only by getting closer can we make out the outline of an abandoned vehicle.

There are many more signs of battle here. We follow to the spot from where the stalks are sprawling. We pass through a small passage in the rock between densely hanging stems and vines. Once through them, we do not enter a cave, but some kind of structure with concrete walls covered with peeling blue paint, and we do not pass through a gap in the rock, but through double wooden doors.

All around the room are long and thick stalks strewn with leaves. All this comes to a head when we accidentally touch a plant, almost starting to scorch at it in fear. A similar pattern is seen in other rooms and corridors.

This is the same research lab that Sunny assumed Professor was looking for. We're here. All we have to do is find our missing pony and get the hell out of here.

We're on the level with the offices; the labs are below. Finding nothing of interest in the offices—all the terminals or documents have been corrupted by time and the influence of plants—we take the fire escape down to the labs: the elevator doesn't work. Several rooms have ruined chemical equipment, overgrown with perennial vegetation. This is the place where plants were carefully studied. Some of the scientific equipment must be here, I can tell by the lack of plants and perennial dirt in some places.

My Pip-Boy still can't identify targets, but the helmet's visors make the interference even stronger and more noticeable. There are voices coming from one of the rooms. One voice belongs to a stallion and the other to a mare. Only her voice is a bit unusual, sounding completely unemotional and indifferent, giving me chills. The voice of a mare, or indeed of any normal living creature, cannot be so cold and unusually deep. I feel uneasy.

When we reach the threshold, we step over it, prepared for trouble, and enter a rather large room. Inside, it's covered with thick vegetation that stretches toward one place—an object, to be exact. This something reaches almost all the way to the ceiling, three to four yards high... with a huge green mouth. Thankfully, it's closed. And it's a lot more... alive than the thing that saved us from the spiders.

There are a lot of orange-yellow flowers around, covering huge stems that are more like full-fledged tree trunks in diameter. And in the center, right at the bottom of this huge plant, there are a lot of equipment boxes with flashing lights, a couple of terminals and tables with chemical flasks filled with multicolored gurgling liquid. A dirty-looking mattress lies nearby.

In the center of all this green mess are two ponies, one of which is hard to call a pony at all, and also alive, but it moves... and it's the same color as the local vegetation, and it's covered in flowers.

I'm not dreaming, am I?

There's an overabundance of green. The only things that aren't green are the one pony and a small portion of the equipment, carefully cleaned by... Professor. Somehow I have no doubt that the other pony is Professor.

Images of spore carries, shaped much like humans but in a lettuce color, come to mind. In fact, like everything in this place.

The green body turns, staring at us with empty black eyes.

Goosebumps. It makes me want to reach for the gun.

Professor also casts an interested glance at us. He's a unicorn, and a little over forty years old; his fur is a crimson-red color that makes me want to eat something sweet and berry. His mane is neatly combed forward, with a soft beige mane in which the barely visible gray curls are distinguishable. The unicorn is dressed in an interesting armor, covered in various skins. It looks very strong and resistant to the aggressive environment. The entire armor is mottled with different shades of brown, black, gray, and white. On his front left leg is a worn but working PipBuck.

This sepulchral silence, interrupted only by the sounds of instruments and the gurgling of liquids in flasks, lasts only a few seconds: it is finally interrupted by the unicorn.

"Are you two going to stand there like statues?" Professor inquires. "Or will you still identify yourselves?"

"I... I mean, we were looking for you," I mumble inaudibly, unable to gather my thoughts and not knowing how to respond.

"Don't worry about my friend," he says, lowering his gaze to the microscope's peephole and looking at something in it intently. "She won't hurt you."

"She?" I wonder. I'm still in a state of amazement at what I'm seeing.

"Even though Mushu is a sexless creature, it's somehow unseemly to be perceived as it, so I call she. Besides, Mushu is an intelligent creature. So why aren't you saying anything?" he doesn't take his eyes off the eyepiece of the microscope. The question is clearly addressed to the very same Mushu.

"Mushu?" I repeat confused.

Motley still hesitates to say anything. But the name literally washes away all the tension in the air—so funny it sounds.

"My owner thought he was cute," Mushu suddenly replies in her completely impassive and deep voice. Also, she takes her time answering, as if waiting for some sort of pause before answering. She also speaks slowly... very slowly.

"What are you?"

"A plant. I realized myself. Was just an ordinary potted plant. Ate small insects. Was a very ordinary fly plant."

"What happened?"

"An accident. A megaspell fell."

"How do you communicate through this body?"

"Telepathy."

"You're the one who saved us from the spiders and showed us the way here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I was asked to," Mushu still as impassive and coldly answering the questions.

"I saw signs of battle on the way here. What happened?"

"Friendship."

"Friendship?"

"Yes," Professor responds, still looking through the microscope. His voice is clear, quick, like he's had a barrel of coffee. "Mushu has not yet learned how to properly use the vocal cords absorbed into her body, and she is unable to directly transmit her thoughts to others via telepathy. Why are you standing on the doorstep? Come in, sit down and rest."

He points to a mattress in the corner, once again dignifying us with a glance. We follow there and sit down on the soft mattress. Oh... it feels like I haven't rested in ages. I want to take off my helmet, but I remember about the flowers... But the Professor's face is completely unmasked. He notices my sudden delay.

"Don't worry, Mushu can control her spore secretions. When Mushu rescued you, they were still hovering in the air as she wanted to satiate the spiders that happened to be nearby. You just happened to be there by accident," he looks at me and smiles faintly. "What's your name?"

"Daniel," I take off my helmet and carefully inhale the local air. There's nothing unusual about it, just the pungent smell of fresh greenery.

"Motley," the pegasus introduces herself when the unicorn shifts his gaze to her.

"It's a pleasure. You may call me Professor."

"We know, that's why we're here," I say. "Your colleague Sunny Waterfall asked for you to be found, preferably alive. She was worried about you when you didn't give any news of yourself, having traveled deep into the Green Island territory."

"And you traveled all the way out here just for that? Though you're pretty experienced and strong since you managed to get here. And anyway, you shouldn't have bothered so much, I'm already finishing soon enough."

"And how did you manage to sneak in here by yourself?" I inquire.

"I have my own secrets... And a set of special spells," the scientist smiles enigmatically. "Though it cost me a lot of effort to get in here; also, Mushu kept stepping on me, literally, and trying to eat me in self-defense."

"So... What did Mushu mean by 'friendship'?" Motley clarifies.

"Let's just say she was disappointed in ponies and non-ponies," the crimson-red unicorn pronounces as he returns to examining something under the microscope, occasionally taking a break from observing to make a note in his notebook. "Once I managed to sneak in here, managed to convince her that not all ponies want to kill, they just need to be given a chance. After me, you're the first ones to get close enough to Mushu's direct influence. If I hadn't managed to convince her, she probably would have eaten you before the spiders even attacked."

"So how did you manage to convince her?" I inquire.

"I've seen a lot of oddities and curiosities in my life, especially a wide variety of plants, including killer plants. After all, I am a genetic scientist, and the nature of plants and mutants has always interested me. Showing my knowledge of botany, I got her interested, and managed to provoke a dialog. And that's how it started. And gradually I learned from her bits of information, but most of the information about its structure I collected with the help of local equipment, because Mushu is not used to communicate with others. That's why she talks rather slowly and in short phrases with long pauses in between."

"So what is Mushu and how did she come into existence in the first place?"

"Something like the mother of the local vegetation that appeared almost immediately after the megaspell fell nearby. Before that, there was a scientist working here who brought in her favorite potted fly plant."

Now I see how a plant alien to this cold environment has spread here.

"To her, Mushu was a favorite plant that she carefully and lovingly fed with small insects. And it was she who gave it its name. Unfortunately, the plant does not remember the name of its owner, but it remembered her love and care. In this lab, there were specimens with the IMP... Do you both see where I'm going with this?"

We nod in agreement.

"When a megaspell hit nearby, over the mountains, the lab was shaken up and some of the equipment was damaged, including several small flasks of IMP, the contents of which coincidentally landed on Mushu. She began to grow rapidly. The lab was already in chaos due to the shaking, and now there was a plant that was growing in size and devouring the ponies. Apparently, Mushu was confused by this change and growth, and at the same moment it realized its existence, stopping mindlessly devouring everyone. However, it was too late, the surviving ponies sought to kill her in fear. She tried to defend herself, to communicate with the others, to ask them to calm down, but the plant had no vocal cords and could not make the necessary sounds, and besides, she could not use our speech at all, and eventually, unable to stand it, devoured all the scientists and staff. With each new victim it devoured, it grew. Her owner was unfortunately badly injured and dying, so Mushu had no choice but to perform a merging of their two bodies, thus keeping the dying one alive. That way she was also able to control the scientist's body with telepathy."

"You mean..." I look at the green body covered with flowers and foliage.

"Exactly. That's Mushu's owner."

"Is she still alive?"

"Consciousness is in the body, but in 'sleep mode'. Her life is being sustained by Mushu. Even if she lets go, that is, removes her control from the owner's consciousness, nothing will happen because the scientist cannot come to her senses due to the highly altered body, and the process is unfortunately irreversible. But if somehow it is possible to reverse the process, Mushu's owner can be given expert medical care and she can be saved."

"But, since the process is irreversible, why are you considering an impossible option by saying 'if'?" I questioned interestedly.

My mind had already calmed down and gotten used to the presence of the green creature called Mushu.

"Sooner or later, impossible things can be possible through science. All it takes is patience, time and effort."

"And what is your impossible but potentially possible goal?" I ask jokingly.

"RMS."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Reverse Mutation Serum. Reverse Transformation Potion... There are quite a few names you can think of. It was just me jokingly giving my ambitions a name. Without going into details, I can say that I wish to create a base that would be suitable for any type of mutation, initiating the transformation in reverse."

"A universal serum... That's... Impossible," I say.

"Throughout my life, I've been researching all sorts of mutations and ways to cure them. Even if I don't achieve it, I at least want to get closer to realizing that dream. I want to create a foundation whose basis can be adapted for any mutation that exists: for example, returning Mushu's owner to her former state."

"So... we were talking about Mushu..." Motley suddenly pitches her voice.

"Right," the scientist continues. "Mushu was able to indirectly influence the soil of Green Island when she was able to reach with her stems to it. It contributed to the rapid greening after the megaspell's devastating effects, but thanks to the mountains, the deleterious effect was not as huge. Still, gradually devouring the flesh, she proliferated. It can only directly control its stems at a distance of a few miles from this laboratory, luring local animals with bait flowers, and beyond that it can only 'feel' the presence of those nearby. By the way, it is Mushu who controls the population of huge spiders and blood butterflies. If it weren't for her, Phoenix Threshold would be overrun with those things."

"They're quite unusual..." I utter.

"That's right. The little indoor spiders and butterflies in the lab got into the liquid with the IMP. That's how they multiplied and turned into dangerous creatures. There were many more species, but the weaker ones succumbed to the stronger ones. Their nests and hives were here as well; Mushu absorbed them, but they had by then managed to create nests outside the lab as well."

"And what are these myths about killer plants, and where did they come from?" the pegasus is curious.

"I told you, Mushu had a grudge against other creatures and only devoured for protection if someone wandered in here. I can't blame those ponies from the lab for their fear and prejudice, especially after what happened, but it was fate, and getting her to dialog with the others wouldn't have worked, even if she had sent her body to negotiate. It's more likely that the people of Phoenix Threshold just attack her when they see her—remember your reaction when you first saw her. Pretty unusual and creepy looking... No offense," the last words are addressed to Mushu.

"None taken," she mutters slowly.

"Why were our detection systems giving off interference?" I ask.

"Because of Mushu's structure, allowing her to control a portion of the stalks nearby and sense someone else's presence with them at a longer distance. These 'nerves' were the cause of the interference when their particular radiation reached your sensors, affecting their operation. Simply put, where you first began to malfunction is where Mushu sensed your presence. I know from experience what interference is like."

At these words, he looks at us again for a moment, lifting his leg with the time-worn PipBuck into the air, then, lowering his leg, picks up the notebook with telekinesis and writes something down in it. Once done, he sets the pen aside and looks over his notes with concentration, flipping through the pages.

"When we were surrounded by spiders, why didn't Mushu intervene immediately?"

"Figured you could handle it on your own," she answers for herself.

Which, in fact, is to be expected. Motley suddenly lies down on the mattress and sighs heavily. I look at the tired pegasus and smile understandingly, then turn to Professor.

"How long will your work take?"

"We can call it a day." He closes the notebook and examines his other entries in the terminal and in the papers on the table. "What I wanted to know, I got. There's nothing keeping me on Green Island now until I find better equipment."

"What about Mushu?"

"I'm used to being alone. Professor satisfied my hunger." Mushu takes a long pause, then adds, "Not literally."

"I get it," I smile softly. "Live interaction is necessary for everyone." Mushu tries to smile. It comes out amusing and a little creepy as the smile stretches almost to the limit.

"Professor, would you be interested in joining us?" I suggest. A pony like this in our group would be a great asset. The combination of fighting ability and high intelligence is quite rare.

"That's an interesting proposition. What do you need me for?"

"Have you heard of a project called the Dome?"

Professor turns to me with an interested face, looking expectantly into my eyes.

"I am aware of the legend, however, I have my doubts: it may just be a popular tale that I hear about throughout my life. I would rather believe in a cornucopia than this. The Dome was invented before the war just to keep the Zebras busy with their endless search for it, leaving the facts supposedly supporting its existence to do so."
-
"A familiar opinion. Inherent in many. But there is confirmation nonetheless. I have more than once come across pre-war memory orbs associated with mention of this project and the ponies involved in its construction. I also know that to get into the Dome, you must collect six special key cards, two of which I've already found, though I don't have them on me."

"I must admit I admire your meticulousness, but that doesn't change the fact that the Dome may simply not be complete, or it may have been destroyed by the unpredictable effects of time or some other factor. It's gone. And all the key cards and documents were created to prove the Zebras otherwise."

"There's a chance of that, granted, but it wouldn't be unreasonable to try your luck. Besides, even if the Dome didn't survive to this day, or didn't exist at all, we'll still get the result of finally putting an end to this popular legend."

"Ambitious pony you are, Daniel," the stallion hums. "Just like me," he adds, smiling slightly. "So be it, I'll go with you. I don't have a permanent home right now anyway. Not unless I'm frequently distracted from my research. And yes, I need a place to do that. You have one, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, plus there's a hydroponics room that could be useful for growing the plants you need. However, at the time I arrived, almost all of the scientific and technical equipment there was damaged beyond repair. If you can get the instruments and equipment you need."

"That won't be a problem," the pony gently interrupts me in his quick, clear voice. "There's plenty of equipment here that will be useful for continuing my research. Some of it can be repaired and brought to your home."

"The bunker," I smile. "And there's an AI there with a quality repair robot, and yes I'm good with electronics and mechanics myself, so I can also help with fixing equipment."

"How interesting... My last doubts about the decision to come with you are gone. The AI's computational and analyzing capabilities can be incredible, which will help me with research... or the realization of ideas. That reminds me: you weren't sent here for free, were you?"

"Of course. I don't know how Sunny will repay me, though. I think I see where you're going with this. Asking for what you want as a reward?"

"You are a shrewd pony. Indeed. Yes, but the information I've gleaned here will also do for a good fee. As a blood relative of the Waterfall Family, she can get things that mere mortals aren't allowed to."

"Alright, have it your way. Aren't you curious as to the purpose of my seeking the Dome?" I inquire, looking at the Professor gathering his things.

"Not really, since I don't believe in its existence. The most important thing for me is to not be distracted from my work or harm it in any way. The rest I don't particularly care about, though I might be interested in..." The unicorn suddenly lapses into a stupor, looking at the flashing equipment. "I overlooked which way we're going to carry this."

"Don't worry, Professor. I have the proper transportation—a Vertibuck."

"You never cease to surprise me," the crimson-red unicorn smiles, looking at me with its silver-colored eyes.

I turn on the transmitter in the spare PipBuck, giving Blaze a signal. I do it outside so he knows exactly where to land. Mushu kindly removes the stalks from the parking lot, having also moved some of the cars and wagons aside for my Venture to land freely. After a while, the familiar rumble of propellers is heard. My beauty is approaching.

"What an interesting and lucky find this Vertibuck is, isn't it? She's so useful..." a familiar voice sounds.

"Who's there?" I say out loud and look around, but I don't see anyone.

"There's no need to look around. I'm in your head," the voice says. It sounds so clear and sharp, as if someone is actually sending a signal into it, but why is this voice so familiar to me...

That's right. It's like my own inner voice, except for some reason I can't control it. And it feels separate and independent.

"You figured it out after all," he say, a sarcastic tone in his voice. "That's right. I'm you, we share the same memories, but unlike you, I still want to return to a human body. You chose to stay in this world, trying to have a relationship with a pony. I'll be honest: I'm disappointed."

Chapter 22 - The Twilight Demon

View Online

"What?..."

A chill runs through my body; panic slowly takes over me.

"Exactly. I'm disappointed in your choice," the voice says in my head. "You've become too attached to this world, even though you know we don't belong here."

"I'm not quite sure who you are?"

"I've already told you. I am you. Only with one difference: I am a true human, unlike you. You've started to change, getting used to this environment and body. And recently, you've even enjoyed eating flowers! It was tolerable... but then you became obsessed with Motley. You lost your head over her, and you gave in to feelings of intimacy with a completely different creature. The more you thought about her, the more repulsive the thought of a relationship with a non-human seemed."

"So you're a different identity in my head?"

"You could put it that way. I understand as much about it as you do. Remember the supermutant we met in Sierra Madre, who had two personalities; it is true that intellectually they differed from each other as much as heaven and earth, and each had his own memories. With us, as I understand it, the situation is different."

"I don't understand why you sometimes speak in the singular, and sometimes in the plural, we?"

"It's easier, in my opinion: you and I have the same past, the same principles and views, so I sometimes speak of we, for you are part of me and I am part of you. We are one and the same. And yes, despite being uninformative—you have the same knowledge as I do— say this to you so that you will calm down at last."

"How did you emerge?"

"I can't say exactly. I began to realize myself gradually from the moment you first danced with Motley then in the restaurant. The human essence in you, the true human being that is me, didn't want to put up with the idea of having to spend the rest of my life not in a human environment. You hadn't made that decision yet, but the scales were tipping more and more in that direction. Then I started to feel like I felt like an observer. I couldn't control myself. I didn't realize... until now. I realized that the body was being controlled by another... Daniel."

"Are you saying we're only different because of one desire, but the rest we have everything in common?"

"Yes. Like I said, I tolerated any change in us. Thought you'd still wise up and give up trying to have a relationship in this world. Take responsibility. I tried to... somehow resist it. That time we danced with Motley... what we felt... How hard it was for me to fight my attachment to that pony—because of hormones, I think. Eventually I realized where it was going to lead."

"Now I understand why the feeling of unnaturalness associated with being attached to another creature and wanting to strengthen that bond disappeared. It was as if I had lost a piece of myself."

"Then the human nature that is me has already separated from you and formed as an independent identity in our bodies. You could say we both have the personality of a human being: you are the corrupted personality, while I am the pure and untainted one. There is nothing wrong with the word 'tainted'. It's simply denoting that your perceptions and feelings have changed, adapting to this world. To me, this world of magic and ponies will always be unfamiliar and strange, though partly beautiful and wonderful."

"Why exactly am I the one controlling our body?"

"I don't yet know how it can happen, but apparently you and I can either forcefully override it or do it consensually. I haven't tried to check—it's no use to me right now, so you're at the wheel. The first reason is that I am a person with a purely human perception, and I can't use the altered body as effectively as you can. It won't feel the same—like wearing clothes you'll never get used to, no matter how hard you try, and you'll feel uncomfortable and uneasy in them. This body feels like your own. The second reason is that if I take control of the body, it will be too noticeable in my movements. And that fact will make others suspicious..."

"Hey, Daniel?" Some pony waves his leg in front of my helmet. "Are you okay? You just stand there like a pole and don't move."

The dark gray pony named Blaze looks at me in surprise.

"Huh?.. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I shake my head slightly.

"Good, now show me what's what, because this place scares me a little," he says, cautiously looking around, occasionally lingering his attention on active and living plants. Mushu's green stalks wriggle slowly, almost imperceptibly, snow-covered in the snow.

I nod.

"Follow me and don't be afraid," I utter, and we move toward the lab.

"Enough talking," the other me says to me. "We seem to be conversing with you as normal chatters. So I won't distract you, I don't want to get killed over this kind of stuff with all your attention focused on me."

"It's a calm environment now, we can talk. What's going to happen to us next? I'm not going to tell anyone about you."

"And you don't have to. We don't need suspicion. Now you're hiding not one secret from Motley, but two—your true appearance from the past and your second identity. However, one follows from the other. You'll be doubly crazy in her eyes when you tell. She'll hate you for lying and turn her back on your lunacy, which will only be confirmed by your split identity."

"Why are you trying to hurt me? You think it's so easy to keep it to yourself? I'm even worse now!"

"We share a body, don't forget. I want to come home as a human. Oh, and besides, I don't wish you any harm, I just want to change your choices regarding your potential love for a pony. Just think how she'd react to the truth about us. Crazy liar. I'll be there for you in that case. It's so weird to see and feel everything and yet be unable to affect your body. It's like being trapped in a memory orb, only with the ability to mentally communicate with its owner. We're not so different, because we share the past, the present... and the future. I see what you see and feel what you feel, only I can ignore it all. Don't worry, I won't try to take control of your body like I said before. I'll just observe and help you on occasion in battle. Two heads are better than one, aren't they? Especially when they think basically the same way. What an extraordinary turn our lives have taken after all, isn't that right, Daniel?"

"Definitely, Daniel... Fuck, that sounds so weird!"

"Tell me about it..."

***

I introduce Blaze to Professor and Mushu. What amazement the dark gray pony feels at the sight of the brain center of the huge stalks! Mushu isn't too talkative as usual. Nor, in fact, is Professor. After exchanging a few kind greetings, we haul the equipment Professor needs upstairs and load it into the Vertibuck. Blaze and Professor aren't tired, so Motley and I carry almost nothing. The crimson-red stallion is really good with magic: he can levitate objects larger and heavier than himself several times without much effort.

It takes about an hour to load. The scientist, as expected, views the flying mechanical bird with interest. Mushu shows curiosity as well, trying to touch it with one of her stalks. Blaze is a little startled by this, as if Mushu is about to pull the thing in and eat it. But once the green plant's curiosity has dissipated, Blaze calms down and proceeds to tell the crimson-red unicorn about the Vertibuck's capabilities and characteristics.

I'm sitting in the interior, littered with equipment, boxes of flasks and other items for research and experimentation. Motley is nestled next to me; she is dozing.

Before takeoff, we said goodbye to Mushu.

The first order of business is to go to Phoenix Threshold so Professor can see Sunny Waterfall and let her know that he needs to get some rare equipment from Vanhoover. I'm too lazy to go anywhere, so I tell the scientist to have the necessary equipment delivered to the Oasis of Vanhoover, the Bottomless Chest store where my acquaintance Bluerise works. After a while, Blaze will take it from there by Vertibuck. The scientist agrees without hesitation.

I just want to take a quick shower, lie in a warm, soft bed, and sleep it off.

It was already light when we left Green Island. After talking to Sunny, the crimson-red pony returns to Venture, informing me that she has passed on her thanks and now has no doubts about my abilities.

There is a reason Prince, the Vanhoover's Father, asked me to interact with the citizens of the city directly. They must have faith in my skills.

Soon we arrive by Vertibuck in Heavenly Harbor. We are greeted by Caroline—the others are already sweetly asleep.

Stay awake... Awake!

She's not in her Stable body of the pony-like robot, but directly controlling one of the standard security robots. It's rather unusual to hear her voice so rough and deep and stallion-like. She informs me that 'Berry' helped tune her frequency to amplify the transmission signal. Caroline can now control her robots throughout the Vanhoover region with no problem. Her main body has already left to search for the missing master group that Troy Steelmane spoke of in his letter.

Upon arrival, Motley goes straight to our apartment, and I show Professor the lab and hydroponics room, which can be partially rebuilt with equipment from the lab. The latter is more than satisfied with the place for research. After informing him that he can take any sleeping room he wants, I follow Motley...

Blaze, whom I woke him up in the middle of the night, also heads to bed. Caroline helps Professor unload the equipment and do some repair work. Not wanting to sleep so much, I'd gladly join them just to dig into some equipment or gadgetry.

Motley's gear and duffel bags lie in the middle of the room; from the shower comes the sound of pouring water. The pegasus is taking a shower. Naturally, I join her, almost falling asleep there.

I'm tired, and I don't feel the need for lewd games, and neither does she.

After showering together, we go to bed. We crawl onto the bed, snuggling together—I cover us with a soft, clean blanket.

***

I open my eyes languidly. Motley is still sleeping peacefully, snuggled up against me.

Oh... That feels so good.

"With another creature? Uh-huh. I don't think so, though I agree it's nice to sleep with someone in your arms."

"Shut up, let me enjoy it."

"She almost died in The Island yesterday because of you. Her life is on your shoulders now."

"Shut up..."

I linger in the pegasus's warm embrace for ten minutes and carefully slip out of it, getting out of bed. The second identity bothers me when I'm around Motley. He's bored, so he taunts me. I leave the apartment and decide to check on Professor.

It's evening time by Equestrian standards.

Just as I get down to the residential level, a small orange hurricane comes at me, enclosing me in a hug for a few seconds and blurts out, "Play-play-play-play-play!"

"Nara, not now, I just woke up after a grueling ride," I say sleepily. "I want a cup of strong coffee..." an attack of a very contagious disease comes over me: I yawn widely, "...to brighten up. The brain's not working at all."

"I want on your back..." the little pony becomes depressed.

I roll my eyes doomfully.

Without further ado, I put the filly on my back with my telekinesis. She shrieks happily and we head to the dining room.

"Tell me," I begin, "were you interested in watching Berry and Caroline? Or rather, their work?"

"A little," the pony answers uncertainly. "But I'm not good in that kind of stuff at all. I got bored quickly. I wanted to look you up, but you were busy and the next day you were gone," she says chagrined.

"Yeah," I snort. "Goodbyes are hard. It's easier to go unnoticed. Less pain you'll have to feel from it then."

"But I still felt hurt that you left me like that," the orange pony says pitifully.

"If you don't get upset that I'm leaving, I'll give you a notice."

"Okay," Nara mutters reluctantly.

Sweet little pony... I'm so sorry for what she's been through. And that I have to turn her down when she needs me.

"It's not just Motley who's attached to you, is it? Until you find a new home for Nara, you're responsible for her smile."

"Piss off. I know without you."

"It's easier to go unnoticed. I totally agree with you on that one. I feel sorry for that little pony. She looks so fragile, helpless and alone, without her parents; she's probably seen them die. She went through a lot of nightmares and horrors in her Stable all by herself. How much like this we have seen in both worlds... Orphaned kids. So many."

"Something can be worked out about Nara. She's still troubled by the past. Walnut, when purging Nara's Stable, said it would be better to erase her memory: it would be easier for her. But we've decided to leave that choice to her when she's used to society and can judge her actions and their consequences. I have no right to decide such matters."

"But you will need to decide on her living arrangements... before she becomes completely attached to you. You're at an impasse, my friend."

In the kitchen, the pink earth pony with a lingonberry-colored mane stands at the stove, preparing our breakfast—or rather, dinner already—by stirring something with a large spoon in a huge pot.

"Good evening, Daniel," she says, noticing us. "Hello to you too, Nara, why didn't I see you when Professor showed up? I was worried you hadn't had breakfast and lunch. I noticed a few foods missing from the lockers, though, and I already wanted to let Daniel know about it."

"Flow," Nara burrows her face into my mane, "I figured it was okay to get some food myself..."

"No, it's fine, I just needed to make sure you weren't hungry."

"Yes, that was me. And I'm not hungry. It's just a new pony..."

"Scared of him?" I ask the filly.

A muffled and timid 'uh-huh' is heard from the back.

"Well, let's go check on him together, I'll introduce you. What about you?" I look at Flow. Nara rests her head on mine.

"I already made my introduction to him at breakfast today," she smiles weakly.

"Fine. Let me just make myself some coffee, and we'll dash out of the kitchen so we don't disturb you. Uh... Not fully awake yet."

The pink mare nods. I brew some strong coffee, pouring it into a cup. Grabbing the cup with magic, exuding the invigorating smell of fragrant and hot coffee, I drag myself and Nara away from the kitchen.

We waddle to the technical level and head to Professor's place. As we pass the armory, I see a dark gray stallion standing on his hind legs, front legs folded and leaning against the wall. Blaze is having a conversation with someone. I assume with our griffon... who is also gray in color.

"...such a difficult opponent I faced in the Arena. He was difficult to defeat, but I did it," he says proudly. "Oh, good evening, sleepyhead," he says, noticing me. "You have a good day too, Nara. Haven't seen you all day: I take it you were afraid of a strange pony?"

"Uh-huh..." Nara says once again a little shy and quiet. She's still uncomfortable talking to new ponies. Blaze smiles weakly and shifts his gaze to me.

"And I thought I'd have a few words with your armorer here. I don't have anything better to do right now anyway."

"And what do you talk about?" I inquire.

"This and that," Ferris answers in his place, not taking his eyes off his workbench of disassembled weapons. "Finding out how he dominated the stallions and mares in the Arena. So... what else interesting things happened in Vanhoover?" he asks Blaze.

"Well, you know, I heard a lot of things," the stallion says in an ingratiating tone. "For instance, about a betrayal in the Falcon family seven years ago. It was said that someone in his own family killed Father, and then he was hunted down and killed. And this turkey had a name strikingly similar to yours... What do you think, Ferris?" Blaze's face breaks into a mischievous grin.

"Just a coincidence," the griffon replies without hesitation, as if he really and truly has nothing to do with the Falcon family at all.

"Really?" Blaze asks rhetorically, and his grin grows even wider than before. "So many griffons in Vanhoover with the name Ferris? That betrayer was still an excellent weaponsmith and was great at his craft, like a damn wizard..."

"I've heard a lot about him too. They say he was unrivaled in his craft. I admire and emulate him. The fact that we have the same name only gives me hope that I can at least partially achieve the skill that my idol possessed."

"I believe. Totally," Blaze stretches out with irony.

I, pulling Blaze aside for a moment, ask him not to mention Ferris' name in Vanhoover. He nods understandingly and returns to the conversation.

I didn't tell anyone that Ferris belonged to the Falcon family and was a blood relative.

I step over the threshold of the lab. Sitting on my back, Nara looks with interest and curiosity at the softly beeping equipment and instruments, as well as the gurgling multicolored liquids in test tubes and flasks of various sizes and shapes. Noticing a crimson-red unicorn in a lab coat standing at a work table with various reagents and doing experiments on them, the pony on my back gets tense and alert, hiding behind my head.

"Work's boiling, I see," I look around interestedly.

"Good evening, Daniel," he greets in his quick tone without looking back. "Yes, the research and experimentation continues. Every moment wasted or missed can be costly, for as we know, none of us are immortal, so I work tirelessly."

"Has all the equipment from the lab been repaired yet?"

"Yes, with Caroline's help."

It's a shame I missed the opportunity to practice my magical repair skills.

"She is very curious for an artificial intelligence. However, I must admit: quite advanced, largely due to the hardware her neural network resides on. I just gave her access to my research results. Still analyzing them, but has already helped me with some tips. Truly a quality AI."

"By the way, I'd like you to meet a little person on my back." Professor turns around and looks at me, then looks at Nara with interest. "She's a little shy when there are new faces. Nara has lived alone for about a year surrounded by creepy mutants, and it's hard for her to see others as potential friends instead of the usual threat."

"I understand her attitude toward the newcomers. There's nothing to be surprised about. It's nice to meet you, Nara. You can call me Professor."

"You have a funny name," she mutters quietly.

"No," the pony laughs. "It's a nickname. It's gotten so used to me that I don't actually use my real name."

"And where did you get that nickname?" I inquire.

"A long time ago... I can't remember such trivia anymore. I think some DJ jokingly said that about me once. I forget his name. He had a lot of listeners and they started calling me that. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. I've been called that nickname more often by the zebras."

"Zebras? You mean you were in their country?"

"Well, more like in what's left of it." Professor shrugs. "Comparing our situation and theirs is like comparing mustard and shi... dirt. They are also scattered, but most are divided into relatively civilized, though extremely warlike, tribes. Relatively, because they've taken a step back, become even more superstitious than before. Believing that a new Caesar will come, unite the zebras, and finish what they started: something to do with Princess Luna... or Nightmare Moon. Living in constant restlessness, for they are surrounded by dangers, deadly predators, unfriendly plants, and other children of radiation and alchemy that might interest a sophisticated scientist like myself. And we have the whole list, only they're more varied, colorful, and deadly."

"Is that why you have such strange armor made of various skins?"

"Right... Most of the hides on it are tough, others are more flexible, and others give some effect like a little heat resistance."

"Why aren't you wearing it now? Like you did then, when we met?"

"It's relatively safe here. If anything, my modified plasma pistol, a couple of unique items, and a set of my own spells are enough for me. The armor isn't that important, it mostly protects me from the harsh weather, both cold and unbearably hot and humid."

"What have you been exploring in zebra territory?"

"Like I said— flora and fauna. Many curious specimens useful for my work can be obtained there. There are certain species of mushrooms that enhance thinking, they were part of the Mint-als—by the way, and I use them often when I get stumped in my work. And then there's mushrooms that will send you on a fascinating spiritualistic journey..."

"You're into alchemy?" I wonder.

"You could say that. Genetics and alchemy are virtually identical concepts. The only difference is that the former studies mainly the structure of nature, while the latter emphasizes its features. I have been in zebra land for almost twenty years and have become well versed in alchemy. The knowledge I have gained will be useful to me in my work. All knowledge, of course, no one can memorize—that's why I keep a diary and audio logs. I have an entire data storage device in which all the recipes, formulas, and other information I need for my work are recorded. That's what I use the PipBuck for—if I need to use the data, I plug it into this overhoof device or terminal, so it's easier to use."

"Is there so much data that it doesn't fit in the PipBuck?" I wonder.

However, my Pip-Boy can't hold The New Features blueprints because of my personal notes: I had to use the spare PipBuck. No wonder Professor has a separate storage device.

"I've been doing this all my life and I record all my information on a separate storage device. You could say it's my personal digital library with all sorts of information. I use PipBuck more often as an audio diary... or in combat."

"Yeah..." I say with some amazement.

He's really giving his all to his dream. Just like Lilac who collected notes and created maps of the Griffon Kingdom. All her life. She was engulfed in it like Professor is engulfed in his research on flora and fauna.

"So you can make potions for us? You know, healing potions, for example?"

"That's foal's play compared to the field of research I do. It's much cheaper for me to buy the raw materials and make the necessary potions myself than to buy them from a store. In my spare time, I'll be making healing potions. Or some rarer ones..."

"Like what?"

"For you as a fellow unicorn, there's a potion that allows you to survive magic burnout without severe consequences, restoring it almost instantly."

"Wow... I wish I had something like that. Can you make it anytime soon?" I look at Professor with eager interest.

"It would take a special plant, the seeds of which I have with me."

"You carry the seeds with you, too?"

"Of course, in a special small container. Most plants are necessary for the job because they have unique qualities. The hydroponics of this bunker will be able to nurture a couple specimens. With magic, I can accelerate their growth by several degrees. True, only in small quantities; and their growth rate will depend on the natural process, but it is still useful when you need to get the harvest soon. Still, my magic is adapted to this; I practiced in this very field when I was still a young foal—I have a talent for it. I'm most inclined in working with plants."

"A very useful and rare magical ability," I say impressed.

Even though this is the first time I've heard of it. Amazing and extraordinary is this world of magic. I can't stop being amazed when I hear something like this. Of course, there are special plant growth stimulants, but to promote this with magic alone... "I hope to hear an entertaining story about it someday over a glass of whiskey," I smile.

"Maybe when we have some free time to talk." A shadow of a smile slides across the scientist's face.

"And thanks for agreeing to make potions for us."

"That is as small and tiny as a seed to me, because my business is with flowers and berries, which are more important things. Pardon the pun. And now I must get down to business," the crimson-red stallion returns to his occupation.

We leave the lab so as not to distract Professor from his work.

"He's so interesting," Nara exclaims on the way to the living floor. "How many fascinating stories does he know!"

Well... I've actually had quite a few adventures as well.

"Just better not get carried away with it, or you'll be blabbing about your origins."

"Oh, don't start..."

I mentally groan. A sly and mischievous 'he-he' is heard in my head. Teasing and pestering myself... Well, it's not so weird when you have a split identity. Or maybe I'm just crazy?

"No, I doubt you're schizophrenic, or that I'm your imaginary friend. We can check it out. Here, let me take the wheel..."

"No, no, I believe you."

***

"And what are you guys doing here?" I enter the main hall of the residential level. Sitting relaxed on one of the couches is the chubby lemon pony with a green mane, sipping a Sparkle Cola and watching the sparring between Motley and Blaze in the middle of the huge room with fervent interest.

"Oh, hey, we're practicing here," the beige pegasus is distracted for a moment—the mutilated pegasus takes advantage of this and takes over.

"Have you forgotten the cardinal rule of a fight?" Blaze asks with a smirk, immobilizing the pegasus.

"No," she replies. "You apparently forgot something yourself..." at those words Motley releases herself and grips the pegasus in a grip. "The best moment to overpower an opponent is the moment of his false triumph."

I take a seat next to Lemon on the couch, and Nara settles between us.

"How did it start?" I inquire of Lemon.

I keep my eyes on the fighting ponies, constantly taking the initiative from each other.

"Just as Blaze showed up here, Motley showed up too. They started a conversation, which then turned into a demonstration of the techniques Blaze had mastered. I grabbed something to drink: the thrill of the spectacle made my mouth dry."

"I agree, it looks absolutely gorgeous," I say dreamily, admiring the pony's graceful movements.

"I couldn't agree more. Motley's gracefulness is unmatched by any pony. It's a weakness you and I have."

"Danny!" I turn at the source of the outrage. "You said you'd play with me. Let's race like we did back then: me the driver and you my race car..."

Lemon chuckles suppressedly.

"What are you laughing at?" I smile, looking at the lemon pony. "A heavy and clunky tank will never catch up to a fast-paced race car..."

I don't have time to finish the sentence, bumping into the threatening gaze of Lemon, who is already reaching for me with her forelegs to strangle me. Wasting no time, I leap off the couch, magically grabbing Nara and placing her on my back.

"As expected, Orange Whirlwind comes out in the lead, leaving Huge Lemon Ball far behind!"

Nara squeals with delight, and Lemon shouts angrily, playing along, trying to catch up with us. But because of her weight, of course, she can't. I'm giving in.

"Come on, step it up, my car!" Nara squeals with joy, "I can hear the wheels of the Heavy... I mean, the Huge Lemon Ball is rolling behind me!"

I hope Lemon isn't too offended...

***

The games were over. I let Lemon catch up to us a few times. She was wallowing and rubbing my head hotly with her front hoof, messing up my hair. Nara was having fun. We were all having fun as the 'racing competition' devolved into a standard game of tag, even though the little pony stayed on my back. I doubt we would have been able to horse around so spectacularly without that filly. Besides, the goofing off could be justified by the fact that it was all for the little pony!

Motley and Blaze had some more friendly fights for a while; the number of victories was almost equal. But my pegasus still won more often, as she figured out Blaze's moves and techniques pretty quickly and used them against him. They joined us when our 'races' turned into sledding. Motley got into the game at once and without a second thought, for she herself liked such pranks with a lot of action. We ran all over the bunker, having fun and laughing uncontrollably.

Flow, having finished her chores in the kitchen, came out to watch curiously and later joined us, too, having decided to participate. She loved it. Free to run around and not worry about being bound somewhere. I doubt she'd ever had as much fun in her life as she had today.

The others chose to stay on the sidelines—only Caroline didn't mind having fun and participating in this social interaction. However, all the robots under her control didn't allow her to pursue 'victims' with the necessary efficiency, and her main body had gone east at my request in search of the Steelmane family's missing recon team, so she was only watching us with curiosity.

After a fun chase, we tiredly head out to dinner. I check with Lemon just in case she was offended by the weight joke. She says she got over it because of my real feelings about it. She is touched that I thought about her feelings.

"Of course she knows your real feelings. You even fucked her."

Professor and Ferris and the pet eagle Edge aren't hungry—they had a big lunch during the day, so they limit themselves to the sandwiches Flow brought them, since they were busy doing their own thing. Dinner is just me, Flow, Nara, Lemon, Motley, and Blaze.

Lemon and Blaze occasionally tease each other. Surprisingly, Blaze doesn't joke about her weight. Lemon says he is sympathetic to her problem. She's taken a liking to him.

After dinner, everyone goes to their rooms. Nara asks me to read her a bedtime story... She takes me by surprise with this request: I've never done such a thing. With a little help from Nara, I manage to tell a manageable bedtime story; I'll be honest, it's complete nonsense, but Nara tells me it's not bad and recommends that I keep practicing.

I am skillfully teased by a little girl.

Once Nara falls asleep in her room, I quietly leave her and head to my apartment. I don't feel like sleeping yet—I got a good night's sleep during the day. It's almost midnight now, and there's no activities except learning spells.

The beige pegasus is dancing in our bedroom. Slow and enthusiastic. Nothing distracts her. As if she's not distracted, for she notices my presence immediately.

"Are you sleepy?" she asks, moving gracefully on her hind legs across the navy blue carpeting.

"No."

"Wonderful. Neither do I. Do you like what you see?"

"You bet I do," I lick my lips involuntarily as I watch her movements.

"Then sit next to me and... enjoy it, honey."

"Oh, I think I'd better take my leave... and refrain from commenting."

I close the doors and lie down on the soft couch in anticipation.

"No," she continues without stopping the dance. "Sit differently. So that I can see all of you."

"Oh..." Taking an upright position, I rest my back against the back of the couch and spread my legs so that the pegasus has a good view of what's between them. "You like it?"

"Just what I need. Now... don't be shy about anything," she says, standing one pony away. The white light of the lamp falls on her jiggling rounded rump.

I can feel the tension rising underneath, a burdensome itch arises. Motley smiles contentedly. She graciously spreads her beige wings and covers herself with them. Turning to me, she covers her belly and lower belly with them. Her rump continues to sway lightly.

"Come on... I told you," she says in an affectionate voice, "enjoy... Besides, I wonder how a unicorn does it."

I smile slightly. My horn shines with a blue light. A magical haze of the same color wraps around my visibly tense organ, squeezing it tighter. I sigh in relief. Now I can ease the itch.

My telekinesis magic mimics full-length reciprocating motions. Motley bites her lower lip. She raises a languid gaze of multicolored eyes to me.

"Magical. Just..." the pegasus says, "take your time. Do it slowly. Try to get into the rhythm of my movements."

Motley turns her back to me again, folding her wings. Her brown tail presses against her crotch. She stretches her front legs forward and arches her back like a playful cat. She sighs with pleasure, jutting out the rounded cheeks of her beige rump. He sways from side to side. Hypnotizing like a pendulum.

The careful curves of his hips... Lovely beige legs... It's all in motion.

Her tail is relaxing—swaying after the rump, trying to keep up with it. Now there's an occasional glimpse of what's under her tail.

"Admiring me, are you?" her voice is heard from the front.

"Lovely cheeks..."

"What about what's between them?"

The chestnut-colored tail wags to the side, revealing a view of the dark beige underbelly and the plump round muscle underneath. The mare's labia glisten with fresh moisture.

The sweet, heavy tension beneath me intensifies; I involuntarily quicken the pace of my magic movements. I want to rub my nose against it.

I let out an intermittent sigh.

"You just don't have the words," she giggles sweetly.

The swaying doesn't stop. Her dainty legs spread wider, and her moist pink clit grows slightly larger with arousal, pushing the folds of her dark beige labia apart. A clear droplet gathers on it, which now slowly pulls itself to the carpet and stretches into a long, thin thread.

"I can see better now... And... Slow the pace of your magic. I can hear in your breath how much you like my pussy. Easy."

She lifts her hind legs up easily, and, locking them together, stretches up toward the ceiling, resting fully on her front hooves. Her lovely athletic tummy is up and down from her breathing. I can see the rounded outline of her udder with two nipples, the wonderful fur on her chest. Her upturned smiling face looks up at me from below.

Completely open in front of me. So close and so far away...

"I love," the pegasus licks her lips, "the way you... play magic when you look at me. It's turning me on..."

Her hind legs move in the air, spread wide and elegantly apart, exposing her crotch; crossing over each other. She springily stood on her right front leg only, gently bringing her left leg to the side, and vice versa. On her front legs, she takes a few graceful steps toward me, getting closer. Laying down lightly on her back, closing her hind legs together.

A condescending smile graces her lips. The pegasus smoothly turns from side to side, not forgetting to shake her slim hind legs vigorously. Their movements have made the inside of her thighs slick with moisture in some places, which stretches from one thigh to the other in threads that glisten in the white light like spider webs.

My mouth dries up from the fascinating sight, wanting to wet it with this moisture. To gather it with my tongue from the wet fur of her thighs.

The pegasus rises on all four hooves, her crouch against my tense and throbbing organ, covered in the blue haze of my magic. Her slim thigh, with a cutie mark in the form of a swirl of fall leaves, rubs against it in an undulating motion. Her soft, short fur tickles it pleasantly. A drop of lube that has dripped onto it falls onto her cutie mark, moistening the point of contact a bit. Sliding down her rounded thigh feels more pleasurable.

"I love being examined so intently," Motley purrs, looking into my eyes. Her gaze drops to the thigh she's rubbing against my organ. "Enjoying me. Such an eager viewer deserves a reward."

She deftly hops onto the edge of the couch with her front legs, spreading them to the sides of my pelvis. She tries to keep her balance by turning her rising and falling belly toward me. Her hind legs stretch up to the ceiling and her sweet nose rests against my hard twitching cock. I can feel her hot breath below. Her hind legs spread slightly and rest gently on my shoulders. The mare's body moves toward me. She bumps her warm, wet crotch against my nose and sighs in relief.

I inhale her scent deeply. A maddening shiver of arousal runs through my body. I feel the tight embrace of the pegasus's soft lips around the tip.

***

25th of the Month of Heather, Greenday. Sixty-second day of my stay.

The next morning—in fact, it's almost noon—Caroline reports that her body has unexpectedly suffered damage that cannot be repaired without outside interference. Her main body's motor systems were damaged in a fall off a cliff that she was unable to prevent. She can now only analyze the surrounding terrain.

She reports that before she lost control of her mechanized body, she saw a group of structures among the rocks. They are probably the exterior of a mining facility, given the cargo mounds of waste and recycled rock near the pillar-shaped buildings connected by special conveyors.

Most likely a mine.

Lemon doesn't want to go into the mines, so he stays in Heavenly Harbor trying to play with Nara. I convince Ferris to come with us to explore. He refuses, saying that the masters will recognize him, but still agrees when I say that there is no confirmation that the group of the masters are still alive or have even been there. Oh, and we can't lose our fighting spirit, because you can't get very far with one meat hunt.

Motley decides not to use the Enclave's power armor within the Vanhoover region so as not to arouse suspicion. Especially now that we're going after the missing Family members.

We gather the necessary gear and head to the mine to repair Caroline's body and scout out the mine itself. Blaze happily agrees to take us there.

After struggling to find a more or less suitable place to land, Venture lands among the mountains, the tops of which are covered with a perpetual layer of snow. Caroline's body is a short walk from the landing site. After dropping us off, Blaze flies back to Heavenly Harbor.

We get to Caroline's body, which turns out to be difficult due to the difficult terrain—steep cliffs. Ferris and I set about adjusting and repairing the propulsion systems, while Motley takes a look around. Thanks to our teamwork, Caroline's body is able to complete its own repairs after a few minutes, and we head for the mine together.

Barely approaching the group of structures located in the gorge, we come under heavy fire. The red dots appear suddenly. There are about half a dozen of them, and I don't even have time to see them. Before I can hide behind the rocks, a bullet hits me, tearing off a small piece of armor on my front leg, but it doesn't hurt me. The others aren't hurt, as I'm walking ahead of them, so they're less likely to get hit.

"Wow," I say, taking cover behind a rock and looking at my companions through the red visors of my helmet. We're being shelled and not even given a chance to look out of cover. "How warmly we've been greeted. No one got hit?" Everyone shakes their heads negatively. "Fine. Ferris, can you back off discreetly to scout the situation and cover us with sniper fire?" Thoth nods and rises sharply into the air, heading for one of the rocks. "I'll teleport to another position and you stay here until I signal." Caroline and Motley nod.

I concentrate the magic in my horn and focus on the teleportation spell, intending to move to the rocks opposite of us.

A moment, and I'm on the other side. Ferris comes on the radio.

"Robots," he reports briefly. "Two Sentinels, three turrets on the roof of one of the buildings, and one combat Protect-A-Pony."

"Deal with the turrets, then the others. We'll help."

I contact the radio in Motley's helmet, "Throw a frag one. Then I'll distract them on me and it'll be your turn."

The pegasus throws the grenade upward. In an extended arc, the grenade crosses the rock obstacle and reaches the mine grounds. There's a rumbling explosion that, judging by the scraping of metal and muffled pops, causes damage to one of the robots, and then a shot from Ferris's anti-machine rifle goes off, hitting one of the turrets.

I load Whispering Night with armor-piercing rounds, set the rate of fire higher, and peek out from behind cover, aiming at a Sentinel that stands between the pillar-shaped buildings. I fire at the top of the robot, knocking off half of its head, and then take a few accurate shots at its legs, piercing them. This disorients it for a while. Just then, it's hit by a large-caliber bullet from the anti-machine rifle.

I immediately hide behind a rock from the robots, who open fire on me, leaving Motley and Caroline alone for the moment.

No words are needed.

The pegasus flies high into the air and dives at the remaining Sentinel, striking it with its energy-magic rifles, one of them orange and the other a standard, green-colored one. Caroline quickly runs out of cover and strikes the combat Protect-A-Pony with a blue beam, melting a small part of its body. This is the first time I've seen her in combat. The shot is spectacular and powerful. Seconds later, Ferris hits the last turret.

Still, it's nice to work as a team. If only no one died—then I wouldn't be traveling alone at all.

"Well done!" I shout, climbing out of cover and into the mine. Motley lands next to me, followed by Ferris. "Let's get a move on. Let's check out the main building."

***

Inside the main building, we get into a fight with a few more combat robots. We even manage to use the EMP generator implant in my right leg a couple of times. But in the last fight, Ferris is a bit unlucky—he almost gets shot in the head, and the bullet goes off at a tangential angle, leaving two holes in his helmet and grazing his cheek. My helmet gets damaged, too, so I have to take it off and get to work fixing it.

"Oh shit!" he blurts out as he takes a small wound. And takes off his helmet, letting us admire the thin bleeding wound. "Ugliness was the last thing I needed."

"Let's fix it," Motley says, approaching the griffon. She removes her helmet and pulls out some medical supplies to treat the hapless fighter. "And in general, scars adorn griffons."

"Griffons don't wear adornment at all... Ouch!" he shrieks as the pegasus tries to disinfect his wound.

"I'll scout the area for now," I say as I take off my helmet and smile. "Caroline, keep an eye on those feathered chickens. I don't see any more robots in the vicinity though," I glance at the compass once more. "Caution wouldn't hurt, though. Don't go anywhere until I return."

"Will do," Caroline replies.

"Caution..." the griffon hums.

"Don't move," the pegasus says reproachfully. Ferris pays no attention to her.

I leave the warehouse room in silence, filled with disabled mining robots. On the way, I use magic to repair the damaged parts of my helmet.

A quick examination reveals that some of the staff here was automated. They must have been directly involved in gem mining. The other, which was before the war, was engaged in maintenance of robots and accounting.

There is a rather strange fact: two hundred years later, the electricity is still working properly here, but only a part of the robots is in working condition, namely the combat robots. Which is not surprising, given the value of gems, especially before the war with the zebras, when much depended on this resource, and security measures were not superfluous.

But how did the Steelmane family scouts slip past? And how in two hundred years had the gems from the mine, lying in locked storage rooms, not been looted? Maybe because they couldn't get to them? No... there's a lot of stuff lying around, covered in a thick layer of dust. It's all rather strange.

As I ponder this, glancing occasionally at my helmet, I don't notice that I stumble into a technical room with a lot of panels with toggle switches and flashing computer equipment. Here is also the main supercomputer of the mine, from which, apparently, it is possible to coordinate the work of robots—both mining and combat. It's also the hub where I can monitor the status of utility systems.

But the most colorful phenomenon in this room is the riddled corpses of a mare, a stallion, and a griffon. All of them are wearing warmed-up versions of battle armor and are fairly well armed with shotguns and rifles. Some of the equipment has been damaged by bullets—which explains why there are only guards roaming the mine's administration now: the visitors have damaged the control systems of the worker robots.

I examine the corpses. They had time to unholster their weapons and defend themselves with them, judging by the scattered shell casings. I don't immediately notice the remains of two turrets hanging from the ceiling, one completely riddled with bullets and therefore malfunctioning, and the other, judging by the damage, having failed over time due to a malfunctioning power supply. It can be assumed that the defense system was activated accidentally by the unlucky scouts, for which they paid with their lives.

Their bags are full of things: food, water, ammunition, medicines and other small things necessary for survival. They didn't have time to explore all the administration offices and warehouses, deciding to find the light switch first. Well, at least we know what happened to those poor souls. Bad luck for them.

I continue to repair the damaged parts of my helmet with magic.

I walk over to the supercomputer and decide to check it to make sure the scout team has reactivated the mine. Flipping through the log files, I become convinced. After a long two hundred years, almost three weeks ago, they used this supercomputer and activated all of the mine's protocols; not a minute later, the terminal received a notification that the robot miners' systems were malfunctioning. It didn't take much skill to disable the remaining guards. Based on the information provided, there are still serviceable units in the mine area. Having disabled them, I'm heading back to my team.

Continuing to fix my helmet, I return to the room with the robot miners... And there's no one there. Not Caroline, not Motley, not Ferris. The blood-stained absorbent cotton that Motley used for healing is lying on the floor.

"I told them to stay put," I mutter grudgingly. I glance at the compass and find no hostile or neutral markings nearby. Clear.

"Guys?" I shout out. But all I hear in response is my own echo. "Where'd you go?"

Nothing in response.

I put off fixing my helmet, pull out my Whispering Night, and move slowly down the hallways, at one of which I pause for a few seconds, looking interestedly at a pile of trash in the corner. As I get closer, I can't see much in it, just ruined clothes covered in a layer of dust. And yet why is a whole set of warm clothes lying here? Who left it here? It's like someone just dropped the whole outfit here.

My gaze slides to the wall, and I notice the ruined wallpaper, but not by time... A barely visible claw mark covered in a layer of dust. I take another look at the abandoned clothes and notice the faint remnants of rotting flesh on them.

I get a bad feeling. A lump rises in my throat.

After a few minutes of restless and anxious searching, with a glance at the compass, I spot a neutral marker. It's Motley. Her face expresses alarm.

"Oh, Danny, I finally found you," she says, hugging me. "We're in trouble. Ferris is missing."

"How did you manage to lose him?" I wonder.

"After I fixed him up, he decided to go for a bathroom break and didn't come back. We went looking for him. Caroline and I split up so he'd be easier to find."

"Why didn't anyone respond to my scream?" I wondered. "It should have been heard throughout the building."

"We... at least I didn't hear anyone screaming," she puzzles.

"Something strange is going on here. Let's go find the others."

***

Motley and I look around the kitchen, and she suddenly strikes up a conversation.

"You know what," she says stiffly. "I realize this isn't the best time, but I've compared some of the stories you've told with the facts I've learned during my few years in the Enclave Intelligence. And a lot of things don't match up," she rewards me with a stern look.

"Like what?" I ask, looking at her in bewilderment.

"You've told me about your adventures, but I haven't seen anything like this in the Enclave's reports regarding the surface. There are a few similarities, but not many. Don't take me for a fool, tell me what all these vile lies are for?" she asks grudgingly.

"Uh..." I squeeze out, confused by the unexpected question. It's like an icy wave sweeps over me.

My body shivers and my legs shake.

Is this the moment when I have to come clean? Or lie to her, but I just can't tell the truth or lie to her. No... I don't want to do either of those things right now! I just can't. Who knows how she'll react? I don't know why I told her about my adventures! She's a recon officer! And the Enclave must have gotten wind of me, since my story is rather unusual. So why can't I remember anything like that about telling her an overly long story from which it could be inferred that there was no such thing in the Equestrian Wasteland?

"So you lied," Motley says disappointed. "Thought you were being honest with me."

"No, I wasn't lying, it's just..."

"Just what? Just what?!" she almost yells at me and tears appear in her eyes. "I've already been lied to once... about my father's death! And did you see how that turned out? Awful! It's worth it for me to remember what you told me and realize it was all lies..."

Every word she said was like a nail driving into my heart.

"I didn't lie!" I can't stand it. "I never lied."

"So what was it back then in Vanhoover? What were those stories you were telling me!"

"That... I... I mean... That I..."

"What, what are you trying to say! Another disgusting lie?!" her face reflects anger, frustration, and pain.

My heart bleeds. It hurts me so much to see her like this, but it's equally vile and disgusting to me that she thinks I lied to her. I take a deep breath, pausing for a moment.

"I'm not a pony," I exhale heavily, letting out a barely audible sigh. Motley is shocked. "I've been one for two months at most. These stories... you've never heard of them because they're from another Wasteland. From another world. I am from another world. A human imprisoned in the body of a pony."

"What kind of nonsense did you just give me just now?" the pony's surprise vanishes, and her face contorts with pain and anger once more. I involuntarily stare back. "What the hell is this nonsense! That's the worst excuse I've ever heard!"

"No, it's true!" I stomp my front foot in affirmation. "I-I kept that fact from you, since I thought.... I don't know what I thought, but I figured you'd think I was crazy and hate me. I didn't want to upset you-"

"You already did," she whispers. "You... You weren't a pony? Why... you..." the pegasus utters with effort, looking up at me. Her eyes are wet and she's about to burst into tears. "I fucked an alien. Several times! Uh... it's just disgusting and awful! I..." the pony sobs, and then cries.

Everything swims in front of my eyes, and they fill with tears.

This is what I was afraid of. Everything inside me shrinks and collapses into a black void. This...

"You're just awful! That's even times worse than lying! Hiding something like that!"

I can hear her crying. What she's saying feels like a needle stabbing into every cell in my body. I feel terribly broken and depressed.

Fool... Idiot! I'm a total asshole! Why didn't I tell her right away? Why did I hide it? If I'd told her the truth, she would've just said no, and we would've lived happily ever after.

I want to go over to the pony to settle the conflict, but I take a step closer, a burning sensation appears on my chest, and then a sharp and jarring pain pierces my body. Looking at the sore spot, I am horrified—my armor and my organs are melting.

Because of the veil of tears in my eyes, I couldn't see who did it. It's just me and Motley here...

Why did she do that? But it doesn't matter anymore. I'm dying anyway. The shot was powerful—it pierced the armor and my insides, making a liquid bloody mass.

Luck played tricks on me one last time, delivering a devastating blow to my heart. I hadn't expected such a reaction from Motley, though I'd feared it. I thought we'd just part ways when she found out the truth about me. What she said was the worst thing I'd ever heard.

There's a reason my human part told me not to get involved in this world. Why is he silent at a time like this? Surely also stunned...

My consciousness sinks into darkness. Total darkness.

***

Am I still alive? Why? Have I survived death again? It just can't be...

I slowly open my eyes and stare at the cracked ceiling, tears drying on my cheeks.

What happened? Right... Motley shot me when I revealed the truth about myself to her.

I was hit by the orange plasma of her energy-magic rifle. My insides began to melt then... But why can't I feel pain or hear my other self?

I look around. This is the place where Motley shot me. Looking at the body, I find no wounds or injuries, and the armor is only a little ragged from the recent battles with the robots.

Rising heavily from the floor and picking up Whispering Night, I walk down the hallway. It isn't long before Caroline finds me.

"Great, you've finally come to your senses!" she says cheerfully.

"What... happened?" I ask indifferently.

I don't care about anything anymore right now. Life has already been shattered, and so brutally at that, and now there's no reason to rejoice...

"You are all under the influence of psychotropic substances," the artificial intelligence simply explains.

"Say that again?" I brighten up.

"You inhaled hallucinogenic gas."

"When?" I wonder.

"According to my instruments, about an hour ago."

"Fuck. What... What happened?"

My human nature is finally asserting itself. Human-Daniel is back with us.

"What are you talking about? Wait. Was it a hallucination?" he says stunned, as if reviewing my memory of the conversation with Caroline. "It was like it was real..."

Wait, let's hear more from Caroline.

"How did this even happen?"

"I can only assume that the gas started to affect the three of you when you took off your helmets. Their air-filtration systems prevented the gas from affecting you before then."

"How do you come to that conclusion?"

"After Motley provided first aid to Ferris, he suddenly ran down the corridor shouting something, I couldn't make out exactly what. Motley was surprised by this and ran after him. Even though you ordered me to stay put..." there's an awkwardness in her hesitation, "...I followed them. I was sure that's what you would have asked me to do." I nodded, smiling weakly. "Thank you for understanding the reason for the task violation."

"You did the right thing, acting on the circumstances. That is expected of you. Let's move on. Where did Ferris and Motley run to?"

"I managed to follow Motley, but I lost Ferris. Equal to Motley, he was fast-" there is a sense of guilt in Caroline's speech. "Later, when I was returning to the kitchen to find you and report the strange behavior of your friends, I met you and told you about it. But you also responded strangely, asking only about Ferris's disappearance."

"Wait, you didn't hug me?" I marvel.

"No," Caroline replies somewhat uncertainly. "You must have been gassed by then. The strangeness in your actions was evident even then. I tried to reach out to you, but you didn't respond to me."

My heart sank.

"So you heard what I said?" I say barely audible.

Horse apples...

"Holy shit..."

"No." I let out a sigh of relief. A mountain off my shoulders. "I left you immediately to find the source of the weirdness. After comparing what I saw and deciding that you were all under the influence of the gas, the first thing I did was go to inspect the technical area, the ventilation systems of the building. After examining the equipment, I found the reason for your strange behavior—there was an extra module installed in it—an almost empty container with a dark purple liquid. It's labeled 'Twilight Demon'. Designed for spraying hallucinogenic gas down ventilation shafts," she shows me a round gray container the diameter of my leg, then puts it back into one of the compartments of her body. "After removing it, I tweaked the ventilation equipment so that it would gradually clear the gas from the building. After spending some time fixing that problem, I set out to find you."

"But who would want to install something like that in the ventilation system?"

"That's something I never found out, but I think you should look at the partially recovered pre-war record found in one of the terminals on the technical level. The other files in the memory bank I was unable to recover."

"And why this particular file?"

"It was the last one written to the terminal: when you delete something from the memory bank, the remnants of the code will be retained in the system, provided nothing afterward is written. And the files were carefully deleted, so I was only able to recover a minuscule fraction of the information in that recording. Making a logical chain out of a set of words and their scraps, I couldn't."

Caroline uploads the partially recovered recording to my spare PipBuck. I look through it. Almost all of the words refer to ventilation system reports, numbers, dates... They don't provide the necessary information, and are also incomplete. Only the last few lines catch my attention, "...gov..rnm..nt... inspecti..n once ag..in for unkn..wn re..sons... Req..ested insp..ction of... the v..ntilati..n equ..pment... No ord..rs fr..m ab..ve, th..ugh... so why w..uld... Kn..wn name of repr..sentat..ve: Eric Frost."

The words spoken by Captain Sun of Northern Soul come to mind, "There was turmoil, murder and betrayal in the ranks of The Controllers at the time, and even Eric was involved... After that there was complete silence. No rumors, no orders from The Controllers - nothing, sir."

Captain spoke well of Eric as a talented professional with great potential. There was no match for him in the training group. There were suspicions that he might have been the traitor and murderer. Eric, was avenging your wife's death more important to you than the well-being of all the ponies that drove you to betray Equestria and murder?

I'm already talking about betrayal as something common among good people. Maybe it was the effect of what I saw.

What did you see?

Motley betrayed my feelings as soon as she knew the truth about me. Then she shot me. Didn't you see that?

Oh, shit. No, I didn't see that. I couldn't get through to you for a while, and then it was like I went back in time. I was human again, and there was Brisa, and her death, and then she was haunting me in the guise of a ghost and blaming me for her death. And what I saw was fucking realistic, yet I didn't remember coming into this world or our split into two personalities at all.

So not only do we have our own dreams, but we also have hallucinogen-induced nightmares.

I can assume—you've probably realized this yourself—that we see our own fears. Yours have to do with confessing to your beloved Motley, since you've grown very attached to her and are afraid to reveal your cards, appearing to be a liar and a madman... madpony, and mine have to do with Brisa. It's as if my fears and worries about it have returned.

"Daniel, are you okay? Why aren't you talking? Were you able to make sense of those scrappy words and sentences? What's your verdict on the dataset?" Caroline asks, staring at me with a look of metallic 'eyes'.

"Uh, yeah it's... I was digesting the information. I've come to the conclusion that the hallucinations were related to our fears."

I let out another sigh of relief. The sudden blissful weakness makes me want to sit up. For a moment it feels as if the world had seemed all wrong up until then, and now it's all dreamy and pleasant to realize that all I've seen is my own fear—the worst of Motley's reaction to my confession. I remembered, however, that I had not told her too notable or distinctive adventures. Usually it was my peaceful times in the Stable... Vault 101.

"What's about with the restored data?"

"Oh, nothing, a greeting from the past. There was a name on there that I've come across more than once. There's unconfirmed information that he turned out to be a traitor and murderer. The information is sketchy, so like I say, it's unlikely."

"As I told you before. That's what makes you special. You don't see the whole picture of what's going on, and then you make it up and distort it with your brain. Only those with imagination can make things up based on scraps of information."

"That's the point of progress. We can never know anything for sure and we only use what is available to us. And look what the ponies have accomplished..."

"Nearly destroyed themselves," the AI remarks.

"Well," I hum, smiling, "progress is the result of trials and mistakes. Something can work out successfully, and something the other way around can be disastrous. And in general, there's never a one-sided result. The stick has two ends. Besides, the ponies haven't completely destroyed themselves! Maybe this fatal mistake will teach them something. Okay, let's go find the others."

My body is pierced with cold terror. I realize what it's like.

I, uh... killed Brisa while hallucinating. I'm in the same situation again. Only now I'm responsible for Motley and the others. I could have killed them, too. History could repeat itself.

Okay... don't shake. The gas triggers our greatest fears, conscious or latent. And its name, the Twilight Demon, may be based on someone's culture or mythology: something like a god or demon of fear or torment. And Motley was under its influence. And knowing how worried she was about what she'd done the year before...

"Holy fuck!" I shout and rush down the hallway, forgetting everything. "We need to find Motley now! Split up so we can find Motley and Ferris faster."

***

I almost gallop around the abandoned and dusty rooms and spaces. At some point, I pick up a strange sound. It is intermittent, quiet, and resembles sobs. Entering one of the office rooms, I find the silhouette of a pony curled up in the corner. The pony is wearing familiar gray armor with a battle saddle and energy-magic rifles mounted on it.

My heart pinches.

"Motley!"

I run over to the lying and sobbing pegasus, sit down beside her, pick her up and cuddle her to me.

Her eyes are red and swollen from crying, her whole face wet. Her eyes are depressed and staring into the void. Her body is as listless as a rag doll in my embrace, as if she doesn't feel anything around her.

"Why did you come back?" she says in a tired, pain-filled voice. The question jolts me out of my daze. I press the pony's head against my neck, under my chin. "You left me, didn't you? By... expressing what... you really think of me..." she says surreptitiously, swallowing back tears. I comfortingly stroke her head.

"Calm down sweetie, it wasn't me," I whisper affectionately, holding back tears.

My heart bleeds at her torment.

"It was you... the same voice... the same face... the same blue eyes..." Motley mutters intermittently. "There was so much... reproach and disappointment... for..."

"Hush, hush..."

"...that you developed feelings to such a... horrible pony. Impulsive silly mare..."

Motley can't sob anymore, she's cried all her tears, lying here in the corner all alone and dark.

She no longer just doubts the rightness of her actions, she hates herself for them.

It's hard for me to get through to her now: the gas has just stopped working.

I kiss her on the lips. She doesn't respond for a few seconds, but those seconds last for hours for me. She finally focuses her gaze on me, looking into my eyes. A realization arises in her eyes. She breaks our kiss with surprise on her face.

"Danny? Those words..." now her gaze is full of bewilderment.

"I don't know what you heard, but it wasn't me," I interrupt her affectionately.

"But..." her gaze running from side to side.

"It was a hallucination, angel. You were imagining things."

"A hallucination?"

"We inhaled psychotropic gas when we took off our helmets. Remember when Ferris was injured by damaging his helmet?" The pegasus slowly nods. "So, I left you at that point and never saw you again until that moment."

"You ran past me after Ferris, and then you split up and I ran exactly after you, after which we struck up a conversation at some point, and you... So none of this was real?"

The beige pony wipes her wet face with a hoof.

"Yes. I take it you were seeing your inner fears or anxieties. I don't know how to explain it exactly. I inhaled that gas too, and experienced those still mental anguish."

"So those words were inspired by my imagination? And you... still... care about me?"

"Oh..." I look up to the ceiling doomedly and pull her close to me. "You're my best pony, and let anyone try to say otherwise—they'll be wearing their ass instead of a hat. I guarantee it." The pegasus chuckles weakly and snuggles up tighter, hugging me tighter. "I understand what you just went through, I only regret not being there in time."

"It was... The important thing is that it's over."

I don't want to let her out of my embrace, but we need to go find Ferris.

"Come on, we need to go find another feathered bird," I say.

"Hmm..." she murmurs unhappily, snuggling into my neck. "I don't... I don't wanna let you out. I'm scared."

I think Ferris himself will get over the fears he's been through. I hug Motley for a while longer.

"Thank you... so much," comes from her.

***

"Danny," Motley addresses me slowly. I look at her questioningly and expectantly. "I'm sorry to ask this now... I realize that it may be extremely difficult to answer this question, but... what did you see in your hallucinations? You don't have to answer that, it's just. I can't stop thinking about it."

Here's a question. If the vision wasn't about my true origins, I would have told her to settle the matter once and for all. But... Now is not the time. But what should I tell her? I don't want to lie, but it's impossible not to answer either. That would sound crazy right now.

Oh, I've got a solution!

"Brisa haunted me as a ghost. Blamed me for her death." Technically, it's true.

"Well... you sneaky bastard. Used my own anxiety."

"You were hallucinating then, too," she says. "Oh, the great sky..."

"Yes, that's true. And. I'm terrified that I'm back in the same place... with a pony I care about in a similar situation. What if I would have killed you?"

Motley hugs me. Tight, tight. She can probably feel me trembling.

"It's okay. It didn't happen."

"But it was close..."

"Okay, don't think about it. This isn't the time or place."

Almost at the same moment, Caroline shows up.

"Wonderful, you found one of your own. But I didn't find Ferris, even though I checked every building in the mine area," she begins guiltily, and then cheers up a little. "Instead, I found a freight elevator into the mine."

"So what are we waiting for?"

***

On the walls of the mine I see multicolored bright stones, called gems, sparkling from the light of the lamps on the walls. It takes a moment to realize that these stones are the basis for almost all energy-magic weapons and technologies. There are so many of them here that there is enough for Vanhoover: the miners did not manage to exhaust even a small part of the mine. We can assume it was opened shortly before the apocalypse.

Well, now the Vanhoover energy crisis is solved. The gems will make it easier to experiment with alternative energy sources.

There's a faint odor of decay in the mine. Motley and I put on our helmets just in case. I've just finished repairing my own. The source of the odor is the not yet fully decomposed remains of ponies, mostly raiders and mutants. By the degree of decomposition of the bodies we can say that some of the remains have been here for about a month, and others for a century, which makes the place gloomy and dreary, causing unpleasant chills.

The corpses have only one thing in common: they are all boneless. The thought of it makes my nerves fray.

"Keep your cool."

If only our feathered friend wasn't among these bodies. I'm starting to get visibly worried.

"They're all boneless," Motley suddenly pitches his voice, distorted by her helmet.

"I know," I say, looking at yet another pony's remains. Raider's armor and all of his belongings are on him, only the skeleton is missing. Caroline stands beside me and examines the remains.

"Even the raiders wandered in here somehow."

"So how did they get through the hallucination..." Caroline is about to reply, but I interrupt her, remembering. "Yeah, yeah, I forgot that the gas atomization started when the ventilation system was turned on. Apparently, before the apocalypse, someone wanted to take over the mine with the gas, but the container of it was either forgotten to be removed or thought to be used again if necessary."

"No way..." the pegasus utters quietly, I can barely hear her.

"What?" I turn to her. The helmet of the rare Mark III battle armor turns in my direction.

"I heard about this once... About bone vampires."

"About who?" I wonder a little.

"Bone vampires," Motley repeats. "The pegasi above, beyond the clouds, have it as a spooky thing to keep curious mares and stallions from exploring the surface. I can still remember my mother scaring me with them, saying that if you go down to the surface you'll be caught by bone vampires and eat your bones. That's the scare story today: it's believed they've all been caught. The only good news was that they were sterile, which is why it was possible to do this. However, one seems to have been missed," the pony's voice gives off fear and worry.

"So where did they come from and how dangerous are they?" I ask and pull out Whispering Night and ask Caroline walking ahead of me to be extremely vigilant.

"There is little information. All we know is that before the war, the Ministry of Peace and the Ministry of Arcane Sciences were going to breed special sterile creatures to control and use in the war against the Zebras. I have to say that the end result was positive, except they didn't get them under control in time—the megaspells fell. The creatures escaped from a lab near Hoofland and scattered across the Equestrian Wasteland. It's extremely difficult to find. Fortunately, there are only a few of them, so many ponies didn't even know they existed."

"Is one bone vampire really that dangerous?"

I'm liking this less and less. If this creature is extremely difficult to find, let alone kill, how are we going to deal with it?

"They have extremely tough skin that armor-piercing bullets can't penetrate, walk on all fours, have an oblong body shape, have sharp and long claws on their front paws that can cut through almost any armor like a knife through butter, and most importantly, they can visually match the terrain with their skin by adopting the appropriate color of their surroundings. Like chameleons. They are also very fast and agile, making them hard to hit. They prey mostly on single victims, attacking them by injecting a special acid, making the bones liquid, and then sucking them out."

"And we're in the lair of one of them right now."

This is fucking marvelous!

"Absolutely."

"So how do we deal with it?" I wonder, holding back anger and worry. Luck, how I hate you sometimes! "Do bone vampires have a weakness at all?"

"No... Unless you count the remains without bones, suggesting he's somewhere nearby."

"This is no time to joke," I say. "Ferris is in trouble if he hasn't been sucked out of his bones yet. And keep your eyes open!"

I'm reminded of Troy's phrase about having my eyes on my knees as well so I don't miss anything. Huh... that describes the current situation of having to keep an eye out for an overgrown fucking chameleon lurking among the terrain, sucking bones like a milkshake from a straw, which is impossible in principle—but this is a world of magic that can hold even stranger surprises. One thing I'm curious about: why didn't he attack us when we were in the mine? He could have killed us several times during Motley's explanation.

***

"Get the fuck off me!" I hear a desperate cry from somewhere in the depths of the cave.

The voice is familiar. It's Ferris, and he's still alive. Good news.

There are several distinctive deafening thuds of his unique Stone Eagle large-caliber pistol. Ferris showed up in that cave almost as soon as he inhaled that gas. So why didn't the overgrowth-chameleon touch him? There were plenty of possibilities.

We run toward the screaming and gunfire. A few turns later, we're met with difficulty—due to the cramped space—by a griffon flying in our direction with a face twisted with fear.

"Run the fuck away! Idiots, don't just stand there like statues!"

I activate VATS and aim Whispering Night at the earth-colored silhouette running after the griffon, firing an armor-piercing bullet but missing, hitting the monster's hind paw as it's about to change position by jumping onto the wall. It cries out, falling flat on the ground. Almost immediately, it jumps up on its paws and temporarily retreats.

As I had feared, it is not marked on the compass. At least not at this significant distance. I'm sure it'll use a different tactic because of the new opponents.

Motley and Caroline try to blast him with their energy-magic weapons as he retreats, but the bone vampire is very evasive, even when wounded. He doesn't run in a straight line, but wiggles, jumping from wall to wall, floor or ceiling.

"Oh, fuck..." Ferris breathes heavily, standing beside us and pointing a rifle with a scope in the direction the bone vampire disappeared to. "What the kind of mutant is that? Can that shit even be shot?"

"We're just as scared as you are after the stories Motley told," I reply. "How did it not touch you when you ran away from us after inhaling gas?"

"What gas?" Ferris marvels, glancing at me for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Some time after you took off your helmet, you were affected by the hallucinogenic gas, so you ran into that mine. The effects should have worn off by now. We were looking for you."

"So it's like I was doped up?" he clarifies, looking at me again. I nod. "Good stuff. And I thought it was real, and I almost built a house of bricks out of fear. But that doesn't compare to the fucked up shit I just ran away from."

Such a torrent of swearing is rarely heard from him. He is truly terrified and nearly loses control of himself.

"How are you still alive?"

"I don't know, I've seen things... Anyway, never mind. I'm like, I look and I see the walls of a cave and gems on them. I then looked around, but I could constantly hear some rustles following me around. Even though I kept turning around and these noises instantly subsided, I saw no one. At first I thought this place was weighing so heavily on my mind. This something was constantly following me, so I got used to it. After a while, I found this weird rifle on some remains. And do you know what it is?" he looks at me, glowing with joy. "It's another Apostle! It's called 'The Judge'."

"What a stylish look," the griffon continues dreamily. "Mmm... I'm in love. So, the rustling and shuffling sounds got closer and closer until this something got close enough that I could make out a moving monster the color of the local soil. It had such a creepy face, fangs around its mouth, and those yellow eyes at its sides staring at me... Fuck, I almost shit myself when I started shooting at it and running away. And then I found you. Are you sure you're not hallucinating this too? Fucking scary thing..."

"Unfortunately, no, because we see it too, and everyone but Caroline has seen different hallucinations."

"What do we do?" the griffon inquires. "How do we hit that thing? It's going to come after us. So we have to kill it anyway if we want to get the hell out of here!"

"I don't know... gotta think."

"Don't worry. Think. Think, you lazy head, think, how do we defeat him, this overgrowth-chameleon that's many times worse than a Death Claw?"

He has no weaknesses. He's fast, he's tough, his hide is as strong as steel. You can only see him at point-blank range or when he's attacking. What else? How do you fight a thing like that?

"Let's think this through before the bone vampire decides to attack us. That scientist at the Think Tank, who was still obsessed with animal experiments, would freak out with joy if he was allowed to study this bone vampire. Sucking the bones out of every victim. That's so bloody fantastic."

And then something clicked in my mind.

One weird thing. Why was he afraid of the activated robots? I mean, he could have no trouble breaking open those rusty buckets like tin cans and getting to us. Maybe he's afraid of robots. No, he saw Caroline, but he ran in our direction until we started shooting at him.

"Remember the bodies in the control room that Troy sent us after? We didn't notice they were missing any bones. These Steelmane scouts reactivated the building, and among the reactivations was the ventilation system. I take it it was in the mine at the time, so it didn't get to them."

But they'd been there for a long time... I guess the bone vampire stumbled upon the mine facility relatively recently after the bombings and turned it into its lair, killing any stray victims who weren't lucky enough to be in the vicinity of the mine. Still, why didn't it get out and suck the bones out of the recently killed scouts? It could have left the mine, hunting for new victims in the Wasteland. Most likely it was, since the place is quite distant, and it has to search for prey by itself.

"Could it have been sleeping? Some animals hibernate for long periods of time. On the other hand... Ferris mentioned hearing rustles that got closer and closer to him as time went on. It was being ceremonious with him for some reason."

Motley didn't mention anything about prolonged hibernation when it came to bone vampires, so that's unlikely. The fact remained that the creature hadn't attacked Ferris for a while, but when the hallucinations left him, the bone vampire had come closer and closer to him. And for a very long time at that, which suggested...

Oh, fuck!

"Oh, fuck!"

This can't be true! It's unlikely, and Luck is unlikely to do that to us, but it's worth a try—besides, we don't have any other options. We need to slow this mutant down somehow to be able to damage him before he decides to retreat to lick his wounds. At least he doesn't have instant regeneration, otherwise I'm going to tell this Wasteland and Luck to go to fuck themselves.

"Caroline, please give me that little container of hallucinogen," I ask.

"What do you intend to do?" she utters, presenting it to me.

"I'm going to perform a miracle," I say, opening the container. "Ferris, step back just in case." He obediently obeys.

"Motley, can you please quickly convert this container into the likeness of a grenade or mine so that when used, the liquid will spread around? Caroline has the necessary tools and will help you. Can you use the materials of a regular frag grenade?"

Motley nods, takes the container and gets to work.

"What do you have in mind?" the griffon asks, looking at me sideways.

"There is a thought. But such a coincidence is unlikely, so when the grenade goes off, get ready to shoot the bone vampire. Before that, aim properly, and I'll be the bait for it to attack me."

"Daniel?" Motley looks at me with concern.

"If you make a remote-controlled mine, it'll increase my chances of survivi-"

"Caroline," the pegasus interrupts, turning to the AI, "can I borrow a couple parts of your body?" Caroline nods. "So, here's what we're going to do..."

Shit, somehow I'm not sure this is going to work. It can't be solved that easily. The Wasteland isn't going to show us that much favor.

After a few minutes, Motley holds out a container of explosives to me, explaining that Caroline will be able to detonate it from a distance.

"So here's the deal: I'll go ahead alone to engage the bone vampire—it won't refuse a lone victim. I'll set up a mine, and as soon as the bone vampire is within range of it, detonate it. You'll know when to detonate and fire the moment you see a flash of my magic. I have to teleport behind you so I don't get hit by the shots."

"So much confidence..." Ferris stretches out.

"If I catch a bullet from you, my feathered friend, then be warned, you'll get a bullet back," I threaten. He doesn't say anything back, just a faint smirk.

***

I concentrate the spell by selecting a point of travel. All that's left is to 'unleash' this concentrated magic. Two yards ahead of me there is a landmine set up, my friends are twenty yards behind me. Hopefully my magic will be enough to teleport to them. The bone vampire, meanwhile, is already moving towards me. I can't see it, but the faint scratching of claws on the surface of the mine gives away the monster's movements.

All that's left is to choose the exact moment to teleport to signal Caroline.

Come on. Come here. I won't hurt you, I promise. Though, I can't promise for my companions.

The rustling is getting closer. I stand aside, whistling a tune and looking around carefree. I hope the bone vampire takes the bait. I slowly turn my head in the direction of the sounds and see a prominent silhouette lurking on the ceiling. Two yards away from me. Right above the mine.

"Now!"

I complete the teleportation at the moment of the explosion, unleashing my magic, and disappear in a flash of light. I find myself just behind Motley, who is already firing her energy-magic rifles at the bone vampire. Caroline fires a devastating blue beam into the cave, hoping to hit the creature. Ferris opens aimed fire with his new rifle.

The gunfire subsides as the bone vampire lies motionless where the mine exploded. Ferris let out a sigh of relief.

"My heart sank, I kept wondering if we were going to kill the fucker or not. Apparently we did."

Motley looks around and finds me and hugs, whispering with joy and concern that everything worked out and the most important thing is that I'm alive.

