> Clipped Wings
>  by Desrium
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> Story One: Clipped Wings
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Chapter One

The Wasteland is harsh. It does not restrain itself or pull its punches. Rather, it only puts on brass horseshoes and for every kick one must dodge, weave… or die. 

He was young, but not too young. He wasn’t young enough to be called a foal and he wasn’t much of a stallion yet. His mane and tail was of a yellow color with streaks of orange strands. His coat would have been a rich apple red if it wasn’t filthy with dirt and grime, though it was once reddened further by his own blood. Now blackish streaks were left where it dried and caked up. He was a pegasus, a flying horse that was now forever unable to fly. Stubs remained where powerful wings had once been with striking feathers. It was for those wings he was named Falcon Wing and he, as his father put it 'was the last red phoenix in Equestria'.

His parents were killed late into his days as a colt. He was too young to remember much of it but the event left its scars, scars that he had mostly learned to hide from his fellow pegasi. While he didn’t show the trauma in his actions, his body showed the effect of the tragedy in the form of his barren flanks. Well into his young adult years and Falcon did not have a cutie mark. Now, wingless and alone far below the clouds that he once knew, Falcon Wing was certain he was never going to get one. What was a pegasus without their wings? 

To throw salt in a figurative and…fairly literal wound, he was a Dashite; though the only reason he left the cover of clouds was to flee from his tormentors above. It made no difference however. Should he be caught -- and without his wings that was a very strong possibility -- he wouldn’t have to bother with a cutie mark ever again. There were many ways to forge the special images a pony acquires when they find their special talent. Having one seared into one’s coat and flesh was one of the more painful and socially damning ways. 

Falcon hobbled through the deserted streets, lightheaded and aching. He had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was attacked other than he was alone, young and unarmed. All in all, he was an easy target. The ones who robbed him of flight apparently had a more refined, malevolent sense of humor than others of their kind. Rather than kill the clearly helpless pony, they gave him medical aid, ceasing the bleeding of his wing stumps and -- painfully at that -- cleaning the wounds to prevent infection. Resources they could have used on themselves, spent for the sake of irony and Falcon knew that from the shadows, he was being watched. They were watching him stumble around with his head in a fog for their amusement. Falcon was used to flying through the clouds rather than above them. Except he wasn’t in excruciating agony then, could think straight…and still had his wings. 

As he pathetically made his way down the street strewn with debris and boasting the crumbling husks of buildings on both sides, Falcon Wing, in the midst of his suffering, thought himself grossly undeserving of his name now. He was no fierce falcon and he was wingless. It was with these thoughts, he wondered just how long it would be before these sick raider bastards sprung on him again and finished him off. 

Through his blurry vision, Falcon could make out the obstacles in his shambling path. Fallen lamp posts, the metal wagons overturned onto sidewalks, chunks of buildings spilling into the streets. Joy. Was it even worth the effort to carry on? To give the raiders the satisfaction of seeing him go through this obstacle course of civilization’s decay after being brutalized and crippled? “I wonder how they would feel if their entertainer just lay down and slept for a while,” he thought bitterly at the bottom of a mound of collapsed wooden timbers. He answered his own question, envisioning the raiders to stream out of their hideaways just as his underbelly reached the ground. They’d kick and beat him, shouting profanities and obscenities as they had before, complete with one of them shouting “Welcome to Ponyville faggot!”

Huh, that’s right. Ponyville, that’s where he was now if that charming little asshole was to be trusted, though there was no reason to take his word for it. Still, it would just be Falcon’s luck to be chased from the ever cloudy skies and then take refuge in the infamous raider settlement. 

He cursed under his breath as he hauled himself up the hill of debris against his better judgment, but it was his judgment that got him in this horrible position in the first place. It was dark, very dark. Without the moon and the stars, the world of the landbound was gifted a nearly absolute blackness at night. He was panicked enough from the harrowing encounter with other pegasi… not raiders, not bandits, just… other pegasi. They were cruel and, as always, Falcon was an easy target. Just past adolescence and still a blank flank. And also an orphan. That somehow translated into name calling and physical abuse. It was only in hindsight did he consider them to be a much better alternative to… this. Unless they too decided to take his wings away, and Falcon heavily doubted they would be as willing to patch him up and send him on his miserable way. 

He just acknowledged that the raiders, despite their sick thrills, did more 'good' for him than those of his own kind. It’s just that if he had taken the beating and the verbal barrage -- which he ended up experiencing a much worse rendition of regardless -- he might have the slight possibility of slinking back to his assigned caregivers and getting patched up by his medical pony, whom Falcon was well acquainted with after several other instances of this harsh treatment. 

But no. He was practically stranded in the Wasteland, in Ponyville. The climb up and then down the mound had, as he expected, sapped his dwindling energy. Staying conscious was a losing battle. Now he seriously contemplated lying down, without his bitter thoughts. It was either that or letting himself drop when he finally did blackout. In both scenarios, Falcon foresaw his own death. 

“So this is how it ends. Can’t exactly say it was a good trot but,” Falcon muttered to himself, looking to the ruins around him. “… considering the state of everything else, I really shouldn’t have expected any better…”

A small smile crept onto his snout just after he said that, and there was even less of a delay when his body dropped to the ground like a sack of lead.  

> Chapter Two
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Chapter Two

If you cannot fight, you must flee. Death tends to travel faster than a pony but it lacks the ability to steer. Should you find yourself against an enemy whose weapon can fire target-tracking shots, make peace with Celestia in the few seconds you have left to live. 

It was as if he were standing outside for a few hours, how complete the blackness was. Except he knew he was not outside. It was too peaceful. He had no awareness of his body in physical space but his mind was at ease once again. It was almost as if he --

He regained consciousness abruptly, eyes flying open, instinctively beating his wings -- er, stumps -- while flailing his limbs in a vague running motion. With the surge of anxiety, it didn’t register to him until several seconds later that he was now tied up around his mid torso. Wrapped in a crude rope of rubber and plastic tubing of some sort, Falcon was restrained to a street light, his back bracing against the semi-rusted pole. One that was still standing, that is. Had he woken up in a more subtle manner, he would not have alerted the raiders around him to his consciousness. He was hardly going to beat himself up for a panic attack however, especially since he thought he was surely dead. 

It was lighter out, marginally. It was just after dawn and the first streaks of sun were being consumed by the sickly grayish-green clouds that completely blocked the blue sky. Their brightening was the only sign the sun was rising. It was rare to actually see the fiery circle on the ground but beyond the clouds, sunrise was bright and almost cheerful, despite the most melancholy state of the world. To Falcon, it was one of the few good things in his life. The fact the sun was absent from the world below made him cringe. His life had just gotten just a tad bit darker. Literally. 

As light filtered through the clouds befell the Equestrian Wastes, the raider ponies became more visible to the red pegasus. The reason they were hard to see in the dark was their black, leathery armor. It covered enough of their bodies -- upper torso, flanks and limbs -- to mute even the brightest coat in the advanced darkness of night. Falcon could only wish it could remain as such, but alas the sun bowed to no one anymore. It climbed resolute, revealing the horrible ponies in full. The armor differed a  little amongst themselves. Some added pads to their shoulders and knees with crudely made spikes sticking threateningly outwards from them. Others were more morbid, adorned with blackened or fresh, red tinted bones.  Skulls on the shoulders, teeth made into necklaces and other terrible decorations were the norm. And this was only Ponyville, who knows how outlandish raider fashion could get. 

Falcon Wing stared wide eyed at the ponies, the normally large orange ring around his pupils tiny as he stared in shock. They stared back at him, wickedly. They were mostly milling around their turf with each other, tending to their own needs until Falcon returned from blissful nonexistence. It was with that flash of fear in his gaze that excited the bandit group and they corralled into a semicircular formation, looking like they were going to go into frenzy with the restrained pegasus being yet another hapless victim, each one vying to give the newcomer even more reason to fear the ravenous mob. “Oh why did I have to wake up?” he thought, recoiling from the advancing group as little as he could, forcing himself against the lamp post and somewhere in the back of his mind he wished he would phase through or merge with it somehow. One of the ponies further out to his sides gave a wing stub a forceful kick, their hooves sending waves of pain shooting into his spine and from there they radiated to every inch of his body. He stiffened, his pain etched on his face. 

It was one thing to beat his hide, to strike him with purely animalistic ferocity. As horrible as it was, Falcon Wing had hardened himself from the abuse. Between the beatings at the hooves of other pegasi and trips to the medic, Falcon’s body became less sensitive to the pain. Blows did not hurt as much and they did not leave as much as an impression over time. He was only sore after most instances until the bullies became frustrated with the lack of response from their favored query and intensified their abuse. That one hit to his recently clipped wing was something else entirely. It was raw, a chip in his natural armor. The stubs had yet to go numb, and from his reaction, every raider present knew it. 

They fought amongst themselves to land their hits like wolves fighting over a deer carcass. They kicked, shoved and in some cases bit at one another, just so they had a chance to smash their hooves against his side and send copious amounts of pain into their toy. Falcon cried out, no words conveyed on his voice. He couldn’t muster any. He only thought, “It wasn’t enough that they cut them off, now they want to turn what’s left of my wings into paste!” in between spasms of agony. 

The torture continued like this for the better part of an hour. The raiders let themselves get wrapped up in the novelty of a new torture victim. Their on-the-spot sparring with one another to get another hit on their prize before they killed it and mangled it dominated their minds. None paid any attention to the affairs just beyond their playground, a very dire mistake. Lining up one of the savages in their sights was… another savage. From another group of savages. With more savages also drawing beads on their targets. Their guns strapped to their sides, triggers rigged up to battle saddles, the rival raiders kicked back and opened fire. The simultaneous gunshots were deafening. The spray of blood and gore as ponies exploded from bullets tearing through them was just awful. Between the pain and the unexpected slaying of his torturers, Falcon had no idea how to react. 

“Suck on this, you dead horse-apple cunts!” a voice wailed from a much closer distance than the shooters. A unicorn filly whose pelt was a dark green in color, the mane a bright yellow, stood in the open with her horn glowing the same color as her coat. Suspended by her telekinetic magic was a missile. Strapped to her tiny body was a dingy red wagon. More missiles and other explosives were at her disposal. 

Falcon’s jaw dropped once he was able to blink enough tears from his eyes to see the fiery death looming several yards down the ruined street. That was what got him to push aside the pain he felt and start making an attempt to escape. Unable to force the bindings around his midsection apart with his forelegs, he instead bent forward as far as he could, maneuvered the makeshift rope into his mouth and gnawed. Ignoring the disgusting taste of the rope, it did not take long for Falcon to free himself and get back on all fours, no longer forced to sit on his haunches. He looked back down the street to look at the young unicorn in disbelief that a mere child was a viable weapon to these ponies. What was her cutie mark going to be? A fireball? A bloody mess that translated onto her flanks as a red splotch?  

He watched as the little pony sent the missile after a raider charging at her with a rusty and dented metal rod in their mouth. That pony disappeared into a bubble of flame which gave way to smoke and… innards. Falcon’s already upset stomach did loops onto itself and he nearly lost it then and there. Somehow he willed himself to start moving, seeing an escape route. It was an alley way that he could disappear into and hopefully hide away from this living nightmare. Unfortunately, it entailed running towards the psycho pony a good several feet before breaking off to the left, enough time for her to lob another explosive. Making matters worse, the whizzing of bullets became much more prevalent as the raiders under attack got their own firearms and fired back. “They are shooting with their mouths for goodness sake!” Falcon finally exclaimed to no one but himself, finding his voice as shots rang out in staccato. He wasted no more time, making his desperate dash, seeing from the corner of his eye a missile coming his way. Falcon Wing’s expression turned to dread. Instead of smashing into the debris laden asphalt behind him, the glowing missile tracked his path, curving to intercept. In a panic, the red pegasus flapped his stub wings while he ran, closing his eyes tightly. 

A massive explosion threatened to blow out his ear drums. For the second time, he swore he was dead. Yet again, he was wrong. He had flown into the alley -- purely a figure of speech mind you -- ahead of the missile when a raider fired upon the filly. Their shot missed their target but struck the payload behind her. The filly was consumed in a gigantic explosion, one that threatened to level the already dilapidated structures. The missile that was once in her influence crashed into the pavement, exploding at the entrance to the alley. The concussive force of the blast knocked Falcon off the ground and sent him end over end, flying down its length, his backside somewhat singed from the intense heat. He came down hard on a wing stub and his scream was caught in his throat. His mouth was agape but only silence came from the red, pegasus-in-name-only. He did not make any move to get up. He was facing back the way he came, watching flames lick at what remained of the buildings that stood on either side of the lane. The fires danced in his eyes. 

> Chapter Three
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Chapter Three

One pony’s stupidity is another’s good fortune.  Stupidity in the Wasteland results in death. 

Both wings removed. One stub surely pulverized between the raiders and an explosion. For whatever reason, the red pony clung to life, even when he was sure he’d prefer to die. He wasn’t one to act on the impulse, but the thoughts of suicide could not be ignored. It hurt so badly. Everything hurt so badly. For what reason did he still live? There was none. He had nothing to live for. No reason to keep surviving other than his fear of death. What if death was even worse than life? 

The gun shots died down after some time. The noises went quiet. A large part of the buildings at the start of the alley had fallen, pouring burnt debris into the space between buildings, forming a small mound. It wasn’t impassible, though there was little incentive to clamber over it to the chance passerby. It hid Falcon from view from that side of the street, though what would have been his exit was still exposed. He wasn’t in any condition to run, so leaving wasn’t an option, unless he wanted to be caught by the second band of raiders and go through the routine of unbearable torture again. 

It was filthy in this dumpster. It was filthy by nature and there was no reason to expect a 200 year old dumpster would be in any way clean, but Falcon still reeled from how dirty it all was. Then again, with how he looked and how he felt, maybe he belonged in the trash. On the bright side, if one could call it such, he needn’t worry about his wings getting infected. By now flesh had grown over the stubs, still lacking a coat though. They had healed enough not to get infected, but still sensitive enough that a mere nudge could cause great discomfort. “I’m not even surprised,” he had muttered just before he crawled into his disgusting sanctuary. It was the only hiding place he had and as soon as he had the energy to do so, Falcon gravitated to it, somewhat beside himself as to just how low he had fallen. He pushed up a bag of garbage, to his mild surprise finding that it didn’t burst and spill its contents onto him. It was small things like this that reminded Falcon that the universe wasn’t out to get him, against evidence to the contrary. 

With the bag hanging over the metal lip of the green canister, the former pegasus lowered its lid, the bag slumping under the weight but suspending the cover just enough that a sliver of light shone into the dark. He’d be able to breathe. All he had to do now was endure the subdued stench without vomiting, rest and then…

He didn’t even know. “Welcome to the Equestrian Wasteland, Falcon Wing,” he said softly to himself. “We hope you enjoy your visit because you aren’t leaving. Now that you survived several consecutive near death experiences, what will you do now!?”

Lie in a dumpster apparently. Lie in a dumpster and slip into a state of unease and constant anxiousness, the trauma of his life flashing through his mind. His breaths became shallow and ragged. He was on the verge of sobbing. He couldn’t stand being awake, free to recall such memories. It was a long time until he slipped off to sleep, using a garbage bag as a pillow. His sleep, like his lapse of consciousness, was peaceful. No nightmares. No stress. No soul rending fear. Just emptiness. 

He awoke with a start some hours later. There was a voice. “We got a live one here!” a stallion had called out. He was looking away at first, towards the rubble obstructed entrance, but Falcon saw the stranger look back to him. The lid was fully opened again. Maybe a dumpster with half a garbage bag slung out of it with the lid not completely closed was just a set piece out of place in the Wasteland scenery and this pony with his keen eye saw something was up. “A sobber by the looks of things. What a waste of water,” the stallion added almost chidingly. 

Falcon Wing only noticed that his face and cheeks were moist with tears when the pony brought it up. He was crying? In his sleep? Why? Sleep and unconsciousness in general were when he was most calm.  And for how long was he crying anyway? His heart sank when he realized the sound must’ve been what attracted the other pony. It must’ve been loud for him to locate the unwinged pegasus in the near complete darkness of night. “D-don’t hurt me…please,” Falcon wing stammered to the silhouetted figure. “I’ve been hurt enough,” he wanted to add, but stopped himself from doing so. He doubted his pleading would result in anything, it was best he didn’t waste his breath with saying more. 

“Hurt you? Damn, if I wanted to do anything to you I would have done it while you were still sleeping, weeping into the shit inside there,” the stranger countered lowly. 

Falcon Wing cringed from the inflection of the stranger’s voice alone. He didn’t dare try to imagine what sour expression must have been on his face. “An expert conversationalist as always, Klaxon,” another pony said, another stallion. His voice wasn’t any more pleasant to listen to than the one whose name was Klaxon. It was a monotone as opposed to gruff hardness, conveying some kind of condescending jadedness. The sound of hoofsteps preceded his arrival beside Klaxon.  “Well he is indeed alive, perhaps that is more of a misfortune than anything else, really,” he continued to say. 

Klaxon replied, “The raiders weren’t the one to stick him in there then. Their bodies are all over the place there but they weren’t the ones to do it. Judging by the crying though, I’m thinking they had their fun with him before they could kill him.”

“Their bodies? Did he mean all of their bodies? Did each side pick each other off until there was no one left alive?” Falcon pondered. Sure, the… detonation of the filly Unicorn would have killed many of the attackers, but they were exponentially better shots than their rivals who seemed to hit everything other than what they intended to. Really, such inept ponies were only alive because they had found each other to be idiots with. Even then, it was impossible that every raider in that battle had bloodied the streets. Some must have survived and went off to their hovels, probably to rest and continue the daily slaughter once in a more able state. “Y-you’re right,” Falcon stated in response to Klaxon’s stipulation. “They beat me badly then they…” he swallowed hard. “…they took my wings off. They kept beating me for a while after…”

A while, he noted, was an understatement. 

“Nasty,” Klaxon said.

One word. ONE WORD!? Falcon had lost the things that gave him identity as a pegasus: his wings! He suffered unbelievable mistreatment at the hooves of savages, and this pony could only say one word!? And to say it so casually too...

“At least they didn’t rape you, though. That’s what I thought happened. At least you have that to be thankful for,” he elaborated.

Falcon’s lips quivered in the dark. “What. The. FUCK!?” he exclaimed, utterly bewildered, but mindful enough to express his anger without proclaiming their positions to everyone in the vicinity of the dumpster.
> Chapter Four
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Chapter Four

Of words and bullets, which hurt more? The bullets. It wasn’t even a contest. What kind of question is that anyway?