We walk over to check on the creature we just killed. Ferris doesn't come close, just in case, so as not to inhale the hallucinogen in the air. The bone vampire in its natural gray coloring lies in a puddle of murky-green blood mixed with the remnants of a dark purple liquid. It sizzles and eats away at the monster's skin. The damage is worse in the places where the psychotropic liquid hit. The rest of the body is charred by the shots of energy-magic weapons, there are also dents left by the shots of The Judge—they turned out to be shallow, in them can be seen flattened armor-piercing bullets.

"Most importantly, the thing's not breathing. We were right."

Luck... You're a bitch. You like to get on my nerves before you throw me into a blissful ecstasy when everything's resolved by a miraculous coincidence.

Hell yeah, we did it! We couldn't have done it without that hallucinogen: if the scouts hadn't accidentally activated it in the ventilation system, our bones would have been drunk long ago. Most importantly, the monster turned out to have a weakness we couldn't have foreseen.

Eric, I don't know your motives for using the Twilight Demon on the mine personnel, but thank you for choosing that particular gas, a component of which had a devastating effect on the creature.

"How did you know the substance was harmful to the bone vampire?" Motley wonders.

"Well... get ready. I'll tell you now... In one of the rooms, I discovered three corpses of the Steelmane family's scouts. They had activated some of the equipment and systems here, among them utilities and defenses. The robots killed them weeks ago. The bone vampire had plenty of time to get out of the mine and suck out their bones—the boneless remains I found upstairs in the main building. But it didn't. Why? Because when the ventilation systems are activated, the substance spreads throughout the main building. Obviously, even in gaseous form, it's physically damaging to the creature. That's why it was trapped in the cave. Ferris was untouched only because the gas was still on his body, gradually dissipating and weathering. Even though its concentration was too low to affect him, the bone vampire could feel the gas. Here I decided to use the remaining liquid to slow or disorient the creature."

"Amazing coincidence," Ferris says, standing back up, "An item left behind by someone in the past came in handy now. I would never have believed such a thing if I hadn't seen the result with my own eyes. And yet, something like this... Yeah. So we've completed business here, then, if you've discovered the Steelmane scouts?"

"I suppose so," I reply, looking at the corpse of the bone vampire. I will remember this coincidence for the rest of my life.

***

"Oh, look who's here," the dark gray pegasus with the blue mane smiles. "Come on in, sit down, I was just taking a little break," Troy Steelmane points to a chair near his desk with a roll of drawings and various documents on it."

In front of him lies a newspaper with the latest Vanhoover news. I've been transported by the Venture, piloted by Blaze, to Troy's Workshop, located in the main factory of the Steelmane family.

I obediently sit down.

"Well, what are you doing here? Is there something else you're not clear on from what I wrote in the letter?" he gets up and brings two glasses and a bottle of expensive whiskey to the table. He fills the containers with a delicate yellow clear liquid and moves one glass towards me. "Have a drink, I think you'll appreciate it."

"There's nothing wrong with the letter," I say, levitating the glass of whiskey toward me.

It tastes lovely.

"So you just decided to check up on me? That's nice," he says with a touch of sarcasm. "I know you didn't just come to me for friendly conversation or love, or rather, flew in on your metallic bird," he sips from his glass. "By the way, I have a more detailed understanding of the Vertibuck blueprints and can boost her heart, making her more powerful, and also tweak a few systems to make her more slick and agile in the air. But I need some more time to double-check the calculations."

"Wonderful," I say with a smile, taking another sip. He finishes the contents and sets the empty glass aside. I drain mine as well and set it on the table.

"So what are you here for?" he inquires.

"Found your scouts," I say after a short pause. Troy's eyes widen and a smile appears on his face.

"I never doubted you, my friend. That is marvelous news! You've made quick work of it, considering you were just recently seen on Green Island. You've been mentioned in rumors more often than not lately."

"I have my methods," I smile. "Unfortunately, the scouts were already dead. But they stumbled upon a mine. And here's the surprise: since it was discovered relatively recently before the war, it's still full of gems. It has the right conditions to grow new ones. Plus, it's partially automated."

Troy's jaw drops. Naturally, he's saddened by the deaths of the scouts, but it's more than compensated for by the find.

I tell Troy what happened in the mine. Of course, I omit who exactly was with me, simply stating that I was not alone. He listens interestedly to the story about the hallucinogenic gas and how I used it to defeat a bone vampire. I also tell him a bit about them, somewhat rearranging Motley's words. After the story, I give Troy the coordinates of the mine.

"My friend," Troy begins. "You've done Vanhoover a great favor. This is amazing... This will solve our energy problems for decades. From the entire Steelmane family, I thank you! The gems will be enough to use the factories more efficiently and create new technologies without looking at the gems' quantity. And at the same time, increase the assembly speed of the cargo vertibaks. Shit, get over here," he gets up from his chair and walks over to me, making me get up too.

"Emotions are running high right now, so," he wraps me up in a tight hug, causing me to be in a bit of shock. "You did good! Thank you sincerely, from the bottom of my heart."

He releases me from the hug and returns to the chair, before pulling out his checkbook and writing out a certain amount of caps, signing it, and handing the check to me.

"Here you go. I think the fee from my personal accounts for something like this will be enough. One more thing: you can fill up your Venture with gas anytime you want, for life. Absolutely free. Think of it as a small percentage of your gem mining profits. I'll be sure to tell my father about your heroic deed. He'll be thrilled."

He winks at me.

"And I hope he gives a recommendation for the title of a King. I think we've solved the city's biggest urgent problem. He just has to give it to us."

I glance at the amount on the check—fifteen thousand caps. That's a lot. Doesn't compare to the price of killing the head of the Crater Raiders, but still. Fifteen grand and a lifetime of vertibag refueling. That's a good price.

"And now," Troy says, "I'll have to bow out and have a word with my staff about finding the mine."

***

Blaze on Venture drops me off at my casino. I still couldn't get used to the idea that I had my own big business. By the way, Blaze was interested in our story when he picked us up from the mine. He was also pleasantly surprised by Troy Steelmine's generous gesture.

I head to the Glass Key to give Bland, my deputy, a check to use the amount to benefit the casino. Once there and finding him in the casino office space, I question him about the state of affairs and request a number of more progress reports before handing him a check with a decent amount of cash. I'm about to leave, but he asks for my approval as well as my participation in a certain case. Surprised, I ask him what it is about. His answer shocks me, to say the least.

He leans in to my ear and whispers, "We're going to rob the most important casino in Softhooves. Do you agree to participate... or not?"

Well, fuck me...

Chapter 23 - Big Winner

View Online

Bland's question catches me off guard.

This whole thing is crazy. To rob the Crystal Lotus, the most lucrative and prestigious casino in the city, owned by the Softhooves family, and not just anyone, but the Mother of the family herself, Eileen Softhooves, would be reckless to say the least!

Or is he joking?

"I almost believed you," I sigh in relief and cover my eyes. "You scared the shit out of me." Bland looks at me confused.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" he asks, a little chagrined.

"There's no way you're-" I look at him.

There's not even a hint of a prank in his gaze.

"It is," the light lilac unicorn interrupts me calmly. "We do intend to do it, but we need caps and a couple other trusted ponies to pull it off. Let's talk things over in your office where there are fewer ears," he says quietly and heads into my office.

There, Bland stops beside the office desk, turning sideways to it; I stand in front of it, for my nerves don't allow me to sit.

"So then?" the unicorn asks.

"Enlighten me first," I raise my front leg, signaling to take my time, "what you intend to do. I want to know what I'm signing up for."

"The plan is still being worked out. Remember when you gave me the information on who to contact to pull off something illegal?"

Is he now talking about those brothers, one of whom wanted to try his luck as a kidnapper? Oh, holy smokes...

"Oh," I sigh doomily. "Did they talk you into going for it?"

"I didn't have to be talked into it, I agreed without blinking an eye, for I know some of the secrets of that casino that I had access to while working there. I'm aware of the risks."

If it weren't for his connections and caps, because of that knowledge, he'd probably be found dead in some dumpster. It's cheaper than erasing his memory.

"A huge one," I add.

"...But it's worth it," he ignores my remark. "We're not going to rob the casino itself, but just the Mother of the Family's personal vault—with an impressive amount of capital. It won't be a simple robbery, but a subtle act against unfair treatment of us, since we're made scapegoats whenever this family wants."

"A subtle act?" I smirk.

Oh, so this is about the unfair treatment of stallions?

"Of course, we might come under suspicion, since there aren't many idi... ponies in Vanhoover, in the opinion of the Family, that would risk putting their hooves on the Head's treasure. That stuck-up bitch Eileen is aware that only resentful stallions... of the survivors, I mean, would try to rob her personally. She'll know it's not a simple robbery. I just want revenge on Eileen, just as much as Flare Heart wants it."

"Okay. But what does that have to do with me?"

"The thing is, Softhooves has good informants who can track down the stolen cash in town. We'll hide the wealth in your nest, which even I don't know the location of."

"And then what happens to the stolen treasure?"

"We'll move it here in small portions under the guise of casino profits. In case of force majeure, I'll adjust the Glass Key casino paperwork so that no one will be suspicious when they find more of the cap equivalent than they should. It won't hurt."

The cap equivalent? Oh, right. Flint Gray, the Сounselor of the Waterfall family, tells me that most of the caps on the accounts of the city's six banks do not exist in their purest form. Many precious things are stored in safe deposit boxes, converted to the cap equivalent.

I suspect that the Mother of the Family's personal savings are also mostly made up of valuable items like precious metals and gems.

"Why worry so much about someone suspecting something in our own casino?"

"There could be Softhooves sniffers among the staff of the casino, it's impossible to check everyone completely."

"What's your plan?"

"We go into Softhooves' private vault, then you take the loot by the Vertibuck to your bunker. Then we'll bring it here little by little. Gradually we'll arrange for the precious things to be deposited in a bank account."

"You mean... the bank won't ask questions about where the casino got the goods?"

"Don't forget that many customers would rather wear jewelry than caps. Especially the rich ones. That's what they do, and they exchange the jewelry immediately for chips. At market value."

"And if the Softhooves do get to the bottom of this?"

"One way or another, they won't find everything stolen here. And you'll be able to use the caps for your own use without having to show up at the casino—I'm sure there'll be fucking tons more caps, gems, and other jewelry."

"Well, they won't be that expensive anymore. I discovered a gem mine and gave it to the Steelmane family, so the price will drop considerably soon," I remark casually.

"In any case, the gems won't be useless... You found w-what?" Bland's eyes get wide.

"A pre-war mine full of gems to the east, just off the edge of the Vanhoover region," I smile innocently.

"Holy shit! Some miracles in a sieve. I can see now why Bluerise thinks you're an extraordinary, brave, and extremely lucky pony. I thought she was joking about you, so I didn't interrupt her, but now I'm sure. You don't look like you've been to fiery Tartarus. It's true what they say, looks can be deceiving," Bland grins.

"It's deceiving!" the unrestrained laughter of my human self suddenly sounds in my head.

"So you agree? It is necessary to allocate the caps for this. The sum you brought will be quite sufficient."

"I... I don't want to be involved and take responsibility."

"You don't have to, we'll organize it ourselves."

"That's not what I mean. What if someone gets hurt?"

"There's always a risk," Bland sighs, as if enunciating an obvious truth to me. "There's no way to avoid it. You always have to take risks to achieve something."

"We're sure to get the Softhooves to hate us."

"You already do," he sees the confusion on my face and explains, "You're an independent casino owner. The Softhooves are going to try to take away your business one way or another. Or another family will try to pull it off. It's inevitable. You can't be on good terms with everyone, especially the Families, if you're independent."

I have no argument. The Softhooves are really going to start working against me sooner or later. And there's no way I can avoid that. Maybe it's better to strike first.

"Prepare for them to strike back. But Bland's got a point. We've already gotten into internal squabbles since we freed Dodger from captivity about a month ago."

"You know," Bland interrupts my musings, "at points like this I agree with Prince's views. Not about the slave trade. If you don't take responsibility, someone else does. And you become a slave to those who are more responsible than you. Those in power realize their responsibility, may even be afraid of it, but they accept it."

If I want to achieve the opportunity to return to my world—or at least learn my reasons for being here...

"I still want to return home. So it's worth accepting. We've come far enough. We had to take part in the fate of New Vegas after the chip was delivered. We've already gotten a lot of attention."

"So be it, I give my permission and agree to participate. Just be thoroughly organized," I mutter sternly, pointing at Bland with a hoof.

"Now that's what I call determination!" Bland's mood instantly lifts. "Two twenty-six hours will probably be enough. One more thing: if you know any ponies you can trust, let me know."

***

Back at Heavenly Harbor, I tell my team what kind of scheme I'm involved in once again. As expected, everyone takes the news differently.

Ferris isn't happy. He talks about the risk I'm taking on myself and others, but generally accepts my dangerous venture as a given. Refuses to participate for obvious reasons.

Blaze fully agrees to the venture.

Nara and Flow don't fully understand what's going on.

Caroline is interested.

Professor doesn't care: he refuses to participate, explaining that he has no time for such nonsense, but adds that he can prepare the necessary potions: invisibility, silent walking and the like.

Motley and Lemon, as well as Ferris, are not happy—worried about me. But my pegasus decides to participate so she can personally oversee everything.

Lemon is delighted that I was able to solve the city's energy problem, but stubbornly disapproves of my scheme.

"Competing with families is extremely dangerous," she reminds me. "I don't want you to get hurt. You have enough risks in your life as it is. The Crater, The Island."

"I had to."

"I know. For the title of a King. For the Dome. And how I hate it," she says. "If you ever go to Stable 66, I'll hate you, too. My parents died there. I don't want to mourn you, too. Such a good pony, and so stupid."

Lemon leaves the dining room. I'm left alone, staring at my empty plate despondently. Professor is in his lab. Ferris and Edge are in the workshop. Motley is flying around the hall with Nara on her back.

The pink pony with a lingonberry mane comes out of the kitchen and heads toward me.

"Pick up the plates?" she asks. "What's bothering you? Are you sad?"

I don't even know what to answer.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"No," I answer without looking at her.

I feel her embrace on my shoulders. Her lips quickly touch my cheeks and she breaks the hug. She lowers her head in embarrassment as I look at her in surprise.

"I..." she begins, stammering, "saw a p-pony in the Stab-ble trying to help her saddened friend. He smiled afterward. Sadly... it didn't work out that way with..."

I can't help but smile. That's too sweet of her.

"Oh, you did smile after all..."

I hug her tightly.

"Thank you. You're doing everything right. Way to go."

***

26th of the Month of Heather, Cyanday. Sixty-third day of my stay.

Though I'm usually comfortable around Motley, tonight I can't sleep well, only doze and think about the daring robbery my acquaintances have pulled off, still pondering the worth of it. I don't really need the caps, except to restore the casino to full order. Well, and to buy into the bunker comfortable furniture and other furnishings for the sake of the comfort of those who inhabit it.

I can think of all kinds of outcomes. I'm already regretting having agreed to this.

"Can't sleep?" I ask with a smile when I see Professor in the main hall, sitting in a chair with a bottle of beer.

He turns to me and smiles tiredly, shaking his head negatively.

"Decided to take a break from work," he replies in his usual quick and crisp tone.

I move closer and sit down in the other chair beside him.

"Do you ever sleep at all? It feels like you're awake all the time."

"I sleep so my body and brain can rest, and with a fresh mind I take up research again. I drink a special potion to keep me from feeling tired and sleepy for longer. Time is always short for the work I've been working hard on for decades. Why aren't you sleeping yourself?"

"I keep thinking about this robbery, wondering how I could have made it worse. I'm worried."

"We all worry the moment we decide our own fate, facing difficult choices." Professor takes a sip from the bottle, after which he looks at me. "It doesn't seem right when one of your conversation partners enjoys alcohol and the other doesn't."

"That's okay, I'm not thirsty. Especially not in the middle of the night. You'll have to pee during a lovely nap, then try to sleep again," I laugh.

"Agreed," the stallion swallows the rest of his beer. Glancing at the empty bottle, he sets it on the nearest table. "What exactly do you worry about the robbery? Like I said, it's nothing. I'm more greedy for knowledge than caps."

"Someone could get hurt..."

Professor laughs and lowers his head.

"You keep thinking only of yourself."

"Meaning?"

"You're not the only one responsible. Scientific discoveries and new technologies seem to be something positive that will surely improve the lives of all of us. But... You see where we've ended up."

"The Wasteland," I nod. "The apocalypse."

"The Steel Rangers are right about something. Technology in the hooves of uneducated ponies can be harmful not only to themselves, but to those around them."

Hugh Willford, 'Pervert', revealed that the Steel Rangers were responsible for the technology that the Ministry of Wartime Technology had a part in creating.

"Originally megaspells were created for healing. To heal the wounded on the battlefield in the blink of an eye. Sounds right and noble, doesn't it?"

I nod.

"Then that noble technology was adapted to create destructive weapons. Good intentions turned into a disaster that changed everything on the planet Equus. When engineers create things, when scientists make discoveries, there's always the risk of unfortunate consequences. Do you think, Daniel, are the creators of megaspells responsible for the apocalypse that happened?"

Tough question.

"Well... I don't even know. It's hard to answer."

"You made a hammer to pound nails and build a shack for your family. Then that same hammer was used to beat your closest friend to death. Will you feel guilty for making the hammer?"

"Yes..."

"Why? How are you responsible for what someone else did? Here are Vanhoover's masters responsible for the actions of their slaves. The slaves are their property. Those in authority are responsible for the actions of their subordinates as part of their duties."

"As part of their duties? How's that?"

"You're a casino owner. Your subordinate dealer was injured during a deal of playing cards when an outraged player attacked him yelling, 'Fuck this place!' You are responsible for the dealer's health. At least in a normal society, it should be. Now imagine a different situation. He's injured at home during a robbery. You're no longer responsible for his health. Do you understand? You are not responsible for the lives of others, unless they are your subordinates who fulfill the duties you have assigned to them. Why then do they always blame the scientists who created some technology that was altered and used to their detriment? The only ones to blame are those who modified it and used it for a knowingly harmful purpose."

"And what does that have to do with the robbery?"

"Positive actions can lead to an unfortunate result one way or another—whether you're directly responsible or not. And vice versa. Negative actions can lead to a positive outcome. The consequences can always be different. All that's left is to face it and accept them."

"How can robbery lead to a positive outcome?"

"Well... I don't know. You use the loot to improve the casino, give a lot of ponies a job, they can feed their families. The options are many. Besides, the way I see it, the robbery would have happened without you. This way, you'd be in control. If you decided to rob the Vanhoover Polytechnic Institute—to make their technology and knowledge available to everyone—I'd be happy to participate."

He laughs. I, unable to resist, laugh too.

"How do you know the history of megaspells?"

"I've traveled all over the world. Studied it."

"How did you get into researching mutations?"

"It's a long story."

"I'm interested to hear it. After all, it's not every day you meet a genetic scientist in the Wasteland. Surely you have some experience you could share with me."

"All right... Maybe you'll learn something. I'll start by saying that I was a Steel Ranger."

I freeze, staring at the crimson-red unicorn with a neat beige mane. He smiles.

"Unexpected, isn't it? Yes. I was born in one of the Steel Ranger chapters. For certain reasons, I can't say which one."

"Oh..." I stretch out.

Sounds like he's on the run, or being chased. I can see now why he won't even give his real name to Sunny Waterfall, who he's worked with for a year.

His recent mention of the Steel Rangers now looks natural.

"Leaving was unwelcome to the organization?" I clarify. He nods. "What made you leave? Wasn't happy with life?"

"I was satisfied with everything at first. More than satisfied, even. If someone had told me at fifteen that I'd quit the Steel Rangers, I'd have thought he was crazy. Ordinary parents, ordinary friends, ordinary wife. I had access to knowledge and education that many in the Wasteland don't have. What set me apart from the others was that I felt more attracted to living creatures than to technology. Even small insects. I considered every living creature and plant to be, and still do, something extraordinary—these tiny, yet graceful living organisms, each one designed in its own way... Growing organisms that emerge from a tiny seed."

"Did the Steels disapprove of your research?"

"Approved and encouraged. Yet it wasn't a priority. It was more important to counter aggressive flora and fauna. Nothing more. I researched mutations and changes in living organisms, their effects, the dangers they posed. The Steel Rangers had access to the library. I proofread everything, compared, researched and experimented. But without pre-war samples, I didn't know much. Only analyzed what is there now."

"You were a scribe?"

"Yes. Already in my twenties, I achieved the status of head of a small department that focused on the study of living organisms. Because of the Steel Rangers' lack of in-depth study of this area, it wasn't hard for me to achieve such a position."

"And what wasn't satisfactory?"

"Lack of progress. I hit the limit too soon. Like I said, the Steel Rangers only cared about protecting their brothers and sisters from aggressive flora and fauna and things like that. All I had to do was train and manage the other scribes."

"The Steel Rangers didn't dedicate resources to major projects?"

"Resources are not unlimited. They need to be saved and optimized efficiently. I understand that. We were talking about global research projects that could do some good."

"Like your Reverse Mutation Serum?"

"That became a more concrete goal later on. Due to the megaspells and radiation, the diversity of flora and fauna was greatly reduced. Most of the organisms died, the survivors mutated. But mutations in accelerated order appeared chaotically and often were not useful for survival, so their hosts quickly died out. Evolution in extremely fast-tracked. And now we see only a minuscule fraction of the diversity we used to see. I wanted to bring back that diversity and natural purity. Radiation and the Impelled Metamorphosis Potion have corrupted and ruined everything. It's more profitable for the Steel Rangers to just burn and destroy everything dangerous. And they'd be right. It's... just self-interest."

"And that didn't suit you?"

"A little. I was okay with it. I wasn't happy with the other thing. Which was that I was having more and more fights with my scribes, with the Elder. Even with my wife and parents. The Steel Rangers don't want to share not only technology, but knowledge. You do realize that researching methods of fighting aggressive organisms, ways to create something useful from skins and bodies would help the residents of the Wasteland to survive. Set up joint projects with the settlements, enlist their help. But the Steels fear the Wastelanders would use the knowledge to the detriment of others, especially against the Steels themselves."

The joke about robbing the institute followed by the free flow of knowledge doesn't seem so much of a joke anymore.

"You weren't happy with the Steel Rangers appropriating knowledge only for themselves?"

"Without knowledge sharing, there will be no progress. Moreover, the Steel Rangers do not seek progress. It is foolish to fear that some Wasteland folk will use the knowledge we have gained for pernicious purposes. It could happen without us. We could pool knowledge and accelerate progress, but it will not happen. And... I couldn't live like that. The hatred for this policy grew over five years."

"Is that why you left?"

"What was I supposed to do? I couldn't achieve reform alone, and I'm no orator, but I couldn't live in stagnation. Before I left, I packed up my things: useful technology like a PipBuck, the data storage device, a plasma pistol I'd modified in my spare time to the point where it didn't require spark batteries. No one took my departure positively. Especially the warehouse supervisors."

"What about your loved ones?"

"What about them? I stopped interacting with my parents a long time ago. With my wife, the only arguments I've had are over my excessive interest in biology. And the heated arguments with my superiors made it look bad in her eyes. The only thing I feel a little sorry for is my daughters..."

"You abandoned your children?"

"Twin daughters. They were three years old at the time, I'm twenty-five. I... never pursued family life. I did it out of a sense of duty, to replenish the ranks of the Steel Rangers. So it wasn't that hard to leave."

"Never thought about what's happened to them now? Would you like to see them?"

"I used to think about it, and then I kind of didn't care. They've become worthy representatives of the organization for sure. In any case, I went to the territory of another chapter. There they took me for a regular self-taught scientist. I tried not to flash my PipBuck and the plasma pistol in their presence."

"Doesn't it bother you that I have a Steel Ranger member in my company?"

"You mean 'Berry'?" I nod. "I'm rather surprised by her calm attitude toward the Vertibuck and Caroline. Steel Rangers could kill for that kind of technology. Also her physique. Where are her superiors looking..."

"She's had some recent health problems due to a virus or illness. Hence the extra weight."

"Oh, that's it... It wasn't her fault that this happened. Though I'm sure her brothers and sisters still secretly despise her because of it."

How right he is...

"And how long have you been traveling the Equestrian Wasteland?"

"About ten years. Then another twenty-five years on the neighboring continent on the remnants of the Zebra Empire."

"Wait a minute. He was twenty-five. He wandered around Equestria for another ten years. So he was thirty-five when he went to the zebras, where he stayed for another twenty-five. So he should be sixty—but he doesn't look old. He's about forty."

Professor smiles broadly.

"You're doing all right with arithmetic, I see," he remarks.

"How?"

"The zebra potions are amazing. For my outstanding services, one of the powerful tribes created a potion for me that stops the aging process for several decades. It delayed my natural death by twenty years."

"Wow, that means among the zebras..."

"I suspect what you're about to ask. No. This potion is extremely difficult to make. There are too many nuances. Also, because of their reverent attitude toward alchemy... they would never give me the recipe."

"I take it they have a lot of interesting things going on since they possess such powerful potions?"

"Definitely. Their culture is built around surrounding nature and potions. There's a prophecy of a new Caesar that will unite all the tribes. I've seen a dozen failed attempts at unification in twenty-five years. So many of them have superstitions associated with belief in a higher power that one wonders what ignorance of the things of the world can lead to. They seemed savages to me, but quite adequate, if you don't start up conversations on the subject of these wacky superstitions about evil and treacherous stars."

"Evil and treacherous stars?"

"Don't fill your head with that. Trust me. I don't want to go into it."

"What about potions?"

"Every tribe is famous for their secret recipes for unique potions. It took me a lot of effort to get some of them: sometimes I solved their problems that they couldn't handle themselves, sometimes I went through their, in my opinion, stupid rituals with the intention of gaining access to this invaluable knowledge. But besides knowledge, I got some valuable things, like that unique armor you saw. I also obtained a self-refilling phial and a special magical amulet."

"A self-refilling phial?" I raise an eyebrow.

"It's called the Rainbow Phial—a rare item in zebra territory. An artifact. The magic to create it was lost long ago. The phial fills itself with liquid."

"Huh... what kind of liquid? With what properties?"

"Any kind of liquid. You can change its properties at any time—and quite easily, if you know how to do it. Once the phial is emptied, the liquid will refill in twenty-six hours. As I said, the properties of the potion depend on the knowledge of the person using it. The stronger your alchemical knowledge, the more options you have. Potion of cure. Of magic restoration. And so on."

"Unique thing..." The world of magic never ceases to amaze me. "What's the amulet?"

"It absorbs and stores magic from the surrounding energy streams like the body of an average unicorn. After your own magic is spent, all you have to do is focus the rest of it on it and you are fully restored. The amulet regenerates its magical reserve in about a day, too."

"Why would zebras need a magic-replenishing amulet?"

"They didn't create it. It was the property of one of Equestria's pre-war spies. That's why they gave it to me."

"Now I see how you managed to sneak into Mushu alone. You wouldn't be afraid to jump into a volcano with stuff like that. And how much territory do the zebra tribes occupy?"

"As much as the Zebra Empire occupied before the war. The south and almost the entire center of the neighboring continent of Solstice with the islands adjacent to that continent. However, most of the tribes, as well as the pre-war settlements and cities with the capital, are located in the south, the warmest and most welcoming environment. In the central part of the eastern coast and islands, there is a very dangerous and harsh territory that no one can take control of because of the semi-intelligent aggressive creatures, Tartarus."

"Tartarus?"

I've heard the name repeatedly, but I can't recall it.

"A conventional name for a place of high magical instability. Zebras have made repeated attempts to penetrate its depths, apparently in search of gems."

High magical instability. Motley mentioned it, but she's not versed in the subject. Maybe Professor can chew on the concept for me?

"This isn't the first time I've heard about high magical instability. What is it? Is it radiation? I know that radiation comes from using magic-infused gems. After momentary or complete depletion, they 'dissolve' like butter in a frying pan and generate magical radiation. Byproduct. The higher the dose, the stronger the effects of this radiation, this 'shattered' magical energy, which is what causes the changes when interacting with the living. What about high magical instability? Are they somehow related?"

"I don't study complex magical energies, magical flows around and so on. I only know in general terms."

"That will be enough."

"Basically... Radiation and high magical instability are not the same thing, though both can cause mutations and physical changes in living organisms. But it's only the latter that causes permanent weather anomalies of such a huge scale as in the Desert Ocean. It's probably a matter of, uh... concentration, I suppose. The scaling level of this 'fragmented' magical energy... as if 'clustered' by its own or external forces. Concentrated... and it's like it's becoming another kind of energy in its own right. The radiation becomes so abundant that it generates a new unstable force... or something like that."

"How complicated... But this other unstable magical energy is still the source of mutations and changes?"

"Yes. Except that the radiation is barely detected by the equipment."

"Still hard to understand."

"I guess... we can use this analogy. If radiation is falling snowflakes all around you, then high magical instability is a huge avalanche of snowflakes coming down the mountain. It is more unpredictable than radiation. While radiation is expected and observed, high magical instability may or may not affect living beings. Only on the environment it affects constantly, causing, for example, storms, hurricanes, winds and other abnormal phenomena. This unstable independent energy is probably what those monsters in Tartarus are feeding on, and in the northern part of the Sapphire Sea it has spawned monsters. For the rest of us, it can be devastating if we fall into the anomalies it generates, even minor ones. That's why its definition includes the word 'instability'. In other words, impermanence and chaos."

"Can it be countered?"

"Logically, yes. It's not like it's spread across the entire planet. Apparently, standard magic or some other kind of energy holds it back. In practice, however, there are only failures, for this unstable energy is essentially just a theory: there are no sensors or devices to detect it directly. There is no high radiation background, where it should be according to estimates and calculations, but there are various anomalies that can not cause radiation, even if it was there. That's how the theory of high magical instability came about."

"Wait... Tartarus was before the war. The anomalies in the Sapphire Sea came after. Who came up with the theory?"

"The theory existed before the war. It was meant to explain what was happening in the Desert Ocean and Tartarus. After the megaspells fell, two other places with similar anomalies appeared—the northern part of the Sapphire Sea and a substantial part of the Great Deserts in the center of Equestria. Because of the similarities, I linked them to this pre-war theory."

"Curiously, Motley also linked the two pre-war locations to the two new ones. Or did the scientists of the Enclave did it. If two different ponies came to the same conclusion, then the anomalies really are similar."

"Do you think... Can high magical instability teleport over long distances?"

The crimson-red unicorn is puzzled.

"This is the first time I've heard of such an assumption. Look. After the fall of themega spells, the northern part of the Sapphire Sea has been replenished with new kinds of monstrous huge creatures, making that part of the sea extremely dangerous to swim across. Only dragons can compete with them on an equal terms. Even the airspace is not worth flying in due to magical storms, winds that can tear ponies to pieces, and other weather anomalies caused by the powerful and destructive megaspells used in the bombing of the Griffon Kingdom. Almost immediately after this event, the Instability shifted out to sea—possibly due to the winds—releasing the Griffon Territory from its effects."

"The huge creatures from the north of the Sapphire Sea and Tartarus are leaving?"

"That has not been observed. I tend to assume that the high magical instability attracts them. It may even be the reason they exist in the first place. That's why they don't leave its bounds. It's a good thing. Then again, I haven't explored these places because of the, uh... the dangers. Perhaps in the future, when I've studied everything and can't get any further in my research, I'll visit these places."

"I know next to nothing about the Great Deserts."

"It's not surprising. It's a dangerous place that even I haven't ventured into, but I plan to. As with the northern part of the Sapphire Sea, the high magical instability was formed from the fall of the megaspells—from the incredible concentration of radiation. Flying over this area is also dangerous due to the strong winds and sandstorms that tend to rise even above the Cloud Curtain that the pegasi had set up shortly before the apocalypse, damaging it. At first all the holes were patched up, but then it was abandoned, so the weather there is often sunny and hot. Something the rest of the Wasteland doesn't have."

"Does the unstable zone completely cover the Great Deserts?"

"About seventy percent. You can traverse it safely along the West and East coasts."

"And what's life in the central part like?"

"Those places were sparsely populated before the war because of the unfriendly conditions: heat, scant vegetation... and now the high magical instability with its weather anomalies, as well as the huge underground worms, have been added. Crossing this area by land without fast transportation is risky: it's hard to get your feet away from those nasty worms or anomalies, whose unstable magic can tear you to pieces or worse. However, small islands of stability are found around the mountains. These can be traversed, but are not recommended."

"Why?"

"Again, recommendations from those I've had the opportunity to work near the borders with the Great Deserts. Huge concentrations of feral tribes of ponies and non-ponies. Bulls, for example. They're unlikely to leave travelers without their twisted attention. They've learned to survive out there. They move a lot on transport, built whole cults around it: they consider different types of transport as their totems, messengers of the gods patronizing them. And it is not surprising, because thanks to transportation they were able to survive and move through the desert. There are almost no civilized settlements there by Wasteland standards like there are in other parts of Equestria."

"Where do they get their fuel or energy sources from?"

"No idea. Maybe it's the very nature of the high magical instability. I haven't been there. I only know from some that their spirits and gods are those very weather anomalies and other quirks of the effects of high magical instability. Some tribes try to please these spirits and gods by offering sacrifices and prayers so that they will not anger them. It is not hard to guess that chaotic processes sometimes contribute to this, strengthening the faith. As is usually the case, coincidence is mistaken for the will of divine forces."

"What was this place before the war? As far as I know, it was home to the bulls, to whom the lands are sacred. And Equestria wanted to occupy these places because of the coal deposits."

"I don't know that much. I'm going to be a little biased due to the fact that the Zebras had their own perspective on what was going on, and I've lived with them for the last twenty-five years. When the conflict with the zebras came to a head after Princess Luna came to the throne, Equestria needed to build more transportation land routes, including railroads, and find even more natural resources. After all, the air routes were already completely clogged, and some of the pegasi had been sent to the front. There was a banal shortage of pulling pegasi, given that few wanted to be in harness at all. After a while, the Great Deserts were discovered to have small deposits of coal, the very coal that had caused the conflict. And gems and other minerals. So they unceremoniously began laying railroads there, completely destroying homes. The Zebras were aware of this and repeatedly tried to take over this area rich in natural resources. Therefore, the Zebra Empire pelted the area with powerful magical bombs during the megaspells exchandge to deprive Equestria of some of its resources—or at least access to them. This was most likely the cause of the high magical instability. I have no doubt that the ponies and bulls who survived in those places were aware of those deposits. There's almost no one to share them with now."

"Almost?"

"Well... some trade caravans have managed to connect, exchanging fuel and gems for various supplies they need or things they couldn't get in their sacred lands. Actually, it was through these traders and brokers that I was able to find out what was going on there in the first place."

"Did they try to explore the Desert Ocean and Tartarus in the pre-war world?"

"Of course. We had better luck with Tartarus. It doesn't have those crazy storms. There are weather anomalies, but they are weak compared to the Desert Ocean. The vast ocean is filled with magical storms and other impressive weather anomalies. The most powerful and destructive of all four places."

"And that hinders its exploration?"

"Yes, that's why it's hardly explored at all. Those small islands in it are actually on the edge of where it's still possible to return from. You can't see anything from a distance because of the thick white fog. The pre-war expeditions that went there never returned, and communication with them was cut off. Flying is also impossible: incessant storms, stronger wind currents, intense flashes and lightning strikes, violent tornadoes, and other magical things."

"There are theories and hypotheses to explain the appearance of Tartarus and the Desert Ocean instability zone?"

"Many. An obscene number. The most popular reason is the Crystal Empire. Allegedly there was a third continent there that disappeared as a result of the insane experiments of the Crystal Empire's inhabitants. The Zebras generally consider it on the level of evil and treacherous stars."

Curious... The Crystal Empire was associated with the griffons, as told by Lilac. It's mentioned in Equestria. And in zebra mythology, the Empire also appears.

"Do you believe that?" I ask.

"It's hard to say. I don't. There's too little evidence, but I don't deny that high magical instability couldn't have come about on its own. After all, the new zones of instability were created by bombing. In general, the Crystal Empire is being tied to everything, as if there's some universal explanation."

"Funny. Lilac had said something similar."

"And... why did you come back to Equestria?"

"I'm done with my research on the flora and fauna in the zebra lands. And I don't plan on going to Tartarus just yet. The creatures there have nothing to do with radiation anyway. So here I am back home: determined to visit the farthest corners of Equestria I haven't visited yet."

"And the stories from Hoofland didn't disturb you?"

"At the beginning of my journey, they did. There are no returns from there, so I didn't want to take any chances. But then I acquired the powerful things of the zebras and I wasn't afraid. For good reason: The Island and Mushu are exactly what I'm looking for. The effects of the Impelled Metamorphosis Potion."

"You know so much... Thank you for sharing. Loaded me up with new experiences."

Professor laughs and yawns.

"I always like to discuss something at length. Leading a debate. Though this time I was more like answering your questions. That's not fair. But... I'll get over it, I'm tired anyway. I'm gonna go to bed. Good night, Daniel."

I walk back to the bed where my pegasus is sleeping. I climb under the covers and cuddle her gently, snuggling up to her and willingly snuggling my face into her lovely chestnut mane.

***

"Still," Ferris says, not taking his eyes off his study of an Apostle in the armory, "why did you agree to this?"

I'm sitting at my workbench, repairing armor after fighting in the Rainbow Mine, which is how my backup PipBuck characterized the location of the gem-rich mine where we encountered the nearly unkillable overgrown-chameleon bone vampire. Motley, Blaze, and Caroline headed off to the Glass Key Casino while I check my gear, practicing my repair and magical lockpicking skills at the same time.

"No, I realize," the griffon continues, "that by taking that thing down, you've gained confidence in your abilities and the feeling that you can roll mountains if you so choose. But, as I told you, it's a dangerous thing to mess with an entire family, and the most powerful one in the city. Especially if the Mother figures out it's your doing."

"I've fought the Families once before," I say a little absent-mindedly, remembering the Mojave Wasteland, and with it Omerta and the Syndicate. "And imagining what that fight was like. I was dragged into that kaleidoscope of events quite by accident back then, but I handled it well, showing what I was willing to do. And what I can do."

"So, even if the Mother of Softhooves realizes that you did it, she will think three times before taking action against you. That way you'll make a statement that you're best not to be messed with over nothing."

"Yes. The Softhooves dream of gaining control of all the casinos in Vanhoover, and it's only a matter of time before they take over the Glass Key. The mother of the family is already rich: she gets a steady income from her casino and porn studio, and this way we'll only rob her of herself. I highly doubt that she will reveal the fact that she, the head of the richest family in the city, was robbed. Otherwise her reputation will plummet below the soil."

"You'll have to back up your words with more than just the robbery. What makes you so sure of yourself? Oh, and surviving the Crater, Northern Soul, and other places is impressive in itself, but..."

"I got shot in the head and buried in a grave."

"No way..."

"That's right. I could show my memories."

"Fucking egg... And you're still breathing and walking around. You're a real badass. If you can survive a situation like that, you're a dominant one. Maybe someday you'll take down both Silent Ghost and Prince... Oh. Then I'll give myself to you, because there's no point in resisting you. You'll fuck anyone anyway."

He chuckles. His feathered friend Edge makes a pecking noise that sounds like laughter.

"Can we not..."

"How's your research on Judge going?" I decide to change the subject.

"Not bad so far," he replies without taking his eyes off the case. "I've figured out the properties and characteristics of this wonderful rifle: strong and light metal alloys, increased rate of fire and accuracy, excellent recoil suppression, a large magazine and a spell that enchants the ammunition. Standard caliber for high-powered sniper rifles are used. They can be enchanted with one type for different effects. Listen to this. Bullets can do damage with incendiary or pulse damage. There's also a spell that increases the bullet's penetration by increasing its air streamlining, resulting in damage comparable to that of an anti-machine rifle shot, but with a higher rate of fire. And the cherry on the cake—the spell enchants the bullet for burst damage, though not as powerful as explosive rounds. This spell can only be cast on regular ammunition. The more complex the spell, the lower the rate of fire, because it takes time to cast the spell on ammunition. They are loaded when they hit the bolt. And like all Apostles, Judge is indestructible. All in all, a deadly weapon."

"Amazing..." That's an actual saving of expensive types of ammunition. "How can a weapon be so versatile?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Your Defender, as you know, has one type of spell permanently cast on it that increases the shot's heap and velocity, and thus both penetration and killing power. But I've never been able to find what these spells are 'tied' to, or what they are fueled by. Strange..." the griffon says thoughtfully, and then, looking at the disassembled rifle, exclaims indignantly. "No way!"

"What happened?" I worry, approaching his workbench where the rifle, a disassembled Apostle, lies. Its ordinary and high quality parts are familiar to me and there's nothing supernatural there... Except for a tiny faintly shimmering purple pebble. "What's that?"

"It turns out that because of this tiny little thing," he points a claw at the pebble, "the weapon is indestructible."

"And that's a problem?" I wonder.

"Yes!" he grimaces. "I assumed the cause would be magical enchanted stones."

"What are these then?" I smile incomprehensibly.

"I don't know."

"Meaning?"

"Literally!" Ferris growls in a frenzy. "I mean, think about it: how can such a tiny crystal serve as an inexhaustible fuel for an indestructibility spell and cast spells on bullets on top of that! At best, at its size, it can power an ordinary light bulb! I thought I'd find out what gemstone to use to create my own copies of such weapons."

"Don't be discouraged, continue to study its features. Maybe you'll get to the bottom of it."

"You are right. Nothing great comes without effort," he smiles wryly and continues on with his work while I return to mine. Later, he discovers an equally small—even smaller—crystal in my Defender as well.

***

In the evening Motley returns, kissing and hugging me as a greeting. She goes into the workshop with some kind of box and tells me not to peek.

Blaze sits pensively in the dining room, sipping a Sparkle Cola. I join him, grabbing myself a bottle of water.

"Could use a whiskey..."

I don't feel up to it.

Almost at the same moment Flow joins us, asking permission to sit next to us and saying that she'll listen to our conversation in silence, since she has nothing to do. Blaze and I nod in agreement.

"What's Motley excited about?" I wonder, sipping water from my glass.

"Go ask her, I don't know. Before she came back, she asked me to wait while she ran through the stores and got a few things."

"Yeah, by the way, how did it go? Did Bland agree to take you on the robbery?"

"Absolutely," the gray wingless pegasus says, taking a sip of Sparkle Cola. "He even informed me right away that it will be my job to pilot Venture after we load the treasure into it."

"Just going to be the driver?" I smile, taking another sip of water.

"I don't need to head straight here as soon as I'm loaded, but make a detour around the mountains and flit between them for a while in case I'm followed. Bland said Venture is by no means a quiet vehicle, so in case of difficulties I should try to drop my tail. Even if there isn't one, it's not worth the risk."

"What about Motley and Caroline?"

"No idea what their roles in this play will be."

"Hopefully Bland will clear things up," I finish the rest of my water. Blaze has already drained his bottle of Sparkle Cola.

"I'm curious, what did you see in my former commanding officer?" the gray stallion asks, peering into my eyes as if trying to burn me with his gaze. "I can understand what she saw in you—you have the kind of warm and friendly smile that would make an iceberg in the ice melt—but I didn't expect your feelings to be mutual."

"We share a common experience. We've both killed loved ones."

"What, your pony-" the stallion's eyes round at the terrible assumption.

"Under the influence of hallucinations. I didn't realize it was her. We were exploring the cave, inhaled the substances because of the mushrooms... When the effects wore off, I saw what I'd done."

Flow covers her mouth with her hoof in horror. Blaze is just as stunned.

"Oh shit... I sympathize with you," he says. "A similar situation, indeed. But you weren't conscious when you did it. You didn't know mushrooms cause hallucinations, did you?"

"But I should have seen it coming."

"You can't see it all coming, buddy. You can't foresee everything... Do you think Motley did the right thing?"

"I'm not excusing her, but I understand. She's had too much on her plate. And it's your own fault for following."

"Light convinced us to go after her before the higher officers noticed anything. It was only later that we found out what she'd done. If she'd come forward, confessed, cooperated with the investigation, she wouldn't have been executed. She'd have been isolated. If I were her, I wouldn't want to go to prison either, but... I still can't forgive her, because if she had agreed to turn herself in, I wouldn't be in the clutches of a pervert... Okay, enough with the sad stuff. Why don't we change the subject?" Blaze sighs.

"A game of cards?" I suggest, smiling. The pony cheers up immediately.

"I'm barely proficient, but I know the rules of some card games... thanks to Motley. She taught us back in the day."

"That's okay, practice won't hurt. We'll have some fun. Flow, come with us," I gesture for her to join us. She hesitantly moves closer.

"B-but... I don't know how," she lowers her eyes, sitting down next to me.

"I'm not forcing you, pinkie cake," I smile affectionately. "You can just watch. But it'll be more fun to play together! He, that gentlecolt, can't play very well either. And this way you'll pass the time and have a good experience!"

We sit up till late in the evening playing card games, with little Nara also coming to watch. Flow is having fun learning how to play cards, because she has to make choices and quick decisions. Blaze is happy to win, though he quickly realizes that I am giving in—unlike the pink earth pony.

Nara watches curiously, looking at everyone's cards, sometimes revealing who has what 'drawings'. We resent her, and the orange filly apologizes, shamefully hiding her eyes and lowering her head. We smile indulgently at her and rub her mane. Later, she even asks me to teach her how to flip and swap those carton picture cards according to the rules. I agree to teach her later, offering to watch for now: maybe she'll figure it out for herself.

Later, Motley shows up. She wants me to go somewhere with her. Flow remembers that she hadn't washed the dishes after supper and runs off to the kitchen.

Motley pulls me outside the bunker.

The beige pony doesn't say anything to me. We find ourselves on the surface, blown by a cool fall wind off the snow-capped mountains. It's a good thing we threw on warm clothes before we left Heavenly Harbor. The pegasus grabs me, takes off, and drags me somewhere to the east, flying between the rocks. She's barely holding back some violent emotion; it feels like she wants to show me something important and unimaginably cool.

Soon we find ourselves on the opposite side of the mountain range from the underground shelter; the pegasus lands on a small ledge, lowering me to the ground before sitting down beside me and telling me to look to the east.

"What's there to look at?" I ask interestedly, gazing off into the distance at the lifeless hills near the mountains.

The pegasus rustles and searches for something in her pockets. Abruptly and unexpectedly she rebukes me to keep my eyes forward, and then she stares straight ahead.

I hear a muffled thud from the hills: a yellow light shoots up from the ground and into the sky. It rises and explodes with a flash of light, making a loud and distinctive crackling sound. Many small colored lights scatter across the sky like drops.

Fireworks!

After the first shot—another, another, and another! The flashes brightly color the sky, creating a colorful light show.

It's been a long time since I've seen such beauty! It's mesmerizing and breathtaking... it's so beautiful.

Motley leans snugly against me, hugging my front leg tightly and resting his head on my shoulder, and gazes ahead. And not immediately I feel her hugging me with her wing.

I savor the spectacle. The last flash ends this extravaganza of colors quite solidly by making a louder sound. The multicolored lights cover a much larger area. I try to pick up my jaw—the amazement and delight is still reflected on my face.

This is simply fabulous and magical! I've only seen fireworks once, but it doesn't compare to this magical beauty I've just seen.

"Did you like it?" without changing position, the pony suddenly asks in the reigning silence.

"Yes..." I whisper slowly and enthusiastically, unable to move away from the experience. "Surprise... It's gorgeous!" I say fervently, looking into the eyes of the pegasus pressed against me.

The pony wraps her leg around mine even tighter. She unclenches her hug and timidly looks into my eyes before wrapping her legs around my neck.

"I'm so glad you liked it," she rubs her nose against mine, "I wanted to do something different for you."

"Hopefully our friends will also see it someday?" I ask. The pony looks into my eyes again, still wrapping her front legs around my neck. "Nara would be frightened at first, but would also look at it enthusiastically. Would have gotten unimaginable impressions of the beauty she saw."

"Well..." she averts her gaze. "Later, that's for sure, but for now, this gift is just for you." Her gaze returns to me. Beautiful eyes. Every time I look into them, I feel an unusually pleasant sense of lightness. A little ticklish. Joyful.

"Thank you! That was really beautiful," I say and kiss her.

Oh, crap, I've got to do something special like that.

"Admit you're an alien. That would be a total deal breaker."

If you fuck around, I'll break your ass.

***

28th of the Month of Heather, Violetday. Sixty-fifth day of my stay.

The twenty-six hours are spent preparing. All my time is spent mostly tweaking the robbery plan and practicing various spells.

It's that day. Lunch. I'm sitting at a gambling table in a dark blue outfit with white inserts. The dealer in front of me is shuffling cards. Nearby are several unfamiliar ponies who have joined the game and are pinning their hopes on winning a few hundred caps.

Around at the gaming tables and machines are many well-dressed ponies. They are hoping that luck will turn their way today. Nearby guards with guns at their sides, making it clear that they are vigilant in keeping order among the visitors. There is noise and clamor everywhere: dissatisfied, occasionally happy and just voices, the clatter of chips, the sound of slot machines. Unnoticeable to be here is easy.

The interior of the casino is made in soft red and beige colors, everything here looks elegant, clean and neat. Everywhere paints the symbol of the casino in the form of a crystal flower—lotus, and in the background plays a calm and peaceful melody. The Glass Key Casino is far from such elegance and number of visitors, but that's for now... Inside the Softhooves Casino building there is a pool and grounds where lovely young mares in satin dresses dance, entertaining visitors and catching their eyes with the beauty and fluidity of their movements.

They are no match for my beige pegasus.

One more batch and I'll go to another table. Or maybe I'll go to the minibar for a drink.

The earpiece in my ear makes itself known with the crackle of brief interference, behind which I recognize Bland's voice.

"It's time," he says evenly on the other end. The piss rushes through the pipes. "Head for your entry point without attracting attention."

I get up from my chair and move to my destination, taking my paltry winnings and exchanging them for caps to head for the elevators.

The elevator to the Mother of the Family's private vault is unguarded as it is rarely used. The only way to activate it is from the guard's room—in the case of a break-in from inside the vault itself—or with a special key card read by Eileen herself. I can't get through here alone.

"Angel?" I say, looking into the security camera and smiling. There's another crackle of static in my earpiece; it's followed by Motley's voice.

"Yes, yes, I can see you on the monitor," she replies, sighing doomfully when I use her call sign, which everyone but the pegasus herself accepted. "It's coming up, Caroline is about to complete the break-in."

Motley's job is to infiltrate the security area with a StealthBuck, knock out the guards with the Professor's sleeping gas, and connect the hacking modules to some terminals so that Caroline can remotely perform the break-in. This she is capable of after an upgrade courtesy of 'Berry' or Lemon Star. It is necessary to gain access to the elevator controls in Eileen's vault and the security camera computer console to disable the recording of all cameras here and downstairs and disable the turrets there as well. The guards in the security room are being checked, asking for status via radio after a certain amount of time—that's the time frame we have to fit in.

The dark orange stallion with a yellow mane and wearing a smart tuxedo came up to me.

"And you have the same outfit as last time," he smiles at me, standing beside me. "Couldn't get another one?"

"Two-horned," I turn to him, "I've had enough of one, you know. This is no time for small talk." The elevator doors open and we step inside, starting our way down.

"Wonderful casino," he smiles again. "Too bad there aren't any stallion dancers here."

"Can you be quiet?" I turn to him with concern. "One little mistake, and..."

"Don't hang your nose," Flame Heart stares tiredly at the ceiling. "I've pulled off a lot of dangerous operations like this with my brother. This one's a little more tricky, and it requires delicacy..."

"You think putting a hole in the wall is delicate?" I sarcasm. Damn, my nerves are fraying.

"There was no other option to get Eileen's riches out discreetly. We're lucky the sewer runs next to the vault."

"I know. I just... Can't keep my anxiety down either. A robbery, a major one at that, is a pretty risky endeavor. I'm not talking about the fact that the robbery itself is not to my liking."

"That's why I'm here! To help you control your emotions and assist you in breaking into the vault. After that, we'll take the booty and enjoy the result of our work."

We step out of the elevator into a lighted corridor whose walls are composed entirely of concrete. At the other end we can see an extension of the space with a huge steel door to a vault. Along the corridor, disabled turrets hang from the ceiling. The vault itself is made entirely of steel. Flame and I will need to hack and pry open these doors using our lockpicking skills. Caroline, controlling several construction drones, must take her time and make a hole in the wall of the corridor. As I pass one of the walls, I hear the distinct sounds of drilling. Thanks to the noise in the main halls, they can't know what's going on here. In case of any complications, Motley will notify us—she's our eyes and ears.

I've never seen this level of security in the post-war world. That shouldn't be surprising, given that the Softhooves have the best intel ponies in Vanhoover, providing the family with the intelligence and security they need.

About ten minutes pass behind the door cracking. Suddenly I notice something extra in the intricate mechanism.

"Flame, stop!" I say in horror as he is about to swing the vault doors open.

"What is it?" he stiffens, making no unnecessary movements and even holding his breath.

"I think there's an audible alarm in here."

"What makes you think that?" he puzzles. "Bland didn't mention any kind of alarm on the vault doors."

"Take a closer look. Over here," I beckon him, pointing to the internal components of the doors.

"I don't see any... Fuck!" His face pales. "How did I not realize at first... Well, it's a pain in the ass. We could try disabling the alarm itself, and the casino won't be alerted that the vault is open, but disabling it might be noticed by Eileen. She'd be surprised to see that her alarm doesn't signal that it's working. It's like the signal in your PipBuck... Right! She's got one. If you turn off the alarm, she'll definitely notice. We have to tell Flare."

I knew it couldn't go smoothly—but there is no turning back. Caroline has already made a hole in the wall where a pony can fit through freely. Flare is the only living pony next to Caroline's robots on the other side of the wall.

Damn... what a stench it is in here. The stench of sewer stench fills the hallway little by little. I remember my journey through the sewers of the Crater, where I'd been at Ferris's mercy in a shitpipe. The memory gives me chills all over my body.

Here stands a large wagon, obtained from outside, in the Wasteland. Caroline's robots will have to haul it to another exit of the sewers so it won't be immediately obvious that the booty was transported on a Vertibuck.

Flare and Flame discuss and argue heatedly, but come to an agreement: we will finish the job after all. We inform Motley to lock down the elevator leading here and let her scurry off to the rendezvous point. By the time Eileen notices the disabled alarm, gets here—she's at some meeting a few blocks away—and unlocks the elevator, we should have time to load the wagon, and later, Venture.

We disable the alarms, open the vault doors, and make our way inside. There are chests and bags everywhere, stuffed to the brim with caps, gems, precious metals, and other expensive stuff. Flame uses telekinesis to drag the boxes and chests into the wagon, grabbing whatever comes under his hoof, and I can't move.

"Yeah, yeah, see how many valuable magical pebbles that bitch has?" Flame says, breathing heavily. "Take it, don't be shy," he adds cheerfully.

That's not what surprises me. Among the usual chests and crates, there are some that are distinctive... Familiar. Of dark metal and with symbols painted on them that I've seen once before—on the power armor of Violet Ardor, who became the head of the raiders, and the power armor of Motley Cloud. The Enclave.

To say I'm shocked is an understatement. I don't notice Flame already hauling those crates into the wagon without much interest. He only comments that they're noticeably heavier, and grumbles that they're locked with fancy cloud locks.

What sort of shit have I stepped in again?

***

Flame and Flare are surprised by these crates, however I say we'll deal with it later. I don't want to hold them up and distract them. Let them focus on the transportation: every second counts.

We haul everything in the vault and load the booty onto a large wagon; the huge tower of crates has to be supported by magic.

We're already at the exit near Venture when Motley radios that Eileen Softhooves and her escort have suddenly appeared at the entrance, literally bursting into the casino.

We're still on time. We just have to load the crates into the Vertibuck and get out of here. Blaze is horrified to see the black boxes. I say again that we'll talk about this later; let him concentrate on piloting the transport, which is already overloaded: the speed will be noticeably slower, harder to control.

Before departing, the wagon is dragged off to another location in the maze of sewers, and Caroline destroys it. The rendezvous point is outside Vanhoover, but not in Heavenly Harbor so that Bland and the Heart brothers don't know where the stolen goods will be hidden. Motley and Bland are waiting for us there.

In addition to me, Motley, Flame, Flare, Bland, Blaze, and Caroline took part in the robbery. It turned out that we didn't need more ponies; the main thing was to get control of the security systems unnoticed. We had previously decided not to rob the entire casino, since, according to Bland, there were some pretty normal ponies and non-ponies working here. But what Eileen had was enough to last us for a long time. At a rough estimate, with all the caps, gems, and other valuables, we're rich to the tune of about four hundred thousand caps. She is incredibly rich... Was. The remaining smaller portion of her savings is in the family's bank accounts, as far as I know.

And then there are the Enclave's crates. The biggest mystery of the vault.

Motley and Blaze are shocked and frightened by the discovery. The crates are locked with an elaborate cloud lock. This is odd, considering only Eileen has access to the vault itself, why would she need locks that only pegasi can unlock?

Based on the markings on the crates—Motley and Blaze helped us figure them out—inside are energy-magic technology, ammunition, and power armor. In addition, one of the standard storage crates contained a rare stealth cloak. Steel Rangers head scribe Iron Willford needs it to complete his project.

The Enclave gear clearly does not belong to the Mother of Softhooves. It had been given to her for temporary safekeeping—but by whom? Could it be the Enclave itself? Motley and Blaze claim that the Enclave has never contacted the surface residents. They can't know everything, but still. I keep feeling like we've bitten off more than we can chew. Of the stolen goods, these are the locked black crates that Eileen will be looking for the most. I'm sure of it.

We may have messed up Softhooves' plans that somehow involve the Enclave.

A question pops into my mind, addressed to Professor a few days earlier: How can a robbery lead to a positive outcome?

I'll hide all the loot in my bunker until the turmoil settles down—we'll decide what to do with it later. But for now, the crates need to be broken into. The cloud locks can only be opened or picked by a pegasus, but Motley and Blaze have no lockpicking skills, so I don't know what to do with them yet. Gems are sources and reservoirs of magical energy, like batteries, they are used in almost everything and for different purposes, so their value and usefulness will always be undeniable. Also among the loot are other things that are expensive by the standards of this world.

Bland, Flame and Flare are heading back to Vanhoover—it's a few hours away. And with the rest of them, I return to Heavenly Harbor by Vertibuck, making a few circles among the mountains. It's a good thing my hiding place is somewhere in the mountains, and I can't find it without exact coordinates; I was just lucky enough to find it when I was walking nearby and saw the path. Eileen will not openly report the robbery, I think: it would tarnish her reputation. Besides, among the stolen goods was something important and secret, given to her for safekeeping.

What was the plan of Eileen Softhooves, the head of the most powerful and wealthy family in the city?

***

In the evening, I'm already sitting in my Glass Key Casino office. I'm flipping through documents. It's good that I have such an experienced and trusted assistant, who is fully aware of everything, when I myself am only superficially familiar with this area. All I know so far is what not to do to avoid making things worse.

Flame and Flare will work for us for essentially nothing—except for difficult tasks and dangerous assignments—and will keep order in the Glass Key Casino. They need a solid place where they can do their own business in the future. But now the brothers have decided to lay low and enjoy the results of the work. The plan of the robbery was made by Flare, Bland only provided the information he knew about the casino. He was surprised, too, however, to learn that Eileen had gone to the expense of installing sound alarms on the vault doors. He remembered clearly that before he had been fired at work, nothing like that had warned him about in case of critical situations.

A polite knock on the office door pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Come in," I say, looking at the door.

It opens and someone I wasn't expecting to see shows up in the doorway.

"Good day, Daniel," a snow-white unicorn in a tuxedo pronounces, entering the cabinet. "Took my advice. Not a bad business to take over," he smiles weakly, as if looking around but not focusing on anything. I struggle to deal with my emotions at the unexpected visit to my humble office by the father of all Vanhoover.

"Good day, Prince," I greet him, barely painting a smile on my face. "Have a seat," I offer, pointing to the couch in the corner.

"Thank you, however I won't be here long," he walks over to my desk and looks down at me. "I'll say this right off the bat. You know how to surprise. I'm not going to hide it. You've accomplished what only two ponies in the history of Vanhoover have been able to accomplish before you: getting a recommendation from the Family."

Оh. Does that mean... But which of the two Families championed me?

"Hooray!"

"From whom exactly?"

Prince smiles broadly.

"I've never seen anything like this before... Two Families wrote a recommendation on you at the same time."

My jaw drops.

"I had the same reaction," Prince says. "I didn't think such a thing was possible. You've done... amazing things. Been able to convince me of your trustworthiness and responsibility. Every family thinks only of themselves, and.... It's... I just don't have the words."

Two recommendations... Fuck my horn.

Prince continues to be surprised.

"The Crater, the Vertibucks, Green Island, and now a solution to the energy problem that's been keeping progress from moving forward, especially the Steelmane family. They're all about technology. Gem prices will drop. And yet, because of their ownership of the mine, the family is now almost richer than the Softhooves. They can now fully power all the alternative energy research and development. Mass-produce vertibucks and more."

At the mention of Softhooves, I suddenly remember that Eileen might have been up to something serious and big. I won't tell Prince, though: I must have already messed up her plans by robbing her and taking the crates of Enclave technology. I think she's really siding with them for her own personal goals or the Family's. I'll keep quiet for now. If she threatens me, I'll tell her I'll reveal her secret deal where she got the Enclave technology. I can blackmail her and maybe get her anything I want.

Sounds appealing.

The robbery had a positive outcome. I guess so. Anyway, with this blackmail, I can also convince her to get off me, my associates and the casino. And if she finds out that two Families have spoken up for me at once, one of which will soon become powerful and influential... She'll think twice before she turns against me.

Still, it is necessary to take action and notify Prince about the Enclave. I'm sure they'll poke their noses out and show up here sooner or later.

I pull a blank holotape out of my desk drawer and insert it into my spare PipBuck, recording all the information about the Enclave that my pegasus once gave me. The Steel Rangers had already gotten this information when I gave them the combat Vertibuck I'd gotten at the Northern Soul.

The visitor watches my actions with some surprise and interest. I hand the holotape to him.

"What's this?" he inquires, scrutinizing it in his telekinetic cloud of magic.

"This has information about the Enclave. And I feel a responsibility to the city."

The Prince's gaze settles on me. A look of surprise briefly appears in his eyes, followed by a look of appreciation on his face.

"You feel a responsibility to Vanhoover. That's what I want to hear from a King. Where did the information come from?"

"From a reliable source. I doubt anything has changed in a year in the Enclave. It seems to me they could show up at any minute, since they've been conducting mostly just reconnaissance operations—which suggests they're preparing for something big by analyzing information from the surface. I want the city to be ready for their arrival."

"You've done so much for the city... I don't even know what kind of task-check to give you. It all seems meaningless and pale against what you've already done."

"Why don't we skip the test?"

The smile fades from the Prince's face. I suspect that he actually already knows what he's going to assign me; it's like he's been planning it for a long time. That's the feeling. And for some reason, it's uneasy.

"Let's not break tradition. Normally my lieutenant and deputy Redstone handles this, but in this case, I've come to personally assign the new promising candidate this task. You have proven yourself to be responsible and reliable to the city. I suggest you go it alone this time because numbers won't solve anything here. At least you won't put your companions at risk. Your mission will be to investigate Stable 66."

Chapter 24 - The Dark Cloud

View Online

"Why exactly Stable 66?" my voice trembles.

"You've accomplished many fateful things in a short period of time... Which in itself is impossible. If you don't come back, that's how I'll know how dangerous the 66 is. I'd go myself, but I'm not allowed to leave the city to the families alone. Besides, let me remind you, there's a reward of one hundred thousand caps from me personally for information about this Stable. Many have gone after it, but to no avail, as you can see. I've sent Kings there repeatedly. If you don't come back... I'll have to think of something."

"Why me? Why wouldn't I be tasked with tracking down and destroying some particularly dangerous gang of Crater raiders as a test mission?"

"I have big plans for you. I want to make sure you can take on all my assignments."

"What plans?"

"It's too early for you to know. Are you going to take it or not?"

"It's suicide."

"Not for your level. You obviously see more than others. Notices things others don't. That's why you've accomplished so much. Besides, I'm sure Stable 66 can't be impregnable. There must be a loophole or vulnerability somewhere."

I don't know what to answer.

"You want to be a King, don't you?" Prince clarifies.

"Yes..."

"You will be. And it's a task you'll do well with. Besides, your reputation will skyrocket after this. The first explorer of Stable 66. You'll be feared. You'll be respected. You'll be a force to be reckoned with. And that'll be just what I need."

"Going there tomorrow..." I squeeze out with difficulty.

"Good. Now I must take my leave, for business requires my attention."

"Huh, wow. I didn't expect you to say yes right away. What are you gonna tell Motley?"

Uh, I don't know.

"Caroline mentioned that something unusual was sent to this Stable. Do you think it's connected to the Dome?"

Well, even if it is... it's a deadly place.

"We can handle it. Look at our past."

How can you be so sure?

"A feeling. Especially if we go alone, it'll be easier to focus on our own survival without thinking of others. Prince was right about respect, too. We need that kind of reputation. We've come too far. Eileen Softhooves won't cross you if you return from Stable 66."

If I survive.

"You gotta think positive. What are you worried about? It's not like it's the first time."

For Motley... and Lemon.

"Oh, uh. Right. They won't sit still for you going alone to this mystical place."

Lemon's gonna hate me for sure. I need some fresh air.

***

When I reach the roof of my casino, I'm about to activate the PipBuck's tracking sensor to notify Blaze that I need to be picked up, but I stop when I see the pony sitting motionless on the roof railing. Her back is to me, so she doesn't notice my presence. To satisfy my curiosity, I decide to take my time leaving and find out what she's doing here: the roof of my casino is not usually visited by anyone—it's not a place meant for public access.

I carefully approach and look at her. She doesn't even pay me any attention, as thoughts have obviously taken over her entire mind. The gaze of the snow-white earth pony with the black mane is completely blank and indifferent. It is staring at the lighted streets of the city. Her hind legs dangle from the fence. Dangerous: one wrong move and she could fall. I prepare to catch her with telekinesis just in case. I don't like that gloomy, aloof look. And it's also possible to make a sudden movement and fall off the roof.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?" I ask without much interest, standing to her right and looking down, but trying not to lose sight of the deeply thoughtful mare. Not that she doesn't shudder in surprise when she hears my voice, but she doesn't even look surprised or turn to look at the person I'm talking to.

"I guess..." she replies absent-mindedly. Her tone gives away that she's not really in the mood for conversation.

"Well, how else would she be?" I say, standing up on my hind legs and leaning on my right side, folding my front legs fashionably. I turn to her with a faint smile on my face, trying to portray friendliness. "What other purpose is there in looking out over the city like that, disregarding your own safety?"

The pony is silent. She doesn't even turn her head.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"What does it matter now... My life will soon no longer belong to me," she replies, still not dignifying me with a glance.

"What do you mean?" I frown.

Wording an answer like that doesn't bode well.

"What I said. No more, no less."

"Ugh..." I sigh disappointedly, hiding my unease. "Why is everyone so confined in this town? They don't even want to have a conversation. Most masters would just ignore me or tell me to go fuck myself."

"That's how this town is. No one cares about the lives of others here. Nobody cares."

"That's our harsh reality..." I say, looking down at the passing masters and slaves again. It's dark now, and a chilly fall wind walks around. I squirm. "Aren't you cold?"

"No," the white pony answers briefly and without delay.

"Why don't we go inside and talk in the warmth and comfort?"

"I'm perfectly fine here."

"You said your life would no longer belong to you. What's that supposed to mean?"

Although I already partially understand what she means, it's not unreasonable to clarify the position. The mare lowers her eyes and ponders.

"Debts," she finally answers after a short pause.

"So how did you end up in this position?"

"Well... It's a long story. Life is shit."

"I agree. But it's beautiful nonetheless."

"And how is it beautiful in any way?!" the pony snaps back, throwing me an angry look. "Where's any beauty in it?!" The pony examines my face questioningly.

"Beauty is always subjective," I reply calmly. "Everyone finds for themselves what is beautiful to them. It's more correct to say life is interesting."

"And if there's nothing wonderful in this shitty life?! Then why do we have to go on living at all?" she desperately demands an answer. Her gaze burns with anger and doom. "What's the point of it all! We're living in shit! Every life is valued in caps! Our whole lives are one continuous mistake. We're nothing to each other!" The anger is replaced by despair and pain. The pony's eyes get wet and she sniffs her nose, lowering her head. "It's all pointless," she adds.

I want to hug her here and now, but it would seem strange or suspicious to her.

"Everything is relative. There are no things in this world that are definitely bad or good," I reason. "Benefits and flaws can be found in everything. And everyone sees them with their own eyes, determining for themselves how important they are."

"Why do you say that?" she asks indifferently, without raising her gaze.

"You're so caught up in thinking about the worthlessness and shortcomings of your existence that you don't notice the positive things. Those things are different for everyone. The world around us depends on how we perceive it, what we find pleasant or unpleasant. Much depends on our thoughts. Not everything, but a lot. Even pain... some experience a certain level of pleasure from it, like masochists, and some faint over a small scratch—even at the sight of that scratch on another."

"Maybe. But my life, like I said, is no longer my own. I'm fucked one way or another..." she says hopelessly.

"What did you borrow for?"

"Oh, just that I'm a complete fool, that's all!" she sobs. "The job was crap, barely enough to eat. So I decided to make a better life for myself. And by my own fucking stupidity, I got into gambling."

Yikes...

"Borrowed a large sum of caps for gambling in the hope of winning more, and, uh... fucked it all up."

"How much?"

"Three thousand caps. With interest and in a short period of time I had to pay back five thousand. My pathetic apartment isn't even close to being worth that much. Clearly, I had nothing to mortgage but my own life."

"In other words, if you don't pay your debt, you'll be made a slave?"

"Uh-huh," I hear her say. "They'll make me a whore, sell me to some pervert, give me to experiments or sadists as a beat toy."

"Why not run away then?"

"To where?" the pony turns, glaring at me. "There's no point in hiding in the city. Unless you're homeless. Run to the Crater and become a raider if I'm lucky? Nah... I'd rather die than turn into a monster, and I don't think I'd survive there. And even in the Wasteland. I don't know how to survive there! Being a whore and handing my ass to everyone? No way! Better a short life than a long, low and dirty one. It's my own fault. I shouldn't have taken that risk. And I've got to make my own mark... wet and big..." she looks down.

"What's the deadline for repayment?" I ask as if casually.

"Until tomorrow. That's what I'm saying, soon my life will no longer belong to me," she says bitterly, without looking at me.

"She lost all the caps at your casino. Are you responsible for her suicide?"

As the Professor said. I don't have to be responsible for someone if I give them responsibilities. I didn't force that pony to gamble. I didn't force her to do anything. It's her choice. She could have lost her caps at another casino. Doesn't have to be mine.

"But?"

I'm responsible for something else now. Interfering with her attempted suicide. I'm standing by. I could choose not to intervene, but then her death would be on my conscience. It would mean I didn't do anything to help her. She'll die because of my non-interference when I could have prevented her death.

I reach into my pockets and pull out a checkbook and a pen by telekinesis. And I give the white pony a check for seven thousand caps. As I fill out the paper, the pony first glances at me interestedly and then looks at the check floating in front of her in a blue haze, confused.

"W-what... this?" she babbles faintly.

"Caps in payment of your debt with bonus accrual."

"Why?"

The look of rounded eyes swings shockingly between me and the check. She clearly can't believe what's happening.

"What do you mean why? Don't you have a debt to pay off?"

I try not to smile—lest she take my offer as a joke.

"To give hope and have it so cruelly destroyed. Yes, that would be really... inhuman."

"No... why are you helping me?" she wonders. A wave of aggressive skepticism and distrust hits her. "What's the catch in this? What do you want? For me to become your slave and please you? Or do you want to use me for some other purpose? Publicly mock me, beat me, piss on my face or mouth? And have me admire the gifts of your body? As my master who knows how to control me?"

"What? No," I say.

"It's natural to be suspicious of others, especially if they offer you money. That's an interesting list of assumptions, and a long one at that. How much she's imagined about the life of a slave, albeit not unreasonably so."

Suddenly she sobs.

"What do you want me to do for you..." she whispers apprehensively, lowering her gaze. "I... I-I... don't want to die. I can't... would do anything... just..."

She's trembling with fear. It's impossible to watch. I move closer and put my front legs around her—she shudders sharply at my touch and tenses up.

"Shh... Calm down," I lightly stroke her back. She begins to relax. "In a matter of life and death, never rush to conclusions. A final decision to either side will mean it will be your last. Do you realize that?" A barely audible "uh-huh" comes as an answer. I speak slowly and quietly. "Good. You're doing great. I'm glad you realize that. Now, uh... there's only one thing I want. And don't worry: none of what you listed. I want you to take this check, give me the money you need. Find a job that suits you, and send me a letter from your new job. Is that arrangement okay with you?" I ask jokingly.

"Absolutely..." she says quietly, sniffing her nose. "It's just... I'm not sure I can handle it."

"You will. The important thing is to calm down now," I move slightly away from her so I can look into her eyes while still holding her. "Take a good, deep breath. Walk and think, take your time. It's easier to think while walking, I know from experience. Tomorrow is still almost 26 hours away. Oh, also, stop gambling and relying on gambling, and ideally stop gambling altogether," I glare at her sternly.

I'll have to tell Bland somehow, so the croupiers at my casino won't let the customers lose a lot.

"Ok-kay... I... will do my best."

"Fine. That's what I wanted to hear," I smile, slipping the check into the inside pocket of her clothes. "Now get off."

I help her back onto the concrete surface of the roof. She's having a hard time standing on her feet because of her worry.

"Don't tell anyone where you got that money from, and don't tell anyone about it except those you owe it to. In case you get robbed."

"Yeah... I understand. But..." Judging by the tremor in her voice, she can't realize what's happening to her right now, and what's come over her. "I can't understand... why you gave me so much money? Why you helped a stretchy mare like me, and... I'm inept..."

"Experience doesn't come for free either. I'm investing in your future and potential skills. And besides, your mark would look bad against my establishment," I allow myself a smile. The pony's mouth falls open in amazement. "Yes, I am the owner of this casino. Consider the casino returning your losses... with interest."

"Sweet Celestia..." the pony exhales crushingly.

"I hope the investment will be worthwhile and I won't be disappointed," I say sweetly.

"No, no, no!" she waves her front hooves in protest. "I'll do my best, and I won't take any more chances like that."

"Trying your luck can be done—but you don't have to go to extremes. You have to be careful."

The other person in my head is laughing hysterically.

Why are you laughing?

"She..." the other me starts through the laughter, "...said she... wouldn't... risk it... again." The voice in my head stops laughing and sighs in relief. "I was just remembering how many times we've risked our own skin. What ventures we've gotten ourselves into. That pony took one such big risk once—and royally fucked it up. We take risks almost every day and mostly get away with it, but the important thing is we're still alive."

You're right. Who are we to judge this pony for taking rash risks?

The pony shuffles her hooves in impatience and indecision, nearly bouncing in place while smiling radiantly and glowing with joy.

"What's the matter?" I inquire.

"Can I hug you now?" she blurts out fervently.

"I'd love to, why not..."

Before I can finish my sentence, the pony is already enclosing me in a hug that's pretty tight.

"Yeah, ponies sure do love hugs. You've grown quite fond of them lately, too."

"Thank you! Thank you again," she repeats, then lets go of me and timidly looks into my eyes with ineffable respect and admiration. "You gave me a second chance. Saved my life, even though you don't even know me!"

"If there's any trouble finding a suitable job, rest assured: you can go to Bland, here at the casino, or the Bluerise at the Oasis at any time and tell them you're from Daniel Evans. And you'll definitely have an income and at least some work."

"I don't even know what to say, Daniel..."

It's moments like this that make me not regret spending caps.

"We don't."

"Will you finally tell me your name?" I ask.

The pony laughs serenely, as if a huge stone has been dropped from her soul. It makes me feel good to see others feel good about themselves. I don't throw lids to the wind—I spend them on pleasurable experiences for others, for the benefit of others. I love doing that, especially when those lids are in abundance.

"Of course! To such a generous pony, and not to say... Beyond disrespectful! My name is..."

***

After the rooftop incident is safely concluded, Blaze flies in to pick me up and delivers me to Heavenly Harbor on Venture.

Motley greets me with a kiss. Noticing the look on my face, she asks anxiously what happened. I reply that Prince has sent me on a test mission before he makes me a King, and the sadness of having to go alone, without her.

She hugs me and tells me not to worry. She says it'll be okay, that she believes in my abilities.

I feel so bad, so disgusted that I didn't tell her exactly where I am going. I don't tell anyone about my destination, supposedly so that no one will follow me and ruin the mission. I try not to show it and keep my cool, but in my heart I suffer and almost cry. For the first time I seriously consider my death, for before I was driven mainly by instincts; I had no clear idea of my future. I ponder what might happen to that sweet pony when she learns of my death. How she would react.

"She'll blame herself for not going with you."

I try to distract myself and relax with the pegasus. It works, but only temporarily. After a few minutes, I feel sad when she snuggles up to me and falls soundly asleep. I don't want to leave.

I try to fall asleep, but I only end up sleeping for about four hours. The anxiety won't leave me. I have to go now.

I kiss the beige pony—probably for the last time—putting all the tenderness and warmth I can.

I quietly and carefully crawl out from under the blanket and prepare my gear. I decide to leave the rifle as my main weapon, and take the shotgun with me for... close encounters, as they say. In tight spaces, it's a good idea.

I take one last look at the sleeping pony and my heart aches. I never told the truth about my origins. A worthless coward. I don't want to seem crazy in her eyes, and she'll probably reject me when she finds out—even though I already act like a pony and am physically no different from one. Kind of like a pony, but at the same time...

"You haven't tasted the strawberry dessert yet. It's too early to die."

That's right. We'll have to try hard not to die.

"Good luck on your mission," Caroline says on the way out.

"Under no circumstances," I ask her, "don't let Berry and Motley go after me. No matter what happens."

"But..."

"Please. For their safety. I'll be gone a long time, but don't worry. Everything will be fine."

"I... I'll try."

"Good."

I take the elevator down to the back entrance of the bunker. I walk up to a large car with brown thick armor, protective bars on the windows, and reinforced wheels. Just a bear... Slow, clumsy, old, but solid as a rock. It's got just enough fuel to get to Stable 66 and back.

I open the door, start the engine, and drive out of the cave. The car immediately stalls, and I can't hold back a smile.

Damn it...

It's like I've missed his breakdowns.

***

After a few hours and a few breakdowns, I reach my destination and shut down the engine.

The entrance to the 66 is located in a cliff. To the right, the Crater can be seen in the distance. To the clouds to the left rises the tower of the Vanhoover Jammer Tower.

At the entrance there are many signs that foretell danger to those who enter this cave—"YOU WILL MEET YOUR DEATH HERE!", "DO NOT ENTER!", "YOU WILL NEVER RETURN!".

I can feel the gloomy aura emanating from this place in my gut, especially the howling wind, which is dreary and hopeless. It seems particularly gloomy and unsettling.

I take out a mug and pour some berry juice. There's not much left. I take a sip, looking at the entrance.

How many died out there...

"Don't think about it. I'm sure everyone went there with thoughts of superstition and all sorts of tales. We've been through a lot, seen a lot of that sort of thing—including places from which 'no one ever came back'. Let's go in there with determination in our hearts, without fear or regret like we used to. What secrets are hidden there?"

But if...

"You're not dead yet, but with that attitude, you'll definitely die: if you miss the moment, you're dead. Like Prince said, pay attention. Also think of strawberry dessert if you ever think of dying. I'm supposed to control the body at times like this, but I don't know how to use it as effectively as you do. So don't you dare give me the heebie-jeebies just for the hell of it, or I'll give you a goddamn hard time!"

I smile again.

I know how to cheer myself up. It's hard to make me angry, but if I do, then hide from me as fast as you can. I've already imagined what would happen if I really pissed off the other part of me.

"You bet!" the voice laughs briefly. "Chin up, you piece of pony meat! Don't let yourself get upset because of that body! By the way, because you didn't sleep well last night and were anxious, you forgot to mark today's date and the day of our stay in the Pip-Boy."

That's right. Today is the first day of the Month of Rain, Redday. The sixty-sixth day of my stay.

"Sixty-sixth..."

I nearly choke on my berry juice and cough, inhaling deeply. What a mystery...

"Yes and I'm in shock. We came to this world, explored it. Lived. Killed. It's a Stable with the sixty-six in the numbering, shrouded in myths and superstitions from which there is no return. And we're going to this place on the sixty-sixth fucking day of our stay. It's like some mystical force has led us. Guiding us, protecting us. A visit to this place is inevitable, by the looks of it. Isn't that a sign that we'll survive?"

If we accept the assumption that we came into this world by someone else's will.

"What's not a confirmation that everything is not by chance?"

I finish my berry juice, get out of the car, and close the door. It's as if the coincidence has encouraged me.

I get closer to the entrance. It's completely dark. I'm already uneasy.

I turn on the flashlight on my helmet, forcing the darkness to part, and take my Apostle, the Defender, into the levitation field. He must defend me. After all, that's its purpose, isn't it?

I walk, shuffling softly on the ground, bringing some sound to this silent cavern. Dust rises slightly from my hoofsteps. There is nothing here but earth and rocks. It is only after walking a little farther that I see a huge and so familiar gear-shaped opening at the end of the cave. As said—the door of the Stable is open. If someone has returned with this information, then I have not yet crossed the line of no return.

Stepping closer to the threshold, I glance around the entrance room. Everything here is covered in dust and rust, but not a single skeleton or sign of battle. I haven't even crossed the threshold yet, and already I'm getting an uneasy feeling about this place.

I swallow nervously and lift my front foot to step forward, hesitate for a few seconds, but step inside. Immediately I feel heavy and weak. Either it's the anxiety, or... What the- Why does the shotgun suddenly feel so heavy to me?

Walking a little further, I notice interference in my helmet, as if it were not strong bright flashes. The Pip-Boy and backup PipBuck are starting to malfunction a bit, too. No markings appear on the compass.

I pass the entrance room and move timidly into the next. Three corridors appear before me: one in front, the second and third to my right and left, respectively. I hear the distant hum of working life-support equipment. So many years have passed, and it still works perfectly, despite the dirt, rust, and lack of maintenance.

The corridor in front of me, based on the directions above its entrance, leads directly into the atrium. The left is the technical area, and the right is the living quarters.

All right, let's check out the atrium.

As soon as I left the threshold, the doors suddenly slammed shut behind me, and with such unnatural speed that they could have easily snapped my body in half. I jump up to the ceiling at the sharp sound, nearly shooting the damn door open.

Why the fuck did it close so fast anyway? The automatic is broken?

I try to open it, but to no avail; the door won't budge. I try a teleportation spell, but the magic just dissipates into nothing. So I've just wasted some of my energy. Fuck! There's nothing left to do but keep moving forward. There's no turning back.

As I walk a little more, I can feel the usual telekinesis taking more and more of my magic. Seeing no targets on Pip-Boy's compass, I holster my shotgun and continue on my way, listening carefully for unusual muffled sounds. What they are, I can't even guess.

It's unbearable to keep walking with my helmet on, and I can see interference and strange flashes everywhere. I take it off and cautiously breathe in the local air. As expected, it's heavy and musty, damp with a metallic tang reminiscent of blood. The place smells of death and decay, and the muffled sounds turn out to be someone's barely audible voices, as if they are inside my head.

"I hear them too, and it's not me whispering to you..." I hear the distinct voice of the other me, which has a note of worry and anxiety in it.

I anxiously look at the Pip-Boy and the PipBuck again—no marks. I don't like this... really don't like it.

When I reach the end of the empty corridor, when my nerves are already stretched to the limit by this pressurizing atmosphere, I enter the atrium. There is no one there, only silence. Strangely, the whispering is gone, as is the foul odor. My ears are pressed into absolute silence. It's also dark and suspiciously clean.

Wait, there's a silhouette of a pony in the darkness, standing backwards toward me, completely naked, staring stupidly at the wall. As soon as I notice him, a neutral mark appears on the malfunctioning Pip-Boy and the PipBuck. Judging by its long mane and tail, it's a mare. Her mane and tail flutter freely and slowly, hypnotizingly in all directions, as if gravity had no effect on them.

I swallow nervously.

"Miss? Are you okay?" I turn to her. Suddenly, I hear a slight whisper from her, like she's mumbling something unintelligible to herself. "Hello?"

I am deafened by a sickening, chilling screech or scream from several voices at once. The pony turns unnaturally abruptly and rushes at me so fast that I don't have time to react, only to see her empty, black eyes. The eyes of a nightmare.

A loud shrill screech restrains my movements, and she 'flies' at me. I am frozen with horror, my body almost paralyzed, panic gripping me. Covering my ears with my hooves, I can't move, and this nightmare overtakes me. My heart beats frantically in my chest. A feeling of suffocation arises.

I close my eyes in terror and prepare for the worst, feeling the unspeakable fear and cold on my skin. My legs give out and I fall on my stomach, holding my breath against the unknown.

Then the loud screech fades back to a whisper.

I cautiously open one eye and find myself staring at the ceiling, with a faint yellow light pouring out of the lamps all around me. Not only did I nearly go deaf from the screeching, which still echoes in my ears, but I nearly went insane. It all happened in one or two seconds, if it had lasted any longer...

What the fuck was that?!

I'm about to breathe a sigh of relief, but the stench of dried blood and decomposition hits my nose. My face twisted in disgust, my eyes watering, the stench so bad I could hang an axe on it.

I struggle to my hooves. I still have the image of the nightmare mare in front of my face, as if I'd been staring at the light source for a long time and turned away. The horror I experienced and the squeal, sharp as a needle driven deep into my ear, are still in my mind.

Why did the lighting improve, where did that nasty odor come from so suddenly? I look around, and my blood runs cold: there are many corpses of varying degrees of decomposition. Some of them still have the color of their fur, and others look like skeletons, having been here for over a century. There are so many of them that the floor is carpeted with them. Near me lies the remains of a purple pony, with her distinctive spiked armor and long-healed scars. She died relatively recently.

A nightmare beyond compare. I've never seen such horror before. It's truly a cursed place. The PipBuck and the Pip-Boy are still giving off static and there's no compass marks.

I gotta find out what the hell's going on.

***

After the terrifying event in the atrium, I go to the medical section nearby.

I can still hear the whispering that is indistinct and slightly frightening. There are many voices, all speaking in unison, so it is impossible to distinguish anything. The whispers are barely audible, the sounds of walking drowning them out. I keep coming across the remains of ponies and griffons along the way. I sometimes don't notice the physical damage on the bodies of the most fresh victims. I also find evidence of gunfire: scattered shell casings, bullet holes in the walls.

The victims were trying to shoot back or defend themselves.

And another oddity: when I look again into the corridor from which I entered the atrium, the remains of ponies appear there out of the blue. Not as many as in the great hall. Their sudden appearance leads me to believe that something like psychotropic substances may have been sprayed here, as in the administration building of the Rainbow Mine gem quarry my friends and I had recently visited.

There is a possibility that something similar is going on here. However, the sudden locking door—which can be attributed to malfunctioning automatics, faulty mechanism and door detectors—and inexplicably occurring complications with magic do not make it possible to put forward or accurately confirm any definite hypothesis of what is going on. And yet I still have a connection to my other me that I didn't have when we inhaled the Twilight Demon. And we contemplated the visions it brought on separately. Though it was possible that all of this, even my other me, had been induced in me by some psychotropic gas or something.

It's to the medical section that I decide to go for more details—maybe I'll find some answers there.

There's dead bodies inside the medical section, too. Not just on the operating tables. The grim atmosphere presses on my brain, fear and horror at the realization bubbling up inside me. What all these ponies have been through... Probably died of a heart attack after what they saw.

The remains of a pony huddled in a corner, as if she was trying to hide from something.

Poor thing...

The short-lived sympathy briefly relieves me of the mood that the depressing environment around me inspires.

The doctor's terminal is turned off, but I manage to resuscitate it and review the records. I quickly move on to looking at the most recent records by date, as the first ones are the usual reports of accidents and standard illnesses and diseases. As I look through the most recent records, I notice a definite pattern in them.

"Record 167. Patient Rainy Fields.

Ms. Fields came to see me for advice today because she has been having nightmares, sometimes even in her real life. She complained of constant fatigue from lack of sleep, which was beginning to affect her productivity. I gave her a sedative and assured her that it should help her."

"Record 168. Patient Grey Fork.

No sooner had Ms. Fields left me than the very next patient began complaining of nightmares and voices in his head. I told him that it was probably from too much physical exertion he was putting himself through at his job in the technical department and from the stress he was under. I advised him to work less and rest more often, but I gave him a sedative just in case."

Within a couple of days, other residents of the 66 have similar problems. The situation was getting progressively more complicated, the symptoms of nervous disorders were getting worse, and the sedatives were not helping the patients at all. After the patients started coming back with worsening conditions, the doctor decided to do some tests after all. And nothing special, except for an unusual feeling of fear and fatigue, was found.

The well-being of half of the residents was rapidly deteriorating. The doctor didn't even separate the reports of each patient anymore, just wrote down the symptoms and the names of the patients underneath them. This was much easier, since everyone had the same problems: nightmares, auditory hallucinations... and eventually even suicidal and violent tendencies. The doctor had no idea what was causing all this. The Overmare was notified and tried to do something about it, organizing general gatherings and talking about the problem, but it was no use. Everyone only talked about the constant nightmares and various hallucinations causing malaise, fatigue and mental instability. Within a week, everyone—with the exception of foals and foals without cutie marks—had been subjected to 'nightmare fever'. The foals were the only ones who did not have nightmares or hallucinations.

At the same time, the doctor's notes and reports were becoming less and less coherent and more emotional due to exhaustion—to the point where the doctor herself believed the horrors, saying that ghosts wanted to take her body. She kept her sanity right up until the accidents and suicides started happening. The latter were caused by the same hallucinations and nightmares. Then the doctor finally lost her mind, giving out completely meaningless ragged phrases that someone wants to pull the soul out of her body and get control over it. And not just anyone, but demons and ghosts.

It's just nonsense. I'm starting to worry, though, that the hallucinations aren't bringing me to this state, either. I've got to open the door and get out of here before I...

"The mass loss of sanity reminds me of the events in Vault 106, where the residents were exposed to hallucinogenic effects. Maybe it's the same situation here."

Doesn't explain the crazy door or the weakened magic. Though it could be a side effect of the gases, which is unlikely: I was wearing a tightly closed helmet when it started. Or maybe I'm imagining things and this horror isn't really happening.

"Or is it not the psychotropic gases after all?"

I get up from my chair, and a translucent black silhouette of a pony appears right in front of me—literally out of thin air. It looks more like a weightless moving living cloud or fog than anything else. It's literally inches from my face. Indescribable fear restrains my movements again, preventing me from even moving.

I want to scream, but I can't—it's like it's stuck somewhere in my throat. I want to run away, but the fear paralyzes me. I have no choice but to gawk and open my mouth in horror, staring at the horrible thing.

The black cloud reaches for me, ignoring my armor and wrapping long, intangible tentacles around me. Their touch is cold... even icy. It's as if I'm being sucked into some vast, endless hole of darkness and horror, and the whispers around me become distinct, their voices merged together, desperately repeating a single word: "MINE!". The black silhouette slowly envelops me, and the unspeakable horror and the already clearly audible, intensified to a desperate screaming whisper became stronger and stronger.

At this point, I lose my sense of the reality of what is happening and begin to mentally sink into darkness. It is as if you are running toward the light, but no matter how hard you run, an invisible force pulls you back. I can't think at all—I am only aware of this unimaginable horror.

Suddenly it all stops: the black silhouette and the desperate voices disappear without a trace, and the sensation makes my legs tremble; I fall to the cold floor, almost unconscious. At the same time, everything seems somehow... distant, as if I am watching myself... from the inside. I try to get up, but my trembling legs won't let me.

Wait...

I wasn't going to get up. What the...

"You're awake at last." I feel my lips move as I say those words. "Oh... I said that out loud, didn't I?"

My body tries to stand up again, and fails again.

What's going on?

"Just as I expected: just as I managed to gain control of my body, I immediately feel an unpleasant sensation... Like I'm wearing a scratchy sweater."

Are you Daniel?

"No, fucking Santa Claus! Of course I am! What's wrong with you that you let this unknown shit try to drive you crazy? Wait, don't tell me, I can already feel the fear you're experiencing. Oh. Oh, damn it. That was terrible. And I'm guessing you haven't quite gotten over it yet. Well, I don't fully understand it either, but after you saw that dark thing, it was like you lost control of yourself, letting me have free control of your body. Like I said, it feels like I'm wearing a scratchy sweater. Eh, my eyes are looking around, it looks like the danger is over, come on, take control, or I won't be able to control everything with my legs shaking and in a body I'm not used to."

Suddenly I feel like I can move.

Huh... looks like the shift went well.

I try to stand up, and I do, but the horror I saw earlier still keeps me on my hooves. A lump comes up in my throat and I want to lie down and cry.

Which I would have done if it weren't for the angry exclamations of my human personality distracting me from it.

The indignation and constant appeals of the other me to me make my consciousness sober up a bit and calm down, bringing me back to an understanding of what is happening and an awareness of what I have seen. However, I am not left with the feeling of hopelessness and chilling horror that I have experienced, which makes me long to fall down and lie curled up and hug my hind legs, to be in Motley's embrace, and to be comforted...

I feel so frightened that I can't cry. I'm in shock when I think of the nightmare I've been through. But human me keeps me going, thus preventing me from succumbing to the insidious fear.

After a while, I more or less calm down and leave the medical section, heading further down the corridors.

***

Thanks to the constantly heard voice of my other me, I begin to recover from what I have seen, to gain control over my own emotions, but I will never forget what I have experienced. The endless emptiness frightened me beyond belief. But just think of my pegasus, and my heart immediately becomes warm and cozy, and everything else fades into the background. I'm sure that pleasant feeling will become stronger and more tangible once I'm in her arms.

If the other me hadn't taken control of my body, I would have been completely immersed in a cold emptiness that is impossible to describe in words or to reproduce in my mind. It's more like not even a memory, but a strange sensation that has completely overshadowed all my senses and thoughts. I try not to think about it, because the mere memory of the experience worsens my state, makes me feel nauseous and inexplicably anxious.

We ultimately never did figure out what happened. Nevertheless, I continue on my way down the hallway, heading for the living quarters—maybe there I'll find something else that can give me answers. Along the way, I still come across the remains of a pony.

I feel the cold on my skin again. A chill runs through my body. I worry as I feel someone's gaze on me. Glancing back over my shoulder, I see the dark cloud with the shape of a pony again.

It's slowly following me, slowly closing the distance. My mouth dries up, and the same horror and cold that I felt in the medical section comes back to me.

"Run!" the other me screams in my head.

The voice of my human side sobering me up again, and I rush as fast as I can away from the incomprehensible and terrifying pony-like fog!

I run swiftly, yet the urge to turn my head is so strong that I can't resist it; I look back—the thing, at my own speed... no, even faster, it's still chasing me!

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-u-uck!

The adrenaline in my blood is spiking to the point where I'm about to fly off. But no matter how fast I run, no matter how many turns I take, it still catches up.

That's when I remember about the gun. I struggle to levitate the shotgun, which feels heavy, comparable to an anti-machine rifle. Maybe even heavier. And without stopping, I point it back, aim it at the silhouette and fire a couple times.

No effect.

"That's expected!"

The creature is still chasing me, no matter how fast I'm going. I panic even more, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead, whether from terror or from the continuous running through the narrow corridors. I'm a trapped mouse in a labyrinth.

Realizing that guns are not the answer, I holster my gun and keep running, hoping that this thing will get off my back and leave me alone.

I reach the cafeteria doors and open them. But just as I'm about to walk through them, they immediately close, literally in my face. Damn faulty automation—the door sensors must be acting the exact opposite way! A fraction of a second, and the door would have split me in two. Just as I stopped, the pony-like cloud almost stopped as well, approaching me slowly and menacingly. It seems to want to intimidate its prey, making you realize that no matter how fast you run, there's no way to break away from its pursuit.

"Yeah... Indeed. Interesting psychological pressure. I thought it was only in clichéd movies that someone would approach their victim with a threatening and slow look. But it turns out it makes a lot of sense."

Shut up! It's not time! It's easy for you to think without being at the mercy of panic and despair!

The door won't let me through. That's it, I'm at a dead end. There's no point in using magic—I'm wasting it very quickly, for some reason. And the dark fog with barely visible outlines of a pony keeps moving towards me. A feeling of panic and hopelessness spontaneously seizes my mind and makes me stand on my hind legs, my back pressed against the door and fully pressed into it.

The closer the creature gets, the more I feel the terrible cold and emptiness that comes from it. My breathing quickens, for I have no idea what to do. These aren't real monsters or opponents cornering me, but a cold and intangible horror!

"Put Defender under the door! It's indestructible anyway!"

Following the advice of the voice in my head, which finds it much easier to ignore the feelings I'm experiencing, I open the door again and place the weapon vertically under it, supporting it with magic to keep it from falling. I lay down, as it would be useless to jump—the door would slam shut before I hit it—and try to crawl through. As soon as I am under the door, it tries to crush me, as expected, with such force that it sags under the weapon, almost clawing me.

Before I can rejoice in my small victory, the door surges upward again and once again tries to nail me. Several times—until I'm out from under it. This time, the respite caused by my success gives me a quick moment to gather my strength. I deftly and confidently jump inside the cafeteria, snatching the Apostle from under the door, which slams shut almost completely with a loud metallic clang due to the deformation. For ten seconds I breathe heavily and pour sweat, standing in a fighting stance, pointing Defender towards the door and expecting the dark cloud to ignore such a trivial obstacle.

But the door doesn't open, and the cold withdraws, as if someone had been holding my heart and had just loosened its grip. I fall exhaustedly to the floor, gulping for air. My thoughts scurry chaotically through my mind like roaches, unable to concentrate on anything in particular.

Shit... What the... hell... is going on in this fucking stable?

Staring at the dirty tiled floor of the cafeteria, I sit motionless, breathing fast and wheezing. After a few minutes I get up and look around the well-lit hall. Nothing unfamiliar appears in it, except for a few pony remains. I look at my Pip-Boy and PipBuck: they give me the same level of interference, but at least I can use them, which is a relief.

Behind the table, I see the pony's body shrouded in metal armor. A Steel Ranger without a helmet. I can't quite tell from the withered and decaying skin if it's a stallion or a mare, but the relatively small size of the body suggests a mare. I can also identify her by her dog tag—Evening Star.

Star? Something familiar.

And then it hits me.

Damn... Is that our Lemon's mother? Well, now we know what happened. But it's a little early to make a judgment call. I need to examine her inventory.

Knowing that it's wrong and shameful to just go through the bodies of my friend's parents like that, I dare to look through the compartments of Evening's armor. There's ammunition for her battle saddle with energy-magic rifles, a picture of a young and slim Lemon that I can't help but marvel at, some more Steel Ranger technology, and an audio recording. It features the voice of an extremely exhausted mare, interrupted by a cough that makes her repeat broken words at times, and with hoarse breathing as if she's slowly suffocating. There is also some interference on the audio due to a slightly malfunctioning PipBuck, but the pony's voice is sufficiently distinct.

"This is a paladin of the Steel Rangers, Evening... Star. Our... assignment was to investigate... this Stable. We were never... able to fin... find out what was going on here. We... heard voices. Our equipment and... power armor matrixes were malfunctioning. Everyone... went crazy and started screaming furiously. They and I saw... horrible intangible creatures, and in horror... almost all of us scattered as they caused strange frightening sensations. Pa... paladin Gold Star, my husband, and I tri... tried to fight back... Holy crap, that's hard to say. My husband... died practically on the spot, before I realized it, I was consumed by a... it's hard to put in... into words. I feel like I'm sinking into... an icy void. Someone... in a panic threw a pla... plasma grenade, the explosion caught this something and it retreated, giving... me a chance to get away. But it was... useless, as my strength was leaving me for s... some reason, as if my soul wanted to leave my... body. That thing managed to do something to me. Probably... a heart attack or something with my heart. I'm... not gonna survive. The me... meds aren't working. If anyone... finds this tape, please tell our daughter... Lemon that her father and I love her... and will watch and protect her from above. May she not grieve for us and... bring light and warmth to those around her with her joyful smile. I would love... to see her become a star paladin one day... That sounds funny. Star Paladin Star."

End of the audio. Lemon's mother's last words, though barely audible due to her condition, are spoken with a spark of hope and joy mixed with the sadness and longing that she will not see it.

Listening to the audio, I forget for a moment that I'm in a dangerous situation, because the hope... no, a mother's certainty that her daughter will someday earn the title of star paladin, knocks me out of it. My eyes wet at Lemon's mother's last words, for her daughter has become an honored star paladin after all, and she doesn't stop smiling. It is true that she has been having health problems lately, resulting in her being judged for the position she holds.

I stand in thought for a while about Lemon and her parents, pondering how she was eager to go to this place and find out what happened to them. If she found out where I was headed, she will hate me.

I'm coming back to reality, figuratively speaking, as it's unclear if this is all happening for real, or if it's some sort of deadly substance slowly destroying the body.

Finding nothing else of interest in the cafeteria, I decide to leave the room through another exit. Cautiously peering in beforehand, I check to see if the doors are trying to break me in half. As it turns out, they aren't. This door, as well as several others, appear to have faulty automation sensors.

I step a little more confidently along the corridor to the living quarters.

***

Looking into yet another room, I find nothing much: just dust and rust. And dead ponies. Though these once wore Stable jumpsuits with the numbers '66' on them. Some of the ponies had died lying on the floor, curled up with their hind legs pressed together. I wanted to do the same thing a while ago—just lie down and curl up in a ball, as if to hide and protect myself from the cruel world. It's scary to imagine what they were going through. According to my other me, this happened to me for no longer than a second, but it felt like an instant and an eternity at the same time, as if I were about to fall asleep. And he also said that he didn't experience any coldness or black emptiness, even though he can feel and see the same things I can. It's strange.

The walls of yet another room are painted with the same gruesome blood-written warning inscriptions I've seen in other rooms before. They all say the same thing: "THEY WANT TO TAKE YOUR SOUL!", "DEATH WALKS NEAR YOU!", and "DEMONS WANT BLOOD!". Lots of sayings on the walls, but all with the same creepy meaning. Thinking about it gives me goosebumps for the umpteenth time, considering what I experienced just recently. A bleak, boundless emptiness.

Even earlier I had seen the remains of half a foal lying by the closed door to one of the rooms. The poor little pony had been flattened in half by the door as it tried to enter the room. I am briefly enraged, for this was due to the oversight of the parents and maintenance staff. They didn't fix the damn door... It's also frightening that the foal died, probably in a time period when many ponies have already lost their minds. So it's no wonder they didn't see it coming.

In another room, I wonder why Lemon's mother and the others were gutted so quickly. Judging from the remains, there are no outsiders here. None of them made it to the living quarters. The whispering voices that constantly haunt me have become noticeably quieter, almost inaudible. A couple of times, however, in some of the rooms (near one of which I'd just discovered the remains of a foal), I'd almost gotten smashed by the doors, as if on purpose. How far I've gotten is both gratifying and terrifying. Why did I manage to get so deep into the Stable, unlike the other outsiders?

"Oh, newcomers!" I suddenly hear a small mare's thin voice from behind me, causing me to nearly shit myself.

It is almost sepulchral silence, except for the barely audible distant hum of the bunker's operational systems, which have been running smoothly for more than a century, and then there's this surprise.

"Fuck!" I blurt out in fear, turning around expecting a creepy figure of a small pony with no face or something horrible.

But no such thing happens. The only thing I see near the entrance to the room is a silhouette that looks like a young filly, judging by its size. The silhouette seems transparent, and I can barely see the outline of a muzzle, just a body with a tail and a head with a mane. It seems to be just a cluster of soft yellow living cloud or mist.

I remember the dark silhouette in the medical section wanting to pull me into the cold void.

That frightening and unpleasant memory makes me fearful again, my muscles tense. My knees are trembling. Wary and anticipating an unfavorable turn of events, I pull out Defender with telekinesis and with difficulty aim it at the translucent silhouette—magic still hasn't given me a chance since I crossed the doorstep of the Stable.

"Who are you?" I ask in a shaky voice, staring at the silhouette in fear.

The rush of memories of the emptiness makes me want to just... run away, hide in a corner and cry. I feel so shitty here after what I've seen. I don't know what to expect from this place. If you ask me, this Stable could drive any pony crazy with its illusions. Or is this really happening?

"Sweetie Smiles, what's your name?" the filly asks in a friendly manner.

Her voice is light and deep—it feels like it's made up of several voices saying the same thing, but so coherently that the very fact that the voices are overlapping is not noticeable at all.

"Daniel," I answer uncertainly.

Her non-hostile and calm tone, tinged with curiosity, makes me relax my tense muscles slightly.

"Nice to meet you, strangers. It's been a while since I've talked to the surface comers. They just don't make it here before the adults start playing games with them," she says wistfully.

"Playing games?" I ask in amazement.

I don't immediately notice that she's addressed me in the plural as I focus on something else.

"What games?!"

"Yeah, adults want to play with others all the time. In dressing up. The ones won't let them, though. The newbies, those silly adults, are always screaming and yelling in terror, talking about scary monsters and demons. But apart from the adult ponies and griffons, there's no one here," the pony is genuinely interested in the matter.

I don't understand anything. What the fuck is this?

"I've never been able to have a decent conversation with the newbies. A couple times I did, but they ran away in terror from me. So I got frustrated and decided to only play with the other foals."

"And where are the others?"

I shudder and look around apprehensively, but I don't spot anyone.

"Oh, they're right here. They just don't want to talk to the newcomers, afraid the adults will punish them."

"Why aren't you afraid?"

"I'm the bravest and boldest, and I'm not afraid of my parents' threats!" she says proudly, and then adds timidly, drawing circles on the floor with her hoof. "Well, my mom is the most in charge. The Overmare... And no one dares touch me with a hoof but her. And the other foals don't want to play with me. I've tried so many times, but they don't want to play. They say I might accidentally blab to my mom and they might get punished. But I've always kept quiet," Sweetie Smiles says with a sniffle .

"You've had a rough time of it," I smile tensely.

Talking to a ghost is crazy enough, but that's not the point: I'm afraid I'm going to upset her with something, and she'll kick me so hard I won't be able to pick my bones.

"How do adults punish you?"

"We don't get punished."

"But you just said..." I start with incomprehension, but Sweetie interrupts me.

"They don't really do that, it's just that there are some fools who put too much on their minds, and others believe them... naive," the pony snorts.

I don't know if I should tell her that newcomers were dying because of adult games? I feel like that could lead to a sad result. I'd rather keep quiet, or speak in her... style.

"And how long do the adults play with the newbies?"

"Not much. The newbies join the rest of the adults pretty quickly. It's just that the dummies keep losing what the adults are interested in when they join in."

"Joining in? How?"

"It's hard to explain. They can only do it when by amazing coincidence they lose what adults need. What a lucky coincidence, don't you think?"

"Yeah... Luck is a strange thing... What's that thing they're losing? You mentioned dressing up."

"Oh, that... Personally, I think adults are a bit nuts due to their strong desire to play these games, but there's nothing else to do and they're bored. The newbies have... well, what you have now. It's hard to say. A jumpsuit? Clothes?" the spirit pony asks rhetorically. "Well, something we're comfortable in. Here you adults don't want to play these games, I'm sure, because you have these clothes. The others are jealous of you and want to try on your clothes."

"Is she really talking about the flesh? About the body? Clothes... What everyone is comfortable in... A living body."

I remember that dark silhouette: as it tried to pull me into the void, I heard voices whispering in unison: "MINE!" Hmm. Dragging me into the void... It was as if my soul was really being pulled out by force.

Sweetie talks about the adults' preoccupation with this game. They've been dead a long time. These are their souls, and they want the peace they see in comfort—in a living body.

"Holy shit!"

Apparently, they don't know that if the soul leaves the body, that's it—no soul can just repopulate again. If that's even possible in principle. Sweetie said that newbies join the others when they lose their... body. Oh, Celestia. How many souls are in this Stable right now? And more importantly, why in this particular bunker?

"Why don't you want to... try on my 'clothes'?" I hesitantly ask.

I shouldn't have asked that question, oh I shouldn't have... But my curiosity wants to be satisfied—instead of just trying to walk away or ask any other safe question.

"Nah..." she waves her hoof dismissively, turning her head for a moment. "I don't see the interest in that, I'm fine as I am. So are the other foals, though, who don't really want to talk to me."

"Wait, why aren't the foals interested?"

I feel better knowing that she doesn't need my body, which she wouldn't have gotten anyway.

"I dunno. Even though it's cozy in these clothes, but to want it so badly... It seems like some kind of obsession to me," she whispers to me, as if she doesn't want the adults to hear her, and twirls a hoof at her temple.

Yeah, right... It seems to me that adults just don't care what kids say. That's not the point. Still, why do the foals ignore it?

"And absolutely all the foals don't want to play dress-up with the new kids?"

"No. There are those who are interested," Sweetie's soul replies, after a bit of thought.

Some of the foals "play" with the adults, others don't. What's the catch...

"And how do you differ? I mean those foals who want to play with the newbies as opposed to others, like you?"

"They're older, so they understand this adult passion for this game. I'm still considered little," the soft yellow pony-shaped cloud grieves.

And then a strange thought occurs to me: I remember the entry in the doctor's terminal, where it was mentioned that 'nightmare fever' had affected everyone except the foals who had not yet received their cutie marks.

"Those foals playing with the adults have already gotten their cutie marks?"

"Yes... And I haven't yet," she looks back, then sighs doomfully. "Though I should have by now," she turns her head back to me, "but it's not showing up for some reason. It's been a long time! Well, I guess so."

"So, the souls who received a cutie mark while alive, out of boredom and the insufferable nature of an existence without a body, start 'playing' with those who have a body, in some horrible way forcing them to leave the body. But by doing so, the ghosts simply drive them mad, and they die of fright and terror. They really do pull the souls out of the bodies."

Now I can see why the remains of the ponies in the atrium, showed no signs of physical damage. However. why haven't I been drained yet? Why was I able to make it this far?

"Why are the adults taking longer to play with me?"

"Well... you look different."

"What do you mean by that?" I wonder.

"I don't know how to say this... but I feel like you're not a pony, even though you look like us. And I sense your duality. You know," she sits up and gestures with her front hooves, "like if a twig was split lengthwise, but not all the way through. That's why it feels to me like there are two of you. That's why the adults are hesitant or don't know how to approach you, don't know how to play with you," Sweetie hesitates. "So you're going to let me talk to... your friend?"

I'm shocked. And that's putting it mildly.

"That's for sure. What the hell is going on? And how does she 'see' me?"

On the other hand, this explains it all: apparently our souls are a tough nut to crack due to our split and unconventional origins. It takes them a while to get close to us. I wonder... Maybe other beings are affected in a different way by powerful hallucinogenic agents?

"Sweetie told you we're not ponies. Doesn't that confirm that we don't belong here after all, and should go back to our own world?"

Not now. We need to get out of here first.

Sweetie Smiles giggles.

"You guys are so funny! It's like you've gone off on your own and haven't been paying attention to me."

"Yeah... Right."

I sometimes forget that she doesn't even know she's dead, and that I should talk to her like a normal living pony.

"I have a question: don't you think there's something wrong here?"

"What do you mean?" the spirit of the deceased wonders.

"Do you feel like going somewhere else? Someplace away from here?"

"Well... When you asked that—I thought about it. Sort of... Some strange feeling of wrongness. But it's my home. I shouldn't leave it, and yet there's this feeling that I need to go somewhere else."

Interesting. So all the ghosts here are being held here by an unexplainable force. Wait. Am I succumbing to a hallucination? In the sense that I've started to play along and think I'm really seeing spirits.

"Who knows. But I'm here with you, and I haven't detected any weirdness in our interactions. Maybe it is real, though it's possible that it could all be a product of my imagination."

So could mine. I believe these hallucinogens cause the victim to lose their sense of reality. They are far more powerful than the Twilight Demon, under the influence of which victims see their inner fears; things are a bit different here. They don't just drive the victim insane, they gradually cause health damage like poison. Or the victims simply die of fright. But who would even think of setting up something like this?

"Sweetie, you say your mom is the Overmare. Can you please take me to her office, but without the adults touching me?"

Yeah... That sounded pretty crazy. But I need to find out if the Overmare is involved in the weirdness here.

"Well, I don't know. Mom's among all these countless adults right now, she's hard to find and... she's been ignoring me ever since she started playing these games."

"It's not your mom I need, it's a safe passage to her office. Maybe I can help you make peace with her."

I don't want to give her false hope, but, uh... with her help, I have a chance to get to the office without confronting the ghosts, where I can find the information I need about this Stable.

"Really?" she asks hopefully.

I feel like a heartless asshole. I hate giving dubious hope to others when I don't fully understand the situation.

"Ye-e-eah..." I say, shamefully averting my gaze.

Fucking embarrassed.

"Yay! I'm going to play with mommy again!" she exclaims happily, clattering her hooves. I can't hear her hoofbeats at all. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing? An illusion would make me hear that sound.

***

"No one's here?" I ask interestedly, cautiously peering out into yet another empty hallway. "Although... why am I asking you? They're everywhere," I add with a smile.

"Shh!" the ghost hisses at me. "We have to keep quiet or they'll hear us!"

I smile. This would look funny if it weren't for the fact that I'm trapped here. Or that's what the illusion 'tells' me, and in fact in reality I'm absent-mindedly wandering through rusted corridors strewn with the remains of ponies and griffons. And I will walk until I die of water exhaustion or fatigue, which is unlikely, since ghosts or hallucinations will bring me to my death sooner.

We walk a few steps, and a dark pony-like figure appears at the other end of the corridor.

Oh shit!

"Sweetie, we have a problem," I say with gradually growing panic.

"What kind?" she wonders, turning back to me.

Can't she see that black disaster up ahead?!

"Yes, up ahead!" I shout out impatiently, pointing with my hoof at the dark silhouette whose 'gaze' is pointed in my direction. My heart beats faster with anxiety, and an unpleasant chill runs down my back.

"I don't see anyone out there."

I curse quietly to myself.

"Can you please run to the end of this hallway by yourself?" I utter, trying to regain my composure.

"But it might attract the attention of the adults."

"It doesn't matter now."

I realize that the ghosts will notice me anyway. That chorus of voices... I feel like there are several souls in that silhouette. A small chorus of voices can also be felt from Sweetie. So she, too, could be composed of several souls or be an incarnation of them.

Sweetie complies with my request and dashes across the hallway. The clatter of her hooves on the floor is as silent as before.

As expected, she passes through the dark silhouette without even feeling it. What can't be said about the silhouette itself—it becomes a shapeless, dense fog and moves toward me. I'm startled and turn around to run back, but I'm frozen—there's a second cloud approaching me from there!

Shit, we're surrounded! What do we do?!

"Run towards one of them!"

What?! Are you crazy?!

"There's nothing else to do", the voice in my head says quickly. "Magic is practically ineffective here for some reason—maybe the hallucination's influence is affecting us, maybe the hallucination itself is compelling us. So we can at least try to run through the cloud. It's intangible, bullets have flown through it. So you have to run through it. But you might feel that cold emptiness again."

Damn... really. Let's try it anyway, we don't have another option.

I run towards that cloud that Sweetie ran through. She's calmly waiting for me at the other end of the hallway.

"It's okay!" she exclaims happily.

Yep, it sure is! Sweetie has a different take on adults... I mean the ghosts. And she's in no danger from them.

As I run, I remember what the little ghost foal said: as soon as the adults start playing with the newbies, they scream in fear and see demons. Everyone screams in fear. Fear. That's the trigger! It's funny, the other me told me something like that before entering the Stable—that everyone came here with fear of this place.

"We need to face the fear without a doubt. But that's difficult, given what you've experienced", the other me concludes my reflections.

I try to face the nightmare in front of me with determination and confidence. His tricks won't make me shiver and scream in terror. Those tricks won't get me a second time! That's it, scarecrow, you're about to see the power and strength of a man, the Courier Six!

"Courier Six in the 66th Stable. Three sixes. That's really funny. It's also the sixty-sixth day of being in this world."

My doubts, like those of my other me, are dissipating, leaving only the frenzied sense of thrills and excitement that sometimes come to us in times of dangerous adventure. The desire to do the impossible and the insane!

Captured by this excitement, I completely forget what I felt earlier, when this thing almost killed me. I run through the cloud without consequence, only feeling a faint, unpleasant chill for a moment. The cloud I ran through dissipates completely, and for some reason the second cloud disappears without a trace. I inwardly cheer.

Eat shit!

"Why did you run too?" Sweetie asks in a happy tone.

She seems to have completely forgotten to be careful and quiet.

"It's more fun this way," I say playfully, still reeling from the success. "Let's get to the Overmare's office."

***

The ghosts don't bother us anymore. Inside the Overmare's office everything is standard: dusty filing cabinets along the wall, a huge sleek desk with a destroyed terminal in the center, a dirty window overlooking the atrium, broken computer panels and consoles... The remains of a pony in the corner.

After examining the terminal, I realize that it is beyond repair. After looking around the room and not finding anything special, I start looking through the file cabinets. Maybe I'll find something about the Stable, but it might take too long. The ghosts will try to weaken me with fear again.

I shiver, remembering that moment in the medical section and the bleak and cold emptiness I experienced.

Don't be afraid of it... Easier said than done. I had seen many horrible monsters and ugly mutants in my life, but they were all physical and could be killed. That thought always gave me confidence. But what about something I can't touch or feel?

I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. I can't give in to them, or I might lose my life out of fear. Both literally and figuratively.

"Mom won't let anyone go through her thi..." Sweetie begins cautioningly, but I gently interrupt her.

"To help her and you, I need to know what's going on here, sweetie," I reply thoughtfully, examining an old document. The contents of which, however, are useless to me.

"The ponies live here," the little ghost foal replies simply. "Once everyone was minding their own business, but now they play these games and ignore the foals," she adds sadly. "It's hard for me to find my mom amongst all these endless adults. Is she upset about something, upset with me?" she asks with a wistful and concerned voice.

"No. Loving mothers, even when they scold their child, still treat her with love and tender care because they are worried. Don't worry, you're a good pony. I just need to find out what made your mother and everyone else so eager to play these games," I say, turning the page of the document. Nothing. Well, that sucks.

"Mother often talked to a particular stallion. They often discussed the strange stone downstairs."

I pull my eyes away from the document and stare dumbly at the wall in thought, then turn to Sweetie.

"What stone?" I ask, looking closely at the pony's yellow translucent silhouette.

"Well..." she falters, crossing her legs. "I don't remember all those conversations anymore. Now I'm going to try to remember just one, and..."

I suddenly have the feeling of being sucked somewhere, even though I'm standing still. No, not a feeling of cold emptiness. I've experienced that more than once. It's so familiar and...

Right. Memory orbs.

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

By the feel of it, I am in the body of a small pony sitting on someone's lap. It's a mare sitting in a padded desk chair with all her importance. The Overmare's desk! To the side is a working terminal, and my eyes are now focused on the stallion in front of me. Obviously, I am in Sweetie's memory, where her mother's office looks clean and tidy, no signs of rust or dust.

How is it that I...

"Complicated thing in terms of research," the stallion says, interrupting my thoughts. He looks above me, at the one on whose lap Sweetie Smiles is. "I've told you that for the umpteenth time," he smiles sourly.

The unicorn has light blue fur and a dark blue mane. And that familiar voice... Eric! Eric fucking Frost! What is he doing here?

"I hate to realize what the Stable-Tec gave us instead of a normal power source," the voice above me replies.

During the conversation, Sweetie occasionally shifts her gaze back and forth between Eric and her mother, but most of the time she's playing with Celestia's small plush toy in her hooves.

"It's been so many years and all to no avail," her mother adds annoyed.

What in the world is that stone so special?

I think back to what Caroline said the first time we met: she mentioned that something special had been transported to the 66. The logical thing for me to think of was the Dome, and it turned out to be some kind of stone acting as a power source.

"It's good that it works, though it's an inconvenience. How are you feeling? Considering what's going on right now..."

"Quite normal," the unicorn replies.

Eric looks slightly aged since I last saw him, and not just outwardly, but emotionally as well: his voice is empty and joyless, as is his gaze. Obviously, he is not only saddened by the fruitless research on the 'stone'. How many years has he been in this Stable?

"I hope those who contracted 'nightmare fever' will be okay," he adds slightly worriedly. Something I don't like about his tone. "I didn't just stop by to talk to you about failures. I need you to hide something in your place in case things get worse. Your office is one of the safest rooms in this place."

"And what is it?" the mare asks interestedly.

The light blue stallion provides in his blue haze of levitation a small object of gray color and square shape, similar to a disk. It is just the right shape to insert into one of PipBuck's special sockets.

"Tracking chip," Eric replies briefly, clearly not wanting to say anything else about it.

"What's it for?"

"It has to do with my work on the surface," he says meaningfully and hums with a nostalgic smile.

"Still missing the outside world and eager to get outside?" the Overmare inquires, getting up from her chair and setting Sweetie down on it.

The mare with the soft yellow fur envelops the tracking chip with her ruby-colored magic and walks over to the file cabinets. Sweetie sees her mother off with a curious look. The mare in the blue jumpsuit finds herself just about behind Eric.

"You could say that," he smiles bitterly, not turning around and lowering his head.

"The world is already dead. Equestria is gone. What was, is gone..."

The Overmare uses telekinesis to push aside one file cabinet, behind which is a small safe in the wall. She opens it and puts a chip in there.

I wonder what that chip is tracking... From what Eric said, this item is related to his former job. Could it be that he was talking about the Dome? I wish I could get my hooves on that chip.

Why is he tearing himself apart? Had he not yet avenged his wife?

The memory cuts off.

<-=======ooOOoo=======->

I snap back to reality—if I can say that. When I look around, I don't see Sweetie—she's gone.

"Sweetie?" I say expectantly into the void, looking around once again. There's no response. I have a bad feeling about this.

It's the same Overmare's office. On the floor, at my hooves, is the document I examined recently. And I'm standing by the file cabinet behind which is the safe.

I can hear the whispers again. And this time the voices are not calm and indifferent as before, but now this chorus is angry, if not enraged. At least they're not yelling in anger, which is more or less a good thing, but I have to get out of here fast.

I push back the cabinet behind which turns out to be the safe from the memory I saw, pick the lock, open the safe door, and insert the chip into the spare PipBuck. How lucky I am that the chip hasn't gone anywhere after all this time.

When the chip is plugged in, the PipBuck's screen automatically switches to a map that is inoperable due to interference, with an error message flickering on it: "CONNECTION LOST." Well, when... or rather, if I leave this bunker, hopefully the connection will be restored.

I put the cabinet back in its rightful place and leave the office, for the angry whispering is already stressing me out and scaring me. As I rush through the corridors, I wonder about Sweetie Smiles' disappearance. As I recall, she had started to remember something. And somehow I was able to see it.

"I saw it too, just separate from you, couldn't reach you."

Right. That too. Basically, it was like we were looking through a memory orb. And it suddenly cut off. I can only assume that Sweetie showing me her past somehow angered the ghosts here. They probably don't like it when a soul is completely consumed by a memory.

I wish I'd brought some sort of memory orb with me. Ideally, the one I bought at Vanhoover's porn studio would have worked. The soul is completely detached and protected from the outside world, immersed in the memory. Only the body remains completely defenseless. Nevertheless, it is by influencing the consciousness—or the soul—that the ghosts are forced to leave the body, or to be precise, by means of fear. But how do you do that if the victim's mind is completely focused on the memory? That's why I thought of the memory orb.

To avoid the influence of ghosts, all Prince needed to do was to send a unicorn with a memory orb here, which would escape into the memory at the right moment. Prince was right: there would always be a trapdoor.

Too bad Sweetie's gone. She would have helped me more. The only thing left to do was to find a better way of overcoming doors than shoving an indestructible weapon under a door that could slam shut at any moment like a mousetrap. One question, why was the automation damaged? Is there some sort of connection to the ghosts here, and they can tap into some of the technology that can be used to kill the victim? Could this be a desperate attempt to rid the body of its soul? Or the victims prove to be immune to fear. Or they're too resilient and stubborn to be influenced.

Okay, that's it, no more illusions, ghosts don't exist. I'm sure a lot of what's going on here can be easily answered without all this superstitious nonsense.

***

This time I'm being chased by that familiar creepy-looking pony I met in the atrium, the mare with the black empty eyes, her mane and tail waving slowly and hypnotizingly in different directions. This time she doesn't just fly after me, but with her the whole corridor is enveloped in a dark... darkness, literally. The corridor seems to evaporate, leaving an eerie black void.

I do my best not to give in to the fear—I don't take it all seriously.

"Try to catch me!" I shout with laughter, switching to a fast gallop.

I'm really having fun! And the adrenaline in my blood gives me strength. I'm being chased by the darkness capable of gutting my soul in seconds, and I'm having fun.

"Well, that's our style. I mean, it's the best way to keep a clear mind without giving in to panic and fear. Fear kills the mind. We're all going to die someday. So why don't we try to have a little fun before we die? It's like falling from a height and trying to learn to fly. There's nothing else to do."

Turning a deadly chase into a game.

"Game... Sweetie sees all these 'chases' as a normal game that all adults who have lost their 'clothes' are obsessed with. I think I've already begun to succumb to hallucinations. I no longer know where is reality and where is a product of my imagination—everything is so confusing and curious. I think I'm going crazy. Or I already am."

"It's not impossible. You can't be completely sure of anything."

At full speed, I dash down the technical corridors, trying not to trip over the remains.

How strange it looks from the outside-the remains of long-dead ponies lying around, with the only living one running past them and laughing uncontrollably.

I run into the room that normally houses the bunker's reactor systems and the power source itself. Instead of the standard equipment, it's practically empty. Only a multitude of power cables and huge electrical conduits stretch from another glassed-in room. Behind the dense glass is a small cylindrical-shaped structure several feet high, like a pedestal, located in the center of the modest room, with a similar structure in the ceiling directly above it. Between them, a small glittering dark purple stone the size of half a hoof floats in the air. From these structures stretch the very same power cables.

This is the stone and the bunker's power source that Eric and the Overmare were talking about.

Also here, in the room I'm in, are several gleaming panels and sound-making equipment. After two centuries, everything works as intended—just a little rusty and dusty. But the fact of functionality...

I turn my head and take a closer look at the room, for the chase has stopped, and I can take my time. For now... I have a feeling the ghosts will soon resume their daring attacks on me. Without Sweetie, it was already getting kind of boring. In such a short time, I'd gotten used to her, to her strange deep voice. Maybe she was scared after what had happened and hid herself well. Apparently so.

As I look around, I notice a faint green glow - a working terminal. Great! Maybe some of the records are still there.

Sitting down at the terminal, I flip through the reports. There are only calculations and numbers, it's useless to go into the meaning of which now, but I'm sure that they refer to the energy calculations of this stone. It is good that the researcher kept something like a diary, where she summarized some of the information she received.

"Entry one.

Because of the sheer amount of calculations and research on energy distribution, I've decided to do a little generalized reporting for myself. So here we go.

The Stable 66 has been given a special energy source that has been adapted to power all the life support systems of the underground complex. According to the information received from Stable-Tec, this crystal, the name of which is not disclosed so as not to mislead the researchers, is one of the rarest gems that produces an unlimited amount of energy, but with the caveat that the number of devices it powers depends directly on its size. And another important fact is that it is indestructible. By what laws such marvelous magical energy sources appear is unknown to them. We are officially tasked to conduct research on this crystal, using its capabilities on a large scale. In this case, as the main source of electricity for the entire Stable 66.

The crystal itself is energetically powerful and magically amazing. But with an unimaginable side effect—it absorbs all the magic and energy in the bunker. Unicorns have a hard time here—telekinesis is difficult for them, the earth ponies get tired faster than they should, which reduces their efficiency by almost half. All systems of the bunker are low-maintenance due to the crystal and everything is automated. Only harvesting and cultivation of crops in the gardens requires direct intervention of the inhabitants. All the rest is provided by the crystal.

I would like to mention that while absorbing the magic of unicorns and physical strength of ordinary earth ponies, the crystal appropriates the magic and technologies that have their own power source. That's why all the PipBucks here have been remodeled (we only disconnected the power source) and are now remotely powered by this crystal (connected to it with a spell, as well as everything that requires energy and magic in this bunker).

The spell for connecting objects to the crystal is very simple: just first envelop the crystal with your magic, and then concentrate on the object to be connected.

I can assume that it, like a jealous stallion, is just stealing our energy. I feel like a living battery for that damn crystal.

Scientist of Stable 66, Night Glow."

Indestructible. Produces endless amounts of magic, the amount of which depends on the size... Something familiar. I can't remember. I'm having trouble remembering any details of the previous day because of what I experienced in the Stable. On the other hand, it explains the interference in my PipBuck, Pip-Boy and helmet. And the problems with my magic. All because of the crystal.

"Entry two.

It's been a few more weeks and the research shows the same result. We've got some guy named Eric Frost helping us with our research. Though he's not a scientist, and his background is rather murky and obscure (for example, he's not officially a resident of this Stable, which I don't like), but he knows a thing or two about magic. Perfecting teleportation and memory spells isn't something everyone can do, but he could. He was in this bunker when he was sent by his superiors for some kind of secret government inspection, after which the megaspells fell and the main doors were activated and sealed. And he was here at that point, fortunately or unfortunately—I don't know. I think there was something fishy about this inspection.

Studies have shown that our natural magic, brazenly stolen by the crystal, is returned in a much larger equivalent. In other words, this crystal works on the principle of a colossal magic amplifier. It is not clear only by what reaction it amplifies the energy taken by it, but I can say with certainty that these costs are paid back with a huge surplus. And then the question arises: what about the absence of magic? What will the crystal be powered by?

Scientist of Stable 66, Night Glow."

Eric Frost, it turns out, was a research volunteer. And... he wasn't officially listed as a resident of this Stable? What was his purpose in coming here? Night Glau was skeptical of this stowaway.

"Entry three.

It's been a year, nothing new. Still the same monotonous results. For the sake of experimentation, we tried to at least scratch the crystal, but as expected, nothing happened. It was extremely dangerous—we risked being left without a power source for the entire bunker. Besides, it was Eric's initiative, and he didn't hesitate to test its indestructibility. If the Overmare found out what we were doing with the crystal—the only source of power—then... I don't even want to think about it. I didn't stop him, because I was curious to check that fact myself. And something told me that Eric could fight back—his movements were precise and smooth, and his determined gaze spoke volumes. I shouldn't cross him.

I don't like how dismissive Eric is of the crystal. It's like he really wants to destroy it so it won't absorb his magic so he can use teleportation to get past the main doors. After all, because of the crystal's side effect, his teleportation is very much impaired: very short distances and inability to move out of tightly closed spaces. However, the doors are locked tightly, and only an authorized person from Stable-Tec can remove the lock from the outside. The main doors also open automatically if the power from the crystal stops supplying us with the energy we need. The crystal's magic is also applied to the door mechanism. Having learned about it, Eric immediately tried to break the connection between the main door and the crystal, but without success, because if the magic of the crystal is already attached to something, then this connection will be unbreakable, as well as the crystal itself. This was proved by his rash act, which, thank Celestia, did not bring disaster, but gave us extremely important information.

Scientist of Stable 66, Night Glow."

Eric had mentioned leaving, but why was he so eager to get out? By his rash actions, he only benefited the research in a way. That's interesting. But why was he so eager to leave the Stable? I remember him messing up in the Rainbow Mine by installing the Twilight Demon hallucinogen sprayer in the ventilation system.

Ooh.

It hit me.

Could it be that Eric had installed something related to hallucinogenic products here, too, and was trying to escape? Or was he trying to prepare an escape route beforehand. Holy crap. Why would you do that, Eric?

"Entry four.

It's been almost ten years since I recorded anything in this journal. We haven't been able to find out anything new about this crystal anymore. Eric often spent time with it, trying to find a loophole and escape from this bunker. No matter how many times I told him it was useless, he still wouldn't give up trying to escape. But that's nothing compared to what's happening now.

Everyone's starting to freak out. Almost everyone. I still have the strength to ignore all these hallucinations, both visual and audible. And then there's the nightmare dreams... Shit. Even though I can ignore them, they have a significant effect on how I feel. This whole phantasmagoria started after the first death in this Stable, White Sky, of natural causes. Poor Gray Fork and Rainy Fields were the first to show signs of nightmare fever. They were close friends of this lonely elderly pony. The stress had taken its toll on them. But the surprising thing is that later on, almost everyone except the foals without cutie marks were affected. Everyone else (including me) started seeing ghosts and monsters. But it was easier for me to deal with since I didn't believe in all that nonsense. However, I am scared and wary of the other residents. They have already started to freak out. Some of them show suicidal tendencies and some of them even show aggression towards others due to frequent stress and vividly experienced fear.

If something does happen to me. I'd like to say that I've done some bad and stupid things in my life, but I've always tried to compensate for them with good deeds. For some reason, I just wanted to go to my mom's house. God rest her soul. Anyway, I hope it all ends well.

Scientist of Stable 66, Night Glow."

After the first death in the Stable. Hmm. What a coincidence that it was the friends of the dead pony who were the first to be affected by hallucinations. Whatever, it's time to do something about this mysterious and unnamed crystal.

And it's suspiciously quiet. Not a whisper. No hum of operating equipment.

I'm about to use the terminal to open the door to the room with the crystal, but the letters in front of my eyes on the screen seem to float away. They do sprawl out to the sides, and the whole terminal melts like chocolate on a hot griddle. It abruptly turns into a dark cloud. Before I can blink an eye or feel anything, my surroundings completely disappear and I lose consciousness.

***

Oh... Fuck. Where am I?

My thoughts are still spinning chaotically in my head, and I can't quite figure out what the fuck is going on right now. I feel like I'm lying on the floor somewhere. And my head hurts a little for some reason. I involuntarily grab my head. Wait, why am I in control of my body... and why am I feeling a hand and not a hoof?

My eyes widen in amazement, and I stare abruptly at my limb, goggling.

Is that my... hand?

I look at the other limb—an arm. Unsurprisingly, the body is familiar and native. Or maybe I'm dreaming this whole thing? Did my other me miss the moment, and... Right, that cloud came out of nowhere. He didn't even realize it, let alone think about it.

I rise slowly and not very confidently on my own two feet and look around—the entrance to a Vault. Or a Stable? It's hard to tell, since the place looks pretty clean and tidy. What on earth is going on? And why can't I hear my other me? Are the illusions starting to affect us separately? Like back in the Rainbow Mine with the Twilight Demon. Although we couldn't remember that we had split personalities then. Damn it. I've completely lost my sense of the reality of what's happening!

I look around and also touch my body: I'm wearing that armored duster with the cape on my back that I once left New Vegas in. Glancing at the Pip-Boy, I see the same gear I used to wear on me: Pushy, a shock sword, a carbine pistol with laser sight and silencer, a sniper rifle with silencer, and a silver-colored magnum. At the same time, the device on his arm gives off the same interference as the other me got at the entrance of the 66.

This is all extremely strange. However, the only weirdness I feel in myself is a sense of weakness and malaise. And then I remember one detail in the entry from Night Glow's terminal, "...earth ponies get tired faster than they should." Looks like I'm still in this damn Stable with two '6'. I need to figure out what's going on. Are the hallucinations starting to affect us a lot more? But more importantly, what about the other me?

I'm picking up the carbine pistol.

How I missed it—it feels so realistic!

I glance around the room. The main door of the Stable is locked, and there's no console to open it. It really does look like a copy of the 66. Well, I'll have to go to the technical rooms. Maybe Dannikaze is lying there unconscious and needs to be awakened to get out of here... if we knew where from. Who knows what ghosts or hallucinations did to him. Hell, I don't know what the fuck is going on.

Checking the ammunition in the magazine of the carbine and in my pockets, I walk toward the lower level, where the room with the unfortunate crystal where Danny was taken by surprise is supposed to be.

No sooner do I turn down the first hallway than I see the pony. In dirty, scruffy, bloodstained armor. Raiders. I take cover behind a ledge in the wall and peek out cautiously to examine them closely. The ponies' gaze is blank and joyless, which is not at all characteristic of them. They wander aimlessly back and forth, practically stomping around in one place. They look like the living dead, like feral ghouls, but with their appearance intact.

They show up as neutral on the malfunctioning Pip-Boy. Nevertheless, I decide not to tempt fate and, having entered VATS, make almost three shots at each of them, the charge of my wrist computer device is not enough for more. The crystal, on the other hand, absorbs all the energy and magic around it. It doesn't have time to absorb all of Pip-Boy's energy, as he is already starting to regenerate it, so in the end I can only use half of the power of this so useful function.

All three pony raiders fall down and almost instantly dissolve into the air, as if they turned into dust in the blink of an eye, disappearing without a trace.

What the...

I had forgotten about the existence of another raider who rushes to attack me with a knife in her teeth. I realize in time and deftly draw my shock sword, but she's already too close for me to be able to make an attack. I dodge her jump. When she slows down as she runs past me, I turn around and plant the sword in the weak spot of her neck. The pony doesn't make a sound, even as the sword enters her neck, piercing through. However, she evaporates almost immediately, as do the three of them.

Scratching the back of my head with confusion, I move on.

Along the way, besides the raiders, I also come across ponies in blue jumpsuits with the numbers '66' on them. They all have a look that says they're not alive—it's like their eyes are just open, but they can't see or even breathe. The first time I meet them, I try to strike up a conversation, but as soon as I make eye contact with them, they immediately become red dots on the Pip-Boy's compass and run to attack me, as if driven only by instinct rather than reason. I shoot them with my revolver as they rush toward me. They are inexperienced fighters, and unarmed; I have no difficulty in dealing with them. I have little difficulty with those who have firearms.

Everyone I meet seems to be a regular dead zombie, though with no signs of decay or physical damage. I try to stay on my path and avoid going into the various side rooms, halls, and rooms. This is not only to save time, but also for my own safety—in some of the rooms, I can see ponies in power armor with energy-magic weapons in combat saddles through the glass. So I decide to sneak past them, so as not to waste time and energy, which are scarce as it is.

No sooner do I turn the corner than a black-clad griffon jumps out and attacks me, knocking me to the concrete floor. On her armor is the familiar yellow symbol of a skull and crown.

A King.

She rests one paw on my chest, and with the other, claws extended, she swings around to apparently slash my face or scratch my eyes out. I push her off with my feet, and she falls on her back. I pull out my revolver and shoot her at point-blank range. She evaporates almost immediately.

Ferris was right. Griffons are obsessed with dominance.

I come across a couple more ponies in jumpsuits, but they're no problem.

I'm at the door to the room where we passed out. But there is one obstacle—that door is now locked. Right above it are two red lights, and on either side of the door are recesses in the shape of a pressed-in human palm and hoof framed on the wall.

After a little thought, I tentatively put my hand to the palm-shaped recess. One of the two red lights turns green, but the other still glows red.

I know immediately what to do. This is no ordinary hallucination. It is already operating somewhere deep in our conscious or subconscious mind, since here I am in the form of a human being with my usual equipment. Namely the one we wore before the transformation. For me, it is the human body that is familiar. For the other me, it's the pony body.

Where the hell is he? He, like me, logically should have come to this place. Why would he?

Distant shots of thundering guns rang out.

The Apostle! I'd recognize the sound of his gunfire anywhere.

I run toward that muffled noise. After a few turns and battles with the local natives, I determine where the shots are coming from—from the direction of the Stable Gardens. When I get there, I see a pony in dark gray armor striking enemies in blue jumpsuits with accurate but slightly jerky blows left and right. The enemies dissolve into thin air. It looks strange against the peaceful backdrop of fresh green grass and apple trees with bright red, juicy looking fruit.

"Not bad. But you're a far cry from Motley's level."

"You know," the beige unicorn with the black mane turns slowly toward me, breathing tiredly, "it's one thing to talk to your own brain, but it's another to actually talk to yourself."

"You're not surprised to see me?" I inquire, walking up to him.

"That door has two activators: one for a hoof and one for a... human palm. And I didn't hear your voice at all, so it wasn't hard to guess," his lips stretch into a smile.

"Which is exactly what I should have expected of myself. Am I imagining things?" I ask skeptically, squinting at the beige pony. He raises a hoof.

"Let's check it out," he suggests. "And at least greet each other at the same time."

I smile and with my hand clenched into a fist, tap Dannikaze's hoof.

Angry yells are heard from everywhere, which subside almost immediately.

"This isn't good," we say in unison in fright and bewilderment, and then look at each other.

Without another word, we rush towards that door as we hear a mob of long-dead ponies chasing us. The realization of this adds to our strength to run.

As we turn into the hallway where that door should be, we see something that shocks us. We are stunned, and our hearts beat even harder—with fear and terror. We gulp in air from exhaustion and stare at a light-blue unicorn with a dark-blue mane running at us with wide eyes.

Something, but meeting him I... we didn't expect.

Eric Frost!

He's not headed our way with friendly intentions. It didn't take me long to point my gun at him. Daniel's out of ammo, so he draws his shock sword. The unicorn instantly disappears in a flash of light and is right behind us.

Teleportation! He's even using teleportation instinctively?! Fucking hell...

Before I can turn around, he hits me in the kidney. The force of his blow is unbelievable, and even with my armor on, I can feel the pain. I struggle to keep my balance, but staggered back to my feet, trying to point the carbine at him again.

After Eric gives me a solid shot, he strikes Daniel's back leg again, nearly breaking it. He cries out in pain and nearly falls over. Eric stops me from pointing the gun, knocking it out with a quick, precise movement of his hind leg. He leans forward, using his front legs for support, and tries to kick me. I bounce back just in time, pulling out Pushy and putting it on my arm.

He's so fast!

The light-blue unicorn tries to kick Daniel in the face, but he manages to block it in time by crossing his front two legs and pushing off the attacker's back leg. He decides to attack me again when I just put on my 'special' fighting glove. Eric rushes towards me, and I swing for the attack. The light blue pony ducks and dashes forward, knocking me to the ground. I fly over the stallion and plummet to the floor, nearly hitting my face.

He's tricky! Even Motley can't fight that fast and agile, but she moves with much more fluidity and grace.

I decide not to get up, as Dannikaze is already running with his sword in his magic grip. He deftly leaps over me and prepares to attack with his hoof in a leap, using it as a distraction. Without releasing the sword from levitation to make a second, real attack.

I look back: Eric bounces backward with deft instinctive movements, smoothly dodging Daniel's sword and hoof attacks. It's obvious that the Controllers' special agent, a Cleaner, has no trouble staying out of the way of my second self.

I'm horrified for a brief moment: if it weren't for that crystal, we wouldn't stand a chance against Eric, and he could easily use powerful spells to attack or defend. He uses teleportation to get out of range. His reactions are honed to the point where he instinctively uses teleportation if he sees danger to himself. We need to outsmart him. or wear him down.

While I'm pondering, Daniel unleashes attack after attack that gets slower and slower, and Eric dodges them almost effortlessly. What a reaction and precision of movement Eric has.... I envy him, damn it!

I stand up and draw my magnum, aiming it at the enemy. The targeting system activates, and time slows down dramatically for a relatively short period of time. And just as I'm about to pull the trigger, Eric's horn flickers with blue light. The moment the shot is fired, the light blue unicorn disappears in a flash of light.

Lucky bastard!

Eric emerges behind me, but I'm ready for it. With VATS still activated, I turn around for defense.

Pip-Boy's charge finally runs out, and the flow of time is restored. The unicorn with the dark blue mane doesn't just rush at me, but rolls, and in the roll he manages to knock the barrel out of my hands, and tries to kick me. I block his attack, grab his hind legs tightly and immediately fall on my back, pulling Eric sharply towards me, lifting him into the air and throwing him over me.

No sooner has Eric's body flown over me and I've let go of his legs than Daniel is already running toward us behind me. Right above me, the beige pony stabs his sword through the back of the still in the air Eric, and the point shows from his stomach. Teamwork. We understand each other almost perfectly, even separately.

A moment, and Eric's body disappears.

If Eric fought with his mind and not just his instincts, he'd overpower us, even two of us in different bodies, in the blink of an eye.

I can barely get to my feet. I want to lie there without getting up.

I'm so tired. Fucking crystal! Why does everything have to be so hard?

"Uh, that was..." Daniel begins tiredly, breathing rapidly, but cuts himself off as we hear the stomping of hooves from both ends of the hallway.

By now, all the survivors we barely managed to get away from are catching up to us. They're about to be here, and then we'll be fucked! We shouldn't have 'greeted' then, and that crowd wouldn't have chased us. Apparently, everyone didn't like the way I 'physically' united with my other me.

There was no time to regret what we had done—what's done is done. Gathering the rest of our strength, we tear toward the door, each of us approaching it from our side and applying our forelimbs to the appropriate... activators. The bulbs that had been emitting red light now glow green, and the door swings open, inviting us in. And behind them is... emptiness. A black, terrifying abyss.

That's the 'exit'? You gotta be kidding me.

We stand there stunned, and we're being fired upon by the guys who were chasing us so vigorously. There is no way we can defeat such an enraged crowd, so the only thing... in order not to be killed by the hooves and paws of the dead, thus embarrassing ourselves so much, we simultaneously jump into the endless abyss, starting our fall into the darkness.

***

I slowly open my eyes and feel my cheek on the keyboard of the terminal. I can still hear the voices of the dead in my ears, and my head feels leaden, like a hangover.

Oh, so I passed out? I can't believe it, really: the reanimated residents and victims of the Stable, my other me in a human body, and then a distant greeting from the past: a meeting with Eric Frost. Crazy.

"What a powerful stuff. Well, at least I was in a human body for a while. I feel like I'm back home."

I struggle to lift my head, and my eyes focus on the terminal's flickering green screen. Diaries... reports... Oh, here comes the command to open the door to the room with the crystal. When the appropriate command was activated, the wall near the armored window came into motion and moved aside.

The heaviness in my head begins to fade.

I get up and walk to the passage to the next room. I hesitate at the threshold, feeling an unpleasant sensation that makes me squirm, but I enter a small square room with two cylindrical-shaped structures at the bottom and top. And between them a dark purple crystal floats carelessly in the air. From both special constructions a lot of power cables stretch into the neighboring room. There's nothing else here.

Looking at it, I try to remember everything I've learned in this place and come to a conclusion.

I don't know exactly what's going on here, but I can say that this mysterious crystal is to blame for everything that happened in this Stable. There is a possibility that it was pre-programmed by either Stable-Tec or Eric to create an illusion spell that automatically takes effect for some reason after the first natural death. Night Glow's diary indicates that after White Sky's death, various strange things started happening to the residents in the bunker.

Or maybe this crystal does indeed, besides stealing energy, prevent souls who died within the walls of the Stable from escaping to the afterlife. A terrible price to pay for its use.

"It turns out we have a choice between our imagination and actual ghosts. But the latter is less believable, though neither can be ruled out. You can't be completely sure of anything as we know it."

You're right about that. But this crystal has to be dealt with as quickly as possible, or we'll get another trip, or the ghosts will affect not only all our senses, but our subconscious as well.

So how do we destroy the indestructible?

Strange wording, of course, but it captures exactly what we are about to do. This crystal cannot be destroyed or even scratched. How then?

Think, Daniel, think!

I'm trying to go over all the information I gleaned from Night Glau's journal. Eric has been trying to damage the crystal, to disable it, but to no avail. Damn! My mind is so tight after what I've been through, I'm starting to get discouraged.

"Ferris..."

What? What's he got to do with this?

"I just remembered a conversation you had with him," my other me explains. You were taking apart your Apostles back then, and the only unique thing you found in them were tiny crystals of the same dark purple color. They were the power source for the weapon indestructibility spell and the ammunition enchantment. Ferris said that such a tiny size couldn't hold that much magic or any energy to create such powerful spells."

Exactly! The entire Stable is powered by a small, barely the size of a hoof, indestructible crystal. Its power depends on its size. Night Glow mentioned that it acts as a colossal magical amplifier: it absorbs external energy and amplifies it many times over. But these kinds of amplifiers can't provide such a difference in absorbed and released magic. So where does it gather all its energy from?

It doesn't matter. Now we need to find the weakness of this crystal—there is a flaw, a flaw everywhere. There are no perfect things in this understanding.

What does it give us to know that the Apostles use such magical amplifiers? Crystals simply take magic from the outside, most likely. The amount of magic concentrated depends on the size. It's impossible to physically damage the crystals. But what if we inflict magical damage?

"And how do we do that? I'm sure Eric has tried to affect the crystal with magic on more than one occasion. Don't forget, not only was he better at magic than us, but he stood out among the other unicorns."

I pull out my Apostle, remembering that it contains the same crystal, only much smaller, and stare at it, thinking.

"...if the magic of the crystal is already attached to something, then this connection will be unbreakable, as well as the crystal itself..." I am reminded of the words from Night Glow's diary, "...it absorbs all the magic and energy in the bunker. The crystal also appropriates magic from technologies that have their own power source. Like a jealous stallion, is just stealing our energy..."

An unbreakable bond... Absorbing all energy, including that of other sources...

My gaze is still focused on Apostle. This weapon has its own magical source that it is bound to—but not a single deviation or disturbance was seen during the shotgun's firing.

And then I had a rather interesting and quite nefarious question: is it possible for any item to create a connection to two such crystals at the same time?

The crystal is 'jealous', stealing energy from other sources. And what if another crystal of the same kind turns out to be another source for the object? Would that cause any particular dissonance between the two? Or a glitch?

"It's not unreasonable. However, it's not like they interfered with each other when one was in the other's area of influence."

Remembering from Night Glow's notes on how to create this most unbreakable magical bond, I place the shotgun on the floor, then concentrate on the large crystal, feeling all the unbridled power it radiates, and envelope the weapon with my magic again.

Nothing happens.

After a few seconds, I release both the crystal and the shotgun from my concentration. The crystal between the platforms shimmers as if heated. Glancing at the shotgun, I notice that it has the same dark purple glow coming from inside.

Their brightness gradually becomes more and more powerful. The whole room seems to be completely dark purple. The concentration of this light becomes sharper and sharper, so much so that I involuntarily squint. Even through my eyelids I can see this blinding light: I have to turn away. And then it suddenly disappears. Without a sound. The sharp dark purple light just disappears, as if it never existed.

I cautiously open my eyes and look around: the room is back to its former color, the strange whispering is gone, the hum of the bunker's equipment systems is all but gone. Only my breathing is audible. And the crystal hovering between the two cylindrical structures is gone. I lift the shotgun by levitation, feeling that my magic is fine now, and examine it. The weight remains the same. I remove a couple parts and look at the spot where the tiny crystal should have been installed. As expected, it's not there. I take it this gun now doesn't have such tremendous penetrating power and shot accuracy.

In the end, I don't see anything new. But one thing is clear.

The crystals are just gone.

Going upstairs, I still don't believe that the illusions have ceased, and I think that it is all in my imagination, and I have finally come to terms with it and my soul has finally calmed down and left the body. But I can still hear the other me in my head. I discuss this topic with him constantly on the way, traversing corridors and murderous doors that no longer try to break me in two. I have to open these doors manually, helping myself with magic.

Gradually, I feel my breathing getting harder and harder. It's stifling. The ventilation has also stopped working, and fresh air is no longer circulating through the bunker. The remains of dead ponies and griffins are still lying on the floor here and there. There's a lot of loot to be had here, but I won't do it.

Still... I hope the souls found peace when the crystal stopped affecting them and Sweetie Smiles was finally reunited with her mother. Almost 200 years apart.

I keep wondering if it really happened or not.

After the first death, the residents of the Stable begin to slowly lose their minds. It was slow at first, since only one pony died. The more deaths there were, the faster and more persistently the souls of the dead tried to take over the bodies of the living, murderous fear forcing the owners to abandon them. Or the illusion acted on the fears, for after the first meeting the ponies were greatly saddened by the death of a friend, which was natural. As time went on, the ponies began to succumb more and more to their nightmares, and this effect was amplified by suicides. More and more quickly they went mad and died. And the travelers had already come to this place with thoughts of the probable danger lurking here, which created fear, increasing the effect of the illusion.

"Funny... After all, the crystal absorbed magic, and returned it in multiplied amounts. It's the same with fears. The more you give in to fear, the stronger the illusions become, and they in turn make the victim even more terrified. It's like a snowball rolling down a snowy mountain, getting bigger and bigger."

Just like that, a simple experiment to study the source of magic turned into a terrifying nightmare. Stable-Tec, according to Night Glow's records, wanted to experiment with using this crystal on a larger scale to see if there were any unpleasant consequences or disastrous side effects. Either they or Eric had done something to the crystal beforehand, purposely conducting a cruel experiment on the ponies. Or it was just a mistake—a massive mistake that ruined more than a thousand lives.

In the end, whether it was illusions or ghosts, it was fear that was the leverage. We were only able to overcome all the obstacles because we had time to figure it out. And also because of our unconventional backgrounds and split personalities. But I'll remember for the rest of my life the chilling abyss of darkness and terror I experienced.

The Twilight Demon showed our inner fears of a certain something. In Stable 66, illusions created by crystal or ghosts used the fear the victims experienced in the present moment, the here and now. All one had to do was not give in to the fear. A memory orb could help with that, distracting the entire mind and senses from the world around them by immersing them in someone else's memories.
The only thing that doesn't fit is the moment when my other me and I were in different bodies. There, we weren't being influenced by fear. Maybe it's something like fighting long-dead victims in our minds, taking the form of our usual battles with weapons and so on? If even there we felt a side effect of the crystal, it means that everything happening there was based on our physical abilities. The ghosts or illusions were trying to break us in other ways. Separately.

Maybe I'll think about that later.

Also, strange doors trying to cut me in half. It could have been a glitch due to an activated illusion in the crystal—or they had some sort of connection to ghosts that were being possessed by technology that could physically harm. That's likely how the foals who didn't get cutie marks died. Or they died from the insane behavior of the other inhabitants.

However, one question remains unsolved: who was able to open the main doors of the Stable? Perhaps the first Vanhoover explorers hacked the door console.

Regardless, the crystals are destroyed, so it's over... I guess. Now my Apostle is effectively useless. I doubt its components are durable, the creators relied on the spell and the power of the crystal. I can see why the Stable's equipment ran smoothly—it was directly connected to the crystal, albeit remotely, so it didn't wear out.

I get to the surface, look around, and then look up at the gray cloudy sky.

A cold wind blows over me, teasing the fur on my face. I cover my eyes and inhale deeply of the relatively fresh, cool air, blissfully happy that I've survived the horrors of Stable 66.

I shout with an overwhelming sense of joy and unimaginable relief.

"I'm alive! I did it!" I exultantly burst out after shouting in triumph. To experience such a thing... you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. How lucky I am that I decided to take the Apostle with me! After all, I'm an extremely lucky son of a bitch!

"Yeeeeee-haaaaaw!" I add longingly, standing up on my hind legs and waving my front legs in a joyous outburst.

"What a horse..." the other me chuckles.

Screw you! Don't ruin the moment. And yes, I am a pony, not a horse!

Suddenly, I'm knocked off my feet like a thunderclap. With tears in her eyes, my chest is pounded by the hooves of a beige armored pegasus.

"Idiot! Asshole!" she desperately shouts out with pain in her voice, not stopping her fierce but not too strong blows at me.

It doesn't really hurt me. Motley's eyes are closed and hot tears are streaming down her cheeks, it's impossible to tell whether her face is expressing anger or joy.

"Bastard!"

The pegasus continues to pound me like a punching bag.

"How could you! Why did you... You... You..." she breathes convulsively.

Her front leg rests against my chest, and she swings the other to land a punch. She opens her eyes, filled with grief and pain, and hesitates as our gazes cross. I have no choice but to smile innocently.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to the fucking Stable 66?" The pegasus' anger evaporates, leaving only disappointment and hurt. "I... I was so worried about you!" she finally says, wrapping me in a hug and nuzzling her nose into my neck, which is immediately wet with hot tears. She continues to sob.

"Hush, hush," I hug the pegasus back, and stroke her head affectionately, soothingly.

I understand what she's experiencing. I'd also have conflicting emotions if she'd traveled alone to a dangerous place, especially to Stable 66. I would be overwhelmed with anger and especially pain if a pony important to me didn't say a word about going to certain death. But how did she know where I was headed?

"I'm sorry, angel."

Motley continues to sob, squeezing me tightly in her hooves as if afraid of losing me.

"I'm sorry. I'm very sorry," I smile, however the pony doesn't see it. "But it's over. I'm alive. And I'm by your side."

The pegasus is silent and sobs for a while longer.

"This is so hard for me. What a jerk you are. I'm so glad you're alive..." she finally whispers in a more or less calm tone, realizing that it's all over.

"And I'm glad to see you. But... how did you know?"

"You didn't turn off the beacon in your backup PipBuck," the pony replies, still snuggled into my neck.

It makes me want to do a facehoof and smash my head with it. What a dumbass!

"Berry and I, as soon as we found out where you'd gone, wanted to go after you right away, but that Caroline, damn her, wouldn't let us, blocking all the exits."

Oh... Caroline. Thank you so much!

"Berry even threatened to reprogram the damn AI! But fighting robots... we couldn't take on an opponent like that. She's really mad at you. A lot."

"I'm guessing. It's all over. It's okay... I'm with you," I add comfortingly.

The pegasus unclenches her embrace and we rise to our hooves. She's still looking into my eyes.

"Promise me you'll always tell me where you're going!" she says sternly and demandingly.

"I'll be damned if I don't," I smile.

The pony hugs me again and then kisses me fervently, as if she's been missing her stallion for ages and now she's finally met him. Her soft lips... Her strong embrace. I'd already forgotten the horror I'd experienced in that underground box. And yet... a pony like Motley doesn't deserve to suffer. I'll have to make it up to her.

I glance at the spare PipBuck—it displays exactly six markers on the map. Right. That tracking chip. It must have kicked in when I got rid of the powerful crystal. Six markers.

Those don't happen to be the six key cards for the Dome, do they? Holy shit! Huh... Yeah. Lucky me.

Three markers point exactly to the Steel Ranger main base. Three? But I only found two for them. So they found another key card and didn't tell me? Those assholes. I should have known. By the time I found the sixth key card, the Steel Rangers wouldn't need me. Or did Lemon come to Heavenly Harbor just to tell me that?

The other three markers point outside the Vanhoover region. A powerful tracking chip, since the signal even passes through the jamming barrier created by the Jammer Tower around the Vanhoover Wasteland. Either way, the key cards have to be found elsewhere. At least three of them, for the other three are in the possession of the Steel ones.

One marker points far from here, to the southeast, to some mountains, or rather a mountain. Good thing I have a flying machine, Venture, getting there shouldn't be too difficult. It feels like this keycard is located in the mountain. A Stable? Or just a bunker?

The other one leads to Canterlot. Great, and I was hoping to avoid a place like the Sierra Madre. Turns out I can't avoid it. Memories of breaking into the Sierra Madre casino with Dog/God, Dean and Christine under the guidance of a deranged Elijah came flooding back to me. It was one hell of a fucked up mess.

And the third marker points to the spot on the map where Motley says New Pegasus is. I'm gonna have to visit that wonderful, sky-high city of casinos, entertainment, and... The Enclave.

Not for nothing I went to the 66! Well, it won't take long to find those key cards. All that's left is to get to them.

Chapter 25 - A King (Part 1)

View Online

Motley arrived with Lemon on Venture. The lemon-colored pony approaches us. She's without power armor, but wearing a warm coat. The expression on her pretty face seems ambiguous, radiating a whole range of different emotions, from genuine joy to righteous anger. Lemon herself doesn't seem to realize what she's supposed to be feeling at this moment.

She promised she'd hate me.

"I'm fucking mad at you. So mad I'm ready to strangle you!" she exclaims deafeningly, looking at me with wet green eyes filled with anger, sorrow, and frustration.

Her body feels like it's shaking from the violent fountain of emotions crushing her heart.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!"

She stomps her leg angrily, glaring at me sternly. She curves her lips, giving me a reproachful look, clearly trying to restrain her rage and desire to punish me for my reckless act.

"The Most... Stupid... Pony... In the world... The most foolish!"

Tears stream down her chubby yellow cheeks, her lips trembling. She rushes to hug me, embracing me tightly around the neck.

"Can you even imagine the smallest bit how worried Motley and I are about you? I hate you, but... I don't want to hate you."

I deserved those words.

"You've got hay instead of brains... I'm so glad you're alive!" she says cheerfully, breathing heavily and tightening her embrace. She opens them and with her front leg gently wipes her tears away.

"How can such a good stallion be such a jerk. I hope Motley gave you a good kicking."

"You can rest assured of that," the pegasus replies, nodding softly and grinning.

"That's good," Lemon utters slowly.

"I think this will smooth out my guilt a bit..."

I levitate the audio recording of Evening Star I've found. Lemon's interested and attentive gaze runs over the item.

"That's what you wanted to know about."

The earth pony's body shudders and her green eyes round; she takes the audio recording without a word, staring dumbly at the object in her hooves.

"I know... that they are not alive. And finally find out how they died?"

I nod.

"If you need support when you listen, you can call on us," I smile warmly. Motley nods in agreement.

"Thank you," Lemon looks at us appreciatively and smiles. Her gaze returns to the audio recording. "I'm much relieved to know that I can rely on you. But... I'll listen to it later. I've been through too much turmoil as it is. What... was there?"

She puts the audio recording inside her coat and looks at the cave entrance, littered with warning signs.

"I haven't fully figured it out myself yet, but it's safe in there now. There are no more threats. You can rest assured of that. I'll tell you later."

"You mean... it's safe to go in?"

"Yes."

"In that case, I need to quickly notify the nearest Steel Ranger post before someone from Vanhoover sets their eyes on the Stable. There's a lot of dead Steel Rangers and technology out there."

I nod.

Lemon is using Venture's equipment to communicate with the reconnaissance post. I hear skepticism and bewilderment in response. The Steels doesn't believe the 66 is safe, but accepts to follow orders.

"Where are you going?" Motley asks as I'm about to get out of the vertibuck.

"I came here on Bear, actually."

"And you're going to ride all the way to Heavenly Harbor on that wreck?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you ditch it?" the pegasus asks. Lemon, however, smiles understandingly.

"It has meaning to me. I'll tell you about its previous owner someday."

***

I return to Heavenly Harbor in the late afternoon. Almost the entire inhabitants come out to greet me and then shower me with a hail of questions. I promise to answer after I change and eat dinner.

"So are you finally going to tell me what happened to you in the Cursed Stable?" Ferris asks interestedly, taking a seat next to me in the dining room. "Don't keep me in suspense. I've heard a lot about this place since I was a very young fledgling!"

"And I'd like to see you as a fledgling," Lemon says casually, sitting down at a nearby dining table. Ferris responds with a frown. She only giggles lightheartedly, as if she's gotten the reaction she needs from him.

There is not a shadow of joy on the lemon pony's face, but I do not see any longing or sorrow either. Having entered the dining room a few minutes earlier, she gave me a welcoming smile. The pony radiates the humility and peace she has long sought. I've never seen her so... peaceful, so relaxed, it's like she's made of jelly that's about to spill all over the chair. She's finally learned how her parents died, and now she's at peace about it. Now she could go on with her life with a light heart.

"So?" the gray-coated griffon persists, looking at me again, his eyes blazing with interest. I can say with certainty that he won't let go of me until he gets answers.

My only and main interest at the moment is the huge plate of meat, sauce, and salad of crisp, fresh vegetables in front of me. The mere sight of this colorful, mostly green dish makes me drool.

Motley sits to my right.

"Can I finish it first?" I ask with my mouth full, without looking up, and without waiting for an answer, I continue crunching the fresh vegetables, savoring their wonderful flavor.

A thought flashes through my mind about the slave work that went into growing these vegetables in the fields and greenhouses of the Waterfall. I mentally give them thanks.

"Gee! Like a jackal on prey you're jumping on him with your questions, let him eat in peace!" the dark gray wingless pegasus cuts in, sitting down next to Lemon and sipping some sort of hot liquid. Probably tea.

Besides Lemon and Blaze in the dining room are Professor, Caroline in her main black and blue robotic body, and Nara. Simply put, everyone is gathered. Even Ferris's pet—he's lying quietly on the couch, and the little orange pony is carefully, with foal-like delight, stroking him with her front hoof. Edge, from her petting, coos quietly and peacefully.

"What are you like a kettle suddenly boiling over? He can eat, for heaven's sake," Ferris rises from his chair and heads for the kitchen. "I'm just wildly curious as to what was in there!"

"Everyone's curious," Blaze shouts after him.

"Absolutely," Lemon agrees, turning to him. Then her gaze drifts to a point. "Flow!" she exclaims in a possessive and joking tone.

"Yes?" anxiety is heard in the voice of the lady from the kitchen. Naturally, she doesn't understand Lemon's cheerful mood.

Blaze chuckles, covering his eyes, then stares thoughtfully into his cup. He, too, was once a slave, and he understands why Flow is alarmed.

Lemon, on the other hand, rolls her eyes, annoyed and sighing heavily. Her tone softens perceptibly and becomes habitually friendly, "Can you please get me something fresh too? I'm starving."

"I'll get it right away!" she replies.

"Would you deign to go to the kitchen and get yourself some breakfast, princess?" the griffon returns from the kitchen with a bottle of beer in his claws. He sits down beside me. "Quite lazy, aren't you?" he adds, casting a sly look at her and smiling impishly.

"You keep blurting out your opinions on my weight, I'll drown you in my teacup," she quips, nodding toward the cup held by the gray stallion.

Everyone chuckles merrily.

Still, he can't resist hinting at her weight, albeit so floridly.

Flow brings Lemon a plate of food, and then sits down on a vacant chair next to her and looks at me with interest. Why are you all so impatient?

"Thank you humbly," Lemon nods and begins to satisfy her stomach with fresh vegetables.

"Glad to serve," the pink pony with the lingonberry-colored mane replies appreciatively.

"What have you heard about this Stable since you're so eager to get the truth out about it?" the voice of Blaze comes up, addressing the question to the griffon. "Many rumors have passed through my ears, namely about how many skilled and capable ponies and griffons have gone there and not returned. Even Kings never came back. Not to mention the Steel Rangers," Blaze glances at Lemon. But she doesn't listen to him, munching away at her food with a nonchalant expression.

"Lots of things," Ferris looks up at the ceiling and thinks. "There were scare stories for the little ones... Among the memorable ones, even Silent Ghost was mentioned as the only survivor of the creepy-crawly Stable."

"Bullshit," Lemon pauses eating her breakfast for a moment.

"Someone said," the griffon continues, ignoring the Star Paladin's comment, "that there was some unusual hideous kind of monster in the Stable that couldn't be killed, but wouldn't leave the confines of the bunker—their nest."