“Consider this,” the other stallion began to say in a way that implied he had extensive experience making hypothetical situations and informed guesses about the savage ponies. Falcon Wing might have appreciated the tactical value it had if he wasn’t seething. “Raiders hung like an Ursa get their hooves on a pony as scrawny and defenseless as you. They want to get off as much as they want to inflict pain -- perhaps finding arousal in sadism -- and so project their sick sex games onto you, mares as well as stallions. With that in mind, it isn’t a stretch to think that finding you crying in a place like here at a time like now was evidence of… violation,” he concluded matter-of-factually. 

“What the fuck,” Falcon said again in deadpan. The pony had a point, a point that disgusted, disturbed and terrified him all at the same time. 

“This one’s worse at holding a conversation than me, Steiner,” Klaxon said to his apparent companion. How messed up did you have to be to completely ignore the plight of a pony so badly worn that they decided to hide in a dumpster in order to keep themselves alive, in favor of their lackluster responses? 

“Indeed” the pony replied.

 “So this is happening,” Falcon mused, staring dumbly at the figures.“The first ponies who haven’t tried to kill me yet… are criticizing my reaction to all of this. What the actual fuck?”

“So mister ‘I-got-captured-by-raiders-and-didn’t-get-butt-pumped’, I don’t suppose you know what happened to make such a mess out of this part of town?” Klaxon asked. Did the stallions not hear the part about the raiders taking off his wings? 

“Other raiders got the jump on the ones who took me. Better armed. More skilled. A unicorn filly barely past her foal years chucked explosives into their camp,” Falcon Wing answered absentmindedly, trying to process this level of aloofness, this raw indifference.

“Well, shit. That explains the scorch marks and crater back there. Also means that a good haul of explosives went up in smoke,” Klaxon said, more to Steiner than Falcon Wing. That wasn’t meant to be a pun. At least, Falcon Wing didn’t pick up on anything that implied that was supposed to be a joke. He didn’t rule out the possibility though, from what he’d seen -- er, heard -- from the two ponies.

“Hmm, yes. Most unfortunate” Steiner replied with a nicker. “Those weapons could have proved useful if any had survived.”

“Uh,” Falcon found himself interrupting. “That filly? The one pulling those weapons? Yeah, she’s DEAD now,” he neighed with biting bitterness. 

“That so?” Klaxon replied as if he were humoring the wingless pegasus. “Because I thought she’d be able to save herself with her fancy filly unicorn magic. Of course she’s dead. But she was also a raider by the sounds of things. No harm done. Better she die young than grow old to fuck up some good pony folk’s day,” the pony said. 

Astounding. Absolutely astounding. 

“As interesting as this conversation is -- and that is to say it is quite trivial when one realizes our situation,” Steiner started to say; “we should really get out of this alley, with you getting out of that disgusting trash heap first and foremost.”

“Well,” Falcon thought as he heeded the stallion’s words. Even though these ponies have revealed themselves to be morally ambiguous at best, they were a welcome alternative to enduring the Wastes on his own, especially since one of them was beckoning him to go with them. “At least one of them isn’t completely callous. Mostly, but not COMPLETELY”

He was still shaky on his hooves. Too much things to wrap his mind around at once greeted him too soon after he opened his eyes. For one, what would he have done if it were raiders that found him blubbering amidst the trash? “Nothing at all” was the answer to his self-imposed inquiry. They would overwhelm him with numbers even if he did attempt to fight back, as poorly as he was sure that would go. After that would be the almost ritualistic suffering. The other raider ponies preferred hitting him with their own hooves, reserving blades for their… amputations and their guns for… what they must have thought to be self-defense. What if other raiders did not share that ideal on torture? What if they utilized any tool capable of causing pain, slicing his hide shallowly so as to induce suffering but not fatally wound, breaking his bones with heavy blunt weapons and who knows what else. Steiner’s description of the other possibilities did not help things at all. Falcon’s stomach was already threatening to turn itself inside out without having his mind drift to the stallion’s words. 

More than once, Falcon lagged behind the two older ponies, muscles stiffening with a steadily encroaching dread and anxiety. Between his boggled mind and the constant fear of ambush in the dark, the red blank flank found himself slipping into a paralysis. Steiner had fallen back from Klaxon’s side, walking beside Falcon and giving him a forceful nudge in the side whenever he started to slow, pulling his mind from the abyss. “It’s like this now,” Falcon thought, “Once the guns go off let’s see just how fast these legs can take me.” He snorted at that. Though he couldn’t see it in the dark, Steiner had raised a brow. He didn’t say anything though. 

After a while of sneaking through the town and many nudges from Steiner, the three ponies left the raider infested Ponyville behind them, now near the more rural area at its outskirts, though not quite at Sweet Apple Acres. There were railways here. Quite some distance down the tracks was a building with a road meandering over dead and dry earth, connecting it back to the town. Even though it was on the outskirts of a raider hub, the two stallions had commandeered it and took it as their own. It was easy to do so because before they came across it, it was empty and on the cusp of caving in on itself. With their ownership however, it was no longer empty unless they went out and it was still just as liable to collapse.  

At first the building was only a dark shadow on a darker backdrop, a silhouette no different than Klaxon and Steiner save for its size. When Falcon got closer…it was still just as dark. Except now he was able to distinguish a bit of its structural details. Two floors, triangular roof missing many shingles and in some parts, sporting gaping holes. Windows were broken, shot out or otherwise. There must have been a balcony extending over the front door in another time, because now its remnants were spilled across the floor, timbers blocking the front door.

“Was the mess always there?” Falcon asked. 

“Yep,” was Klaxon’s reply.

“… So how do you get into your hideout if the front door is blocked off like that?” came Falcon’s next question. Instinctively he was looking up to the windows and holes in the roof and prepared to extend his wings. A sharp pain in one of the wing stubs broke the habitual response. ”Right, no wings” he remembered somberly. 

He was answered by demonstration. The two ponies walked around to the building’s side. Falcon followed. Lo and behold: a dumpster. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said as Klaxon did a quick survey of their surroundings and then flipped the lid up. 

“It’s clear,” he said. Steiner nodded and crawled into the dumpster, a muffled thump audible from inside. Falcon raised a brow. “Get in,” Klaxon nickered, “there are other ponies who can see just as well as me in the dark.”

Now it made sense why Klaxon was always at the front and why the group didn’t come across any other raiders as they departed. Klaxon, with his eyesight nothing short of amazing, was able to guide them away from trouble. Falcon nodded and walked up to the dumpster, looking inside. It was placed over an old cellar entrance with a large hole cut into the bottom. The cellar doors were opened up and into the empty container, though its exterior betrayed none of this. Through the doors was a mattress to land on. These ponies were shockingly aloof and insensitive… but they were damn clever. Falcon hopped into the dumpster and Klaxon followed thereafter, making sure to pull the lid down quietly before dropping into the cellar himself. 

> Chapter Five
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Five

Know those around you. Fear the depths of their hearts. Be wise to the kind words meant to harm… or the harsh ones meant to protect. 

Klaxon moved to lean against one of the stained cream colored walls. Steiner stood farther into the decently sized basement, looking at Falcon head on. A dim yellowish light inexplicably illuminated the cellar. Steiner waited specifically for Klaxon to the close the dumpster-entrance before he turned on the lamp beside him to eliminate any possibility of drawing the unwanted to their home, though through what manner it was powered Falcon was completely ignorant. It was a skinny metal thing with an ordinary rounded bulb. There was no shade, just the bulbous… bulb situated on top its simple and small brass column. It wasn’t plugged into anything and it rested on a small, rounded table. Internal battery? Perhaps. “How long have you two had that light?” Falcon asked with a gesture of his right hoof to the lamp. 

“Few years now,” was Klaxon’s response.

“Are batteries that easy to find out there?” Falcon inquired next. 

“Nope,” was his answer. Definitely not a battery, these ponies weren’t just sitting in here in the dark when their batteries were dead and they had to find more. The red pony’s face furrowed in confusion.

He looked at the two stallions that liberated him from his trash heap domain, deciding to take advantage of the light and study their features… while not being completely awkward and uncomfortable around the strangers.

Klaxon was an earth pony of an almost bronze colored coat that had a film of black and gray from the dust outside. His mane was a fiery orange and his irises were yellow. He wore a brown leather vest with numerous bandoliers. On his forehead were goggles with two small objects mended onto either side of them. Flashlights? How were they powered?  Hanging off his sides were saddle bags. His cutie mark was a threatening looking owl, large golden eyes without pupils locked in a glare. The connotation of the image made Falcon Wing uneasy around the stallion despite his earlier words. If he wanted to hurt the colt, Klaxon would have done it already. Ignoring that, Klaxon was the epitome of a scavenger, a strong pony wandering the wastes and salvaging anything he could and gathering supplies and resources. A basement was a fitting place for him to set up shop. He didn’t look too worse for wear despite years living in the wild, wild Wasteland.

Steiner on the other hoof wasn’t dressed for hauling. Sure, he had his saddle bags to carry things but beyond that he looked like he wasn’t the scavenging type. That was because his attire was combat oriented: metal plating in addition to his leather barding, a battle saddle; assault rifle on his left and a combat shotgun on his right. He was meant to be as light as he could be, able to strike from afar and utterly demolish up close. Falcon was suddenly more wary of him. Klaxon sounded mean, he probably had one hell of a kick with how toned his body was from carrying all sorts of weights, but Steiner had guns. He was also of a dark coloration, navy blue coat, jet black mane that was unruly at the front and swept back down his neck smoothly. His eyes were stark contrast as they were the color of burning embers. From the mess of hair, Falcon could see the imprint of a scar from his forehead, curving with the bridge of his snout. Like his eyes, Steiner’s scar was a stark contrast to the rest of his dark body. That was because it was glowing. A faint glow, but against a dark blue pelt it was pretty damn noticeable. 

Steiner picked up on Falcon’s shock. He looked to the red colt’s wing stubs, one swollen. The one he had his unhappy landing on. “You’re not the only one here who had part of themselves get taken from them,” Steiner said evenly, lacking emotion. He was simply stating facts here and yet Falcon could feel himself swirling inside. Or was that his stomach preparing to empty its contents? Steiner was… was….

“You’re a unicorn!” Falcon Wing blurted out abruptly. He paused. Thought. “Were a unicorn!” he corrected himself. The dark blue stallion sat on his haunches, mimicking what Falcon had done himself. Steiner spared himself the effort of mocking his expression as he deadpanned “And you’re a pegasus. Were a pegasus.” 

That really hurt. Of all the beatings and of all the names he was called, that one statement caused Falcon Wing the most pain. To top it off, he -- as Steiner so graciously showed -- was on the receiving end of his own words and actions. He was just as insensitive at the other two stallions in disbelief as they were… normally. Falcon stared down at his hooves while another sound made itself known, one that made him feel even lower than low. Klaxon was laughing a cold, contemptuous laugh, his amusement at the expense of the two other ponies in the room. 

> Chapter Six
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Six

Do you think Celestia ever said, “Let there be light”? If she did, how did Luna take it? 

It’s funny how much more observative a pony becomes in such an awkward situation; in doing his damnedest to avoid Steiner’s burning eyes Falcon had come to see subtle details in the ancient cellar. For one, he noticed the delightful chipping of paint on the walls, mostly at the parts where the walls connected to the ceiling. Then were the dusty shelves lining the walls with things Klaxon had gathered. Aged trinkets, various technical parts, ammo in some cases and books all found homes on the shelves. The books were a surprise. Falcon didn’t take either pony to be especially bookish but since Steiner was a unicorn…

Then again, Falcon Wing was also fond of books. He had no alternative since he didn’t really have friends back in the pegasus strongholds. Sure he had his caregivers and his doctor, but other young ponies growing up with him were fleeting contacts at best, bullies and tormentors at worst. That kind of environment fostered an enjoyment of reading while other pegasi honed themselves physically to eventually join the Enclave forces. A pony that found companionship in centuries old text and couldn’t bond well with others? A pony who would rather read than fly laps and play sports? Surely that meant they had to get their shit kicked around. Repeatedly.

“…sorry,” Steiner said, drawing Falcon’s attention back.

“Excuse me?” Falcon responded, his memories dissipating away. 

“You could at least say sorry,” the dark blue stallion replied. The corner of Falcon Wing’s mouth twitched. This was the pony who had carried on a conversation with his companion while Falcon laid teary eyed in a dumpster, recounting a tale of gruesome cruelty and death. This was the pony asking for an apology? In an ironic twist, Falcon found himself to be in the wrong here. If Steiner felt as bad as the wingless pegasus, he did a bad job showing it…or a really good job hiding it. Considering the company he kept, being able to disguise his emotions and inner thoughts must’ve been mandatory. 

Falcon looked to the earth pony. Klaxon hadn’t moved an inch from the wall, watching things play out with a grin. “Let me guess,” the bronzed coated stallion began, meeting Falcon’s orange eyes. “…What the fuck? That’s what you want to say right?” he was still grinning.

“Good to see one of us is happy,” Falcon thought with a sigh, turning to face Steiner. “Sorry. I really am, it’s just…I was surprised. I shouldn’t have reacted like that,” the young red colt apologized. 

“Aw, killjoy!” he heard Klaxon whinny from his side though he didn’t look at the scavenger. Steiner grunted and then nodded. 

“Apology accepted. Now never do something so stupid again” his monotone had taken a scolding edge when he finished speaking. 
Falcon Wing nodded, knowing what he had done was indeed stupid and very rude, but Steiner went on to describe what could have happened in that way he loved. “Had I been of the mood and persuasion, I would have taken that as an insult,” he said in a mildly cold way. “I don’t like being disrespected and I have guns. Guess what happens next.” 

He kicked his right hind leg back, his combat shotgun making a snapping and clicking noise simultaneously, armed, ready to fire. Falcon Wing’s eyes widened in shock and fear. Steiner chuckled. “Good. You have some sense after all,” he said, kicking back and again and disengaging the gun. Falcon released the breath that had lodged itself at the base of his neck. 

As time passed in the cellar, Falcon Wing found himself getting more comfortable around the two stallions. They were rude and borderline depressing to be around because of how uncaring they seemed most of the time but they were straightforward enough, didn’t seem sneaky or conniving and actually kept a good home. If one considered a basement with peeling paint and an entrance hidden by a dumpster home, that is. Klaxon’s stash was well organized and in one of the cellar’s small rooms, he had his personal collection of books in good condition, only slightly worn and exposed to the elements, mostly readable. Klaxon liked to read while Steiner did not find any recreational value in it. He only read to learn skills that may be useful one day while out in the Wastes. Needless to say, Falcon was stunned, but attempted to play it off so as to not offend. The two stallions chuckled almost at the same time at that, the effort was good but they saw it for what it was. Still, it showed the colt was a fast learner. 

When asked his name, Falcon Wing answered truthfully. The irony was not lost on them and they barely suppressed a chuckle. These guys were really fucked up. When the two ponies revealed that Falcon was welcome to stay, he was dumbfounded. “Why?” he ended up asking, not in protest but he couldn’t understand why these two strangers were acting this way towards him. Sure they were unpleasant as all hell but by fuck, they were the first faces of unconditional kindness he’d seen in his hours on the surface!

“Didn’t you hear?” Klaxon offered as an explanation in a pseudo-annoyed way. “You aren’t the only one to lose a part of yourself out here.” 

“Steiner lost his horn and my wings were clipped, what did you lose?” Falcon asked. It was only after did he realize he was basically asking “What kind of misfortune did you experience that makes you fit in with us? You look perfectly fine.”

Fuck. 

“There’s a reason why I say and do things I do,” Klaxon replied gravely with Steiner watching on in silent vigil. That was the end of that. In the time following, Falcon found himself moving away from the pony that found him and to his friend. 

“What spell were you casting before?” the blank flanked colt asked Steiner. It was amazing that the hornless unicorn was still able to do magic in the first place. 

“Not so much a spell. Can’t do much of those anymore. I was just moving magic around, having it power things. That lamp, Klaxon’s lights…”

“I see…” Falcon replied. He thought Steiner to be a gifted unicorn when he was whole. The feats he was surely capable of left the pegasus with foal-like wonder. Now… now all the navy blue pony had to show of it was a glowing scar where the horn would have been, covered by wild mane. And making bulbs light up -- couldn’t forget that. 

“You know… you could have said sorry” Steiner said offhoofedly. Falcon was pulled from his thoughts once again. He didn’t need to have the statement repeated this time. “I should have,” Falcon Wing agreed.  

> Chapter Seven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Seven

Trust is but a fragile bridge, dangling over a burning pit filled with spikes and snakes. Fire resistant snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? 

Falcon sat anxiously outside a closed door, cream paint like the walls, still in good condition on the account that it still stood and there weren’t strips of paint collecting on the concrete floor. Steiner was on the other side, acting as an emissary for the blank flanked, wingless pegasus. Klaxon’s mood towards Falcon had soured considerably. Steiner was just making sure Klaxon wouldn’t pummel him when Falcon was eventually allowed into the room to speak and ask for forgiveness. 

Their discussion was muffled, making Falcon question just how thick the doors and walls were. It would make sense seeing as this basement was a relic of the time before the Megaspells fell. Whoever added it was clearly thinking of building something that would not only survive them but protect from the nastiness that would be left over. Clearly their effort was for naught seeing as the walls were not thick slabs of metal as per a Stable-Tec Stable, the peeling paint revealed as much, though Falcon fancied the dumpster-door as the Wasteland equivalent of a Stable’s gear shaped bulwark of an entrance. The fact remained however that the basement was indeed sturdy and much more likely to maintain its structural integrity long after the building above came down on itself. “They’d probably dig a tunnel entrance out of here when that happens,” thought Falcon Wing, mulling the possibilities over while he waited for Steiner to emerge from beyond the doorway. He glanced around the cellar, from the shelves to the mattress and the walls, eying each object with a scrutinizing gaze. “Assuming they haven’t done so already…” he mentally noted. 

The doorknob turned, the door opened. “He wasn’t as mad at you as you thought. You could have probably come in and said what you had to say without my services,” Steiner said while stepping out of the room, as if he were doing some kind of situational report. Oh wait, of course he was. 

“That was a long talk then, if that were the case,” Falcon retorted. Steiner shrugged.

“He had to get some things off of his chest. He chose to settle it with me than you since, well... he’s known me for a long time while he's only known you for a few hours. And you haven’t exactly proven yourself an able… confidant,” the dark blue hornless unicorn replied. Falcon raised a brow, about to voice his confusion. He was sure these ponies wouldn’t know the meaning of empathy if the word flew into their skulls, bounced around them for a good minute and finally lodged itself in their brains. 

“I poked fun at him for it, he got angry, engaged in a bit of a verbal battle and I kicked his sorry ass. It’s the least I could have done for him laughing at what happened earlier” Steiner said, his words strangling Falcon’s infant words while they were still in the mental crib. 

“There we go,” Falcon thought. Situation normal, all fucked up. “You sure you haven’t riled him up to take it out on me? You know, for starting that thing earlier?” Falcon countered warily.