"Any creature can be killed, incinerated, disintegrated," Professor inserts his comment. "Everyone is mortal to one degree or another, and every creature has a weakness, the only question remaining is the discovery of that very spot." Ferris rolls his eyes. He's obviously not happy about being interrupted time after time.

"Others have spoken of sadistic robots who love to watch their victims suffer," Ferris squints at Caroline absently.

"Actually," she begins slowly, rubbing her metal chin with a metal hoof, the way organic and mortal beings like us do when we think hard about something, "it's a wonderful and rather curious idea. I've always been interested in griffons. How durable they are... what their pain threshold is..." Caroline utters with an uncanny coldness, and her robotic eyes flash blue light threateningly.

The griffon's face distorts in horror. There is an awkward silence that seems to last forever. Everyone stares in surprise at the pony-like robotic body. Professor, looking at Caroline, only arches his eyebrow. He's the calm one. I think he's the only one who could still survive the horrors of the Stable.

A wild laughter erupts from Caroline's body speakers. Loud and... light-hearted, friendly.

"I still don't understand your fear of us, but your reaction amused me."

"I didn't know you were capable of jokes," I smile.

And for a moment I believed her, didn't I? Then I remember that she's eager to learn the tools of social interaction, and humor is a major part of it. I can tell she's learning it quite well. And she's already found a way to communicate with everyone in this place.

"The others said," Ferris continues through force, having gotten over her feelings and brought them to order, "that you could start a new life there, that's why no one ever came back from there."

"Complete nonsense," Professor remarks. His confident tone finally dispels the fear and doubt that Caroline had sown with her joke. "No one has ever returned from the Vanhoover region either: some died on the long journey here, and the other had no intention of returning, as the living conditions there are far superior to the rest of the Wastelands. Even the residents of Tenpony Tower would choke with envy. It has everything you need for a happy existence, but you can't draw a parallel to the Stable—more than a hundred ponies and griffons have gone there, not counting the Crater raiders who lived nearby and had the courage to go to this uncharted place. I'm more than sure there's no 'better life' there, as in the case of Vanhoover."

"I've also heard," the gray griffon adds, "that there is an entrance to that very legendary 'Dome'."

He slowly turns his head in my direction. All eyes except Nara and Edge's are on me. I've long since finished my breakfast and am just listening to the conversation.

"Nothin' like that," I state sharply and firmly. "It's all pretty... vague and unclear," I add with uncertainty. "Even though I've been there, I can't say with one hundred percent certainty what really went on in the 66."

"What are you saying?" the griffon asks, frowning. "So enlighten us: tell us with ninety-nine percent certainty."

Motley casts him a disgruntled look. Ferris only spreads his paws, and Lemon chuckles.

"Well... I only have two versions. It's an extremely powerful hallucination or it's really ghosts."

Everyone except Professor, Nara, and Edge look surprised. Is there anything to surprise Professor at all? Should I tell him my origins?

I'm recounting what happened to me in the Cursed Stable. I leave out the fact that I was aided by my other me, and that my non-Equestrian background played an important role, and I also leave out whose voice was on the Steel Ranger's audio recording. Lemon reports it herself. Everyone in the room looks at her with sympathy.

I'm not going to go into detail about what I felt and experienced. And no one was going to ask me about it in detail. Everyone is sympathetic, and Motley gives me a caring wing for most of the conversation. I'm just letting them know that everything in the Stable was based on fear as leverage over the victim's mind.

Almost everyone except Professor is naturally surprised to learn about the chip tracking the location of the six key cards for access to the Dome. Lemon is particularly impressed. After all, this greatly simplifies the search for the mythical pre-war facility, or rather, the keys to access it. To this day, it is still unknown where exactly it is needed to apply key cards to get there, but this fact does not greatly upset the Star Paladin.

The confidence in the mythical nature of the Dome has not been significantly shaken by anyone so far: the existence of key cards is no secret to anyone; there is no confirmation that they were created for it.

Professor's interest is ignited only at the mention of the strange crystal. The genetic scientist does not ask any questions, but interest and curiosity are clearly readable in his eyes.

Ferris is amazed that a crystal like the one that powered the entire Stable, that held ghosts or produced hallucinations, was also in the Apostle, which I was very, very, very lucky to bring with me. I doubt very much that I would have been able to leave the Stable without another crystal. What amazes the griffon the most, however, is when he hears how I destroyed the crystal with another, ruining the weapon.

"Wow, that's quite a story," a stunned Ferris stares dumbly into the empty bottle. "My childhood will never be the same. All the horror stories about this place I listened to as a fledgling have been mercilessly shattered. It's hard to believe, especially the ghosts and spirits. I'm more inclined to believe they're hallucinations—like the Rainbow Mine, where several of us were influenced by the Twilight Demon. Based on your story, that place was nothing like it. Still, it's a shame your Defender lost its cherry. Although your suspicions about the crystals made me think, because I found my Apostle in the same Rainbow Mine."

"And I'd like to take a look at the crystal in your Apostle, Ferris," Professor turns to the griffon enthusiastically.

"No problem," the latter smiles. He turns to me. "You made a big noise in Vanhoover, Danny. Practically solved the main mystery of the 66. But that doesn't matter. The important thing is that you came back from there on your own four. Prince ought to gold you for that."

"I remember the reward. Besides, he's the one who sent me to this place."

"That's what we figured," Motley cuts in. A look of displeasure and reproach spreads across her face. "You told me Prince sent you on a testing mission, didn't you? We had no idea it would turn out to be Stable 66!"

"Yes, Motley and Berry," the griffon smiles nervously, "were tearing up and throwing down. If it hadn't been for Caroline, they'd have gone full sail after you."

"I am most grateful to you," I turn to Caroline.

"I tried to hold them off as you asked," she nods. Motley pokes at me indignantly with a hoof, and Lemon throws me a reproachful look.

"It turned out well in the end, didn't it?" I smile innocently. "You heard from me yourself what was going on in there. You just wouldn't have survived there."

"That doesn't change the fact that you lied to everyone," Lemon says. "You don't do that to friends."

"That's why I kept my mouth shut. You wouldn't have let me go."

"Okay, forget it!" the griffon interjects with indignation. "Daniel has completed the special task—which means Prince will soon bestow upon him the King's mantle. You can imagine the possibilities. Reputation, ignoring paper laws, discounts! Imagine, Motley. Do you know what you could buy in the stores at a permanent discount?"

"They're not worth anyone's life," Motley glances sullenly in my direction.

"Cut it out already!" Ferris exclaims glumly, raising his front paws. "Don't start that record, Motley. I understand your affection for your stallion. But it's all passed. It's history now. It ended well, nothing to put wood in your stove of anger again. It's bad enough you and Berry almost burned us to the ground with your anger and resentment. You had Nara terrified, huddled somewhere in the bowels of the ventilation system." He sighs heavily. "I'm going to the workshop. I'd better do something useful," he glances at the crimson-red unicorn. "Come join me, Professor. Let's take a better look at this tiny crystal," the griffon leaves the dining room. The scientist briskly follows.

"You know," Lemon sits down in the seat next to me where Ferris just sat. "Thanks to you, I found out what happened to my parents. Thanks again. I won't stop being mad at you, though."

"You're welcome. I need to head to your bunker and have a word with the Elder."

Lemon frowns, concerned at my irritated tone.

"Is something wrong?" she clarifies carefully.

Motley also picks up on my subtle displeasure and looks at me interestedly. The others present are just watching our conversation, or they're chatting amongst themselves.

"We'll discuss it later. Tomorrow we're going on Venture to the Steel Rangers."

"I'm with you," the pegasus places a hoof on my shoulder. I smile weakly at her.

"You can't," Lemon interjects. "I can't take on a second pony under my responsibility, and someone else won't want to do it."

I hug the pegasus.

"Don't worry. We'll be quick."

She replies with a sad look. Apparently, after what happened, she doesn't want to leave. It's understandable.

Motley helps me take a shower, even though it's unnecessary. She doesn't take one herself. In bed, she snuggles up to me, hugs me and keeps holding me.

"You've got her worried. With our dangerous lives, you shouldn't have gotten involved with her."

I hear you, calm down. Let me enjoy the warmth of my pony.

***

2nd of the Month of Rain, Orangeday. Sixty-seventh day of my stay.

Before leaving for the Steel Rangers, I stop by the warehouse where the loot from the casino robbery is lying and pick up a stealth cloak, the second technology the head scribe needs for his project. I remember he promised me something special if I got both technologies.

We're landing near the base. Motley stays to keep an eye on the bird, and Lemon and I go to visit the Steel Rangers.

Lemon hasn't said a single word since the conversation in the dining room, only glancing at me worriedly at times and thinking deeply about something. Her chubby face showed concern. Apparently, she didn't like the tone in which I expressed my desire to talk to her Elder about something important to me.

Lemon still tries to elicit the topic of a future conversation with Largo Breeze.

"I keep wondering why you suddenly have so much cold unfriendliness towards our Elder?" Lemon asks timidly.

"Why didn't you inform me that you already have three key cards?" I ask bluntly.

The silence lasts for a few seconds. Her muzzle expresses genuine bewilderment.

"What?" she mutters quietly. "What are you talking about? You only found two key cards. And both of them were in the Stables."

"And the tracking chip in my spare PipBuck, obtained in the 66, informs me very clearly that you have three," I pause and show the computer screen: three small dots flickering on the Steel Ranger Headquarters marker.

"Uh..."

Her surprised gaze doesn't break away from the green screen of the PipBuck.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mutters absent-mindedly. We step forward. "Maybe this is a mistake. I know for a fact that we only had two key cards. And I have no idea about the third one... probably recently obtained—but if that were the case, the Elder would have told me. Now I see why you sounded resentful and bitter. You probably assumed that the Elder had kept such an important thing from you, and assumed that you'd look like an idiot looking for the sixth keycard when we didn't need it. And the Rangers would have infiltrated the complex on their own."

I pause. How accurately she's voiced my thoughts.

"That was quick to guess what was on my mind," I remark, gaining my composure.

"I've danced around you long enough to know that you hate being circled or used like a rag for dirty work, to say the least... without your knowledge. Especially when something important is being kept from you."

"That's for sure," I say dryly and glumly.

"Well, you... take it easy. Chill out."

"Not even a piece of meat in me would go rotten in two hundred years—that's how calm and cool I am."

"I myself wonder why I, a Star Paladin who ranks right after the Elder and answers to no one but her, was not informed of such an important find."

It's quite possible that Lemon really hadn't heard that the Steel Rangers have one more keycard than they were supposed to. Or maybe she's not telling me something.

***

I wonder how Largo Breeze will explain herself for hiding the third key card. If she'll even agree to talk to me. I don't know whether she's doing it for personal reasons or in the interests of the Steel Rangers, but I'm in charge of finding those key cards, and I have a right to know everything that has to do with them. I'm inclined to think that she'll either push me out of her office or throw me out as a pile of ash.

I walk into the office.

"Oh, welcome back," the elderly muddy-yellow pony in a blue robe says without much affability, her face as somber, serious, businesslike, and joyless as ever. "So? How's the Northren Soul thing going? Convinced the ghouls to leave the base? It's been about two weeks since you assured me you would resolve the matter. That's the same amount of time left, and if nothing changes, we'll take the base by force. Or have you come to report on the progress about the key cards?"

"I haven't settled anything with Northern Soul yet," I say somewhat confused.

I'd forgotten that I had to somehow convince Captain and his ghoul pack to leave the base. But I pick myself up in time, thinking of something else.

"I'm here about the key cards."

"You brought another one?" she clarifies calmly, not even dignifying me with a glance, staring into the green terminal monitor with a busy look.

"I recall I only brought you two key cards. When did you discover the third?"

The Elder's eyes go wide, and even her mouth falls open. She slowly shifts her gaze to me, shakes her head, and returns her previous expression.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't need to bullshit me here. I'm aware that you have a third key card and you haven't even bothered to let me know about it."

Lemon just stands there and doesn't interfere with our conversation, looking timidly and uncertainly at me and Largo.

"So why didn't you?"

I am surprised at my own calmness. The Elder's gaze locks onto Lemon.

"I'm wondering why you didn't say anything to me, too," she utters, a little daring thanks to genuine interest.

Largo's gaze hardens sharply.

"I don't know what kind of sack you were hit over the head with that you imagined such a thing. I didn't expect you, Lemon, to believe a savage more than me!"

A look of confusion comes over Lemon's face, and she has no choice but to lower her gaze guiltily.

"I've spent my whole life looking out for you, supporting you, cheering you on, and caring for you. Tried to keep you in your position because you are worthy of it despite your illness. Do you really think I haven't been sincere with you?"

The Star Paladin remains silent, head lowered in shame. She saw it herself on PipBuck's screen: the chip is pointing exactly at the HQ marker. I realize that Lemon has feelings for me, but at the same time she's spent her entire life here, under Largo Breeze—she's like a stepmother to her.

"I suspected that Lemon would grow quite attached to you, savage," Largo Breeze says the last word with disgust. "She has spent too much time with you. Get out of my office now, or you'll leave it dead," two laser turrets emerge from the ceiling to confirm her words, pointing their barrels at me menacingly.

Largo Breeze is obviously hiding something. But I'm not going to give up so easily, and I decide, figuratively speaking, to take her by the sides. Lemon was right not to intervene so as not to get hurt—but it's clear that she wants to help one of us, but she's shackled by uncertainty. The tension in the air hovers so palpable that the poor lemon pony nearly chokes.

"Do you really think that by mere threats I can be made to run away, cowardly tucking my tail?" I say calmly. "Wrong!" I raise my voice slightly. "I can clearly see you fiercely resisting, thus proving the opposite. You try to get rid of me and you will make a fatal mistake."

"And what would that be?" Largo says venomously through gritted teeth, squinting.

"I wouldn't risk it," I reply in the same threatening manner, shaking my head slowly.

Lemon pivots back, unsure of how to handle the situation. The elderly Largo doesn't raise an eyebrow.

"I am not so easy to kill. I've been tried many times, but as you can see, those attempts failed miserably. I was even shot in the head once and thrown into a pit, covered with damp and cold earth."

"Those turrets won't leave a wet spot on you—there'll be nothing to bury!" Largo parries angrily.

Well, that's an argument.

"We no longer need your services, savage, I advise you to leave the territory now if your life is valuable to you!"

Largo's patience loudly cracks at the seams as the turrets buzz dangerously, putting the laser weapons on alert. Spotting, Lemon rests her butt against the concrete wall, practically squeezing herself in, hoping to find salvation there.

"If your turrets disintegrate me, you'll never be able to find the other three key cards again," I throw in indifferently, as if casually.

"You're on the cusp of death right now. How can you be so sure?" the cloudy yellow pony hisses, barely holding back from giving the turrets the order to execute me.

"I know those key cards are in places you wouldn't think to look. You remember Paladin Hugh reporting on that Stable recently fondled by the Vanhoover masters with the help of one of Kings. He said that there was no keycard there, but there was room for one. There was a similar situation in the Stable in Red Spark. You see, at least two key cards are no longer in their rightful place..." I explain in high spirits. She can't deny it.

There was no way Hugh could hide the discovery of the key card from me: Motley kept her eyes on him.

"Specifically, outside Vanhoover Wasteland," I add, and my lips stretch into a victorious grin. Doubt flickers in Largo's lavender eyes, and she immediately dismisses it as utterly useless.

"Proof?"

"My PipBuck has a tracking chip that points to the exact location of all six key cards. Disintegrate me and there's a good chance my PipBuck with that chip will turn to ash, as well as your dreams of the research complex."

There's a look of surprise on the pony's muzzle, which evaporates almost immediately, replaced by insight. Her anger subsides slightly.

"So that's it. That's expected," the pony grins skeptically. "It could very well be pointing to something else; or it could be giving off a glitch by detecting something in this location that emits the same radio signal or frequency as the object being tracked. Besides, how can it point to something outside Vanhoover Wasteland if, because of the Vanhoover Jammer Tower, let me remind you, no radio signal emanates from here as well as from outside. It's a kind of dome..."

"The Dome is a government project. That tower is clearly more than just a powerful pre-war relay that can be used to jam signals. It is likely that a special 'window' in the range is installed and well hidden there, automatically amplifying a signal operating on that frequency. Or it does not block absolutely all signals. Do you think Vanhoover's masters are so well versed in pre-war technology? They might not have noticed such a thing."

"Sounds like you pulled it out of your ass. That nonsense is pretty hard to believe. We'll just kill you, remove the chip and examine it ourselves and analyze how it works. What's the problem?"

"Like I said, are you sure you're going to take that risk? The turrets could accidentally incinerate me if their power is high—and it's high, I'm sure of it. Protecting the Elder is one of the Steel Rangers' top priorities, isn't it? And I'm not going to give you guys that easy. And yes, what a glitch, when the chip indicates as clearly as a ray of light in the darkness that there are three key cards here, exactly in your office." Largo's eyes opened wide. I smiled again. "Your reaction is a confirmation of that. I've played enough card games. I can see the slightest change in another player's reaction. So, as I said, you don't need to bullshit me. Tell me the truth. I don't care why you're hiding it: I've seen a lot of things in my life, and it's hard to surprise me."

The Elder is silent, her gaze lowered, and she looks deeply thoughtful. Lemon, who has suddenly come to her senses, steps uncertainly toward Largo's table.

"Can you at least tell me where another key card came from?" She, smiling softly, steps closer to the older pony. "I feel like there's really something fishy going on here. It just feels that way."

"I mean, he's an outsider. Despite what he's done for us. He's a stranger to us, and..."

"For me," Lemon gently interrupts her and continues quietly, "he's considerably closer than some of my 'brothers and sisters'." Danny is looking for the Dome, he needs answers if we are to find this complex. Yeah, he doesn't trust us, and neither do we. That's the norm in the Wasteland. However, compared to any other Vanhoover master, he can be trusted safely with even our own lives."

Wow... Lemon... You trust me that much?

Largo scrutinizes Lemon's face after which she turns to me. The expression on her face is a bit sad, wistful and depressed. The turrets disappear from sight, and the Elder sighs heavily.

"I hope said words never leave this room," she looks at me demurely and meaningfully, but then for some reason cautiously timidly looks around.

I nod understandingly and smile amicably, not paying much attention to her concern. The Elder's lips curve faintly into a smile, and his expression takes on a sad look again.

"I didn't expect anyone to know about this," she begins reluctantly, lowering her eyes bashfully. "Only three individuals knew, myself among them," she raises her gaze to me. "The Steel Rangers would have been killed here a long time ago," she adds suddenly without any preparation, as if carelessly throwing that fact in our faces.

I respond with only a perplexed look, and so does Lemon.

I have a bad feeling.

"Was it really that bad?" I ask.

"I'm curious... She probably suspects that you're also working for Vanhoover's interests. Intending to become a King. And that there's a definite possibility that you might give out some important information to Prince. Why is she so quickly willing to tell you the whole truth?"

A shadow of carefully concealed excitement was evident in her eyes. The elder looks away guiltily.

"This key card," her voice trembles, "was personally placed in my hooves by... Prince."

"And here comes the answer..."

"What?!" I exclaimed in unison with Lemon.

"It seems Prince is not as simple as he seems."

There is an awkward silence for the Elder; she doesn't want to see our—perhaps judgmental—faces. I've pulled back from my surprise, but I still don't fully comprehend what I've heard.

"Why did you make a deal with your sworn enemy?" Lemon asks shocked, having recovered from the shock. I can sense the disappointment and resentment in her voice.

"I just didn't have a choice," the pony replies quietly, then turns to us, trying to avoid direct eye contact. "It was... a long time ago, a year before I became Elder, and before..." she casts a brief and quick glance at Lemon, "took you under my care."

"What happened?"

Lemon's question sounds as if she doesn't believe her mentor's words. It's the same disbelief a child feels when he learns that his parents are never coming back. That's an odd comparison to make about Lemon.

She is in unimaginable confusion and highly distraught.

"Remember, Lemon, I told you what happened to my husband?"

"You told me then that he died with a unit near Vanhoover, and you were the only survivor of that unit. It was the masters of the city who took you by surprise."

"Yes, everyone knows that. But there was only one master of the city. And that was Prince himself. He figured out our location and wiped out an entire squad of five ponies in the blink of an eye. I was just lucky he chose me as the witness. Although, 'lucky' can be interpreted in many ways. That's when my husband and a few good friends died," the Elder sighs, interrupting her story for a moment. "With this he chose to remind us of himself, for we have begun to forget, once again meddling too openly and brazenly in Vanhoover's affairs."

You mean he allows their presence in the city?

"The reminder was presented in the same manner as when the Steel Rangers appeared in this region. That is. He stated that he could easily deal with us whenever he wanted. Then I saw with my own eyes the confirmation of the legends and stories that he had long ago been able to slay an entire Ranger squad by himself. That moment was the hardest of my life. My husband's death before my eyes, the fear and terror of facing Prince. My body trembled with the rush of emotion, and then I felt like I was suffocating, like this lord of the city had grabbed me by the throat. Everything seemed like some kind of horrible nightmare. Prince said he couldn't leave the city for a long time for certain reasons, so he waited until our squad was nearby. After destroying the squad, he said he was serious. Threatened that we shouldn't cross his path so we wouldn't openly go into Vanhoover."

"Did he say that? 'Openly'?"

"He is probably aware of our spies in the city," the Elder suggests. "He's come not only to remind us that he's in complete control, but to slip his spy into our ranks to make sure we don't break our word. If anything happens to this spy, the Steel Rangers will be in trouble. That's what he threatened me with."

"Yeah," I say absent-mindedly. "Really, that was bold and cocky of him."

"As a sign of 'trust'," the muddy-yellow elderly pony pronounces with a strangely squeamish irony, "he gave us the key card and said: 'You will be free to engage in your looting activities anywhere but Vanhoover, and not anywhere near the families' holdings outside of it. If we are the first to discover something, it is ours.' In the end, I'm the reason we're under the Prince's hoof... because of me. I had to choose the lesser of two evils. It was better to already agree to a deal with the White Demon and prepare than to let him crush us soon. Huh... As I said, only three ponies knew about this key card and what really happened: Prince, me, and the spy. It was pretty hard to infiltrate a mole into our ranks without anyone getting suspicious. No one here but myself and him knows about it. I am responsible for the fact that the Prince's spy lives among us."

"And who is this spy?" Lemon asks interestedly.

"I can't say. I hope I haven't crossed that line yet and put the Steel Rangers in danger by revealing this event. I don't know how far the mole has gotten: maybe even into my office."

Largo looks around apprehensively again.

"I realize you had no choice. But..." Lemon's speech is suddenly cut short.

She looks at Largo Breeze with disappointment—but with understanding and sympathy. The latter responds with a bitter smile.

"I'm sorry," she says remorsefully, her gaze lowering bashfully. "I tried to follow the Steel Rangers' code carefully and find and acquire as much technology as I could, the latter reason I sent an expedition to Stable 66 to eventually get stronger. I hoped to do all this so that the future Elder would not have to agree to a deal with Prince, and if anything, would be able to fight back. I wanted to ensure we had a better future as guardians of knowledge and technology from ignorants who could start another Great War or worse. We don't have to bow down to anyone the way I had to."

"You shouldn't-" the lemon earth pony begins, but the Elder interrupts her by swishing a hoof.

"You, as a Star Paladin wandering the Wastelands, represent all of us. So I rather apologize to all of you that I had to set you all up like this by hiding it. If all the Rangers find out. It's... I..." she mumbles something inaudibly, her voice shaking.

"I understand why you did it," Lemon walks around Largo Breeze's desk and hugs her. The latter is shocked. "I would do the same thing if I were you, just so long as the Steel Rangers existed." The Elder's eyes get wet.

I only smile softly.

Now I understand why she strictly follows the rules and doesn't show any positive emotions. The death of her husband, the forced betrayal of her own family, the failed expedition to Stable 66 that she initiated—all of it has made her so strict and constantly following the rules in an attempt to atone for her enormous violations and mistakes. And all the weight of guilt and remorse she has single-handedly carried for so many years: quietly, silently. That can't help but inspire respect. I'm impressed with the courage of this pony to get out of her chest in front of a stranger.

It's good to know that Lemon didn't stand by and support the Elder now because she was watching over the daughter of her dead friends. Even when the illness had taken its toll on Lemon's health, making her less fit, Largo hadn't been able to dismiss her. Not even if Lemon herself had wanted to.

"To follow the Steel Ranger Code... She couldn't enforce it on Lemon."

Things can't be unequivocal.

Lemon lets go of Largo, and the latter wipes away her tears a little embarrassed.

"I just got something in my eyes... An Elder is not allowed to give in to emotion, especially in front of his subordinates," she excuses herself, looking at me.

"I must remind you that I am not your subordinate, but rather a freelance mercenary who works for you," I smile warmly.

"Where did you get it?" Largo brings up the tracking chip.

"In the 66," Lemon calmly answers for me, smiling broadly.

"It's not surprising that a thing related to the Dome could be in the Stable... What?" the pony exhales, looking at the Star Paladin with wide-open eyes.

"Our freelance mercenary explored the bunker alone," she explains with a pleased and satisfied smile.

Largo looks at me with a shocked expression.

Oh, how I love to surprise others like that, to see those stunned and amazed looks. It's incredibly satisfying to my ego.

Yes, this result is pleasant, but dangerous. Every such trip could be the last.

"And yet this is our calling. How many things are in the ruins of the pre-war age... We love it, remember?"

It's just that I've met Motley, about whom my new calling may arise. A calling to be near her.

"And I doubt it, as far as you remember. Let her accept you first, love you with all her soul, and then you can safely claim it."

No matter what her answer is: I want her to be happy. Even with another pony.

"I can clearly sense the wild jealousy that these thoughts arouse in you. However, that you wish her happiness is undeniable. I am the only one who understands that. We felt the same way about Brisa."

"Lemon will tell you more about what happened there. Besides, she has her mother's latest audio recording with her as proof that I was there."

"I've already informed the nearest post near the 66 to pick up the bodies of the dead and a few other things of value along the way."

"You," Largo looks on with awe, "are indeed an unusual phenomenon among all sav... inhabitants of the Wasteland. Since receiving the key card, our affairs have taken a steep upward turn: finding two key cards to the mythical 'Dome' at once, securing two Stables, a combat vertibuck and blueprints, Enclave power armor, and information about the Enclave itself... Help with the Cursed Stable. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. And the Northern Soul. You can take your time evicting the ghouls. When it works out, so be it."

"Thank you," I gratefully lower my head in deference. "Now I need to deliver to your head scribe the last, second technology for his project."

Largo's lips stretch in a faint smile.

"Well, you're my beige blessing..."

She types something on the terminal; a small click is heard. Largo slides her front leg somewhere under the table and pulls out three key cards. The pink one from the first Stable I visited. The yellow one, taken from the Stable with the escaped slaves. The orange one the Elder got from Prince himself.

"One of them brought me nothing but pain and guilt."

"But why are you giving them to me?"

"Because the Dome is a myth. I no longer believe it exists. I used to, but... it seems to me it's some elaborate scheme of the pre-war government. I think you can figure it out if you have all the key cards. Good luck... and thanks for everything."

***

On the one hand, I find it disturbing that Prince has been able to keep all the Steel Rangers in check and use their desire and passion for technology—particularly the Dome—to his personal advantage without expending his own resources. On the other hand, I admire him, for he is a natural born lord, capable of handling any threat.Doesn't seem obsessed with power and wealth, quite an intelligent and adequate leader, carefully thinks and calculates his actions ahead and strives for his goals. He's doing everything for Vanhoover, for him to become the dominant force in the Wasteland.

However, I cannot fathom why he is hesitating? He could have gotten rid of the Steels at any time. Maybe because they are more adept at finding technology and are useful for that: you can come in at some point, like the reaper, and collect everything. Or he just does not want to play with fire and does not hurry, so as to properly prepare for the sake of achieving results with minimal losses. Or maybe it's something else entirely.

I don't like it.

I especially don't like the fact that a mole could have told Prince about my relationship with the Steel Rangers. So, from the very beginning, even before I showed up in Vanhoover, Prince could have already known about me, and that I could cooperate with the Steel Rangers. But... again, why doesn't he do anything about it? Why let me become a King if I'm making business with the Steel Rangers on the side and not always working in Vanhoover's favor? After all, according to Walnut, one of Kings with whom we cleared Nara's Stable of badgers, the Lieutenant before Redstone was doing business on the side, and was executed by Prince for it.

The Elder's revelation disturbed me, not only by reminding me that Prince is in control, but that he still wants me to take the title of a King, seeing some potential in me, and has some sort of plans for me.

I make my way to the main technical department. After a couple minutes I find a busy gray unicorn with a graying mane that still shows strands of its true black color. This pony is respected and honored here, and his name is Iron Willford.

He is busily and carefully digging into a component or part of some high-tech device, occasionally glancing at a drawing that shows it in detail in several projections. It appears to be part of a combat Vertibuck.

"Good day, Iron," I approach the busy unicorn with a smile. Seeing me, he smiles back affably and continues fiddling with the inside of the Vertibuck, scrutinizing it.

"Good day to you too, Daniel. What brings you here?"

"Just bringing you something interesting and fascinating..."

The unicorn gives me another glance, which then slides with bewilderment and curiosity to the object I'm holding in the glow of telekinesis. His eyes go wide and his mouth falls open. The next moment, his lips slowly spread into a smile. Keeping his admiring gaze on the stealth cloak, he placed the part he was studying on his workstation.

"Thunder struck me... A stealth cloak! You never cease to slip me more and more work, my dear friend," he says cheerfully.

"Ah, so it's my fault for not letting you live out your old age in peace?"

"You bet!" the head scribe of the Steel Rangers laughs. "I'm not going to live in tranquility!" I laugh merrily along with him. "Working and undamaged, I hope?" he asks already without a shadow of mirth.

"Absolutely. I checked it out the other day. What do you intend to do with this technology?"

"Well," he picks up the rare stealth cloak with his magic warmly, in a fatherly, gentle sort of way. "I will now research this material to integrate similar components and technology into a new and lighter version of the power armor I have already begun modifying based on the standard Steel Ranger version, replacing some components and slightly altering the design itself. Basically, I'll just be modifying the standard power armor models. No matter. There's plenty of work to be done! And we haven't quite figured out the Vertibuck yet. And the Enclave power armor, and now the stealth cloak... I believe I have a special reward for obtaining the second technology. You may, of course, continue to come to me for practice to develop your magical repair skills."

"I have already learned a useful spell that is cast on an item to temporarily protect it from physical wear and tear and other minor external damage. And I've already started practicing a spell that allows the opposite—incapacitate certain technologies. Definitely useful in combat or for sabotage. The enemy will be surprised when the weapon suddenly disintegrates into rubble. Not literally."

"Uh-oh... That's commendable. You're making rapid progress. Good for you! Something I forget is that we can expect anything from you. I hope you won't have to use this knowledge against my fellow brothers and sisters?"

His gaze becomes concerned, attentive and intense.

"Not likely. I seem to have a fairly normal relationship with your Elder."

"That's good," the gray unicorn exhales with barely perceptible relief. "Be right back."

A few minutes later, he returns while I examine a detail of the Vertibuck.

"Here's your reward," the head scribe of the Steel Rangers says expectantly, holding up some kind of wizened energy-magic weapon in his cloud of telekinesis.

The weapon is the same length as a regular model plasma rifle. Smooth streamlined forms, almost the entire body is gray, almost silver, but a few parts, certain buttons and glowing components are dark blue. The upper part of the case consists of a small transparent cylinder, in the center of which there is a blue beam of light, presented in the shape of a lightning bolt. In this way, the cylinder clearly shows the state and stability of the generated magical energy. Obviously, the weapon is now turned on. The barrel is short, it diverges into three symmetrically arranged pointed 'prongs' having the shape of a lightning bolt and being at a certain angle to the barrel and to each other. Along the barrel all the energy created in the main body is focused and stabilized, and in the center between these three 'prongs' it is released and strikes the target.

A quick glance doesn't give me any specific information about the type of energy-magic weapon. Definitely not laser or plasma. Maybe along the lines of a lightning rifle, a special kind of energy-magic weapon of this world, the mention of which has been seen here and there?

"What is it?" I wonder, looking at the rifle with admiration and burning curiosity.

It looks pretty impressive, and I imagine it could turn any enemy to ash in the blink of an eye.

"A modified version of a thunderbolt rifle, which I've named Illumination for simplicity's sake."

"I've never seen anything like it..."

"It's not surprising. Back in the days of my youth, I got my hands on this rifle after discovering it in one of the science centers when I was still on field trips. It's a prototype energy-magic weapon. According to the data, only a few units were produced. It's basically a second model of the standard lightning rifle, which in turn is also extremely rare."

"What's the difference?"

"The standard thunderbolt rifle uses much less energy to fire than its predecessor. It was in lousy condition, but in my spare minutes and hours I fixed it up from time to time and practiced shooting skills on it, and then I started modifying and refining it. Illumination does a lot of damage not only to organic targets, but also to spell matrixes, just like the lightning rifle. Depends on the power and type of shot. Not inferior in accuracy and rate of fire to laser rifle, slightly superior to plasma rifle. More economical than lightning rifle in terms of spark battery consumption. Useful against robots..."

Obviously, Iron wanted to report other targets, like power armor users, but chose to remain silent. Professor had also worked on his own weapons at one point.

It turns out that Illumination is a kind of tesla rifle. However, it needs to be studied in detail before a final verdict can be made.

"Sounds cool," I say to the unicorn.

"Of course it is! It's a powerful and deadly toy in the hooves of a unicorn engineer, in others it would only be a liability."

"Why?" I inquire, taking the weapon in my telekinesis.

I immediately feel its weight. It's heavy. Extremely.

"I see you noticed that..."

On the user's side, there is a special sensor on the body with a measuring scale. It currently reads exactly 100%.

"It is the latest advancement in the production of energy magical weapons and is highly advanced in technology and engineering. It is because of this positive fact that the not particularly high quality parts and components I used to repair and modify the weapon wear out rather quickly. Many times faster under special modes."

Iron and I get into a discussion about the rifle. He also brings his documentation, which he's going to give to me anyway, but he wants to point out the main points himself. Opening the folder on one of the vacant desks, the head scribe flips through the pages—some of them sloppily pasted together.

A creative mess.

His own drawings and markings are also there. He talks about the characteristics of the weapon, its design and construction, various features, condemning the notes in the documentation.

As Iron said, this is a thunderbolt rifle modified and finalized by him. Its ancestor is a lightning rifle, which I haven't seen in this world yet, but I've heard about it many times in conversations with Blaze and Motley. A thunderbolt rifle uses half as much energy as a lightning rifle, though it does slightly less damage than that one.

He researched and studied this energy-magic weapon, and when the specifications and blueprints for the rifle were compiled and entered into a shared database, it came into his personal use and he began to improve it. Even looking at the original drawings of the rifle before modification, I was amazed at the complexity of its design: it was simply impossible to understand it without documentation, and in that scientific center, according to my interlocutor, there was not a single bit of information about this prototype. Iron spent a lot of his free time in his youth researching this weapon. In fact, as he said, it was his study of it that made him stand out among the other scribes, after which his career in the Rangers skyrocketed. He was given the rifle because it was impossible to recreate such a weapon, as well as the power armor: it consisted of very rare components, parts and materials.

However, despite this, Iron was still able to modify it using rare parts from various models of plasma and laser weapons, using magic to adjust the necessary materials and parts to approximate compatibility with these weapons. This is the main reason why the rifle should be used by unicorn engineers. It wears out criminally fast, and the thunderbolt rifle cannot be repaired with just standard components from other energy-magic weapons, especially without the help of magical repair spells. All these flaws are compensated by good damage, accuracy and speed of fire, useful innovations, such as new firing modes. As well as the presence of an additional self-replenishing special battery. Of course, in a few years or decades it will run out, but until then it will be replenished.

Despite the built-in self-replenishing battery, Illumination can also use standard types of spark batteries. It is possible to switch between power sources using a special button on the weapon, but special firing modes cannot be activated when the self-replenishing battery is in use. This is due to the parts integrated by Iron, which are not designed for this rifle from the beginning and can only function when using normal replacement spark batteries. The use of special firing modes increases the intensity of physical wear and tear of the weapon. With each subsequent shot, the power of the shot will gradually decrease.

From the positive qualities can still be noted a kind of self-direction of lightning, about five to ten degrees from the original line of guidance: at the moment of firing the lightning slightly bends to hit the target. All thanks to sensors mounted on the prongs that detect the target. Partially utilized technology from PipBucks to point and identify friends and foes on the compas. If desired, this homing can be turned off, and the lightning strike will only point straight ahead. It is not recommended to turn on homing if there is a friendly target nearby, otherwise the lock-on detectors may randomly jump to it.

Simply put, it is not worth rescuing hostages with these detectors.

Special firing modes: boosted single, group, and ray. Each is selected by a corresponding switch on the rifle's body. A normal spark battery lasts for twenty-four shots. With the self-replenishing battery, it lasts for about twenty-seven, taking into consideration regeneration of energy. When fully depleted, it takes about three seconds to restore the amount of energy needed for a single shot. Again, special modes cannot be used with the self-replenishing battery on—only standard replaceable batteries.

Iron repeats this to me very often, so I'm sure I won't forget in the heat of battle. He says there's no 'foolproofing': I have to keep my eyes and ears on the weapon when it fires, or it'll blow the fuck up.

That would be the stupidest death in the Wasteland.

The boosted single-shot mode is much more useful against well-defended and large targets. The damage dealt is about three times that of a standard shot, but the rate of fire is slightly slower. Each shot uses up one-sixth of the battery, which is the same as four shots in standard mode. In this mode, you can fire about forty shots before this weapon completely shuts down and breaks down—and probably lights up like a Christmas tree on Hearth's Warming Eve and starts melting like butter on a griddle. Again, the fault is foreign parts that quickly overheat from the load. It depends on the intensity of the shots themselves when in use.

Such a mode would come in handy against Deathclaws. The skin of these huge creatures is so resistant to damage that only armor-piercing bullets, powerful energy weapons or high-quality explosives will penetrate it.

The group mode works on the principle of flipping lightning. Chain lightning, in other words. Useful against a group of opponents. The level of damage is the same as during a standard shot, but in this mode the lightning, having struck one target, hits the nearby ones with the same damage. Each shot uses up one-fourth of the battery, which is the same as six shots in standard mode. The weapon finally shuts down after about sixty shots.

This is useful against a horde of ghouls running after me: I can wipe out several of them in one fell swoop.

And the last mode is ray. It works on the principle of a constant directional ray in the form of lightning, and also locks onto the target, establishing contact with it. A bit like the impressive electric welding machines from the Divide, only the range of impact is virtually unlimited. Useful against agile and nimble targets that are difficult or nearly impossible to hit the first time—or even the tenth time. Due to the evenly released energy, the damage level is noticeably lower. Although the enemy is unlikely to retain his agility when he is hit by lightning. Within a second, the ray will use up as much energy as a shot in standard mode. About half a minute. It would take ten full batteries in a row for the weapon to shut down.

That would be useful against the Rainbow Mine's overgrown chameleon or the fucking cazadors. How I hate those fast creatures. The sting of those absurdly huge bees can pierce even strong armor like a needle through the ass, injecting their venom into the body and making it burn like a nuclear fire.

Despite the flaws of poor quality components, this weapon can serve well in the hooves of a unicorn engineer, especially with a spell that somehow slows down deterioration. At the same time, it would be good practice for magic in general and repairer skills in particular. For me, it's a good fit. I already know more or less how to wield magic, and I've mastered magical lockpicking, and when it comes to repairing technology, the subtlety of magic is as important and necessary as the air I breathe. Illumination with its energy replenishment function will be very useful to me in Canterlot. Although in this case I will have to give up teleportation and barriers and use these energy-consuming spells only when absolutely necessary.

Still, there was one important detail that remained unclear.

"Why are you giving me what you've been doing so hard for so many years?" I ask, putting the folder in my bag and the rifle hanging on my shoulder.

"I can't do it in open combat anymore: my shooting skills are incorrigibly rusty, and I'm not the same age. Besides, I've long since switched my focus to technology, and for a normal fighter, a rifle like this would be a burden because of the need for constant maintenance every minute of the battle. For example, I wouldn't give the rifle to my son, Hugh, because maintenance isn't even close to his specialty, and my daughter is already modifying her weapon using my schematics—the documentation and blueprints for this rifle are in the database. I put them in there, by the way. And my daughter doesn't want to deal with it. Let her learn to build something like this using her imagination and knowledge. What about you? You are constantly traveling, often engage in skirmishes and fights with dangerous opponents, and you know a lot about technology and know how to take care of them, so Illumination will be just right for you—and so it would be dusty and wildly bored on the shelf. Thanks to you, it will shock its victims. Take care of it, keep an eye on it. It's as dear to me as a memory."

"Absolutely. And... thank you so much, Iron," I hug him. "It is indeed a valuable gift. I'll keep a careful eye on this fragile beauty."

"I am most grateful. You fulfilled my last dream by getting me those two technologies, so this is the least I can do to repay you." I release the head scribe. The man smiles warmly at me. "Good luck on your adventure."

I don't want to go to Greenkeys, so I head back to where Venture landed. Motley and I are heading back to Heavenly Harbor.

***

I enter the armory. The griffon sits habitually at one of the tables and deals with our weapons, skillfully handling the tools in his clawed paws.

"What brings you here?" Ferris asks.

"How's the crystal examination going?" I look around the room for signs of research into this strange and bizarre material.

"No avail," Ferris Falcon sighs sadly and lowers his eyes guiltily. "You can check with Professor for more details. He knows more about this stuff than I do. And I've decided to be cautious about my Apostle: what if he influences me in some way? I might go crazy or something."

"That's unlikely. I've used Defender enough times and haven't noticed it having any effect on me," I reply skeptically. Ferris hesitates. I've wondered about it before and haven't detected any changes on me.

"Neither have I. Although... perhaps it's because of the crystal that you're acting more like a pony than a human. Eating their food... dating a member of their species."

"What was I coming to see you about," I continue, ignoring my other personality. "I'm not going to be using Whispering Night anytime soon. I've been thinking... I thought you said that once you get better materials for the modifications you created for your 'daughter'..."

"Oh, you've decided to improve my brainchild after all?"

"Yes. Anyway, I'll be using a different weapon temporarily. And at the same time, as my teacher said, it will be good practice for my skills and magical abilities."

"And what is this weapon this is?" the griffon smirks. "Is there really anything better than Whispering Night?"

"It's an energy-magic weapon. Illumination. A thunderbolt rifle."

"Uh-oh. Let me see," he casts an interested and enthusiastic look.

I hand him the rifle with magic. He examines it from various angles, flicking switches: the weapon hums, activating.

"Mm-hmm... Yes... Hmm..." the griffon mutters, unceremoniously pawing the rifle from all sides.

I have fears for the weapon, but then I remember that Ferris was almost the chief and gifted designer in the family that made weapons and ammunition.

"Are you going to kiss her?"

"I might. But! There's a lot of evidence that the weapon has had a lot of modifications, and they're of poor quality compared to the technological quality of the weapon itself. I'm not a big fan of energy-magic weapons, but I'm partly familiar with them. There are too many components and parts to keep an eye on. There's a whole mess of different parts and clever upgrades."

"Just like yours."

"Yeah, but mine have a better, smoother, more solid look."

"The owner of Illumination didn't care too much about looks, instead all his attention and knowledge was focused on power and capability. Admittedly, the quality of the parts leaves much to be desired. No additions were intended for this type of weapon, but the unicorn, my teacher and mentor, managed to improve it considerably."

"Agreed. Even though similar components of Illumination are not lying around and are additions and modifications, it feels, especially in terms of weight, that they were not originally designed for this rifle anyway."

"That's why they're quickly turning to melted cheese, and finding replacements isn't like puffing on a joint. And I can already repair weapons with thought and imagination, meaning magic, but depending on their condition, complexity of assembly and degree of damage. So this rifle is just right for me," I smile broadly.

"Whatever you say," Ferris smirks, turning the weapon off and returning it, tossing it in my direction.

Out of surprise, I barely catch it in time.

"Hey!" I exclaim indignantly. "Watch it!"

"Practice for your reaction," Ferris shrugs. I shake my head with a condescending smile and hand him Whispering Night. Without turning around, he grabs it with his claws and places it next to him. "I'll get to work on her a little later when I get the parts and materials I need," he explains. Without another word, I leave the weaponsmith alone with his work.

Before entering the firing range, I visit Professor to find out what the problem is with that crystal.

In the lab, Professor is busy with his project as usual. Reverse Transformation Serum. Curing any mutation in organisms. Sounds like something fantastic. This crimson unicorn has set himself an extremely difficult, impossible goal, but still, I can't help but admire him: so many years and effort spent on all this. Not everyone is capable of such a thing. Anyone else would probably have given up. Wouldn't you, my human?

"Absolutely."

"Am I interrupting?" I ask gently, so that from surprise the unicorn doesn't make a sudden movement and release the flasks of chemical compounds from his magic, sending us blasting to the moon. But Professor doesn't even move.

"'Yes, you're," he utters with a chuckle. Well, that makes sense. That's... "A stupid question," he adds in unison with my exact same thought. Some bewilderment overwhelms me at the realization.

"Alrighty," I say, absent-mindedly looking at the monitor where some wizened and complicated calculations are being made.

Caroline helps Professor with trivial and mundane calculation tasks from time to time.

"Now that I've interrupted you—what can you tell me about the crystal? Have you learned anything more about it?"

"We've only confirmed a few of the facts you mentioned this morning. Like its indestructibility. And that the magical connection to the item is also indestructible. Even if the crystal is physically separated from the object it's connected to, that bond between them remains stable. It acts remotely. Strangely, the weight of the crystal is exactly the same as the weight of Apostle. I can assume that the crystal in Stable 66 would be unlikely to move, since it was connected to those cylindrical platforms, which I'm sure had a lot of weight, or to the entire bunker. And even with telekinetic powers, mine included, they would have been beyond the reach. We have been unable to establish how much external energy it absorbs, or what type of energy, for that matter. Energy doesn't appear out of nowhere and disappear into nowhere, it just goes from one state to another. Neither Ferris nor I felt any of the depletion or effects that you did, and the instruments in the vicinity were working properly and without the slightest malfunction. Caroline confirmed that. Perhaps she doesn't have the proper sensors and detectors to register this energy, or more than one type of energy at once."

"Curious," I mutter, digesting the information.

It's not all that simple with that Stable and its crystal. It's understandable: it's quite different in size from the crystal in the Apostle.

"It's all rather strange and vague. I'm not an energy scientist, it's just not my field, so I can't say more than that, and Caroline, again, doesn't have the right equipment and sensors to detect everything with precision. Ferris will be more careful with his weapons now."

"Indeed. The power of the crystal really intimidated him," I chuckle. Then the smile slides off my face. "Tell me, were they ghosts?"

"There's a point... Every living thing definitely produces its own conventional energy. Not to be confused with standard magic. This energy can be manipulated, held and sealed into objects and used as a power source for magic spells cast, but it's extremely dangerous. One pre-war pony—I believe she was still a Ministry Mare—managed to split her energy into many parts. But that's just a rumor. When a creature dies, that energy dissipates, and what happens to it in the end is unknown. The accumulation of this energy in the body is sometimes called a 'soul'. However, it cannot influence the environment on its own, and even outside the body. It is a fairy tale that it acquires self-consciousness or form—in the form of the same ghost. So I have no idea whether those were ghosts in that sense," Professor pronounces. The existence of an 'energy soul' is something I've been aware of for quite some time. "All I can say is that there is definitely an influence of the crystal involved in all of this. Either it really did affect the souls of the dead, or it affected the victims directly. I don't have time to go into speculation, I need to go through old records, do some analysis, and so on."

"Okay," I say sadly and am about to turn around, but the scientist still has more to say. I stop, turning to him with expectation.

"When you can't tell if the horrors you saw were true or an induced illusion... If a deaf cannot hear, does that mean that sound does not exist for them? It is quite possible that we also cannot feel and understand something in the world around us because we do not have the senses to do so," he says calmly. He then hums thoughtfully, adding, "What senses do we lack to truly comprehend the world around us?"

Without saying a word, I leave the Professor's lab and ponder his words.

"The scientist's words make sense. I was reminded of Captain Steel Sun, whose senses are fine, but his brain interprets incoming information in its own way. Or, on the contrary, his senses are all wrong, but his brain is fine. Who knows..."

***

The first thing I do at the range is to open the documentation and read Iron Wilford's notes in more detail. As I had learned earlier, all these modifications are not intended for the thunderbolt rifle, because the parts and components are under great stress when using special modes.

For several hours I just sit at the range, studying Iron's technical documentation and his notes. I find out the characteristics of the components, the type of materials, the structure and assembly of the weapon itself, the principles of operation, repair methods and other joys and spices. Of course, those hours aren't enough to fully read all the documentation, let alone digest and comprehend it. I glance through and memorize the main information for myself regarding the Illumination. I don't go into the deep details—not yet. I need to absorb at least this information, and I will learn it, of course, in practice.

The first thing I do is to completely use up all the secondary power source of the rifle. The shot is mesmerizing, accompanied by a characteristic sharp sound. Indeed, as if a thunderbolt struck, though not so loudly, but the sound is definitely not quiet. It becomes clear that she is not even close to being suitable for stealthy missions and outings. Further replenishment of energy goes gradually, even despite the shooting at the moment.

I use a dozen spark batteries to try out all the modes.

Having mastered shooting and special modes of the rifle, I start to fix it. I learn that it doesn't matter whether I shot once in a special mode or five times—it is advisable to repair the rifle immediately if possible, so as not to exhaust it to the end and not to spend a lot of energy and magic for a full repair. It's also necessary to constantly maintain a spell that prevents rapid deterioration.

Yeah... This rifle in battle would only be a burden to the average pony who is not skilled in the repair and construction of energy-magic weapons. The normal firing mode is noticeably more powerful than a standard plasma rifle, judging by the recoil.

I return to my quarters rather depleted in terms of magical reserves. A complete overhaul of Vampire... I mean, Illumination sucked almost all the magic out of me: I'm not used to fixing energy and energy-magic weapons.

In the first room, I see Motley looking thoughtfully at the portrait of us hanging on the wall, given to us by the artist for rescuing her kidnapped husband. The radio is on in the room, and soft and quiet music is blasting from it, spreading throughout the room. Such pleasant and quiet music, a pegasus I am partial to... I am visited by a foreboding feeling of coziness, comfort and romance.

"It seems to me," Motley begins, noticing my presence, "that it's been a long time. However, if you think hard enough, counting the days, it turns out that the opposite is actually true."

"Exactly," I laugh, sitting down next to my beloved. I hug her with my front leg. She lays her head on my shoulder.

"I'm looking at this picture right here and remembering how I felt back then when you hugged me..."

"And how did you feel?" I ask, knowing the answer to the question.

"Warmth, comfort... And support. I feel good. And when you hug and kiss it feels even better," the pony snuggles her muzzle into my neck.

"And I also enjoy your company."

Motley giggles. Then she sighs dreamily and deeply. The music changes to something more dynamic, energetic—and familiar.

"Oh, I remember that dance at the restaurant."

"Me too. Shall we dance?"

"I thought you'd never suggest it. Just don't throw me."

"Will you," the pegasus chuckles, "keep reminding me of that?"

"Yes. Like you said, caution must be maintained, even with you."

"Good for you. Now..."

And we twirl again in a marvelous and unforgettable dance, as if our bodies are taking control of themselves, involuntarily repeating the same movements as then. But now the movements are unhurried and smooth: we walk in a soft circle on our hind legs, with one front leg holding the pony by the waist and the other around one of Motley's legs. She, in turn, puts the other behind my neck. The expression on her face takes on a peacefulness.

"How worried I was when I suggested you dance to that music..."

Her head is level with mine, our gazes never straying from each other.

"I was just as worried as you were, since I don't remember ever dancing at all in my life. And looking stupid and screwing up not only in your eyes, but also in the eyes of the audience was something I really didn't want to do."

The pony giggles softly. I don't think I should tell her about the storm of emotions that consumed me at that moment, the internal conflict that peaked. Which, as Sweetie Smiles from the Stable 66 said that my soul is like a twig that's not fully divided.

"You move well in the dance," the pony smiles softly and increases the pace as the music speeds up.

Motley goes through more complicated moves, arching backwards, I try to hold her, she frees herself and moves a little further away, twirling energetically around me and then falling back into my embrace.

The passionate dance turns to sex.

***

The 3rd of the Month of Rain, Yellowday. Sixty-eighth day of my stay.

The next day, I move out to see Prince. It's time to report on the task.

How will he react when the Steel Rangers are the first to take control of the Stable? It doesn't matter. He's got them under his hoof anyway. I remembered Elder Largo Breeze's revelation about that mole in the Steel Rangers' ranks. It's possible that Prince already knows that I know about it. Shit, it would look so funny if the situation wasn't so dangerous. Both parties are lying and both know it—but they don't show it.

I need to know who the mole is and clear it up with him myself.

"Prince, I have a report to make," I say as I enter his office.

Prince is looking at a portrait of the Queen of Vanhoover. In part, she reminds me of Eileen Softhooves. Aside from the shade of her mane, both have a firm and confident look, full of ambition and drive. It's no wonder, for the Queen, like her Softhooves ancestors, came from Stable 68, where arrogant and self-righteous mares were accustomed to luxury and absolute power. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe Eileen really is a distant relative of the Queen.

"Vermilion Rose once managed to convince many ponies to unite for the common good. And those who resisted were forced to do so."

I wonder where he's going with this?

"She did a tremendous job rebuilding this town. Leading the ponies, teaching them to be responsible. Taught them to cooperate. Guided and mentored. She wanted her town, or rather our town, to be at the head of the whole new Equestria. For the last 100 years, progress has been slowed by a lack of gems and other problems. Your deeds have brought progress back to Vanhoover."

"And you, Danny, will be responsible for all of Equestria becoming like Vanhoover. Slavery everywhere."

Then there's Red Eye, the Enclave, the Steel Rangers. They'll stop his expansion.

"Red Eye will be dealt with by Littlepip. I hope so. Just make sure Prince doesn't team up with him."

"The weight of your merit can already be compared to the Queen's work," he adds. "You deserve your title as much as anyone. But first, tell me about Stable 66."

"How do you know I've been there before?"

"The scouts. They saw you go in. Too bad the Steel Rangers' scouts got there first."

I have the thought sitting smugly and importantly in my head, without leaving the seat, that Prince may have long been aware of my ties to these very Steel Rangers. I know he is aware of it. He is probably already aware that I am aware of it. Despite that, we pretend like we know nothing about it.

"Now my brain is going to explode."

He probably knows, but in that case, why give me the title of a King?

The Prince's white leg, wrapped in a stylish black outfit, points to a chair.

I am seized by a memory of my first visit to Vanhoover: sitting in this same chair then, and being told about the outer Equestrian Wasteland.

"I suspect what you saw didn't come easily to you, so you've been resting. And hopefully you can tell me all about it now."

I tell Prince the same story I told my friends in Heavenly Harbor, all the while keeping quiet about the true details and factors that helped me survive and leave the Stable. I put all my successes down to my experience in exploring such places, to the fact that hallucinations or ghosts acted differently on each victim, depending on superstition and will, and I was not as easily frightened as a kitten, nor as easily broken as some dry twig. That's not unreasonable, though, since everything was really based on fear.

"Not as easily frightened... no shit. You almost cried like a child abandoned in the Wastelands there."

Okay, I'll admit it.

Prince doesn't utter a single word during my story, listening intently and concentratedly to me with a hoof to his chin and squinting his eyes in thought. He nods occasionally, indicating that he's listening. He doesn't ask for details of what I experienced, which is a good thing: I hate thinking about it and remembering it.

"I still can't confirm one of two hypotheses with certainty. Either I was under the influence of powerful and unusual hallucinations induced by the crystal's magic, or I was actually dealing with ghosts."

"I see," Prince speaks for the first time since I began my story. "I agree that it is rash to confirm either hypothesis. And it's impossible to rule out either. My only regret is destroying the power source. I'm interested in it, and I'd like to see it for myself. In any case," he turns to me, his lips spreading into a soft, charming smile again, "the problem is fixed. The crystal is destroyed, but that means we'll never know the details of what happened. He was even able to distort the memories of being there to account for those hallucinations or ghosts."

"But I still completed the task, didn't I?" I ask calmly, though inwardly I hold my breath and tense up. What will his answer be?

"There is no point in making any speech in honor of awarding you the title of a King. I've already told you everything both today and three days ago. Daniel Evans is now a King of Vanhoover. Give me your passport. I know you have one or you wouldn't be able to own the casino."

I hold out my passport to him. The blue-colored magic of his telekinesis sparkles. He pulls an elegant pen from an inside pocket, opens the passport, and writes something there. He holds the passport back out.

"That's it for now. I'll notify Redstone to transfer a reward of one hundred thousand caps to your bank account for investigating the mystery of Stable 66."

I hold back a smile. Out of curiosity, I read the inscription on my passport. In elegant writing, it reads, "A King of Vanhoover since 10.1.1352"—and an ornate signature across the width of the page.

"You were officially made a King when you left the 66."

Just in time for the sixty-sixth day of my stay.

Prince levitates a gold-plated metal card from the inside pocket of his expensive jacket, engraved with my name in elegant black letters: "Daniel Evans"; below it is a stylized symbol of a King—a pony skull with a crown slightly off to the side. There was nothing else, nor was there anything else on the back. It's the same card I found on the body of the first King I saw, Blackwater.

"Just like that?" I inquire nonchalantly, but without a shadow of disappointment, accepting the 'ID' with a satisfied smile on my face and placing it in my inside pocket.

"This card is just a symbol, not cheap, though. If someone for some unknown reason is unaware that you are one of Kings, you simply show it to them along with your passport. That hardly ever happens—everyone in the city knows who a King is, thanks to the city's radio station, which confirms his special position in society on my behalf. Will you go there tonight?"

"Will I need any special attire for that?"

"Not necessarily. You can go in that same armor right now."

"And what else do I need to know about my newfound position and privileges? I know a certain amount of them..."

"Do what you did before. Work for the good of Vanhoover. Sometimes you have to break its own laws and rules to achieve the good. Sometimes you will receive specific assignments from me. Continue to be a responsible pony. You get discounts on everything. Oh, and the right to live in this Stable. Besides a nice apartment, the keys to which you'll get from Redstone, you can have fun here—we have a shooting range—and eat in the dining hall, enjoying the freshness and quality of the food, some of which is free, and just socialize with the other Kings. So... going to the interview today?"

"Yes."

"Good, I'll notify the radio station. Anyway, enjoy yourself."

I can barely keep from jumping for joy like a lunatic. Yes! Holy shit! Win! I'm one step closer to the Dome! The masters in the city might know something about this project, and with my title, they're unlikely to refuse me or hold back information.

A familiar gray unicorn with a red mane with a focused look is sitting at the table and actively typing something on the work terminal. Noticing my arrival, he gets distracted, moves away from the desk in his chair and stands up, holding out his hoof to me. I extend mine to him.

"Congratulations," he smiles weakly, shaking my hoof, keeping it still, then releases it. "You are now among Kings and the elite of Vanhoover. No one has ever achieved this title so swiftly. You are the third to receive a recommendation from the family and the first in history to receive two recommendations at once. You've made Vanhoover history, Daniel. And it's nice to be a part of it. I hope you don't end up like the last King."

"Who do you mean?" I ask.

"You found him dead. Blackwater."

Right. Prince had somehow reacted in a particular way to my suspicions about the incident. For what reason did the King turn off the road?

"Since I'm a King... I think I have the right to know why Prince reacted so unequally to the details of his death?"

Redstone rolls his eyes.

"No sooner had you become one, and already... Those rules don't apply to me, but I've already blabbed. I'm just saying, stay out of it."

Maybe I really should just stay out of the matter and not provoke Redstone.

"I just want to know if there's a threat to me as a King. Prince was concerned at the time."

"You won't be threatened by anything if you stay out of the way where you shouldn't. There is too much in the city that is questionable things."

"And Prince can't do anything about it?"

"Too little evidence. Lots of rumors. If Prince is immortal, that doesn't mean he can settle things by murder or demand whatever he wants without hard evidence. There will be chaos, though it will settle down after a while."

"How in the world can I act for the good of the city if-"

"You can pursue that interest if you wish, but don't involve me. If Prince tells you, fine."

"Alright. What, besides Blackwater's death, should I not be interested in?"

"Silent Ghost and the Falcon massacre."

"Silent Ghost is a legend, isn't it?"

"Yes. But whoever dug too deep into the case... they were found dead. Even the two Kings who investigated crimes supposedly connected to it."

"And Prince didn't do anything about it?"

"No. Because there was no evidence. They weren't just found murdered. Their bodies were left at the entrance to this Stable as a warning. No one saw anything. Though Prince is in no danger, he fears for the well-being of the city."

"Sounds like weakness."

It is. But I don't intend to risk the citizens of the city to manipulate him. On the other hand, it makes sense now why Prince isn't dealing with Silent Ghost.

"Do you think all these murders were committed by elusive Silent Ghost that Prince himself fears?"

I shouldn't rule out that possibility.

"I survived Stable 66," I begin. "I think I could intimidate anyone myself."

Redstone smiles.

"You're still mortal. And you obviously have loved ones. Be careful, if not for your own sake, at least for theirs."

My heart beats harder. The dead body of the beige pegasus appears before my eyes.

"What about the Falcons?"

"The matter was settled long ago. Just... the Falcon family doesn't really like to talk about internal affairs—actually, neither do the other four families—but these ones are more isolated. Especially after the family's betrayal by Ferris."

"What did he do?"

"Killed some of the family's blood relatives who claimed the head's 'nest', supposedly in this way he took out the competition. Not much is known about that. The Falcons don't like to talk about it, and it's an extremely sore subject for them. So don't ask them about it. You'll only make them angry: it's an embarrassment to them."

"I understand."

These things really shouldn't be meddled with. It's a good thing Redstone warned me.

"You'd better keep looking for the Dome. You know what? You better go celebrate. A hundred thousand caps. That's an unimaginably huge amount of money. I envy you, you have so many ways to spend it. Give me your bank account before I start dreaming."

I dictate the numbers to him, and afterward say goodbye to the Lieutenant. He also gives me the keys to my apartment in this bunker, which I now intend to inspect.

On my way past the doors to the other Kings' apartments, sweet moans of pleasure reach my ears.

Someone is having fun wildly. Apparently a King is fucking a slave. Kings have the right to bring someone else here, but no more than two individuals at a time. That's how Walnut once led me to Prince through the Stable. It was pretty much by the book.

I insert the electronic key into the reader near my apartment door, unlocking it. Once inside, I look around the apartment with interest. This Stable was once dominated by stallions, and mares were the main and important figures—the latter, accordingly, were assigned more prestigious and respectable apartments.

My apartment in the Stable consists of three rooms: the main room, a bedroom and a bathroom with a toilet. All the rooms are well cleaned and tidy in appearance. They have nice and soft furniture, matching the typical surroundings of such an underground bunker; decorative elements like paintings, rugs, and live plants; and a few metal cabinets and chests for storing personal belongings. In addition to all these amenities, the place is fragrant with the delicate smell of flowers. To my knowledge, the apartments are cleaned every day by a robotic janitor. Free of charge. What a service!

After closing the door, I head for the exit. There I am greeted and congratulated by several Kings, including the very same griffon Walnut. They ask if I'll throw a party to celebrate the occasion—after all, I've been rewarded for exploring Stable 66! I disappointed them by replying that I would spend the caps on more useful things. At this point, almost everyone leaves in disappointment, though Walnut tries to insist and persist, urging me to organize a party at some hot spot in town. Eventually he gives up and leaves, and I head for the radio station in the city. No need to keep them waiting.

On the way, I think for a moment that it would be worth throwing a party, at least among Kings, to win their favor and make a good impression on them. It would come in handy in the future... I guess. Though I'd rather spend that money on someone else's needs. Or for my friends and close acquaintances.

***

The radio station building is one of the tallest buildings in the city. It also houses the print shop, where the news papers with all the news and advertisements are published. The owner of the radio station—which is to be expected—is one of Kings.

In the spacious foyer, several masters sit in tedious anticipation, while guards in strong armor, with light machine guns in their battle saddles, keep watch. I walk first to the large table in the center. At the table, a pretty earth pony in a beautiful dress sits on a red armchair in a relaxed pose. She distracts herself from reading a beauty magazine, straightens up, and smiles at me with a businesslike affability.

To my surprise she guesses who I am and immediately points out where I should go. Without wasting any time, I head for the elevator.

I'm already starting to be recognized.

The security guard standing next to me lets me through, seeing that the receptionist has allowed me to pass.

I make my way up to the proper floor and loop around a few corners alone, passing busy ponies to later find myself in a neat and tidy office. An attractive pony in her mid-thirties in an elegant outfit is lying on a couch, looking at a few sheets of paper in front of her. When she sees me, she smiles, sighs in relief, and puts down her reading, standing up with the grace of a lady and walking softly toward me. She has a golden birch-colored coat and a pearly white luxurious and fluffy mane that matches the color of her clothes. She is wearing makeup—her eyelashes are lined—and she is perfumed with a lovely and, I understand, not inexpensive perfume. In short, a beauty by local standards.

"Oh, finally, I've been waiting for you," she says in a charming ringing voice, smiling welcomingly.

She looks at me with interest, squinting her eyes.

"So you are the Daniel Evans, the new King of Vanhoover?" she asks with some skepticism and doubt.

I can sense arrogance and a slight tinge of arrogance in her voice.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise."

"You don't like it here?" she glares unhappily, catching my less than respectful tone and gaze. She's observant...

"It's quite decent."

I glance around her office without much attention: shelves of blank books and rows of holotapes and audiotapes; decorations, and not inexpensive ones at that: a few paintings, pots of live plants, a soft rug, an elegant desk and a luxurious chair behind it, a couple of expensive and tricked-out musical devices. It was quite possible that this was where she practiced her voice. "But that's not why I'm here. I have a lot of things to do."

"You're such a busy pony," she whispers sarcastically.

I raise my eyes to the ceiling for a moment and struggle to keep from letting out a loud sigh.

"Oh come on," she regains her former affability. Clearly, she's heard from me more than once. "I'll have more questions for you in the interview."

"And I thought the interview was going to be conducted by Oscar himself, the star of your radio station."

A golden birch-colored unicorn with a pearly white mane laughs melodiously. Her laugh is as beautiful and resonant as her voice.

"Oscar is just a symbol, but I have to admit that the first DJ here was a charismatic pre-war pony with that sonorous name. There are quite a few surviving recordings of his charming and deep voice..." the pony says dreamily. Her tone reveals a certain passion for this individual. "So we use a magic spell to change our voice and try to maintain the manner and style of speech that our listeners love. We have three DJs. The radio station is open 26 hours a day, 7 days a week without interruptions, and... Oscar goes on the air every few hours. That's why there's more than one of us. That fact is no secret. Some know it, most just don't care. Oscar is just a recognizable voice with a certain personality. The masters like to hear his image."

"That's basically what one would expect, but it was better to be specific," I smile.

"No more questions?" the pony utters tiredly.

"Nope."

"Wonderful! Let's make our way to the studio, where we'll do the interview. If we get there in time, we'll run a recording of our conversation for the next newscast."

"What are we waiting for?" I step aside.

The pony stalks past me with a graceful and elegant gait, after which I follow her.

"I forgot to ask, what's your name?" I ask, following the unicorn.

"Magnolia Delavayi."

"It's an unusual but beautiful name. Plus it sounds nice with her voice."

The unicorn is taking me to the studio. It is divided into two parts. One is a small glass booth with a lot of microphones and recording equipment. The other is the main one, where the staff of the radio station is located, and where there is also a lot of equipment. There is also a small area with two soft sofas facing each other, and between them a low wooden table with a bottle of clean water and a few glasses, as well as an empty ashtray.

At the unicorn's instruction, I sit down on one of the couches; she sits down on the opposite one.

"So, our conversation will be recorded," Magnolia says in a mundane tone.

A pony approaches her with an oblong metal structure from which a microphone hangs. It is in close proximity to the lavender unicorn. A sound guy appears near me, too, with his microphone for me. Admittedly, I don't notice him right away.

"So..." the pony's horn shimmers white, and her neck appears in a magical cloud. "One... two... three..." each word she utters is spoken in a different timbre, to the point where her voice begins to resemble the charismatic and soft voice of a stallion. It's a voice I've heard repeatedly on the radio in Vanhoover.

"Great. The interview will begin in three... two... one. Record!" Delavayi announces in the audible voice of a stallion.

Her restrained gaze is fixed on me, radiating her usual indifference and professional fatigue. This is visible in the pony's eyes, which occasionally glance lazily to one side or the other. The pony takes on a more excited and lively look.

"Good day, masters of Vanhoover! With you is your favorite star in the night sky, illuminating your minds with fresh news in this surrounding fog of ignorance—DJ Oscar! Let's talk about our 'diamond' masters. Not so long ago our highly respected Prince graciously ordained the brave Blackwater as a King, who soon, unfortunately, disappeared while performing his sacred duty. We have already discussed this, and you are all well aware of it. It was not long before Prince had already granted the title of a King to one of Vanhoover's masters, a rising luminary of our city. Yes, yes! His name is Daniel Evans! And tonight we have him here in our humble studio. I have the great honor of speaking with this famous beige unicorn with the number 21 on his cape."

The golden birch-colored pony looks at me in a waiting manner.

"Hello, Oscar. Hello, Vanhoover," I say in a welcoming tone. Suddenly I remember my visit to DJ Pon-3 and my conversation with Littlepip and Homage.

"Some already know about this colorful and charming person, others don't. Today we will finally rectify that deficiency and everyone in the city will know about him!" Magnolia exclaims with energy.

She's a superb actor, it's hard to tell when she's acting and when she's conveying her true emotions. But in her lovely violet eyes sparkles a spark of genuine curiosity and self-interest. It's not every day one gets to have a conversation with an outside character, as strange as it may sound in my mind.

"Let's start, as usual, with the basics. Where are you from and what did you do before you came to Vanhoover?"

"Came from outside the Vanhoover Wasteland. Traveling the vastness of the lifeless environs, often just exploring various ruins and uncharted places, and until a while ago I did some part-time work in the courier craft—delivering various packages from one settlement to another. The Wasteland is a dangerous and unpredictable place, but despite that, I love traveling immensely."

"What brings you to our humble little town? For the journey here is not a short one, though, as you say, you are accustomed to such distant and lonely voyages. And there are enough superstitious rumors in Hoofland about our White Demon."

She laughs.

"Well... Here and there I've stumbled over mentions of a certain 'Dome'. When I heard that the likely location of this facility was near Vanhoover, I went there in a flash. Rumors don't bother me."

"You have my respect. As for the Dome... The masters of Vanhoover spent over a century searching for that mythical research facility. There were only a handful of seekers: only a few believed in its existence due to the lack of solid information about it, so we haven't made a hoof's worth of progress."

"Every myth has its grain of truth," I put in carefully.

"Quite possibly. Fortune might smile on you. We don't have to be super smart to figure out the purpose of your decision to become a King. Almost every master would want to be: reputation, fame, discounts and privileges. You swept like a meteor down this thorny path from zero to King, winning your prize of a prestigious title, and thus declaring that you are not to be trifled with. You proved your responsibility for the well-being of the city. Plus, two families believed in you at once! The third King with a recommendation and the first with two. Every King deserves to be recorded in history, but you... This is... Unbelievable."

I smile.

"What have you done for the Waterfalls and the Steelmanes? I know, but I'd like to hear it from your lips."

"For the Waterfalls, I sent the leader in the Crater to the other side of the world, relieving the hard-working ones of an impossible burden from systematic and well-organized attacks on their caravans. Assisted Sunny Waterfall in finding her counterpart in the depths of The Island. For the Steelmanes, I infiltrated the Northern Soul, obtained the blueprints for a Vertibuck and the Vertibuck itself. I also discovered the Rainbow Mine."

"And with that, you ended the city's energy crisis. My personal honor to you. Now the shiny and colorful pebbles will no longer be so unobtainable, expensive and inaccessible. Hear, my sweet listeners, it's all thanks to this earthquake-shaking gentlecolt!"

"It's also known that you have your own business, the Glass Key Casino. A pretty decent gambling establishment until it went into decline this year. But once it came under your caring and gentle wing, it immediately got a second wind."

"All that credit is not mine alone."

"We're aware of that. Still, you're a lantern in the dark for the companions. It shows you know how to work as a team and bring like-minded individuals into your hearth. A rare quality. Not everyone can be made to work together, especially Kings. I can see why Prince gave you the title! I can't wait to find out what kind of test assignment he's given you. It should be no less high-profile than what you've done so far."

"Exploring Stable 66,'" I answer simply and confidently, trying not to smile.

"Well, it should have..." the golden-birch pony is suddenly silent, and her purple eyes go wide, staring wildly at me.

There is a sepulchral silence in the studio, broken only by the barely audible hum of running equipment. I look around—everyone is staring at me, eyes wide, mouths ajar. The audience has grown considerably since I got here. Apparently, some of the not-so-busy employees have decided to watch the 'coronation': it's an extraordinary and nontrivial event. I guess Prince didn't tell them what I did. It is worth a lot of caps to see those expressions on so many faces. Of course it is. It's such a sensation!

"Well, well, well, well..." Magnolia comes to her senses. "If it was an assignment-test and Prince initiated you as a King, then that means..."

For the first time in the entire conversation, her voice is so unsure and gives off so much skepticism that it could easily squash the kazador like a fly.

"Yes, I have fully completed this mission. Prince knows, I've already reported to him," I smile vainly.

Well, I can afford a little pride at a time like this! After all, I've dealt with Vanhoover's most important lore!

"I've been to the 66, but this time alone. And, as it turns out, for good reason. Frankly, it's a creepy and extremely lousy place. There's a reason why there are so many rumors and legends about it."

Seeing the still remaining wild amazement on the pretty pony's face, I decide to continue.

"Not even the most experienced fighters and adventurers have ever returned from this Stable. It's not the equivalent of the stories about Vanhoover, a place no one ever came back from. It's just that... Oh, for fuck's sake! Even I don't know exactly what happened there! However, I don't believe in the existence of spirits and ghosts, so I'm inclined to believe that there was a special magical hallucination there that got stronger and stronger, it grew stronger depending on the fear of the victims, who ended up dying of heartbreak or committing suicide while going nuts. I realized the cause in time and managed to resist all the trials this place put me through. It is clear for sure that the research of a new energy source was to blame for these horrors, entailing such sad and disastrous consequences. According to the records, no one even suspected such an outcome. In addition to hallucinations there was a whole bunch of side effects within the bunker: the crystal absorbed the physical strength of all living creatures, causing weakness, and in unicorns instead depleted the reserves of magic, so that all spells were much more difficult and energy-consuming; it also caused various malfunctions in the work of technology and devices, working at the expense of its own power source. So there you go. Simply put, one had to go to the 66 without fear or superstition. This place was a kind of test of fortitude. It is safe there now, as I have completely gotten rid of the source of the hallucinations, but it has recently come to my attention that the Steel Rangers, unfortunately, have taken possession of the place right after me. So if any of you are thinking of going there, you'd better think again."

"Unbelievable..." the mare barely managed to say in a stallion's voice. "Just... Impossibly unbelievable. I really don't know what to say about it. Give me a little time to find and pick up my jaw that fell off and rolled somewhere..."

Magnolia's wide-open and shocked eyes make it abundantly clear her own confusion and the sincerity of the words spoken in Oscar's character.

"There's a hurricane going through my head right now. I'll just say one thing: you, unlike some and even the majority, truly deserve the title of a King. This is a massive, deafening event that has certainly shaken up everyone in this city, and its repercussions will echo through this city for weeks to come, ringing in my ears like the sound of a large-caliber machine gun firing! I can't get my head around it. And... well... I totally agree with you. I and the whole city regret that the damn techno-raiders, i.e., the Rangers, have put their greedy and ravenous hooves on the Stable. Damn them to hell! Has Prince given you your... astronomical reward yet?"

"Of course."

"Well, now you can roll around like a cheese in butter—Vanhoover's top jackpot is rightfully yours. That's all for now, hopefully we'll be able to get more details about this Stable from Prince—or we'll try to walk to this mythical place ourselves sometime. With you was DJ Oscar and the new King—Daniel Evans, from now on still known as the Fearless King," Magnolia Delavea speaks in Oscar's stallion voice, before her voice is replaced by her own, ringing and charming. "End of recording!" She calls out sharply and sighs in relief, sprawling out on the couch. "Well, I didn't expect that you survived Stable 66," she says, taking a breath and straightening up.

"The Fearless King?" I'm a little surprised.

"Almost all Kings have a second nickname they acquired during their lifetime. Most of them got their nickname, if I may say so, in battles in the Arena. Part of the inhabitants know and recognize better some of the Kings just by them. That is why I allowed myself, that is Oscar, to apply the most appropriate nickname—you have survived all the horrors of the Stable with dignity. Many, almost everyone in the city shivers with fear at the mention of that place, even some of the Kings, but despite that, you were not afraid to go there and complete the task, thus earning the title."

Magnolia hums, smiling. I suddenly remember Walnut: when he and I were slaying badgers in Nara's Stable, he told me about his nickname he'd acquired in the Arena. The Splitting Claw, I think.

"This seems to be the first time the word 'King' has been included in a nickname. However, I have no doubt whatsoever that you have every right to it."

"Thank you," I smile appreciatively.

"Yeah... So much pompousness in that nickname. I wish they'd just call it 'The Courier'. I miss that old nickname."

"If you don't mind... I just can't help but ask. Such an event! Is it possible to find out more details about what went on there?"

"I don't want to remember," I say with difficulty, and a cold shiver runs through my body. "You wouldn't wish such an experience on your sworn enemy. Let me just say that the more fear the victim feels, the stronger the hallucination—eventually the victim becomes more and more afraid. I'm not sure if this was pre-planned by Stable-Tec without the knowledge of the residents, including the Overmare, or if it was an unforeseen side effect of the energy source that caused the unfortunate outcome. Nothing that proves either of these theories I have, to my deep regret, found."

"I see... Then already on behalf of myself, congratulations on your title. All the best to you, Daniel Evans, and good luck."

The unicorn's attitude towards me had noticeably changed for the better from the moment she learned that I had survived Stable 66. A certain respect has emerged, she even smiles flirtatiously at my last words. Afterwards, Magnolia Delavayi goes off to discuss some important business with her staff.

I managed to impress her with this outspoken act. It shows that I didn't go to that horrible place for nothing and wasted my energy to achieve the title. I feel it will indeed be easier for me now to get information about the Dome and a better fate for the slaves.

I rise from the couch and head for the exit, passing by the radio station staff congratulating me. Standing just outside the exit is an earth pony in an austere—expensive and prestigious-looking—business suit, with a short tangerine-colored mane and the same shade of fur.

"Well, there's a new addition to our ranks. Congratulations on your promotion, the Fearless King," the earth pony grins oddly.

She's in her late forties. Doesn't spend much on makeup, which speaks to her busy and businesslike nature.

"Who are you?" I ask puzzled.

"You don't recognize other Kings?" She raises an eyebrow, casting me a sour look. "In your case, it's forgivable since you're relatively new to Vanhoover. I suggest you familiarize yourself with the list of Kings. You can find it in the special column of any newspaper—or ask Redstone for it. My name is Orange Rose, and I also own this radio station. I was, frankly, surprised to hear that you'd made it out of that Stable. It looks like Prince hasn't lost his knack for finding ponies with great potential, because after Blackwater I was disappointed to hear that he'd died. So—why don't I personally congratulate such a valuable addition to our elite 'squad'?"

"Much appreciated... and a pleasure to meet you," I smile in a friendly manner, extending my hoof for a formal greeting.

The earth pony looks at him with an impassive and thoughtful gaze.

"I'm glad too," she says with the same expression, raising her eyes to me. I lower my hoof. "You can bask in the shining glory of course, and you have every right to get a little cocky and snooty after coming back from that Stable, but I have business to attend to right now: if there's anything you want to tell me, or if you have any questions, then speak now," she says in a businesslike and unceremonious tone.

"No, no questions."

"Excellent. Then have a good day," she says and immediately, turning around vigorously, walks away.

Well, some Kings act with a decent amount of arrogance: she spoke of Prince as if he were some kind of boss, but she kept her cool, appreciating and taking note of the fact that I'd dealt with the 66.

Now Walnut looks like for me a little rude, considering himself a high-flying bird (in principle, he is), but quite normal griffon, actively going to dialog with anyone who addresses him. But not always politely.

Chapter 25 - A King (Part 2)

View Online

Standing outside near the radio station, I give a signal in my spare PipBuck, notifying Motley that it's time to pick me up. A little while later, Venture lands nearby in the middle of the street. Some passersby look at the Vertibuck with their usual curiosity and interest and occasionally whisper. A carriage driving down the street has to go around it, and its driver angrily shouts at me not to park in the middle of the road. I just shrug my shoulders at his remark, but the carriage driver gets away, turning the corner at the first crossroads. Stepping inside my own, now royal, 'carriage', I smile softly at my pilot, walking over to her and kissing her.

"Did you buy what you wanted yet?"

I look into her eyes.

Since we're going on a rather long trip on a Vertibuck to central Equestria, the pegasus needs to practice flying this bird a bit. Blaze decides to take a break from piloting and intends to go for a walk in the city; he informs us that the first thing he'll do is repaint his mane and tail to make him less noticeable: after all, he was the most popular fighter in the Arena. During his absence, however, his fame has waned, and new favorites have emerged among the fighters. Motley is happy about two things: her close and long-suffering friend will finally go out into the city, and she and I will be alone together again.

At the same time, I'm a little concerned about that fact—we've been to Green Island once before and almost died. But the reason was fatigue, for it was not a wise idea to rest surrounded by silent butterflies and poisonous spiders. Even though this time we'll be much better supplied with supplies, most of which will stay in Venture, and which we can go for in case of emergency, I'm still worried. Motley realizes it, too, and also fears trouble, but for my sake he keeps it carefully hidden and out of sight. Naturally, it's hard to hide it from me. The only one who is sure that we will successfully retrieve the remaining two keycards (the third, which is in New Pegasus, we will take much later) is my second me. He is confident that we will return alive. Which I really hope we do.

He seems to have gotten more confidence than me. Or maybe the reason is worry about the pegasus, whereas he's not obsessed with the relationship and can reason calmly. That's one of the perks of avoiding a relationship with someone—less anxiety. Oh well, resisting your own emotions is hard enough.

All the other friends decide to take a walk around the city and look at my casino, and take Nara with them. It will be good for her. She needs to get used to society, to new unfamiliar faces.

Apart from Caroline, Ferris is the only one left. However, he still makes small forays into the Wasteland to hunt the wild meat, or just wanders around the neighborhood in search of useful and necessary things for him. In other words, looting. He sometimes gets information about the location of things from Caroline's reconnaissance missions in various corners of the nearby wastes. In this way, they work together even more strongly.

Caroline is quick and easy to get along with other creatures. She would make an excellent leader.

Professor went to the Waterfalls for a large bulk purchase of certain simple ingredients—and to deliver information about cryotechnology obtained from Caroline's Stable. Along with some of the scientists of that family, including the one who sent us to find him, he intends to conduct research and experiments when he has interest or free time. Motivated by the possible usefulness of the information gained for his own project.

Nara and Flow, accompanied by Bluerise, went for a walk. The blue unicorn wanted to go for a walk herself, and she was eager to take the former slave and the frightened filly out for a social visit to restaurants, stores, and cosmetic establishments. On me. Well, what not to do for friends... After recent events, I have more than enough money. Let them have fun. There's no telling what will happen tomorrow.

In preparation for the journey, Motley made purchases if our bunker was short of anything. This time, we decided not to distract the Bluerise with little things like helping them knock down prices. And... I realized too late: I should have gone shopping after my 'coronation', I would have automatically received a twenty percent discount on all goods and services.

Oh well, the moment is gone. It doesn't bother me much, however.

"Yeah," she nods. "Bought everything I need. I bought a little something for myself, too. Of course, it came out a little more expensive than I expected... just couldn't resist," she adds shyly, her hooves tapping awkwardly against each other.

Pretty much shoplifter style.

"You're not going to be mad at me, are you?" she adds quietly.

"Nothing to worry about," I smile warmly. "You certainly know my attitude about it. Besides, don't forget that I was rewarded by Prince for Stable 66. So it's all good."

"Oh..." she sighs in relief and joy, getting up from her seat and wrapping me in a hug, then kissing me. "You're the best!"

"Anything for my queen," I say slyly.

The beige pegasus' face floods with a blush. She opens her eyes wide at the sudden realization.

"That's right! Congratulations to you, my beloved, on being named a King!" The pegasus gleefully congratulates me, and then moves slightly away from me and kneels down in front of me. "Your Highness!" she adds with half-joking reverence and awe, closing her eyes and opening one eye to look at my confused and somewhat embarrassed face. I give her a hug.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," she smiles affectionately and sits back in the pilot's seat.

"So," I continue, "what kind of stuff did you buy yourself?"

"Lots of different little things. I'm not going to bother you with a list, let it be a surprise. Right! A surprise..." she exclaims with a strange expression.

"And when are you going to show it to me?" I inquire in some bewilderment, and then fall into thought and conjecture.

"When the time is right..." she utters slightly uncertainly, as if trying to shake off the awkwardness that has set in.

Her demeanor pushes me to one guess of a rather vulgar nature. Or maybe the pony is just really nervous, trying to hide the possible importance of this. However, I decide not to think about it or elaborate on the thought: the surprise could be ruined if I guessed. Fortunately, the thought, fueled by my usual eager curiosity, doesn't have time to take root in my head thanks to Motley herself: she instantly twists out of the subject.

"Anyway," she begins, "I've spent quite a few caps. But now I have a full-fledged grenade launcher!" I take it Motley has bought a compact boom weapon of mass destruction. I'll have to watch out for her behavior from now on. "And with some very useful upgrades. Plus, perfectly adaptable to my battle saddle."

"That's good. Though the modifications could have been done by Ferris," I note, to which Motley snorts.

"It'll take a few days for him to get the necessary materials through Bluerise, and then some more time while he takes care of the improvements themselves," she explains. "I have to admit, the store Fuck-Knows-Where has an excellent selection of weapons."

"Where?" I wonder, but misfire, followed by a short laugh. "What store was that again?"

"That's what it's called, a gun store called 'Fuck-Knows-Where'. No, I agree that the name is funny, and I understand your confusion."

"Won't you kill us with your grenade launcher, sending us on a long flight to fuck knows where? I mean, it's not exactly a firecracker," I say apprehensively.

"You're insulting me. I'm good at this sort of thing! Of course I'll be careful and cautious. I don't trifle with such things. Leave your thoughts and worries about explosives to me alone. Where do we go now, my... king?" she smiles coquettishly with a spark of mischief in her eyes and then bites her lip, studying my emotions with a strange expression.

I roll my eyes and shake my head slightly, my lips stretching in a condescending grin. I assume that kind of reference to me will be coming out of her mouth for a long time to come. As will other such teasing from my friends about my status in Vanhoover.

"Into my domain, oh my faithful servant!" I play along eventually, exclaiming imperiously. Motley laughs.

Venture goes up in the air.

***

In Heavenly Harbor, we load the remaining supplies we need into Venture, including various potions. It's better to use the Professor's potions than drugs—there's no risk of addiction. Sitting down on the passenger seat next to the pilot, I plunge into my own thoughts.

If I manage to get the key card without serious consequences—which is highly unlikely with my peculiar luck—we'll go straight to Canterlot for the next one. The search for the Dome was already taking too long. If I hadn't visited Stable 66, I probably wouldn't have learned that the Steel Rangers already had their keycard, but kept quiet about it. Or rather, the Elder was silent, though I can totally understand her action. Sometimes you have to make very hard choices.

I want to end the search sooner rather than later, as the truth that the Steel Rangers in this region are practically under the Prince's hoof worries me a lot. Most disturbing of all is that Prince is very likely aware of my ties to them. Soon he will know, if he doesn't already, that I know of the Elder's betrayal, and that she gave me all the keycards. We must hurry. It's time for a more focused search, though I still don't know how we're going to get to New Pegasus. This place is full of Enclave like some kind of hornet's nest.

It's too early to think about it: there's still Canterlot ahead, which I understand is the local equivalent of Sierra Madre. From the experience of exploring that place, which I got into because of unbridled and reckless curiosity, I can tell that it's going to be pretty tough. Ghost people that are hard to kill, the pernicious influence of the Red Cloud, and various radios that could detonate my 'tie'. Not to mention the very difficult conditions for survival. I experienced similar tensions at Pitt, when conditions were also difficult—but there were relatively safe zones and relatively friendly slaves and overseers. I hardly remember the difficult time in the chains of a slave, despite the unbearable conditions. I was then still in a deep depression after Brisa's death.

"The Wasteland Survival Guide gave me little, but enough information to draw parallels with my earlier experiences. So I have a general idea of what's going on in Canterlot. I won't be wearing a collar this time: I won't have to worry about the hated radios. At least that's a good thing.

It's going to be hard to keep multiple ponies magically protected from the Pink Cloud at the same time, which is one of the reasons why I only brought one partner with me, without trying to convince anyone else to come with me. Naturally, that partner agreed to be Motley: she wouldn't let me out of her sight. Especially after I'd gone to the 66 without telling anyone. How lucky I was to have met such a caring mare.

The steady sound of the rotating propellers. So peaceful.

I am flying on a large metal pan, on the side of which the inscription 'Venture' is inscribed with exquisite gold symbols. The flight is calm, not fast and even, without shaking and jiggling—it is hardly noticeable. The movement is only apparent as I move across the deserted ground in the blazing sun; for some reason the wind doesn't glide over my fur or caress my face as it should. Strangely enough, I am not sweltering from the heat, even though there is not a cloud in the sky.

After a while, a huge mountain appears before my curious gaze, completely snow-white. At first I think it's just covered in a thick layer of snow, but as I get closer I see that it seems to be oozing with a rich translucent red liquid.

Could the mountain be bleeding?

Suddenly, I feel a kind of chill. My nose is tickled by a familiar scent: the fresh and sweet smell of strawberries. Drool forms in my mouth. My tongue involuntarily falls outward, as if afraid to drown in them, and my breathing quickens and becomes like that of a withdrawal addict who has seen a new dose of joy and ecstasy in front of them. I look at the beautiful sight. On the very top of the milky strawberry mountain, from which slowly and attractively streams of strawberry syrup flow down, like a queen on a throne, there is a huge, red and juicy-looking strawberry berry.

The syrup flows continuously and seemingly endlessly down the slopes of the milk-frozen mountain. The whole thing beckons to itself, entices... It looks as if it were whispering to me in a languid and melodious voice, caressing not only my ears but my mind as well, bringing me into a self-indulgent delight and arousing unbridled desire, "Come on, Danny, come to me. Try me out. You'll like me."

My face must be getting a frankly silly and childish expression, as if I were seeing the love and passion of my life.

Like a thunderous roar, a menacing growl erupts, chilling my soul and heart. It's quite familiar.

I bounce on the pan in surprise, causing it to shake violently, but then I regain my balance, and try to look around for the source of the sound. With fear and anxiety, I finally spot a silhouette near the base of this mountain of strawberry dessert. It's flying straight at me!

When he gets enough distance for me to get a proper look at him... My heart freezes. I think I'm suffocating! A disgusting, terrifying, frightening hybrid of a deathclaw and a cazador that makes even the bravest and most fearless scream in fear!

Realizing that I can't fly away from it, I decide to land and try to fight it. As if on a whim, the frying pan does my bidding, and I land immediately. The creature comes down a few dozen meters away from me. A creature the size of a house—huge and intimidating.

I look around for a weapon, but find nothing. All I'm wearing is the same blue suit with white inserts. All four of my knees are shaking. The deathcazador approaches me slowly, as if trying to intimidate its prey, with a heavy, shaking step that shakes the desert ground. This thing is so horrible, it's hard to describe in words... as I am in a wild panic.

What should I do?!

As I look around in terror, all I see is the same frying pan I flew in on. I have no choice but to grab it with my telekinesis and use it as a means of defense or offense.

Lifting the huge and lightweight pan of Venture with my magic, I get into a defensive stance. Holding on to something in my magical grip, I gain some courage and enthusiasm—I'm going to give this thing some fight back!

A long and hard fight ensues. I don't know how long it lasts, but it feels like an eternity. I block the swipes of claws that cut through the pan a little. My heart is aching at the sight of the cuts, but then, used to it and resigned to it, in addition to blocking and agile dodges, I start attacking the enemy from time to time. The creature doesn't stop growling loudly. Despite the damage, the frying pan deals some pretty decent blows to the enemy.

Between dodges and blocking, I systematically beat the deathcazador without even giving it a break; it's already getting weaker. My muscles ached and buzzed from the strain, my breathing was heavy and fast, my face and body were drenched in sweat, and my clothes were shredded and dusty everywhere—they looked like rags.

At some point in the fight, the creature fails to hold on after another blow, staggers and eventually falls, meeting the ground with a great thud. It is still alive, though it struggles to get up, but fails. The second attempt in advance fails, as I swing the frying pan at the round head with huge red faceted eyes, putting all my last strength into this fatal blow.

The thunder-like deafening blow, which shakes the entire surface of the earth, spreads around the area.

Not only the joy and relief of defeating the enemy, but also the happiness of the reward that would follow.

I toss the frying pan, mangled beyond recognition, aside, and, breathing heavily, I shout in triumphant joy.

I am already very close to the mountain, the strawberry syrup of which has crept to the very base, and I smile happily in anticipation: there are only a few steps left to take towards my sweet dream...

Everything disappears like smoke when someone calls my name.

I startle and look around in surprise and alarm, trying to figure out where I am and what's going on around me. Motley turns in my direction with a sympathetic smile, looking me over closely and seeing my sleepy and tense state from my sudden return from the dream world. The Vertibuck has already stopped moving, and the slope of the rocky mountain can be seen through the front window. The pegasus does nothing but stare either ahead or at me.

I, meanwhile, am trying to get my chaotic and confused thoughts in order, while feeling the usual faint dryness in my mouth after a nap or sleep. Calming down, I reach for a bottle of plain purified water. The cool, clear liquid flows inward, giving me a sense of relief. I involuntarily sigh deeply, rubbing my forehead with my hoof in absent-mindedness.

I'm going to dream. I had to try the strawberry dessert, or else I was going to go crazy.

"You're a sleepyhead," Motley begins in an amused, sort of sarcastic tone, without looking at me. "Stayed up for about an hour, occasionally muttering something about some 'venture' pans, strawberry dessert, deathcazador..."

"I love strawberries," I reply absently.

And I shudder at the realization that I've fallen in love with the berry based on its smell alone. I wonder what it tastes like? Motley chuckles. I have no idea why she took my answer ambiguously.

"I woke you up because we've already flown in."

"What were you dreaming about?"

I'll tell you later. Let's just say I'm starting to get a little crazy that I haven't had strawberry dessert yet. You remember when we gave the strawberry dessert to Flow and ate the apple dessert.

The second me is laughing out loud. I still haven't gotten used to the sound of a voice out of my control—much less laughter—in my head yet.

"So am I. Apparently, we had similar dreams: strawberry dessert was at the center of the plot."

This is where I can't stand it anymore and laugh. Only out loud. Motley turns to me with confusion and looks at me with wonder.

"I was just remembering a funny moment from my life," I excuse myself. Though it could be considered true.

"Related to strawberry dessert?" Motley asks, giving me a sly smile.

"Yeah..." I say and add with a chuckle on my lips, "I once swore to myself that I would never die until I tried strawberry dessert."

"That totally explains why you managed to survive the Cursed Stable, and indeed stay alive at all. Then I won't let you even touch that dessert."

"And you're going to make me suffer so cruelly like this?" I say indignantly.

"Yes," Motley replies after a brief pause, turning forward. Squinting my eyes, I give her a disapproving and contemptuous gaze.

After a few seconds, she slowly turns to me, a sly and cruel smirk on her lips. We stare at each other intently: I give her a piercing stare, while she gives me a smug sneer, looking down at me almost smugly.

Suddenly we burst out in unison into unrestrained and simple-minded laughter.

Without another word, we turn around and look at the mountain in front of us without much interest: its summit is hidden above the cloud cover. Finding a passage or a cave proves difficult. We circle around the mountain for some time on the Venture, gradually climbing up and looking for an entrance. Eventually we have to climb to the very top.

"Yeah..." Motley says absent-mindedly, pursing his lips and peering up through the front window. "There's a good chance the entrance could be behind a cloud veil, where we could attract the attention of the Enclave. Especially in that conspicuous transport: their radar would have no trouble detecting it. They do keep an eye on all flying objects below the clouds, but in most cases they don't interfere unless they pose a direct threat to them. I don't know how they're scouring and monitoring the area... but we'd better be extra careful when we break through the veil."

"I wish they'd ignore us."

"I hope so too, but it's unlikely," the pegasus utters glumly and anxiously, but with a spark of hope in her eyes.

Her gaze softens, and she looks at me with concern and incomprehensible excitement—as if in anticipation of something important to her and to me at the same time. She bites her lip. I try not to look at the emotion on her face, lest I disturb her with my gaze.

"But you will see the beauty and charm that those who live above the clouds admire," she says excitedly, keeping her eyes on my face.

For a moment I am visited by a scarcely concealed perplexity. Then I remember that surface dwellers almost never see clear skies. Apparently, Motley wants to see my reaction when I see clear blue skies for what she thinks will be the first time.

Gotta play along. I've seen clear, though not completely, skies in my world, but now it's dusk, and it should take on a darker hue.

"Trying not to offend her sensibilities and wanting to fulfill her expectations? It seems good to care for her, but on the other hand... It's not good to hide the truth. Although that's your style—you still haven't told her who you really are."

Ignoring the remark, I redirect my perplexity into half-sincere anticipation. Motley's face grows even tenser: she seems to wait, staring at me.

Venture finally breaks through the veil of clouds, and we are presented with a marvelous, beautiful view of a cloudless evening sky: somewhere in the distance, the sun has already dropped below the clouds, giving an orange hue not only to the sky on the other side, but also to those same bumpy and beautiful clouds. Up from the horizon, the sky harmoniously and smoothly changes hue to a deep blue color. In the distance, some spires and structures loom directly on the clouds.

The sight is indeed breathtaking. Such a view should have cheered up many of the ponies on the surface below, but in my world, where the sky is clear and cloudless, it has no effect on the condition of the inhabitants. All everyone does is yearn for nuclear winter.

And yet the perpetually gray and gloomy weather takes its toll on everyone, causing longing, sadness, and despondency.

It's been a long time since I've seen clear skies! Especially here on the Equestrian Wasteland! Near Vanhoover, the clouds are less frequent over the sea, so the sky and the sun are quite visible—but those views are as far away as the moon from the unimaginably marvelous sight I see before me now.

Motley watches my reaction with barely concealed interest and delight; there is a slight blush on her cheeks, and her face is almost radiant with joy. I turn to look at her, and she looks away a little shyly, as if to give me a brief respite from her feelings, and then back up into my face. Her lovely multicolored eyes are filled with warmth and tenderness.

I look at her in turn, not breaking eye contact and trying to convey with my gaze everything I feel inside.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she breaks the silence with a whisper, as if afraid to scare away this wonderful moment.

A strange hot and tumultuous feeling overwhelms me. It seems to be controlling me now: my heart beats faster in my chest, its joyful thrill growing as I stare into the pegasus's eyes.

We lean into each other. Slowly and unhurriedly, as if timidly... Our eyes close inevitably. Our lips touch in a lingering kiss. It's not rough and passionate, no. It is soft, soothing and deep. Its purpose is to savor the moment, as if in gratitude... Exactly. Gratitude for being together.

I get lost in this kiss and don't know how long it lasts—it's only when I break it that I realize the passage of time again. Even afterward, we don't break eye contact. Motley's eyes are closed, as if she has not yet recovered from the sensation of the kiss or wants to savor the rest of the bliss.

I want to continue. I feel the urge to hold her, to kiss her slowly, breathing in the lovely scent of her body with my nose... to savor her fur. She responds with an affectionate look.

I stop those thoughts just in time, realizing that this is neither the time nor the place. Though the moment is right, I must continue my search. And the Enclave might show up at the wrong moment. These thoughts sober and refresh my mind, bringing me back from heaven to earth... Figuratively speaking.

"I'm glad you liked it," she says with a gasp.

I answer her with a smile, after which I look ahead.

"What are those structures in the distance? Could it be those towers of clouds?" Motley follows my gaze and nods affirmatively. "I remember you telling me that you had a lot of things made out of clouds. It's mind boggling. I still can't get used to the thought."

"Typical reaction of surface dwellers," the beige mare shrugs, "It's only natural for us due to limited resources and materials."

I understand all that, of course, but... Damn you! Magic! This single and universal word in here can explain almost everything my mind can't realize or comprehend, but that doesn't take away from the fact that it's... incredibly cool! I love this world of magic.

"And I love it, but as the saying goes, 'A guest is good, but home is better'."

However, there is another big and extremely important 'but' here—Motley.

The second me says nothing to this, only snickering dismissively.

***

Once behind the cloud cover, we find a suitable landing spot right next to the cave entrance. According to the marker in the PipBuck we are quite close to the keycard.

After landing, we exit Venture, putting on our helmets. Who knows what danger may await us. Better to be reassured, prepare in advance and face it with dignity.

I approach the entrance, and the spare PipBuck alerts me with a familiar beeping sound: this place is called 'Dragon Cave'.

Yep, if the name is to be believed, that means this place is.... Stop. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. What? You gotta be fucking kidding me...

I go into this stupor, like my body and my mind were paralyzed in an instant. It's not for the sake of pathos to name such a place after such formidable creatures from all sorts of myths. Especially in this world of magic and colorful ponies. Huge creatures in the north of the Sapphire Sea, dragons on Lava Island and in the northwest on the neighboring continent... The size of the cave entrance completes the picture—Venture can fit through there without any problem, and there's still room to spare. Motley stops, turning to me.

"Is something wrong?" she worries. I can't get a word out, afraid to say anything out loud lest I jinx it.

The entrance to the cave shudders, and the surface beneath us trembles. There's a muffled shuffling sound from inside, as if someone or something is moving, clawing at the surface of the cave.

Motley almost jumps up in surprise. My heart rolls somewhere.

The cave shudders again, and the heavy sound comes again. And then another. And another. And another. The rumbling grows louder, and the source of the sound gets closer and closer. Something as big as a house and as deadly as the touch of the Ripper is moving toward us with heavy steps.

"I think you jinxed it mentally. Things are bad. Even fucked up, I'd say."

A huge purple and scaly head shows out of the shadows; a green crest on its head, large green eyes with vertical pupils, a large maw open menacingly, baring teeth the size of an average pony.

"Who are you?! I didn't call you..." the monster says in a rough, murmuring voice.

Its voice exudes displeasure, bewilderment, and gloom—in fact, so does its gaze. The creature is suddenly seized with anger as it focuses on Motley. Judging by the name of the cave, courtesy of the device on its front leg, it's...

Fuck my horn, it really is a dragon!

Both Motley and I are seized with a paralysis worse than the one that gripped me from the name of this cave. We can't even make a noise out of fear, we can't even move. I can say with certainty that our bodies shake with the same intensity—so much so that the vibration would make the glass crack if we touched it.

I'd seen a lot of things in the Wastelands, but this was the first time I'd ever seen a creature many times my size, and a talking one at that! I knew that my luck, a ruthless bitch, would grant me a meeting with the most formidable predator on this planet without the slightest doubt and in a timely manner.

A dragon! A huge, flame-breathing, purple rep-fucking-tile!

This taunting by my own luck partially brings me out of my daze, forcing me to think somehow in this situation, to consider a plan. And the experience of controlling fear, gained in Stable 66, helps me to control my feelings.

I catch a glimpse of my companion and realize that she's still paralyzed with unimaginable fear. This is obviously her first encounter with a dragon.

I mentally groan. How do you fight something like this? Even the overgrown chameleon from the Rainbow Mine seems like a cute and harmless puppy against the backdrop of this behemoth! I'm tempted to kick the wheels with all my might and get as far away from here as possible, hoping that the dragon won't waste his time on such a pathetic and whiny coward.

"I didn't invite you, why don't-" he stops halfway through as his gaze shifts from my companion to me.

Do I really look that appetizing even under my armor? It's certainly flattering. With relaxed, silly jokes, I try to control the renewed fear in my heart at the scrutinizing stare. I hope he's thinking about giving me a chance to leave. Who knows, he might have a sudden stroke of mercy.

"Familiar helmet," his voice becomes much quieter and softer.

Even the stare softens and looks less threatening. The calm and non-threatening tone convinces my frantically pounding heart to slow down.

"What is the reason you've come here? What's the Enclave doing here?" the old animosity returns to his voice, but it's not as threatening as it was at first.

He casts another glance at Motley, whose heart, I'm sure, shrinks to such a small size that it flops into itself.

"She's been out of the ranks of the Enclave for some time now, and yet, power armor offers good protection in combat," I try to explain, struggling to control my emotions.

"How did you discover this place?"

"Well... Hmm... Anyway, we were led here by a... marker pointing to one... important thing to us."

"And what is that?" The purple dragon looks back at me incredulously and skeptically.

"It has to do with the Dome."

"I remember now. You're the pony who dealt with Sharp near New Appleloosa, helped one foal find a home, and... killed four raiders chasing two ponies in Manehattan," the dragon's mouth stretches into a faint smile.

It is a smile, not the carnivorous grin that would herald our presence as an appetizer at a late supper.

Motley still radiates, if I may say so, a sepulchral silence, portraying a statue of black stone. I don't think I can even hear her breathing. I wish she hadn't suffocated in there. Poor dear. The numbness releases my mind—the ability to speak more or less clearly returns—but my body is still in its grip.

"How do you... know me?" I ask timidly and fearfully.

My thoughts are now like soap in a bathtub sneakily slipping away from me, preventing me from thinking and reasoning logically, forcing me to practically voice my thoughts out loud.

"You and I were talking... Eye-to-'eye'," he emphasizes the last word with a strange expression.

I try to remember when I met him and what 'eye' we're talking about.

"A sprite-bot. As I recall, at one point in the conversation you even wanted to meet me. Somehow, miraculously, you did find me after all. Usually the only way to find me is if I call out to you. So here I am, Watcher."

Watcher. That pony who speaks through sprite-bots. As it turned out, this was far from a trivial resident of the Equestrian Wasteland—those weren't even close to the creature before me.

"Maybe now that we're really talking eye-to-eye, you can finally tell me your name?" the purple dragon asks.

Resisting its demands is futile. I remove my helmet in greeting.

"Daniel Evans. And her name is Motley Cloud. Now let me satisfy my curiosity. Is 'Watcher' some sort of alias or formal nickname?" He nods. "Then what is your real name? I think, having discovered your lair, I deserve to know this minor truth."

"Spike. And it's nice to meet you... again."

Really? I thought his name was going to be something menacing and flashy, like Deathclaw or Smashing Blow. It's, uh... a silly, foal-like name, or something? Well, it's what they gave him. It's a fact that must be accepted.

"Daniel," the purple dragon continues, "you're a good fellow and you help the others whenever possible, so I'm perfectly capable of letting you into my home. We can discuss more pressing matters there. You shouldn't be standing on my doorstep. Come to me..." his sour gaze lingers on my companion.

Again, it's useless to resist. Besides, he doesn't seem like a bloodthirsty dragon.

"Why did you only invite me?"

"To be frank, I don't really trust you either, but at first glance you seem to have a good-natured nature, as evidenced by your actions. You're at least somewhat trustworthy. This is the first time I've seen her at all."

He once again skeptically studies the pegasus, who has timidly moved closer to me and stepped back a little, as if hiding behind me but trying not to show it.

"She's under my responsibility. If she tries anything of the sort, you can burn us alive."

Motley slowly turns her head to me in mute question. Spike chuckles cheerfully. A semblance of a smile forms on his muzzle, then he looks around thoughtfully, occasionally throwing the pegasus a glance full of doubt.

"Agreed. Welcome to my home," he points a clawed paw somewhere behind him. "Come on in, let's have a chat."

We follow Spike into the interior of the spacious cave. A huge purple tail with green, pointy ridges looms in front of us. Motley asks me in a whisper if we're putting ourselves at risk. I can understand her: we are going willingly into the dragon's lair at our master's invitation. That in itself sounds extremely reckless and foolish, as if we were sticking our heads in a noose. On the other hand, who knows whether we're in for hospitality or a trap. We'll have to go in either way to get the keycard, the marker in my spare PipBuck clearly indicates that we're close.

Once inside Spike's house, I can't ignore my curiosity and look around with great interest. Motley looks around with similar interest, taking off her helmet and shaking out her mane.

The cave is cozy and even nice. Lots of racks and shelves, densely packed with books. Not the corrupted and burned ones I usually see in abandoned corners of the Wasteland, but complete and clean. There's also a huge round bed, covered with sheets and more pillows, buried in mountains of glittering gems. Near the bed is an advanced looking terminal. Several power wires stretch from it to somewhere further into the cave.

With a certain smugness, Spike admires our delight and amazement. The latter arises at the sight of a mountain of gems.

Indeed, everything here is quite decent for a dragon, the mountains of jewels in particular looking attractive. There is even more here than I stole from Mother Softhooves, not without the help of my friends.

"It's all nice and cozy, of course," I begin, "but we came here for the keycard. Do you mind if we take it?"

"Looking for the Dome?" Spike wonders, after which a realization dawns on him. "Oh, right. That's what you went to Vanhoover for, the place they don't come back from. I'll give you the keycard, anyway, I can't get much use out of it without the other six. However, you still haven't told me how you found it by some miraculous means?"

"In one of the Stable of the Vanhoover region, I found a tracking chip indicating the exact location of all six keycards. I have three of them in my possession at the moment. The other half, as it turns out, are outside Vanhoover and its environs: one is dusting somewhere in Canterlot, the other is cleverly hiding in Las Pegasus, for the moment referred to as New Pegasus—and the third appears to be in your possession."

"You've made considerable progress in finding this global secret project. Are you sure it survived?"

"I can only hope so. Actually, I thought you, as Watcher, should justify that alias and possessing that information," my lips stretch into a faint smirk. The dragon's muzzle takes on a somewhat guilty and saddened look. I still can't get used to the fact that I'm having a conversation with a dragon—n its own lair!—and a sad one at that. It's nice to know that the world can still surprise you.

"The Dome was a top-secret project of Equestria, founded by all six Ministries," the bitterness and nostalgia in his voice is clear. "It's the first and only common project of all six Ministries. The Keepers of the Elements of Harmony, who are the heads of those Ministries, designed it to be a place isolated from the outside world and its cultural, political, and ideological influences, where all of Equestria's knowledge and technology or blueprints and prototypes would be stored and protected in the event of an unforeseen global catastrophe, for since the war with the zebras began, no one could tell exactly what scale it might reach or how long it would last. All the knowledge and technology accumulated during the peaceful millennium could be lost forever. This place was also intended to be a complex where the ponies could continue to do science and research away from the chaos that sometimes happens on the surface."

"What was the construction of this facility like? What role did it play in the life of Equestria?"

Spike seemed to like to talk a lot.

"A huge portion of the Ministries staff didn't even know of the Dome's existence. Many had no idea they were involved in this huge project. Because of its scale, it would have been difficult to hide its construction. The Ministry of Morale, at Pinkie Pie's initiative, created a department called The Controllers. Later, they were also responsible for secrecy, and kept all the schemes hidden from the public in order and organized. They covered all of Equestria, but most of all Vanhoover. For example, the raw materials used to build the various underground bunkers and structures ordered by private companies and brokers actually went to the construction of the Dome. Of course, those companies and brokers were fake and didn't really exist at all—only on paper."

"And how long did it last?"

"I know very few details about it. Only in general terms. The Dome was such a secret project that only the Princesses and the Keepers of Harmony had full access to all information about it. And, of course, that special department."

"What happened? How did the Keepers of Harmony feel about this project?"

"They were so absorbed in other, their own projects that they took almost no notice or interest in the construction, and the Princesses were also preoccupied with the internal and external affairs of the country, trusting The Controllers completely. The Controllers were left to their own resources. The Keepers of Harmony were reminded of this project when they were sent the keycards needed for emergency unlocking of the Dome in case of various circumstances and created in each Ministry. As Twilight said, they were supposed to go straight to the storage areas."

"Those were the Stables... So why didn't they go there as prescribed?"

"They were Stables for a reason, they were a kind of secure storage lockers. Stable-Tec was also involved in the construction of this facility—only the top and lead engineers were aware of it, and mostly engineers from the Vanhoover region. As for why the keycards didn't go to their destination... I don't know about the other Ministries, but when Twilight got her keycard..."

Spike falls silent for a few seconds. His muzzle takes on a wistful and bitter expression. He sighs deeply.

"She still remembered the project and its importance, and she was disturbed by the fact that the keycard had been given to her for some reason. She explained to me that once created, it was to be delivered by The Controller in Canterlot directly to the assigned Stable. She contacted Rarity and learned from her that she had also received her keycard. She also notified Twilight that the other four friends had received them as well, but without much thought, they gave the keycards to basically the first person they met to deliver them to the places."

Right... there's been some turmoil in The Controllers ranks, murders. Maybe that's why the keycards were sent to the Keepers of Harmony?

"Twilight and Rarity decided to personally check out the turmoil in The Controllers, but agreed to do so right after Twi went to Maripony on urgent business, figuring there was still time. It was around this time that the bombs dropped. Eventually I forgot about the keycard too, until you reminded me of this Dome Project about two months ago before your trip to Vanhoover."

"You and Twilight were close?" Motley asks suddenly.

"Yes, she was my best friend. And I was her number one assistant," Spike smiles sadly.

"I am sorry," the pegasus pronounces understandingly.

"Thank you, Motley."

"Can I ask questions now?" the dragon pronounces immediately with eager interest.

"Of course you can," I laugh. Spike smiles happily.

Naturally, he wants to ask about Vanhoover, which is something of a black spot on the map for him. He only knows about it from the stories of fanatics and religious ponies that live around Hoofland. White Demon and all that nonsense.

I and Motley, mostly just me, talk about the state and improvement of Vanhoover and what it is like. The dragon listens in silence, not interrupting. He marvels at the high standard of living and the degree of progress in society, but is saddened to hear that for over a hundred years the city has prospered thanks to the vile slavery and has reached its heights because of it. He marvels at the local attitudes and philosophy of responsibility actively espoused by Prince and the level of psychological influence on the slaves.

Motley can't help but tell me that when Bluerise needed caps to open her store, I was generous enough to give her a truly enormous sum of money.

Naturally, I am a little embarrassed at the way Motley presents me.

But really—if there's a lot of money, why not help your friend?

"To summarize, I can say that this is a kind of Fillydelphia under the leadership of Red Eye, only in the future. And Prince himself is basically the same Red Eye. Only with an established... empire. It's frustrating and upsetting that such prosperity has been achieved only through forced labor. And to have the fear of responsibility so skillfully imposed upon them, citing the example of the irresponsible raiders," he mused. "I've been thinking. In the Vanhoover region, The Controllers have been busy doing their thing, actively indoctrinating their employees and agents with patriotic propaganda. After-all, they're basically part of the Ministry of Morale..."

"What are you getting at?" I ask, not having caught his train of thought. He turns his attention back to me.

"You mentioned the basically foolproof psychological brainwashing in The School. The methodology of this process wouldn't just spring up out of nowhere. Perhaps Vanhoover's masters discovered some of the Controllers' files on psychological manipulation and methods of influencing ponies and more. And after some time, through trials and errors, they created their own brainwashing methodology for subjugation based on it. The Controllers used all knowledge of psychology for patriotic propaganda among their employees, to educate them in loyalty to their country. Vanhoover's masters used their findings to impose their principles and views on the slaves. Submission, obedience, and admiration."

"There's really something to that," I ponder. And if you look at the situation with slaves and masters, certain similarities are noticeable.

"There's nothing unusual about that," Motley says. We turn our eyes to her. "The Enclave has been using psychological influence since its separation from Equestria. Oops. I mean, patriotic. Though I don't see much difference."

"Right," Spike replies, nodding and looking in the direction of the pegasus. "I have heard of your propaganda. However, we are looking at something outside the territory of the Enclave, which is the de facto successor to the Ministry of Awesome, which is actively recruiting for its ranks. To my recollection, Vanhoover is the only place that has something like this in the Equestrian Wasteland. Red Eye... might be using the Ministry of Morale's knowledge of leadership and leading the masses as well, since there were quite a few of their headquarters in Fillydelphia. It's an interesting situation with slavery. I have one more question to ask."

"Go ahead."

"It's all about you."

"Okay..." I say unsure.

"Why do you want the Dome?"

"Well... Scientific interest. I mean, I wonder what's stored in there."

"Also," Motley adds, "finding a way to do long-distance teleportation."

"Long-distance teleportation?" Spike asks in surprise. "Why would you want to do that?"

"It would make traveling more convenient..."

"But for what purpose?" the dragon persists. "Even if such a spell exists, it's unlikely to be cost effective."

"Besides," Motley says, "it's more convenient to travel by Vertibuck. They're fast and don't use up a lot of gems."

I feel backed into a corner.

"Actually," the dragon notices my silence, "where are you from? From what part of the Wasteland? From which Stable?"

He's Watcher. He knows Equestria well enough. Whatever place I pointed out, he's had plenty of time to memorize and investigate everything. Study the surroundings. Some I told I was from Hoofland. To others, that I was from the South.

"You told me once that you were from the southern part of Equestria."

I'm afraid to say too much, lest Spike start to elaborate on that thought, but he picks up on Motley's words.

"From the south? I don't recall a Stable opening up there in the last couple decades. What Stable are you from? Is it still hidden from the general world?"

Yes! I can get a hold of that!

"If you tell him the number of the Stable, it may turn out that this Stable was opened or explored a long time ago. You have no margin for error."

Motley looks at me worriedly.

"Danny? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"I... I..."

"There's no getting away from you now. Even if you don't tell, Spike's doubts about your past in Equestria have exposed you, and that's something Motley won't forget. Motley's already doubted."

Goosebumps and shivers run through my body. It feels like the ground is going out from under me. My insides clench, my heart aches, and my breath catches, as if someone is clawing at my lungs with poisonous claws.

This is the moment I've been dreading the most.

My insides chill with the sudden memory of the events in the Rainbow Mine, where we were hallucinated, where I saw my fear about confessing about the past. Liar. A lunatic. Abandoned by her... As luck would have it, the memories of my experience in Stable 66 came flooding back. The same icy cold. Emptiness and horror.

Eyes blurry, dizzy. Nauseous. My body is weakening, I'm losing control. I think I'm going to faint.

Motley keeps looking into my eyes, a look of concern on her face. She sees my condition, and her anxiety grows visibly. There's disappointment in her eyes: she's beginning to realize that there's clearly something wrong with my past.

Why is this happening to me? Is it really going to end like this? It all went by so fast. Why is this happening to me? I've never reacted so strongly to something like this before.

It's all disappearing.

It seems like I've just been suffocating underwater, that I had seconds to live—as I suddenly surface and breathe in the freshest air, bringing me sweet relief and peace.

All the emotions and feelings I had experienced now seem so distant and unnatural. My consciousness is slowly coming into balance. I'm regaining control of my emotions. What seems unfamiliar... In the Cursed Stable, after the change of 'driver', I experienced similar feelings of complete control over my emotions: they appear, but can be consciously drowned out if I wish. Last time, it took me longer to come to my senses because of what I had seen. But now I realize everything more clearly.

This is how my other me lives in my head. It's quite comfortable! And I don't have to do anything: just sit and watch. Now I'm reasonably wondering why I reacted so strong.

"Fuck... Yeah, you've gotten emotional since you got interested in that pegasus. I had to work hard to get rid of those destructive emotions you generated that could make you faint. You know, I was wondering: if I had control of this body and had sex with Motley—would that count as her cheating on you?"

That makes me smile—or I only think I'm smiling. Thank you for... Calmed me down a little with that joke.

"If everything goes fucked up with this body, then I'm going to die in this world along with you."

Meanwhile, Spike and Motley are looking at us in surprise and anticipation. There's a look of confusion on the latter's face, the same disappointment in her eyes. I mentally feel another jab in my chest—but only mentally. I can resist it. Still, it's hard on my heart, because I deserve the blame.

"I'm looking for a method of long-distance teleportation to use only once," Daniel says with a shadow of a smile. I remain a mere observer.

"I'll confess. You just can't. It should have been done from the beginning. When we were still united... You think too much about her thinking you're crazy—but we've both forgotten that Homage and Littlepip believed us. So will Motley. I'm not sure she'll take it well, though, considering she was expecting a regular stallion. Well, I won't make you worry any more, or you'll become neurotic. It's time to right your wrongs with her."

Thanks.

"Damn, this is hard, even for me."

"I just want to go back to my world. I'm not a pony. I've existed in this form for... sixty-eight local days. I'm an alien from another reality."

There is an awkward silence. The silence is interrupted by Spike suddenly bursting into laughter. From the feel of it, Daniel's eyebrow raises. Motley, seeing the dragon's reaction, begins to laugh, too: tentatively and strained at first, but then he gets the hang of it and laughs with Watcher without a shadow of a doubt.

"Well... Quite expected. Apparently, because of the emotions overwhelming you, we completely forgot about the most natural reaction."

The laughter of the interlocutors goes down, as Daniel doesn't laugh and looks serious with a sour and disapproving smile.

"What's so funny?" the other me asks with incomprehension.

It is only to us that the topic is of genuine and sincere importance. The two look at Daniel in puzzlement, still not believing what they've heard.

"I meant what I said." The smiles finally disappear from their faces, especially Motley's. Her face becomes utterly serious, frowning and depressed. "When I got here, my physical appearance changed and I became a pony and before that I was a human. I had to hide my true origins, leaving only the murky outlines of the past, but not its true nature."

"It turns out..." Motley begins quietly, "all this time you've been lying to me about your past?" The pegasus' face takes on a stunned, pained look.

"I was just calling it by its nature."

Daniel struggles to retrieve the amulet with Caesar's mark on it from his pocket, then resolutely holds it out to Motley. She examines it with trembling hooves. At the sight of Caesar's profile, her eyes go wide, staring dumbly at me, and her mouth falls open. The amulet falls from her hooves and meets the sandy-rocky surface of the cave with a thud. Saying nothing, Daniel brings her front left hoof up to her view.

"Read it and tell me, what is the name of the device on my leg?"

"Pip...Boy?" the pony utters with effort. "I-I... I don't understand..." she utters, stammering.

"Neither do I," Spike, who had been silent until then, cuts in.

"In my world, there's a PipBuck-like device called a Pip-Boy. It was partially transformed when it got here—apparently by your magic. The functions are slightly different. Also with my Pip-Boy I could not connect to your satellites to use maps or radio frequencies. That's why I use another PipBuck. Not because my device is full of memory."

After that, no one asks any more questions—because the other me begins a full but simplified story about us and our world.

***

The story goes on into the night. Daniel tells everyone who he is, or rather, who we are. But he keeps silent about the mind split, because it happened already in this world and it doesn't matter. He tells a little bit about our world, about the history in a nutshell, to give the listeners at least some picture of what is going on, the very tip of the iceberg. Basically, everything we talked about two months ago with Homage and Littlepip. Only this time, the narrative is a little more expansive. Like the Pitt, Point Lookout, the West Coast, Big Mountain, and so on. Even the last hunt for Marco far outside the Mojave is described in a few words.

During this monologue, Motley and Spike become the most silent listeners. The dragon's whole visage expresses shock, delight and keen interest: absorbing information like a sponge, he is listening to a fascinating story of world events, much the same as those familiar to him here. The pony's face also shows this, though to a much lesser extent: she seems to be in a kind of feverish and absent state. She stares at the narrator with an inanimate, blank stare, as if listening to some essential truth that is not immediately believable or comprehensible.

The longer she listens, the more she realizes that what her stallion said is not some crazy nonsense and schizophrenic gibberish of unprecedented scale, but a quite appropriate and logical story, which is impossible to make up in haste and in such detail.
Toward the end of the story it is evident that Motley was able to come to terms with what she had heard a bit, undoubtedly believing it. She clearly didn't expect or even think that the pony she was interested in would turn out to be an... alien. Despite her attention and due respect for my story, there is uncertainty on her face. It's as if she's standing on a crossroads shrouded in an impenetrable fog—doubt flickering in her eyes, prompting fear of the unknown.

***

4th of the Month of Rain, Greenday. Sixty-ninth day of my stay.

"...After which I came to your world," Daniel says wearily, finishing his story, after which there is a significant silence.

Motley's face no longer depicts anything. Her gaze is blank, and she seems to be looking through Daniel. Obviously, she's come to her senses after hearing his last sentence. I can only assume that her mind is a fountain of all sorts of emotions bubbling in her head right now, and from the variety and confusion, she doesn't even know how to react, doesn't know which thought to hold onto first. She opens her mouth a couple times, but closes it immediately. During the story, which lasted several hours, she never once took her eyes off me, blinking in surprise.

"I need to get out..." the pegasus in the Enclave armor says—for the first time since Daniel began the story.

She frantically gets to her feet and moves silently toward the exit of the lair, shuffling and staggering slightly, as if struggling to move her legs.

The sight of her makes me want to rush to her and hug her, to cheer her up somehow and make her smile. But, unfortunately, my own body is out of my control right now.

I need to talk to her right away!

"Let her be alone with herself and her thoughts, let her realize what's happening and think things over in the fresh air. You can't rush her in such cases: you might have a negative effect by starting this destined conversation too soon. You've delayed your confession too long—accordingly, she needs more time, since she's used to you as a pony. The longer you procrastinated, the more shocked and stunned the truth became. She even became speechless at the revelation of our origins. Spike, on the other hand, simply out of respect for the storyteller, remained silent. And Motley—it was clear from the look on her face. You saw it perfectly yourself when I looked at her."

"Yeah... Wow, what a story!" the dragon exclaims admiringly, looking at Daniel with a respectful and grateful smile. "I am extremely grateful that you told me... I mean us," he instantly corrects himself.

He looks thoughtfully and with some bewilderment at the spot where Motley had disappeared from sight moments earlier, retreating into the shadows of the cave.

"Clearly you consider each other more than just friends..." he turns back to Daniel. "But is she not aware of who you really are?"

"Unfortunately, no," the other me replies bitterly. "That's just the way it is. The usual worry that she'll leave me because of it, and also think I'm crazy for only wanting to justify myself. It's complicated."

"How complicated," the purple dragon utters with sympathy and understanding. "Hiding such a truth is too significant to be overlooked like that. Usually relationships based on lies don't end well. But even I can't guess how things will turn out in the end. A lot will depend on you. How you talk to her and what she means to you. Apparently, she's at a crossroads right now, choosing a path, but she's hesitant to make a move on her own yet, waiting for you—or rather, your conversation, which will determine her direction."

Daniel remains silent, only sighing heavily.

"I don't envy you. As much as I'd like to return to our world, there's no way I want you to part so sadly... For now, I'm going to have a dialog with Spike, and you get ready for that conversation, pick your words. I don't need both you and Motley moping around every few seconds afterward. I'm almost out of relationships and connections. I don't want to experience all that again!"

"You did the right thing by not immediately following her: let her process what she's heard," Spike breaks the silence. "Let's talk about you for the moment, in particular some of your life."

Daniel nods in agreement.

"I've gleaned quite a few important and teachable moments from your story. Your entire life, which has been filled with various events since your escape from Sta... Vault 101, is difficult and long-suffering. You've lived through many terrible and sad moments. I thought that Littlepip had been hit by a hail of hardship and torment, but as it turns out, you've been through no less. And yet there were also bright moments: friends, support, and your help to others really made them happy. You even helped create a new settlement in the Divide..."

"For the destruction of which I am responsible."

"You were delivering a package. How were you supposed to know what it could lead to? It's like a domino effect. Any action can set off global processes. You don't have to blame yourself for what happened, but I understand how hard this is for you."

"Thank you."

"You've done a lot of good things in your life. Good things don't undo bad things, but... Everyone does bad things. We all stumble. One thing I've noticed about you is that you like to help others. You're also very generous. That's a very good virtue."

Some kind of heat is felt on the face.

"Well, it's just... Yes... Thank you. I haven't had much difficulty with the caps. Others experience it all the time, though, so here I am helping... whoever I can."

"Admirable. That's good. Oh, I need to contact someone," he points to the terminal. "A lot of ponies need information to survive. And I have to at least encourage them to help each other that way."

Daniel nods.

I decide to take control of our body—the other me is only too happy to do so, he can't bear to control a pony's body anymore. I head for the exit of the cave.

Ignoring the anxiety of the upcoming conversation and the fear of the unknown, I walk quite confidently and calmly. My mind is raging with many different options for starting a conversation.

The journey to the exit seems to last for hours—though not more than a minute actually passes. The other me decides not to interfere with my thoughts, so as not to derail my mood or inadvertently worsen my condition. He doesn't want my relationship with the pony, but at the same time, he doesn't want us to suffer through a breakup.

It's dark outside. Deep night: stars twinkle lazily in the sky, and the moon sits confidently among them, illuminating everything above the clouds with a soft light. The clouds are so beautiful in this cool glow that I can't help but admire the view, for I have never seen anything like it in my life. For pegasi living above the clouds, it is a most familiar sight. One gets the feeling that some kind of melody is playing in the nighttime—peaceful, quiet, lazy and moonlike.

Motley sits on the edge by the cliff, her head down. I carefully, as if afraid to make an unnecessary movement in front of the imminent danger, come closer to her and sit down next to her uncertainly. She doesn't react in any way to my appearance. Not even a glance... That's a bad sign.

Tears are already drying on her cheeks. She stares down at the clouds on the mountainside with total indifference.

For a minute, no one says a single word. I am the first to decide to break the silence.

"It is hard for me to understand what you are feeling right now, as I have never encountered anything like this in my life. However, you are—I'm more than sure—upset that I kept my true origins hidden."

"That's putting it mildly..." she whispers without looking at me.

I'm once again nervous and thus unsure how to continue the conversation, but Motley precedes me by solving that problem.

"Tell me why you... Tell me, if I meant something to you, why did you hide the fact that you were an alien from another reality?"

"Well... Umm... I... Oh, I'm getting speechless, I'm so nervous in front of you right now," I try to quell my anxiety with a lighthearted joke.

The beige pegasus doesn't react.

"Damn, I don't even know where to begin...' I say out loud with frustration. "I won't hide the reason anymore. I kept silent because of... fear. When I realized that I felt something to you, a whole storm of emotions arose in me. A conflict."

"Conflict?" Motley asks with faint interest.

"Yes... I was human to begin with. Humans only make relationships with other humans. So the fact that I developed feelings for someone who wasn't human caused me to be conflicted. On one hand, I wanted to get to know you better, and on the other hand, I wanted to give up on you."

"So... why did you want to give it up?" she utters uncertainly and guiltily—as if suspecting the reason for it in herself.

"With my sort of adventurous life, it's very... unsettling, especially when important persons for me go along with me. It wasn't about you having something wrong. It was just about me. I didn't want to get into a relationship because something might happen to you. You know... what I did to her. My main problem with the relationship was fear. That it would happen again. Fear of responsibility. Afraid I wouldn't be able to handle it if something happened to you when we got close. The peak of the conflict happened right at that dance... when you first asked me to dance. Something was happening to me... like a hurricane that paralyzed my mind and made my body feel like it was moving on its own."

"I thought you just didn't want to dance with me. You were cold-hearted about it... about me... that's what I thought. And it turns out..."

"Quite right. It's exactly the opposite. I nearly passed out in there from the emotions overwhelming me." For the first time, Motley giggles slightly, but the faint smile immediately disappears from her face. "In that moment, everything collapsed inside me... the conflict disappeared and I enjoyed the dance. From that shared moment with you... without any human remorse. Even then, I decided I had to tell you. But I didn't want to push you, and I wanted to choose the right moment."

"And why didn't you immediately admit that you were not a regular unicorn? What did you expect, hiding the truth from me?"

"I was a dumbass."

"Well... at least it's honest."

"I royally fucked up," I continue, "and I admit it. Thought you'd think I was crazy, a liar just trying to justify myself. The fear of the truth was building up, and I just couldn't get my act together anymore, pick a time to come clean..."

"Is that why, in your conversation with Spike, you looked like you were fainting?"

"Yeah... So worried about me and you that... I've never been so worried," I sigh, remembering the experience. "I'll be honest, in the Rainbow Mine, I saw exactly that fear.... In my hallucination, you hated me so much that you killed me."

"What?" Motley's eyes widen in amazement.

"Mm-hmm..." I smile uneasily. "As you can see, and I have a knack for overthinking."

"I just don't have the words..."

"I didn't expect to have any," I smile weakly.

"So... how then... you was able to pick up and tell me about your origins? At some point you started looking like nothing was ever happening to you..."

"That's what happened to me just recently..."

"Are you going to-"

Yes. It's time to end it all.

"Remember," I continue, "I mentioned a little earlier that my inner conflict peaked before our first dance together? Well... Turns out that conflict had moved to another level, not disappeared. In that moment, it felt like I had sort of lost a part of myself... and didn't feel conflicted about getting into a relationship with a non-human. After a while, I heard my voice... in my head. An independent voice... Daniel's voice, but... the one that was against having a relationship with anyone in this world."

"You mean you have-" the shock reappears on the pegasus' face.

"Yes... A split identity. It seems my inner conflict had reached a level where it was simply unbearable anymore. The issue regarding relationships with ponies, you in particular, was so diametrically opposed that it caused the split. He's against relationships with anyone in this world, but I don't mind if the person is interesting, fascinating in every sense... Like you. And in the conversation with Spike, when I almost passed out, he took control and spoke for me. Wanted to, uh... right a wrong. He doesn't want us together, but he doesn't want us to suffer for it either."

"Just what I needed," she sighs heavily, looking somewhere in front of her in surprise.

"The truth about the mental health issues... made the fear of confession even worse. So... that's the pie. What are we gonna do? Do you think our relationship is over? This..." I'm suddenly silent.

My heart clenches.

"I don't know... All of this needs to be taken in and digested. Make sense of it. The split identity, your insincerity... and... doubt in me."

"Doubt in you?" I'm perplexed. My heart sinks in anticipation of the answer.

"Well... How to put it? I can understand your fear, but still... The fact that you were afraid of me enough that I killed you in your hallucination... is frustrating."

My heart clutches tighter.

"The main thing is that you've recognized your mistakes. You're not afraid to admit it to yourself. That's rare. I appreciate that. At one time you interested me with your patience, simple attitude to everything, thanks to which you were always on the positive, accepted me. You realize what I've done. You helped me with it... and... I don't want to lose a pony like you... or a human. What I want most of all is to see honesty in my pony. Even if the truth is bitter, it's still better than hypocrisy. I realize that it's hard to tell it, it's easy to slip up and lie—the important thing is to admit it in time. Everything else will fall into place. Split identity? Well... even if it's a problem, we can work through it together. You've been helping me all this time. A decent chance to help you. If you try to be completely sincere with me, and if you're still okay with a relationship with me..."

"Of course I don't mind. I'm sitting here on pins and needles, holding my breath."

Motley laughs weakly. A brief silence ensues. She's really saying an important thing. I sometimes forget that sincerity is the central foundation of a relationship. Those who think otherwise are sorely mistaken. What's the point of a relationship? Only if it's for status or personal gain.

"Okay... What about all those stories you've been telling me?"

"Everything I've said is true. Just adapted the words to fit this world. Instead of 'man' I said 'person', instead of 'woman' I said 'mare', instead of 'Vault' I said 'Stable', and so on. Ah, yes... I remembered the reason why I originally hid my true origins. I'd get tired of answering questions all the time. I also didn't want any prejudice against me, even though the behavior of ponies and non-ponies is almost no different from humans. I thought I'd attract unnecessary... scientific attention: then I'd be operated on and gutted to find out... how that happened."

"Huh... No doubt I have yet to get used to all this. Who would have thought that I could have such an impact on someone... That I'd attract a member of another species that has only known about ponies for a couple months," she utters and turns to face me, slightly timid.

"I don't even know how to put it into words, but you're just... incredible. To think things through like that, to calmly analyze..." She blushes. "It doesn't bother you at all that I'm a representative of another species?"

"What do you mean? There are other races around all the time, and interspecies relationships are perfectly fine, though not exactly welcomed until a certain time."

I stare stupidly into the space behind the pegasus. The other me is laughing wildly.

And how did we not think about the fact that interspecies relationships for ponies, and for the pegasus in particular, might be considered the norm.

"Wait... I'm not exactly a representative of the species here."

"But physiologically, you're no different from a pony. You can't even tell the difference in behavior. I'd say... I got an exclusive. A representative of a species from another world in pony form. Sounds intriguing. Plus, it's kind of flattering that, uh... I've been able to get the attention of a species from another world. Again—in regards to another species. Remember I told you about my friend? Oh, yeah. We were very close. And she was a batpony."

"Wow... That's quite a revelation," I open my mouth in surprise.

"Yeah... I'll admit, I don't really like to talk about it because of the prejudice others have towards that race. Especially the surface dwellers. So I've had experience with another species. Now I've come across a single representative... a human, though, in the body of a pony. For me it even... seems funny and interesting, and in general makes me look at the world differently. We'll figure something out about the split identity. Hey, the other Daniel who hates me! You can't scare me off that easily," she smiles, poking me in the nose.

The other me is silent. Apparently in shock at what he's heard is the same as me.

"I'll either beat you with my hooves or blow your ass up with this." She nods toward the grenade launcher mounted in her saddle. "So... my Daniel, who cares about me, don't touch him. Understood?"

There's a sense of fear in her gaze as to whether she's overreacting.

"He doesn't know what to say... and even I don't know what to say," I am pleasantly surprised, looking the pegasus in the eyes.

"And you don't need to say anything. Time will tell," she pokes me lightly in the shoulder.

"Totally agree, angel."

With our hooves around each other, we enjoy the view of the marvelous stellar sky.

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 1)

View Online

"Oh, there you are!" the purple dragon exclaims, looking away from the terminal. His green eyes with vertical pupils study us intently and intensely. Then he noticeably relaxes, covering his eyes slightly and sighing lightly. "Judging by your peaceful faces, the conversation ended happily," he smiles softly and shyly.

"Which I'm truly amazed by," I stare blankly at the point in front of me, still trying to comprehend what happened. "However, I realized my oversight, accepted it, and tried to explain it all away if possible."

"That was a shock to me... As was the fact that he was deliberately hiding something like that. But..." the pegasus blurs into a sympathetic smile, looking towards the dragon, "I decided to give him another chance after all, because there are too many things I like about him," she looks at me with her eyes covered. "It would be foolish to leave him just because of that mistake... albeit a major one... for me."

"Does lying make a big difference to you?" the dragon is curious.

"Yes," the pegasus replies without looking at him. "The only obstacle in any relationship is lying. To me, the most important thing about a pony is... and humans, for that matter," she hums, keeping her gaze on me, "is sincerity."

"Couldn't agree more," Spike nods his scaly head. "But... It's very difficult. Besides, not everyone likes to accept the bitter truth."

"No one likes to accept it, and neither do I," she turns to him. "However, that is no reason to avoid her." Hearing that, the dragon hums, then smiles widely.

"Good for you guys," he says favorably. "I wish you to find a strong love without lies or misunderstandings. It's nice to see that such strong and mutual feelings can exist in these harsh times. I'm even a little jealous," he embarrasses at the last.

"Thanks on the good word, Spike," Motley thanks timidly, then leans toward me and whispers: "Let's try to hug him from both sides."

My eyebrow reaches for the ceiling.

"Yeah," she continues in a whisper. "I can see he's big, but everyone loves a hug, don't they? I can guess he rarely gets friendly visitors. No one likes lingering loneliness."

Oh, right... How could I have forgotten its usefulness!

"Convinced," I reply quietly, then turn to the dragon and smile widely. "Come here, you big tough guy!"

The dragon is surprised for a moment, and then visibly flinches at the sight of the blue flash as I wrap my legs around his neck, settling on his shoulder. After recovering from the slight shock, Motley rises sharply into the air, flapping his wings, and flies up to the opposite shoulder, also hugging him.

"And may no one be unhugged," I add.

"You scared me for a moment," he utters.

"It wouldn't have been a surprise otherwise," Motley explains smugly.

We all burst out laughing in an amicable and friendly way. Of course, the dragon outdoes both of us in the volume of laughter: the sound vibrations he makes almost make my ears hurt.

"What wonderful ponies you are after all. Thank you."

"You're welcome," the pegasus replies cheerfully .

"Wait," the dragon suddenly grows wary. "You managed to master the teleportation spell?"

"Well, it's not like you're blind," I let go of the dragon and carefully jump off it. Motley does the same.

"Yeah that's more of a rhetorical question," he says embarrassed. "Very few ponies manage to master it. A true rarity."

"As is meeting with a dragon," I remark. "And a friendly one at that." Spike chuckles again, but this time shyly and more restrainedly.

"There really is something about you... that makes others smile," he says ambiguously. The pegasus looks at me with a smirk, tilting her head slightly to the side. I shake my head indulgently.

For the moment, I'm free of the oppressive anxiety I've been harboring about our relationship. I have no secrets to tell Motley that I would fear more than anything else in the world. The thought of it is heartening. I feel a lightness and joy. Like I've found my place in life.

"Despite the fact that you are sort of welcomed, especially by your... potential partner who has yet to get used to it, we still don't belong in this world. Hell, we haven't even figured out our reasons for being here! What if we don't belong here, what if for some reason we need to get out of here as soon as possible because this could cost us our lives? And anyway, this land will never be our home. Sooner or later you'll realize that and start to feel uncomfortable, like you're out of place."

An unsettling chill runs through my body, making me shiver. He's right about something. Frightening assumptions and hypotheses arise in my mind.

"What do you intend to do next?" the dragon asks, snapping me out of my troubled and burdensome thoughts.

I raise my head in surprise and look around, feeling my breathing quicken. Motley is looking concerned, touching me with a hoof. The only thing I'm aware of now is my emotional exhaustion and my subservience to anxious thoughts.

"If you don't mind," I begin slowly and uncertainly, and then continue in my usual friendly tone, "we'll take the keycard from you and go to sleep. The story I've told you about myself, and the emotions I've experienced today, have rattled my nerves. And yes, don't worry, we'll spend the night in our Vertibuck, and in the morning—or when we wake up—we'll go to the ruins of Canterlot to look for another keycard. So I think we should say goodbye now, so that tomorrow morning you won't be disturbed by a brief farewell visit or distracted from the business of observation, Watcher."

"Ugh..." the dragon sighs annoyed. "So eager to tell you about Equestria's past. It's not often I have guests with enough trust and friendliness to be here, and talking through sprite-bots sometimes makes it impossible to keep up a long conversation."

"We understand. It will be another reason for us to survive, to come to you and have another conversation. At least for that, I'll do my best." The words make him cheer up, anticipating our next meeting.

"Well... good luck to you then, and may the sun always shine on your road of life," he says, making a gesture with his right paw and pointing it somewhere upwards.

Spike kindly gives us the fourth purple-colored keycard, and we leisurely head over to Venture to get our sleeping place ready, before snuggling up tightly against each other and going to sleep.

***

When I open my eyes, I smell the fragrance of her brown mane. Motley is nuzzled into the fur of my neck and warms it with her breath, making the fur flutter with joy. My front leg under the blanket is tucked carefully under the pony's neck—apparently I did it instinctively in my sleep. So reluctant to disturb this sweet and blissful idyll; I just enjoy it further.

After a while, a familiar voice comes from under my chin, "What, did my embrace paralyze you?"

"Your aura is too heavy, that's why I can't move," I reply in a sleepy voice, floating somewhere in the clouds.

I feel a nasty push from the pony's side. I'm attacked by a dangerous contagion that immediately takes advantage of my vulnerable sleeping state and overpowers me, forcing my mouth wide open as I inhale deeply, quickly filling my lungs with vital oxygen, and then exhale loudly and long, as if on purpose. As expected—the pegasus shudders in surprise.

"Oh... Heavens," she utters with relief. "Did you do that on purpose?"

"I did it for pleasure." I feel a second nasty push in my side. "And actually it's to wake up sooner." Motley giggles. She shows her cute face, looks me in the eye, and smiles softly.

"Good morning," she says affably and reaches up to me and gives me a quick kiss.

"Good morning to you too, angel."

She climbs on top of me and uses her front hoof to thoughtfully make shapes on my chest, ruffling my beige fur. I'm lying there like a log, but I'm massaging her wings with my magic. She gasps, then mooed in pleasure.

"I love it when you play gently with my wings," she begins dreamily, "your mastery of telekinesis makes me shiver with pleasure. It's amazing that your world didn't have magic, and here you've mastered it so quickly."

"I'm amazed at this luck myself. I'm used to learning quickly, you know that. Superficial knowledge from different scientific fields allowed me to more or less understand the regularities and principles of the world's workings, and consequently, to learn more easily. Trying to keep my mind flexible."

"And how did you manage to become such a... relatively good shot?"

"Largely because of this," I lift my left leg, giving a demonstration of the PipBoy 3000. "PipBucks and Pip-Boys have the same operating concept, just with different components and parts. The aiming feature in both technologies speeds up the reaction, nervous system and thought processes in the head, making it seem like time slows down. Without that stuff, I couldn't have survived."

"I know about that," the pegasus smiles.

"So why do you ask?"

"I thought you'd have something else to tell me about your world."

"Is it really that interesting to you?"

"You bet!" the pony chuckles. "You know, I don't meet aliens from other worlds every day, not to mention they've hardly been anywhere on this planet at all." She hesitates, looking up somewhere. "I'm not so sure about that, though. Perhaps they were there before, but they hid their origins... Like you." She lowers her gaze and focuses it back on me. "How I love your wing massage..."

I direct my magic to the pegasus' rump and gently massage it—the pony sighs, languidly covering her eyes in pleasure.

"I know you like rump massage too," I smirk and lick my lips.

"I like to be watched... when I'm being gazed at or discreetly peeked at. But I only like to be touched by ponies close to me." Her eyes meet mine and she grins. "Anyone else who touches without permission, I at least knock out a few teeth: a kind of payment for the inconvenience."

I laugh.

"Yes, you can," I agree. "And yes, there will be plenty of time for me to tell you more about my world. If you can help me look like a normal, average pony here."

"That's going to be difficult."

"Why?" I wonder a little, not stopping to massage her wings and rump and feeling the growing arousal inside me.

"My King... You made such a fuss in Vanhoover that you can't be considered an average pony anymore," Motley remarks with a smile.

"Huh... Well... you know what I meant."

"Just wanted to make it a little clearer," she utters, shrugging innocently, and resumes driving her hoof across my chest. "Absolutely, I will help you. But before I continue... given that I feel something... hardness in my lower abdomen," she bites her lip lustfully, looking at me playfully with her multi-colored eyes. "Why do you call me an angel?"

"Ah... That. In an ancient religion of mankind, there were these beings that looked like humans, yet they possessed wings. They did the will of their God as messengers of good. Were pure... saints. Angels were always associated with something beautiful and divine."

"Oh..." she smirks, leaning toward me and running her tongue along my neck.

Goosebumps run through my body, and my member between her back legs tenses to the point of resting against the very bottom of her belly, two small hills.

"I don't fit that description," she adds with a gasp.

"And to you, what does that word mean?"

"Later," she reaches out in a whisper and encloses me in a lingering kiss, excitingly wiggling her pelvis.

A blissful shiver runs through my body, a sweet heaviness builds in my chest, and I roll my eyes in pleasure.

***

The steady hum and rumble of the propellers over the side of Venture, and the peaceful and soft vibration of the machine itself, accompanied us on our way to the ruins of Canterlot. Motley is fully immersed in the controls of the transport, and I am... immersed in my own thoughts, sitting close to the pilot's seat to recall everything I've learned about this place from my time in Tenpony Tower, reading the Wasteland Survival Guide, and talking to the lonely vagabonds in the forks of Manehattan.

Canterlot.

The grim, mysterious, and depressing ruins of the pre-war capital of a once great and prosperous country, about which many chilling legends have been told, many terrifying and mind-blowing myths have been created, and an incredible number of different mystical stories have been shared. There is no exact description or theories about what happens there, so you can not prepare for a trip to this place. Only presumptuous lunatics and foolish adventurers like myself would dare to visit such a cemetery shrouded in pink mist, relying heavily on luck.

Even though we know the location of the keycard and that we've only come for it, we'd still like to have a clearer idea of what's going on in this place that's as mythical as the 66. The ruins of Canterlot are certainly more popular with the residents of the Wasteland—especially among the uneducated, who make up the vast majority. Hence so many ridiculous and absurd stories. They cannot be trusted on this point. Even the Wasteland Survival Guide contains only popular hypotheses.

The Steel Rangers aren't saying much... I think only the Enclave should know anything about this place beyond legends and myths. However, if there was something substantial and important, Motley would certainly inform me. What if she had no interest in the place or just didn't remember?

"Angel..." I turn to the pegasus. Her gaze is staring straight through the cockpit glass at the distance ahead. On the control panel, all the gauges are within normal range. Everything is flickering lazily, clicking and beeping quietly. "I..." for some reason I'm having trouble phrasing the question. Perhaps it's because of the marvelous morning pastime. Or the peaceful hum and vibration of the transport is to blame—or perhaps it's the fact that it's hard to find a specific and clear question for ambiguous phenomena like Canterlot.

"What did you want?" Motley wonders casually after a brief pause, apparently not having waited for my words.

"Yeah... I thought about asking about Canterlot, but remembering how ambiguous the place itself is, I don't know what to ask first."

"You've been to a place like that. Serra-Made... Sirra-Mare..."

"Sierra Madre."

"Yep. Now, you ought to know more than I, since you have certain notions from experience with Sierra Madre, because of the the terrifying coincidences of your world and mine, which I don't even want to think about, to be honest," the fear and worry felt in her voice.

"Absolutely. But there is no magic in my world, I have to remind you, so these places may be outwardly similar, like lemon juice and urine, but essentially different. You were a member of the Enclave. The Enclave must be aware of this place."

"The Enclave keeps a lot of things from the public, and there are some that my father was executed as soon as he found out about them, making it look like he died in battle," when it comes to the Enclave, her voice rings with restrained rage. "I only know what you know. The Enclave is wary of this place like the Taint, but they keep an eye on it in case there's a threat to the pegasi."

"Nothing at all?" I annoyed.

"Well... You know about the basically immortal Canterlot ghouls, the corroding Pink Cloud, the mystical and murderous radio frequencies, right?"

"Quite a bit. Pretty much the same as the surface residents. But! I can say with certainty from experience that the fewer available explanations there are about anything, the more ridiculous and insane the stories about it. Therefore, they are not to be believed. Like the stories that some special spirit has taken up residence there in the form of this very Pink Cloud, stealing souls from those who come for their curiosity and greed. Like the White Demon in Vanhoover."

"The Enclave knows no more than that," the pegasus shrugs. "Because of the high threat level, they don't send scouting units there, despite the fact that the Ministry of Awesome is headquartered there, to which the Enclave has the most direct and close connection. That headquarters is the only thing that keeps them from bombing the place into dust with the guns of Raptors-class ships—Thunderheads-class in particular. It's enough for them that the place is avoided by everyone. Besides, destruction would draw unnecessary attention from the surface dwellers: they'll get scared and suddenly want to unite against the Enclave..." she shook her head. "Nah... The higher officers don't like that sort of thing."

"Remove the threat... simply by making it disappear with explosives," I chuckle.

"My favorite method," Motley agrees, and a shadow of a smile flickers across her lips. "Anyway, because of the high risk, they don't send anyone there. Not to mention the resources that would be needed for exploration and research."

I gaze thoughtfully at the approaching mountain on the slope of which Canterlot, the abode of two ageless princesses, was located; it reminded me of something.

"I hear the Goddess' alicorns have shown up there."

"That's right, they're mostly buzzing around the central areas, but for some reason they're failing miserably. All the alicorns in that place suddenly start resisting her. Perhaps it's because of the Pink Cloud feature that affects the Goddess's telepathic connection with the alicorns. All in all, riot, rebellion, chaos and anarchy."

The outline of the ruins shrouded by the Pink Cloud on the lonely mountainside becomes clearer. Conflicting experiences arise, forcing us to gaze intensely into these ruins, prompting another foray of reflection on their past.

I've heard of the Canterlot ruins. We all have, the legend, the curses. Foolishness about it lying in the middle of the City of the Dead, buried beneath a pink cloud. A bright, shining monument of the capital pre-war Equestria luring treasure hunters to their doom. The world's most famous tycoons and leaders of the state were lived there. Living there was a sign of... exclusiveness. The place was supposed to create a road to a brighter future and harmony, not just for Equestria... but for all who prove their dedication to peace and order. A chance for anyone to end the war. Except—the war didn't end the way everyone looking for. Canterlot froze in time, like a big flashbulb going off. Peace between the sides was achieved through total mutual destruction—one big ending of civilization. It's still out there, in the Wastes, preserved, just waiting for someone to reveal its state secrets to the world. But getting to it. That's not the hard part. It's letting go.

The cloud veil makes the Wasteland seem bleak and gloomy, but Canterlot makes it seem at least safe and even somewhat welcome and peaceful. The Pink Cloud that envelops this city seems ominous, hostile and menacing because of its naive and harmless hue, which brings death and cold terror rather than cheer and goodness—but at the same time, the cloud gives the ruins a beguiling mystery. The place where the ponies tried to stop the war—and ironically became complicit in it.

You want to avoid the place, but at the same time you're tempted to explore its enchanting secrets.

"Just like the cave where we found the sphere that brought us to this world. It's also like the ruins of the Sierra Madre with its Red Cloud. All that's missing is the radio broadcasts about starting over with a clean slate."

"Deja vu..." I utter unaccountably.

"What?" Motley, also gazing at the ruins, comes to her senses.

"Oh, nothing..." I say slowly. My attention is captured by Canterlot, "a foreign word that means a sense of similarity... as if you've encountered something like that before."

"Doesn't that apply to everything in this world? The Enclave... the Steel Rangers... Our worlds are similar."

"Yes... But..." I hesitate, for there is truth in her words. However, it's not like that at all. It's hard to pull my gaze away from the mysterious ruins. "Anyway, it's hard to put into words. Perhaps because Sierra Madre has left some peculiarly disturbing impression on me that I haven't experienced anywhere else. And here before my eyes is a similar place, only in a different world. Perhaps because of the, uh... the sphere I remembered a moment ago that brought me here."

I shrug off the compulsion, shaking my head.

"Anyway, land over there."

I point to a spot close to the keycard the tracking chip is pointing to.

"Good thing it's on the outskirts. I'll go and pick it up, then we'll get the hell out of here. Stable 66 was enough for me for the rest of my life," I add, swiping a hoof in the air at neck level to say I've had enough.

"Can you handle it?" Motley asks mockingly. "You seemed overly attentive, and your eyes devoured the scenery like that."

"Sassy..." I reply and suddenly I catch an unknown radio frequency on the spare PipBuck.

I want to check it out, focusing magic on the radio switch. The pegasus again speaks in that cocky tone, as if she caught me doing something naughty.

"You're not going to check the broadcast in Canterlot, are you? Surely you're not that stupid."

My lips press together tightly. There's a brief pause, as if I've lost touch with reality. The wild laughter of the other me reaches me.

"Didn't even think about it. Just wanted to check the map..." I lie innocently. Venture lands on a small patch of earth without a single scrap of vegetation on the inside of the massive white wall that shields the city from the rest of the world.

"Yeah, right," she turns to me, shaking her head with a victorious smile. I put on my helmet, hiding my embarrassment.

"Okay... Wait for me, I'll be right back," I utter quickly, opening the Vertibuck door and leaving the transport.

Stepping outside, I can feel the oppressive and gloomy atmosphere of the place. There's an overwhelming silence, broken only by the breeze that comes from time to time. Sometimes I feel like I can hear my heart beating.

I feel a growing anxiety as I gaze at the local dilapidated buildings with peeling white plaster, ceramic-covered roofs, and elaborately stoned roads and sidewalks that are trapped in an unnatural, mysterious, and ominous pink haze.

Oh, well... After hearing all sorts of ridiculous superstitious stories, it was eerie to look at the surroundings.

In addition I feel a feverish anxiety when I notice red or neutral marks popping up every now and then on PipBuck and Pip-Boy. I know that some types of hardware in this place are vulnerable to random malfunctions, but for both devices' compasses to fall victim to the Pink Cloud... Now there's no way of knowing for sure if there's a threat around the corner. I feel traitorous weakness and a desire to get out of here as soon as possible.

"Okay... Cut it out. Before Stable 66, you were pretty freaked out, too. And you know what? If you had remained focused on your feelings and worries, you would have died there. Don't let fear take control of you."

That's easy for you to say. You can, as if by magic, abstract yourself from the feelings overpowering me at the moment.

"Exactly! That's why I'm going to remind you not to be cowardly."

I gather my thoughts and walk confidently to where the tracking chip is pointing. It's annoying and unnerving to hear my hoofsteps in this silence, occasionally broken by the wind. Being in the ruins of Canterlot alone is uncomfortable.

"It all reminds me of the first time we visited Sierra Madre. When we woke up feeling the metal tie around our necks, stuffed with explosives. How we were Elijah's loyal and obedient dog, for we had no choice. Literally. However, we fell into this trap on our own initiative because of our curiosity about this mythical place, shrouded in mystery and obscurity. Now. Now we're making the same mistake. Do you think it will be different this time?"

I think you worry about our past more than I do. And yes, I think it will be different. In some ways the situations are different. I'm having trouble with my head, there's magic here, and we're in the body of a magical unicorn in a world of rainbows and pink fog. Besides, we came here with a purpose and we know where it is, we just need to take it and go.

"Don't you think it can't be that simple?"

Don't say that.

"And when did you become so superstitious? Being a pony, believing in all kinds of bullshit?"

There's magic and other kinds of different energies here that don't exist in our world... probably don't exist. It follows that any supernatural things we think may have a solid foundation.

"There is a limit to everything."

I approach the pointed place. It is one of the buildings on the outskirts of the city, having two floors. White paint on the walls, the gable roof is covered with dark red ceramic tiles. Other houses differ in roof color, and their roofs have different shapes, mostly varying in angle. The walls are in light colors, usually white, sometimes beige or yellow. However, due to the effects of cloud and time, they are noticeably worn and dull. The whole street ahead is dotted with dilapidated buildings, similar to each other in everything except the color and shapes of the roofs, of which nothing extraordinary stood out.

At first I think the keycard is inside this house, but as I zoom in on the card in the spare PipBuck, I see that it is nested outside, on the wall of the house. As I approach it and look up, I am perplexed. An unremarkable tarnished white wall. Only a huge loudspeaker sits in the corner, beneath the protruding ceramic tiles of the roof. I'm about to move closer to get a better look, but suddenly an alarming noise of interference reaches my ears. I get a sharp pain in my head...

Just in time to realize it, I stumble back. It's a working radio. Then it must be turned off. I don't have to shoot, because with my magic I can reach the switch from here in a heartbeat.

"How much trouble did a device like this cause us in Sierra Madre? A device that could easily detonate the collar and take our heads off. The white noise was so nerve-wracking until we spotted it... And here you can just magically reach in and turn it off without much trouble."

Don't remind me of those times so often. My blood runs cold and my body shivers as it is.

In here, a radio that's on and working is nothing more than a pain in the ass. Turning it off, I start fumbling for the keycard, peering once more at the card in the spare PipBuck. My eyebrows get lost somewhere in my hair—the tracking chip points to another place nearby.

What the hay is going on here?

My other me has nothing to say about that either. I stand frozen in bewilderment for a few seconds, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. The only thing I realize is that I have an unhappy feeling. I try to turn the speaker back on, keeping my eyes on the map in the spare PipBuck. Only the switch clicks as the tracking chip points back to its original location. I turn it off again, and the marker moves to where it was pointing before. I repeat the procedure several times, but the result remains the same.

That's odd. The chip doesn't malfunction like that. On the other hand, some hardware, like the compass, malfunctions by showing red or neutral markings in different directions. I've noticed that these marks appear on the side of the Canterlot ruins. On the opposite side there are none at all. The pink fog seems even thicker because of its new mystery.

I decide to check the other place the tracking chip is pointing to, and it's not far away either. And I don't hear or see anyone nearby—only dark silhouettes with the outline of ponies are visible at the end of the street. The thrill of just looking at them sharply broke through the ceiling of calm and courage... I'm reminded of Stable Sixty Six, which also encountered the vague appearance of a mare in a seemingly empty atrium. I hope I'm not dreaming this time, and it's just Canterlot ghouls who haven't noticed me yet.

No sooner do I get to the indicated spot than I hear the static again, and a sharp pain in my head. I step back and look around carefully. Soon I see an unremarkable radio receiver resting lazily and unconcernedly on a stone bench by the road; nearby are skeletons melted into the concrete of the sidewalk. It looks creepy and is only made more depressing by the realization of the nightmare that happened here two hundred years ago. The Canterlot radio frequency seems to be coming from it. I turn off this murderous sound repeater with magic to search for the keycard, and the chip on PipBuck's map immediately points to a completely different place, which is also nearby.

What in the world...

I repeats the on and off procedure multiple times, like with the speaker. The mark on the map keeps jumping from that radio on the bench to some other place nearby and back again.

I get annoyed and then something frightening comes over me. So much so that I lose my balance and fall on my butt. Everything inside me collapses and shatters all at once. A crazy, unfair and cruel assumption arises in my head....

"Yeah..." my other me suddenly says. "It seems that the frequency of the tracking chip is affected by the Canterlot radio frequency that passes through these radios. The chip mistakenly points to the nearest radio receiver that plays the local broadcast. Also, most importantly, it only means one thing..."

I want to scream with anger and frustration, to let my angry cry of hatred and despair spread to every corner of the Wasteland. I struggle to hold back, my body twitching.

"...means one thing—we'll have to shut down every working radio frequency receiver in the Canterlot ruins, and we'll have to do it until the keycard is in the vicinity."

***

"Motley... I think we have some quite a problem," my voice sounds frantic and anxious as I clumsily enter the vertibac.

"What's wrong?" she worries, sitting in the passenger seat with a book, which she immediately slams shut and sets aside.

"'Well.. Lady Luck got sneakily tripped up."

In a few minutes, I tell her all the details of the case that I was able to make clear to myself in the course of my reflection.

"Oh, heavens..." Motley whispers with fear in her eyes and a tremor in her voice. "And what... Are you really going to check every place in the Canterlot ruins that the tracking chip will point to?"

"Until we find a clue as to where to look for it. We'll take our time moving through the city toward the main castle, trying to avoid unnecessary scuffles with the local natives. I have no other option."

"Listen... why don't we just give up on the Dome? I remember you were looking for it for the purpose of finding long-distance teleportation... but... you told me yesterday that you're not from here. And... you said you wanted to return to your homeworld..."

"That's what my other me said, but yes."

"Well..." she lowers her gaze awkwardly. "You personally... still want to go back?"

I sigh heavily, then fall silent. An extremely awkward and tense silence hangs in the air. I don't know how to answer that question, for I'm still undecided myself.

"Look..." I begin with a struggle—she raises a concerned look. I move closer to her and take a seat. She is taller than me, however, for she is in the passenger seat. "I still don't know by what fates I ended up in this wonderful world of rainbows and unicorns. Until I find out the full circumstances of it, I can't be sure I can live the rest of my life here... with you. If the Dome is intact, or if it even retains certain technology or knowledge, it will be the most advanced information in this world. It's the only place where I can get a more or less clear picture of how I came to be here and how I came to be a pony. Plus. my other me won't leave me alone and will chew my brains out until we figure out the circumstances of our being here, much less the metamorphosis of the body. Yeah. Physiologically, no one noticed the difference between me and the other ponies, but still. What if I could be a threat to you or others? Do you realize the importance of all this?" I finish in a serious tone.

Motley looks gloomy and saddened to the point where I'm already regretting what I said.

"Yes..." she whispers through the effort.

A brief silence occurs, which I break first, gathering my thoughts.

"The importance is not so much in the Dome, but in what it can provide. And not just for me, but for everyone on the Wasteland. From what Spike tells me, that's clearly not a myth. He was close to those who planned it."

"Okay, I... understand all that," she sighs, still depressed. "It's just... I was already worried enough about you because of the 66. And after that, you were telling me how you quietly left the Capital Wasteland and New Peg... Vegas. You're so eager to find this Dome so you can leave the world without notifying anyone..." she adds, falling silent on the last words.

I gently place my front hoof on her leg and look into her eyes, filled with fear and worry. Taking a deep breath, thinking hard about what I'm going to say as softly as possible.

"The reasons I left were due to my lack of restlessness and finding something that would bring me peace and calm. Plus... the other me wants to come back very badly. It's complicated and confusing. But we'll leave that for later. Okay?" She nods hesitantly. "I understand your worries, but right now the ruins of Canterlot are on the priority. As soon as we find the keycard, we'll be right back," I chuckle. "Funny thing is, thanks to that same tracking shit, we won't miss the radio receivers or be influenced by them. Now... let's get ready and get everything we need."

***

With all the preparations done, we hit the road. One of the main points of preparation was to cast the protection spell on our armor and things that come in contact with our fur and skin. It should keep us away from the bonding effect for a while, and then we'll have to cast the spell again; I have a feeling we'll be tramping through the mysterious ruins for quite a while, and Pink Cloud will be our third companion for a long time.

Together we head into the abandoned ruins of the once beautiful city, scrutinizing the gloomy surroundings and listening to every slight rustle, because the identification systems of our equipment do not allow us to pinpoint the exact location of a potential flesh lover. Phantom targets appear from time to time, and it is not known what causes it. Only Motley's neutral mark is stable, and her systems and sensors are the same as mine.

The first thing we do is head to the group of Canterlot ghouls that hangs out at the end of the street where I found the radio on one of the benches. I realize it's a stupid idea to go directly to them, but I'm curious as to why they're clustered in one place.

We slowly make our way past abandoned houses with their doors open wide, metal light poles (one balloon-shaped lamppost on each), metal garbage cans, wrought iron gilded benches, lonely fire hydrants, scattered newspapers, alleys of withered once beautiful trees. Along the way one encounters the disfigured remains of unfortunate ponies melted into the sidewalk. To top it all off, it's all held captive by a pinkish light. Condensed clots of Pink Cloud are noticed on some surfaces. The whole gloomy landscape creates an oppressive and heavy impression. On one of the white faded walls of the house, a gnarled and ghastly inscription in dried blood that made me shiver, "NO NOISE!" came into my field of vision.

The impression made by the surroundings makes us shudder at every rustle or creak of doors and branches in the wind, as if it were an afterlife and graveyard wind that makes us shiver—despite the fact that we are clad from hoof to head in armor. I cling to every opportunity to take in my surroundings lightly to keep my cool. It worked in Sierra Madre, it will work here.