Steiner chuckled. “It would be funny if that were the case. Mind leaving the door open just a bit, so I could listen to any would-be fireworks?” he asked. Without replying, Falcon stepped around him and shut the door. He saw the horseshoe-looking lock above the knob and turned it. No opening the door from the other side, though if Falcon’s lasting suspicions were true, Steiner could undo the lock with his latent magical ability, for he was a unicorn without a horn still able to do magic. 

Falcon turned to look at Klaxon. The bronze-colored earth pony was lying on his back upon an old mattress so worn that hay was poking out of its seams in some places. It was tucked into the upper left corner of the room from the door. Another hay mattress was in the upper right, Steiner’s bedding. There were small drawers, small green metal cabinets, large green metal cabinets and shelves of… stuff. Just… stuff that the two had scavenged from the outside, perhaps even from upstairs. Most notably was Klaxon’s collection of books arranged on the walls as if the relatively tiny room was a bonafide library. While the room was packed with their loot, it was not cluttered or confused. In addition to being crafty, the two ponies were space efficient and organized, too. 

“And this is just the bedroom. No wonder you two have lasted as well as you have out here!” Falcon complimented, attempting to spark conversation, attempting to make Klaxon reconsider his stance on the former pegasus. “I can so too hold a conversation! Not that anypony would talk to me for a length of time…except Dr. Patchenfix but that was only about how I had managed to get hurt and what I needed to do to get better and how much it was gonna cost Flint and Erasure…”  he thought, feeling his spirits dampen when he thought of his caregivers. Were they worried about him? He was gone from home for…hours, more than a day at that. Or were they glad to be rid of him? Free of the burden of caring for him and the risk of expenses that arose any time he went outside and had to deal with other pegasi. 

“…-o you do that often?” the last of Klaxon’s question echoed in his mind. Falcon shook his head. “Sorry, what was that?” he replied, pulling himself together.

“Start a conversation and then zone out like some kind of druggie, complete with that dumb look on your face and everything,” Klaxon nickered, sitting up on his bedding now. “You… aren’t one, right? You seem a bit young and small to be hooked on something,” he added, eying the red colt, one brow raised. “Unless that’s what the drugs have done to you…”

Falcon resisted the urge to blurt out “What the fuck?” and forced himself to remember why he was even speaking to Klaxon in the first place. He also really did not want to give the stallion the satisfaction. “No, I’m not an addict, my only exposure to drugs have been for purely medical reasons and in controlled doses,” Falcon corrected him as punctually as he could manage. 

That seemed to do the trick as Klaxon laid back down, eyes up to the ceiling. “That’s good. I didn’t want to put up with that shit again,” he said. 

“Again?” Falcon pondered. He didn’t ask. He was already walking on thin ice with Klaxon and he didn’t have wings anymore. Should he fall through there was no coming back. No point in prodding at whatever insecurity it was that made Klaxon the jerk he was. 

“So,” Klaxon spoke up. Falcon noted that Klaxon had said more in this little apology session than he had himself. “get it over with. Say what you gotta say and go lay in a corner or something. It’s late as hell and I’m in the mood for some shuteye.”

“I am sorry for what I said before. It was rude of me especially since you have been so… kind” Falcon said, choosing his wording carefully. “I will make an effort to mind what I say, I promise.”

“Good,” The stallion replied, glancing down to look at the red colt. “Anything else you want to delay my sleep with?” he asked.

“Actually, yes,” Falcon said, seizing the opportunity to answer one of his nagging questions. “How’d you get your name? Isn’t a Klaxon some kind of alarm? Why is your cutie mark an owl? A really mad one by the looks of it?” 

“I used to be a lookout. A sentry. I raised the alarm when trouble came a-knocking. Ponies started calling me Klaxon, I took it as another name,” Klaxon said in an almost dreamily voice, being lost in memories he had no intention of sharing with the wingless Pegasus. Falcon thought about this. Lookout would have been the ideal job for a pony with Klaxon’s brilliant vision. The owl cutie mark, by extension, made a little more sense but… why was it glaring? Klaxon answered that with one sentence. “Cutie mark appeared the day I was first trusted with a rifle. Blew the heads off of raiders trying to launch a midnight attack on my old town.” 

Falcon was quiet. Glaring owl, earned by turning raider pony heads into mush. Simple enough.

“Anything else?” Klaxon asked somewhat irritably.

“No Mr. Klaxon, sir,” he replied. Judging by the fact he didn’t wear a battle saddle now and instead had a strap-holstered 10 millimeter pistol, Falcon guessed the bronze stallion did not care much for killing… which must’ve been confusing or even infuriating for him since he got the icon by murder. Murder in self-defense, but still murder. 

There was a click. Falcon turned his head, watching as the door knob glowed a dim red, turned and opened. Steiner stepped into the room. “That was a long time just to say, ‘I am sorry for asking about things that aren’t my business’; frankly I was getting tired and I’m sure Klaxon brought up the fact that it is late…”

“Yup,” The earth pony chimed in. 

“Right then. Off to bed. Falcon you can go sleep on the welcoming mat if the floor doesn’t interest you,” Steiner said with a dismissive wave of his hoof. He then walked over to his bedding, undid his straps and laid his guns gingerly beside it enveloped in a magical glow. 

“Called it,” Falcon mused, showing no reaction to the sight. He only nodded and trotted out of the room. He turned to close the door, only to see that it was glowing red and swung shut before he could even reach out for the knob. 

> Chapter Eight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eight

Milestones, the things in life one does that they deem worthy of notice. To some in the Wasteland, surviving a certain amount of time is a milestone. To others, slowly discovering the wide variety of fucked up shit out there is a milestone in itself. 

Falcon lay on his stomach on the “welcome mat” as Steiner had put it. He couldn’t sleep in spite of the fact that he was sure he was exhausted from the day’s trials. And it was only a single day. The thought that he would probably live out the rest of his life in this most savage realm stirred his deepest fears. One of those fears arose directly from that: how long was he going to last out here, really? 

Some time later Falcon rolled onto his side, looking up at the bruised and swollen wing stub. Possible break in the bone but not an outright fracture, it would hurt, and hurt a lot. It shouldn’t take long for it to heal as long as Falcon didn’t agitate the injury but he hardly suspected it could be helped. If things happened and he ended up taking another hit to that side then nothing could be done about it. Maybe if he had a few healing potions and poultices... 

“How would Patchenfix handle this…” he thought out loud. He probed his mind for any memory relating to fractures. There were a lot of them, blurry fragments brought about by his own disorientation or the painkillers given to him. From those pieces of cognition, Falcon Wing gleaned two things. One, just watching a medical pony do their craft wasn’t going to supplement any medical knowledge, especially when under the effects of drugs. Two, he enjoyed the periods of euphoria and numbness much more than he should have. He felt a flash of worry; “Maybe Klaxon was on to something…” he thought. He shook it off with a smirk. He never took medicine because he was hooked on their effects. He just knew what it was like to be completely out of it so well because of how much times he’d wind up on Dr. Patchenfix’s table. 

Back on his stomach again, forelegs crossed and his chin laid on them. Falcon’s mind drifted to Steiner’s horn. From his doctor visits and time spent in the Enclave archives, he had gained some interesting tidbits. One thing he knew was that unicorn horns could grow back through magical means or naturally over time, though he didn’t know if that meant they got their magic back. That didn’t matter to the dark blue stallion though. How long ago did he lose his horn? The scar gave the impression it was an old wound, if so, why wasn’t there signs of the horn’s regrowth? 

He wasn’t even going to address the matter of his magic, arcane science or anything else. To anypony in the field, magic could be understood like the alphabet or arithmetic. Falcon Wing was not one of these ponies. The only magic he knew was how to manipulate clouds. He wondered if he still could, even without his wings. 

When he had finally ran out of things to think about, Falcon Wing’s mind went the way of the clouds. Just as the pegasi stopped controlling the weather, without guidance, Falcon recalled all of the things he would rather forget. His breaths became strained and he rolled onto his uninjured side, curled up. When he was finally in the grip of sleep, the first of his nightly tears appeared. 

He woke up in darkness and in surreal silence. Was it morning or had he been asleep for all but a few minutes? No windows meant the only way to find out was opening the dumpster-door... and potentially alerting some unsavory types as to where he and the others were holding out. Right, bad idea.

Without Steiner’s magic lighting up the place, the basement was even darker than outside, not the regular, everyday advanced darkness. This was… advanced advanced darkness. His low-light adapted vision had trouble making out shapes. He imagined Klaxon had no trouble seeing in such conditions and Steiner… Steiner had his magic.  

A thought struck the colt. Peeking out of the dumpster was dangerous, but if he was careful maybe he could take a look upstairs to get a grasp on time. He got up, mindful of his injured wing. He’d have to ask Steiner about it. 

A surge of hope welled up from inside his being. Maybe the unicorn could do his arcane art and regenerate his wings! It would be nothing short of miraculous but hell, Steiner was still doing magic without hindrance while lacking a horn. If anyone could regrow wings, it’d be him. Maybe his horn hadn’t regrown because he didn’t allow it to! 

After stumbling about in the darkness, Falcon Wing finally found the only door that he didn’t know what lay beyond it. He had a very good guess as to what that was though. Gingerly he cracked the door open, peeking out from behind it and seeing what became of a hallway. It would have been a golden, polished wood in its heyday but now it was just a dusty, scuffed and scratched passage. All sorts of pre-war items littered the ground, what looked to be scorched papers and shattered picture frames being most prevalent. The papers must’ve been the photos. ”Some hall of fame this is…” the blank flank Pegasus mused. The atmosphere was a depressing gray but at least it wasn’t choking blackness. It did seem to be morning, albeit very early morning. 

Some compulsion drew Falcon Wing out from the doorway. Curiosity to see what remained of another time, forever captured by an image. He instantly regretted it. Pushing the door open, Falcon felt unexpected resistance and heard a strange noise as if he had toppled a pile of blocks. He went wide eyed at the sight of a blackened skull followed by other bones rolling into view. A pony had been right where the door opened. Falcon had swept the skeleton aside. His breath was once again caught at the base of his throat, a quiver running right through his body. Shaking, he closed the door gently, not making the slightest bit of noise. His breathing had completely stopped and only resumed once the door was shut. Having lost his night vision, the stumble back to his bedding was a... difficult but ultimately manageable task.

He closed his eyes tightly and buried his face into the mattress, finding its stench to be horrendous; the fact that his dumpster odors were imprinted into it not helping things at all. He screamed and the sound was adequately muffled.  

> Chapter Nine
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Nine 

Do not lose a limb reaching for the past. You’ll need all of them to deal with the trials ahead. 

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Falcon muttered to himself, fighting back tears. He was curled up on the bedding. “I didn’t mean to disrespect their remains like that but --“ he winced as the skull flashed in his mind, the wide holes where a pony’s eyes would be, no bottom jaw, pointed right at him. “…damn it, what were they even trying to do!” he exclaimed with a subdued whisper. “Trying to get into their basement to survive the spells!? Did they really think it would work!?”

“Boy, it isn’t a good sign when you start talking to yourself, holding onto your tail like that,” Klaxon commented from down the way with only a slightly biting edge to his voice. He had amazing eyesight AND hearing. The owl was a very fitting cutie mark.

Falcon was jolted back to his senses. How long was Klaxon awake? Was Steiner awake too? How long did they let him ramble to himself like that? The red colt groaned. These lapses in awareness were becoming an issue fast. Falcon got to his hooves and trotted a bit too hastily to the bronze colored stallion. “What?” Klaxon asked, facing broadside to Falcon. Prime bucking position if the wingless pegasus tried anything funny.

“Th-The…ske-skeleton…” Falcon replied shakily. “The skeleton…on the other side of the door…” he choked out, gesturing in its general direction. Klaxon followed where his hoof pointed. 

“Oh hell, did you try to go upstairs!?” Klaxon blurted with a bit of alarm, turning back to Falcon and glaring daggers at him. “Didn’t you see that balcony? The entire building is only one mishap away from looking just like it!”

“I just wanted to see what time it was!” Falcon shot back, feeling the tears coming forth. Klaxon recoiled slightly, looking around awkwardly. Falcon said something else but it was just a jumble of sounds mixed with sobs.

Klaxon sighed and said “Look, kid… you… you aren’t drinking enough water for all that you waste crying and out here water is kind of a big deal --“ Falcon retorted through more teary eyed gibberish that Klaxon found both hilariously stupid and frustratingly annoying.

Steiner emerged from the doorway a few feet behind the bronze stallion. He, unlike Klaxon, was already fully equipped save for the battle saddle. “I like the sound of crying and Klaxon’s clumsy attempts to end it as much as anypony else but, really? So early in the day? Come on now...” Steiner said as he looked in their direction. 

Klaxon was fuming. “Oh yeah? Why don’t you do something about him then!” he shot back, stepping to the side and shoving Falcon at Steiner in such a way that had the wingless pegasus spinning in place. He completed three and a half revolutions before his legs gave out from under him. He laid upright on the concrete, forward hooves over his face to hide his tears from the deep blue unicorn. His ears laid flat on his head. 

Steiner regarded the pony on the floor before him for just under a minute before saying: “Well that isn’t pathetic at all. Tell me Klaxon, what started this whole outpouring of misery?” 

“He tried going upstairs. Found a skeleton outside the door” the stallion replied. 

“Why would he want to go upstairs? Surely he has enough sense to know that even we don’t go up there, lest we want the whole building to come down with us still in it,” Steiner nickered.

“I just wanted to know if it was still night time or if it was day!” Falcon finally managed to articulate his words properly. 

It took a while but Falcon stopped crying about the long dead pony whose skeleton he had swept to the side unknowingly. He had seen in graphic detail a pony reduced to giblets in an explosion. That pony was a raider. As horrid as the scene was it did not bring forth such sadness and a sense he had done something vile. It was the filly who murdered the raider, not Falcon. It was another raider that made that filly a fire ball all her own, not Falcon. The pony beyond the door was not a raider yet Falcon had callously scattered their remains for the sake of looking at a bunch of old pictures. 

The lamp was on, shedding its yellow light through the cellar. 

The two stallions gave Falcon his rations for the day, a can of sweet potatoes and a bottle of water, mostly clear but something was off about it. Suddenly Klaxon’s talk about tears being a waste of water made sense. Wasting bodily fluid meant drinking more of that water and Falcon didn’t imagine it to be too healthy. 

He ate the contents of the can and downed a third of the bottle with much vigor, thinking of something more pleasant as he did so. His victuals were far cry from what he ate back home. He sat in his corner of the cellar for a few minutes, paying his stomach extra attention. He had avoided vomiting so far, he would find it a cruel irony if he did so just after eating the first thing he had in hours. Thankfully his stomach held out and kept his food down. It was little, but Falcon knew he would have to make due and that it was better than nothing. He tried to put a positive spin on things. “Preservatives are tasty!” he called out to the others, getting a few grunts of approval from both of them as they ate. He tried not to think about the cause for his tears earlier.    

A little later after “breakfast”, Falcon Wing was with Steiner as the unicorn went through the stash of things he and Klaxon amassed over their time together. Falcon Wing, as he was, provided no support to the two of them and if he were to stay with the two stallions that would have to change. Steiner’s magic swept over various objects on the shelves and opened drawers, the dark blue pony calculating what would be best suited for the young red colt. Falcon Wing sat behind him in silence, glancing around the room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Steiner’s cutie mark was a dull green circle with blue swirls converging on the center of the circle, where a cyan ring surrounded a red spot that had some strange runic symbol on it. “How does a pony get a cutie mark like that?” he thought but didn’t voice his question. Instead he asked, hoping that he wasn’t distracting Steiner, “Your horn… will grow back, right? If you wanted you could just poof it back right now?” 

He paused to consider his words. That was just too weird.

“I don’t know. I’m not too much of a healer and even then, the way I lost my horn…” Steiner replied absentmindedly, catching himself before he shared more than he’d like. “Probably not,” he concluded tactfully. Falcon’s ears drooped, his earlier hope beginning to waver. He had his doubts but pressed on anyway. 

“Is it possible that you can fix my wings? Regrow them?” he inquired with trepidation. He heard Steiner sigh. 

“Not a healer, and… even if I was… it’s a bit too late for you,” he said. Falcon’s heart divebombed into a pit and got stuck there. Steiner was all too willing to explain this, however. 

“If I was a healer, I would have probably used a healing potion, maybe an extra strength one then used a healing spell to make sure your wings reformed properly. Those raiders nipped that plan in the bud, though. They patched up the wounds but didn’t take any measure to ensure they didn’t close up…” Steiner said slowly and clearly. Falcon looked to his wing stubs, the first signs of a coat growing over the pink flesh visible. He was on the verge of wasting more water. “…and since they healed over like that they effectively cut your wings off from any magic assisted healing --“ he stopped speaking when he caught his unfortunate choice of words and quickly added “-- no pun intended”

“So…that’s it. I might as well be an earth pony with…with…” Falcon started to say, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to describe what remained of his wings. Damn it all! He stomped his fore hooves in a stubborn refusal to cry anymore. Steiner was right, he was being pathetic. There were other ponies dying outside; he was just lucky to be alive, even if it meant he was probably unable to fly ever again. 

“Yes,” Steiner said, looking back at the distressed colt. “But even without wings, you are still more than an earth pony. Sure, you’re lacking now, but in time I believe you can become something… amazing.”

Falcon’s sorrow melted away and he was left awestruck. Steiner said something… hopeful. 

> Chapter Ten
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Ten

Some things are best mentioned early by prerogative rather than explained later by necessity. Sharing something about one’s self is preferable to having it be exposed. 

Falcon Wing bounded out of what used to be a grocery store, saddle bags packed with a small bounty all of his own. Steiner was waiting on the other side of the street in a battle stance: legs spread wide, eyes peeled, sweeping the guns at his side back and forth to cover the store and the rest of the street. He stood behind a barricade of mangled metal and concrete chunks. A dark gray helmet with silver lining was on his head, his burning eyes visible through the clear visor that curved upwards to accommodate his snout. 

“Any trouble in there?” Steiner asked Falcon when the red pony was standing at his side and taking cover; lending his own eyes to the unicorn’s vigil.

“A few raiders, I was able to sneak past them and Klaxon… well. He does what he does…” Falcon Wing answered. 

Klaxon did not like to kill and only drew the well maintained 10 millimeter he had in the strapped holster when he couldn’t avoid a firefight. That did little to stop him from his preemptive strikes, hitting unsuspecting raiders like a truck and putting them down without a sound. 

The last week consisted of all these training runs. Klaxon taught Falcon Wing how to be stealthy and the trio went on scavenger outings; Steiner took up fire support and lookout duty while the earth pony stallion and young pegasus colt went on their missions. On that first day, Steiner gave Falcon his protection and bags. 