As we get closer, we see nothing remarkable or dangerous around us. The street paved with stone and pony remains that we are currently strolling along, enjoying the local unfriendly views, meets a street that runs at right angles. Amusingly, the chip points to this particular obviously unfriendly bunch of walking corpses that I've noticed from the start. So there's either the keycard hiding there, which is highly unlikely, or another radio transmitter. I whisper my thoughts to Motley, sneaking nearby.

"Most likely," she says over her helmet radio, still in thought, "there's a PipBuck on one of the ghouls with the Canterlot radio frequency turned on."

"Wait..." I slow my step. "PipBucks were used outside Stables before the war?"

"In Canterlot. They were incredibly expensive, so only the local rich could afford them."

I examine their front legs closely, and on one ghoul in ragged business outfit, I see a PipBuck.

"So..." I say quietly, stopping at the nearest corner of the house. "Let's not make a fuss with our weapons for nothing. Let's better not disturb their peace and go around them."

"Are you sure?" the pegasus expresses doubt, turning her head toward me for a moment.

The yellow compound-like eyes of her helmet make me shiver at times. She turns again to the ghouls at the end of the street.

"If we have to retreat, we'll be surrounded in a tight ring."

"We can fly away," I say. "They can't fly."

"There may be pegasi among them. Canterlot was not short of them."

"That's amazing," I look at the ghouls in shock. "It's like choosing between two piles of shit—you don't like them both. Still, let's look for another way, or we'll waste resources if we get into a fight."

We walk out into the backyard of a house with small flowerbeds and withered flowers in them. Motley helps me into the neighboring yard by lifting me into the air, because the stone fence is impregnable because of its height.

Surprisingly, much has been preserved here, with the exception of any vegetation: there are practically no rockslides. I also note the low concentration of Pink Cloud. Perhaps the outskirts of the city have very few of them, as well as the inhabitants. It seems to me that the ghouls will be most abundant where there's a lot of that pink stuff in the air. At least the ghost people of Sierra Madre dwelled where Red Cloud could be sniffed to death. It's handy for luring inattentive and reckless victims. But they were not ghouls, as they were here, so we could expect anything from the locals, even ritualistic dancing with drums to please their invisible deities and patrons, such as the image of Pink Cloud.

We pass by the empty house and go outside, carefully looking out and carefully looking around. The local view is no different from the one on the previous street. The tracking chip points to one of the houses in our field of view. It is the same style as the other houses, but has the peculiarity of having a tower several stories high above it. It looks like a observation tower or something like that.

With a leisurely and careful gait, I approach the house and try to peek through the surviving window with the open shutter. There's no one inside, and no sounds. I try the door with telekinesis: it's unlocked. We stand on either side of it, leaning against the wall; I use magic to gently push it inward. The door creaks nastily, and I hear the creature growl from inside. My heart thuds in my chest in surprise. I hold my breath.

Shit...

I instantly turn on the flashlight on my helmet, pull out my shock sword and activate the electricity in it—electric discharges of a bluish hue flicker along the blade, making a distinctive crackling sound—and dash inward, pushing the door open.

The hallway... At the top of the dark blue carpeted staircase leading to the second floor, the white-yellow light of my helmet flashlight reveals the outline of Pink Cloud's disfigured, evil victim, who has become one with his shirt and blue sweater. At my appearance, the dead pony rushes at me with predatory intent, but I am not a slow brahmin: I manage to point my electrified sword at his neck. The point angles into his neck and hits the back of his head with a sickening sound, but that doesn't stop him. A discharge pierces the ghoul's body, but he doesn't seem to care.

I hold the sword firmly with magic. The dead pony flails his hooves furiously, trying to reach me with animalistic fury. He's getting stronger—or maybe it's my grip loosening. Blackened teeth, ugly, shabby face... I can imagine the disgusting odor it gives off. The ghoul also has mesmerizing eyes with a mystical silver glow, but the gaze is completely blank and unemotional, which in this situation adds to the fear of something mysterious and unknown. The feeling of horror is heightened by the fact that with such a lifeless gaze, its ungainly snapping maw is trying its best to claw at me.

He's a tough bastard!

Realizing I can't hold him, I deftly step aside and draw my sword, before giving Motley the signal to attack.

The pegasus leaps masterfully and flies into the house, aiming her Pushy energy-magic knuckle at the bald head with its shabby skin. It strikes just as I yank my sword out with a sickening popping sound. The small blue flash forms near his head, but it doesn't tear it away from his body. The sonic boom tears some of the muscles in his cheek and abruptly turns the ghoul sideways, which leaves him disoriented for a moment. Thoughts of durability cause me to feel genuine fear.

They're so fucking hard nuts!

Motley seems to have expected a similar outcome: she immediately turns around, striking him next with her high-tech knuckle. This time I hear a disgusting crunch as his head turns backwards. The ghoul falls haphazardly to the wooden floor covered with a dark blue carpet. The pegasus strikes a third blow straight to the neck, turning it into bloody mincemeat. The knuckle are slick with dark pink, and the carpet in the light of my flashlight is saturated with thick blood spreading from the dead guy's mangled neck. Motley steps back, turning her helmeted head toward me with the flashlight on, illuminating me with yellow light.

"I remembered," her calm voice comes over the walkie-talkie, "that Canterlot ghouls possess a body that is incredibly resistant to various types of damage. They have powerful regeneration, so you have to intensely deliver blow after blow until their head flies off their shoulders."

'Yeah..." I say, coming to my senses from examining the thickly bleeding body." "They're really impressive. Their fellows in Sierra Madre aren't that tough," I ponder. "Be careful, though. There could be more ghouls here. But more importantly, there's a radio here."

I pick up the spare PipBuck and look at the digital map of the area.

"From the looks of it, it's quite close. Since we didn't get hit by it, that means it's somewhere in that observation tower. Can you stealthily get in the air and check it out?"

"Right away," the pony in black armor with a scorpion tail curling behind her says, and leaves the house. I look around the living room in the meantime.

It's a standard dark interior, with expensive and refined furniture, picturesque paintings, and a cozy fireplace. Looking closely at the paintings, I notice one thing in common—they all depict the starry sky: star clusters, individual bright stars, and nebulae.

I step closer. Unfortunately, time has not spared them, they are worthless. Different in style, each one signed with a name. Apparently, whoever lived here was into astronomy. That observation tower above the house could be the proof of it.

"I found it," Motley's voice suddenly comes from behind me through the external speaker of her helmet. My heart escapes in my hooves from the surprise, and I nearly jump to the ceiling. I turn around. "Right on the observation deck. Regular radio," she adds.

"Fuck, Motley!" I swear with incredible relief. "Don't scare me like that." In response, already on the internal radio, her victorious laugh rings out. Obviously she did it on purpose.

"Don't let your guard down," she says innocently. "Great way to remind you of that, even though you know I'm covering your... rump. After all, I can miss the danger, too."

"I'll agree with her on that one. It's obvious: when you have someone around you, for example, charming people, you relax and let your guard down. That's why you make mistakes," the other me agrees snidely. No matter how hard it is to admit it, there is some truth in his words. "Relationships make you soft. Overly frivolous."

"Lesson learned," I say out loud. "Let's go outside, you lift me into the air, and from a safe distance I can knock out that radio."

Motley lifts me up so I can get a good look at the source of the radio trouble. The observation deck is unroofed and is flanked by stone railings. There are wooden deck chairs and armchairs, and a large telescope mounted on three legs. The radio is on the chaise lounge. I turn the switch, securing us from the killer radio frequencies in this house. Motley lowers me back to the entrance.

Now that we've visited the building, why not look around a little more closely and thoroughly.

There's not much to see on the first floor, so we're off to explore the second floor pretty quickly. There's a lot to see here.

Apparently, it's the home of some astronomy teacher. The fact that he is a teacher is evidenced by methodical books approved by the state educational agency, a stack of notebooks with checked homework. Most of the grades were low.

I take it few ponies in Equestria were interested in astronomy.

The workroom with its many star charts, measurement devices and tools, fancy instruments, graphs and calculations of distances, locations, luminosity, brightness of stars and other cosmic objects tells of the profession.

The moon and sun revolve around the planet. They are remarkably the same size, yet are at different distances from the planet. The Moon is closer than the Sun. The laws of the universe here are different from those of my world. Maybe that's why I turned into a handsome stallion.

The final thought elicits a doomed sigh from the other me.

On the light blue wall hangs a physical map of the entire planet Equus. It's preserved quite well, allowing me to see the details of the terrain—and there's a lot to ponder. I find a wooden chair and sit down. Motley just takes a seat on the floor with her rump in her power armor.

"How much do you know about our world?" she asks curiously through the helmet's external speaker, looking with me toward a large map with Equestrian names and a measuring system. I'm sure other intelligent races have named certain objects and parts of the world in their own ways, given their diverse cultures, customs, worldviews, beliefs, and languages.

"Something I know from the Wasteland Survival Guide. Something from the inhabitants. Something from you, something from Professor. I know a bit about the main divide between zebras and ponies. At first it was a disagreement over gems and coal, and then it evolved, in part, into a well-established conflict involving Princess Luna, the source of the zebras' wrath. Those saw her as the Child of Stellar Evil, for Nightmare Moon was a part of her... and something like that. The zebras have a prejudiced and superstitious attitude towards anything to do with the stars, which in turn annoyed the ponies as they worshipped their star princess. Even humans saw the appearance of comets in the starry sky as omens of trouble, plagues, and so on."

"The essence of the conflict is aptly named, but there are many subtleties. I told you once."

"I remember. And Professor recently fleshed out the information."

A physical topography map of the planet Equus, which is about half the size of Earth according to a recalculation in US metric systems, shows two continents: the western one is called Eclipse, and the eastern one is called Solstice.

To the west of Eclipse and to the east of Solstice stretches the incredibly vast Desert Ocean, with high magical instability at its center. The Sapphire Sea spreads between the continents; Eclipse and Solstice in the northern parts converge closest. And it is in the north of this sea that huge monsters have arisen after the fall of the megaspells, which are at war with dragons over areas of high magical instability.

Equestria occupies two-thirds of Eclipse, namely the central and southern parts, while the northern part is predominantly studded with mountain ranges where griffons nested.

Along the entire western part of Eclipse, a mountain range called the Road of Stars runs from north to south. The highest mountain in Equestria goes by the name Sky Point. It is located in the center of the Road of Stars, near Stalliongrad, which is now home to the strongest Steel Ranger division. The middle is covered by the Great Deserts, where a second concentration of high magical instability has arisen. Huge worms and shit.

In the Sapphire Sea, in the northern part of the sea south of the high magical instability stands the massive Lava Island, occupied by dragons. To the south of the sea roams the same fast-moving Yellow Fog, as if it possessed a living mind.

Half of the eastern continent of Solstice from the center and north is mottled with mountain ranges, while in the south are plains at about sea level. Based on this, it can be assumed that there is a tropical and humid environment there, much like the southeastern part of Eclipse and Equestria in particular, since they are at roughly the same latitudes and sea level. In the east of this continent, the Tartarus with its ancient high magical instability sits in the center. To the east of it begins the Desert Ocean.

Tartarus is suspiciously close to the Desert Ocean. The two high magical instabilities happened to be in the neighborhood.

To the south of the same continent, as if in sad loneliness, there is an island that is slightly inferior to Lava Island in terms of area—Eris Island.

"So, is our world to your liking?" Motley reminds me as I peer at the wall map.

"Definitely. If I don't find answers in the Dome, I'm going to start looking into high magical instability."

"Why it?"

"There's nothing else to it. They're powerful, unpredictable... Who knows what power lies hidden within them? Their capabilities are unexplored. Maybe I can use it to get home somehow."

"That's an absurd thought."

"Anything is possible. I'm in a world of colorful and peaceful ponies."

"Interesting ideas among humans. Well, let's not stay too long," she rises.

I'm still pensively looking at the map of Equestria.

There are major cities north of this desert area in more temperate climates that had a million or more residents: Manehattan and Trottingham on the east coast, Fillydelphia to the south and southwest of them respectively, Hoofland on the west coast—and that's the closest city to Vanhoover, which is directly to the south. Vanhoover, by the way, is not on this list of northern giant cities, nor is it populous: up to half a million lived in and around it before the war. Canterlot is also on the sidelines, as it had a population of barely a hundred thousand. In the same part of Equestria is Ponyville, Old and New Appleloosa, the Everfree Forest, the Splendid Valley...

My gaze slid over the lower part of the continent.

South of the desert zone, there are roughly twice as many cities and towns in similarly temperate and even—in some places on the east coast—tropical climates. There are as many as eight names on the list of giant cities in the southern part of Equestria.

Stalliongrad, located on the west coast islands near the desert zone. Exactly east of it, Sun City was located behind the Road of Stars in the central part of the mountain range, and even farther away, on the eastern coast of the Sapphire Sea, was Baltimare. The current center of world trade that Red Eye had his eye on. It is home to the weakest division of the Steel Rangers.

To the south of Baltimare, along the eastern coast of the shrinking continent, are Hoofington, Hornville, and Rainport. In the central part, south of Sun City and about north of Rainport is Flankfort. On the west coast near the shores of the Desert Ocean, far south of Stalliongrad, is the last city of millions, Tailslfield.

In addition to them, however, five other towns scattered throughout Equestria are highlighted in special font: Cloudsdale, in the north; Las Pegasus, over the west coast near Hoofland; Wingside, south of Trottingham, over the desert zone, partially touching the Great Deserts area; Wind Louis, near Sun City; and Skyrock, roughly between Tailsfield and Rainport, but east of the Road of Stars.

Cloudsdale and Wingside are destroyed during the fall of the megaspells.

"Danny, did you fall asleep?" Motley asks, standing near the bookshelves.

"Huh? No..." I get up from my chair and walk over to her. "I have a question regarding the calendar. How come there are exactly twenty-eight days in each month?"

"Princess Luna and Princess Celestia could influence the movement of the moon and sun. They once standardized the order of day and night and created a new calendar. For so long, it was as if the Sun and Moon had gotten used to moving in concert with their calendar."

"And before that, they moved inconsistently and differently than they do now?"

"Yep. It's just not known whether that was originally the case, or whether something else disturbed their motion in the vacuum, causing them to lose their... balance, shall we say, sometimes moving quite unpredictably. If you want to know more, get the books from here."

"I don't know if I'll have time to read them. But you're right. Who knows, they might come in handy for something or someone."

I run my eyes over the spines of all the books. The variety is astounding. Many books devoted to mythologies, legends, and cultures with their specific relationship to the stars: 'Ancient Pegasi and Their Vision of the Second Heavens', 'The Unicorns Inspired by the Stars', 'Seeing the Stars Through the Eyes of Griffons', 'Evil Spirits of the Space. Notes of the Zebra Alchemists', 'The Night Guardians', and things like that.

Other books are manuals, scientific papers and textbooks approved by the Ministry of Image and the Equestria Council of Education in the field of astronomy with various facts, experimental results, tables, analyses, measurements and mathematical calculations concerning the motion of space objects, the nature of stars, the structure of planets, the nature of vacuum and so on.

Other books are near-scientific treatises not only in the field of astronomy, but also many others: 'Gems and radiation', 'Astrophysics for Ponies in a Hurry', 'Control of the Sun and Moon. What are the pitfalls?', 'Equusopology. In a Nutshell on the Roots of Ponies', 'Impossible Alchemy', 'The Origin of the Elements of Harmony', 'Discord from Tartarus?', 'The Crystal Empire: Truth or Myth?' and the like. The rest are devoted to esotericism, philosophy, the subject of existential purpose, the meaning of existence and typical near-religious stuff.

"There's such an array of unusual books here..." I utter under the impression, touching the spines as if I'm touching the history of this world.

"Brisa would have loved it. Such a plentiful supply of a wide variety of reads that even we are caught up in awe."

"I think the brightest and best minds here have been grappling with the questions of how to end the conflict and come to universal peace."

"The answers to such questions," she reflects, glancing back and forth at me and the books, "could even be found in myths. No, not like that... I'd say it's very likely that mythical and exotic books could have prompted interesting thoughts, made us reevaluate history in retrospect. Myths and superstitions provide insight... how different races used to view the world around them. Even the ramblings of lunatics can sometimes provide interesting food for thought. To see the world from different perspectives, so to speak. The broader one's view of the world, the better one understands how it works, as well as the behavior of intelligent beings. I suspect one can get to the root of any social problem in this way."

"Agreed. I usually do this kind of retrospective work on myself and my past, thinking it over with updated knowledge and hoping to discover something new. Or answers to my questions," I say thoughtfully.

I fix my gaze on one of the books—The Crystal Empire: Truth or Myth? The hardcover is completely covered in an image of bizarre large crystals; on the spine and at the top of the front in an indented, elegant font that shimmers in all the colors of the rainbow, unknown to me, is the title of the book.

"The Crystal Empire... I have heard of it many times."

"I am familiar with this book. A fellow student once gave it to me to read during the academy," she recalls as I open the book.

The author is Cherry Eyes. That's a curious name.

"Crystal Empire. How many legends and myths lie behind those two words is hard to imagine. Thousands of years before Celestia's reign, there were many of the most unimaginable and outlandish tales of a mysterious place washed over by the Desert Ocean. You've probably heard of the chaos of weather anomalies and other magical quirks that reigns at the center of the ocean, preventing you from exploring it? Sometimes this complex of anomalies is referred to as high magical instability. Many hypotheses and assumptions claim that what is happening there is the consequences of some nightmarish cataclysm of incredible scale on the third continent, the existence of which is also unconfirmed. We are interested in only a few of them...

Ancient images and texts of quite primitive nature tell of the existence on this unproven third continent of a once beautiful empire of crystals, whose pony-like inhabitants managed to discover the power of magical crystals and gems. At some point, they wanted more—and paid the price for their daring and ambitious experiments. Let's go through this stack of myths and legends left by our ancestors, as well as consider all the hypotheses, assumptions, scientific knowledge about radiation and the results of archaeological research".

In general, after using powerful megaspells that triggered the appearance of high magical instability, the Sapphire Sea and the Great Deserts really started to have similar shit happen. Maybe this Crystal Empire thing isn't such a fantasy? Megaspells can't do without gems and crystals.

There's a difference between crystals and gems. Crystals are thousands of times less common—and they don't emit the radiation that gems do during decay. I have no particular desire to investigate the credibility, or at least the believability, of local legends outside of the Dome. Not yet. Besides, one book isn't enough. What the past world had in mind, what its goals were besides ending the war, is enough for me.

"Funny..." I close the book softly and place it in my bag, "humans have something similar. Atlantis. Though, I don't remember much about it."

"Funny coincidence indeed," she laughs.

"And what's the third continent?"

"Another myth intimately connected to the Crystal Empire. The last one existed on it. According to some speculation it was supposed to be in the Desert Ocean." She slowly turns her head toward the relief map. I look at it as well, keeping thoughts of this place in my head. "The islands in this ocean may be the remnants of this continent. Some say it was destroyed by a cataclysm, others say it still exists, it's just in the depths of high magical instability that we can't get to."

"The discovered islands... are right on the edge of high magical instability. I agree, they hint at the presence of another continent. Though I wouldn't have noticed this... rather far-fetched pattern if you hadn't told me. Is there a lot of magical energy on the planet according to you—or according to the scientists of the Enclave?"

"Equus, as I recall, has a vast pool of magical energy in the depths. Tens of times more than the Sun and Moon contain combined. I don't know how gravity works for you, but for us, it's the amount of magical energy that counts. And the greater the concentration, the stronger the gravity. I haven't really looked into it, since that kind of astrophysics isn't my thing."

"We have the Sun tens of thousands of times the size of our planet. And it's the planet that revolves around the Sun, not the other way around. That's already contrary to my astrophysics."

"But our worlds have many similarities..."

"Yeah... For example, the term 'angels'. By the way, you never told me what it means in your world," I say, putting the last book I'm interested in into my bags.

"It's nothing much," the pegasus says, waving a hoof. "That's what the ancient language of the pegasi called the status of the most trusted protectors of the highest leaders and aristocratic nobility, as bodyguards. With the arrival of Celestia and Luna, that status was abolished, for with their arrival, the country had little conflict, as well as between the ponies. The Doctrine of Friendship. The word 'angel' from then on gradually began to be used as a name, or referred to those who could be trusted. I thought you knew the meaning of the word, so you used it as a reference to me, referring to the fact that I'm a pegasus... Though sometimes I thought you said it in an ironic sense, since you don't trust anyone one hundred percent."

"As you can see..." I laugh, "it turned out to be much more interesting than that. I called you that because you're the first pegasus in Equestria I've ever seen live. I associate creatures with wings with either birds or angels."

"What about Ditzy Doo? She's a ghoul, but she's a pegasus..."

Don't ruin the moment. Ditzy Doo is a pre-war pony.

"You're clearly obsessed with young female pegasi."

"Shall we look around from the observation tower?" the pony suggests after a brief silence.

"Why not?"

Motley and I step out onto the tower's observation deck, blown by faint wind currents, which is reached by a spiral staircase with neatly hewn stone steps. The telescope at the top needs fixing, calibration, and new optical lenses, so it's unfortunate that I can't admire it. I could have sworn I could have watched the windows of the surrounding houses from here.

''You have a view of a dead city with a gloomy atmosphere of doom and the devastating Pink Cloud in front of you, and you're still thinking about peeking out... You and Motley are of the same mind, though; she wants to be peeped at or watched... in a sexual way."

I have nothing to say to that. He's right.

Motley and I gaze out at the bleak and dangerous ruins around us, sitting at the stone railing. In the distance we can see the magnificent spires of the main castle, which in relatively peaceful times was home to the elite of the state responsible for this whole apocalypse. It's all on their heads. I can't imagine what it's like to be responsible for a planetary-scale disaster.

Sights like houses with special architecture, other towering towers, and silent monuments peek out in different corners of the ruins of the city.

Thoughts and visions of what a grand and unforgettable place this colorful city used to be unwittingly sneak into my head. There is an aching desire to see it in pre-war times, to eat in the local eateries, to visit the stores, the sights, to stroll its streets and enjoy the quaint local architecture without fear of being eaten alive by disfigured ghouls.

The muffled noise of gunfire dispels my illusions and brings me back down to earth.

"As I see it," the pegasus, apparently also given to visions of the city's former glory, says, "the crazies continue to visit this place in search of ancient treasures."

"Just like us. I wish I'd seen this city before the war. Without that Pink Cloud." I cover my eyes dreamily.

I try to re-imagine the local vistas in warm sunlight against a cloudless blue sky, without the oppressive and deadly pink haze.

"I couldn't agree more," she utters in a excited voice, snuggling up to me. "It would be wonderful."

We sit in silence for a while, indulging in sweet fantasies of the past. I look up and see only gray-pink clouds. No birds, no insects, no wildlife. Only the dark silhouettes of the walking dead, standing silently in the midst of the lifeless ruins, in which occasionally passes a dreary wind... The haven of Death itself. I close my eyes as I suddenly feel a growing sadness and bitterness.

***

As I make my way through the silent streets to the next location pointed out by the tracking chip, I find myself on the opposite side of the street, in front of a two-story house whose first floor wall has collapsed, providing an additional way in.

The house attracts me with another ominous inscription, written to the left of the gaping hole, also in dried blood, but in a different writing, "THEY HAVE EYES ON THE SHUTTING". The warning makes me shiver. I stop and try to make sense of it, staring blankly into the gap in the faded white wall.

A paralyzing fear grips me: in the darkness of the hole, the body of a Canterlot ghoul stands silent. A closer look at its outline horrifies me even more. The barely perceptible silvery glow of the body is staring straight at me. Everything around me is frozen: I can hear myself breathing, afraid to take every breath. Motley has gone forward: noticing that I've stopped, she turns around.

"What's wrong?" she asks worriedly. My words get stuck in my throat. "Danny?" the alarm in her voice grows.

"Don't... move..." I squeeze out in a whisper, completely forgetting that no one can hear us over the helmet's internal radio.

"Why?"

"A ghoul... in the darkness... is looking... at me..." I say slowly, pausing between words.

Thoughts of the inscription I saw a few moments earlier throw me into confusion. I try to regain my self control with other thoughts.

He's looking at me. At least his gaze is directed in my direction. What is he waiting for? They have eyes in the back of their heads... figuratively speaking. What the hell is going on here?

As I ask these questions, I can feel the fear fading away. It's replaced by curiosity and interest. Maybe he can't see me, but that goes against the writing on the wall. Something's wrong—or I don't understand something. Motley waits.

"What do you intend to do?" the pegasus' voice is pleasant, despite the worry.

Her voice helps me gain control of my emotions and body, allowing me to slowly and carefully lift my front right leg. Holding my breath, I watch intently for the ghoul's reaction in the house, as if there is no one else around but us. It's just me and him.

"Honey, what are you..." she waves in bewilderment.

"Shh," I interrupt softly.

She falls silent. There is absolutely no response from the ghoul. I decide to up the ante and take my time getting up to speed. Same result—zero attention. Unfortunately, from this distance I can't even hear his breathing, which makes me doubt his ability. What if he's already fallen completely off his hooves in this standing posture?

His emitting silver glow, his lifeless pupils are pointed in my direction with a blank stare. I take a deep breath before my last, most daring and silly attempt... and begin to dance. The next moment, before I could comically twitch my legs in an attempt at a cheerful dance, I hear a vicious snarl as the ghoul rushes at me with predatory eagerness.

I'm unprepared for this sudden change of scenery, which makes me falter for a moment, but I rush into the nearest alley and draw my sword. Motley also—apparently from my silly act—seems to have fallen out of reality, but follows me the next second, preparing the sting of the Enclave's power armor for battle.

The alleyway is where we take on our shortsighted—literally—dead pony. Since the pegasus is the first on his path, she is the first to strike the stinger in the neck, after which I, with the help of VATS, with a slick sideways swing of my sword at the exact same spot. The dead pony's head flies off his shoulders, splattering dark pink blood, and, flying past me, falls with a thud onto the paving stones in the alley, rolling on them, making several turns. His body rolls by inertia, following his head.

"He obviously didn't like your dance," Motley says thoughtfully, looking at the decapitated body of Pink Cloud's victim.

"My skillful wielding of the sword made him lose his head, though."

A tinkling laughter sounds over the radio. At this moment, I'm analyzing the information I've experimentally obtained about their perception, or at least one aspect of it. Trying to piece together this curious puzzle by logical analysis.

"From this we can deduce," I continue, pondering and looking at the corpse.

The silver glow has disappeared from the eyes of the severed head. The gaze after death is the same as it was while alive... The thought of it echoes in me with a heavy impression.

"I was walking at a leisurely pace in front of that house. They don't notice slow movements, but if you make a sudden movement, you become the center of their attention. If they react that way, what does the writing on the wall that says they have eyes in the back of their heads mean?"

"Probably someone was trying to mislead you. There are quite a few traps like that in the Wasteland, luring victims into dangerous places to then rob their corpses."

"That's understandable... But something tells me there's more to the metaphor than that. Hmm... All right, let's go. Let's look for more loners and experiment with the limits and possibilities of their enigmatic perception. I believe this information will prove to be quite useful."

***

We wasted no time when we had an opportunity to test the ghouls' perception of the surrounding world when the radio transmitters were switched off. Experimentally, we managed to find out the meaning of the phrase 'THEY HAVE EYES ON THE BACK', which we met more than once on walls and stone fences, written in the same characteristic writing. It means that the ghouls, if we approach them from behind, will still notice us from a certain distance—even if we don't make the slightest sound.

This rule works even when they're looking directly at us: I took incredibly slow steps toward them while in their line of sight, but only at a certain point did I become the object of their interest. If we make sudden movements without making too much noise behind them while outside this static detection radius, they don't notice it, as they should, but if I levitate objects very slowly towards them, crossing the boundary of the detection range on either side, they immediately shed their indifferent outlook.

We do not wish to test their auditory perception, but even this information is sufficient for safe progress through the ruins. We now know that we can walk in full view of them without fear of being eaten alive by the whole crowd, but only if we walk slowly, without noise, without sudden movements, and without crossing the detection range. Detection range—that's what I call it.

On more than one occasion, we've seen swarms of Canterlot ghouls huddled around loudspeakers on street corners. Based on our observations, we can assume that Canterlot ghouls get high not only in places with a dense concentration of Pink Cloud, but also near the devices that broadcast this mystical and murderous radio frequency. In some unknown way they find it very attractive, as attractive and desirable as strawberry dessert is to me. But why some of the ghouls are on their own in ordinary dwellings without a high Pink Cloud cluster and out of earshot of the Canterlot frequency is not entirely clear to us.

I also noticed one curious yet frightening similarity: the detection range is exactly the same as that of the Canterlot radio frequency. This gives rise to some very vague and disturbing thoughts, to which we are already subjected because of the depressing atmosphere of the lifeless ruins.

We walk slowly down the wide street closer to the walls of the oblong tall structure that PipBuck notes as 'Celestia Museum'. Metal, ornately patterned fences of flower beds and silent driftwood serve not only as decoration, providing gloom and bleakness to this once-great museum, but also as a small cover for us.

As we make our way along the walls with powerful decorative columns and hide behind the beds of deadwood, I notice that the tracking chip repeatedly changes the location of a point on the map, but during these 'jumps' they always point to the museum building. This suggests that there are several working devices inside at once, broadcasting the Canterlot radio frequency. Either way, it's an unusual location. Maybe we'll find the fifth keycard in there. So Motley and I decide to check out the museum. Funny thing is, the chip is pointing to the other keycards outside of Pink Cloud correctly.

As we approach the large entrance, we see a stone statue in the shape of a winged unicorn in a royal pose in front of the main doors. I take it this is Celestia. I don't want to look at the plaque on the opposite side of the entrance: it might attract the attention of more than one pack of Canterlot ghouls nearby. Surprisingly, there are as many of them as sand in the sea, so attracting them is deadly. We head inside the building, one of the doors open.

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 2)

View Online

In the spacious lobby with its arched ceiling, we find no one, thankfully. The ceiling is adorned with beautiful murals depicting Celestia's life journey.

There are three sections that can be accessed from here. At the exit where we are at the moment, there is a special area separated from the rest of the lobby by a white metal grate, the paint of which is noticeably faded. However, time has not spared anything here: everything is under a decent layer of dust, plaster and skillful murals have crumbled.

Inside the special area along the lattice there are soft seats and sofas in light colors: white, beige and gold. The furniture is rotten and seems about to break under its own weight. Small tables with brochures and newspapers. At the exit from the area to the rest of the museum there is a guard post and a booth, which I believe served as a kind of detector, identifying dangerous items from visitors that could bring a threat to other visitors, staff and exhibits. A quick inspection of the booth informed me that it had been malfunctioning for a long time. Apparently it was powered by magical gems or crystals.

Opposite the entrance was a white wooden door with simple gilded patterns and a sign that read, "STAFF ROOMS. NO TRESPASSING." On the left, double doors in the same style, but without signs, lead to the Hall of Celestia's Glory, and on the right, similar double doors open into the Hall of Millennium Friendship and Harmony. The names of the halls are above the doorways in the form of gilded letters folded into an arc-curved inscription.

Fortunately, there are no concentrated clusters of Pink Cloud here. Thanks for that.

I walk across the beige-colored stone floor to a small, elegant wood table to examine a pamphlet barely intact from decay. I shake it to clear away the dust. The text is still recognizable, as are the images, though I struggle to read them. Motley picks up another pamphlet, shakes the dust off it, and examines it silently.

"Greetings, lovers of history and our Princess Celestia of Equestria! The museum is dedicated to our beloved magnanimous princess, specifically how she came to power, how she ruled an entire nation throughout history up until recent events. It is a kind of tribute for what she has done for the pony country and the world in particular.

This marvelous museum contains a variety of exhibits, some of which are originals given to us by Celestia herself, and some of which are just a clear exact replica. For well-known reasons, Celestia chose to keep some of the items for herself, at Canterlot Castle, we understand that, but she has actively contributed to the growth of the museum. Wonderful replica and original exhibits and generous gifts, the story of which you can hear from Celestia herself. Yes, yes! We were able to get regular meetings with her and arrange lengthy interviews, which we recorded, to give you an insight into her life before she left the throne in favor of her younger sister, Princess Luna.

We suggest you see and hear all about our favorite snow-white princess for yourself. You'll even be able to see some of her stunning photos taken during the interview. After all these years, she is able to blush so much that it's just impossible not to smile at it. It's so worth it, you won't regret it!".

"Smells a little like obsession," Motley responds quietly and disapprovingly over the radio, tossing the brochure back on the table.

I put mine gently back in its original place.

"I agree, but... I heard despise in your voice. Why?"

"Well..." she hesitates. The front of her helmet is pointed at the brochures lying around. Then she turns to me. "I think the attitude of the Enclave and pegasi in general towards the Princesses of Equestria played a role. They disliked them during the war, yes so much that they ended up rebelling and closing down the sky."

"I know," I continue, "that a lot of people in the Equestrian Wasteland over so many years began to worship them as goddesses—whose bodies, though dead, but their souls supposedly remained in some special place."

Motley nods.

"Whole cults and sects have emerged, especially in Hoofland. And in general, blind faith and worship leads to nothing good. It's convenient, but more often than not it's just manipulated for personal gain. The Ministry of Image has often used images of infallible and know-it-all princesses as propaganda. Hmm." The pegasus glances around the lobby. "No wonder they ended up being considered deities in the Wastelands and their souls immortal—so many posters were left about them in Equestria... This museum is proof of that."

"However, in times of despair and hopelessness, belief in anything motivates others to cope, and.... yes... gives hope... Naturally, it creates delusions and other problems, but we can't escape it. Especially in these ruthless and harsh times."

"I see you have the same situation with religion in your world."

"You guessed it... Now let's take a look around the offices first, the work radios are that way," I nod my head toward the door opposite the exit. "See if we can find anything interesting. And then we'll check out those two halls."

Once we're past the detector booth, we head straight for the door leading to the staff rooms. The silence around us is broken by the muffled tapping of our shoes and the howling of a faint breeze from the main entrance. Along the walls of the lobby are pots of long-dead plants: after all these years, there's no trace of the plants in them.

Standing at the door, I lean against it and try to hear something, holding my breath. Nothing unusual sounds, so I gently push on the doorknob; it creaks softly, and I slowly push it further.

No sooner do I turn on my flashlight, cross the doorstep, and see the dark hallway leading left and right than my ears pick up a familiar radio frequency noise. I take a step back and look at the local map. The chip is pointing to a spot slightly to my left. That means I need to get to the right side of the corridor quickly, which I do.

In the seconds it takes me to do what I intended, my head, ears, and eyes experience a sharp piercing pain. Motley turns on the yellow flashlight in her helmet, repeats my actions, but more gracefully, and finds herself in a beige-painted hallway; a golden carpet covers the floor.

I look around carefully, looking wherever my helmet flashlight can reach with its white light, and find no one, just dust and the residue of Pink Cloud here and there. The corridor is not very long—the ceiling is twice as low as in the lobby. Further down, that is, on the right side, we see a pathway with ramps leading up and down. More doors are visible to the left of the corridor entrance.

There are signs on the walls telling us where this or that path leads. We approach them. Motley is behind me. In the light of her flashlight I see my shadow in front of me and feel uncomfortable and uneasy.

Opposite the aisle hang three golden plates with white engraved letters. The top sign with an upward arrow reads, "Offices." The bottom one depicts a downward arrow: "Warehouse and Technical Rooms." The middle one is affixed to the right of the previous two, it has an arrow to the right and reads "Lobby, Dining Room, Utility Room."

Near the signs, the marker on the map already points to a different location. It actually jumps around quite a bit, which is annoying and distracting.

I pay attention to the marks in the wall. Bullet holes and distinctive traces of frag grenades.

I wonder if they came before Pink Cloud or after.

"Let's go check out the second floor," I say to the pegasus over the radio, turning to her.

She nods, and we take the marble stairs up to the second floor.

The second floor corridor is the same as the corridor one floor below. There is no third floor. To our left, the corridor ends in a dead end with a window, so we move to the right. Ahead in the corridor is a small gap near an open door. We move closer to it, turning off the flashlights. I peek carefully inside and see the monstrous devastation: upturned office desks, some of them broken, file cabinets, scattered sheets of accounting text. In the far left corner of this spacious room gapes a huge hole that could have been the result of an explosion, or even several, for everything is scattered from it.

"I doubt the bullet holes below and this hole were formed before the war."

In the center, near the blown out windows, the Canterlot ghouls, standing toward us with their in croup. They surround an object, or rather, a device that sits on the windowsill - a radio receiver. I can't reach it from this distance with my telekinesis, but if I get any closer, they'll spot me immediately.

I pick up a folder of paper and throw it into the hole. The noise rises enough for the ghouls to take notice and head toward the source of the sound.

"A three-point shot!"

I shift to the radio receiver. Already feeling the effects of the radio frequency, I reach up with my telekinesis and knock it out, then quickly and quietly return to the hallway.

"Nice throw," Motley comments as we head further down the hallway. I sigh heavily and she hears it. My other me chuckles merrily. "What's wrong?"

"You're the second person to give such a compliment," I say dejectedly, walking towards the next door.

"Huh?" she wonders. "Oh..." is heard from her. A small chuckle sounds next.

I stop: the mark on the map is too close. We're about to be exposed to a radio receiver or other device that plays radio frequencies. I guess that's the one we almost fell into when we entered the hallway from the lobby below. I remembered that just in time. Trying not to make much noise, I rush to the end of the corridor. On the way, I feel the sharp pain in my head, eyes, and ears again.

"The brains are trying to melt and leak out through the ears and eyes."

I turn around and see the pegasus in black power armor skilfully making her way over to me. At the same moment, I hear an ominous growl from somewhere below me. The fact that they can sense us anywhere if we're close enough—no matter how silently we approach them—is confirmed once again.

Some of them have already sensed our presence.

That's bad, but it's not critical yet— and still, we need to wrap things up.

We reach the last door and see a sign on it that reads, "MUSEUM DIRECTOR: STROWBERRY ICECREAM."

Okay... don't tease me at this intense moment.

"Such a name..." Motley says in a strange tone. "Strawberry ice cream. Would you taste that?"

"What exactly?" I wonder innocently. The doors appear unlocked. "Strawberry ice cream or the director?" I turn the knob and push the door open.

Motley's suppressed laugh is heard.

The light from our flashlights illuminates the room better than the light coming in here from outside through the broken windows. Inside the office... the floor has collapsed right into the utility room, making them parts of a whole. Down below, the debris of the floor and everything that had been there, from luxury furniture to office supplies, and beneath it all, mops, cleaning supplies, damaged and in need of repair interior elements can be seen. In the office on the wall to the left is a safe—empty, judging by the open door. There is a scattering of holes of different sizes on the walls, indicating the explosion of a frag grenade. A gilded chandelier of an ordinary shape barely hanging on the wires. All it takes is a whiff of wind from the broken windows to bring it crashing down.

My breathing feels paralyzed with the fear of taking the slightest gasp, and my whole body tenses in anticipation.

Oh, fuck. It's going to make so much noise it'll attract all the ghouls in the rooms nearby!

"Use telekinesis and carefully remove it."

I can try.

No sooner does my horn blare than Motley hisses with implicit anger.

"Are you crazy?!" she exclaims outraged, seeing the light of my flashlight directed at the chandelier.

"I'll just use magic to remove it, that's all. I'd rather control the lowering personally than wait for it to fall off at an inopportune moment. Just don't worry about it. You know how careful I can be. In bed, you enjoy the skills of my magic."

"Oh..." apparently memories of those sweet moments overwhelm her. "Okay."

"Thank you, angel," I reply without sarcasm.

I focus some of the magic under the chandelier so I can catch it when I disconnect the wires. Working in all the right places—the chandelier immediately rushes downward accompanied by a stifled and startled 'ouch' from Motley—I manage to catch and hold it with my magic. The decorative dangling parts of the chandelier jingle lightly against the metal base. Clenching my teeth tightly from the tension, I lower it with extreme care to the debris of the floor below, hearing another quiet tinkling.

"Let's get down..." I glance at the wreckage below. "If we get to the first floor from here, we should be able to get to the radio on the first floor and shut it down without serious danger."

"But I'll be the one to lower you down, it's spacious anyway. In case you slip and bump and curse unwittingly and the walking dead take an interest in you."

"I thought you were gonna kick me down on purpose or something."

"How could you even think that? I like to play dumb sometimes, but not so fucking stupid," she says in a offended tone, and then she rises into the air, flapping her wings wrapped in power armor.

Dust rises all around, visible in the light from our flashlights. The pegasus wraps her front legs around me, lifting me up and immediately lowering me, then casually lands next to me.

"Now you're leading again," she says.

"Yes... thank you."

I use magic to push the debris away from the door so that I could open it a little and get through with our gear.

Once we've done all the removal work, we open the door just enough to get through, and we're in that corridor. Just before we get to the first doorway, the Canterlot ghouls show up.

I can't believe this is all so shitty. When the enemies don't show up on the compass, I start to feel like a mere mortal without the benefit of surprise. The disfigured bodies of the ponies, melded with the robes they wore before this whole nightmare, immediately jump on us with a predatory growl.

We retreat. I turn on the Hyperfrequency Emitter implant to set the undead on fire. I levitate my sword, turn around, and throw a charge into the crowd of four ghouls. Three of them burn at once, the fourth gets lucky.

"Motley," I say into my helmet radio without turning around, "you're going to attack right after me. Don't hesitate."

"Roger that, mailpony."

The first burning torch attacks me—I manage to dodge it to the side. The second one, I put my sword in his eye socket, then try to pull the sword behind me to at least bring him down. I use additional telekinesis to better effect, enveloping his head with magic to push him down. It works, albeit with a little struggle.

The third one I have to miss as well, for I don't have time to attack him. He passes me and crashes into the second one. Unfortunately, the fourth one doesn't work out the way I planned. I only manage to swing my sword around his neck before he makes a sharp dash. His loud clanging maw comes within inches of my helmet.

I catch a glimpse of the muffled sound of Pushy's blows behind me and its sound waves of incredible force.

Good, my special pony is doing well. Lucky the two fell on top of each other, it gave her extra time. All that's left to do is get rid of the tireless big guy in front of her... Well, that will not be easy.

Concentrating the magic on the tips of my hind legs, I rest my feet on the dead guy and try to push him away from me. I use concentrated telekinetic magic to give the dead guy's body a boost. And I succeed: it flies a few feet away. I immediately get up, run up to it and stab it several times with my sword, trying to sever its neck. On the fourth attempt, I manage to do it. This one has a very strong neck.

I stare at the pegasus with my mouth hanging open as she delivers the final killing blow with the sting embedded in her power armor to the neck of the last of the burning ghouls. With a squelching sound, it slams in and tears the flesh into bloody shards, the dark pink blood spreading evenly across the luxurious golden carpet.

I can't take my eyes off the sight. I feel a weakness in my knees. It takes my breath away and puts me into a submissive awe. Burning bodies of decapitated ponies, carpet on fire, thick smoke billowing up. In the midst of this fiery hell, a silhouette of the pony in intimidating black power armor, slowly emerging from the tongues of flame that surrounded her. Next to her, a scorpion tail with an incredibly sharp bloody sting floats like a poisonous snake.

"What?" surprise is heard in the voice over the radio. Motley steps out of the fire and strides toward me. The light from the bright orange tongues of flame wraps around the outline of the dark armor, illuminating it slightly. I struggle to regain the power of speech.

"I wouldn't want to meet you in a dark alley..." I say in a shaky voice. "You look fucking terrifying."

"That's what the Enclave is all about. Shock and awe," she says with a shadow of pride and triumph.

The angry growls of the other ghouls are heard, their stomping can be heard above us. We look around, wondering what to do next.

"Follow me," the pegasus says.

I follow her. We run into the dining hall. To the right of the entrance is a buffet, and beyond that is the door to the kitchen. There is a radio on one of the shelves of the buffet. I get a little closer to it and knock it out with telekinesis, then run further behind Motley. She's standing by the rubble of the floor from the second level, the same hole gaping above her. Without saying a word, she wraps her front legs around me and lifts me up to the second floor through that hole.

"Where next?" she asks.

I hesitate and look at the map of the backup PipBuck.

The tracking chip points out that there's at least one other radio in this museum. It's probably somewhere in the basement or technical rooms.

"To the basement. But carefully, let's wait for the rest of the ghouls who heard the fight to run to the burning corpses."

The pegasus nods silently.

We leave this room and head for the stairs. We descend to the first floor, peek around the corner, and see a dozen ghouls at the end of the hallway, in the shadow of the fire spreading across the golden carpet.

I gulp.

We can't get into the lobby yet anyway: they'll notice. So we decide to go downstairs and look around the lower rooms. Downstairs, in addition to the signs with directions, is a small map of the corridors that run under the entire museum. Everything downstairs is made of metal—ceilings, walls, floors... The first hallways closest to the stairs are empty, apparently some of the ghouls were from here. We immediately moved in search of another radio.

I don't suppose the keycard will be here anymore. Why am I doing this?

"To make it easier to find the keycard."

I know. It's just. It's a depressing mood that makes you question the meaning of your existence. Finding radios just to turn them off. It's crazy.

"You're getting soft. I've only been more inspired by this kind of thing. It's a challenge! We're on our own, there's hardly any responsibility. It's like paradise."

Well, it's a dead paradise. Besides, I'm not here alone. Motley's my responsibility.

"And so am I."

You're a different case.

"You've become different yourself."

Oh, not now. Don't disturb my concentration. You've been getting too talkative and annoying lately. It's a little. stressful. Sometimes I can hear the irritation and frustration in your voice.

Nothing in return. Just silence.

Nevertheless, we happen to come to a metal door. Or rather, something that looks like a door. It's like it's been broken through, chewed on in every possible way. Done so in an attempt to get into the room behind it. Ghouls, no less... With a jaw and teeth like that. A pony could barely fit through here. I strip off all my gear except my armor and slip through the hole. Motley stays on guard.

All the equipment, machinery and devices are showing signs of blast damage to one degree or another. I take it this is some sort of systems control room in a museum. There are frag grenade impact marks on the wall in one spot.

If someone was here before us, they were obviously very fond of using explosives.

I notice the remains of a pony scattered around. Two more decapitated bodies of Canterlot ghouls, both with some limbs torn off. I'm no expert, but the surroundings suggest that several grenades exploded simultaneously in this place.

I pick up a metal box the thickness and size of my leg behind the remains of the pony that was at the epicenter of the explosion. An unremarkable box, visibly crushed by the wreckage. I have to use a repair spell to open it. Inside is a picture of an adorable white unicorn, blushed and cute, with a colorful mane and purple eyes.

Oh, it's Celestia! This is the first time I've seen her face up close in such a clear photo. And indeed, her blushing face is too adorable not to smile and admire it. One would have to be a soulless jerk not to react to this marvelous and adorable creature. Celestia had a distinctive appeal: in the photo she seems to radiate kindness and maternal care. She is like the personification of the very concept of cuteness. If someone asked me how I would describe cuteness, I would immediately show this photo. No wonder the ponies loved her so much, and the museum emphasized this particular photo, sourced by their interviewers.

"I bet that she has been the subject of the naughty and explicit fantasies of many stallions... and mares. And if she looked at you with a lustful expression, you would immediately melt on the spot from the heat and blush."

Images of a very shameful nature come to mind. I suddenly feel hot and uncomfortable, and my breathing becomes heavy.

You did that on purpose! Asshole!

All I can hear is his gloating, evil laughter.

You're such a scumbag. You know me like no one else and you're playing on my feelings.

I immediately put the picture out of my sight to get rid of the fantasy. I close my eyes, remembering the gloomy ruins of Canterlot, and take a deep breath. It feels like it helped. I put the picture in one of the pockets of my armor, to show Motley later, or just to keep as a souvenir. It seems to me that even in the worst moments of life, looking at the flushed face of one of the most beautiful and kindest ponies in the world will be enough to lift my spirits and get rid of my thoughts. It's rare to find such a thing.

In addition to the photo, there are two holotapes inside. I rotate them in front of me with my telekinesis. There's no hurry. Not yet. So I copy them to the spare PipBuck and turn one of them on to play inside my helmet, while I examine the room and the stuffing of the destroyed devices idly.

On the long record I hear the hoarse and strained voice of an elderly stallion: he keeps coughing, speaking slowly and as if choking. In the background, there is the occasional loud and insistent pounding of hooves against metal.

"I think it's still wor... working. It's so hard to... talk. Those bitches are about to... get me. I don't even know... why I started recording this. For what? What? That someone's gonna be in... interested in some pony's last words? That someone... will find it in this Celestia-forsaken place? The city is shrouded in this... fucking pink cloud. I've gotten so much... of this stuff out of the air, it's hard to breathe.

It don't matter no more. I knew... what I was getting into. Anyway... my name is Strawberry Ice... Icecream. I used to own this museum. I put too much into it back then. I wanted... to see it again. Twenty fucking... years later. I was at a resort in Hoofland with my family when... all this fucked up shit started. We were... trying to just survive, but of course I ended up losing my entire family... during those years. I saw with my own eyes what... ponies had gotten to, it was like they were mad and feral. Everyone just lost hope... stopped believing in friendship.

I w... was with other survivors who had some sense. No one knew... what to do in this horrible world. I star... started telling others about Celestia, about her story, to... to... shit... I'm sick of this fucking cough... to pass the time and distract myself with something bright and pleasant. Trying... to avoid the bitter moments. Huh. Once again, I make her mistake. I sugarcoated and gave hope, but these times are even worse than then. Now it is necessary... now it is justified to survive in this harsh world. Many listened with... interest, others with boredom. They began to admire Celestia as I had when I had built this museum for her. I was once in love with her, like so many stallions and mares back then. I wasn't... naive enough not to realize it. She was gorgeous, beautiful, divine.

I knew even then what had happened to Canterlot, there were... so many rumors about this place. I wanted to see that museum again. To see her again. To hear her voice... After losing my family, it was the only important thing I had. And that's the only reason the others... could convince me to go to this museum. They also wanted to see Celestia, but they... also wanted to get some of the exhibits, especially the weapons exhibits, beca... because Celestia never liked weapons. She accepted gifts from the... the various weapons makers out of politeness, and they needed the publicity. She was gl.. glad to be rid of them. She contributed to the creation of the museum in every way possible, because after her resignation from the throne, she had more free time. Finding... answers and peace for everyone. It was a lot of work for me to get audiences, interviews and beg for gifts or to ask her to help with the replication. She gladly began to help me. I wanted to believe that... she really liked me. But I realize it's in her character. She had such a beautiful voice that it was too hard to catch he... her being flattering or deceitful.

Seeing Canterlot and the museum again... I... I was filled with mixed and indescribable feelings, joy at the nostalgia, sadness at the devastation and decay, anger at.... everything. The group of ponies that came wi... with me, they... I jumped into that cloud myself to grab as much as I could for them. They tried to talk me out of it, but I was as s... stubborn and unyielding as a wall. Which is more than I can say for my health. Unfortunately, we... attracted too much attention from those things. The plan was for me... to distract all the creatures, lure them into the museum with grenade explosions... and allow the rest to escape unnoticed. Perhaps the exhibits and replicas... they were able to carry away would give them a little hope... memories of Celestia.

Their faces. Shock. Fear. Horror. Sadness. Pain. They obviously didn't want me to do it, but... there was no other option. I confessed to them that I al... already knew in advance that it would be a one-way ticket, I had been preparing... for this day, and my health was already irreversibly damaged by the cloud. For the last few years I had lived only to see this museum one last time, to... see and hear Celestia. To remember a peaceful past... if only for a moment. It was hard for them to part with me. The plan... went into action. I managed to locate only one surviving and unpublished holotape of Celestia's voice in my safe. It... was the last interview, Celestia's final and unreleased words, and a picture of her... my favorite.

Oh. Time to wrap this up. Those... things trying to get in here. They've already made a hole the size of my head. Hello, motherfuckers! What? So hungry for my flesh? You'll get... it soon enough.

I don't want to... turn into one of those things. I've only got a couple grenades left. And I'll blow them up with me... so I'll be torn so badly that... no goddamn force can bring me up again. I did what I wanted, I saw the museum, and my last wish will come true: I'll listen to Celestia's last words in that interview and hopefully those things... will have some appreciation for the snow-white pony. I'll put her picture in the box I found in the office, along with these two... holotapes. Remember... cherish all hope and faith, because they are the only things that will help you endure and... stay strong."

I feel dreary and sad, and my heart aches.

He had built this museum, and by doing so he showed not only his love for Celestia, but also his respect and gratitude. Thoughts of her and this museum, his life's work, kept him fired and passionate. Others were infected with it as he spoke with fiery emotion about Celestia's great past. They had hope and faith that made them able to endure all hardships. It's hard to think of him without bitterness and frustration, but on the other hand, I'm truly glad he was able to accomplish his goals. He got to see his favorite museum of his beloved princess for the last time, and he was at peace, and his body never became a part of Pink Cloud.

After pondering his fate, I turn my attention to the second record.

So... it contains the last words of Celestia herself? What had she said that had been left unspoken? Well, we're about to find out.

"...So. Is there anything you'd like to say in conclusion? No one else has this kind of experience," Strawberry Icecream's young and full of life voice can be heard. There is a restrained sigh in the background.

"It would be difficult to describe the result of one's life..." the second voice begins thoughtfully.

I take it this is Princess Celestia's voice. This is the first time I've heard it. It is soft and gentle, a direct sweet delight to the ears, inducing inner awe and delight. I would love to listen to this lovely voice as a lullaby.

"...In a few words, but I'll try. Since my birth, when I was created with the intervention of magic by the great wizard Star Swirl the Bearded, I have seen many wonderful things in this world. Star Swirl tutored my sister and me, and as we grew older we traveled the world to see how it worked. How other races and cultures lived in it. That was part of our learning. I came to realize that the only peaceful and best option for ponies would be friendship. It was beautiful and... magical. I sought to spread it throughout Equestria when I ascended with my sister to the throne and took control of the Sun. My sister and I were finally able to standardize time for the entire planet during the change of day and night. That's when the time record began, which is still going on today... as well as the beginning of the country's top priority: friendship. In the beginning, no one tried to oppose us. Or rather, the number of such individuals was rapidly decreasing. Then a fight with my sister... but even without her, I kept it going. The ponies trusted me. They stopped realizing the horrors of war, became naive. And I, uh... softened, lost my tenacious side and my fighting ability over the millennium, and became naive myself, because of the fear no one would even try to cross me. I hoped that through friendship I could change the essence of ponies, eradicate cruelty, suppress aggression and anger... In a way, thanks to my own actions, everyone forgot about the horrors that were among the ponies once, but also because of this I could not settle the growing conflict with the zebras. That's why I left the throne in favor of my sister. I'm helping her, and... maybe she'll find a better option than I'm trying to find now."

"But you did the right thing, because friendship," Strawberry suddenly inserts her protesting comment, "has made us better! You have set us on the path of peace and harmony. You've kept all ponies united!"

"Perhaps. It's been over a thousand years, memory can't preserve everything with accuracy. It's also likely that I also indoctrinated myself with the wrong things, dismissing any violent events created by ponies in history before me or in my time as figments of someone else's imagination. Discord, for example. What I can say for sure is that while we lived in my imposed friendship and harmony... the rest of the world did not stand still. My neutrality to foreign policy has led to such unfortunate consequences, all because I focused only on domestic politics."

"Don't lose hope, Princess! Friendship does wonders! Sooner or later it will prevail throughout the planet and all nations and cultures!" there is hesitation in Strawberry's voice, which he tries to hide. He himself doesn't fully believe what he's saying. "Things could have been much worse without you."

"We'll never find that out. Only learned, as my experience has shown me, that not everything revolves around friendship. My good intentions led us eventually to a brutal war. I lost control of the situation. All the blame rests solely on me. Not to mention some of my fears about actively using the gems."

"I remember... you said that you preferred to spend resources on the well-being of the citizens, the holidays and material support that made it so that we had almost no poor, and consequently, abundant theft as in other countries. You weren't so much concerned with progress as you were with the joy and well-being of the ponies. Yes, perhaps because of that we were a little behind the zebras in the use of gems and crystals, though thanks to our agents we were able to get some knowledge and catch up with them. But still, do you believe that there was a third continent and the Crystal Empire in particular? And as a consequence and hypotheses that say it was destroyed by a magical explosion from experimentation with gems and crystals?"

"There have been too many warnings in myths and fairy tales, and these in turn are based on something one way or another. The danger was, is, and will be. I have never funded research into gems and crystals, considering such a thing a threat—and not without reason, as it turns out. Though I didn't forbid private research, which was almost non-existent—only the zebras were slowly learning their capabilities—but I had to admit: when Luna allocated funds for their comprehensive and systematized research, since we had a lot of them, we managed to beat the odds after a dozen years. Power armor, energy-magic weapons, and so on. Thanks to that, we managed to liberate Baltimare and kick the zebras out of our country, but they won't give up so easily. Still... Side Effects. Unsuccessful research of gems, irrational and inept use of them led to the appearance of magical radiation that harms everyone. One gets the impression that the myths have proven to be true. It is likely that Equestria will repeat the fate of the Crystal Empire. We have opened the Chaos Box."

Her voice sounds unusually grim, tinged with fear of the unknown.

"Princess..." a deep and long sigh is heard from the stallion. His voice also doesn't show any confidence. "I realize these are your final words, but, without being rude, they are not uplifting at all. Friendship... Gems... Yes, I agree that there are dark sides to these issues, but... you're too harsh in your judgment. Perhaps you should... reconsider what you've said?" he asks in a concerned and cautious voice. For a few seconds, nothing but a slight background noise sounds on the recording.

"Are you suggesting," Celestia's voice comes up, as if snapping out of her musings, "to hide the truth?"

"Well..." the stallion is completely confused. "These are turbulent times... Ponies want to see confidence in their Princesses... and..."

"So you mean you want to repeat my mistakes?" Celestia asks rhetorically.

"W-what?" the pony is confusedly perplexed.

"The beginning of my reign over Equestria was turbulent, and I also tried to hide the truth about the ponies' essence so that it would be easier to talk about friendship and peace. Before I knew it, I had a cult of personality around me. It was one of the reasons I fought with my sister—and, as you may remember, it also led to today's situation. It's time for the ponies to learn to face the truth..." Celestia's voice is subdued and irritated, but she suddenly falls silent. There is a silence that lingers for ten seconds, and then a resigned sigh is heard from the princess. "Yes... let me reconsider my final words," she continues in a quiet and doomed voice.

It's impossible to hear her with indifference. I feel so sorry for her that I want to go and enclose her in a reassuring hug. To lie to her so that she wouldn't be upset. She's lived for a thousand years and has a huge responsibility for everything Equestria is now. I'm surprised she even stays sane and tries to be good-natured to everyone.

"Revisiting my past from beginning to end has made me speak rashly and harshly. I don't feel like sugarcoating and hiding the truth, once again becoming complicit in yet another 'good intentions'... however, I really don't see any other option."

End of recording.

What I heard made me think deeply and stay suspended for about a minute.

Yeah. I didn't expect the princess' revelations to be so tragic, but her words make sense. There are many other things that are incompatible with friendship. A balance must be maintained between foreign and domestic policy, between the well-being of citizens and progress. Zebras hate ponies because they live a life of consumerism: lazy, reliant on others for everything, especially their Princess Luna, who for the zebras in turn is the creation of cosmic Evil.

It gave me new food for thought, because even the most pleasant and good things can be overdone and become a problem. Suppressing the instincts of aggression through culture and custom has never done any good. The Wasteland is proof of that. It makes sense to me now how ponies, who are supposed to symbolize kindness and peace, got to this point. The ideals were simply enforced, albeit not unreasonably so. Princess Luna did dispel delusional notions of friendship—as evidenced by her very harsh actions against the Diamond Dogs in the Splendid Valley and the bulls in central Equestria—but as compensation, the ponies started winning the war.

"Suppress instincts and emotions, or don't suppress them at all—anyway, neither will end well. Needs the balance. Humans have also tried to suppress aggression with cultural practices. Instead of accepting it and not being afraid of it. It didn't work out in people's favor. They demonized anger, malice, lust, pride, envy, greed and the like, calling it all sin and all sorts of similar labels depending on the culture. This led to the fact that people could not control them, because they feared them like plague or disease. They separated everything into black and white."

After traveling for so many years, going to so many places and seeing so many people, mutants and ponies, you realize that dividing the world into black and white is not appropriate. It's sad that both humans and Celestia didn't even want to consider the consequences of restraining and condemning supposedly destructive emotions—after all, biologically speaking, all conditionally good and conditionally bad emotions have helped us survive in this world. We must learn to take responsibility for our own feelings and actions, accept them, and face up to them.

"Are you in there much longer?" Motley's voice booming from the helmet speaker interrupts my musings.

It makes me shake my head and breathe a sigh of relief.

"That's it... Just thinking about what I heard," I reply, walking sluggishly towards the hole in the metal door.

Once through it, I slip my bags on and hang my weapon on my back.

"And what was so interesting to hear?" she asks not without interest, often glancing around alertly.

"Learned the fate of this unfortunate pony and heard the unpublished revelations of Princess Celestia."

"The latter sounds intriguing," the pegasus says much more cheerfully, turning to me. "However... I'll listen to it later. I don't want to get distracted over nothing. I'm uncomfortable here as it is. Especially in the dark."

"Is the captain of the fearless Enclave afraid of the dark?" I tease her.

"Normally, no. But here, I am filled with anxiety and worry."

***

Scouring the technical rooms and avoiding the undead, we find a radio in a technician's room, judging by the inscription on the door, and turn it off. Then we head upstairs, distracting the returning Canterlot ghouls with methods similar to the ones I used in the office room. I've managed to avoid confrontation, and that's a good thing. The carpet in the hallway didn't burn completely—the fire died down quickly.

Once in the lobby, I decide to stop by the exhibit halls: maybe there's still something there. This idea doesn't please Motley one bit.

"This isn't a good time for a tour," the pegasus hisses into the radio.

"I won't be long," I say in a voice excited with anticipation, quietly walking toward the left hall, dedicated to the story of the first half of Celestia's reign: "Hall of Celestia's Glory". "You know... In order to understand how I ended up here, I need a better understanding of the history of this world," I listen to the door.

A heavy and prolonged sigh comes over the radio. A moment later, behind me I hear a steady tapping on the stone floor. I wait for the pegasus. She stands sideways against the wall to my right. She pokes the nose of my helmet with her front foot.

"You owe me a first-class massage and breakfast in bed," she adds condescendingly but demandingly, then puts her leg down.

"No problem, angel," I smile. It's the kind of offer I don't want to refuse. A compromise has been reached... That's why I adore her.

Not recognizing anything suspicious or dangerous behind the door, I gently push it open. I poke my head inside and take a quick glance around the room to make sure there's no one there. With a sigh of relief, I confidently enter the room and begin to assess the remaining exhibits and the local interior. Motley follows, glancing back often, while I gaze mesmerized and fascinated by the history of the world.

The interior is in the same beautiful and sophisticated style as the lobby: a harmony of white and gold colors, luxurious, intricate chandeliers, candelabras, exotic precious exhibits in the showcases... Even in the dusty and dilapidated hall, everything looks magically beautiful and peaceful. In the center is a wall, furnished on both sides with showcases and stands and hung with paintings in patterned gilded frames. Around the perimeter are tall rectangular windows through which the howling wind blows: the panes of glass in almost all the windows are either missing or damaged. Between the windows there are more showcases and various stands.

We walk around the perimeter of the room, and Motley doesn't seem to share my worries. He only briefly remarks that the place feels cozy and ancient.

Many of the exhibits are missing, covered in dust, partially cracked—and in some places Pink Cloud is still swirling. For the most part, the exhibits appear to be unique gifts from passionate crafters, admirers, and creators from various cultures and races.

Necklaces made of precious metals, stones and pearls; exquisite hoof shoes, luxurious robes and pieces of armor varying in form and style.

Unusual and sometimes disturbing masks for ancient rituals, as well as the accompanying ritual objects for their performance, such as staffs and ancient musical instruments; books with signed authors and ornate bindings.

Fascinating statues and fanciful figurines of some hostile or friendly deities and creatures; services with exquisite ornamentation and other household items; many carved trinkets of varying quality and execution depending on the culture.

Almost everything is an exact replica, the only exception being the weapons, which are no longer here. The displays mentions swords, shields, spears, bows, arrows, as well as non-standard weapons like heavy spiked balls untwisted on a steel chain. The paintings, though time has not spared them, still clearly depict Celestia with one or another of the individuals and places she has traveled to and influenced the course of history. She quite often became the center of the depicted subjects, while the rest of the scenes featured other historical figures, grotesque magical creatures, landmarks, impressive architecture and picturesque landscapes.

Hippogriffs were particularly remarkable for the quality and depth of the paintings. They are, as I learned today from my pegasus, great and consummate creative artists. In addition to paintings, they have distinguished themselves in literature, myths, and rituals, as reflected in the statuettes, masks, and jewelry of their masters.

Hippogriffs paid much attention to a certain mythical race of sea ponies that supposedly existed off the coast of the third continent. They also tried to represent the Crystal Empire.

I must say that it looks fabulous even for this world: everything consisted of crystals of different sizes, shimmering with all colors of the rainbow. Some of them are as tall as the main castle in Canterlot.

The processing of crystals and gems, as I understand it, in this country reached incredible levels: whole houses were made of them. And yet, everything looks mesmerizing and remarkable. This is what ponies and other races used to dream about, but at the same time they feared the audacity of the Empire's inhabitants regarding experiments with crystals and gems, about which many myths and legends have been written. The danger of gems was eventually confirmed in the form of radiation... and then the theory of high magical instability.

"Similar views from the crystals reminded me of the red crystals from the Big Mountain. There are certain similarities, but the Crystal Empire can't be compared to anything."

The yaks were noted for their stone crafting, which was evident in their skillful monuments, statues, and other stone products. Griffons boasted the weaponry they needed to hunt. And, needless to say, the labors of the ponies are here as well. Unfortunately, there is little of the zebra culture here, perhaps for political reasons—either the museum didn't want them on display, or Celestia herself didn't want to add fuel to the conflict.

It's a pleasure to look at all this. It's like touching the history of not only the ponies, but of the world, and of the places Celestia has traveled to. I'm not a fan of antiquities and ancient artifacts, but I'm in awe and delight at the sight of them, because I realize that they have an interesting story behind them, not to mention the amount of work and effort that went into them. Besides, they're all gifts and souvenirs, and Celestia appreciates that sort of thing—except the weapons, of course. Not surprisingly, she gave away the weapons without regret, while she allowed only exact replicas to be made of the other items.

Near each exhibit are small installations with a loudspeaker. I understand they were the source of Celestia's recorded comments about the items mentioned in Strawberry Icecream's last entry. I'd like to hear what Celestia thought about certain moments in her past, but I'm afraid it would attract the attention of the natives here, who are particularly hostile to any loud noises—even Celestia's soft and gentle voice. I can hardly keep myself from turning them on.

As I examine the paintings, I notice that up until a certain point, there is another princess depicted there: Princess Luna. Although this world is full of amazing and unusual things, one of the paintings caught my eye in particular: Luna and Celestia, with strong expressions on their faces, are surrounded by six multicolored stones, from which a rainbow of sorts erupts and falls directly onto... an incomprehensible creature with an oblong body that is a mash of parts of other... animals. The rainbow beam from the stones almost reaches the creature—at this point it has its mouth wide open, its muzzle angled toward the sky, eyes closed, front right paw near its chest, and left paw tilted to the side. It looks as if he's about to sing passionately and enthusiastically, like they do at the opera.

"Huh..." the pegasus utters, her voice from the speaker inside my helmet causing me to turn around on her, while she continues to stare in the direction of the painting of the creature. "A familiar... character."

"You know him?"

"Yep... One of the most mysterious individuals. He's been called Discord, the God of Chaos, Madness, and Disharmony."

"God?" I wonder, then turn to the painting.

"His ability to change the world around him at will terrified and intimidated the entire world. No one knew where he came from or who, how he got such power."

"There's not even any speculation?"

"It's much worse than that. Innumerable assumptions, legends and myths have gathered around him, many books have been written deconstructing his personality, origins and so on. One is no better than the other."

"Have you read much about him?"

"Enough. I'm more sympathetic to the story of one unicorn who pursued immortality, as that assumption has more proven facts. It was shortly before Celestia and Luna appeared. It is said that Star Swirl the Bearded himself studied under him. I don't remember his name. Anyway, he was a talented wizard and alchemist by trade. He studied various cultures and ways to immortality: based on his knowledge, Star Swirl eventually managed to help Celestia and Luna be born immortal. He only succeeded once."

"And how did this unicorn react to his apprentice's accomplishments?"

"He had vanished without a trace by then," the pegasus replies briefly, pausing for a moment, then continues, "It is said that before his disappearance he was engaged in horrible experiments in life extension via the abduction and imprisonment within himself of the life energy, or... souls of various animals, both unintelligent and semi-intelligent, but it was on the neighboring continent of Solstice, in the east of the Zebra Empire. Tartarus. A dangerous place with unpredictable magic, with the most horrible and ferocious monsters. There is no telling what lurks in the depths of this place. It was there that he was last seen."

"That brings to mind..." I ponder. The title of a book from the astronomer's residence comes to mind, 'Discord from Tartarus?'.

"About why Discord looks like a mismatched puzzle?" Motley asks rhetorically, her visor turning toward me for a moment. Without waiting for an answer, she continues, "Shortly after the wizard's disappearance, the death of his apprentice Star Swirl, and the beginning of Celestia and Luna's reign, this figure showed up... Discord. First he was spotted in the vicinity of Tartarus, then he partied in the land of the yaks, then the hippogriffs, causing them to live in isolation. The zebras, by some unknown means, managed to push him away... And after that, he moved to Equestria. Here, Celestia and Luna quickly neutralized him with the Elements of Harmony, turning him to stone... in the pose depicted here in the painting."

"Curious..."

"Indeed it is. One of the great mysteries of not only Equestria, but this entire planet. In fact, many explorers have died in Tartarus... Who knows, maybe this wizard found something there that made him incredibly powerful."

"And, as is usually the case in such stories, the price was sanity."

"Or his newfound knowledge drove him insane," the pegasus shrugs. "There are also many stories and fictions regarding his insanity. However, the undeniable fact is that his abilities are real. No one has ever seen anything like this in all of history. However, the madness and chaos he created returned to normal... after he disappeared from those places."

"What about the stone he was turned into?"

"He was placed on a special pedestal, made into a statue. It was first in the garden of the Castle of the Two Sisters in the Everfree Forest, and then Celestia moved it to Canterlot—after that was built."

"Oh, maybe we'll get to see the statue and-"

"Not gonna happen," the pegasus shakes her head.

"Why not?" I get frustrated.

"The statue disappeared without a trace," I sense a slight shiver and unsureness in her voice. Goosebumps run through me. "Shortly after the megaspell fell. Either Pink Cloud destroyed it in some mystical way... or released it."

"How is this known?"

"It was in the most prominent place, in the garden at the back of Canterlot's Castle. It could be seen from the clouds with proper optical equipment."

"Let's say it got loose... Then he must have been spotted somewhere."

"I've been curious about him for some time... Trying to find any mention of him in the reports. The official Enclave version says that Pink Cloud probably wiped him out, since there was no sign of his influence anywhere. Sort of."

"Perhaps... he weakened and returned to Tartarus to recover his strength or something..."

"Oh... your fantasies are the only thing missing on that score," the pegasus sighs heavily, turning back to the painting. I'm so surprised by her reaction that I can't even think of what to say. After a short pause, she adds, "My mom used to scare me, saying that if I misbehaved and fooled around a lot, Discord would take me to Tartarus."

"She used to scare you about the bone vampire... the one we met in the Rainbow Mine."

"Scared me with all kinds of things. Anyway, that's why I was interested in him in addition to the bone vampire, thinking about how to get away from him in case of trouble. I was so obsessed with him when I was just a little filly that I even had nightmares about him... But as I grew older, I realized it was all superstitious. Pink Cloud destroyed him."

I can sense from her tone that she doesn't fully believe what she's saying.

I look at the painting again... And once again I stare at the creature. The mere sight of it gives me another attack of inexplicable anxiety. The atmosphere in this place is itself one of constant anxiety and gloom; for a moment it even seems to me that a triumphant grin has formed on its lips. I shake my head—the picture returns to normal. Yeah... if you think about something hard enough, it starts to feel like you're seeing it.

"Okay..." I look away uneasily. I don't want to think about him: I might have dreams about him. In a place this oppressive, he has every chance. "Let's get out of here."

***

I decide to stop by the second hall: Millennium Friendship and Harmony. Again I hear the pegasus' indignation on the radio, but she decides to keep me company. I listen at the door again, trying to see if anyone is around behind it. When I open the door, I try to look around: the concentration of Pink Cloud is greater here, but there are small windows to get past it; the room is identical to the previous one, but there are more empty storefronts. Apparently, this is where the exhibits with modern weapons, which Celestia disliked and did not want to see in her Castle, were located.

And the high concentration of the cloud suggests that it was here, at the risk of his life, that Strawberry Icecream, a hundred and eighty years ago, took out of the showcases weapons for the ponies from Hoofland who came with him. After so many years, the cloud has lessened here, but still enough to kill. Based on the location, this part of the museum is the closest to the Castle, so there is a lot of Pink Cloud... Earlier, I noticed by observation that it spread from the Castle area. The concentration gradually increases as we approach the center.

I step onto the floor of this hall and immediately notice a pony figure in the far corner to the left of the wall in the center. At first, the high concentration of the cloud made me think it was a statue of some pony—now I can recognize it as a Canterlot ghoul. Motley notices it right after me and immediately tells me that it's better to turn around and not get into a pointless fight. But my curiosity doesn't want to leave it so easily. Something about it interests me, and I can't figure out why.

I decide to get closer and find out. There is no limit to the pegasus' indignation, but she follows me dutifully. I walk to the right of the center wall, closer to the wall separating the hall from the main street. As I pass by the paintings and exhibits, I do take a quick glance at them, but the presence of the Canterlot ghoul prevents me from enjoying and admiring them. The central wall ends and we see the Canterlot ghoul standing with its rump towards us.

It is wearing a white robe, under which are painted in yellow elements of polymer-ceramic combat armor. The unicorn ghoul seems to be staring at the image in front of it, an enlarged copy of the same picture of Celestia that I found in the box in the room with the museum director. Normally, ghouls in a relaxed state of mind look either forward or with their heads slightly lowered, but I'd never seen a ghoul look slightly up before. That's what attracted me, apparently. Then I shudder in surprise: there's a rather audible muttering coming from the ghoul.

"Great mother," the ghoul utters in a hoarse and growling half-whisper. The voice is monotonous and impassive, making me uncomfortable. "Where are you? Open the gate. Accept me."

What is happening surprises me, and I am frozen for a while. From the tone, I determine it's a mare. Then the ghoul repeats what she said earlier just as monotonously and without emotion. My blood runs cold in my veins with growing anxiety, for I don't know how intelligent the mare is or what to expect from her. The colors of her outfit and the meaning of her phrases suggest that she worshipped Celestia. Indeed, considering how cute she is when she blushes. The ghoul had come here after the megaspell had fallen. Was there someone left over from the museum director's expedition? Or did someone come here later?

As I ponder, the ghoul repeats the same phrase over and over again. Every word he utters echoes inside me with anxiety. I almost lose my temper and whisper quietly into my helmet radio, "Motley... what are we going to do?"

A convulsive sigh is heard in response at first, as if the pegasus had held her breath before, staring at the frightening sight before her.

"I have no idea. Let's just leave, let's not disturb it..."

"Her," I correct.

No response follows. I freeze in indecision, pondering whether to take some action against the ghoul, to try to talk to her, or whether it's better not to lose the precious advantage of surprise and attack at once. My sickly and perverted curiosity leads me to the first option. With worry, I bite my lips unconsciously.

"Miss, are you okay?" I say, pitching forward.

I hear a vicious and animalistic growl accompanying the ghoul's sudden turn in our direction. She rushes at us without any delay with a lifeless stare and a mysterious silver glow in her eyes.

Motley and I prepare to counter the attack. The horn of the ghoul shines with a white glow... Canterlot ghouls know how to use magic?!

Stunned by this fact, I freeze, and in the next instant, a flash of white light illuminates the hall, followed by a shockwave. It's unclear if it's telekinesis or a shockwave spell, but we're thrown against the wall behind us. I get a few bumps and bruises when I hit the weathered surface and fall to the floor. I got off easy. A similar thing happens to Motley.

As we stand up and try to regain our senses, the unicorn in a white robe with elements of battle armor rushes in, mouth wide open and hissing venomously. She's clearly aiming for the neck. Miraculously, I manage to see it, and I duck back, causing her to stumble over me and slam her head into the wall I'd just had the good fortune to hug. By this point, Motley is easily and elegantly jumping up on all four hooves.

The pegasus runs past us, spinning smoothly and gracefully around, preparing her scorpion tail, thrusting it into the unicorn's decaying neck. She pulls it behind her, yanking it sharply and thus pulling it off of me. In the next instant, the pegasus quickly turns around, letting go of the dead mare and using her wings to jump up, preparing to deliver a decisive blow with Pushy.

A flicker of white light shows on the dead mare's horn, but the blow from the pegasus catches the unicorn's head before the spell is completed. There is the familiar bluish flash with a distinctive vibrating sound around the ghoul's head, and the face turns into a bloody mess; followed by a second blow that finally shatters the pony's head with a sickly smacking sound. The pieces partially cover me and my helmet. The lovely, though faded, robes over the armor are stained with dark pink blood.

"Is my helpless stallion alright?" the pegasus's voice comes over my helmet's radio. At that moment, the pegasus shakes the dark pink blood and scraps off herself and her weapon.

"Ha ha," I say sarcastically, standing up. With telekinesis, I tear a small piece of cloth from the unicorn's robe and wipe traces of blood from myself with it where I can. "Canterlot ghouls can use spells..." I mutter with annoyance and amazement.

"There will always be surprises, the pegasus has dealt with them. Unlike you, helpless pony."

You talk too much, I'll take a mental cord and strangle you with it.

A gloating chuckle is heard in the depths of my head.

"It gets even more fun," I add, completing a sloppy cleanup.

"Canterlot surprises me more and more." The front of her helmet turns toward me. "What, already regretting your trip through the exhibit halls?"

"Not really. We know for sure now: unicorns can be a danger," I parry.

"Danger? You don't look it," Motley teases me.

I let out a doomed sigh.

"I was talking about dead ones..." I examine the contents of the pockets of the ghoul we just killed.

Lucky you, Motley. You don't have a other annoying character in your head who's been unnecessarily annoying lately.

"And it's my fault again..." he says in my head with playful offense.

I find nothing of value in the pockets: the only thing of note is a leather-bound diary with a white painted sun symbol on top of it, more like Celestia's cutie mark. The only difference is the color. The paint had worn off slightly.

"That's a familiar symbol..." Motley mutters thoughtfully.

"Oh, come on. It looks like Celestia's cutie mark," I say in a tone as if it's something obvious.

"Yeah... But that's not what I mean. The symbol flashes through my mind, but I can't remember where I saw it..." she says, clearly digging through her memories. I turn the diary back to me, and, finding nothing there, return it to its previous position. After waiting a few seconds for the pegasus to respond, I put it in one of my saddlebags. "Anyway," she says, "let's get out of here. We'll make a camp somewhere and grab a bite to eat. I'm getting hungry. Maybe I'll remember when you read me its contents."

We carefully and quietly leave the museum building and head further down the street, passing the Pink Cloud victims crowding around the loudspeakers.

***

We find a suitable place to relax, take a breath and fill our bellies with the nourishing food that Flow had prepared for us before we left, packed tightly and carefully in special containers and jars. Coincidentally, this place happens to be the kitchen of a pre-war restaurant called The Stuffed Belly.

And who would ever think of naming a restaurant something like that? This pony had very little imagination or sense of humor.

The dining room seemed frozen in time: food left on the tables, saturated with Pink Cloud so much that it actually turned into a pink slurry; the conjoined remains of ponies on small red sofas; posters with various specialty and non-food items and smiling ponies on them.

Thankfully, there are no Canterlot ghouls or working radios in this restaurant. The kitchen is almost devoid of the pernicious magical gas, only in some corners it condenses in small clots. We sit between the cooking tables, which are littered with rusted cooking utensils, pots and pans of all possible sizes and shapes, plates of leftover food that has also turned into a pink mess, cooking utensils, ovens, ingredient containers, and so on.

Taking off my helmet and sitting on the tiled floor, I eat baked yao gaui meat in a rich vegetable sauce. I was drooling at the mere smell, my stomach rumbling enthusiastically in anticipation of the mouthwatering treat. Motley in turn satisfies herself with the vegetable soup, sitting across from me.

"So?" she turns to me, temporarily interrupting her meal. "How's the food?"

"Deliciously moist and juicy," I reply, chewing.

"Mine is entirely wet and hot."

We simultaneously chuckle at our chosen words. Constantly reminding ourselves of the need for sanity in such dark and maddening places as Canterlot. I am comforted by the thought that Motley realizes this.

"Flow is an excellent cook as always," she adds, continuing to pile on her vegetable soup.

I wash down a swallowed piece of meat in gravy with Sparkle-Cola. It's rather unaccustomed.

"What in the world..." my other me is worried. "What the hell is this change in you?"

What do you mean?

"Sparkle-Cola! We have a distaste for the carrot flavor in sodas like that."

I don't know. Right now, I find it kind of, uh... appealing.

"That's what scares me. You're changing more and more. You're becoming like a pony. Not just physically, but mentally."

So what? I still enjoy meat. Let me eat properly.

I find it extremely annoying to be distracted from eating. I want to savor the treat while I have the chance.

"What are you thinking about?" the pegasus notices my blank and pensive look.

"Oh, nothing... My other me didn't like the fact that I was happily drinking Sparkle-Cola."

"That's right," she pronounces, lowering her gaze to the food in front of her. "I've never once seen you drink it," she looks at me again.

I only shrug with a piece of yao gaui meat in my mouth.

"Well..." I begin, chewing and swallowing the juicy meat and absently raising my eyes upwards as if looking there for an answer, "the other me also added that I'm becoming more and more like a pony and that it's stressing him out, to say the least."

"And I see that as a... positive aspect of it," she smiles softly.

Apparently she thinks that might sound selfish on her part.

"Personally, I don't care, since I don't feel anything about it," I say, decanting the rest of the sauce into my mouth.

Licking my lips, I wash it all down with Sparkle Cola, draining the bottle completely. I let out a sigh of relief. Stuffing my belly with the hearty meal, I pull out the journal with the white sun symbol on the cover and start flipping through it, waiting for the pegasus to finish eating.

"Read aloud..." Motley asks with a slight blush, seeing the diary in my telekinetic grasp.

"With pleasure, angel."

The writing is hard to understand, which is pretty standard for Wastelanders. Most can't write at all, let alone read. I've read quite a bit of various notes, so I have a certain amount of experience in recognizing handwriting.

"My name is White Flower. I found this blank diary in a pre-war stationery store near the vicinity of Hoofland, just as I was taking a trip east. The diary has survived quite well, and I might get lonely while traveling: why not start writing down my thoughts on what I've seen? After all, this is my last opportunity to see the cursed and sinful lands. For certain reasons, I can't write down everything about myself and the destination of my journey. For now. I will pray to my snow-white Mistress that she may bless my journey and that I may not meet those who do not want me, for this is a cruel and merciless world, where nothing good and light can be found. I want so much to leave it soon."