The red colt wore a black coat of sorts. It was very light yet covered a lot of the pony. It was more like a leather vest with a hood and cape that draped off of his body but was not ridiculously long. The coat covered where his wings would be, shielding what remained of them from the world. Likewise they covered his saddle bags and tail. They were not exceptionally large and couldn’t hold as much as Klaxon’s bags, the two stallions accounting for Falcon’s less than spectacular frame. He had a striking stature for a colt his age, taller and longer than average but very lithe. His vest sported the bandoliers similar to those of Klaxon’s own.

Klaxon exited the ruined store after a short while, the sliding screen door locked in the closed position but the screen smashed in long ago by the raiders who claimed the large building as their own. A few yards on either side of the building, a line of landmines had been planted and disguised by debris and rubble. Klaxon found and disarmed each one on his scouting pass before the trio’s operation was put in effect. Steiner made quick work of the guards and while the others were on edge about the attack, the earth pony and pegasus infiltrated, relying on light hoofsteps and darkness to aid them.  

By the end of the gathering, a large portion of the raiders had been either shot by Steiner and their bodies lay on the streets and just past the busted screen door or they had been swiftly dispatched by Klaxon’s own hooves. Falcon swiped their stash of medical supplies, healing bandages and health potions a-plenty. His extensive dealings with the doctor had proved useful after all! In addition to that, canned and boxed foods were in no shortage between the stallion and colt, though Klaxon had taken other supplies as well, some supplied by looted bodies.  

“You did good today. Damn good” Klaxon praised in an even voice when he too was behind the makeshift barrier. “Didn’t hear a peep from your direction at all, almost forgot you were in there with me. Almost.”

“Did I mess up somewhere?” Falcon asked earnestly. In the shadow of his hood, his face had a nervous expression. Any mistake, any trace he left of his presence could potentially make a scavenging run end in disaster. He had to strive to do better! He had to BE the silence! BE the shadow! 

“Nah, you did fine with what I taught you about being silent and keeping out of sight. It’s just that I’d have to be one huge dumbass donkey to forget about a pony I’ve been doing this with for the past seven days” Klaxon whinnied dismissively. 

“…Oh” Falcon replied. He was prepared to swear that he would improve and not make the same mistakes again as he had at the end of the other missions. He was willing to spend hours going over notes he written when he was back at the cellar, notes he kept in one of the small cabinets near the welcoming mat turned bedding.  

“You almost sound disappointed,” Steiner chimed. He was joking but his voice never betrayed it, still low and somewhat ominous, keeping the others on high alert. They can let their guards down as much as they could afford back home. On the street and in the open was not the place to chat.

“It’s not that I’m not happy that I did so well, I really am considering I’ve only been here for a bit over a week --“

“Hold up,” Klaxon interjected. “We found you just a week ago. You mean to tell me that Steiner and I found you not too long after 
you left the Cloud Curtain? That you were not born in the Wasteland?” 

“You’re actually from one of the pegasus cities? You know what it’s like above the clouds?” Steiner questioned, the revelation breaking his concentration on their surroundings. 

“Not the best place to discuss this!” Falcon said pleadingly. He had a feeling he had a lot of explaining to do and he’d rather do it in the safety of the underground than opposite the shooting and robbing of raiders. Thinking of what had transpired there and what had transpired elsewhere over the week in that light sent a shudder down the pegasus colt’s spine. Was he learning how to be a raider’s raider? Sure he hadn’t killed anypony yet but…still…

The walk back to the outskirts of town had been a treacherous one. Raider groups clad in their despicable outfits and armors were scouring the Ponyville ruins be it by their own volition or an active search by their parties to find the ones responsible for the killing of their peers and pilfering of supplies. Falcon found the frequency of the near encounters with the savage ponies alarming, his suspicions leaning over to the latter possibility. And since the trio had struck out against various bandit groups…

Klaxon, Steiner and Falcon crept through alleys and slunk through the remnants of houses with giant holes in the walls, keeping out of sight while enemies battled it out in the Wasteland gloom, the sounds of their guns echoing loudly. A chance break in the clouds allowed for streams of golden afternoon light to shine down on the turf wars but -- as Falcon knew would happen -- the clouds billowed and rolled back into place. The gloom’s grip on the land below was reaffirmed. 

The three closed in on the rundown building, Klaxon took up his role as sentry as Steiner and Falcon Wing dropped into the lair through the dumpster then followed himself. Several yards further out, beyond the train tracks but still not quite at Sweet Apple Acres were newly dug graves. The three had risked entering the death trap of a building to gather the long departed and give them a proper burial. 

> Chapter Eleven 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eleven

One cannot change their past. Only live for the future. One has lost their way when the past and the future become one and the same. 

“And…that’s when you found me,” Falcon concluded, bathed in the yellow glow of the lamp.  He sat on his haunches, his hood draped on his shoulders. A radio Klaxon had “salvaged” from the super store lay on the table next to the lamp.

Steiner broke the silence that followed the red colt’s story with: “… Enlightening,” while having a hoof gently tapping against his helmet which lay in front of him. “In such a tight society constrained in terms of resources for its population, one would think such cases of… foalish behavior would be rectified,” the unicorn stated in response to Falcon’s tale of bullying and abuse. “…and your parents… they were part of the Enclave. For some reason I don’t think their deaths were --“ 

“Whoa, sweet Celestia bucking space rocks, Steiner!” Klaxon interrupted when Falcon’s face contorted with sadness. Klaxon was sitting to the right of the dark blue unicorn and looked like he was fighting the urge to hit him. 

“Is your timing always this good?” Falcon Wing thought, thankful for the bronze stallion’s intervention. He had heard the rumors himself, how the scouting mission was rigged somehow. That the team his parents were a part of was purposely sent to investigate a death trap. He didn’t believe it; didn’t WANT to believe it. How could anypony send others to their deaths? What means could possibly be worth betraying the loyalties and trust of ponies like that? 

The muffled gunshots outside brought his wandering mind back to the matter at hand… then he promptly began pondering if he was in a position to judge an entire government body and its morals. For one, he was young. He was no foal but he was certainly not a stallion, never had to make adult decisions and deal with adult problems. Secondly, he felt no remorse stealing from ponies -- as monstrous as they may be -- and was completely fine with his companions murdering them without a second thought. 

“-- and how you… damn it Falcon!” Klaxon’s voice was indeed loud and attention-getting like an alarm. 

“R-right! Sorry!” Falcon stammered. “What was that?” he queried, attempting to follow the conversation from where he zoned out. 

“I was just wondering when you intended to tell us that you lived under the Celestia-damned Enclave! In the last week they could have come after you and Steiner and I know what happens to ponies that get caught by the Enclave. You might be a blank flank but boy I tell you; you won’t have to worry about finding a cutie mark. I don’t even want to think about what they’d do to us but I’m sure Steiner’s got that covered,” Klaxon said. 

“Hey! I recall you two not being too inclined to talk about your life stories, why should I have been!? Hell, I still don’t know what the deal with you two is!” Falcon fired back, holding his ground. He glared, passing his gaze in between both stallions, the earth pony who insisted on his personal loss and the unicorn who lost his horn and insisted on not growing it back. He tried to not think about the fact they could both hurt him. A lot. He couldn’t be shaken with his righteous anger, not after his outburst. 

The silence between them drew on for a long time, the red colt finding it difficult to maintain a glare when he was getting amused looks from those he was trying to unsettle with his anger. Then again, he should have known better than to try to intimidate them. They already knew his record of meekness and even in his barding he still looked comical to the two older ponies. “Oh, damn it all!” Falcon muttered, drooping, his mane tumbling over his face. It was darker than when he left the sky. The orange streaks in his yellow mane and tail had darkened with dirt and other filth. 

“Buck up,” Steiner snorted, the barest hint of a chortle underlying in his voice. “You want to know the deal with Klaxon and I? Fine. Like you, Klaxon lost his parents,” the dark blue unicorn began. Klaxon’s mouth was agape, at a loss for words but had no inhibitions on acting on his earlier impulses. With his hoof only centimeters away from Steiner’s hide, Klaxon was suspended by a magical bubble and moved several feet away from the hornless unicorn. The bronze stallion protested and cursed but Steiner continued unabated. 

“He was on sentry duty as always back when we used to live in the ruins of Hope. His old stallion was walking down the path back into the camp with slavers closing in on him. It wasn’t a party that threatened the town but it was more than able to pick off stragglers. Klaxon saw them well before his father did, tried to warn him but it was too late. By time Klaxon was able to line his sights up they had mobbed his dad and he couldn’t get a clear shot. Didn’t stop him from trying though…he ended up shooting one of the slavers in front of his father…bullet went through them and into his chest.”

“Steiner you son of a bitch!” Klaxon spat angrily, flailing in the telekinetic field. He sounded choked up. He was going to be in tears. Klaxon… was going to cry. Falcon was dumbfounded. 

“Since then, Klaxon hasn’t pulled a gun on a pony as long as he could help it. No, he deals his hurting up close and personal, no pulling his hooves. You’ve seen what he could do.” 

“Steiner… why the hell -- I didn’t want this!” Falcon Wing stammered, eyes wide has he saw Klaxon hang his head as he had not too long ago, orange mane wafting with the unicorn’s magic, trembling as he let the tears come out. 

“He lost his mother to alcohol. It was a slow way to go, first the drifting apart, then the embarrassment and then the sickness after practically drowning herself in the crap she’d find and chug,” Steiner went on saying. “Really, can you blame Klaxon for how he acts? He’s gotta cover those wounds somehow.”

> Chapter Twelve
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twelve

What you don’t say… somepony else will.

Falcon couldn’t believe this. Steiner had just done one of the most heartless things the red colt had ever seen, and he had been the victim of apparent heartlessness. He had heard all of the taunts and knew the terrible teasing that came with the death of his parents. Those gut wrenching experiences seemed much more preferable than having his companion share intimate details that were meant to be locked in the mind and soul of the bronze stallion who wept in the influence of his magic. 

He cringed, why hadn’t he been more vocal? Klaxon was able to silence Steiner with one statement but was unable to do the same when the focus was on him. Falcon should have spoken up, should have refused the information the unicorn was so callously sharing against Klaxon’s wishes. 

Yet part of him wanted to know, and the shockingly simple, aloof summary of the earth pony’s past explained a great deal about his mannerisms. Falcon Wing hated himself a little for that. This was the pony who found him in a dumpster and even though the wingless pegasus’ first impression of him was less than flattering, Falcon knew he wasn’t a malevolent soul. He didn’t object when Steiner insisted on taking the red colt with them on their way home!

Steiner set Klaxon down, sensing the stallion’s rage had been replaced solely with his sadness. “But covering wounds,” Steiner continued to say, his voice suddenly not as cold and impassive as before; “is not the way to heal them. You have reminded me of that, Falcon Wing. Ever since that awful day Klaxon has grown a shell and has hidden himself away in it, escaping his own hurt by hurting others with words or his hooves.” The unicorn looked to his friend with a pained look. He did not enjoy doing this. “You shed tears and are aware of your weakness,” he said to Falcon Wing, who couldn’t stand to see Klaxon in such a state, much less hear more of Steiner’s psychological theories. “Klaxon says harsh words and tries to ignore his own.”

“So what if I cry!?” Falcon finally shouted, unable to take any more of this. “That’s not me accepting my weaknesses! That’s me being sad! That’s me reacting to some of the most awful shit I’ve ever known in my life!” His mind was reeling. “You know what would be healing!? Letting Klaxon tell me all of that himself instead of betraying his trust like that! You think this will help him in any way? If anything you just showed that he can’t tell you anything --“

“I didn’t TELL him anything,” Klaxon spoke up from his corner of the cellar. “He was there. He lived in the same compound I did. And his share of tragedy happened before mine, actually.”

“Oh, please no…” Falcon responded lowly. “Two wrongs don’t make a right! I would think the whole end of the world would have taught us that!”

But Steiner only closed his eyes. “Tell him, Klaxon; I’ve got my own healing to do.”

“You think Steiner using magic without a horn is strange, right? You haven’t seen anything. He was just a foal when his magic manifested. It was some dark afternoon behind the compound walls, Steiner and I along with a few other of the other young ones were sitting around trying to make ourselves useful,” Klaxon ran foreleg over his nose, sniffled and wiped his eyes. “Back then all Steiner had was his father; and he always wanted to help him out. His father being an earth pony and all, he would watch him do heavy lifting and such but couldn’t help out on the count of him being so little.  His father saw this and gave the kid a Sparkle Cola, just for the thought. Must’ve been one hell of a cola because after downing it, Steiner’s eyes and horn started glowing.” 

The dark blue unicorn let out a pained sigh as he too recalled the memory. 

“I swear that was the happiest day of his life,” Klaxon said. Falcon’s heart lurched, realizing the tragic turn in this story must’ve been right around the corner. “He was a fast learner you know, picking up all sorts of spells on his own. All intuition or something; no one taught him. He would just go off alone and practiced and all of a sudden he’s got a new spell. Helped his dad out with the chores while I was trying my hoof at guard duty…”

“Misery loves company” Falcon Wing thought bitterly, already making an inference that something terrible happened to Steiner’s father. Did the two ponies bond over the loss of their parents?

“… then one day… I don’t know what magic he was trying to do or if he meant to do it at all… he was just glowing and having a fit… all I remember was that flash of light and just like that, his father was gone. Ash.” 

Falcon nearly fell over, stunned. 

“Then he got his cutie mark”

There was no stopping the red pegasus and he hit the concrete, while Steiner mourned in silence. 


“I am so sorry. For the both of you…I can’t even imagine…” Falcon trailed off glumly, still yet to right himself. How does one even cope with killing their parent? How does one cope with being rewarded for it!? 

“Can’t even imagine? You’re an orphan too aren’t you?” Klaxon asked, seeming to reflect the way the red colt had asked his own question that day. Steiner lost his horn and my wings were clipped, what did you lose?

“I wasn’t the one who killed my parents. I didn’t have a hoof in it at all,” Falcon Wing replied mentally with his orange eyes pinned to the floor. It was the honest truth but Falcon couldn’t say that. How could he even think of such a thing? The incredible trauma these two stallions had buried in their years of life demanded attention and care, things he should have been providing instead of stumbling about as if he were in a daze. It’s the least he could do to repay them for all they had done for him, a complete stranger at the time. 

“Unlike me… Steiner didn’t have a mother. She died giving birth to him,” Klaxon continued. Because there was so much more to this story that Falcon was just DYING to hear. “We took him in and, for a few years things were fine between the four of us. Sure, he got odd looks from the others in the compound from time to time but things were good… I don’t even remember when he lopped off his own damn horn but he did it because everyone else was worried. Worried he’d do it again, but he had them convinced that he was safe again… if not a little crazy.” Klaxon started to choke up again. “Things would still be like that if I hadn’t fucked up like I did!”

Falcon willed himself to speak. “It might have been a happy time for you, but Steiner… he willingly gave up his horn out of shame and guilt! He wasn’t happy at all, even if your family took him in! And what happened to your parents...!” he trailed off, a thousand thoughts racing through his head. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t a therapist; he was barely old enough to take care of himself! What could he possibly say to help these two ponies? 

“I… know you still have guilt about what happened. If I were in either one of your places, I would hate myself,” Falcon said cautiously. Steiner nodded solemnly while Klaxon scowled. They wanted to share their harsh realities with the former pegasus; they got his honest opinion. No more secrets and ulterior motives. “But, damn it, how many years ago did this happen? How long have you two been on your own in this raider infested town, stealing from and killing monsters just so you can live another day!?” he pressed on, getting back onto his hooves and standing as tall as he could. He was just a tad bit shorter than his elders. “Sometimes… sometimes you just need to let go of the bad in life, stop lingering on it and let it be what it is because otherwise it starts messing with your present. You can’t lose a limb holding onto the past when you need all of them to deal with the trials ahead!”

He was practically panting and on the verge of sweating bullets when he finished his spiel, wondering if his words got through to the stallions or if he was just making himself look stupid again. He would settle for either or, appealing to the rational part of their minds or bringing back their amused faces even if it meant they would only laugh at him. At least they’d be laughing. 

“So quit it with the ruse, you have your regrets but who doesn’t? Ponies aren’t perfect. I know both of you can be better…could be… amazing, even. Before that you’ve got to forgive yourselves and if need be, each other. Only then can you truly… heal.” 

> Chapter Thirteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Thirteen

Raiders are the product of the Wasteland: what happens when a pony is stripped of all hope and happiness; what happens when the only way they can cope with life is by causing immeasurable suffering to their fellow ponies. Sometimes friendship is one’s only lifeline, the only barrier between them and the bleakness. 

The lapse in communication was one of the longest periods of silence Falcon endured in days. Everyone went off in separate directions, somehow managing to distance themselves from each other in the confined space of the basement. Falcon Wing wanted to be with them, to make sure they were alright after such a trying ordeal. The talk alone made the red colt feel exhausted. He wondered just how well they would handle having to reevaluate themselves, to somehow move on and let go. 

He could only have faith in them, just as Steiner had faith in him to better himself in the harshness of the Wasteland. It was difficult, Falcon Wing wished to rely on the merits of his associates but they made a damn good effort to conceal them, to carry on the illusion of indifference while their lasting grievances ate away at them. It was difficult but not impossible; Steiner had shown hints of compassion in spite of his stony demeanor and Klaxon had great patience and understanding in teaching the landbound pegasus the art of stealth. It was with evidence of these virtues; Falcon Wing believed there were others hidden away by the two ponies -- he was convinced his associates… his friends -- would triumph. 

But that would take time. Time he had to spend somehow. He went about this undertaking by doing what he tended to do regardless: observe and study. This time he found himself scrutinizing the lamp. It was still on, without Steiner’s magic. His explanation for it: the lamp was indeed battery powered, modified so that the unicorn could recharge it on a whim. He assumed the same of Klaxon’s goggle lamps; how useful would lights that you can’t use without another pony be in a jam? 

Alas, thinking about the application of magic to lighting only got the red colt so far. His exhaustion and concern for his friends was now compounded by boredom. He felt like laying his front half of his body on the floor and walk around with his rear legs alone, dragging himself around. He stopped himself because doing that on concrete would hurt, even with his vest on. Besides, why would he risk damaging it at all? 

Falcon Wing cast aside the foalish impulse and turned his thoughts to the radio Klaxon had procured during their “acquisition mission”. It was a blocky thing with rounded edges and an olive green in color. It had the familiar film of brown from dust and grime coating it along with a bit of rust. He doubted the thing still worked with how bad it looked but clopped his hooves against its knobs and dials anyway. By some strange occurrence, the crackling of static emanated from the device. A low volume crackling that gradually gave way to more recognizable broadcasts as Falcon continued messing with the knobs. 