"Leave it?" Motley repeats, focusing her attention on me. She's already finished her meal. "That sounds... grim. Though, if you recall, the area around Hoofland is full of all sorts of cults and religious groups, which in turn once contributed to Vanhoover's reputation by sticking a lot of ridiculous rumors around it, like the White Demon from Vanhoover. If that pony is from there... No wonder the symbol on the diary reminds me of something. One of the cults of that place."

I continue reading aloud, but after a few entries, Motley and I agree that there's nothing interesting in them, so I run my eyes over the text, hoping my eyes will catch on something. Descriptions of the terrain I've seen, insults to the ponies and officials of the past, attacks on the zebras who have turned these wonderful lands into a nightmare outmatched only by the lands of Tartarus.

Mentions of food searches, creatures encountered, settlements and eateries visited, and all that sort of thing. Repeatedly mentioned is the shockwave spell, which she often used against a group of foes, then finished them off with some kind of slashing weapon. Standard tactic. Shockwave... That's what she—or what was left of her—impressed us with at the museum back then. Naturally, she felt sorry for the dead and prayed for the salvation of their souls.

The diary is written in full. Obviously, the pony was in need of companionship, which is evident in her thoughts. And so I get to the last entry, which is longer than the others—and, I assume, is the final one.

"Apparently there are a few pages left here. And this entry is labeled 'The gates have been reached'. Should I read it out loud?"

"If you feel like it, and if it doesn't cause discomfort..." she replies uncertainly. "Your voice calms me."

"So," I smile slightly, "sit closer. What are you doing sitting across from me like I'm a strange pony to you? In a place like this, we should stay as close as possible."

She smiles shyly, walks over to me and settles comfortably at my side, preparing to listen. Her gaze is clearly not on the journal.

"The gates have been reached.

I am already at their doorstep. Emotions overwhelm me with anticipation and promise! It is time to reveal the purpose of my journey.

Before the war, this once beautiful place was called Canterlot. A place where once lived heads of state and bright minds that tried to find a way to restore peace, but unfortunately they failed. They did not make enough effort, they thought only of their own benefit and security. All the responsibility lies with them. They failed to protect the country from the zebras. The Grand Mistress had shown a moment of weakness in wartime by abandoning the throne, and Her Younger Sister had failed to take control of the state, she had partially assigned the duties to the Six Elements of Harmony, but those had failed as well. Yes, she was able to kick out the zebras, but she caused the ponies to lose faith in friendship and their souls to become corrupted.

The Great Mistress sought another way to achieve harmony for the ponies, leaving the throne. And She succeeded. In a special place, where there is no physical world, where there are no those nasty bodies that make us aggressive and violent. It is all the fault of our physical body, but suicide is the most heinous act. We can only get rid of the body while preserving the soul by entering the Sacred Pink Cloud. No doubt, when the megaspells fell, Celestia tried to save all the worthy ponies in Equestria, but unfortunately she didn't have time to prepare, and Her accumulated powers weren't enough to spread the sacred pink gas that would have brought us all, cleansed of bodily corruption, to the Land of Hope, where harmony and peace reign. The Mistress is still maintaining the cloud, otherwise it would have dissipated long ago. The whole city has become the gateway to the Land of Hope.

The Guardians whose souls are in the Land of Hope are remained at the Gate, while their physical bodies are left to protect them from corrupted and impure souls who may visit these places. The Guardians are to be avoided by all, and we know how. Only those who are already worthy are initiated into this secret. These corrupted souls have been subjected to the deleterious influences of the physical body, and a long road of purification must be traveled, because the Sacred Cloud will put you to severe tests.

We know of all this from Celestia's First Prophet, Strawberry Icecream. He lived to tell us of the Lady, of her beautiful goals and powers. By his example, he showed the Witnesses how to get to our Lady: before he left, he told no one that he was on his final journey until he reached the Gate, saying that he had been preparing for years to see her. It was all he had lived for. And now everyone is following his example. He allowed the Witnesses to take the sacred artifacts that allowed us to survive, to instruct others in the path of purification, and to tell of Her. I should add that a visit to the museum dedicated to our snow-white Mistress is not a mandatory final step, it is enough to fulfill the conditions that I am not even now allowed to expose. I want to see the adorable sweet face of my Mistress in her Land of Hope when I fulfill the last condition. I write this to those who have somehow made it to this place without having traveled the Solar Path of Purification and managed to defeat my Guardian. Go to Hoofland, there find the prophets of the White Sun, they will guide you on the path of purification, you will cleanse your soul of all unnecessary things, then you will earn the right to go here, and you will be initiated into the last secret. If you pass this way, you will be able to withstand the harsh trials of Pink Cloud, and the Gate itself will open before you.

Now it is time for me to go. And may Celestia bless your path and your soul! I'll see you in the Land of Hope."

"I finally remember," Motley exhales loudly at my side. "I mean, it's one of the most famous cults that existed in Hoofland. The White Sun."

"Existed?" I ask, closing the diary.

"It... fell to the Wasteland about fifty years ago. I remember this cult because at the Enclave Academy it was presented as one of the examples of religiosity caused by ignorance and misinterpretation of the events based on available knowledge. The Enclave did not doubt Strawberry Icecream's influence in creating this cult, but everyone agreed that he did it unintentionally. And his latest recording, which I heard today, confirms that. The culprits were the very Witnesses who went with him to get the exhibits. They were probably so impressed by his self-sacrifice that they unwittingly exaggerated his actions."

"And before that, he was hiding some facts about Celestia as it was... Which made her look holy and infallible in the eyes of the listeners," I agree, adding my thoughts.

"Interesting. We have the popular religion of Christianity on Earth, which has its origins in Jesus Christ, talking about the love of god and repentance. He was eventually elevated to divine status. And I'm wondering how the events of that time actually played out. Of course, there is nothing surprising about it. Everyone exaggerates the merits of some people in one way or another, especially in relation to themselves. But still... it's a fascinating subject, don't you think?"

I do.

"Strawberry really just wanted to give the ponies hope," Motley reflects. "They even called their perfect world the Land of Hope. Prejudice and stereotypes are exactly what faith and religion are based on. The members of this cult deliberately walked to their deaths," I sense the irritation in her voice. "Because they were uninformed about what was going on, they built up illusions!"

"I understand your point. But those illusions helped them survive. If belief helps us survive, then we will tend to believe. It's inevitable. Let them decide for themselves what to do with their lives. Just as long as others aren't forced to accept their faith."

"I've seen enough religious groups and personalities in Hoofland, studied their methods and ways of influencing others. You are... naive if you think they won't force anyone. They consciously or unconsciously manipulate others. Saying that you choose to sin yourself if you don't want to be 'purificated' and accept their faith. In this way they make you feel guilty. Guilty because you are not like them. It's a psychological trick... And it disgusts me."

"Me too, but... it's our nature. There's nothing we can do about it. I take it the Enclave knows enough about this White Sun? What do they know?"

"Hmm... let me think. In various ways, the Enclave became aware of this Solar Path of Purification, the Gate, and other secrets. For example, the Path of Purification consisted of various deeds that promoted the dignity of the soul, like donations, selflessness to non-cult members, bringing new souls into their family and guiding them on this particular path... That sort of thing. And the secret to avoiding the Guardians was to simply not get close to them and not make any noise. It sounded too trivial and obvious. And now that I think back on it... no one ever thought it was behind the fact that Canterlot ghouls don't notice slow-moving objects at a distance, and up close can detect a presence even behind a wall without making any sound," Motley genuinely marvels towards the end.

"Still, the Enclave knows something about Canterlot ghouls," I smile.

"I told you that the Enclave knows no more than the residents of the Wastelands," she parries with a smug smile. "True, there are too many stories of all sorts that make it hard to separate the grain from the chaff. There may have been more, but either that information is classified or I just don't remember," she shrugs guiltily. "Still, Canterlot was outside the jurisdiction of our northwest branch, so information about Canterlot was not mandatory, unlike information about Hoofland and its territories."

"And what about the way the Gate is passed through?"

"You yourself read the lines about the example of the First Prophet mentioned by White Flower, and heard the last record of Icecream. They repeated everything after him. Didn't reveal their intentions until the very end. The final test must have concluded in gaining as much Pink Cloud as possible."

"Where does that conclusion come from?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Well... I mean, he threw himself into Pink Cloud for the exhibits and said he only lived for that anyway. For the sake of seeing Celestia. Those same Witnesses, perhaps impressed by his sacrifice, somehow combined the two. Threw himself into Pink Cloud... to see Celestia. Things could have gotten mixed up."

"Yeah... Pretty typical of the Wasteland," I wonder aloud, staring at the diary symbol as if mesmerized. "What about the tests?"

"There's absolutely nothing said about that. In fact, all that comes to mind at the mention of a test is a vague unease and inexplicable worry out of nowhere. It's hard to resist."

"In that case, some kind of easy trial. It's enough to make a little joke or fool around, and you are distracted from the dreadful atmosphere."

We continue our conversation, discussing the causes and effects of this cult, and then we rest and go on our quest.

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 3)

View Online

5th of the Month of Rain, Cyanday. The seventieth day of my stay.

What a dumbass I am!

While checking out one of the jewelry stores, which were filled to the brim with gems and jewelry, I accidentally triggered the laser security system. The alarms roared, drawing the attention of all the Canterlot ghouls in the vicinity. From around the corner, one of the dead jumped on Motley, clawing at her left wing, biting through the armor with its sharp teeth. The wound isn't too serious, but the pegasus is now unable to fly. We're fucked.

We run, but the crowd is relentless in its pursuit, joined by more and more of the snarling, snarling dead from various corners and nooks. It's like there's no end to them.

In such a hurry, I can't concentrate and use a teleportation spell to get us to the roof. We are no longer afraid to use energy magical weapons and explosives. The blue energy-magic lightning bolts from Illumination strike the pursuers with deadly thunderous shots: their bodies are covered with bluish sparks, some of the ghouls fall, and others turn to ash as they walk. The automatic grenade launcher in Motley's saddle fires bursting projectiles into the densest parts of the crowd, hitting the largest number of enemies with flashes, scattering them in different directions and tearing off their limbs. But all of this is not enough. Moreover, there are unicorns in the crowd, who, apparently out of habit, launch clots of magical energy at us, capable of causing considerable damage and knocking us off our hooves.

Besides, there are Canterlot ghouls running at us from the front, and we have to avoid some places because of the radios. In such turmoil it's impossible to concentrate on anything for more than a second—my attention is thrown from one thing to another. My brain is desperately and feverishly searching for ways to escape. An inscription written in blood on one of the walls catches my eye, "Canterlot remembers all."

I hear a piercing scream. It echoes inside my helmet. My blood runs cold in my veins.

Motley!

I turn around and see her lying on the cobblestone road facing her pursuers. From the pink aura enveloping her, I can guess that one of the dead pony managed to hit her with a pink blob of magic from their horn. The crowd has practically caught up with her, and she's desperately calling out to me for help. I almost lose my temper at what I see and immediately stop, turn around and run towards her.

The crowd is closer than I am...

As I prepare to cast the spell, I feel my magic reserves running low. With a low reserve and my panic curbing me, it's incredibly difficult to create a spell... I don't make it. I stumble, starting to fall as a dozen dead ponies jump on her. Over the radio frequency I hear her heartbreaking scream, she cries out in unbearable agony.

***

I shudder and sigh as eagerly as if I'd dived out of the water, my eyes wide open. The image of my pegasus being eaten alive by Canterlot ghouls looms in my mind's eye, like a long stare at a lamp. Her piercing wail still rings in my ears, and my entire body is covered in cold sweat. It's only a moment later that I hear her frightened and trembling voice.

"Daniel?"

I turn absently toward the source. The pegasus lifts a fearful and surprised gaze: inexpressible fear in her wet eyes, her lips trembling. Her power-armored hooves wrapped tightly around my belly.

I feel like I'm being thrown into cold water as I realize what it was. Still remembering what I saw, I unconsciously wrap my forelegs around her, wrapping her in a long embrace. I can feel myself trembling helplessly. Either she's trembling... or both of us. I am now overwhelmed with such conflicting emotions that I am ready to burst into tears.

We sit there for a few minutes, holding each other tightly, and then I regain my speech. I look around and realize we're in the same restaurant kitchen where I read out White Flower's diary yesterday.

"How scared I was..." I utter with effort, feeling everything inside of me slowly calm down. "It was all so realistic and believable..."

"Uh-huh," she barely audibly says convulsively. I hear her sniffle through the nose.

I unclench my hug and look up at her, seeing the wet and frightened eyes staring back at me. My heart sinks at the sight of this frightened pony with tears slowly running down her cheeks. She doesn't whimper or make any sound other than barely audible intermittent breathing. The silent and fearful look of a foal who has just seen a creepy monster that left him alone by chance at the very last moment.

"It was just a nightmare," I utter languidly. I feel like it's going to take us a while to recover from this nightmare.

"Danny, I..." her voice shakes.

"Shh..." I interrupt gently and lean into her, snuggling into her sweet little nose. "It's okay, angel. Breathe..."

She manages it with struggle. For support, I gift her with a brief kiss, and afterward, with my nose, I gently wipe the tears from her face. I realize from her spasmodic and brief sighs that she's a little ticklish, but she doesn't try to resist—in fact, she leans closer to me, trusting me. She's feeling noticeably better, and consequently, so am I. The touch of my nose against her face encourages warm and ticklish feelings in me—it even makes me want to giggle silly.

"Need to do that more often," I add jokingly, leaning back and wiping my nose from her tears. She chuckles weakly and sighs in cautious relief.

"Thank you..." she says, then gifs me a kiss.

We look at each other with a faint smile, realizing better and better that we were somehow only dreaming. The thought calms us both.

"Do you want to..." I begin cautiously, "talk about what you saw? Or would it be hard for you?" I say quietly, as if afraid of disturbing someone.

"I guess... yes..." she answers hesitantly. "I had a dream that I... in some jewelry store, I accidentally triggered a working alarm."

I shudder slightly.

"You were enraged by my carelessness. I was embarrassed and scared... Then we ran outside so I could carry us away, however one ghoul showed up from inside the store and attacked me from behind, clawing into my left wing, causing me to... not be able to fly. And we had to run. We shot back... and the whole time you were yelling over the radio, blaming me. Saying I was a burden, and you were sorry you ever stuck with me in the first place..." her voice shakes again, and there's a look of fright on her face, but she's afraid to look at me. "Then... hearing that, I stumbled down. The last thing I saw was you not paying attention and running on, and I wanted to yell out for you to help me, but my throat felt like something was restrained... shame and guilt prevented me from screaming. You ran on, and the ghouls at that moment..." she suddenly falls silent.

I am overcome with astonishment and vague fear at the striking similarity of our nightmares. The silence drags on, causing the pegasus to succumb more and more to guilt. Just in time to control myself, I put my leg around the waist of the pony sitting next to me.

"You know me, you've heard my full story. I wouldn't abandon you and I certainly wouldn't blame you in a situation like this. And... well, I had a similar nightmare. I'm not making it up." She raises a tired questioning look at me. "I'll tell you now."

As I tell her story, her surprise and fear grow.

"So..." I continue, "apparently I got stressed out about not being able to save you if something happened. I'll be responsible for your death. Does it still bother you that I might leave you because of a mistake like that?" Motley remains silent, only smiling bitterly. "I realize it takes time... and it's going to be harder with the nightmares. Too much of your strength to overcome yourself has been expended to let some vile nightmares ruin everything. I won't leave you alone with these worries."

She nods faintly in acknowledgement, then hugs me.

"How sweet this is. Discussing each other's nightmares."

What, are you jealous?

"No. I was lucky, I didn't have nightmares. Just a dream about being human again."

You're... Wait. I could usually anticipate his feelings, but now... it's like he's out of range.

"That's right. You're becoming more and more like a pony, which means you're becoming more and more distant from your human nature—me in particular."

"Is something wrong?" the pony worries, gazing into my face.

That's a topic that will still need to be pondered in the future. Who knows what such distance could lead to.

"Oh, just so... Just another tiff with my other me. Nothing new. Anyway, let's get some rest, have some breakfast, I'll put some more protective spells on our armor, drink some magic recovery potions, and we'll go on our way."

***

5th of the Month of Rain, Cyanday. The seventieth day of my stay.

This is the second time I've made an entry in my Pip-Boy about this date and day of being in the pony world. Repeating everything I said in my nightmare. And it's so weird...

Deja vu.

It's easy to walk through the ruins of the ghost town this early, but I have to strain to see the silhouettes and outlines of potential Canterlot ghouls in the distance. Sometimes I even see them, which causes a vague anxiety, fueled by the local atmosphere of death and the unknown. Especially after the nightmare I've been through, it's harder than usual to keep my self-control.

Nevertheless, we continue on our way, turning off radios along the way and avoiding the walking dead.

"You know, Spoiled, the text from that Celestia admirer's diary brings up some interesting thoughts about you."

Spoiled?

"Yeap. Basically. The physical body causes the soul to be aggressive and violent and stuff like that. Of course, the soul is a complete nonsense scientifically as described by religions, even here they know that. Only the presence of some kind of energy component is recognized. But the moment itself got me thinking about your transformation into a pony. The body has changed not only your psychological behavior—you're already ready to live with ponies and be with one for the rest of your life—but also your preferences. You're already loving Sparkle Cola with carrots! You've stopped drinking whiskey... You'll see, I'll bet you'll start eating hay and soon you won't be eating meat so much! You've spoiled yourself and become a pony!"

Whatever you say, Mr. Clean. I feel like what I was... well, not quite. The attachment to Motley may have affected me. And perhaps you have a point. But now is not a good time to talk. Keep in mind, if I die, so do you. It is not in your interest to distract me and make me gloomy with your assumptions or musings. After all, you've already separated yourself from me enough to hide your thoughts—so do me the favor of keeping your focus.

As I take a closer look at my surroundings, my gaze clings to a jewelry store... The Crystal Horseshoe. An overwhelming sense of deja vu occurs. Everything is so eerily consistent with what I saw in the nightmare, considering I definitely wasn't here—though because of the dream, I can't say for sure. I don't remember the name at all, though. Maybe I'm just imagining things, and I would have thought so if it hadn't been for Motley speaking to me over the radio.

"It felt like I was here..." she says absent-mindedly with a slight tremor in her voice. "It was... like a dream."

I decide to keep silent that I'm having the same experience. She shouldn't think about it too much. At least not right now, because my blood runs cold in my veins and a lump rises to my throat at the coincidence. I've never experienced anything like it, not even in Sierra Madre! When I look at a pre-war building, I get this intense feeling that makes me want to run away. It also gives me a perverse and unhealthy urge to look into it. The nightmare I saw has affected me deeply, and it's hard for me to realize why.

We instinctively take a wide arc around this jewelry store, and I mentally swear to myself that I will not enter a similar store in Canterlot for any treasure in the world.

"...except for the keycard that might be in there."

Shut up!

After moving as far away from this jewelry store as possible, I feel an inner relief and joy—and at the same time, my legs feel cotton-wooly, wanting to just lie down and catch my breath.

After a while, under my hooves on the stone-paved road, I recognize the remains of a long-dried pool of blood. This is a common sight in the ruins here. There have been enough reckless travelers here that it's a standard occurrence.

My gaze drifts up to the two-story white houses with ceramic tiles on their roofs along the street as I ponder these visitors whose curiosity and greed overrode their instinct for self-preservation.

Somewhere in the houses, windows have been broken out, doors have been swung open; walls or the edge of a roof has collapsed. In the midst of this slow devastation and desolation, silent metal benches and extinguished streetlights stand on the sidewalks, and in the distance the dark outlines of Pink Cloud's victims can be seen at varying distances from each other.

On one of the walls, I notice an inscription that makes me go cold from head to hooves. I stare at it dumbly, my mind aflame with the most unbelievable hypotheses and assumptions. The inscription, like so many others, is left in blood, but this one has a familiar ominous power. The very thought of seeing the same nightmare inscription in the same place now makes me shiver. Those three words will always remind me of it, "Canterlot remembers all."

I see images of Motley stumbling and then screaming as the teeth sink into her body.

***

I'm trying to find some rationalization for the coincidences. I'm not mentioning that I saw it in my nightmare in the same fucking place on the wall! She obviously didn't notice it in her dream, otherwise she would have mentioned it... Or is she as silent as I am?

No. I don't want to think about it like that. There's an explanation for everything, but until I have the facts, it's best not to speculate about it. Even the phrase "Canterlot remembers all" leaves me feeling very uneasy, because I have no idea how to interpret it.

Why would someone choose to say it in such a puzzling way? Why does it leave me with such unusual emotions? Perhaps because of the association with that nightmare? Perhaps there is a meaningful connection between the two? Or is it a random guideline? A coincidence? Yes... I'll leave it as a coincidence... yes. It's just a dark and strange coincidence.

My body is shivering and my heart is pounding rapidly in my chest. It's hard to walk like this... Fuck! It's so hard to calm the violent reaction to my thoughts. I decide to seek help from the other me.

Why aren't you helping me?

"What do I have to do with this? I know the same things you do, I have no assumptions about what I saw. It's not like I saw your nightmare. Perhaps you're just delusional... And everything you've seen has been shared with me, so I can't be trusted. You'd better ask Motley if she saw the dried blood and the inscription."

Sounds credible. But there's one small detail. Motley herself has said she's experiencing a sense of deja vu regarding that jewelry store, which means what we saw in the dream is real. And that's despite the fact that we've never been there.

"Maybe you're both delusional."

I'd like to believe that. Okay. Let's not talk about that just yet. All right, I'm thinking positively... about something fun... yeah. Right. Funny.

While I'm trying to keep my mind on the positive, recalling comical and amusing moments from my life—which turns out to be difficult—a one-story white post office building looms ahead of us, with a dozen Canterlot ghouls standing in a column, and it's unclear how many inside. The tracking chip marker jumps from place to place rather quickly.

There's no easy way to get to the source of the signals. After a quick look around, I realize it won't be easy to lure the ghouls out of there... unless I can take them out in droves to get some bait.

Take them out in droves? In droves. The thought of that brings back memories of that nightmare where we were being chased by dozens of ghouls at the same time. I shiver and shudder.

"Need to smoke them out of there?" the pegasus asks thoughtfully over the radio. Out of surprise, I only nod. "We can distract them with an explosion nearby. I'll use my grenade launcher, and in the meantime, you swing by there, turn off the radios, and, unless there's the keycard in the storage room, get the heck out of there. How's that for a plan with fireworks?"

"Wonderful... But you'll need to get there carefully and not get caught by dead guys on the way there and back."

"I'll manage. At the very least I'll fly away," she utters in a firm and determined voice.

"Well... Good, I have faith in you," I say as encouragingly as possible. Motley is about to leave, but I have something else to say, "Angel..." I quickly turn to her; she stops in anticipation. "Please be careful, and... don't damage your wings," I say worriedly.

"Don't worry. They'll be fine," she replies, moving her power armor-covered wings demonstratively, and disappears into the nearest alleyway. Her dark silhouette soars gracefully over the buildings...

Oh... It could take her less than a minute! We must hurry. I get as close to the post office building as I can, trying to keep a safe distance as they run. I listen to their ragged barely audible breathing, but there's nothing interesting about it.

In the remaining minute of waiting, all I do is look at their disfigured bodies with their clothes clinging to them: motley dresses, elegant outfits, hats, ties, purses, and jewelry. Some of them possess PipBucks, but the tracking chip doesn't indicate them: either they're malfunctioning or not set up to play the killer radio frequency.

I stare at the walking dead, and the longer I do it, the more unsettling it becomes. It's the second day I've been here, but it still sends shivers down my spine.

An explosion rumbles in the distance. The ghouls turn their heads toward the sound and race toward it. I manage to count about twenty. I stare at this running crowd of death with a slight shiver. The nightmare keeps coming back to me.

Shaking my head, pushing away the oppressive thoughts and frightening images, I move quickly toward the building, glancing around sharply, standing at the side of the entrance and peering cautiously in. Seeing no one in sight, I turn on my flashlight and take a look at my surroundings.

"Did it work?" I hear over the radio, distracted.

"Yeah. They're running like flies on shit."

"Are you saying my job is shit?" she asks in a offended tone.

"What?" I marvel with a huff, dumbfounded. A carefree chuckle erupts on the other end.

"Gotcha!" she pronounces cheerfully. I shake my head.

"And where did you get that from..." I say with a smile on my lips.

"From you, who else?"

"I thought it was from 'Berry'."

"From her too, but it's you who inspires me the most."

"Okay... Let's join me."

"Whatever you say, sir."

Ending the communication session, I step over the threshold of the post office and take a close look at the details captured by the flashlight's light. Along the walls are waiting couches, and in front of them are coffee tables with faded Canterlot Advertiser newspapers. The most recent issues at the time of the megaspell's fall, with large headlines. Month of Rain, 11, Greenday, 1152—BALTIMARE THREE YEARS AFTER LIBERATION. Month of Rain, 12, Cyanday, 1152—REBELION AND COUP IN THE PEGASUS CITIES. Month of Rain, 13, Blueday, 1152—NEGOTIATIONS WITH THE PEGASI. Month of Rain, 14, Violetday, 1152—THE EIGHTH OWNER OF THE APOSTLE KNOWN. And the newspaper for the last day... when the megaspells fell: Month of Rain, 15, Redday, 1152—PEGASI WILL CLOSE THE SKY?

Once again, one thinks wistfully of the fact that the dates of the beginning of the apocalypse in this world and on Earth coincide. The Month of Rain is the local October. In ten days, it will be exactly two hundred years since the apocalypse began in this world.

My attention is focused on the headline, 'THE EIGHTH OWNER OF THE APOSTLE REVEALED'. That is, there are the eight Apostles in total, copies of the weapons with the mysterious crystals.

I use telekinesis to pick up this issue, bringing it closer. In the light of the lantern, a quick glance at the time-worn ink of the newspaper, I learn that it was given to some mare-hero of the war, which at that moment was already in full swing in the territory of the Zebra Empire. The Apostle is some fancy gun called Vigilance. The mare-hero is a unicorn, originally from Hoofington, and her name was Black Jack. It is written that among her acquaintances and friends she is known as a connoisseur of whiskey, and her favorite drink is Wild Pegasus whiskey. Next to the name in brackets is an italicized note, 'This is not an advertisement for a brand'.

"Whiskey lover?"

Connoisseur, I correct.

"Yeah it's basically the same thing. Anyway, I wouldn't mind having a drink of this marvelous beverage with her, to chat about life and exchange experiences about whiskey enjoyment. "

The article also states that according to her friends, she is reckless and reckless, has debauched behavior and takes risks all the time.

"Just like us. No wonder she distinguished herself at the front... It's just a matter of luck."

Her tolerance of other races is cited as a positive attribute. Hmm. Tolerance of other races and debauched behavior— If you were really going to have a whiskey with her, you should be careful to avoid a situation that both of us, I emphasize, have already gotten into in this world.

"What's your point..."

New Appleloosa. We got drunk. Bluerise. We wake up in her hotel room. The funny thing is, we were one and the same.

"No!" Mr. Clean screams. "I don't feel like it anymore!"

You'd get drunk, and even if you were human, she'd still sleep with you, given her tolerance and debauched behavior...

"Disgusting images... Fuck you! Is this your way of getting back at me, Spoiled?"

Yes, Mr. Clean.

I savor his mental anguish with pleasure, whereas for me it seems quite natural. After gloating some more, I feel that my mood has improved; I notice that we have spent too much time at the coffee table. I put the newspaper back in its original place, having never finished reading exactly what kind of reckless act she was famous for or what she looked like, and continue to lazily survey the interior.

In addition to sofas and coffee tables, there are artificial plants, paintings and... propaganda posters, which are almost completely hung on the walls. I've seen such things before, like the recruitment posters for the Ministry of Secret Sciences, but here most of them are of a different nature... Information and espionage. I walk up to some of them and glance around.

A warning red banner: in big letters it says, KEEP YOUR, below it is a picture of a triggered mousetrap with a piece of newspaper as bait, and below it a third word, SHUT!. Below that is a smaller caption, DON'T GIVE THE RATS ANY INFORMATION!, with the caricatured zebra's heads next to it.

Half of the poster is red, the other half is a blue sea, and in the center is a black silhouette of a sinking and smoking ship. Above the silhouette, it says in rhyme, LOOSE LIPS, and below it says, MIGHT SINK SHIPS.

Another poster with a beige background depicts a mare's head with a military headdress. Her bewildered gaze is directed in the direction where her mouth is covered by the pink hoof of an unknown pony. Below is a poster-wide caption that runs in two rows: the first is SILENCE and the second is MEANS SECURITY.

There is a poster similar to the previous one, but it shows a frightened civilian pony in a business suit with the same pink hoof gagging her. At the top, the word, QUIET!, is written in large letters, and under the silhouette of the pony in a slightly smaller font is LOOSE TALK CAN COST LIVES.

I think I realize who the pink hoof belonged to. Among the posters is a picture of the pink pony, Pinkie Pie. Against a background of soft pink, she puts a hoof to her mouth while looking sternly at the viewer. Above her is written in dark pink, I'M COUNTING ON YOU!, and below her in several rows of smaller font, DON'T DISCUSS: TROOP MOVEMENTS, SHIP SAILINGS, WAR EQUIPMENT.

Some are repeated, but the point remains the same. Pinkie Pie urges ponies not to talk, especially on military topics. Huh... good old-fashioned propaganda, just like in my world. This concentration of propaganda is even a little comforting, seen as a light-hearted prank, considering how fucked up things are around here.

I turn off the radio, and the tracking chip points to another location, which I take it is somewhere in the back of the building—in a storage area. Stepping on the sheets of paper, letters and propaganda flyers lying around, I make my way inside the spacious room, which has small windows all the way up to the ceiling... and I hear hoofsteps behind me. Turning around, I see a pony dressed in the Enclave power armor.

"Perfect timing. I had faith in you."

"I certainly couldn't have done it without your faith," she says in a tone that sounds like it's both sarcasm and gratitude at the same time. "So, are we going to read other pony's mail?" she asks mischievously. Her visor turns in different directions. I can only imagine the greedy and predatory look in her eyes. And indeed, there is much to gaze at...

Rows of shelves, labeled by date, on which packages and parcels of various sizes and shapes are dusting. On one of the workers' tables I see cards left behind, uncorked bottles of alcohol—the liquid inside is a deep pink color—ashtrays... and a radio. Turning it off, I glance at the PipBuck: the marker is already pointing outside the building. So nobody mailed the keycard here. Sounds stupid. I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner. It's a waste of explosives to bother the ghouls.

While I'm working with the radio and looking at the map of the spare PipBuck, Motley is already busy looting packages. She opens one of the boxes with one swift, precise swing of her tail-blade. Inside are various medicines. Nothing fancy: pills and ampoules for headaches, hypotensive, sedatives... She lets me take them, and I put them in my bags in case they come in handy. Meanwhile, she eagerly opens the second one to find there... a book called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Equestria. From the description, it sounds like a humorous story. We leave it resting on the shelf.

I don't stand idly by and pull the first dusty rectangular package I see from one of the shelves. It looks like a book. With magic, I unzip it and find... another hardcover book inside. Its title disrupts the relaxed and steady flow of my thoughts. Capricious Mares, All About the Sex Cycle. With my mouth open in surprise, I stare at the cover like a brahmin at a new gate. Motley sneaks up from behind.

"So what's that?" she asks with childlike excitement and immediately falls silent.

"Hmm... Interesting stuff to read," I force myself out and hear Motley's suppressed chuckle.

"What a find. Are you going to read it?"

"I don't think so. From the looks of it, it's some sort of medical textbook. It's more... for you."

"I've read it once. Before I went to the Academy. My mother worked in a clinic, though," she shrugs. "It's more likely to be useful to stallions."

"I don't need it."

"Okay... then don't complain that I raped you in your sleep," she says with an unclear tone.

My attention shifts from the book to the pegasus. The faceted lenses of her armor are pointed in my direction. There's a tense silence... followed by a soft, melodic laugh.

"It's a joke... It's a popular myth that mares almost go crazy during heat. There are clinical cases, of course, but those are the exception. Every mare goes through it differently, some don't feel anything, some just feel bad. And some do start acting more... slutty, let's put it that way."

"That's reassuring," I mutter.

"And if seriously... why don't you want to read it?"

"First of all, I'm not a mare. Second, I read a book on pony anatomy at Tenpony Tower, and there was a section on the sexual cycle of mares, so I know a little bit about it."

"Well, would you like to get... deeper into this... swamp?" she asks in a low voice, emphasizing the words 'deeper' and 'swamp' in a special way. I'm puzzled, as I don't immediately realize the ambiguity of her words.

"That's a strange wording you picked..." I grumble after a short pause, to which I hear a faint chuckle on her part. She speaks of it with such ease and casually... Just like Brisa. Though the latter's words almost always had more scholarship and scientific terminology in it. "Okay. Let's get out of here. We've got a lot to do."

On my way out, I out of the corner of my eye notice a rack of packages that are supposed to be shipped on the appointed date. I don't know what motivates me to grab a stack of envelopes with a delay in mailing, but apparently these letters usually have a certain importance, since the sender might change his mind and pick them up in the meantime.

***

Motley paces ahead, watching for potential danger. I need something to focus on and take my mind off the gloom and desolation around me, so I pick up the stack of letters I grabbed before I left the storage room. The target is two blocks away anyway. No sooner do I open the first envelope than the pegasus gives me a voice over the radio.

"Listen... Daniel..." she begins hesitantly, with a touch of excitement, causing me to look away and raise my head involuntarily.

The pegasus walks on without turning in my direction, observing the area. I occasionally glance around myself. It's unusual that there are no radios nearby at all, and the number of Canterlot ghouls is minimized.

"This silence makes my mood seem somehow tense. Shall we... chat?"

"Aren't you going to be distracted?" I voice my doubts.

"I need to dispel the tense thoughts that have arisen. Sometimes they make me feel like danger is around every corner. All the more reason for me to just want to hear your lovely voice. I hope it won't be difficult for you to tell me something while reading?"

"No, it's not difficult. It depends on the subject of the story. What exactly do you want to hear about?"

"Well..." she stretches out over the radio and falls silent, apparently having fallen into thought. For the next ten seconds we walk in silence. I, on the other hand, open the envelope and unfold the letter, running my eyes over the text. "Oh, right... About your world. For example, about the events in New Peg.... Ahem. My bad. The events in New Vegas. You're caught in the middle of a major conflict in the Wasteland, the likes of which has never happened here before, as far as you can remember. The New California Republic. Caesar's Legion. Mr. House. but you chose to act on your own. Why did you give the reins of power to an artificial intelligence... I forget its nickname."

"Yes Man," I say idly, managing to unpack another envelope and peruse the text of the letter. The previous one I'd just tossed aside with the envelope: there was nothing interesting in it. Some pony couldn't decide whether to reveal the sordid truth about himself to his aunt.

"Yes. To it. After all, you know my attitude toward such robots. Though the New California Republic was an imperfect one, according to you, but still, to me, one of the best options."

"Hmm..."

I look away from the letter and stare up at the pink-clouded sky, digging into my past, then lower my gaze back down.

"The NCR... They're insatiable, too greedy. Imperialists. Rapid expansion has played havoc with them: for example, they're unable to defend the territories they supposedly control. One day, the NCR showed up in the Divide, rushing in with all their legs, and annexed this settlement of a thousand people who just wanted freedom from them... I was, to say the least, upset and annoyed by this event. I disliked the NCR."

"You... have such a strong attachment to the place?"

"I've been there long enough... I made some good acquaintances."

"Has your attitude towards the NCR changed in the time since that event?" the pegasus asks.

By this time I finish reading the letter and just dispel my telekinetic grip, and it, along with the envelope, swaying, falls on the stone paved sidewalk under my hooves. Literally in the next instant, I gingerly step over the shapeless remains of the pony, which have melted with the surface of the stone road.

Poor thing.

I open the next envelope and continue the story, answering the pegasus' question.

"By the time of the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, not by much. But afterward... That major disgrace caused the citizens of the NCR to wake up. Change really started to happen there."

I finish reading the small letter, which contains nothing of substance. The paranoid ramblings of a guy who thought the zebras were going to kill him.

"What about Caesar's Legion?" the pegasus asks.

I fold the letter back in half, stuffing it into the envelope from which it was removed; turning it ribbed, I aim it at the nearest gilded metal trashcan and sword it like a disk parallel to the sidewalk. Whistling and spinning in the air, it eventually flies past the can and lands with a thud somewhere behind it.

Slightly disappointed by my miss, I take up the task of opening another antique envelope. At a certain point, I realize I'm not following the words of the pegasus, who isn't even interested in my letter-throwing fun.

"Aside from the slave labor and their hatred of the... the females of their species, let's just say, they also rejected sophisticated technology. No progress. Yes, their survival in the Wastelands is efficient because they don't have to think about ammunition production, they don't have to keep weapons and machinery up and running, which in the Wastelands is difficult in itself. Thanks to this policy, they don't have to spend time learning complicated things. But, again, no progress."

"Speaking of progress... Mr. House kind of suggested that, didn't he?" Motley asks as I finish reading the letter.

Finding nothing useful again, I crumple both the envelope and the letter into two separate clumps and toss them into the nearest trashcan. The envelope clatters against its metal top and falls to the sidewalk. I feel frustrated.

I was so close!

The crumpled letter doesn't even make it to the garbage can because of its lightness.

"He's overconfident," I reply, starting to fumble with a new envelope. "Single-handedly ruling over everything. He could have been a dictator, but we're all subject to emotion, and so is he..."

"So... you've given up on everyone and decided to act on your own. Don't you act like the same self-righteous House?" Motley wonders sweetly.

I ponder her words, folding a paper airplane out of a sheet of the letter. Quickly making one, I launch it into space, keeping my pace steady. It cuts through the air evenly and silently, gradually descending until it eventually collides with an abandoned baby stroller of a blue hue, falling beside it. I don't know if it's empty—or if the remains of a foal or a filly that's been melded with it for the past two hundred years are inside.

My gloomy thoughts make me shiver and I stop. Nearby I notice another three-row inscription in dried blood on the white wall, "Flesh. Unity. Undead." It's not hard to interpret.. because it's connected to thoughts of the wheelchair, and it reminds me of other inscriptions about it, but with a different wording.

Living flesh merges with the surrounding unliving matter.

I retrace my steps to catch up with the pegasus. Motley is still watching ahead; apparently she assumes that in my moments of silence I'm so absorbed in reading the letter that I'm even temporarily pausing.

"Discovered something interesting?" she asks without turning around.

"No..." I crumple the envelope and aim to toss it into the trashcan, but it flies in an arc and lands a few inches to the left, making me upset again. "Just the ramblings of pre-war residents unsure of the future."

"So... what about my earlier question?"

"I've thought about it more than once," I reply, opening another envelope and pulling out a letter from there. "I tried to reach the peace and entrusted the management to Yes Man."

"And why AI?"

"He became a full-fledged AI recently, he's still learning, but he's already showing good results. Look... Throughout history, people at the head of nations have organized wars, holy campaigns, solved various disputes this way and so on. Do you see where this has led? With the appearance of AI, there is a whole new player in terms of governance. If history has repeatedly shown what human actions lead to in view of their unchanging nature, why not try to give this opportunity to AI? It's never happened before in history, and if given the chance.,. Anyway, humans almost destroyed civilization on the planet because of... their nature, to put it bluntly. I can't even imagine an AI could do worse."

"I, in my day, have read enough about robots going insane and such. Besides, there are enough stories gathered by the Enclave scouts in the Wastelands involving robots."

As she says this, I twirl the letter I've just read with cool interest, shove it back into the envelope, and with a slight sense of annoyance toss it far away without looking to see where it lands. I ponder the pegasus' words, picking up the words.

"Put the blame on the people who programmed them and set the algorithms, and the engineers who created the hardware that made it all work. Either way, I have more confidence in advanced AI than I do in humans or ponies."

"Ha," Motley chuckles. "That is, on you, wizard engineer," she adds without even turning around, apparently remembering that my face is hidden under my helmet. With an unaccountable urge, I smile indulgently and continue examining the remaining envelopes.

"Are you satisfied with the answer?" I ask curiously at that.

"Totally. Thank you for the conversation. It's already easier for me to focus, and there's a lot to brainstorm about. For example, my attitude towards Caroline."

"Good for you, angel," I say sincerely, pulling another letter out of another envelope, already expecting to see more confessions, doubts, and conspiracy nonsense.

It was to be mailed in the Month of Rain, 20, Blueday, 1152. In other words, the fifth day after the fall of the megaspells. The addressee was one of the police stations in Canterlot. The text is printed on a typewriter.

"My name is Sonorous Splash. I am addressing whoever reads this letter. It is actually only one of two letters I have composed. The reason for this action was due to an event related to my activities. I will inform you at once that circumstances forced me to take this step. If this letter has reached its addressee, it means that something has happened to me. For such an occasion I sent it with a delay, hoping that everything would go well. If it got to you, it means... I don't even want to think about it. For the record. I'm not a traitor or a betrayer!

I found out that my loved ones who went to the front as medics were captured by zebras. A town (Sentinum) on the coast of the Zebra Empire, captured by the Equestria army, was counterattacked by zebras to recapture it. As recently reported in the newspapers, they succeeded. Many were killed, some were captured. The zebras got wind of where I work through captured loved ones, and forced me to facilitate the sharing of secrets in exchange for their release, and if I refused, they would be sent to be brutally tortured. It sounded unlikely, but I had no other hope. I agreed, for I was presented with proof that they were alive and that they were their captives. They forbade me to go to the police or anyone in the Ministry, they would know immediately if I blabbed about the deal, so I had to send delayed letters in case anything happened to me. With any luck I'd get them back. I was given a week in which to get as much classified information as I could from my Ministry of Morale, specifically about a certain project for which they'd created an entire division— so massive and complicated was it. The Controllers. From the moment of the countdown in the appointed time (which is a week) I will need to report to the specified place.

I don't know how it's going to turn out, but all I could get was a memory orb about the project. And it's not much information. It was only by a happy coincidence that the head of the Ministry of Morale in Canterlot was away on urgent business in another part of the country the other day, and a good friend of mine stayed behind as her deputy, so I had no trouble getting information about the project. We don't have any more information about it as far as I know, but I'm not sure of that yet. Almost all of its secrets are in the Controllers' archives. We have been given only a few instructions from Pinkie Pie herself regarding this division, among which are to cooperate with them and not to ask too many questions.

The sender's address is a valid one. If the letter were to be opened prematurely by someone, the text would disappear thanks to a special spell, so the workers at the post office or the zebras would not be able to recognize the essence of what is written here. Again, I had to take this step. For the sake of my loved ones. Forgive me. Forgive me posthumously."

I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, I feel sorry for her, I sympathize with her. She had to make a difficult choice: her beloved loved ones or her native country. Well, she made a choice not in favor of her country. One can understand her: in such moments one thinks first of the welfare of loved ones and then of everything else. On the other hand...

Finally! The first clue. It is necessary to go to the house of this Sonorous and inspect everything there. The appointed day was after the megaspell had fallen, so another Dome memory orb could be at her house, since she had already gotten it when she wrote the letter.

"Eureka!" I exult.

"What happened?" Motley asks in a gasping voice, apparently scared by my exclamation over the radio.

"I grasped at straws. The Dome, my angel! I've picked up the trail... but I've got to find the address of the sender's house."

"Excellent news!" she says cheerfully, as if infected by my enthusiasm. "I saw a map at the post office. I'll fly over there in a jiffy. Give me the address."

For the first time ever, we have a concrete place to start looking. The pegasus soars into the air and heads in the direction of the post office. The moment she's gone, I walk over to the trash can and dump the remaining unopened envelopes in it. I don't need them anymore.

"Well, for once you made it to the trash can. That's commendable, nothing to add."

Thank you, I say to him, pretending I didn't notice his sarcasm.

***

Down long abandoned streets where life once thrived, between the remains of dead ponies that melted and became part of the sidewalks during that saddest and darkest time in the history of the Month of Rain, 15, 1152, two figures walk with quiet unhurried steps tensely and cautiously.

Myself and Motley.

The ear-pressing ambient silence is interrupted only by a faint stifling breeze. On the way to the Sonorous's house, we turn off the radios and the loudspeakers on the poles. At a certain point, the marker points to a single, seemingly unremarkable two-story house, standing in a row of many other detached houses surrounded by hedged yards. All that remains are withered bare branches, swaying drearily in the wind from time to time. It's a rich neighborhood.

On the silver-colored metal front doors of the house I spotted, there is a purple symbol. It's clearly from the realm of music. The treble clef symbol.

I'm reminded of the pony we rescued from the white yao gaui at the North Park Bank. Flyrose, if my memory serves me correctly. Anyway, her name is on the Pip-Boy.

The symbol on the door could imply that a musician, or some ardent music fan or music lover, lived in the house: who knows, there might be a clue to a musical instrument store where we could find a cello for Flyrose. Maybe luck will favor me, and the instrument will be in this house.

I signal to Motley that I will go and look around the house. She follows me. Nearby in front of the house I see the remains of a pony spliced into the sidewalk. Though a familiar sight, it still makes me feel sorry and horrified.

As I approach the door of the two-story house, which is predominantly gray in color, I study it, for it seems quite secure against all sorts of intruders. The owner of the dwelling obviously thought about the safety of themselves and their property, which, by the way, is evidenced by the metal bars on the windows. During a cursory inspection of the facade, I see an inscription in black paint on the wall of the neighboring house above the withered branches of the once hedge, "The Living and the Unliving strive for each other". Another notice of the effect of Pink Cloud on flesh that comes in contact with non-living matter.

Motley watches our rear, I meanwhile fiddling with the door's locking mechanism. It's not for a mere amateur locksmith, and I'm not one of them. However, I will have to resort to magical hacking skills to crack this door. I don't like that. I like it better old school, when I can feel this lock resisting me... I could especially feel it when I used my human hands.

"I miss them the most. Magic doesn't provide that soft and exhilarating effect of the process. "

I'm fine with the horn, though I wouldn't mind sliding my hands against Motley's fur. I want so badly to stroke her auburn mane, to see her peaceful smile and eyes radiating pleasure and delight...

"You'd also imagine her flicking out her tongue like a doggy. Don't be distracted by nothing, Spoiled."

Whatever you say, Mr. Clean.

Lately, we've become more self-reliant and too independent of each other. We haven't even really noticed how we've given each other nicknames.

It's been about ten minutes. It takes a lot of effort and patience to figure out the construction of the intricate lock. In the process, I hear the distinctive short sound of the door lock unlocking. I mentally rejoice at the result.

"That 'lock' made you sweat, didn't it?" Motley asks an ambiguous rhetorical question.

She realizes that it's inappropriate, rather impossible, for me to be distracted during this kind of work, so it's not worth the effort. And she couldn't help but think of that joke with the locks.

I pull the door open, and then something comes to my ears that makes my blood run cold and my knees shake. I'm paralyzed, my thoughts boiling, my heart pounding in fear, and it's scary to even breathe. It's like I'm petrified and turned into a silent and statue-like figure. Apparently, Motley has also fallen into a daze from what she has heard, turning into a statue in the intimidating black armor.

From within comes a melody... The pitiful and wistful sounds of a cello.

Could it be some kind of device that plays recorded music, like a gramophone?

There's something so unnatural about it that only heightens the sense of dread that tugs at the strings of my nerves. The howl of the cello is so creepy and piercing that even after a minute of listening to it, I can't control myself or even move. It's like I'm in a trance, gripped by a sudden terror, even breathing is difficult. The melody is incredibly expressive and deep, and the high notes pass through my ears and consciousness like a knife blade, making me associate it with someone's shrill scream from the beyond. It triggers in me an instinctive and primal feeling of devastating fear of... inevitable death. So deeply does it touch my nature, stir my imagination and shake my nerves, that it is difficult to keep my self-control.

If it weren't for my paralyzed state, I would scream. Death itself performs this grave tragic tune.

It can't be a recording, it sounds frighteningly vivid.

"Daniel..." a pitiful and suppressed voice is heard. It's Motley on the radio. "Can we not go into that house? I..." she falters, as if the audible tone of the tune forces her to shut up.

"Me too..." I reply brokenly. Her voice helps me perk up slightly and regain control of my body. "But it's just a tune..."

Remembering the flashlight on my helmet, I turn it on and it makes the darkness part. I lift my trembling front leg to step inside, but hesitate. The anxiety overwhelming me somehow reminds me of the moment I was about to cross the threshold of Stable 66, but the melody seems to amplify the sensation many times over.

"Oh. That's right... I was unknowingly fascinated by listening to it. It's really like that Stable. You can't give in to fear! It's just music, albeit with a frightening and piercing tone."

As soon as Mr. Clean talked to me about it, it's like that unaccountable fear and crushing anxiety was erased from me. I take a deep sigh to bolster my composure and assess the hallway in front of me. The floor is covered with an expensive dark purple carpet; the walls are a silvery hue. The refined, classic style of the furniture suggests that the owner of the house was a very elegant person. A chest of drawers, a table with a mirror hanging above them, a coat closet opposite the entrance and next to a door leading, apparently, to the basement. Wooden steps covered with purple carpet and leading to the second floor. The interior of the hallway, like the rest of the house, is done with a combination of different shades of gray and silver, and sometimes purple.

When we find ourselves in the hallway, there is an opportunity to go in one of five directions. To my left is a living room with a television, a lush couch, plants withered in vases and pots, and paintings of various picturesque landscapes, one of which features a view of the desert and rocky terrain that is the central part of Equestria. The passage on the right leads to a room filled with bookcases, between which there is a cozy-looking fireplace, as well as several soft and comfortable armchairs. We can go forward by the stairs to the second floor or to the basement... Or we could take Motley's fifth option, which is to turn around and get as far away from this house as possible.

I'm just now realizing I didn't hear the cello playing outside when I was working on the lock. Quite curious. It's also curious that the Pink Cloud's fallout is virtually non-existent here: there's only a concentration near the fireplace, which is natural, given the chimney, through which it could easily enter. And the interior is quite well preserved. I decide to go to the left side of the house, for that's where the marker points—I don't know whether it's on the first floor, the second floor, or the basement.

Motley follows me. She stays fearfully close to me. She has trouble ignoring the unnatural, afterlife-like melody of the cello, while I have no trouble ignoring it. I've seen a lot more of that in Stable 66... Daze and anxiety take hold of me at the suddenness of it, for I had not expected something like this here. Pink Cloud is unsettling and inexplicable, especially during periods of silence, broken only by the howling wind, but I certainly didn't expect live cello playing... Or maybe we're both having sonic hallucinations, which is weird. Although tonight we had nightmares that coincided at certain parts. That shouldn't be so surprising anymore. Certainly, Pink Cloud needs things already more frightening if it wants to break me and kill the sanity in me.

"Don't think too much. It's not our style to be a smartass, remember"

It's just the thing to ward off fear.

Moving around the house under the influence of this afterlife music is disturbing and difficult for me. The noise of the radio receiver is already starting to reach my ear, which means risky proximity to the range. Unfortunately, it is out of range. We'll have to go around the other side. I give Motley directions, and we move through a room filled to the brim with stuffed bookcases.

Not only elegant, but also very educated in nature!

As soon as we cross the threshold of this room, the afterlife music stops suddenly and abruptly, and with it my heart nearly stops. There follows a barely audible deep and embittered growling from the second floor. It's definitely a Canterlot ghoul.

Wait a minute... was that it playing the cello? What's going on here? It doesn't seem like a sane pony, given its menacing growl.

"I don't know... If I were him, I'd react the same way to strangers unceremoniously breaking into my house. "

Before I have time to properly comprehend all of this, including Mr. Clean's remark, there's a disorderly clatter of hooves coming from the staircase on the second floor. We immediately turn around and retreat a little deeper into the room, lurking in anticipation of the enemy and drawing our melee weapons. The light of our flashlights is directed toward the hallway. In the next instant it jumps down the stairs, caught in the light, and turns sharply in our direction. We can't get a good look at the dead pony, as it immediately lunges at us with predatory zeal. I aim my sword at its neck and stab it through with difficulty. Motley takes the initiative, lunging toward the enemy slightly away from it, to pierce its head with a stinger that whistles through the air.

The blow hits the eyeball, and it bursts with a disgusting sound. The pegasus turns around and yanks her tail, aiming to bring the ghoul down; I barely have time to draw my shock sword. The dead pony falls off its hooves just as I step aside. The attacker's body slams into the bookshelf, causing it to sway and the dilapidated books to fall from it.

"Knowledge spilled on the head..."

He doesn't stop snarling ominously and predatorily. Motley wastes no time and immediately lunges with her knuckles, Pushy, at the ghoul's head with the remaining locks of its dark gray mane. A precise and deadly blow to the head. The pink blood-soaked fragments fly apart, splattering also the books thrown away by Pushy's shockwave. The crumpled body is left lying buried beneath the bloody books.

The sense of apparent danger invigorates us a little: we almost forget about that chilling afterlife music, but we have no desire to look at the body. Instead, we take a breath, head into the kitchen, and turn off the working radio. A quick look around the kitchen, with the flashlight beam picking out the shapes of objects from the gloom, and thoughts of the locked door, leads me to the conclusion that the victim remained conscious for a long time before turning into a ghoul. In the kitchen, the cupboards are all open, the doors are wide open, there is absolutely no food inside, the tables are littered with empty and cleaned jars and bottles of wine, the garbage can is littered with wrappers, cans, and cardboard boxes of food...

How is it that the concentration of Pink Cloud inside has not proved to be as destructive here as in other houses?

I voice my thoughts on the matter, but the pegasus only shrugs.

We go down into the basement to look around, but there's nothing there but household junk and old pre-war stuff. Only the shelves used for storing wine have been emptied. Here the concentration of Pink Cloud, as well as its fallout, is also below normal.

Once up on the second floor, we peek through the first door we see. Behind it is a restroom. Walking over to the toilet, I see pink water at the bottom of it.

That's right. Pink Cloud is leaking everywhere, and it's only natural that the plumbing would be no exception. The emptied wine shelves in the basement say that the victim imprisoned here probably didn't like drinking tap water because of the presence of the bad stuff.

"And how did you come up with that..." Mr. Clean in my head says with venomous sarcasm.

"Judging by your interested look," the pegasus suddenly stands to the side of me, causing me to turn my head toward her, "are you thinking of trying this... pink wine?" she asks in a sarcastic tone.

"Not..." I, waving my hoof, reply after a short pause. "Only true gourmets drink water from such an oval bowl, which I am not."

The pegasus's giddy laughter echoes through the radio.

"Wow... You always have something to say. Really, what's on your mind?" she turns her visor toward me.

"Because it's a thinking room. Sitting on the toilet makes you want to think," I explain. I hear a brief chuckle in response.

"There's some truth to what you say. Let's go explore further."

I only nod.

There's nothing of interest in the bathroom. One of the rooms has a double bed, but the closets and dressers are as empty as those wine bottles in the kitchen. Apparently, this room is intended for a possible guest who, for some reason, has decided to spend the night with the owner. Most likely the mistress, for both men and stallions are rarely concerned with keeping their homes in tidy order, especially when trapped. Even that garbage in the kitchen and empty cans are carefully and neatly folded, which seems somewhat absurd and unnatural.

The next room turned out to be a bedroom already in regular use, as evidenced by the lavish closets and patterned tables filled with things. Passing the mirror, I involuntarily stop in front of it and consider my image reflected in it. I had once seen in the reflection an upright, two-legged creature... but now it's just a pony on four legs. And now it would seem unusual to see a human being there.

I thought the other me would say something about it, but Mr. Clean is silent, though I can feel her presence.

I turn around at the creaking sound of the hinges of the newly opened closet—Motley is already inspecting the possessions of the victim imprisoned here two hundred years ago. She whistles.

"Wow... Some grumpy pony used to live here. The dresses and other clothing are mostly dark colors, though white collars and shirts occasionally manage to be here. It's amazing that everything is relatively well preserved."

"Thinking of getting yourself something from this assortment?"

"Yeah... I don't want to hear you whining about wasted caps."

"Hey..." I get frustrated. "I'm not a cheapskate, and you're that..."

"...I know," she interrupts, chuckling audibly. "I know you aren't cheap on me. I just don't want to bother you with spending too much, especially with all this free stuff coming up," she says, her head diving into rummaging through the cabinets and dressers."

I walk over to the window and see the backyard beyond it below, engulfed by a dense cluster of Pink Cloud. I can barely make out the outlines of densely planted trees and remnants of once lush shrubs in this pink mist, with a wooden chaise lounge with an equally low table in the center between them. These clusters of vegetation must have served as a beautiful illusion of a forested area.

I closed my eyes and immersed myself in fantasies of lying on this chaise lounge and dozing surrounded by fragrant trees and green bushes. After a while I wake up, gaze into the blue sky and watch the white clouds peacefully passing by. Sweetly stretching, I take a deep breath and again slowly sink into sleep to this peaceful sight... I am snapped out of my reverie by the sudden muffled sound of a fallen object.

"Oops," a guilty voice is heard from the pegasus on the radio. "I accidentally caught something with my tail."

She looks around. I follow the direction of her helmet light, which stops almost immediately on a framed photograph lying face down. Motley continues to dig through the locker.

I walk over to the fallen object, pick it up off the dark purple carpet with my telekinesis, and turn it face-up toward me. In the blue shimmering haze of my magic and the beam of light from the flashlight, I see the image of a gray earth pony in her mid-forties wearing a dark dress in the middle of a stage in some theater. The pony has a dark gray well-groomed long mane, she stands on her hind hooves and holds a silver cello with her front hooves...

I take it that's what we killed downstairs. Or rather, we killed what was left of it. She looked attractive. I take a closer look at her: her eyes are covered with delicately lined lashes, her expression soft and relaxed—she's clearly enjoying the music she's playing on her instrument. There is a pink bow tie around her neck.

After admiring the photo, I place it on the dresser from which it fell; there are two other picture frames there. Putting this one down, I look at the other two. One of them shows a white unicorn with a flashy blue mane with a style about the same as mine, but it's a little longer, causing some of the curls to hang down on the right side. Her eyes are covered by pink glasses with black frames, her ears are wearing stylized headphones, and her lips are parted in a bright, seductive smile. She's standing behind some fancy music machine with flickering lights and lots of switches, her front hooves resting on two vinyl records, and bright multicolored beams running randomly across a dark background. Apparently, she's at some kind of party.

I pick up the frame and turn it back to me. The inscription reads, "To my beloved Tavi. Since you weren't able to make it to this awesome party for the first anniversary of Baltimare's liberation, I'm sending you a picture." First anniversary? So the picture was taken two years before the apocalypse.

I distract Motley from her work and show her the photo.

"Ah... Vinyl Scratch, or DJ Pon3," she explains, holding up one of the elegant black-colored outfits with her right foot. "The first Pon3, by the way."

"Curious... But what I'm most interested in is the music console she's standing behind. I've never seen one like it."

"She designed it herself. Unique in its own way because of the combination of sounds it produced beyond the usual playback of well-known musical compositions. Energizing, dynamic and rocking music. No one could recreate the device, because its unique capabilities worked through the magic and spells of Vinyl herself. She did not reveal her secrets to anyone. The unique and unusual combination of sounds made her famous, and she was invited to all the big parties in Equestria. Even at such an advanced age, she still rocked like she was in her twenties. Even I envy her energy. I wish I could move my rump as actively when I'm old..."

I look at the picture again and, after a brief pause, put it back on the dresser. Suddenly Motley turns to me.

"I'll take the loot to Venture. As well as some of the dresses and clothes. In the meantime, I'll drag them downstairs to the exit in case we spot anything else interesting to move all at once," she picks up her preferred items, which are currently lying on the large bed. Dresses, jewelry, and various outfits. "Even if some of them don't fit me," she continues, "they can be given to Bluerise, in case they fit her, or will sell them for a good price. Hopefully the remnants of Pink Cloud will eventually weathered out outside of the city."

Watching in silence as she throws on a variety of clothes and then leaves the room, I turn my attention back to the dresser to examine the third photograph. It shows Vinyl and Tavi together, the white one hugging the gray pony, pulling her close. The former has a friendly and kind look, while the latter feels a little stiff and tense. And only in these photos I had a chance to see the color of their eyes: the white pony has ruby-colored eyes, while the gray pony has purple ones. The latter explains why purple color prevails in the interior of the house and things among gray shades. A cute couple of ponies, who are almost sixty.

For some reason, this white unicorn reminds me of Homage from Tenpony Tower with her smile. Practically identical, except for the color of her fur.

Finding nothing of value in the bedroom, I leave. Motley meets me on the way out to continue exploring the rooms with me. We go to the last and most spacious room of the house. As we cross its doorstep, we cannot help admiring its rich and exquisite decorations devoid of windows, which is rather unusual, I think.

The walls are covered with some dense multi-layered material, but the whole house retains its entourage with light gray shades, the floor is entirely covered with parquet painted in silver color. There is absolutely no vegetation at all, and everything is filled with vases of various shapes and sizes with ornate designs. Paintings with beautiful landscapes of snow-capped mountains and cliffs, shores with frothy waves, forests with mighty trees and lush shrubs, endless plains and hills dotted with shimmering colors... and all varying with the seasons.

Elegantly crafted of wood tables, chests, cabinets, and shelves painted to match the surrounding entourage. A cozy couch, a cabinet densely packed with vinyl records, a gramophone on a table next to it, figurines and busts of ponies and more; I recognize Celestia and Luna among them. On some of the shelves are books with their covers turned upside down: they are few in number, but they are distinguished by their binding and embossed images.

The main feature of the room is a stand with a silver cello mounted on it, on which purple and white lines curve in patterns. The cello I saw in the photo. In front of it is a lectern with staff paper, with a bow lying nearby. On the back of the cello in the lower part there is a textured pattern in the form of a purple treble clef, like the one on the front door of the house. The staff paper is inscribed with musical symbols. Unfortunately, nothing else is listed there.

"Dan," Motley's voice comes over the radio. I turn around and see her at the desk. "Come here."

The desk is covered with staff notes: some of it is lying in disorder, some is stored inside albums, some is in a stack, and some remains unused. On the same table are quills and a pot of ink. The uppermost sheet of music paper has its back side facing upwards, with no lines for the notes, and is partially scribbled in ink. The writing is incomprehensible, jerky, irregular, and difficult, if not impossible, to read. From the quill left in the place of the last scribbles I can assume that the author of the text for some reason was unable to complete the sentence. Most likely, her mind was completely lost. From these thoughts, an unpleasant chill runs through my body.

With telekinesis I pick up the music paper scattered haphazardly on the table and examine the pages. There were notes on the back, while the other side, the one for musical notes, remained unused. I try to sort them by date of writing, thank goodness there's a day listed here. Even at a quick glance while sorting, I notice that at the beginning the notes were written in a very neat and orderly writing, which is aesthetically pleasing to look at, but gradually it becomes more and more crooked, erratic, at times hurried and disorderly, reminiscent of the ravings of a madpony. If you compare the first and the last entry, you get the impression that they were written by completely different individuals.

Sorted, I move them closer to Motley.

"Now it's your turn to read aloud, while I take a look around here," I add at that.

"I'd love to. Only then you get on with it. I saw what the writing turned into toward the end, I won't be able to read it."

"Okay. No problem," I reply easily and casually, taking a seat by the cabinet of vinyl records and lazily examining them in the light of my flashlight. For added comfort, I turn on the backlight in my Pip-Boy as well.

First note.

"Month of Rain, 16, Orangeday, 1152. Second day of the pink mist's appearance. Trying to calm my trembling and think things through after the nightmare that happened. To calm myself down and take my mind off of my depressing mood and my raging worries, I decided to put my thoughts down on paper. There is no one around to listen to me, but I need to express myself in some way or on something, for example, staff paper, and to make the process seem more focused and engaging, I paid attention to calligraphy. It always relaxed me and helped me to concentrate when writing notes.

It all started quite suddenly. I didn't even realize that such a nightmare had happened. The walls of my house have a lot of soundproofing materials, especially this room, to keep me away from all the mundanity of the world outside. That once was. Now it's a chilling horror. Thanks to the soundproofing of this room, when all the ponies outside were screaming in agony from the ghastly and deadly pink fog enveloping them, I was serenely and happily practicing my favorite compositions on my cello. Yesterday, when I intended to go to the restaurant and order their specialty jasmine tea, which I have done every night, I saw a strange pink mist outside the window. Before going out, I tried to figure out what the phenomenon was by looking out the window, and was horrified to see the disfigured body of a pony, which seemed as if it had melted into the sidewalk! I lost my senses. It took me a few hours to regain consciousness. I assumed it was just a nightmare, but I saw the same dark pink gloom and almost passed out again from the melted into the sidewalk pony outside the window. It awakened me, dispelling my drowsiness and forcing me to rise sharply.

In panic and fear I ran to my bedroom and... I'm ashamed to admit it, but like a little filly, I hid under the covers and cried from the rush of emotions. Yesterday morning didn't bode well, but by evening Canterlot was unrecognizable. But what had happened to the rest of the world? Why isn't anyone coming to help? This was something everyone should have noticed. The nation's capital. Or did the damned zebras do it after all? Did they destroy the world?"

Yes... Tavi. The world was destroyed, but he survived. It went through the meat grinder of general anarchy and chaos, but it survived and is now trying to rebuild in some way.

Second note.

"Month of Rain, 17, Yellowday, 1152. Day three since the disaster. Help still hasn't arrived and no one is answering the phone line, the TV shows nothing, the radio only plays classical music. I'm scared to even look out the window, much less go outside. There's enough food in my house for a couple weeks, and then... I don't know what I'll do. Reading is difficult and unbearable for me, especially at a time like this. The only thing that saves me from panic and terror is playing the cello. It always calmed me down, and when necessary, added confidence and mental balance.

I didn't dare go outside. There was a great deal of this pink stuff in the form of gas near the fireplace, and it had appeared in other unprotected places as well. As soon as I got near it, I felt nauseous and dizzy. I shouldn't go outside, otherwise—I have no idea how I'll feel when I'm completely surrounded by a large concentration of this gas. It's lucky that the enchanted soundproofing materials in the walls of the house, especially in this room, have stopped its rampant intrusion."

Lucky indeed. However, lucky in what way? The others are long dead, and you've yet be the dead thing, considering you've been playing the cello nonstop for almost 200 years. And playing such a frightening composition that evokes awe and associations with imminent death. It's frightening to imagine what went through your mind in your last moments of conscious awareness.

Third note.

"Month of Rain, 18, Greenday, 1152. Going on the fourth day since the disaster. I have had to mix the remaining water with wine to make it last longer. I have come to the conclusion that the sewer and water supply systems are somehow saturated with this pink mist, and sooner or later the clean water tanks in the house will be empty and water with this nasty stuff will flow in. Because of the anxiety and oppressive thoughts, I ate too much food. Need to be more frugal so I can last longer. I was finally able to distract myself with reading books, trying not to get too close to the cloud near the fireplace.

Despite my surroundings, I still managed to get a long sleep, but in all cases I had horrible nightmares. When I first tried to doze off during the first twenty-six hours, I couldn't recognize anything in my sleep. An incomprehensible pink void. The last dream I had, I was walking through the streets of Canterlot, surrounded by a pink cloud that made my whole body ache and scared me, for the streets were littered with the remains of ponies spliced into the sidewalk. I woke up in a cold sweat the moment I suddenly began to slowly and painfully stick to the surface of the sidewalk. The pain was so real and believable that I spent another hour or so trying to recover from the experience."

Motley and I's nightmare was also believable, making it seem as if everything was really happening... The first sighting of the jewelry store from the dream, which I had never seen before in waking life, and also a little further away with the sign 'Canterlot remembers all', near which I saw the remnants of a pool of blood. A startling and frightening coincidence that still gives me goosebumps. I still can't get into the meaning of the ominous phrase. All other inscriptions are interpreted without much difficulty, but this particular one... There are too many hypotheses when you think about the meaning of these three words.

The fourth note.

"Month of Rain, 19, Cyanday, 1152. Day five. Was able to start my new composition. Inspiration came when I was listening to a record of a winter blizzard on the gramophone while once again looking at a painting of the snow-capped mountains of the Road of Stars. Now paintings and records are my only opportunity for a change of scenery—at least thanks to them, I've been able to imagine it. It makes my enforced stay here a lot easier.

The nightmare again. This time I was running down a familiar Canterlot street, surrounded by a pink mist that was slowly eating away at me, especially my lungs, and slowly robbing me of my strength. There were muffled pops and explosions coming from somewhere above, but I couldn't raise my head and couldn't see what was happening above the city. My hooves were sticking to the stone paving of the sidewalk with every step. I was afraid to stop. I screamed for help, like so many ponies around me. Some managed to take shelter in the houses. Eventually, there was little strength left, causing me to stumble. A piercing pain gripped my hooves and feet, I was trapped and unable to get out. Before sinking into the pink void, in a last moment of realized and painful agony, I saw my home. For some reason it reminded me of the remains of that poor pony seen on the first day."

It's a typical nightmare related to what I've seen. A familiar street, a dead pony outside her house—which I had already seen in passing as I approached the house. It's not hard to imagine what was happening to the unfortunate ponies who were outside at this tragic moment in history and didn't have time to take shelter somewhere.

Fifth note.

"Month of Rain, 22, Redday, 1152. Eighth day. I finished my song, I didn't want to be distracted by these notes. Though I have plenty of time, playing the cello brings more peace and calm than journaling. Whenever possible, I save calories and move less, for I don't know when help will come. If it comes at all. The song I've written is called Howl of the North Wind.

Tonight, coming from the kitchen, I saw a silhouette flicker through the living room window. I don't know what it was, maybe I imagined it. It's hard to be away from a pony, or anyone for that matter, for so long that you don't start imagining things. The only thing that saves you from the oppressive and consuming feeling of loneliness and anxiety is music. Anything will do, as long as it's not this oppressive silence."

She might have seen a Canterlot ghoul passing by, but they don't usually move around for no reason. I don't exclude the possibility that she was dreaming.

Sixth note.

"Month of Rain, 23, Orangeday, 1152. "Day nine. Nightmares continue every night. I dreamed this one: as I walked through the streets of Canterlot, everything was still shrouded in pink mist, though it didn't affect me for some reason, and my hooves didn't stick to the surface I was walking on. I also saw silent ponies in windows and alleys. It seemed like it should be a joy and comfort to be able to talk to at least imaginary ponies in my dreams, but I had no control over myself and couldn't approach them or even say anything to them. Then again, I had a feeling they were better to watch out for. But one of them came my way. Aside from their widespread silence, the problem was that these ponies were devoid of any colors, it was as if they were covered in a solid darkness, like a boundless void that took the shape of a pony. It was clear now what repulsed me about them. Such instinctive terror would repel anyone. The distinctive feature was also the presence of a frightening silver glow emanating from where the eyes should have been. I woke up because my head had accidentally dropped in the dream, and instead of my body I saw the same vast emptiness. From what I saw I had a panic, I began to choke. When I woke up, I felt my body as if I had just really choked.
I had never been interested in dream interpretation, only in using the symbolism in dreams for inspiration. This time I was drawn to reading books related to the subject—maybe I could find an explanation for my nightmares, or at least find a way to resist them."

Silent figures of ponies that are best avoided. Somewhat reminiscent of the Canterlot ghouls. However, how did she know their eyes had a silver glow? It's an amazing coincidence. Then again, the dreams are so real, it's like you've actually been there. What is the nature of this Pink Cloud?

Seventh note.

"Month of Rain, 24, Yellowday, 1152. Day ten. Once again tried out my new song, making a few edits and changes in note placement; the rest of the day I read books about dreams, but to no avail.

Mentally, I've gotten used to my confinement, but I still have difficulty with anxiety and distress. They don't leave me in any way, but keep getting worse. I only manage to ignore it by reading, listening to music, playing the cello and writing this journal. Loneliness is experienced as incredibly dreary and depressing. Passionately wanting to talk to someone, to hug someone, to feel warmth. Especially Vinyl.

As I suspected, the water from the tap and in the toilet took on a dark pink hue. Just when I touched that water, I experienced something like a burn, even though it wasn't there. It's getting harder to write. Maybe I shouldn't turn off the music on the radio in the kitchen. It soothes and even allures, at least at mealtime.

The nightmares are becoming monotonous. They are repetitive, which is unusual, although the setting, namely the streets or alleys, changes. The scenery is different, the plot is the same."

Alluring music on the radio? Interesting... As is the fact that on the tenth day, classical music is still playing on this frequency. This means that the killer frequency did not arise in the first days, but as a consequence of some factors.

Eighth note.

"Month of Rain, 25, Greenday, 1152. Eleventh day. I had an unusual nightmare. The same images of silent ponies with darkness and emptiness inside, but this time Vinyl's image loomed among them. She wasn't like the others. She had the same appearance she had when she was alive. Even at that age, she manages to look twenty years old. Always envied that. She smiled... just like before. I longed to see her cheerful and energetic smile. I was afraid I'd never see her again. Suddenly, the smile disappeared and her body began to gradually become empty. I felt inexplicable horror, as if she were slowly dying, and I wanted to scream, to do something, but the darkness slowly engulfed her, starting from her hooves and rising to her head. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't, my body watching this monstrous process impassively. An impenetrable emptiness engulfed her, and she became like everyone else, her eyes taking on a frightening silver glow. Then the now routine look at herself. The same emptiness that began to pull me in as soon as I looked there.

I felt like throwing myself into Vinyl's embrace this morning, wanting her to warm me in her hooves. I miss her so much, her cheerful and lively voice. I tried to avoid thinking about her, for that was inevitably followed by thoughts of her fate and nightmares. I wished she was all right. She's the best pony I've ever had in my life: although she can be a bit eccentric at times, she's got a lot of imagination. I wonder what she thinks of me now. Maybe she's trapped somewhere, like me."

She was afraid she wouldn't see the smile again... It clutches my attention for some reason. I'm also curious about the timing of this fear: did she have it long ago, before she went to sleep, or was she describing the feeling of fear after-the-fact? There's that silver glow from the eyes again. She hasn't seen the Canterlot ghoul yet. So why does she see this distinctive feature? Apparently, it must suggest that it was Pink Cloud who was to blame for the nightmares. The silver glow from the eyes of the ghouls manifests after transforming under its influence. I'll keep listening for now.

Ninth note.

"Month of Rain, 26, Cyanday, 1152. Twelfth day. Remembering Vinyl made me want to reread the books. Plus, it helped distract me from the plausible feelings of the nightmares I had experienced.

Vinyl. How many fascinating things I have associated with that name. Who would have thought that such an energetic and reckless mare could have an impact on me. I enjoyed spending time with her. Her crazy thoughts and interests could sometimes inspire me to create new and unusual songs, and her worldview influenced my beliefs about society—and not only society. It was as if she had no shame or shyness about anything. Especially in bed. Before I met her at the University of Music, I couldn't even think of such a thing without feeling ashamed, but even water sharpens stone: it happened to my 'stone' beliefs, and that 'water' was the books she was reading, however funny it might sound in the context of the analogy I chose.

Despite her rambling and socially active nature, she was interested in books and technology in the musical sphere, so that she eventually created a unique musical console for playing various songs, tied to her magic and some spells. Thanks to it, she became popular in no time... which I was envious of at first, but soon got over it. Her music gave me a double feeling, it both attracted and repelled me. Perhaps I was attracted to her because of her association with Vinyl, which was like a breath of fresh air for me. She made my life varied and un-boring.

Anything that could make a sound attracted her attention. She drew her inspiration from the same books about the various ancient cultures of ponies, griffons, yaks, hippogriffs... and their rituals involving melodies and various hymns. Admittedly, I eventually became infected with such exoticism. As she studied the cultures and their customs that changed throughout different periods of history, she saw a pattern, namely that the norms of society are unstable. They change all the time. What used to be normal to some is considered savage and barbaric to us. However, what we now consider good, right, and decent, hundreds or thousands of years from now will turn out to be meaningless, naive, or even disgusting.

At first I resisted these bold and insolent statements, but the more I saw in history books about the changing cultures and customs of nations under the influence of time, the more I leaned toward Vinyl's views. Of course, this had been going on for many years, but still. Because of this, I got rid of my sense of the infallible truth of modern etiquette and customs in our society. I didn't stop following those customs, and neither did Vinyl, but she, unlike me, ignored them most of the time. I, however, continued to use them as a tool for staying in a society that was changing all the time, so I shouldn't hold on to it as something true and right. Thinking about it freed me from various meaningless boundaries and rules at least in my personal life. It's still strange, but Vinyl is still imaginative in bed. And still energetic.

It's a long entry, but the best and most loyal pony deserves attention on my part. After all, she was the one I felt free, open and accepted in front of. I have never met anyone else like her in my entire life. If you're reading this, Vinyl, know that I've always thought of you and never stopped loving you even during the fights. Though you already know that. But it's like with loved ones: from time to time I need to show and remind them of my love for them, not necessarily with words, but at the moment that's all I can do. I don't want to die here like this. Either nightmares will kill me, or starvation, or that damn pink gas."

Yes, society is definitely better now than it used to be. The norms of society are unrecognizable: slavery, murder without trial, survival, cruelty... On the other hand, I agree with her that society is changing, not always for the better because of cataclysms or wars, and even in pre-war times, if you think of Diamond Dogs and Bulls. Her relationship with Vinyl touched me, and now I can no longer be indifferent to it. From her youth to her old age.

Tenth note.

"Month of Rain, 27, Blueday, 1152. Day thirteen. In the living room window on the opposite side of the street, I saw the silhouette of a pony looking in my direction. I was startled out of my fear and immediately dropped to the floor so he wouldn't see me. Something about his figure scared me, I don't know what it was. However, I remember the nightmares now: they caused similar repulsive feelings at the time, prompting me to be wary of the pony. Realizing that nothing was happening, I lifted my head in trembling fear, but the pony was still standing motionless in the same spot, staring out my window. My heart raced as I stood up and dared to get closer. I could make out, in the pink mist, the appearance of the pony from which I fled to the second floor, hiding under the blanket, trembling at the horror of what I saw.

It was the disfigured body of a pony, slick with clothes. It was so disgusting and horrifying that it was hard to believe I was seeing it for real. And the eyes... Oh, the horror! They had a silver glow, just like the one I saw in my dream! What's going on here? How did I know he would have the same glow from his eyes?

For the rest of the day, I did not dare to go down to the first floor, but occupied myself with something that completely captured my thoughts, though not immediately. While thinking about Vinyl and the future of our society as it will be, the idea of a song came to my mind. It's a topic that I feel strongly about now... In case someone finds it. I would like to hope that my works will not be lost in vain."

Is the feeling of rejection the same as in a dream at the sight of dark figures with the outlines of ponies? I don't deny that the sight of the Canterlot ghouls makes one shudder at times, especially the lifeless eyes with the silver glow, but how does all of this relate to what she saw in the dream? According to her, it's the same feeling. Just an association, apparently. Still, the coincidence frightened Octavia.

The eleventh note.

"Month of Leaves, 4, Greenday, 1152. Day eighteen. I've finished the song, and I've named it Hope for the Future. All this time, I tried to avoid the living room and not look out the windows. Food is getting scarce. Nightmares continue to plague me at night. It's the same, only now Vinyl is there, and she's consumed by darkness all the time. My mood is constantly changing, and it's hard to control it, because I don't know why it's changing. It becomes incredibly difficult to think. I have hysterical fits from the nightmares I see, I cry a lot.

Vinyl, please save me from this. Your Octavia needs it."

The signs of nervousness from the isolation in which she found herself were beginning to show. Quite naturally.

Twelfth note.

"Month of Leaves, 4, Greenday, 1152. Day eighteenth. Additional. I don't even know how to write about this. I experienced something horrible today. It will undoubtedly haunt my nightmares. It was those monsters.

I went down to the living room and decided to observe the walking figure that resembled a pony. I stared at it for a long time and couldn't tear my eyes away, though what I saw made me uneasy, repulsed, and coldly afraid. That silver glow from its eyes was somehow mysterious and enigmatic, awe-inspiring. Suddenly, from behind the soundproof walls and windows, I could barely hear someone's scream. For a moment I thought it was a hallucination, but at that very moment the figure turned in the direction from which the cry had come and immediately moved there with an unnatural and rapid stride. Then two more such monsters ran clumsily before my eyes.

Curiosity overpowered me, and I opened the front doors for the first time. I was already used to the pink mist and its effects, so I could be patient enough to get a good look at what was happening outside. No sooner had I opened the door, however, than my consciousness was flooded by a heartbreaking scream of agony and overwhelming pain spreading through the neighborhood. The effect of the pink cloud was reinforced by what I heard, and I felt sick, my lungs burning with fire... But I, obeying some twisted curiosity, poked my head out and saw those things in front of the neighboring house surround somepony and start... eating them alive. Apparently it was a mare, and she was screaming and begging for help, and I was completely paralyzed by what was happening.

Suddenly everything went quiet except for a nasty slurping sound and a predatory growl, and I barely managed to get out of the cloud's embrace... I was already losing consciousness. I was choking and about to die, but in time I waddled to the kitchen, climbed into the medicine drawer and pulled out all the available healing potions... I drank them all in a frantic rush, for as I walked, the impression of what I had seen passed, and soon I felt the burning pain in full, and then I lost consciousness. It was not until several hours later that I awoke.

I dreamed that the pony being eaten alive... was me. I feel really bad: I think I was in the cloud too long, and the effects were irreversible. The potions apparently couldn't cure me completely. I feel nauseous all the time, and there's an occasional whistling in my ears, probably because of the radio in the kitchen, but I don't want to turn it off."

I'm flooded again with memories from my nightmare when I saw Motley stumble, the ghouls catch up to her and start eating her alive. As they did so, she screamed heartbreakingly for help. It seems Tavi was having a tipping point that accelerated her transformation. The museum owner Strawberry Icecream once mentioned on the recording that he had inhaled the stuff and didn't want to turn into one of them. That said, however, he didn't have mood shifts—at least, he didn't mention them.

Thirteenth note.

"Month of Leaves, 1152. I don't know how many days have passed. Maybe a week since the last entry. It's hard to write and think. All the time I'm plagued by annoying nightmares where those things are always chasing me and catching up and then eating me alive, taking chunks of flesh off me. I could hear the sickening crunch of my own bones. I couldn't get a good night's sleep. The nightmares are so realistic that it's hard to distinguish them from reality, so I have no idea how much time has passed. Sometimes the events of the nightmare unfolded already in my house.

Mood swings started to happen more often, I can hardly control my hysterical fits. I keep feeling like something is pulling me somewhere. Suddenly I started to feel a coldness out of nowhere. It comes and goes. Especially after nightmares in my house.

The most recent one at the moment was the one I had after the horrifying incident of the mare being eaten alive. However, more details came out in this dream. Their sharp teeth were still sinking into me and ripping my flesh apart, the resulting piercing insane pain causing my throat to tear up with screaming. It still feels like it was actually happening to me. At some point in this horror, I discerned that the color of my fur was different. It was definitely not mine... and suddenly, just before I lost 'my' life, my head involuntarily turned on its side. As the surroundings around me faded away, I saw myself peering out from the doorstep of my house. It was definitely me... And I was watching myself being eaten alive. It all seemed too real. Reality and nightmares seemed to merge together, and it's already hard for me to tell where reality is and where the dream is. Maybe I'm writing these lines in a dream. I don't understand anything.

My mind is all messed up. I'm already doubting whether that incident was real. Or rather, which of the things I saw were real and which were hallucinations or nightmares."

Toward the end of the note, Motley's voice fades, and she eloquently falls silent. I look away from the vinyl records and stare dumbly at one point, once again remembering the nightmare we saw, the one that started outside that jewelry store. That it had actually happened is hinted at by the sign 'Canterlot remembers all' and the remnants of a pool of blood. In the nightmare, Motley was eaten alive in that exact spot. So was it really happening? How?