“-- evening!” the deep voice of a stallion greeted Falcon, the voice somewhat distorted by the poorly maintained radio. “This is DJ Pon3, and I have some news for you! Major update on the situation at Arbu and Bucklyn Cross…”

After listening to the broadcast, Falcon sat in disbelief at what he had heard. It was a…news report concerning one known the “Stable Dweller”… and cannibalism. Ponies… eating ponies and feeding others --

The wingless pegasus tasted bile. That was beyond foul, beyond vile. His stomach which had persevered so valiantly during his week on the surface was finally threatening to heave. His eyes began to water from both the sickness he felt creeping over him and sadness for all who had been unfortunate enough to be touched by this depravity. The music that followed the report was not helping at all, not even the more upbeat songs.  

Time escaped him. The next two days were miserable. It was nonstop rain. Nonstop… heavy rain. The drumming of raindrops on the dumpster was loud, there was an unseemly cold draft, it made sleeping on the “welcoming mat” most uncomfortable for the red colt. Falcon Wing tried not to linger on the bad however, in spite of the noise that threatened to permeate his thoughts and the cold that made him use his overcoat as a sheet, he was thankful that the cellar remained dry, untouched by the deluge happening outside. Against the aspirations of those who built it, it was no bunker to outlast the apocalypse, but it certainly held its own against the elements over two centuries. 

The situation with his friends did not offer such solace. They were like husks moving around in the cellar, getting their canned meal of the day, eating in silence, disposing of the cans and then returning to their solitude in close quarters. The unrelenting storm made this even more depressing. Ponies were not meant to live like this. Not even ponies in the stables lived like this, Falcon was sure of that! If they did, then it was no wonder why the mare known as the Stable Dweller left!

The radio had become his companion in those two days. The quality of the broadcasts had steadily deteriorated in that time; whether or not it was the storm’s doing or the already bad shape of the radio to begin with was unclear. The garbled messages and butchered music were still better than silence and gave Falcon Wing something to think about. He held onto that dearly, for he knew what happens when his mind is left to wander: it invariably finds its way found its way to the days of the past. He did not need to remember those memories, not at a time like now.

“Didn’t I tell them that they needed to let go of the past in order to heal?” he thought, resting his head on a hoof, his elbow resting on the table. “Because a wingless pegasus wasn’t ironic enough. He had to be a hypocrite too.”

“Hello out there? Anypony awake?  It’s time for a special late night edition of the news!” the deep voice of DJ Pon3 exclaimed, the voice alone almost giving the just-about-busted machine some semblance of life. The audio was still pretty crummy though. 

“Late night? It’s night already!?” Falcon Wing thought incredulously. Being cooped up in the cellar for two days straight was really starting to mess with his perception of time!

“I have with me, communicating over broadcaster, Grandpa Rattle, long-time resident of Arbu and new resident of Friendship City. And he’s here to set the record straight. The whole pony about what went down three nights ago. So sit down and hold onto your hats, children, because this is going to be one hell of a story,” DJ Pon3 went on, oblivious to the red colt’s confusion possibly miles away. 

Forcing himself to focus -- in some cases, translate the garbled mess of static and words -- Falcon Wing listened intently to the stallion’s words. 

“… When you’ve seen as much as I have, when you’ve seen as many heroes fail and fall… it’s not hard to expect it. It’s hard to keep believing. Even when you know there’s a pony out there you should believe in. You didn’t fail us Stable Dweller, I failed you…”

He continued listening for a short while. He heard past the DJ’s apology to the mare Falcon knew so little about and the beginning of Rattle’s contribution to the program. He stopped there, for the sake of his stomach he shut off the radio. Falcon did not want to hear about what details of the atrocities of Arbu. He wanted to think about what DJ Pon3 had said about heroes, and the Stable Dweller who had become a Wasteland Heroine. 

Falcon turned off the lamp, plunging the cellar into abysmal darkness and started walking back to the “welcome mat”, pulling his coat off of his back in preparation to cover with it, the stubs that remained of his wings completely healed and covered in red. 

Silently, Steiner poked his head out from his doorway, intrigued when the distant din of radio chatter stopped so abruptly. It was the first time the radio was silent in two days. He was not the only one to notice. Klaxon also investigated, opening the door to the bedroom as quietly as he could, the sound of his hoof against the knob being a distinctive sound in the quiet of the cellar. Steiner whipped around to look at the bronze Earth pony, who then returned the even stare. They read the pain in each other’s gaze. Klaxon broke off a few seconds later to fetch the radio from the little table then as quickly as he had appeared, he vanished into his room. 

> Chapter Fourteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Fourteen

Hope is the ultimate weapon in the fight against the Wasteland. Hope that life will not only be about survival. Hope that a pony can make themselves better. 

“I’m leaving,” Falcon wing said that morning, breaking the third day of silence during meal time. Immediately he winced as if saying the words had caused him great physical pain. It hadn’t, but he felt a gut churning pang and strong regret after the words left his mouth. “You could have attempted to think of a good farewell speech, you idiot!” he scolded himself. He didn’t want to leave the two stallions with a negative impression of himself. They already saw him as weak… defenseless… pitiable… he didn’t want them to think he was ungrateful to boot. 

“Leaving?” Steiner asked as neutrally as he could muster after his days of grief, laying his can of corn on the floor. Klaxon kept eating. He had is saddle bags set beside him, his headlamps resting on the small table.

Falcon sighed, collected his thoughts and then started to explain himself. “I told you that I thought you two can be something amazing, better than the ponies you used to be and better than the ponies you are now. Well I realized that I need to be a better pony too, that all my life all I’ve done is be a victim. I’ve gotten hurt and have crawled back to those who are supposed to take care of me only to get hurt again and again. I haven’t thought about how they felt about it, how me getting kicked around like a ragdoll was affecting them. All I cared about was the treatment being available when I needed it, so that maybe I could just endure life rather than live it.”

Falcon reached around his shoulders, bit onto his overcoat and pulled it off. In the yellow light of the lamp, his dirty coat, mane and tail were visible save for most of his upper torso, where his black tunic clung to his body. He spread the stubs of his wings. “As you can see, I can’t crawl back to them. Not any time soon. And as much as I appreciate all you’ve done for me for the past… many days… I can’t have you two take their place. Not when you have your own problems to deal with.” He paused.

“You two… Klaxon, Steiner… I’d be willing to say you’ve become my first friends. I’ll never forget you and everything you’ve done when I’m out in the Wastes --“

Klaxon slammed his can down forcefully, making Falcon jump and stop talking. “So let me get this straight. By being a better pony, you mean you’re gonna gallop off into the unforgiving, eat-you-up-and-spit-you-out Wasteland… to prove something to yourself? To prove that you aren’t… pathetic?” 

Klaxon’s words made the red colt shudder, DJ Pon3’s report of Arbu echoing in his mind. Those ponies never got spit out, did they? Before he could go off on a wild tangent and zone out, Falcon asserted “No, I’m going out there to help ponies instead of expecting to get helped all the time. I’m going out there to do the right thing, like the Stable Dweller --“

It was Steiner’s turn to chime in. “The Stable Dweller travels with an envoy of other ponies, even she doesn’t charge off into the unknown by herself. She’s not stupid nor is she suicidal. It is only logical that she has survived as long as she has because she is a brilliant tactical thinker in addition to exceptionally skilled. In addition, you are not even a stallion yet. You barely have any practical skills to apply out there. And yet you think you can rush out and ‘do the right thing’? Pray tell, what exactly is the right thing to do when you are captured by raiders about to get -- I don’t know, what? -- your legs cut off?”

“I don’t know,” Falcon answered truthfully. “What I feel is right, whatever option I can choose if it comes to that. I won’t let fear of what could happen stop me from doing something. I refuse to let it anymore.”

"Look kid, if you expect to go out there in the Wastes and become a hero, I think you need a reality check. Better stallions than you have tried and lost their lives in that ridiculous pursuit. Not everyone can be the hero. You’re a colt just over a week out of the clouds without any reason to risk your neck like this. Why do it?” Klaxon queried. 

“The same reason why you took me in that night. All across the Wasteland there are ponies who have lost something… ponies who only know what it’s like to lose something. Well, I think it’s about damn time to start giving things back. It’s not enough to scrounge and scavenge in order to survive until tomorrow if tomorrow is only worse than today,” Falcon Wing replied. “It’s time to be a better pony. It’s time to start doing something good.”

The two seemed indignant about that answer, but had no rebuttal for it. “Damn it, I had a feeling this was gonna happen when he started listening to Pon3,” Klaxon muttered. Steiner gave the bronze coated stallion an odd look but said nothing. He too saw this coming. 

The bags levitated from Klaxon’s side, enwrapped in Steiner’s glow. “I already packed them full of the things you’ll need out there. The bags are a little heavy but if you want to last more than a few days –- assuming you don’t go and get yourself massacred as soon as you leave here -- you’ll have to muscle up and learn to haul like a genuine earth pony,” Klaxon nickered.

Falcon was at a loss for words. They knew? Not only did they know, but they were prepared to send him on his way, even as they were trying to talk him out of it? He started quivering, fighting back tears. His friends…

“Thank you. Both of you,” Falcon said with a bow of his head. “For everything.”

“Dunt makshe ush regresht thish, boy” Klaxon said sternly. Falcon raised a brow and looked up. When he did, he saw that Klaxon had his goggles in his mouth. He was going to give them to the red colt. “I don’t know if I should feel honored or incredibly disgusted right now,” Falcon thought. “And I don’t even care.”

When Falcon Wing climbed out of that dumpster, his saddlebags were filled with food and medical supplies, the olive green radio with its repairs and upgrades done by Klaxon by hoof. In a strap-holster attached to his vest was the bronze stallion’s 10 millimeter. There was plenty of ammo in the bags but Falcon intended to carry out Klaxon’s policy. Only shoot when given no other alternative. Upon the red colt’s head were the goggles, the lenses resting on his forehead. 

The rainstorm had been reduced to a mere drizzle. The wingless pegasus pulled his black hood over his head and trotted off into the gloom of the Wastes, the small droplets hitting his overcoat and running off his sides as rivulets. When he had crossed the train tracks, he looked back at the ruined building. It was amazing that it hadn’t collapsed under the sheets of rain. He eyed the graves of those hopefully put to rest after two centuries and paid his final respects from afar. 

“If there is a sliver of hope this Wasteland can ever return to the Equestria you knew then I will do my part to make it happen. I promise,” he muttered to himself, turning away from the grave markers thereafter and galloping away under the clouds he used to fly through.





> Chapter Fifteen: Phoenix Rising
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Fifteen

And from the ashes, the burning wings spread once more…

Thirteen days since he was cut off from the sky.

It all started with the waning hours of night turning into a day spent in terror, concluding with the spark of companionship that very evening. Seven days later, the week was rounded out with learning, about the Wasteland, about each other...

Then the darkness came: three days of sadness culminating in a hardened spirit on the morning of the tenth day…

It had been three days since Falcon Wing left on that drizzly morn under the light gray skies. Three days since he made his pledge. And in three days he found himself towered over by the austere remains of concrete and steel giants. Like the building over the cellar, these husks of what used to be homes and work places were on the verge of falling in on themselves. It’s just that against all odds, they haven’t yet. 

A badly weathered green sign on bent, rusted struts at the edge of town informed the wingless pegasus that he was in the town of Hope: the place where his Wasteland Saviors hailed from. The place where their great emotional burdens originated, a place subjected to the very things that made the Wasteland the bane of all hope. Falcon Wing glared from beneath his hood, the shadow cast on his face making his bright orange eyes stand out. He was beginning to harbor a strong dislike for irony while he slunk through the ruined town, staying in the shadows and navigating through tight passages. 

The atmosphere was comprised mostly of gray, a washed out palette that only had room for one other color: muddy brown. Most of the walls were in poor condition, chipped, cracked, pockmarked or blown in completely. Chunks of concrete and rebar littered the streets. Some streets were blocked off completely by the amount of rubble created by downed buildings. Those streets put that one alley in Ponyville to shame. 

The red colt passed many pre-war posters pasted to the walls, most faded and torn. Some were… dishonored in various obscene ways. There was one he kept coming across while sneaking through the ruins of urban Equestria, one he saw from the corner of his eye while he glided –- purely a figure of speech --  across the concrete and asphalt with his body held low to the ground. It was of a sad yellow mare with a pink mane, one poster in particular had dark streaks running down its height, starting at the mare’s sorrowful blue eyes. Falcon Wing found that one particularly disturbing and actually shuddered at the thought that it looked as if she were crying.

What really grabbed Falcon Wing’s attention though was the text associated with the posters -– or at least- the ones that weren’t badly damaged by the elements or defiled. “War? Fear? Death?” in an ominous bold, then under that was an elegant script. “We Must Do Better!” Falcon chuckled a bit at that. “Be a better pony,” he thought in his passing of the posters. He wondered what exactly this Ministry of Peace did, aside from… keeping peace. Or attempting to do so, for all it’s worth. 

He was pulled from his wonder by conversation. One that was heating up judging by the increasingly loudness of one of the parties in the… discussion. Falcon Wing cringed. If he heard, then surely others had as well, and in the Wasteland drawing attention to yourself is one of the stupidest things one can do. 

It is by this rule of hoof he knew immediately what he was going to deal with: a raider. Possibly with a group of them. Only raiders could be so positively stupid...

“…and I said I don’t give a FUCK!” a raider wearing brown and black barding barked at another in similar dress. Bits of scrap metal had been twisted about into abstract shapes and forms and incorporated into their tunics as if they were meant to be jewelry of a sort. Raider fashion: because sometimes the bones of your victim aren’t enough of a statement. 

The one causing a scene in post apocalyptia was a gray earth pony. The one he was yelling at was more of a caramel color but their armor was a dirty brown and thus made up for it. “Brown, gray and black… the colors of Hope!” Falcon snarked mentally, peeking around the corner of a building. His line of sight was disrupted by piles of debris but he did not want to risk exposing himself getting to a better vantage point. Raiders may be stupid, but they were armed and dangerous, and in many cases insane enough to rush a missile wielding unicorn with nothing but a pole in their mouths. Since Falcon refused to fire first, his rules of engagement were strict and tactical. Steiner would have approved. Maybe. 

The argument was one sided, the irate raider, a deep voiced stallion by the sound of it, bombarded their companion with swears of increasing volume. Falcon half expected their heads to explode into a red mist by a sniper hiding out in one of the taller buildings. It’d certainly solve the noise problem but that was so messy --

Falcon Wing spotted what the gray pony was so angry about. A mare, unconscious… possibly dead, was lying on the floor before the two. Her off-white coat was covered in blood. Suddenly the motivation to think of snide commentary deriding the intelligence of raiders evaporated. He had to act and act fast before that pony out there really did set up their rifle and take aim. He couldn’t help that mare if he was going to end up in the crosshairs of an enemy he couldn’t even see…

Falcon hung low the ground as he prowled, using the obstacles ahead to mask his approach. The vulgar raider continued to spew vulgarities and their companion remained silent, sitting on their haunches until the tirade ended. Falcon Wing couldn’t determine what had started all of this to begin with and quite frankly he didn’t care. He saw two raiders and an unconscious bystander. What he assumed to be a bystander.

It occurred to him that acting without understanding… sucked. Sucked a lot, at that. But the more he delayed, the greater the likelihood that something terrible was going to happen. He was only in the Wasteland for just under half a month, and he knew this. He’d seen this unwritten law demonstrated numerous times during his time with the two stallions. 

Granted, during that time the stakes only got as high as snagging that extra can of beans before the raiders realized they were being robbed from right under their noses, not the life of another innocent pony.

Just over a yard away and the raider’s voice was almost deafening. What did they have as a cutie mark? An explosion? Falcon hoped not, he had enough experience with things going boom that first day. He steeled his nerves, controlled his breathing and maneuvered ever closer, taking cover along the rusted blue panels of a wagon -– the last thing between him and his targets. 

Then he prepared himself to strike. His hind legs tensed, he angled himself upwards with his forelegs. Channeling his memories of flight, Falcon Wing launched himself over the wagon, his coat catching the air, fluttering and billowing up behind him in a flash of bravado. 

“-- the FUCK is that?!” the bellowing raider exclaimed as they heard the flap of fabric and saw the filthy red pony soaring at them, overcoat trailing his figurative flight. The raider threw their self into a roll, Falcon’s hooves crashing down where they stood seconds before. What happened next was purely the result of adrenaline coursing through the red colt’s veins. Their head whipped around, drawing a pistol from their holster. A scoped black and red gun with a slender barrel and stocky grip, launched out of their mouth by a powerful two legged kick straight into their chops, spittle following the weapon as it went through the air. 

Falcon had spun on a hoof, his rear legs lashing out at the raider. The kick did not have enough force to put them down instantly. He was no Klaxon. He was no earth pony, period. Not yet, at least. The blow, while managing to disarm the raider, made them angrier than before. 

“I’m going to FUCK you UP, boy!” the raider roared. Falcon’s adrenaline-improved senses took in the pony’s features. Somewhat stockier build, long unruly mane, narrow snout -- oh dear Celestia, this stallion was really a mare. 

He was a flurry of kicks, striking her in the side of the head, ribs and chest, shouting something along the lines of “NO” repeatedly, bobbing and weaving in between the gray pony’s attempts at retaliation. 

It was so fast yet it seemed like an eternity to the colt. Finally the raider fell to the ground, bruised and exhausted. A flash of fear was in her eyes. “Don’t kill me, you crazy bastard!” she spat. That voice was like more grating than a cheese grater. Did she get shot in the throat and never fully recovered or something?  

“And what about that mare over there!?” Falcon shot back, keeping his voice at considerably safer level. “Did she beg for her life too!?”

Falcon stopped himself before he could go further, immediately dropping into a combat stance to face the caramel colored raider. They only stared at him, dumbfounded with green cloudy eyes. Another mare; a young one too, just a few years older than him. Her mane and tail were a deep violet color. 

She didn’t even go for the weapon just a few feet away. Falcon Wing raised a brow at her but then returned his focus to the defeated gray pony. She was trying to stand up. Worse still, she looked like she was going to speak again. Falcon spun. Bucked. Crisis averted.  

“Is she dead?” said the caramel mare. Her voice was a tiny, tiny thing. The red colt didn’t answer immediately, having feared he really did kill her with that last kick. The barely noticeable heaving of her chest was a relief though. “Nah, she’s just got the night in her head. She’ll be fine” he replied. He knocked her out. She’d get to know true peace for a little while. It was more than a raider deserved. 

BLAM

That small pistol had an ear shattering roar that pierced the Wasteland air. The small bullet had burrowed through the gray mare’s head with an almost surgical bullet wound to show for it. Dark red was pooling underneath the previously unconscious raider. 

Falcon didn’t realize until several moments later that his jaw had dropped. His mind kept replaying the events to him. The question, his reply and then that noise that made him quiver in his barding. It took a while longer for him to hear the noise coming from the trembling mare. The gun was clicking in her teeth and she dropped it to the floor. Tears came, but she wasn’t sobbing. 

“That’s my mother over there, you know. She shot her and tried to take me with her. Tried to make me a raider… or a slave”

Falcon pulled himself together. That… that was unexpected, but he could lament about it later, when he wasn’t in immediate danger of being sniped and or swarmed by the local raider pack. “Help me get her into one of these buildings. I think I can help.” 


> Chapter Sixteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Sixteen

It is best not to think about how things could have turned out, especially when there was nothing that could be done to change the result. It is not like one could preserve an instance of their life and revisit it after the fact to do something differently. 

“Surgical bullet wounds” was no hyperbole. The slender barreled pistol fired 10 mm rounds and did so with such power that the small caliber rounds could penetrate an unarmored target and exit the other side. Falcon Wing was careful to take the weapon and any ammo the gray mare might have had on her as a preventive measure. He wasn’t going to pull a gun on another pony if he could help it and nopony was going to happen across such a weapon and its ammunition passing through the street. 

Falcon was thankful that the caramel mare’s mother wasn’t shot through the head, or attempting to revive her would have been for nothing. Luckily the bullet fired went into and through her chest cavity, grazing her heart and no doubt causing all sorts of complications in her body. It was no means painless and Falcon was sure the unconscious mare felt great suffering before slipping into shock, but this grievous wound was survivable. There would be no bullet to worry about. Falcon Wing had the power of magical science in a bottle!

He propped the light gray mare’s head up, opened her mouth and gingerly poured a newly opened health potion down her throat. All his previous guilt about stealing from raiders? Gone. He wasn’t using his pilfered goods on himself to make sure he made it through this hell. He was using it to help others, and that made it okay in some twist of logic and morality.  

He would have to thank Klaxon for doing such a good job packing his supplies. Speaking of which, he’d have to ask about the note he found in his saddlebags after. “Plug goggles into any spell matrix terminal” What the hell?

Caramel -- Falcon’s unspoken nickname for the young mare because she had yet to tell him her name -- glanced between the door and the hooded colt who became an impromptu medic. They had retreated to a building just across the street from the incident, locked the door and Falcon wasted no extra time getting to work. In hindsight, locking the door really did not do anything. The building used to be a pharmacy -– there was that hatred for irony again -- and it had a large, broken display window letting the gloomy light from outside shine in on black and white tiled flooring.

Falcon and his patient were behind the counter and Caramel was lookout, hiding in a dark corner. On the wall where the counter extended out from was the sad yellow mare, the image posted above them. It was if the pink maned elder with gray in her hair was looking down at the red colt’s efforts and it was breaking her heart.  

“Okay…that should do it…” Falcon thought, backing away from the injured mare to inspect his hoofwork. Magical bandages wrapped around her upper torso, a small red circle forming on either side where the bullet wounds were. “They are like targets for where her heart is… all the shooter had to do is -- NOPE, not thinking about that. Bad Falcon Wing, very, very bad.”

The old mare stirred. Falcon Wing felt a strange sensation in his chest. Anxiousness? Anticipation? “Hope,” he realized with a small smile. It was only as large as he’d dare let himself smile. The Wasteland was so very good at making ponies frown and cry. 

The light gray pony groaned. Hoofsteps, rapid ones ensued. Caramel slid to a stop at Falcon’s side. He cringed. Sound itself felt like his arch nemesis… which is to be expected because of his emphasis on stealth. Still, he couldn’t blame the young mare for her reaction.  

“Alana…?” the off-white mare asked weakly. “Mother?” Alana replied tenderly, leaning close. The reaction the off white mare had left much to be desired. 

“Oh my sweet Luna, you are a raider!” she cried out, her wide green eyes pouring tears. Falcon’s semblance of a smile was gone in a split second.

“No, no, no!” he said, bristling. Between the mare’s echoing shrieks and the fact she thought her daughter was a raider, the wingless Pegasus’ thoughts were everywhere.

“Oh merciful Celestia, who the hell are you!?” she cried out, scrambling away from Falcon Wing and swiftly hitting the wall. She was sobbing and gasping for breath, a hoof held over her chest. In an instant her breaths had become shallow and labored. Falcon Wing recoiled in horror. She was having heart complications! She shock was too much for her still mending heart! She was about to DIE and he didn’t know what to DO!

Alana was at her mother’s side, holding her and weeping. Falcon shut eyes as tight as he could and stamped his hoof into a tile, wishing it had shattered underhoof but it hadn’t. All he had to show for his anger, frustration and immense sadness was an echoing clop.  Tears began trickling down his cheek and snout. “Maybe I should have spent all the time I had reading apprenticing with Dr. Patchenfix! Maybe then I would be worth a damn in this situation!” his mind roared at him. 

In time the rasping of shallow breaths stopped. Only the sound of crying remained. Falcon never even got to know her name. He only saw her cutie mark, three dark gray streaks running across her thighs.


On the outskirts of Hope again, Falcon looked down at his hoofwork with Alana standing beside him. In the irradiated soil another pony was laid to rest, a large rock used as the marker. Alana carved in the words with a combat knife Falcon loaned her. He really had to thank Klaxon for packing his bags. 

“Fogchaser, victim of a fragile heart”

Falcon scuffed at the ground with his right hoof, head hung low, the hood pulled forth further so that it was practically resting on his snout. Another pony he helped put in the ground. At least he did it before she was a skeleton. 

“It isn’t your fault” he heard Alana say. He looked up to her. She was looking off into the distance, the deadened landscape rolling out in all directions, past the distant buildings, dipping and rising in the perpetual gloom. It depressed Falcon Wing that her eyes wandered to the bleak horizon after she paid her final respects to her mother.

Maybe if he had taken off the hood, she would have calmed down…

“You jumped in to fight a raider and help wayward strangers. What happened after, you couldn’t have done anything about. You didn’t know Fogchaser, about her condition…” Alana said, still looking off into the wide wilds yonder. 

“Condition?” Falcon asked, doing his best to not sound downtrodden. She nodded and her gaze lowered to the ground. It came off like she was trying to avoid looking at him. Another wave of hurt. Ow. 

“She was always tense and easily startled. A heart condition she had since she was a foal,” Alana explained, lifting a hoof to wipe the last of her tears away. 

“Out of every possible place to shoot, the bitch had to shoot Fogchaser in the chest!" Falcon thought, feeling a surge of anger within his core. His hatred of irony was all but absolute now. It was no wonder Alana shot the gray raider. Was there anything ironic about getting shot through the head?

Oh right, she was shot with her own gun. Fitting. Irony was somewhat redeemed in the red colt’s eye. Somewhat. 

The caramel mare sighed. “I blame myself, really. I should have taken this disgusting thing off as soon as I got the chance, but I was so scared and nervous…” Her expression darkened as she looked at the brown and black leather armor. As much as he hated what it represented, Falcon had to disagree. “Some armor is better than nothing, Alana…” Falcon Wing said, addressing her by name for the first time. She gave him an odd look, one that conveyed both uneasiness and pain. Right… she hadn’t told him her name; it was kind of weird that he found out from her mother just before she died…

That -- and the fact he was telling her that wearing raider armor was a better alternative to going bareback. While true in theory, he remembered his own actions during that fight. Had she even moved an inch he would have assumed she was an enemy based on her barding. And he fought with his hooves, he didn’t even want to consider what an armed pony would do. Imagining bouts of misfortune for tactical purposes was Steiner’s specialty. 

“…On second thought, forget I said anything. Let’s talk about something more pressing,” said the wingless Pegasus. Alana looked at the grave one last time, touched a hoof on the stone then nodded. “Where were you headed, before… things… happened...?” Falcon asked, cursing in his thoughts. “I am so bad at this.” 

“Mother and I… were trying to get out of Hope. Slavers had attacked our compound a few days ago. We escaped and were taking refuge amongst the rubble, hoping they would move on and we could find our way to another settlement… New Appleoosa or Junction R-7 maybe,” Alana answered. Falcon did not know a thing about those places. “Well, we made it out didn’t we? Left that place behind?” she asked. She forced a smile onto her face. Falcon wanted to scream. He desperately needed a mattress to vent into. 

“I am so…so unbelievably sorry --” 

“Are we really going to go through this again?” the caramel mare said, sighing thereafter. “I already said it wasn’t your fault-“

“It wasn’t yours either damn it, but I just can’t help it! It was just so sad…to watch… to know I was there unable to do anything to help…!” he exclaimed, his voice much louder than he had intended. Alana was stunned. The fiery anger extinguished when he saw her expression, replaced with a spine tingling chill. Falcon drooped, hanging his head. Where were those mattresses when they were most needed?

“Why were you heading into Hope, if I may ask, stranger?” Alana said a short while later. Falcon Wing was thankful for the second attempt to change the subject. He raised his head to look at her. 

“I was… it was probably stupid but… did you know ponies by the names of Klaxon and Steiner? I was… I guess I wanted to see where they came from.” 

“They are alive!?” Alana asked, her expression brightening greatly with a squee. “I haven’t seen them since I was a filly!”

“That’s a yes then,” the red colt thought. That meant that the previous home of his friends had fallen to slavers just a few days ago, when he left on his quest of do good. Fuck irony.

“They are going through a tough time right now but, yes. They are still alive. They live around Ponyville though… bit of an unpleasant place if I do say so myself,” Falcon said, trying not to linger on the revelation.

“Hope might not be too different after the slavers…” Alana replied. 

“Don’t remind me,” Falcon Wing said. There went his plan for the day. Or not.

Without warning he shoved his face into a saddlebag and pulled out the slender barreled pistol, putting it down at Alana’s hooves. He then fished out five clips of 10 mm bullets. “Take this, get yourself to somewhere safe. New Appleoosa or R-7, whichever would be safer for you.”

“You save a lady, bury her mother and then send her on her way? You are very strange, stranger” said the caramel mare.  

“The name is Falcon Wing. And it’s for your own good,” the red colt replied. 

“How so?” Alana inquired.

“Because I’m going in there and freeing those slaves. They might have took your home days ago, but they didn’t leave, and now that I know this, like hell if I’ll let them without a fight!”

Alana contemplated this for a short while and then said “I want to help. Those are my friends and acquaintances in there, waiting to be shipped off to who knows where!”

Falcon regarded her strangely. “I have no plan. This might be suicide,” he admitted. “Are you sure you want to commit?” 

“You want me to leave you without returning the favor, after you jumped in all so heroically to fight off that slaver?” Alana said teasingly before adding with a lot more seriousness in her tone “I already told you, I know the ponies captured. I want to help them.”

“Right then,” Falcon replied. This was going to happen. 

> Chapter Seventeen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Seventeen

Blazing hearts are admirable. A beating heart is preferable. A pony who relies solely on their fighting spirit will become one prematurely. 

A raider with a sniper rifle, Falcon was wary of the possibility earlier, but his emotional turmoil had made him forget about it. Naturally, he was reminded by the cracking retort of a gun just moments after he had turned a street corner in the remains of Hope. 

He was back behind the building at the end of the block, standing on his rear legs, back bracing against the wall when the bullet embedded itself in the sidewalk. A cloud of dust was ejected from the ground, a fairly large pockmark denoting the point of impact. Falcon Wing looked to Alana. “Yeah, we’re not going that way,” he said. The mare nodded very quickly, her violet mane dancing on her head and neck. 

They backtracked to an alley and from there, navigated a maze of corridors and passages, weaving through the alleyways in a roundabout fashion. After some time of this, the red colt and caramel mare had managed to approach the building where the sniper had made their nest. Standing just outside the ground floor, there was no way for the pony to know the duo had slipped into their blind spot. 

“I could use that gun,” Alana whispered to Falcon Wing. Why was she whispering? Falcon had no idea, but appreciated her attempt to be stealthy. Too bad they were standing in plain sight. Falcon Wing was quick to correct this however, beckoning her into the dimness of the structure they stood outside of. 

Once in the protective embrace of shadow, Falcon whispered “Didn’t take you for a marksmare, Alana.”

“You never took a look at my cutie mark, Falcon? You would have known if you did,” she replied. This was very true. 

“Right, sorry. So much has happened; I haven’t been able to spare your flanks a look. What is it?” 

Alana looked taken aback…was she blushing? It was difficult to tell in the low light but Falcon Wing could see red in the caramel pony’s cheeks. Was it something he said? “Something wrong?” he asked, looking somewhat concerned. 

“Oh...um…no. Just -- actually, never mind” Alana stammered. She turned her side towards the red colt. From what he could see, her cutie mark was a splotch of yellow vaguely in the shape of a maple leaf, its jagged edges facing towards her front. It took him a few seconds to understand.

“Muzzle flash,” he said when the realization hit him. 

“Bingo” she replied, smirking. She then raised a brow and added “Well, I showed you mine, show me yours? Never got to see it on the account of that coat …in addition to…past events.”

“There’s nothing to see. Still a blank flank,” Falcon Wing said, feeling a tiny twinge of embarrassment and reflexively prepared himself for mocking. There wasn’t any though. 

“Quite the late bloomer you are then, mister hero” she said in good humor. Falcon smiled that small smile of his.  

The two snuck their way up a darkened stairway where small cracks and breaks in the walls allowed small rays of gray light into the rectangular spiral of metal. The building may have been a manufacturing facility; passing open doors on various floors they saw various levels of what might have been a crevasse of concrete and steel with catwalks sprawling overhead. As a pegasus pony, Falcon Wing appreciated the aesthetic but still recognized the huge danger it presented both past and present. 

Top floor. “Stay here while I go take a look ahead and make sure it’s all clear,” Falcon Wing whispered. 

“And why must you go on ahead while I hide by the stairs?” Alana asked. 

“Because I’m light on my hooves, and if things look grim behind that door I’ll be back to call this whole thing off,” Falcon Wing replied. “we’re already planning to take on grossly unfair odds by fighting slavers. No need to add fighting off an entire group of raiders to the list of unrealistic goals” 

“Okay then, mister optimistic!” the caramel mare said and then grinned. 

The wingless pegasus had seen this mare at her saddest not too long ago and now here she was joking and grinning. She had a lot riding on freeing the ponies of her compound and she was trying to keep in good spirits. If they failed, Falcon Wing feared she would never smile again. 

Falcon Wing turned, opened the door to the stairway just a crack and looked around into the hallway beyond. The corridor’s walls were colored in blue paint that now chipped. Old papers stuck to various bulletin boards, some littering the dirty yellow tiles that made up the floor. There were a few benches, some still standing with their backs to the walls as they should be, others having been tossed about and now lay wherever they had landed. Someone hadn’t been a happy pony. Falcon slipped through the door silently and closed it behind him.

Four raiders excluding the one at their window cannon. Four raiders down and unconscious, caught by surprise and put in sleeper holds, strangling –- both literally and figuratively -- any call for help that would alert them all to his presence otherwise.

After each take down however, images of Klaxon crushing their throats with a devastating buck and Alana shooting them in the head flashed in his mind. He wasn’t a killer and he didn’t want to be one… but these were ponies that had no problems with wearing the remains of the dead and torturing the living. Was it a Wasteland requisite then to be a judge, jury and executioner? Was this a conundrum the Stable Dweller dealt with when clearing out the Arbu cannibals? 

Falcon made his way back to the door, about to put his hoof on the handle when the thought occurred to him: Alana had the gun he had come to call the peashooter, to counteract the irony of the Wasteland. However, if he just opened the door there was a distinct possibility he’d get shot by the very gun he named and gave to the mare he saved because she might think he was a raider. 

“Would that be…double irony then? And since when did I start turning into Steiner?” he thought.

He reared up and looked into the cracked and dust coated window pane near the top of the blue door. “Alana, it’s me. Don’t shoot,” he said as loudly as he could afford and then cautiously opened the door. Alana had the Peashooter in her mouth, Falcon’s nose almost bumping the tip of the barrel when he dropped onto all fours. “Bvangh” she said through the gun’s grip, Falcon Wing able to see the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile while his heart skipped a beat. 

Alana put the gun back in her barding’s holster, allowing Falcon Wing time to shake his surprise off. 

“Well that was suitably horrifying. Please do not do that again,” the red colt said. 

> Chapter Eighteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eighteen

Even the purest of heart can become monsters for the sake of good. They wade in a river of blood from their fallen foes. There is little peace to be made with this fact. 

Alana gave each now dead pony a look of disgust as she passed them. She had no such reservations as Falcon Wing and did what he refused to, stomping onto their skulls and throats. The red colt turned away each time her hooves went down but the sounds were preserved in his memory, vivid and harsh. Breaking bones and the squishing of flesh, they were not good sounds. 

This mare perplexed Falcon. She was handling her grief in a way he hadn’t seen since… himself, actually, after news of his parents reached him. He had his outpouring of grief but that was only the beginning of a long road of emotional -- and eventually physical -- pain. He knew what she was going through in ways she couldn’t even imagine; knew that she was doing her best to keep strong in this world that devours the weak. It’s why he avoided the subject of Fogchaser, so she would not have to expose her sadness, so that she can put on her cheery ruse and go on with her life until she was ready to open up about the matter. 

Her brutality on the other hoof was something he worried about… but could not object to. A raider shot her mother and tried to force her into a life of depravity, it was understandable that she felt the need to bring retribution. But then again, he knew killing another pony was not an easy decision to make; so for her to do so four times in rapid succession after her initial execution of the gray raider in the street was troubling to say the least. Was she being consumed by blood lust?

As if she read his mind, she said lowly “I’m not doing it because I lost my mother. I’m doing it because if you don’t kill them then they are going to kill you, and you knocking them out will only make them more ruthless.” 

Falcon Wing sighed, begrudgingly admitting to himself she had a point. There was no resolution to the moral dilemma. He objected to killing, the raiders did not. In fact they reveled in the blackest depths of a pony’s nature. It was inevitable that one day soon, stealth and nonlethal incapacitation would not suffice. It was inevitable that one day soon he would have to draw Klaxon’s gun and take another’s life to keep his own. 

“How do you manage?” Falcon inquired as the two walked down the hall, trying to keep his gaze from falling on the small smear of red on Alana’s left hoof. 

“Manage what?” she asked. 

“I don’t need to explain,” Falcon wing replied, a hint of impatience in his voice. The issue was eating at him, the anticipation of that preordained event set in stone, when or where irrelevant. 

“I think about all the things raiders as a whole have done. Carving ponies up, desecrating everything they touch, there are things in the Everfree Forest that are less monstrous than raiders. Then I think about all the ponies I am saving by putting them down,” Alana said sternly. 

“…But they’re still ponies” Falcon Wing said meekly. 