A truly horrifying thought: the assumption that I was still dreaming. The store ended up being near the restaurant, in the kitchen of which we fell asleep unnoticed. Perhaps I'm both asleep and awake at the same time, and I'm not seeing all of the reality around me right now.

"Okay, easy... These are dangerous thoughts, Spoiled. Don't be in a hurry to take them seriously. It's not like you can hear me in your dreams. "

What if you're just my imagination?

"Fuck... I didn't think of that. Anyway, be careful. I'd better keep quiet until we have more information."

I ask Motley to read on.

The fourteenth note.

"I see a void. It wants to consume me. Black silhouettes want to consume me and take me into the void! No, I won't give them that easily. Stand up to them, Octavia! Fight them."

I can only guess at the nature of these mad wills. Probably she dreams of the ghouls trying to reach her, and the sensibility of the nightmare she is experiencing is felt vividly in her waking life.

Fifteenth note.

"I think I'm beginning to lose my mind. The moments of consciousness are becoming less and less frequent. In these moments of lucidity, I try to grasp music, my cello playing. It's like it calms my madness and frenzy. Mostly because of hunger. I see my own bite marks on me."

I have to read the next note because Motley can't make out the writing. I still can't make out some of it.

Sixteenth note.

"Cold! Pink void! I hear it Calling me to it. No. Or does. From over there. Voices sing. Radio. How. Beautiful. Silhouettes. They're not. Take me. They ask. Join. Agree. Reach out to. Play along with their chorus. Cello. Can't stop."

Seventeenth note.

"See. Emptiness! It I love it. Peerless. Silhouettes. Like me. Singing. Exalt. It. Radio helps. It. Me. Too. Have to play. Praise it. With. Cello."

That's the end of the notes. It takes me a while to come to my senses and think things over. Motley, meanwhile, is silent and apparently thinking about something of her own, trying to come to some conclusion.

The cellist was trapped in her own house and managed to miss the start of the apocalypse thanks to soundproofing. Unsurprisingly, I couldn't hear the cello howling as I picked the lock on the door. The melody played seemed afterlife-like, causing awe and deep feelings before death. According to the last recording, it was supposedly praising the void, along with a chorus of voices. Now I can see why I saw death motives in her performance. Emptiness, and cold emptiness at that, is always associated with death. Her consciousness was slowly dying, so she saw coldness.

Anyway, she saw the whole nightmare outside when she was about to drink jasmine tea. And to take control, she started keeping a diary on the back of staff paper, reading books, playing the cello and even managed to write two songs. She remembered her beloved Vinyl.

Nightmares kept her awake as she fell asleep. At first she dreamed she was melding into the stone sidewalk after seeing the pony outside, fused to the surface it was on. Walking around surrounded by dark silhouettes whose outlines resembled ponies, among which she later began to see Vinyl. As I had thought earlier, they were Canterlot ghouls, but at that point she had not yet seen them in person, and yet she had somehow become aware of the silver glow of their eyes before she saw them for real. She tried to economize on food and water, but eventually, when they ran out, she even started biting herself in a fit of madness.

That all changed after she looked outside and saw the terrifying and frightening sight of these monsters eating someone alive. Apparently, there were other survivors trapped where Pink Cloud couldn't penetrate in the concentration needed for proper effect. If the concentration was too great, such as outside, their bodies would merge with the surface they were on. And the closer we get to Canterlot's main castle, the more of these—remains along the way. Another reason to believe that Pink Cloud was spreading from the direction of the main castle, and by now the ponies on the outskirts had taken shelter somewhere. Now it was no wonder that we found the decomposed remains of ponies and Canterlot ghouls themselves in the most unusual places.

Then Octavia dreamed of similar stories involving her, where she herself was being eaten alive... And then, after a while, the same dream appeared, but with sudden details—for example, she saw herself from the side, but she wasn't herself. She was so surprised. She clearly hadn't experienced something like that in her dreams yet. It was around this time that she began to lose her sense of time and the boundary between reality and dreams, which could have been caused by the high concentration of Pink Cloud in her body because she had looked outside. Plus it coincided with running out of food.

Full-blown attacks of madness and insanity began. She mentioned some kind of emptiness, something about dark silhouettes, a glorification of emptiness she couldn't resist. She also mentioned a radio that does something... with or for the void. Not to forget that before that, it was like she was under some kind of oppressive pressure. Like Motley and me now.

I am trying to come to some conclusions with Mr. Clean and Motley about the inscription 'Canterlot remembers all'. I have seen this inscription only twice, once in a dream and then in real life. We were definitely ourselves in the dream then, we saw almost the same events, and all of this was somehow reflected in reality. I have a vague premonition that the nightmare we saw, which referred to real reference points that had never been seen before in life, was somehow connected to the fact that Octavia saw herself in her dream from the position of a pony being eaten alive—not to mention knowing about the silver glow in the eyes of the Canterlot ghouls before she had seen even one in real life. And that inscription by coincidence might turn out to be a clue. Just a little more, and I could find that key thread to pull and thus unravel the tangle of the mystery of our nightmares.

After reading the notes and thinking about it, we decide to take the silver cello, the sheet music with her songs on it, both her own and others' songs, and her vinyl records from this room.

I ask the pegasus to carry all of our trophies to Venture, and she takes off all of her gear and her battle saddle to get more, but it's not enough: she has to make two trips. I use telekinesis to help tie up and secure everything so that Motley won't have any difficulties during the flight, as there are plenty of ropes and fasteners in the basement of the house.

The pegasus goes to Venture, while I decide to get some more books from the library on the first floor. The books I've seen are rare in the Wasteland, and I've been more and more interested in the history of the world and the limits of its possibilities lately. If something horrible and catastrophic happened in the Dome that would leave not only the surviving technology but also the knowledge of the pre-war world gone, I'd have to look for references to long-distance travel and other worlds elsewhere, in books, for example. Perhaps then I'll give those books to the Vanhoover Polytechnic: such things are noticeably lacking there. Crimson Sky would be delighted.

I believe that although myths and legends are not to be trusted, they are all based on something: one can discern a pattern in these speculations that leads to interesting insights. The ponies of the pre-war past realized the usefulness of ancient knowledge—of course, it couldn't compare to modern knowledge, but it couldn't be called unnecessary either. It might help them find the answer. That was what the ponies hoped for as they tried to end the war.

Picking up the books and flipping through the annotations and prefaces, I stare at the corpse of Pink Cloud's victim, buried beneath the bloody books. Because of the notes she left behind, I now can't look at her without a fraction of sympathy and sorry. It's a little heartening to know that even in a moment of madness and unconsciousness, she was doing what she loved to do. I guess it's true that canterlost ghouls do all the same things they did before they 'died'. At least what was in their habits. For Octavia, it's playing the cello. For the servant of the White Sun Cult, it's casting a shockwave spell at the sight of an enemy.

"Don't worry," I say in a reassuring tone, looking at the body. A smile touches my lips. " Your music won't get lost in the sands at times. I'll make sure your work pleases the ears of modern listeners."

Having shown this sentimentality, I am relieved, after which I no longer want to look back at the disfigured headless body.

This time I decide to take more books than the astronomy teacher's house. There are about three dozen of them. I also try to choose ones that would interest my pegasus. I pack them all into a cardboard box I found in the basement and set them by the entrance, next to two crates of vinyl records. Motley returns almost immediately, and I instantly load her up with the rest of my luggage. She sighs tiredly, but without saying anything, she takes to carrying it all into our main means of transportation. Meanwhile, I'm perusing the electronic version of the Steel Rangers' head scribe's book on repair spells. My knowledge, like my body, must be kept up to date, constantly refreshed.

Time flies by, Motley soon shows up. She asks for a little rest, after which she straps on her battle saddle and bags. We set off on our journey to the home of Sonorous Splash.

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 4)

View Online

We reach the house mentioned in Sonorous Splash's letter, turning off a few more radios along the way. It looks like an unremarkable two-story weathered house with peeling plaster and broken windows.

This is the moment when I can learn something that will save me the time of searching for the keycard, for, unfortunately, the tracking chip does not point to this house. And yet, I cross the threshold of the house with excitement, picking the lock and first making sure no one is inside. Kind of.

I'm too thrilled with anticipation.

We look around the house and search its corners. The interior isn't anything special: shelves of books, paintings on the walls, vases and pots of withered plants, upholstered furniture, a TV, and that sort of thing. In the surroundings one can feel that medics lived here, as evidenced by the books and magazines found throughout the house, as well as tools and medical products that are not found in ordinary citizens.

On the second floor there are three bedrooms, one of them has a large bed, but only in the room with a small bed we find a safe behind the closet, where after breaking the very difficult and enchanted lock we find the memory orb mentioned in the letter. It becomes apparent that Sonorous did not go to meet her 'employers'. She was probably in her Ministry of Morale or elsewhere at the time of Pink Cloud's appearance.

I almost look into the memory orb. My irrepressible curiosity is overcome by Motley snatching the orb from my telekinetic grasp with a shimmering bluish glow.

"What do you think you're doing?" she exclaims with indignation and surprise. "We can't let our guard down in a place like this. Have you forgotten what happened when we just fell asleep in the ruins of this city?"

"I..." I begin bashfully, stunned. "Y-yes... You're right. I didn't think about how Pink Cloud would affect me if I started going through the memory orb."

She sighs heavily over the radio and then walks over to me, giving me the opportunity to magically pick up the orb carefully, which I do, dipping it into one of my bags.

"I understand how you want to stick your curious nose in there," she says condescendingly, poking the front of my helmet lightly in the nose area, "but let's get out of here first."

"Right..." I utter slightly detachedly, staring at the framed photograph standing on the modest wooden dresser beside the bed. "Besides, I doubt I'll learn the location of the keycard in that memory orb. It's more likely to contain something about the Dome itself."

The picture shows three ponies. A stallion with a short mane is hugging two mares on his right and left sides. One mare with her mane tied up in a bundle is to his left, to his right is a pony with glasses on her face. One of them has made a note in her letter about the other two as her loved ones.

"What do you think," I begin, looking at the picture, "who do you think they were to each other?"

Motley turns around for a moment.

"A single father and two daughters? Father, mother and daughter?" she ponders aloud, looking in my direction. "No... They're the same age. In love."

"And who's in love with whom?"

"All three are in loving relationships with each other, probably a polygamous family," the pegasus says in a light and carefree tone, as if it's an obvious thing. My thoughts seem to hang in the air.

Wait, what?

"Wait, what?"

"Are you telling me that before the war, ponies had legal marriages with more than one partner?"

"Well... yes," a pegasus' confused voice comes over the helmet's internal radio. A short sigh follows, indicating some sort of realization. "Oh... I forgot. According to the stories from your world, humans are monogamous creatures."

"Not exactly. There have been polygamous relationships in various cultures in human history, but in recent times, it is monogamous relationships that have taken hold in the leading and developing countries of the world, while polygamy has been deemed unacceptable, at least on an official level".

"Ponies were also, in the prehistoric era, polygamous and herd creatures. I don't remember much about that, I'll just say that the ratio of stallions to mares in those distant times was more unequal than it is now. In general, there was always an alpha stallion and an alpha mare. The main stallion protected and guarded the herd, while the main mare was busy searching for food. Only the main stallion had access to the fertilization of the other mares, and the other grown stallions either competed for leadership or left to find another herd."

"And then what happened? What led to the ponies becoming exactly what they are now?"

"A lot of things happened, of which I remember almost nothing, just the gist of it. Different concentrations of magic affected the evolution of living things, and ponies were no exception. The alpha mare took on more responsibilities, she decided to oversee the future success of her offspring and the offspring of the other mares in the herd, helping them create a new herd. This was not without the cooperation of other top mares from other herds. Thus after a while even the alpha stallion was out of power, as he only acted as a guard and fertilizer. Whereas the alpha mare began—if I may put it this way—to engage in foreign policy. She commanded her offspring, creating entire dynasties, and thus came the matriarchy."

"Now that's enterprise... We've had kings and powerful families in human history actually make such alliances, forcing their children to marry the children of other kings and families."

"As I see it, the principle is the same. Only we've got the top mares starting to run things. Of course, there are many nuances and regulations... Anyway, this way of life was established for a long period of time. And gradually rebellious thoughts began to grow when the mares did not want to be controlled, the stallions as well... Then the herd and polygamy in particular were associated with force and slavery, and the subject of sex partly came under attack. Personal qualities began to rise. Social rebellion reached its peak and the obligation to be a member of the herd disappeared along with the obligation to have foals. By this time the ratio of stallions to mares was not as striking as before, there were two or three mares per stallion as there are now. It hasn't been that long since the initial period, but it was long before Celestia and Luna."

"And how did the mares cope with being alone with no stallions? There are more of them from my observations."

"Due to a multitude of factors, most mares have an even stronger bisexuality because of the predominance of mares in society. They make up half of them. The remainder, however, are absolute lesbians and straights. Polygamy was not forbidden, but because of the elevation of personality, finding even one suitable partner proved difficult. It is precisely a matter of characters and personalities that just don't fit together. There are problems in polygamous relationships—given those in monogamous relationships as well—that make it difficult to find a second partner. For example, mares, because of complexes or whatever, don't want to be in a low rank, and stallions don't want to feel used and left out of family affairs, afraid of becoming unneeded as they age. It is monogamous relationships that have been successful for more than a millennium, polygamy, as you can see from the previous point, is unstable."

"Polygamous ones fall apart faster..." I conclude.

"Exactly."

"What about you?"

"Well... I've always wanted to have more than one pony in the family, whether it's a stallion or a mare, as long as we love each other. My Light, for example, didn't really want anyone else."

"Neither did I," I respond. "I had no desire to look for someone else if the current relationship was perfectly fine. That's with Brisa, I had absolutely no internal motivation to look for a third."

"And you don't have to look for..." Motley says casually.

"What do you mean?"

"If you deliberately look for another partner, you'll never get anywhere. I've already tried... With my marefriend. We've had some serious fights. It turns out that for one reason or another, either I didn't like something about the other pony, or she didn't like something about the other pony, or the other pony didn't like something about me. You know, it's like dancing. It's easier to dance with one partner than with several, achieving multilateral synchronization, working as a team... and... whatever."

"I'm sorry, I'm just not used to all this. Right now it's hard for me to think about anyone else when you satisfy me in every way I need."

"Oh... that's flattering," she goes silent for a few seconds. "It's just..." she falls silent again.

"And why are you so drawn to finding another partner?"

"I don't deny that it's very difficult to achieve mutual understanding, sincerity and honesty with each other, there are more conflicts, but at the same time there are positives too."

"Such as?"

"In fights, sometimes a third party who can resolve the conflict will be helpful."

"What about friends or relatives? Can't they handle it?"

"They won't be able to see the whole picture of what's going on. With sincerity between the partners and equal rights, the conflict will be resolved safely. Plus, sometimes someone can get boring and you want to chat..."

"Get boring?"

"The abundance of sweets also makes you nauseous sometimes, you know. You have noticed that there are three bedrooms in this house, haven't you? As you can see, someone's going to want to be alone or have a quiet night's sleep. The more, the harder, but also the more fun. I can tell you more about it later if it interests you," she offers with hope in her voice.

"Like I said, I'm not used to to love two at once."

"Parents have several children—yet manage to love and pay attention to all of them."

"That's a bit different."

"Sure, but it's the closest analogy. Just... think about it, please. I'm not asking you to make a decision right away and look for someone else. But if someone catches your eye and mine, why not involve her or him in our family? It's not as loose a relationship as you might think, I'm not willing to trust you with just anyone. And if you feel like you're the only one pulling the strings for everyone, I'll tell you that's not true. The responsibilities are shared equally, but there are nuances. Anyway, it's too complicated a topic to speculate on here. Like I said, think about it, get used to the idea of that kind of relationship..."

"But you had a fight with your marefriend. I don't want to fight with you."

"No one does. Yeah and we were about twenty years old at the time. Fire and hot."

"You're still hot right now," I point out playfully.

Motley blushes and laughs.

"Well... not so much in that sense. Hot in the head. We've... dreamed too much and made plans for a family, and reality, as you know, has little to do with dreams. It's been quite a few years since then, and I've come to understand more about how the world works—though it seems like I never fully will."

A silence hangs in the air. I ponder and piece together what the pegasus has said. It will be a new experience either way. Plus I'm curious myself as to how it will work. Yes, it comes with risks and difficulties—but I've been taking risks all my life. So why not? At the very least, it's an interesting experience, even though I don't really need it.

"Okay," I reply after a short pause, staring at the picture again. They look quite happy. "I'll think about it, angel."

A joyful squeak is heard from her side, and she wraps me in a hug. Yeah, this is an important issue for her. And what kind of plans has she set up for herself that makes a polygamous relationship look more favorable to her than a monogamous one? There'll be time to find out. All that's left is to find the keycard and get out of this gloomy town.

"You're seriously going to think about this? Well you... You're just... I have no words, your level of pony nature corruption just increased."

Shut up.

***

We leave Sonorous's house, and a steady red marker immediately appears on my Pip-Boy's compass.

From the moment I found myself amidst the ruins of Canterlot, surrounded by the remnants of Pink Cloud, the red and neutral markers have been constantly appearing and disappearing, and only Motley has been continuously displayed to me. This can only mean one thing: the marker is definitely not pointing at a ghoul. I'm letting Motley know.

We move toward the marker, which is displayed somewhere in the depths of a four-story building with a kind of barbershop on the first floor. We are on the opposite side of the street: having entered an empty house, we observe a potential enemy from there.

It's a large dark blue pony with a horn and... wings. An alicorn.

Here we finally meet. Motley mentioned that the Goddess's subjects, her alicorns, are resisting her quite successfully in this place: constant failures indicate that they are unable to band together in pursuit of what their great, powerful, and self-assertive mistress craves. They rebel in a way that any opposition would envy. But what am I to do about this, uh... individual?

The alicorn is still being displayed as hostile. I tend to trust the processing abilities of Pip-Boys and PipBucks, for they have been known to calculate the anticipated reaction to my appearance in a scanned creature's field of view by analyzing the target's electrochemical brain activity for hostility. However, because this is done at a distance, accuracy is far from perfect. About sixty-two percent of the time, Pip-Boy correctly predicted enemy hostility. With robots, the case is simpler.

There's no way to get past it, because the tracking chip points to the barbershop building, where she's looking for something, peering behind the furniture. I freeze in indecision, staring at another inscription on the white plaster building next door. This one is different from all the others, each letter a different color, and it reads, "RAINBOW IS AN UPSIDE-DOWN HORSESHOE."

I wonder what made one think of a rainbow in a place like that?

I almost get distracted by unnecessary musings. Motley quickly dispels my doubts about rebellious alicorns by informing me that in all recorded cases, the alicorns in Canterlot act aggressively towards non-alicorns. They seek to either kill or capture and use as bait to distract the ghouls.

I wonder about their resistance to Pink Cloud. I take to thinking over a plan.

"One way or another, we're going to draw attention. Motley," I say into the radio, thinking passionately, "get lost."

"What?.."

"Ugh, I mean, hide and lie low," I quickly clarify. "We have surprise on our side. I'll distract the alicorn on me, and you pick a good moment and position to attack her from the rear. I'll try to lure her outside."

"Sounds simple. Good. However, even though we attack first, don't be so cocky, it breeds carelessness. I'll get on the roof, so that I can then strike it with Pushy from above."

I get close to the barbershop building on the left side, closer to that sign, and the pegasus stealthily flies up into the air and lurks on the roof. From inside is heard the inaudible but clearly indignant mutterings of the alicorn, frantic rustling and the occasional random pounding of hooves on tile. She's looking for something, and she wants to find it fast.

"What are you waiting for?" Motley asks over the radio.

"A miracle," I reply briefly, once again wondering if I've overlooked something important. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing myself, I turn on my helmet's external speaker and yell, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

In an instant, I hear the flapping of wings... but I can't see anything.

What? What the... Oh. Fuck! I forgot that blues become invisible!

Before I realize it, I'm standing against the wall of the building, erecting a magical shield around me, which is immediately evaporated by the lightning strike, causing a brief pain in my horn and disorienting me.

Motley jumps up, flapping her wings, covered in the Enclave power armor, in an energy-magic knuckle attack pose. The blow strikes the invisible alicorn, and a bluish halo appears around the point of impact in the form of a flash. Immediately after the blow, the pegasus groups herself and uses her wings to slow down for a long jump to land comfortably and easily on all four legs. It's beautiful and graceful. Motley is a joy to watch.

After the blow, the invisibility spell dissipates and the winged blue unicorn's body falls sideways. Half of her head is disemboweled in the area of the blow, blood dripping onto the stone-paved road with a squishing sound, half of her skull shattered, the inside of her head nothing but a bloody mess of brains and bones.

"You're as usual..." the pegasus utters, approaching the corpse but communicating with me over the radio. "Remind me, how many times have I gotten you out of a mess like this?"

"I was just..." I pause for a few seconds, searching for an excuse, "pretending to be helpless so that you'd look like an even more majestic angel than you could possibly imagine."

"So I believed you," she says mockingly. Crowds of ghouls pour out of every crevice as if from a cornucopia. Without wasting time, the pegasus flies toward me, swiftly grabs me with her front legs, and lifts me into the air, dropping me onto the roof slope of the four-story barbershop building.

"Where to now, rooster?" she inquires, lying on her stomach and breathing heavily.

"We still need to look in the building below us, there's either the key card or a radio on."

"It's a bit difficult to do that right now because of the line below..."

From below we can hear the hostile snarls of the dead guys crowded around us, wanting to taste our flesh.

"We'll have to sneak in without being seen by the line, or they'll bite us," I say after a short pause. A shiver rolls through my body at the memory of today's nightmare.

"Like any place, if you try to get in without a line..." the pony says dejectedly, glancing warily over the ledge of the roof. "I'll have to distract them. I'll be the bait this time."

"What?" I worry.

"I'll be fine," she claps me on the shoulder with her front leg. "I have the advantage," she moves her wings demonstratively to confirm her words.

"Just make sure you don't get hit with a spell or grabbed by telekinesis if you find a ghoul capable of such a thing."

"Don't forget, the Enclave's power armor has a special magical matrix that prevents a unicorn from using a telekinesis spell on me. It also partially neutralizes magic damage. Everything will be just magical..." The growls from below do not stop. "How impatient," she mutters, sighing heavily. "Okay, I'm off to tease them with my butt."

"Do it in a way that makes me admire you."

She pokes me in the shoulder in response, causing me to give a suppressed chuckle.

"I'm only doing this for you..." she utters as she flies up into the air and hovers above a street swarming with Canterlot ghouls. "Hey, buttheads! Looking for me?" she shouts loudly with the external speaker on, and then slowly, gently swaying, she flies further down the street. From below comes the haphazard stomping of hooves on the stone-paved road. After waiting another minute or so, I look down. No one.

Great. I can go downstairs.

There's a balcony on the fourth floor. I hang on the edge of the roof, supporting myself with a telekinetic field so I don't slip and fall down, and carefully jump onto that balcony. Drawing my sword at the ready, I step inside. There are small concentrations of Pink Cloud swirling around, and the furniture and other furnishings look more or less decent. Without wasting much time looking around, I approach the front door, but no sooner do I get close to it than my ears pick up a Canterlot frequency. Not a keycard...

I hang the sword back on the strap.

What to do? The mark points to the right. I try telekinesis to open the door, but it's locked. I have to pick the lock from a distance, which is unusual and difficult in itself. Once I manage to 'defeat' it, I open the door: a hallway appears before me.

"Motley, are you okay in there?" I call out over the radio.

"Uh-huh... I amuse the ghouls by wiggling my hips in front of them. How's your situation?" she asks distractedly.

"I can tell you it's definitely not the key card."

"Too bad... So, should I pick you up?"

"Sure, I'll just try to disable the receiver now."

I look around for something that would help me locate the radio receiver. Disabling it from a distance isn't such a problem, but I need to see what I'm doing, or at least have an idea of where it is.

My gaze clings to the dusty wooden-framed mirror hanging in the hallway. I shroud it in the bluish glow of telekinesis, carefully remove it from the wall, wipe it clean with a piece of cloth on the dresser, and levitate it into the hallway. I tilt it to the sides at various angles until the reflection shows a radio receiver, shrouded in a dense cluster of pink gas and located at the end of the corridor near an open window on a small wooden table with a silhouette of a pony sitting with its back to me on a wooden chair. The pony is obviously dead, its body a single piece with the chair. Outside the window, the outline of a grand and magnificent white castle with dark purple domes is barely distinguishable. It was a beautiful sight once, I think.

Flicking the switch, I walk back out onto the balcony, hanging the mirror back up before I do so. I wait for the pegasus to pick me up, and we head out to check the rest of the marks pointed out by the tracking chip.

The last fight had unfortunate consequences for me. In another imminent clash with the ghouls, one creature managed to bite my nose, or rather, the nose part of my helmet, which left it open to small concentrations of Pink Cloud. Since the helmet's construction is rather intricate and complex, I can't do without specific spare parts here. I need to find any helmet with a respirator system, for it has fallen into disrepair due to a powerful bite from the walking corpse, and there are no spare parts on Venture anyway due to my oversight. I didn't realize the respirator part of the helmet would be affected. We had to go down into the underground sewers and sewage systems because of this incident, as the concentration of Pink Cloud is pretty much reduced to zero here: all the gas has either condensed or mixed with the water.

"ACHOO!" I sneeze suddenly and loudly, bringing myself out of my thought, walking quietly behind Motley.

The pegasus jumps up in surprise, cursing, and a chorus of angry growls can be heard from a nearby collector corridor. Darkness reigns all around, dispelled only by the light of my Pip-Boy and the beam of Motley's helmet flashlight.

"Sneezing leads to trouble..." I say guiltily with growing worry.

The pegasus in front of me is silent, clearly trying to contain her emotions.

"So you sneered at our covert mission?" she finally smirks in a nervous tone.

I can feel it in her shaky voice as she jokingly tries to contain her anger and with it her growing anxiety. We both remember what we saw in the dream—when a crowd of dead ponies came at us in a similar situation. This time, however, we did something we hadn't thought of in the nightmare: we promptly managed to take several types of battle drugs. Thanks to the power armor with automation of this process, Motley only needs to do a few manipulations, while I need to consume them myself.

A whole pack of the living dead rolls in from the next room, becoming one with their service gear in the form of gold-colored jumpsuits. The moment they appear, I feel the effects of the drugs: I feel a rush of energy, my perception of the world around me is sharpened, my muscles are buzzing with tension and eagerness to kick some ass, and my reactions are noticeably faster: now I can see almost every movement of the ghouls.

"Let the orgy begin!" I scream out emotionally and under the influence of the drugs as we are attacked by the crowd of dozens of colorful ponies.

Everything happens so fast that I don't have time to realize; it's as if my body is moving on its own. Precise sword swings, fountains of blood, torn pieces of skin and flesh, Pushy blows and flashes with a bluish halo of light, a wriggling scorpion tail with an incredibly sharp sting, cutting through the air and penetrating bodies. This is not combat... it's a vast chaos and bacchanalia of nasty smacking and slapping sounds, vicious and predatory growls, heavy harsh sighs, whistling stings, swords, and muffled punches.

At some point I realize that they're going to overpower us anyway. I fire my Illumination, using the standard firing mode, aiming straight for their mouths. One gets so close that it nearly bites off the front of the barrel. To all this unrestrained chaos is joined by the humming and bright loud shots of energy-magic weapons, both mine and the pegasus. She decides not to delay either, firing the orange Typhoon plasma rifle at the combat saddle. Areas of the ghouls' bodies are melted and charred by the shots, and sometimes they turn into blue-white ash or a viscous, disgusting puddle in a small flash of light.

Everything is stained with blood, the remains of decapitated and mutilated bodies. The smell of burning, nauseating and pungent, making the aftermath of the battle even more repulsive and revolting.

We overcome this dozen, but the energy-magic weapons we fire attract the ghouls from the more distant underground corridors. With our weapons ready and in a defensive posture, we open fire with our energy-magic rifles: sometimes we have to fire several shots to kill these creatures, but sometimes a single shot to the head is enough.

Flying orange plasma blasts and blue lightning bolts light up the corridor, and the bodies of the ghouls either lose their heads or turn to ash or puddles, glowing with joy and delight. Whenever possible, I activate the special firing mode of Illumination—the group one, for the ghouls are quite often close to each other. The shots are so intense that we barely have time to reload the spark batteries.

Suddenly, everything goes quiet. We kill another two dozen ghouls—hopefully the noise of the gunfire didn't disturb the ones above us too much. Motley's plasma weapon hums steadily, while my thunderbolt rifle, with its homemade and bushcraft modifications of the Steel Rangers' head scribe, is slightly smoking and glowing orange-red. After such intense firing, it's in for a long overhaul. But its condition is still far from critical.

"Even in the sewers of Red Spark," Motley responds with a choking voice, "the exposing due to your careless step on someone's bone wasn't that critical."

"That was an accident. And it wasn't up to me now. It was my body."

"So it's not comfortable with secrecy."

"Yeah," I agree. "It's like it's a masochist—it likes to get his ass kicked in adventures."

"Ooh, I'm going to spank you for that sneeze!" the pegasus murmurs in a fake-threatening tone, turning to me, and then... falls into my embrace. "Anyway, I'm glad it all turned out okay," she adds relieved.

"Me too. Our armor didn't survive it, though," I remark, and my gaze slides over the dents and bite marks from the ghouls.

Her armor is tougher than mine—so I can see not only the bite marks, but parts of the armor are torn off, and some of the bites have touched my fur as well, tasting a bit of my flesh, thankfully the wounds aren't too deep. They also awarded my bags with their bites, ruining some of my gear.

Voracious bitches.

"Never mind... The important thing is that we survived," she says tiredly. "Oh... Wonder... what happens when the effects of the drugs wear off. The important thing is not to pass out."

"We didn't take that big a dose. But you're right, we need to find a rest stop and relax."

The battle drugs were still in effect when, in the rooms nearby, we found a makeshift laboratory, housed in two rooms, near which we found a wall that had collapsed from an explosion. The explosion had occurred long ago due to malfunctioning generators located in the neighborhood of the collectors in the technical rooms of some medical institution.

On the tables, corroded to varying degrees, are flasks with reagents, beakers, test tubes, instruments and equipment of varying levels of sophistication and purpose like high-tech microscopes, terminals and consoles, as well as other research supplies and tools.

Some of the glass vials and test tubes contain condensed Pink Cloud, both purified and mixed with other chemical elements and substances like water. On other tables are the remains of decapitated Canterlot ghouls or parts of their bodies, the severed head of one of the ghouls is attached by electrodes and wires to some device the size of a closet. They are, of course, permanently dead without any hint of movement.

There are two beds in the corner. All devices and light sources are turned off, but are connected to two generators, one powered by organic fuel while the other is powered by gems.

There is still some liquid left in the generator running on organics. After inspecting it and making sure it's fine, I start it up, but not on the first try. After turning it on, it hums and shakes slightly, and then I flick the switch to which the wires from this generator go. I immediately realize that the lights in this room and the next room are connected to it. The bulbs flicker and illuminate the space with a white-yellow light. By method of elimination, it becomes obvious that the gem-powered generator has been powering all the equipment around it—but I have no desire to bring it back to life.

The next rooms are full of chains, straps, and other mechanisms for restraining the ferocious prisoners. The walls are rife with scratches, dents, and bites. The room is divided in two by a small force field, currently turned off. One side once held prisoners, and the other a few tables with records, instruments, and with vials of condensed Pink Cloud.

"On this side," I say aloud, feeling the withdrawal of the effects of the drugs, which forces me to crouch down beside the table, "apparently, observations were conducted on the Canterlot ghouls." I take a quick glance to examine the contents of the notes. "These records confirm my thoughts," I conclude.

"Who would think of experimenting on Canterlot ghouls?" Motley glances at the chains. "Oh..." she says tiredly. "It's hard to stand on my hooves..." she sits down exhaustedly.

"Let's go to the other room. We'll rest there and get something to eat. After such a grueling fight, I'm really hungry."

"Me, too..." the pegasus says sluggishly and walks off into the next room, wobbling.

I follow her with the same unsteady walk.

In the next room—surrounded by a multitude of instruments, tables, chemical supplies, and the cut-up bodies of ghouls—we fill up on our supplies and settle down to rest. At the moment, I'm also suffering from magical exhaustion, so I have to take my magic recovery potion, which, incidentally, partially helps with regaining my stamina. So I'm feeling better than the pegasus at the moment. She, on the other hand, has taken off her power armor, stretched out, and is lying on the bed.

"Let my body breathe a little," she says, looking up at the ceiling with tired eyes. I walk over to her. "Pink Cloud doesn't feel right here at all. It makes me want to take a nap."

"You want to relive the nightmare?" I ask with a sneer. Her eyes go wide. "I understand that temporary fatigue sets in after battle drugs, but bear with me... if it doesn't work, I'll keep waking you up."

"I was going to ask you about that anyway... What about you? Don't you want to sleep?"

"Not really," I shrug. "The magic recovery potion partially boosts my physique, so I don't feel like sleeping at all... I'd rather look at the notes on the terminal."

"Lucky you..." she mutters.

I lean over and kiss her.

"Considering I have a fully naked angel with graceful forms in front of me... Yeah, I agree, I'm lucky."

The pegasus giggles.

"Why don't you read those notes to me?" she asks.

"Aren't you tired of hearing my voice?"

"Nope," she blurs into a goofy grin. I just shake my head, feeling myself smile.

I walk over to the terminal and turn it on. The entries are divided into three categories. The first category is called 'Observations and Research Results', the second is 'Research Summary Report in Audio Format', and the third is 'Research Summary Report in Text Format'.

"I won't have to read it out, either... There are audio recordings here," my voice echoes through the room, slightly overlapping the hum of the generator.

I open the first category, my jaw nearly dropping from what I see.

"I'm not going to go over the methods and progress of the research, the number of tools and resources involved... it would take days to read it all out non-stop..." I say monotonously, taking a quick look at the first category. "Especially since everything here is rife with scientific terms and concepts in biology and genetics, tons of numbers, tables and calculations."

"Let's turn on those reports."

I play the first recording and the room fills with a voice, fast and clear in pronunciation. The voice is incredibly familiar.

"Intro."

"For those who can't read. This is my seventh research and study site. The current target is Canterlot and Pink Cloud. This audio diary is intended to summarize all the information and research and analysis I have received at this place. For more information on the experiments conducted here, please see: Observations and Research Results."

"Oh, that's..." the pegasus gasps before she can finish. She huffs and turns her head toward the terminal, which I stare at in a daze from beside it.

"Our acquaintance... Professor," I conclude, turning back to the pegasus, then turning my gaze back to the slightly flickering green screen. "And why was he silent on the fact that he visited this place and that he apparently had information about the Canterlot ghouls and Pink Cloud!" I genuinely wonder with growing indignation.

My mind is now a chaos of outrage and embittered thoughts.

How could he do this to me? After all, he knew we were going to such a dangerous place, a place he had not only visited, but also conducted experiments to explore the surroundings! I wouldn't be surprised if there's information about the ghouls that we recently obtained visually at the risk of our lives. It's... just... fucking unfair. I want to punch that Professor in the face.

"Maybe he just forgot. You know how busy he is and how absorbed he is in his work."

"I guess..." I say condescendingly.

My anger slowly cools down: I remember that because of his work, he's not used to being interested in what's going on around him. Besides, he brewed magic recovery potions when I asked him for help on the trip. Though perhaps he didn't think we'd be exploring the grim and dangerous ruins, considering we had a tracking chip that would have led us straight to our destination. Still, it was frustrating to realize that we could have known useful information before we even visited Canterlot. Swallowing my frustration, I play the next entry while lazily browsing through the methods of experimentation in the relevant sections.

"Preparation."

"I had to employ the services of an experienced mercenary griffon this time, as it is extremely dangerous to engage in scientific activities alone in the ruins of Canterlot. This mercenary is completely ignorant of any scientific field of endeavor, which is quite typical of the average resident of the Wasteland, but he has enough experience and skills in combat and survival. In such a dangerous place, his muscles and wings will be useful. Besides, he didn't mind exploring the ruins of Canterlot, but he didn't want to go alone or with someone who didn't know anything about the place, not to mention the fact that it was hard to trust anyone in the Wasteland.

Seeing me as a 'driven egghead', he agreed to keep me safe in the ruins of Canterlot for the duration of my research, hoping that with my help he would get the information he needed and be better able to navigate and survive in the midst of Pink Cloud and the Canterlot ghouls than anyone else. His motivation is clear—he wants to gain knowledge and experience that will help him take on hired jobs in the local ruins, as there are few others willing to travel to these mythical but treasure-filled places, despite the tempting pay. Obviously, one's own skin is worth more. We will negotiate payment upon completion of my research work.

Watching me, he decided to follow my example and started to keep something like a diary, where he wrote down the main things he had found out in the course of various researches, and also poured out his opinion about it. Having a griffon has helped me avoid traveling through dangerous ruins, and it has also flown out of Canterlot and beyond to get us food and clean water from nearby springs while I've been researching."

He was lucky: he had found a companion and could thereby safely avoid the oppressive influence of Canterlot's atmosphere, followed by the inevitable loss of sanity. Isolation from society in itself has a negative effect on the mental state of any social individual. Professor, however, was hardly threatened by it; I would say he was more comfortable with it, given the eagerness with which he immersed himself in his work.

A cursory examination of the records from the section 'Observations and Results of Research', namely, how the research was conducted, what formulas, methods, calculations and other mathematical analysis were used, shows once again that Professor is very demanding and careful about his work. Such diligence, attention to detail and routine double-checking of the results would be envied by anyone, and I am not talking about the complexity of the analysis of the results, which are full of terms and definitions from genetics, biology, chemistry and medicine that are largely incomprehensible to me. He is clearly burning desire to create a universal tool that will help to get rid of unwanted mutations. A universal template that can be tweaked to fit any mutation.

"The Equipment."

"My first research was directly related to Pink Cloud itself, it was afterward that I began studying its spawns. It was necessary to assess the extent of its impact on the environment. For this purpose, we were looking for a suitable place to conduct experiments. Among the criteria was always the presence of some medical center or institute with medical orientation, and even better with biological or genetic one. There I could find not only the equipment and supplies I needed, but also the relevant literature and data on recent experiments and observations. By recent, in this case, I mean those conducted just before the fall of the megaspells. We found such a place, it belonged to the Ministry of Peace, as expected. Fluttershy Neurosurgery Research Institute.

We got most of the equipment from there. In the technical rooms, after the explosion, there was a hole in the wall that gave access to the collector systems, and we set up the lab in one of the rooms. Of course, some of the equipment and devices were in a deplorable state, but, having a decent experience with such equipment, I managed to bring it back to life and immediately began to analyze the substance of Pink Cloud.

In the course of the experiments, the equipment was gradually replenished with more and more complex and sophisticated samples, so that the experiments and research became more accurate, allowing me to test the results on different equipment and devices, to reduce the error and exclude the influence of external factors. The purity of the result is above all, the truth depends on it. My digital library has also been updated with new literature, which will give me the opportunity to share it with other scientists who have already met on my path. This Canterlot is simply a treasure trove of knowledge. Had I visited it initially, I probably could have avoided the mistakes of researching at other sites.

Soon I was lucky enough to stumble upon an entire settlement of intelligent Canterlot ghouls in Stable 1 under the Ministry of Wartime Technology, something I could not have expected. Rumors of secret lords in Canterlot turned out to be not so unfounded, but still remain exaggerated, as will be revealed later. They are also victims of Pink Cloud. I found out from them where I could try to find more advanced research technology, specific scientific literature, and some useful information about Pink Cloud itself that was available to them through observation. In some cases, I was able to trade food and technology that I could not find myself for other items I or the mercenary had found, as well as for information that I had extracted on Pink Cloud at the time. The cooperation was mutually beneficial.

A list of all the equipment I received is in the 'Observations and Research Results' section under the sub-section: Equipment."

Another storm of puzzlement and shock arises in my mind. Intelligent Canterlot ghouls? And why haven't I met them yet? Do they only inhabit Stable 1?

Motley is as surprised as I am. Before I can get my head around it, my backup PipBuck marks the place on the map. I'm distracted by it. Stable 1 is near the main castle—that's where, by my humble mental calculations, Pink Cloud spread from. Yeah... it'd be funny if they had the keycard. The entrance to the Stable is under the Ministry of Wartime Technology. Interesting decision—though why am I surprised? One of the three founders of Stable-Tech was a sister to the head mare of that ministry.

I continue my listening along with a quick look at the research results, turning on the following recording to play.

"Composition of Pink Cloud".

"Research into the composition of Pink Cloud has not provided me with any significant data. I was only able to confirm my hypotheses about the Pink Cloud that I had made before coming here from the words of travelers and the Wasteland Survival Guide book.

The composition of Pink Cloud does not have any unusual or unknown to me components and chemical elements, but I still did not know the technology and method of production of such a gaseous mixture, that is, all the conditions and circumstances necessary for its creation. I managed to find out that chemical elements used in the composition cannot serve as a catalyst of 'mixing' in the moment of contact of living flesh and ordinary matter. Moreover, this combination of components is completely harmless. I was able to determine this by reproducing the chemical mixture in the laboratory. It is so simple in structure, composition of elements and ease of production that it can be conjured by a unicorn with appropriate skills and knowledge in the field of chemistry.

Science is able to study the composition of anything, but in very rare cases it is possible to find out the determining circumstances and conditions of its creation, and due to what laws of nature it has these or those properties. After quite a long research I have no doubt that it is the magic or energy that is imposed on this gaseous mixture. Simply put, it is an enchanted gas, and its purpose is to spread the cast magic in an airborne manner. The casting of magic on the gaseous mixture may be due to the need to control Pink Cloud in the future. What I'm wondering is, in what form or by what would that control be realized?

Unfortunately, I can't determine the nature of its magic. I am a biologist and geneticist, and I do not study magic and energies with their potential properties and capabilities in depth, only superficially. I have tried to find out about the origin of the Pink Cloud's magic or energy from the devices that register them, but have failed every time. The magical nature of this cloud is impossible to determine with the equipment I have.

On the other hand, this leads me to conclude that the magic or energy of the enchanted gas is clearly of non-Equestrian origin, since the sensitive sensors and detectors created with pony magic cannot capture and identify it. Knowing the history, one could say that Pink Cloud is certainly the brainchild of zebras, and its magic also belongs to zebras. However, I am incompetent in this area.

More detailed information about the results of the analysis and experiments, as well as a list of the equipment and methods of research involved, can be found in the section 'Observations and Research Results' in the subsection 'Composition of Pink Cloud'."

It turns out that the Pink Cloud carries harmless chemical elements, but at the same time they are a kind of means of transportation for mystical and unexplained magic or energy. I wonder... in what way have they been able to utilize magic that even ponies haven't been able to discover yet, much less manage to manipulate? And yet... it wasn't surprising, given that, thanks to Celestia and her attention to social issues, scientific research was hardly sponsored, left to private amateurs. It was of little interest to anyone, no noticeable demand, so many papers and their results got lost in time or dusted on the shelves of private libraries until rumors of war came to light, leading to a stunning scientific breakthrough and increased interest in that knowledge. Professor is as amateur and self-taught now as the scientists and wizards of the pre-war era.

"Pink Cloud Impact. Environment."

"Through long research, I was able to figure out the effects of Pink Cloud's impact on the environment, as I had a lot of questions when I was setting up the lab for the workflow.

I found that a lot of things in Canterlot had better preservation compared to other corners of the Equestrian Wasteland. I was curious about the source of such a phenomenon, and I suspected it to be Pink Cloud. My hunch was confirmed. I was able to record that Pink Cloud affects the behavior and life of microorganisms. The cloud is destructive to them, which noticeably reduces their numbers, and consequently their impact on everything around them is reduced. This explains why, for example, pony remains take longer to decompose and why some things are better preserved under certain conditions.

Pink Cloud slowly 'kills' the lifeforms of almost any organic matter like trees and vegetation. Gas and magic-soaked non-living matter will begin to merge with living matter when it touches it, but outside of Canterlot, without the cloud concentrating around them, the clusters present will no longer be enough to cause this effect. The exceptions are liquids and things with high moisture levels like food. It's much more complicated with those. But I can say with certainty: don't consume them unless you're a Canterlot ghoul.

Even from casual observation, you can see that Pink Cloud penetrates almost any surface. It all depends on the thickness and density of the material. In addition, the presence of magical spells on the material also affects the penetration.

It has been observed that a high concentration of Pink Cloud is observed near the main castle, and the farther away from it, the less of this enchanted gas is contained in the environment. Leads one to speculate that it is constantly arising from somewhere. There must be a 'sprayer' somewhere inside the castle, but due to the high concentration it was impossible to find out. Sane Canterlot ghouls will not be able to infiltrate its depths due to the abundance of security systems.

To neutralize the effects of Pink Cloud, ordinary healing potions will be enough, but a huge amount of them will be needed, as its magic or energy is extremely strong. Recall that it can 'resurrect' the dead!

More significant effects of Pink Cloud, requiring separate attention, have not been recorded. More detailed information about the obtained results of analyses and experiments, as well as the list of the involved equipment and methods of research you can find in the section 'Observations and Research Results' in the sub-section: Pink Cloud Impact. Environment."

The implication is that we don't have to worry about Canterlot loot, such as books and outfits, sticking to us if we wear them or keep them in our hooves for long periods of time already outside of the pink gas. Motley also picks up on this, pleased by this news.

My observations about the concentration increasing as we approach the main castle are confirmed, but at the same time I hadn't thought about the fact that Pink Cloud is still emerging and atomizing somewhere in its depths. Is the concentration there so high that only the presence of a conditional atomizer can explain such a thing?

"Pink Cloud Impact. The nature of the Canterlot ghouls."

This entry is the longest of all, judging by the text version.

"The effects of enchanted gas on organisms is a subject of keen interest to me, making me curious, as it is genetic biology that I am most predisposed to and have an in-depth understanding of. I do not intend to apply the term 'dead' to Canterlot ghouls when it is still able to tear its victim to pieces. This is to avoid misunderstandings later on.

We have been able to capture and examine both living ghouls and dead ones, and test them under a wide variety of conditions that we have been able to conduct. Earlier, sentient Canterlot ghouls were also mentioned, but they were unwilling to lie down on the operating table, only allowing some samples like skin and fur to be taken. They were also not particularly willing to participate in some experiments on their behavior, so most of my notes on them will be based mostly on my observations. The behavior of all the ghouls will be noted in the appropriate entry.

Getting to the point. Both the dead and living bodies of the test subjects are technically considered incapacitated due to the lack of natural physical processes. We have been able to test the effects of Pink Cloud with several races, but in all cases the changes come to the same result. For example, the absence of a heartbeat. Most of the cells in the body have stopped their decomposition process in addition to their vital activity, but they are not 'active'. It is as if they are frozen, but not literally. One should look closely to see that only most of the cells have been affected. The rest are also not functioning, but they are not considered 'dead' either.

The majority of cells mentioned are those in the outer layers of the body: skin, fur. For obvious reasons, the respiratory and circulatory systems are heavily infected. The blood subsequently takes on a dark pink color, because it is saturated with the Pink Cloud magic, which came mainly through the lungs with a gaseous mixture. When the magic of Pink Cloud begins to work, subduing the body, the infection stops and the body becomes immune to it—moreover, in high concentrations it causes almost instant regeneration. By this point, the surviving cells simply stop functioning. That's why PipBuck's sensors can't register that the body is alive, so they recognize it as dead. They are also not visible on thermal imaging cameras due to the lack of body temperature, which appears during the natural vital activity of the organism, which is not observed in Canterlot ghouls, so the temperature of the latter corresponds to the ambient temperature. The exception is the sentient Canterlot ghouls I discovered in Stable 1.

Regarding the exceptions. They are on both sides of the divide. There are conditional misses when the magic of Pink Cloud fails to subdue the body with such intoxication. There are notable cases where the body merges intensely with some large and massive object like a stone sidewalk. When the Pink Cloud intoxication process occurs, the cells in living organisms that first get in the path of the enchanted gas die, causing all Canterlot ghouls to have disfigured skin and fur. At this point, the unnatural forced necrosis of the cells caused by Pink Cloud's magic affects the inorganic structures around them. Something like the effect of 'shaking' these structures at the molecular level occurs, and they become unstable, and molecules penetrate these cells unhindered. Because of the colossal 'shuffling' of the cells of the organism and inanimate matter during this 'shaking', magic is no longer able to control it: the internal organ systems of the organism are destroyed to a staggering level of ugliness, especially the nervous system. And this happens quite often in conditions of enormous concentrations of Pink Cloud. It's for the best that such victims don't stay alive. The sight of a living, snarling, twitching ghoul whose body is one with a sidewalk would deeply impress even a pony like me, who has seen a lot of things in the Equestrian Wasteland. Whether this is an intentional function of the cloud or a simple side effect remains to be seen.

The flip side of our conditioned intoxication misfire is the victims retain their minds. Because of the unique physiology of each organism, as inimitable as the pattern of a snowflake, the process of infection and subjugation is not complete. The Pink Cloud magic cannot permanently mortify the personality and uproot the psychic energy. Thanks to advanced equipment and devices from the Fluttershy Neurosurgery Research Institute, I was able to analyze the brain activity of the Canterlot ghouls and their nervous system in particular. Among the sentient ones, only one individual came here and allowed me to connect electrodes to it, so I have no certainty about all the relatives in this matter. What I can say is that the brain activity of at least one sentient Canterlot ghoul is not fundamentally different from that of uninfected members of its species, in this case—ponies. In general, their bodies are stuck like a narrow windowpane, neither here nor there, between two states: they are living ponies, but at the same time they have all the advantages of ordinary Canterlot ghouls. Among those advantages are regeneration and immunity to the cloud. I don't know if it's possible to artificially induce a transformation into a sentient Canterlot ghoul. I have absolutely no hypothesis as to why this happens. Most likely a whole set of factors that we are currently unable to record, much less manipulate.

The brain activity of ordinary Canterlot ghouls cannot be analyzed with the available equipment. It is impossible to determine what is going on in their heads.

Some individuals of different races, when fully infected, gain the ability to create new portions of Pink Cloud. Their lungs begin to independently produce gas already enchanted with the magic of Pink Cloud. Again, due to my ignorance of the nature of this magic, I cannot define the entire sequence of formation, as the gas appears already enchanted, and it is formed only in living specimens, not dead ones.

Another noticeable feature of the Pink Cloud spawns are the eyes, specifically their silver glow. This is seen in all species and races. The eyes of the living emit a slight silver glow, while the dead do not. If a Canterlot ghoul is decapitated, the silver glow in its eyes will gradually fade away. If he is severely damaged, which may cause him to simply pass out, the glow will not disappear. It is worth noting the lifeless gaze of feral Canterlot ghouls, both living and dead. Regarding the fading in sentient Canterlot ghouls: I didn't manage to examine their eyes at the moment of death (no one was willing to die for the sake of the experiment, which is to be expected). I can only say from their words: after death, their eyes do not lose their luminescence immediately, only after some time. Their words should not be taken on faith, but it is enough for a theory, after all, sensible Canterlot ghouls are practically no different from ordinary ones. Except for sanity, though I'm not sure of its adequacy. They're a bit of a head case, even by the standards of the Equestrian Wasteland.

Regeneration, which is already known from the stories about the Canterlot ghouls, is also worth mentioning. They can only be killed in two ways—decapitation or disintegration. Otherwise, any damaged parts of the body of the living dead will be regenerated to their original state. And the higher the concentration of Pink Cloud in the body of the still living dead, the higher the speed of their recovery and regeneration after severe damage. If they are knocked out in the area of lethal concentration of the enchanted gas, the recovery is even faster, in particular, the severed limb grows practically before your eyes! Incredibly powerful magic.

Despite the fact that most of the body's cells are dead and, therefore, the bodies cannot be physically strengthened, even temporarily, which is proved by the data of apparatus and devices, their bodies are stronger and firmer than they should be. Even under the microscope no strengthening of muscles and remnants of skin was observed, but in fact it is there! Undoubtedly, this is the magic of the enchanted gas. Once damage is inflicted, the body resists the external stimulus and its physical effects. Even I felt this resistance when piercing my subject with a needle. It bent with resistance. Sticking a needle into their body can only be done with great speed. Their teeth all become so strong and sharp that they can bite through bone and a bit of metal with their reinforced jaws, and the claws of the griffon ghouls (there was only one specimen, and that was from the post-war period) become incredibly strong. All of these advantages disappear along with the fading of the silver glow in their eyes upon decapitation. Apparently, Pink Cloud not only keeps the ghouls alive, but also improves their physical characteristics.

The bodies of Canterlot ghouls cannot move or regenerate without contact with the head. What causes this is not entirely clear to me. I dare to hypothesize that there is a connection to the brain, as if that is where the magic of Pink Cloud gives 'commands' to the whole body. I can say that the magic of Pink Cloud controls the body on the same principle as it passes naturally through the nervous system. I also forgot to mention that soul energy, which is generated from the natural life activity of the body (like blood, and which also recovers over time after loss), is absent in Canterlot ghouls, as it is in the true dead. I think it's replaced by magic or Pink Cloud energy. I'll note that even so, the original color of magic in unicorn ghouls remains unchanged, because mental energy and magic are different things. As for the sentient ones, they still have that soul energy. Maybe Pink Cloud's magic is mistaking it for its own. Again, the nature of this magic or energy is unknown to me.

It would take decades to fully understand the entire functioning of Canterlot ghouls, but before that, I still need to find out the nature of this magic or energy! I don't intend to do that, I was only interested in the difference between infected and uninfected cells for my work. However, I have bothered to ask about their behavior, at least superficially, and this is much more interesting for the inhabitants of the Wasteland, as their survival depends on it.

In this entry I tried to give a brief description of what I managed to learn during the main experiments. For more detailed information about the results of the tests and experiments, as well as a list of the equipment and research methods involved, please see 'Observations and Research Results' section in the subsection: Pink Cloud Impact. The nature of Canterlot ghouls."

Oh... that's a lot of information to digest.

Basically, I didn't learn anything significant from here. My own observations are confirmed and a few things are clarified. I only learn that the enhanced physical body abilities of Canterlot ghouls are clearly of magical origin, and that sentient Canterlot ghouls have the same benefits as normal ghouls. I also get an explanation for why canterlot ghouls don't show up on PipBuck and Pip-Boy: sensors and detectors identify them as dead. The lack of a soul—or rather, soul energy—also affects their detection. But why do red marks appear where no one is? Hopefully, I'll get some answer or hints to it in the next entries.

"Pink Cloud Impact. The behavior of Canterlot ghouls."

"I'm not much of an ethologist, but in the course of research one inevitably comes into contact with a pattern of behavior. Canterlot ghouls were no exception. As with previous research sites, I didn't go into much detail, given that the brain activity of Canterlot ghouls has remained a mystery to me. However, here's what I was able to figure out from observation and some experiments.

Canterlot ghouls spend most of their time in one place, especially near working sources of the Canterlot radio frequency. For some reason, they are attracted to it. I will talk about this unknown radio frequency separately in a related post. The sentient Canterlot ghouls of Stable 1 find this frequency annoying, but it has no effect on them.

Almost all the time, the regular Canterlot ghouls sit around with their radios on. They are only distracted by the appearance of an enemy or some source of sound. The latter can be used as a distraction. There are also loners who are not located near working radios. They are usually located in homes. I have a hypothesis that this is due to their habits or attachments, they stay near what is familiar to them. Perhaps the behavioral neural connections (habits) they have at the time of death or the infestation process set their dormancy pattern. This may also explain why some unicorn ghouls are able to use spells when chasing a victim. They behave according to recent memories or habits. But that's just a hypothesis.

Another distinguishing feature is that they can't see over long distances. At least not slow-moving objects. A running or fast-moving object they immediately notice. The conclusion is that the silver glow definitely does not help them to see. On the other side, they can notice a slow-moving object even behind a wall, if they are inside a certain radius. This is even evidenced by the writings of the crazies on the walls. The radius has a length of six average ponies. When crossing the line, it becomes irrelevant which side you're on, whether or not you made any sounds—they will inevitably sense a presence. They also pay attention to inanimate objects levitating towards them, or perhaps they simply see the telekinesis magic surrounding them.

It is unknown why they are blind to long-range vision, and for what reason do they seek to devour their victims if it is more profitable for them to turn them into their own kind? Sometimes they utter one-sentence sentences like "Eat!" and "Kill!". This is rather odd, considering that they don't need to consume food to function. Pink Cloud's magic provides everything for them as it is. Perhaps it's just a side effect of their behavior?

We tried taking the Canterlot ghoul outside Pink Cloud that surrounds the ruins of the city. It followed us relentlessly, but as soon as we were out of its sight, it wandered back into the ruins. We followed it. Within range of the pink gas, it stopped and didn't move.

What conclusion can we draw from all this for travelers? Don't make any noise, don't make any sudden movements, even if you find yourself in their sight, but if they sense your presence, don't yawn and get your hooves out. With their angry, loud growls, they attract their kin nearby.

Nothing else special could be found in their behavior. They do not differ much from ordinary ghouls in terms of behavior. More detailed information about the results of the analysis and experiments, as well as a list of the equipment and methods of research you can find in the section 'Observations and Research Results' in the subsection: Pink Cloud Impact. The behavior of Canterlot ghouls."

He basically voiced what I was able to find out experimentally. If we had this information in the first place, we could have saved a lot of time. Also the hypothesis that, being already ghouls, they behave according to lifetime habits, be it spells or playing a cello. But why was the composition played so afterlife and frightening? Or was it all the peculiarity of Octavia's mind in the last moments before the transformation?

And if Octavia found the Canterlot frequency appealing, why did the sentient Canterlot ghouls find it annoying?

"Pink Cloud Impact. The Canterlot radio frequency."

"There's not much I can say about this phenomenon. Radio waves are completely out of my area of expertise, but some basic knowledge I have. At least I can describe its unusual effects.

The Canterlot radio frequency affects the brain activity of all non-ghouls, accompanied by severe headaches and painful bleeding from the nose and ears. Ten seconds is enough to die from it; only Canterlot ghouls are resistant to it. It is worth noting that it is not the radio waves themselves that affect us, but the sound played through the radio receiver. Questioning the sentient Canterlot ghouls of Stable 1 has not yielded any coherent explanations as to the origin of the murderous sounds. There are too many myths even among them who have been in contact with them for a hundred and seventy plus years. All I know is that it was played at the time of the Pink Cloud's appearance, so I'm inclined to believe that it's the only thing involved in such a transformation. I've never been able to locate the source of the radio transmitter for this frequency.

One thing to note. If you record this deadly sound on a holotape or any other sound recording device, it will have no effect when played back. Same noise, but without the painful effects. I've tested it on myself. This suggests that the radio frequency is influenced by the Pink Cloud magic, as evidenced by the interest in it by the usual Canterlot ghouls. This noise needs to be listened to in person for it to have an effect—which, of course, I don't recommend doing. By a strange coincidence, the radius of influence of this sound is the same as the detection radius of the Canterlot ghouls. I took apart the local working radios for the sake of interest and did not find any defect in them: if you tune them to any other radio frequency, they work in natural mode, and the outgoing sound does not bring any discomfort. Though here it depends on taste, because some people, figuratively speaking, bleed from their ears from what is playing on DJ Pon3's radio channel... as ironic as that sounds in this place. The culprit behind the death noise is none other than the magic of Pink Cloud.

PipBuck's red and neutral marks appear on PipBuck from time to time. I don't know what causes this, so I mentioned it in the post about radio frequencies. Most likely, again, it's due to the magic of Pink Cloud: a PipBuck is probably mistakenly detecting living entities in the radio waves. That's the only explanation I can think of given the results.

That's all I've been able to find out on the subject. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. Simply put, unless you're a Canterlot ghoul, avoid reproduced noise in radios tuned to the Canterlot frequency anyway. I am so sick of using the word 'Canterlot'. The folks in the Wastelands couldn't come up with more distinctive and memorable names?

For more detailed information on the results of the analyses and experiments, as well as a list of the equipment used and the methods used in the study, please see the 'Observations and Research Results' section under the sub-section: Pink Cloud Impact. The Canterlot radio frequency."

Strange indeed. The other radio frequencies play without any discomfort. I had noticed earlier that the tracking chip was pointing to all five keycards correctly—so why was there such a problem in detecting the one that was lost in Canterlot? I have, importantly, gotten at least some hints as to the cause of the red and neutral tags in PipBuck. I don't deny that it's too easy to blame everything on Pink Cloud magic or energy, but there's nothing else to do. The nature of Pink Cloud's magic remains unknown to Professor. Or perhaps it was already known to him now? He had, after all, been in the territory of the zebras who had created Pink Cloud. I'll probably have to ask him about it sometime.

"Pink Cloud Impact. Mental state."

"Nightmare problems should have been included here, but I've put them in a separate category because of some curious things that came to light during the research.

From the time we first entered the ruins of Canterlot, I experienced some vague inexplicable anxiety. It never left me as long as I was within the confines of Pink Cloud. My griffon mercenary was also affected by it. He preferred that I not mention his name in my notes, as I did. His rights. But I digress. Again, psychology and neuropsychology are beyond me, but this curious phenomenon deserves its own section. As it turns out, it is directly related to Pink Cloud, for I have spent several days at various intervals out of its reach. The anxiety disappeared almost at once, and the residue was felt only after recalling it, but this is a nature of our memories: together with them arise distant sensations of what we were experiencing at that moment. My griffon assistant observed the same, for he had repeatedly left the ruins of Canterlot and the surrounding Pink Cloud for supplies.

Apparently, Pink Cloud has a direct effect on the mood of those who find themselves within its range. And the presence of the gas itself is not necessary, as is the case here. Certainly, the less of it in the air, the weaker the effect on the minds of non-ghouls, but its absence does not completely eliminate the magical influence. And all this is reinforced by the grim surroundings of desolation and the walking dead, who can chew through the bones of their victims like straws.

Some of the travelers' notes explicitly hinted that they had experienced anxiety of an unknown nature, and some had gone mad and turned into Canterlot ghouls. The rate of transformation depended directly on the amount of Pink Cloud absorbed, as well as the stability of the victims' sanity. The more susceptible the victim was to prejudice and superstition, the faster they fell into madness. Sentient Canterlot ghouls occasionally leave the confines of Canterlot and Pink Cloud in particular, but they notice no change in the transition. Perhaps they are simply used to it.

I suspect the mood is also affecting the nightmares that drove my griffon to madness. At first he willingly shared his experiences, feelings and thoughts with me, which he wrote down in his diary, but towards the end he became secretive and isolated. He responded with one-word sentences and rarely engaged in discussions. When I tried to ask him what he was writing in his diary, I saw irritation, anger, and sometimes even fury in his gaze. He clearly wants to hide something from me. In all the time I've spent here, his reasonable suspicion has been replaced by paranoia. Some kind of insanity. I'm inclined to assume that it's the Pink Cloud's moodiness that's responsible... But now I realize it could be caused by dreams. They have a much greater effect, especially in such gloomy conditions.

The depressing feeling of being here can be softened by pleasant sensations from anything: good food, good music, humor, good company, masturbation, and so on.

More detailed information about the obtained results of the tests and experiments, as well as the list of the involved equipment and methods of research can be found in the section 'Observations and Research Results' in the subsection: Pink Cloud Impact. Mental State."

Since listening to the first recordings, I kept wondering what happened to the griffon. After all, it was Pink Cloud's magic that was responsible for the oppressive mood. Now I know. But it's the dreams in this entry that I'm most interested in. I hope that Professor found something that will allow me to unravel this mysterious tangle of various facts, and the picture of what is happening will be formed by itself.

"Pink Cloud Impact. Dreams and Nightmares."

"Dreams. In the ruins of Canterlot, as I have discovered over time, take on unusual features. There are too many areas of scientific endeavor of which I have only a superficial knowledge, and dreams are no exception. I don't know much about them, but their unusual nature is apparent, and it is worth exploring at least superficially.

I should note that thanks to the equipment from the Fluttershy Neurosurgery Research Institute I was able to at least determine that there was no abnormal brain activity. What makes these dreams different from standard dreams? By what's going on in them. I didn't immediately notice the pattern of dreams, but when I did, I began recording and analyzing them in my spare time. At first, the griffon also shared the plots of his dreams.

In all cases, they are quite distinct, and the memory of them is always retained after waking, which in itself is not a common occurrence. I will briefly describe the plots of our dreams and nightmares. The main pattern: all dream plots take place in the area near our laboratory, and sometimes even inside it. That's what I've noticed over time; the griffon confirmed that this coincidence has occurred to him as well. It is natural—we see in dreams what we see in reality. But what is interesting and unusual is that all the stories are somehow connected to the laboratory and its surroundings. Statistically, this simply cannot be the case. We repeatedly had the same dream at the same time, sometimes we were even both there. Hence I concluded that this was another aspect of the Pink Cloud impact.

At first, the dreams were related to our... experiences, conscious and unconscious fears. We sometimes dream about them in one form or another. What matters is their very presence, their repeated occurrence time after time, which also statistically cannot happen in the natural course of things. Inevitably, there is an external impact, in this case, magic or the energy of Pink Cloud. Upon awakening, the dreams felt very believable, which in turn was unusual and curious, but I didn't have enough time to figure it all out and analyze it.

Another noticeable feature was that the griffon eventually began to see not himself, but the pony in his dreams. It was like he was in a pony's body, which was unusual for him, because he had never really cared much about being a pony or anything like that. He suffocated and died from the high concentration of Pink Cloud, or his body merged with the stone sidewalk of the local streets, or he killed himself quickly, apparently not wanting to suffer from the harmful effects of the enchanted gas. Such plots I have seen as well. By the way, towards the end, I stopped seeing myself in my dreams, and what was happening was noticeably repeating itself. Apparently, we had read too many notes and writings on the walls from survivors who had witnessed the horrific effects of Pink Cloud. The griffon may have been the reason he went insane, but his insanity was... unusual.

He would sometimes mutter in his sleep as he became secretive and isolated. It was hard to recognize anything coherent from his mutterings, but it was about some kind of wealth. Sometimes in his waking moments he would disappear somewhere without saying where he had gone or for what reason. He sometimes smelled of paint and left traces of it on his claws, and the colors were different from each other. One could not help thinking that he had decided to take up painting. Attempts to find out the motives of the sorties caused anger and aggression in him. Before he disappeared, in his last dream he muttered something about the garden of Canterlot's main castle. I think he went there and won't come back because the concentration of Pink Cloud is too high. The insanity killed him, and it could have been caused by nightmares.

From the moment I learned to resist the effects of these dreams—not without the help of my analytical and skeptical mind—they began to seem just plain annoying.

Unfortunately, that's all I've been able to find out. More detailed information about the results of the analysis and experiments, as well as a list of the equipment and methods of research involved, can be found in the section 'Observations and Research Results' in the subsection: Pink Cloud Impact. Dreams and Nightmares."

Professor didn't bring me anything new about dreams. He has, in fact, voiced what we ourselves have encountered. I take a quick look at his dreams, recorded in the Observations and Research Results section under 'Pink Cloud Impact. Dreams and Nightmares', but find nothing significant. I'll have to ponder what he's said in his report, but in the meantime, I'll listen to the last recording.

I also noticed that the griffon sometimes smelled of paint, and had multicolored spots on his claws. Could it be that he made the inscription in multicolored letters, "Rainbow is an upside-down horseshoe"? Definitely sounds like insanity. I wonder what the griffon's mind was whispering to him.

"Find the Dome and go home," Mr. Clean immediately says in my head.

Found time to make a joke.

"Conclusion."

"About to leave.

I've been quite productive in this place, I've learned a lot about the nature of Canterlot ghouls while touching on various aspects of Pink Cloud, like the effects on the psyche as well as unnatural dreams. Unfortunately, a lot of questions are left about the very essence of the magic or energy of Pink Cloud. Its secrets can only be revealed by the zebras themselves. And hardly the current ones, rather it is their ancestors—the pre-war scientists and alchemists, their reports and records of research. I had long wished to travel to their homeland. In the end, despite being savages, they had quite a few talented minds. For the record, I call everyone a savage, regardless of race or affiliation. Savages by my definition are those who unquestioningly believe in the existence of something that cannot be proven at this point in time. Superstitious fools.

I know that Baltimare has trading ships that travel between the two continents through the central part of the Sapphire Sea. Mostly zebras do it. I've been to Baltimare, the recognized trading center of the Equestrian Wasteland, before and have spoken with the zebras there. Pretty normal guys, if you don't touch on their superstitions about the Evil Stars. I'm going to their homeland. It's good for me for the reason that my popularity has grown a lot in the last five years, and that might attract some unwanted... characters. It's good to get away for a while, let them forget about me: a good excuse to escape to a neighboring continent.

The griffon won't come back—it's been too long, and I don't want to follow him into the clouds of pink gas. Cooperation was productive with him in the beginning. His crystal sword was quite interesting... and quite sharp. It proved useful against the local natives with their strong and tough skin. I've never seen or heard of a sword like it in my life: it's made entirely of crystal. I can't help but think of the mythical Crystal Empire. Too bad he took it with him on his last trip.

Anyway, that's all the research I've done on the seventh test site, which I thought to do with the available knowledge and means. I hope you found the information here useful. If I successfully make it out of here, I can pass it on to the others, but I'm leaving it here in case for some reason you don't know it."

How thoughtful... Still, according to Motley, there wasn't much information in the Wasteland about this place. From the records, he had done a lot of work, so why wasn't it in the public domain if he was going to pass it on to others? Perhaps it was because the Wasteland rarely spread quickly. Perhaps it was because of something else.

He had become popular in the last fifteen years at the time the records were compiled, which might have attracted some unwanted characters... If Homage mentioned him as a famous figure, he owed his popularity to DJ Pon3. Professor doesn't like fame, to say the least, and I can understand why. Obviously it's because of his past association with the Steel Rangers, whom he not only left, but robbed before leaving. He was a wanted criminal, after all, and that information could have spread to other chapters. Interestingly, he didn't mention the alicorns, and he had apparently been here over twenty years ago. That implied that they were relatively recent—at least, they hadn't been openly showing up back then.

So, it's time to deal with the dreams. I doubt we'll be able to get much more information that would open the veil of mystery. Professor has spent a lot of time here, but he hasn't found any data that could lead him to a clue as to the nature of the dreams we're seeing. Motley and Mr. Clean also participated in this brainstorming session to help me piece together the scattered pieces of the puzzle.

What do we have? Dreams are somehow reflected in the real world. For some time, I have had thoughts that I am currently between two states: dreaming and waking. However, this hypothesis is untenable for two reasons. First, the sequence of events that I observed was proceeding as it should, and there was no interruption. At least, it was not obvious. Secondly, Professor experimentally verified that there is no abnormal brain activity during sleep. Of course, this information may be a figment of my imagination in a half-sleep state, but I don't go too far with these thoughts—it's possible to go crazy that way.

In other words, this hypothesis doesn't fit. We're thinking from the beginning. I've already found that thread that would help me get to the truth. Maybe this time I'll have better luck with those bits of information from the Professor's notes on dreams.

It all started near a jewelry store, and since we can't trace the exact place where the dream began, we'll take that as the main starting point. Motley and I saw the same place, which we had never visited before. In my dream I was the one who accidentally hit the alarm system. Motley's dream showed the same accident, only it was she who did it. Rather unusually, we both set off a chain of stalking events by activating the security alert. Professor mentions in his notes that there were times when he and the griffon had the same dream, sometimes even being in the dream at the same time. So Motley and I are not unique.

In both dreams, mine and Motley's, only she dies. Again, due to carelessness, which cannot be attributed to the agile and graceful pegasus. She stumbles and is eaten alive by Canterlot ghouls. The memory itself gives me an uneasy feeling, and so does Motley, judging by her anxious look. In my dream I was trying to save her, whereas in her dream it was as if I didn't notice it, not to mention that I was extremely disappointed with her. She's clearly worried about appearing in an unflattering light in front of me, apparently forgetting that everyone makes mistakes. Just as long as it's not over and over again.

Anyway, already awake, we almost immediately stumbled upon this jewelry store from the dream, definitely not seen before. It felt like... deja vu, like we'd been there before. Octavia's dreams were somehow connected to familiar places near her home. Professor's and the griffon mercenary's dreams had a similar pattern, all taking place in the vicinity of the laboratory they had set up.

In all cases, the dreams reference reality and feel real. Octavia saw the body of a pony merged with the sidewalk on the first day of the disaster. Afterward, she dreamed of a similar painful nightmare happening to her body. It's only natural that we tend to dream about the events of the last few days that have particularly impressed us. The same goes for when she saw a pony being eaten alive, which also began to haunt her dreams. Before that, she had seen dark figures from the gloom with the outlines of ponies in them, and their eyes had a silver glow to them. This clearly hinted at Canterlot ghouls, which she had not yet seen at that point. Interestingly, Professor and the griffon, according to the former, may have had identical dreams due to reading the survivors' notes and the wall inscriptions left behind, but it is very strange that they saw the same plot at the same time. By the way, for them, what happened in the dream also felt like experiencing it in reality.

So why does Pink Cloud bring on these kinds of dreams? Or is it a side effect of something else?

I decide to ask if Motley saw the writing on the wall just before she tripped. She replies that she didn't notice any writing, but now she's not so sure anymore. I confess that I saw the inscription 'Canterlot Remembers All' in a dream, right next to that dried pool of blood. She doesn't like that I deliberately hid the coincidence, but she relents, realizing that she wouldn't have been able to grasp that information properly at the time. She draws my attention to it: the pool of blood is dried, which means it happened a long time ago. And really, I hadn't thought of it before.

Nevertheless, it is a remarkable and frightening similarity. Then what does the inscription 'Canterlot Remembers All' mean? Is it a mere coincidence? Once again, it seems not. My gut tells me I'm close, but I can't tell how close, or which way I should look. I've been going over everything a second time, trying to see if I've missed some important detail. Detail... details...

My thoughts wandered around the words Octavia had put down on paper describing her dreams. At first she was just being eaten alive, but then some details became clear to her, and she saw herself from the side of the pony that was then killed by the ghouls near her home. And not in any other place, just there. It was like she was seeing herself from the outside... being that pony... and she felt as if she'd actually lived through it. Canterlot remembers all. Remembers. Memory. A memory.

A memory!

There! At last! I've found the thread. I feel it's the right one, but first it must be threaded through everything we know about dreams in Canterlot.

Which I'm doing. I'm really excited! I carefully run everything I know through the prism of a memory as my main source, and the picture comes together! At first, Octavia had dreams of being eaten alive, but over time, details emerged. The same happened with the dreams of Professor and the griffon, at first they saw themselves, but over time they began to see themselves in the bodies of others, especially unusual for the griffon. Initially they saw themselves in dreams, but in time they began to see themselves as other ponies, but what was happening did not change. And all dreams were seen as memories! Like looking through a memory orb!

I suppose that here in dreams we see the last minutes or hours of the lives of those who were not lucky enough to die here, in the form of their own memories. If I think of it that way, I experienced something similar in the Stable 66. I didn't know there was a safe behind the cabinet—or file cabinet—in the Overmare's office. But I had learned of its location from the Overmare's daughter's memory. I was awake at the time, but still. Pink Cloud. Canterlot remembers all. Perhaps the dying minutes and hours of the dead here are somehow imprinted on the surrounding ruins, maybe even on the very magic of Pink Cloud that flows through everything. Why exactly the last hours or minutes? Perhaps it was because the Pink Cloud had already accumulated enough in their bodies to act as a recording device, and when the intoxication was complete with the successful subjugation of the body, the memories would merge with the magic around them.

So Motley and I dreamt of the same memory, probably the one closest to us in terms of space and time. Because of the weak connection it had with our own personalities, our experiences and... fears. Octavia saw the vague outlines of a pony out of the gloom with a silver glow in her eyes before she saw them in real life. It was quite possible that she had seen the last conscious vision of that pony before he had turned into a Canterlot ghoul. Simply put, the memories of the victims who died here are superimposed on our dreams. At first we see ourselves in them because of the weak connection to our consciousness, but over time the memories open up to it fully. And usually the memories of those who died nearby, as in the case of that jewelry store we fell asleep near... together. It turns out that depending on where we fall asleep, we will see the last conscious memories of those who died in that place.

Everything falls into place. The scattered facts come together into an elegant theory. A fumbling thread holds tightly to everything we know about dreams. In the moment of realization, I feel extraordinary relief, joy and pleasure. Yes! I did it. How I adore such moments of epiphany, like a breath of fresh and encouraging air.

Of course, I share my conclusions with Motley, and Mr. Clean agrees with me completely. The pegasus, as expected, at first accepts what she hears with skepticism and marked doubt, but I give her time to think. And as she ponders, her eyes seem to clear. She gasps and rejoices, her emotions overflowing so much that she even jumps up from the bed and hugs me. And then another thought popped into my head: the unexplained vague anxiety might be the result of the Canterlot ruins being literally saturated with death memories, painful and horrible. A memory orb can hold a memory... Canterlot remembers all. Like a giant shapeless and immaterial memory orb.

No matter who left this single inscription, it literally elegantly explains the nature of local dreams. And I was lucky enough to see it! Luck is definitely on my side... For now.

The feeling of euphoria of figuring it out is unforgettable. Motley and I can't get enough of it. There are no ghouls around anyway, so why not?

***

After getting more information about the ghouls and Pink Cloud in Canterlot, recovering from the effects of several battle drugs at once, and unraveling the secret of the nature of local dreams, we were ready to leave the lab, but my helmet still needed to be repaired. Earlier, before the Professor's improvised lab, we came across a police station, but we passed it, as the tracking chip didn't indicate it.

Motley slips into the dark power armor of the Enclave, and I cast another protective spell on her against the effects of small concentrations of Pink Cloud, since it had completely dissipated from the first bite in the fight with the ghouls. She goes in search of a fully enclosed helmet at the very same police station. I warn her not to engage in combat and risk her life. Any helmet with a respiratory system will do for me.

While she does her search, I flip through my spell book in the repair area. She returns half an hour later, bringing me a matte black helmet with golden patterns and a fully closed visor. Though the respiratory system is inferior to the one in my helmet, it's better than nothing. The spare PipBuck's estimate puts it at a decent cap cost, but mine is much more expensive and technologically advanced.

I disassemble the brought helmet into its components and use the necessary parts from the respirator system, as well as do some magical manipulation and apply the appropriate repair spells to fix it, which takes another half hour or so.

Once the repairs are complete, I put on the helmet, check its functionality, cast a spell to protect my armor and skin from the effects of Pink Cloud, and we move on.

The Fluttershy Neurosurgery Research Institute is as empty as a raider's heart: Professor had cleaned the place out before we got there and embezzled all the medications available to him, and he was using them up pretty fast, judging by the records of his experiments. We have no choice but to walk past the emptied rooms, where the only thing that lives is the draught that howls drearily from time to time. Motley steps ahead of me. Once outside, on the stone-paved street, we find ourselves immediately trapped under a greenish magical barrier.

"You shouldn't have looked at Motley's rump."

"I think we're in trouble," I look around anxiously, trying to find the spell's creator.

Motley is silent, turning his head in different directions with concentration. A green alicorn lands softly in front of us. Her horn shimmers lazily. She folds her wings and her eyes watch us intently. Curiously, she is not marked on PeepBuck as hostile....

"No need for violence," she says in a friendly manner, giving us a slightly worried look. "I don't want to kill you."

"That's hard to believe. What do you need?" the pegasus asks cautiously.

"Help."

There is a silence. She stares at us in tense expectation, standing outside the main entrance to the Fluttershy Neurosurgery Research Institute under a solid and sturdy magical barrier. I remember exactly how such a barrier was able to withstand the powerful laser volley of four turrets. There's no point in resisting. And, nevertheless, my thoughts are now occupied not so much by this unpleasant fact, but by a request for help. Judging by the pegasus' silence, I'm not the only one stunned by the single word voiced by the entity that captured us.

"With what?" I ask.

"And also thanks for not leaving me on the roof back then," she adds, still tensely awaiting our response.

Her words perplex me for a moment. Not leaving on the roof...

Fuck my horn!

"What are you talking about?" Motley wonders, noticing my silence.

"About two months ago," she begins in an worried tone while I'm still in shock, "on the roof of the Princess Luna Information Center in Manehattan, during a fight, I used a shield spell against the turrets that had spawned there. That... pony with a helmet with red visors and a distinctive cape... by some certain circumstances he was under me at the time."

At those words, Motley turns in my direction. It comes to me how it sounded. My other me is laughing.

"It's not what you thought..." I excuse myself.

This coincidence makes me start to think I'm dreaming the whole thing.

"...and I passed out from exhaustion. Then I woke up already on the sixteenth floor of the building. I didn't realize what had happened. The Goddess had sent me here... but I'd lost contact with her. I'm sure I don't want to obey her anymore."

"It happens to all the alicorns here," Motley responds, turning back to the alicorn. "But how do we know you're the one? Suddenly the knowledge of him," she nods in my direction, "has been passed on to the others, like what happened on the roof."

"Then why would I want to start a conversation with you? I had the advantage of surprise, could have easily killed you, but as you can see, I didn't hurt either of you. You have nowhere to run, and I can concentrate my magic and artificially cause you to burst your heart without much trouble."

"Agreed... And what kind of help do you need?" I respond, recovering from the shock. I didn't expect to meet her again.

"If you can help me find one item... as a token of my appreciation—also for saving me—I could go with you. Your proximity, the Goddess realized, is beyond her reach. I could also be safe there."

"And..." the pegasus interjects, "this item would help you escape her control over you until you are within her reach with us?"

"No idea," she utters guiltily, lowering her gaze for a second. "But this object... Absent the Goddess' control, it's been appearing in my vague memories for a month now. Some... feeling somehow tells me it's here in Canterlot. An unexplainable force binds me to him. For weeks now, the image of that sword... crystal sword."

I shudder. Professor had mentioned a certain crystal sword to the griffon, which he had dragged away with him when he went to the main castle garden.

"We have our suspicions... where it might be," I ponder. "Anyway, we'll help you... But maybe you could at least introduce yourself? Or tell us what we should call you?"

"I don't remember my name. A nickname used when addressing me came up in vague and fragmented memories," she trails off in thought, still maintaining the green barrier around us.

"And what was the nickname?" I ask with interest.

"Surgeon," she answers briefly.

My mind immediately flashes back to Homage's words from Tenpony Tower about the traveling Surgeon who vanished without a trace twenty-plus years ago. Could it really be her standing in front of me right now?

Fallout: Equestria - Parallelism

by Dovaki

Foreword

Chapter 1 - Memories

Chapter 2 - New place

Chapter 3 - The City of Metal

Chapter 4 - High Society

Chapter 5 - Answers

Chapter 6 - The Road

Chapter 7 - The Stable

Chapter 8 - The Steel Rangers

Chapter 9 - Vanhoover

Chapter 10 - Luxury

Chapter 11 - Heavenly Harbor

Chapter 12 - Family Matters

Chapter 13 - Into the Fire

Chapter 14 - Injustice

Chapter 15 - The Northern Soul

Chapter 16 - A resting

Chapter 17 - On the trail

Chapter 18 - Caroline

Chapter 19 - The Arena

Chapter 20 - The Glass Key

Chapter 21 - There Stands the Grass

Chapter 22 - The Twilight Demon

Chapter 23 - Big Winner

Chapter 24 - The Dark Cloud

Chapter 25 - A King (Part 1)

Chapter 25 - A King (Part 2)

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 1)

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 2)

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 3)

Chapter 26 - Déjà vu (Part 4)