“Did you think that you could sneak into a slaver camp and do your fancy shadow tricks? Pick them off one by one without them getting suspicious and coming after you?” Alana asked, giving the red colt a critical gaze. In the back of Falcon’s mind, he answered yes, be it from arrogance or wishful thinking. ”Crouching doesn’t make you invisible and once they find a body, they won’t just write it off as the wind or their eyes playing tricks on them. They will hunt you and if they find you, they will gut you,” she continued, her voice taking on a cold edge. Falcon nodded. 

“I’m not prepared for what we’re about to do. I’m not prepared to murder for the greater good… but I’m not backing out now. Too much is at stake. More innocent lives will be destroyed if I don’t end a few bad ones,” Falcon said, more to himself than his companion. It was a sad truth. 

They came up to the room where the raider with their high powered rifle sat scouring the street for their next victim. Their location was betrayed by a soft muttering that trailed down the hall, an unsettling murmur as if from a phantom. But there was no specter at work in what remained of the factory. Just the mad rambling of a mangy stallion with a very dangerous toy. The door to the room he sat in was missing its door, allowing the somber gray light of the Wasteland day to shine in, and his shadow was sprawling out of the room and across the hall where it climbed up the wall. The color of his pelt was black. Not his natural coat color, he was just a very filthy pony. 

Falcon gave Alana a look, an almost pleading one. He was begging her with his sad orange eyes for another way. She looked away from him and put her bent hoof to her face. The red colt’s expression immediately flashed to worry and he reached out for her, stopping just short of her coat. This was neither the time nor the place to deal with this. 

He whispered: “Stay out of sight. I’ll be quick about it,” and before she could reply he was slinking off into the room.

Alana wept for the colt. Wept for his innocence. The way he carried himself showed that he was not well versed with the true tragedy of the Wasteland. She assumed the skills he had already were the work of Klaxon and Steiner. Because of this, she thought he was from a stable. Another pony who wished to do good and would end up losing the things that made them decent for a cause far greater than themselves. 

She was pulled from her silent sorrow at the sound of his voice. 

“Uh…hi,” he had said. Alana immediately tensed. Wasn’t this the pony all about sticking to the darkness and staying quiet!? She drew the Peashooter and jumped into the doorway as the maddened mantra of the raider turned into a tirade of obscenities.

The raider spun around, the long black rifle on the right side of his battle saddle unwieldy for such rapid movements. Falcon was already cutting across the room in a wide arc, closing in from the raider’s left. Alana was surprised by his speed. 

Spin. Buck. The momentum behind the red colt translated to a staggering blow that knocked the filthy earth pony off of his hooves and onto his battle saddle, the weapon going off on impact. Alana yelped, the wall just off to her side having a hole punched through it but her grip on the Peashooter remained firm. Falcon’s ears were ringing from the loud blast.

One shot to the head kept the raider from getting up. 

“What were you thinking!?” Alana scolded Falcon as they left the factory some time after. She was clad in her sniper battle saddle, ammo looted from the previous owner and elsewhere in the building.

“I was thinking I’d do the one thing I haven’t yet. I was thinking I could talk to him, but I didn’t even get a sentence out before he was trying to blow me apart!” Falcon replied with a suppressed rage. Alana’s own anger relented at that, a horrid realization occurring to her. “There really is no helping it. It’s killed or be killed. And that is so fucking stupid,” Falcon muttered. He hoped to let his fury boil away on the way to the compound. By then, the Wasteland would be darkening with the coming night. The perfect time to strike against the slavers occupying it. 

> Chapter Nineteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Nineteen

One can draw strength from their emotions, but it is meaningless without self-control. Control marks the difference between righteous retaliation and ravenous rage. 

The compound was just that: a compound, with a wall of metal sheets, concrete blocks, wood… any Wasteland junk that could have been fastened together with magic and ingenuity to make a respectable barrier, complete with a watch tower that was an old sky chariot embedded in the side of an overlooking building, supported by other bits of scrap. A genuine Wasteland fortress. One that had fallen. 

“It needed a dumpster,” Falcon thought jokingly, though it was biting humor, dark humor. He was still very much angry, and the gray clouds had brightened up into orange and red as the sun set unseen in the west.  The bright colors seemed to emulate the burning he felt in his soul and he wanted to act on it; to rush into the compound and give every rotten pony in there what they wanted: a furious young colt with a gun that had reached his limit and was ready to bring a reckoning like no other. 

Alana put a hoof on his shoulder and Falcon Wing was roped from his daydream of violence. Her face was sullen. Realizing that he was standing in a combat stance with his coat bristling, the red colt quickly came to his senses. 

This was not the first time something like this had happened in the last hours of daylight. Before, Falcon Wing had fallen back into lapses of inattentiveness, wrapped in his thoughts and blocking out Alana as she spoke to him. It happened numerous times before she became frustrated with the red pony and ceased. In the silence, the drive to act only swelled and became more evident in how the wingless pegasus carried himself. 

“Please, Falcon Wing, I know you’re upset but you have to try to focus on something else. I can’t have you be blinded by your anger when we do this!” Alana implored. The two had taken shelter in a building just a few blocks away from the wall half the factory’s height. Alana was sitting in the shadows before she approached him, but Falcon Wing seemed drawn to the broken windows, orange eyes reflecting the scarlet clouds, bathing in the warmer light of the sunset. 

His response to the caramel mare was infuriatingly simple.

“I’m angry?” the young colt asked. Being the victim most of his life, he wasn’t used to feeling the way he did; the urge to hurt and break, to do to others what had been done to him, to repay the Wasteland for throwing his attempts at goodness in his face.

“Yes. Yes you are, and it will be the death of you if you don’t snap out of it,” the caramel colored mare admonished him. 

His experiences in the Wasteland all came rushing at him. The unimaginable fear he felt as he was ambushed by figures in the dark, the nerve rending pain as they cleaved his wings off. The shock when he saw how sick raiders can be. So many soul wrenching sights and encounters –- the look Fogchaser had on her face when her heart gave out -- it was impossible for him to calm down. His body trembled but it was no the prelude to him crying as it had been before. He was fighting himself, willing himself to stay still. 

Caught up in his own inner conflict, eyes still directed to the burning skies, he was unaware that Alana had circled around him. Without warning, she pounced onto him.

The two tumbled into the darkness, Alana ending up pinning the red colt under her, staring intently into his face. Now she was angry. Her tears flowed down the side of her face through an emerald glare. Falcon returned the look, confused and caught off guard. It was as if the two had fallen into a cycle of perpetual tension where they pissed each other off exponentially.  

Falcon Wing ended the emotional staring contest, turning his head and looking off to the side. Wall, chipping white paint and a picture frame lying face down, concealing broken glass no doubt. The most interesting of sights, surely. 

“Get off of me,” Falcon said with what might have been a snarl, paused, then added “… please.”

“My mother walked this road and paid for it with her life,” Alana began to say. Falcon’s eyes widened. He did not like where this conversation was going. “Off, off, please get off!” he exclaimed, refusing to look her in the eyes. 

“Her heart was weak yet it was what led her in this world, always reacting to her feelings instead of thinking things through. It’s why the mere thought of her daughter being a raider did what it did; she assumed the worst without any rational thought,” Alana continued with a level voice, even as Falcon laid stricken by the tear drops landing on his cheeks. Tears that were not his. 

“So you can have your anger but I’ll be damned by Celestia herself if I allow you to get yourself hurt because you were too hell-bent to think of your own wellbeing. More so if I allow you to become no better than a raider when you lose yourself to it,” she finished forebodingly, leaning close to say the last part directly into his ears, so that he could not drown her out in his thoughts. 

With that, she eased herself off of him and walked back to the aged wooden bench behind a counter, laying herself down on top of it. Falcon did not get up from the floor, staring blankly at that wall with its chipping paint. 

Dusk had fallen when Falcon Wing scraped himself off from the ground, walked the few feet to where Alana laid and then sat on his haunches. He hung his head, looking apologetic though he doubted the caramel mare could see the regret in his expression. 

He wanted to say something to her, something to convey just how truly awful he felt for everything, from ignoring her to forcing her to say the things she had. He felt like a monster for even thinking the things he had. 

“What if I really did half of those things!?” he thought, horrified of himself. He stood at the edge of madness. He had peered into phoenix fire within him and was nearly scalded. That… that was the start of the long fall, wasn’t it? The threshold before that abysmal pit that the Wasteland pulled a pony into, an unimaginably long plummet that stripped every virtue from a pony’s soul. 

He shuddered, a myriad of thoughts and feelings about himself clouding his mind. All of them were not good. The sobbing started again. Alana watched bearing a pained expression, but did not intervene. It was something that needed to happen, and so she let it. Despite her sadness, she smiled a small smile. The Falcon Wing she knew had returned. 

Cautiously, the two ponies made their move on the compound. Alana had an easier time moving in the darkness, -– seriously did everyone have better night eyes than Falcon Wing? -- with the hooded colt following close behind. 

This changed once they had infiltrated the settlement however -- if one could call walking through the opened gate infiltrating -- and stayed true to their roles. Alana was cover fire with her rifle, Falcon was to find and free the captives. That objective was not too hard to complete; the residents of the compound were loaded up on a large passenger wagon in plain sight just over 30 feet away. A burly earth pony was already strapped in, ready to pull. 

“Perfect timing,” the two ponies thought simultaneously. 

The slaver guards had left their posts, anticipating their departure from the compound not too long from now. They were loading up crates of supplies, no doubt plundered from the compound, stolen from those they had captured.  Falcon felt the simmering beneath his coat, but focused on his objective. It was a kill or be killed world, but that didn’t mean he had to make the first strike. 

He observed his surroundings to formulate a specific plan of attack. 

The compound’s wall blocked off a large part of the city with two gates, a forward and back entrance, allowing ponies to pass to and fro down the street bisecting the settlement. Their homes had been the buildings encompassed by the enclosure, using the rooms available like small apartments. There were street lights that didn’t shine anymore lining the “main street.” 

Alana had the home field advantage. She had disappeared into the darkness to a spot that would undoubtedly give the mare ample coverage of the area. Falcon assumed the watch tower would have been said spot, but a quick look at the testament to Wasteland engineering confirmed that she was not there. 

The hooded pony slunk up close to the cart, slowly, methodically, careful where he put his hooves. The slavers were none the wiser. Arrogance. Self-assurance. Both would be their downfall. They numbered only five, excluding the one strapped into the cart. As far as Falcon was concerned, he was a noncombatant. 

They had gathered off to one side of the cart while Falcon Wing made his way to the other, the ponies inside also oblivious to his presence. They were herded into a large rusted cage with half a barrel fastened to the reddish bars, the dried up remains of old “food” encrusted the insides. The ponies of various colors were all given rags to wear, their new uniforms for wherever their destination was. The clothes of their enforced toil. 

Falcon Wing scowled and crawled under the wagon. Not if he could help it. He put his head under his overcoat, reached into one of his bags and pulled out the combat knife in his mouth. He used the blade as a screw driver, carefully prying the bolts securing the wagon’s rear right wheel axle. He did not remove them completely, just enough so that the wheel would be extremely unstable when it started moving. He gave the left wheel the same treatment then scurried out from under the cart. He put the knife back in his bag then put his little plan in motion. 

He crept up behind the burly pony, making sure he was unseen until the last moment. He turned around and swung his rear hooves up into where it would hurt the most. 

The muscular stallion cried out in pain. Falcon scampered off, the sounds of his hoofs clopping against asphalt getting the attention of the slavers. “What the hell!?” one of them shouted. “Fuck it, get on the wagon and let’s get the fuck outa here!” another replied. They jumped up onto the side of the wagon, grappling onto the cage for support. “Start fucking movin’ moving, Dust Cloud!” the same slaver barked at the pained stallion. 

Fighting against the pain, the pony started his gallop only to have the wagon sway and wiggle out of control behind him, the rear wheels sliding off and rolling wayward. The wagon came down hard, the cage rattled, the prisoners cried out in surprise. The slavers jumped off of their crippled ride and went to draw their firearms on Falcon Wing. 

The crack of the rifle rang out in the night. Six shots fired from the roof of a nearby building. Each shot met their mark.






> Chapter Twenty
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty

Is it possible to have peace of mind in a world ravaged by war?

When Falcon Wing’s eyes fluttered open on that fourth morning, he was looking up a ceiling. A ceiling, not the cloudy skies as he had seen for three mornings straight when he woke up wherever he decided to lay down the night before. He was on a small bed. One that was clean and comfortable. He was lying on his back. He saw his overcoat draped on a dresser in front of him. Klaxon’s goggles were on a table to his right. His head was on a pillow. An actual pillow, not a garbage bag!

“Oh good, I must be dead,” he said to himself. “I wonder if I went quick.”

“I don’t know about you dying, but you went to sleep pretty quickly once I got you on that bed!” Alana said gleefully, her face appearing from the side of his vision. Falcon had a start at her sudden appearance. She wasn’t wearing the raider barding anymore. She had a padded gray tunic on with a bit of repurposed scrap metal plating protecting her shoulders, sides and knees. Her holster was on her left foreleg as opposed to on her armor, resting snugly in it was the Peashooter. The battle saddle was nowhere to be seen. 

“Uh…good morning, Alana,” he said once there was breath in his lungs again. 

“Morning, mister hero,” she said with a wide grin.

Falcon Wing cringed. “… I don’t deserve that nickname,” he said sheepishly. “not after… --“

“I’m sure the ponies of Hope would beg to differ, since you did save them from slavers!” Alana countered. Falcon had seen those green eyes filled with sadness and tears. Now they were bright and joyous. “You were amazing! You were right under them -– literally -- and they didn’t even notice!”

“You saved them. I just broke their wagon,” Falcon Wing retorted.

Alana raised a brow at him and, with a flash of determination in her eyes said: “Well, you won’t accept your part in saving an entire community, but at least you can’t deny that you saved me. And, for the briefest moment, my mother too,”

She smiled and leaned in close to him. “Can you debate that, mister hero?” she said, chuckling after. 

“Brief isn’t good enough. I should have been able to do more -- to do better…” Falcon Wing muttered. “… and I shouldn’t have been so mean to you. You only meant well --”

Alana put a hoof forcefully to his chest, stopping him mid-sentence.

“You were trying to reason with ponies who couldn’t be reasoned with. You were willing to try diplomacy before giving a raider the bullet they deserve. You were trying to stay good and only got the short end of the stick for it so you got mad, really mad at that. I understand. I don’t blame you for it. I was only worried that you’d end up hurting yourself and…” she gave him a pleasant smile. “…I like the Falcon Wing who only wants to help, not to hurt, even though he might have to one day. At least I’ll know he didn’t want to do it.”

Falcon Wing mulled over her words and then brushed her hoof off of him. “The ponies in the cage?” he asked. 

“I shot the lock off with the Peashooter and helped them get back what the slavers took. The townsfolk gave you a bit of a reward for the help: some potions, food, bandages and some ammo we got off the slavers, for your gun,” Alana replied. 

Falcon nodded absentmindedly. “That’s kind of them…” he said, then asked: “Why don’t I remember any of this?” 

“I don’t know,” the caramel mare said with a shrug. “You were really out of it by time I got down from my perch. You went through a lot yesterday so you being tuckered out after that wasn’t really surprising.”

“I see…” Falcon said. 

“My turn to ask a question, mister hero,” Alana said, kneeling down beside the bed and resting her chin on her crossed forelegs. 

“What is it?”

“When were you going to tell me you’re a pegasus?” 

Falcon Wing glanced away from Alana to his overcoat, then back to her. His eyes went wide, pupils shrinking, mortified. He felt strangely naked without it on, even though he still had his tunic on. 

“It’s funny. All this time I thought you were a Stable pony, like that one mare running across the Wastes. I bring you in here on my back, get you into bed and take off that coat of yours then see --… I thought you were some poor taint victim, or that you got yourself exposed to too much radiation out there. But then I recognized them. Those were your wings…” 

Falcon Wing’s mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. He sighed and closed it again. There were no words he could say in response to this. 

“There were signs, though. You’re pretty small for an earth pony, you know. Pretty fast and light on your hooves for one too. You’ve still got plenty pegasus in you.” 

She nuzzled his stub where some of his plumage was starting to return. “Did it hurt you a lot?”

At that, the words came too easily. “Like a bitch,” Falcon answered honestly, rolling off of the bed thereafter. His saddlebags were right beside it. He picked one up, fastened it to his side and then did the same to the other one. He then grabbed his coat, put it on and retrieved the goggles, having the lenses rest on his forehead as always once they were on as well. 

“Heading out already?” Alana asked as he suited up. 

“Might as well,” Falcon replied when he was finished and just about ready to walk through the door, hoof on the handle. He looked back at her one last time before he opened it.  

“Not even gonna say goodbye to anypony? What a strange hero you are, mister hero.”

“It’s Falcon Wing, Alana. Just… Falcon Wing… the blank flank pegasus without his wings,” the red colt replied. “and goodbye. Good luck. I hope you do find a pony that you can call a hero, because I’m not them.”

He pushed down on the handle, opened the door and slipped through, finding himself in a ruined hallway, a set of stairs a few feet to his left. He started heading down the ruined stairs in an oppressive dark gray gloom, rays of light shining through the cracked walls.

Stairs… stairs never change. 

> Chapter Twenty-One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty-One

Last words: make the most out of them. A life is but a day in the Wasteland.

It had been eighteen days since Falcon became a part of the Equestrian Wasteland. Eight days since he last saw Klaxon and Steiner, five days since he saw Alana. On the nineteenth, the pegasi descended. Operation Cauterize: the day the Enclave returned to Equestria after 200 years. 

A day of death.

Falcon Wing woke up the day after to a cloudy Wasteland morn at the base of a dead tree. A few minutes later he was fiddling with the goggles in his hooves. “So what’s this business about spell matrix terminals…?” he asked himself as he inspected them. 

He was the epitome of a lost soul now. A wanderer who had yet to truly wander. Being a better pony was hard. 
Over five days he tried doing good deeds, helping a beggar, running a few errands for the occasional pony he met that did not want him dead on sight, avoiding wild automatons that saw his behind in need of a few extra holes all the while.

At the end of the day however, he couldn’t shake the fact that he wasn’t a hero. He was no Stable Dweller, he was just Falcon Wing: the misguided youth who thought it was a good idea to rush out into the Wasteland, and bucking raiders until they blacked out only to find that he was better off shooting them from the get-go.  
He thought he had hit the lowest of his lows when he took refuge in a dumpster. In recent days, he reconsidered that and determined that his new standard of pathetic was who he was now. Lying underneath a dead tree, playing around with goggles, completely strayed from his goals. 

However, he took the bad along with the good, as tiny good as it might have been. He had more bullets on him now than he did when he left the cellar of his friends. He may have strayed from his goals, but he had yet to stray from his morals! Yet. Killing another pony, even a raider, was beyond him. Letting others do so, however, was just fine. So was stealing as long as the pony was a raving lunatic murderer. Clearly, Falcon Wing had the caliber of a true, admirable hero. 

He hadn’t experienced anything like he had on that sunset since then. He did feel angry sometimes, sometimes without a proper cause, finding himself with anger at the world itself in all of its fucked up glory. But nothing akin to that incident. He was unsure if it was because he was doing a good job “not losing himself” or because he feared himself in that state of mind, of what he could do and what could happen to him, in addition to his moral dilemma which he still hadn’t sorted out. He understood it just fine, just lacked the conviction to carry it out. 

So the fact of the matter was he was a wayward soul with a desire to do good but lacking the fortitude to make difficult choices. How very weak. It made him wonder just how he was still alive in such a most unforgiving place when he was not even willing to kill for his life. Or perhaps he was. It was all dreadfully confusing.  

The goggles were back on his head, resting on his forehead. The emptied can from his daily meal was tossed a few feet away. His decision had been made: he was going to return to the cellar. His only accomplishment in eight days: assisting the liberation of the ponies in Klaxon and Steiner’s old town. 

For whatever reason, that did not seem as bad as Falcon Wing thought it was. 

The long walk back to Ponyville did not offer any new sights. It just made it clear just how desensitized he had become to the ruins of Equestria. He passed skeletons lying on the discolored grass, said a word or two out of respect and kept walking. If he stopped to bury all the remains he found, it’d take months for him to get back to that basement. 

Just as he was getting too jaded, his world was utterly shaken. 

The Ponyville ruins were belching smoke into the gray skies.

The sound of DJ Pon3’s broadcast emanated from his saddlebag with crystal clear clarity as he raced across the deadened land, listening to the progression of events elsewhere in the Wastes. Things were looking grim but being able to hear about it was yet another thing he had to thank Klaxon for when he found the stallion… dead or alive as the case may be.   

“First, our hearts and prayers go out to the folks of Friendship City and everypony who had relatives there.  Late yesterday, in their most horrific attack yet, that airborne plague callin’ themselves the Enclave brutally slaughtered Friendship City.  The city’s gone, children.  Hundreds of ponies dead.  If you didn’t believe me before, believe me now.  The Enclave ain’t here to save anypony. They ain’t our friends…” 

The radio echoed eerily in rubble filled streets, the remains of… what remained of Ponyville to begin with. They were all gone. Raiders were nothing but gore and blood strewn about the debris. From different kinds of armors he saw blood soaked and littering the streets, he knew that some -- most -- of them spent their last moments warring with each other. In the end it was all for naught. In the end, both sides were wiped out brutally and efficiently. War, like stairs, never changes. 

Many innocent ponies elsewhere died in similar display of extermination if DJ Pon3’s reports were to be believed. And Falcon believed them after seeing what had become of Ponyville with his own eyes. 

He traversed the leveled buildings, finding purchase on large slabs of concrete and wooden struts and vaulting himself up and over the rubble. Alana was right, even without wings he had the agility and speed of a proper pegasus, honed in the Wasteland in ways he never dreamed of when he was an introvert above the clouds. 

He wound himself through the puddles of flesh, ignoring the smell of blood and the after-effects of gunfire. The air was electrified from magical energy weapon discharge, weapons able to turn a pony to ash in one hit or simply tear through their bodies in a way bullets could not. Even the Peashooter with its affinity for precision and massive damage could not contend. 

Duck under that fallen lamp post. Jump over that barrier of mangled wall. Gallop through the flames, feel the heat and emerge from the other side like the phoenix reborn. He was no longer concerned about being a hero. His mind was focused solely on his friends. 

DJ Pon3’s voice followed him as did his overcoat, sweeping the rushing air underneath it and billowing out as he ran, as if it wished to compensate for his clipped wings. 

“… This broadcast?  It’s not exactly live. And I have a message for the black-armored soldiers who just burst into the station at the Shattered Hoof Ridge Tower: that thing you’re looking at with the glowing blue light?  A little homebrewed surprise rigged to the spark battery from a weapon made by the motherfuckin’ stars! Farewell, you …”  

The deep voice of the stallion gave way to static. Falcon Wing did not stop running, even to shut off the crackling that echoed off into the nigh deserted town.

His course took him right down that street. The street he landed in amidst the dead of night. The street where he lost part of himself. He raced down it and over all the obstacles in his way a much stronger pony than he was then. He did not even give the ordeal a passing thought as he went. 

“Find Klaxon, find Steiner. Then find out what the fuck happened to Hope,” Falcon thought, a mantra that repeated in his head. 

“Son of a bitch!” the red colt shouted, seeing what had become of the building that stood close to the train tracks. “It finally happened! 200 years and it was the Enclave who knocked it down!?” 

He threw himself the rest of the way to the building, landing on the collapsed building and digging into the wood so charred and smashed. He bared his teeth as he tossed bits of wood aside, ignoring splinters that dug into him. 

“They are alive!” he told himself, practically growling as he tore through the pile. Pieces of wood landed with a faint thump behind him after soaring through the air in an arc.

“They lasted this fucking long, I don’t see how some shitty pegasi could be the ones to kill them!”

His hooves were not good enough now. He bit into a few large planks of wood and hauled them out, causing a small cascade of rubble to spread out. Repeating the process and suffering several splinters in his gums, he saw what he was looking for. The dumpster. It was crushed in the collapse, caving into itself and wedged into the cellar entrance.

Falcon Wing’s heart sank. If the two stallions were alive down there… they were trapped! 

He jumped off of the pile of debris, gut wrenching grief hitting him and hitting him hard. He trembled, staggered a little then finally threw up. 

Hell of a time for that to happen. 

“… Nasty. Boy, did you swallow some of that shit you bit into?” said a familiar earth pony. Falcon Wing --who was still heaving at the time -- perked up instantly. He looked around and saw them. The two stallions standing behind him raising their brows. 

“…How… how long?” Falcon rasped.

“Long enough to see that whole display,” Steiner answered him. “We were out scavenging when we heard your radio. Speaking of which, do you fancy the sound of static accompanying your…meals?” 

“You were out scavenging…in all of this…” Falcon countered, ignoring the comment about the radio and panning his gaze over the leveled and burning buildings. 

“You’d be surprised at what we found. We came across a few raider stashes and without any raiders to guard them, looks like the loot is ours,” Klaxon said. 

“I…see,” Falcon Wing said, slowly regaining his composure.

From the looks of things, the two had overcome their emotional hurdle in the last few days. What better way to celebrate than revel in the destruction of the Wasteland competition? Ponyville was theirs! Whatever was still standing at least!

“It’s good to see you guys too, by the way,” he added, smiling weakly, his mouth stained red, bits of wood sticking out. Steiner narrowed his eyes, sighed and shook his head. He’d have to fix that. 

"This is what we get for letting you rush out to play hero," Klaxon deadpanned. 

“How’d you two get out of there anyway? Dumpster’s bust,” the red colt asked, gesturing back to the pile behind him.

“Emergency tunnel,” the dark blue unicorn stated.

“… Called it” Falcon mused, looking into his bag to turn off the static.  
> Chapter Twenty-Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty-Two

History is being made, how does one get their name remembered?

The emergency tunnel was a series of tunnels with various exits around Ponyville. Steiner’s enchanting created perfect, circular tunnels underneath the town large enough for the two stallions to walk side by side through. The entrances to them were usually in nondescript ruined buildings. Many of those tunnels had been blocked off when said ruins came down on themselves. 

Fortunately, redundancy in the design ensured that even though the options were limited, there were still options nonetheless. 

One such option was, again found underneath a dumpster. It was only two blocks away from the collapsed building and Steiner revealed the burrow entrance with his telekinesis.

“So, dumpsters…are they a running theme with you two or what?” Falcon inquired. 

“They are big and no one looks under them. That makes them useful,” Steiner replied.

“Yeah, no one looks under them. They just crawl inside. And I’m not even making a joke about you Falcon, I was looking for caps one day when all of a sudden this crazy fuck throws their self onto me --“ Klaxon started saying, Falcon interjecting with: “Why would you look for caps in a dumpster!?” He was flabbergasted. 

“You can find a lot of things in the dumpsters, Falcon. Caps, parts… an enemy or a friend…” Steiner said. “but enough of this, there are things to be done.”

He beckoned the two into the tunnel, entered himself and placed the dumpster exactly as it was before. With the raider hold on Ponyville broken, it seemed unnecessary, but old habits die hard. 

Falcon Wing gulped down a healing potion and moments after he emptied the bottle, he felt his gums soothe and the bleeding gashes mend. Lesson learned: don’t bite on wood. Steiner removed the splinters with his magic beforehoof to ensure a problem-free recovery. 

The cellar was the same as how Falcon Wing remembered it when he left. Even with tons of broken wood just overhead, the cellar showed no signs of it being worse for wear. A testament to pre-war Equestrian engineering. 

He was glad the skeletons were long removed from the building, or else their burial would have been much less ceremonious. 

Once he was back to snuff, Falcon was quick to get back to business. For one, finding out just what the hell his goggles were for. 

Information he knew now that he wished he had before.

When over his eyes, the goggles gave him a magical HUD interface, able to display friendlies and hostiles in his vicinity, an Eyes Forward Sparkle. Right now, as he wore them, Steiner and Klaxon were denoted with a yellow notch on a directional line. Apparently, facing away from the “welcoming mat” meant he was roughly facing west. Interesting. 

It also gave him access to an inventory sorting spell. It gave him an entire manifest of his saddlebags right before his eyes and by using it, he would be able to retrieve what he needed without actively rummaging through his stuff. Insanely useful, that was. 

“Steiner’s hoofwork, those are,” Klaxon said as Falcon played around with the features he was told about and accessed others he hadn’t been informed of, spellbound. “apparently he found some old Stable-Tec stuff and made a Pipbuck for your head. If you find a working terminal out there, you can jack in and look at its contents directly.”

“So Steiner was the one who put this note in here?” Falcon asked, using the inventory spell to retrieve the paper with the easiest of ease. Steiner nodded. 

“Jacking in also recharges the lights,” he said. Lights: in the dead of night they were not stealthy in the least, but it meant Falcon Wing didn’t have to bumble around in the dark. A Pipbuck for one’s head. Most useful indeed. 

Second order of business: resupplying. That was pretty straightforward, and with the two stallions pulling in a Wasteland treasure trove, their inventory was hardly affected by it.

Third order of business: filling them in on what happened in Hope. 

“…You saved them?” Steiner asked when Falcon was done speaking.

“Broke their wagon. Anyway, what’s the deal with Alana and you two?” Falcon replied. 

“Not two, him” Klaxon replied with a snort. “She was infatuated with him as a filly.”

“I hope my absence has allowed her to grow out of it. It wasn’t… healthy” Steiner nickered.

Falcon arched a brow and said “Was this before or --…you know what? Never mind” 

He didn’t need to sour the reunion by bringing up what might as well be ancient history. Not when things were as grim as they were. 

“We need to head on over there. From what DJ Pon3 said, the Enclave is killing off ponies in cities too, not just raiders,”

Fourth order of business: “Klaxon, thanks for all the shit you put in my bags. Just… thanks, a lot” 

“I did not think we would ever approach these walls again,” Steiner deadpanned as the trio walked to the front gate of Hope.

“Things hardly go the way you planned it,” Klaxon said in response. 

Falcon was quiet save for the clicking of his goggles every time he tapped a hoof on the side, switching through different menus. Walking with only three legs, he was lagging behind the others a small distance. 

“I don’t see fires, I don’t smell any smoke. You think the Enclave overlooked the compound?” Klaxon asked his dark blue companion. 

“How does one overlook a giant wall in the middle of a city…from the sky?” Steiner replied. 

“They don’t. So what gives?” 

They stopped and looked back at Falcon Wing. “What do you make of all of this, being ex-pegasus and all?” the bronze stallion asked. 

Falcon Wing tapped the side of his goggles one last time, clearing his HUD save for his E.F.S.

“I don’t know what to think of the Enclave anymore. It scares me though, to think my parents were a part of it, and that the rumors about how they died might be true after all. There’s nothing they can say or do to justify wiping out hundreds of ponies like that. I can only hope some of them disobeyed the orders… but knowing the Enclave… those ponies are probably dead” 

The stallions gave him strange looks, as if they hadn’t expected such an answer.

“… What?” the red colt asked. “You wanted my take on things and there it is!”

“Right then,” Steiner said, about to walk up to the gate when Falcon called out “Why isn’t Canterlot on my map?”

“What?” Both ponies said at nearly the same time. 

“Canterlot. It’s not on the map…” Falcon looked past the ruined husks of Hope over to the ancient mountains where the city was said to sit upon, visible from Ponyville. Klaxon and Steiner followed his gaze.

There was no city to be seen. Just the huge gash in the rock face where the power of Enclave weaponry was unleashed. The waterfall flowed unabated.

“The motherfuckers destroyed Canterlot!?” the stallions said at the same time, giving each other a strange look that was a blend of confusion and disbelief. Confusion at their sudden synchronicity and disbelief that they hadn’t noticed the city’s disappearance from the Equestrian landscape when they emerged from the underground after the Enclave moved on from Ponyville.  

“... They destroyed one of the last remnants of the past… of when Celestia and Luna… this isn’t a Wasteland genocide!” Falcon Wing blurted out, slowly piecing things together. The stallions turned their odd looks towards him.

“… Well it is, but not in the usual sense! The Enclave are laying the foundations of a pegasus ruled Wasteland! They are killing and destroying everything and anything they don’t see fit to exist in their Equestria.”

“And they left Hope alone because it’s just a dainty little town, isn’t it?” Klaxon snorted, stomping his hoof. “They have no damn right to do this!”

Falcon noted this was the first actual reaction he had gotten from the two about the current events. Well, second if their celebratory scavenging was to be counted. 

“So what do we do?” Steiner asked.

Falcon Wing stammered. Really, what could they do? This was the Grand Pegasus Enclave: the technological superiors to all of the Wasteland. The Enclave who grew crops in the very clouds themselves! The Enclave whose Raptor airships were fabled dragon slayers! The Enclave who had flying fortresses in the form of Thunderheads! The Enclave whose soldiers were trained to shock, awe and terrify the enemy and were armed with weapons that did just that. 

Steiner stomped his hoof down in front of Falcon Wing. “What. Do. We. Do?” he said with a steely determination in his ember colored eyes. They were beginning to spill out an ominous crimson light, the dark blue unicorn’s scar starting to glow white and making his hair whip about on his head. 

The red colt returned to his senses at that, no longer staring blankly at the mountains in the distance. He saw the anger in Steiner’s eyes, and saw how it was overtaking him. The story of how he got his cutie mark came to Falcon’s mind and he understood…

Steiner’s great magical potential was tied directly to his emotions… joy, sorrow or anger all had an impact on his powers. It’s why he was the one to bring up those past events and why he imposed solitude on himself in the days after. He needed to get the burden off of him in order to safely use his magic, why he always kept a neutral disposition.

Why he refused to do anything beyond powering a lamp…

“We keep our heads, first and foremost,” Falcon Wing replied sternly, meeting Steiner’s eyes and showing that he was completely serious about his words. He knew what it was like to meet his inner phoenix. “Then we find out what we can about what the Enclave is doing now… “

“Then… we plan a counter. If the past is anything to go by, the Stable Dweller is already at the forefront of the resistance effort,” Steiner said, his anger draining away from his expression, his scar no longer emanating light. In its stead was the pony of a calculating and tactical mind. Falcon smiled a small smile. The Steiner her knew was back. 

The sheet metal gate to Hope’s compound creaked and split down the middle, each half being pulled in opposite directions. Inside, Wastelanders awaited their new arrivals. Turning to look into the compound, Falcon Wing saw Alana standing near the front of the crowd. She mouthed, “Mister hero.” 

> Chapter Twenty-Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty-Three

What is a pegasus without their wings?

The next few days were spent devising a way to mop up Enclave forces across the Wasteland.

DJ Pon3’s broadcasts during this time were infuriatingly strained, the pony only being able to speak for minutes at a time before being tracked down and overridden -- or in recent cases, before blowing the transmission station to kingdom come along with any baddies -- meaning the Equestrian Wasteland was without a voice of nearly omnipresent knowledge about the happenings going on. 

That meant a substitution was in order, but not something that would send messages…

Klaxon was a pony that can repair and maintain. Steiner was a pony who invented. Together they completely reworked the radio into something it was never meant to be: a long range receiver and tracker; one that hooked up directly into to the Pipeye. The compound had no shortage of scrap parts to lend to the cause. 

The result was a rusty box full of wiring, tubing and circuitry, flickering oblong-shaped lights crackling softly. The only thing recognizable was the radio’s speakers, gutted and repurposed.

A makeshift antenna was fastened together using metal rods of various sizes and lengths, the largest one being the main structure for smaller prongs. It was mounted on the watch tower. 

Leading into this mess of -- but somehow functioning -- technology was the thin wire that could be extended from the Pipeye to access terminals. Using the map interface, Falcon Wing was monitoring the source of various radio signals across the Wasteland, all marked in his view. Twisting the dial scrolled across the map of the Wasteland, all settlements, from Manehatten to Junction R-7 were accounted for. Except for Canterlot, that was just a blank spot.

Klaxon fiddled with the assembly with the various tools he carried in his saddlebags for repairs on the go while Steiner focused on it with intense concentration. His scar was glowing as he channeled the magical field that made it all work. Falcon Wing was scouring his memory for all the things he knew about Enclave communication protocols. 

His extensive reading was paying off. 

Falcon Wing: eavesdropping with style. He had tapped into the Enclave communication frequency with the sources of various transmissions revealed on his map. A bulk of the pegasi forces were pressing into the Everfree forest… or rather, was over it. Numerous Raptors and a Thunderhead, all going after some goal the wingless pegasus had no clue about. Radio chatter spoke of somepony named Red Eye? 

Other divisions were situated in the major Wasteland cities such as Manehatten and Fillydelphia, from what Falcon could make out of a few messages, there were already battles breaking out between the Enclave and warriors of the Wastes. 

It occurred to him that those laying their lives on the line weren’t doing so to be called heroes. They did not want the Wasteland to know them by some moniker or to have their deeds enthrall the listeners of the radio. They were risking life and limb not for glory, but for their homes and for all they cared about, for the good of every pony still alive. It was kill or be killed, and the Enclave showed no reservations as a whole concerning the slaughter of innocents. So the Wasteland struck back, not because it was the heroic thing to do, but because it was the right thing to do. The decent thing to do. And sometimes, the right thing to do isn’t the preferred option.

Falcon Wing knew that now… and accepted it. It did in no way justified mindless acts of violence, as he was once tempted to commit by his rage, but that did not mean it was not okay the be angry. Fire without guidance was a short lived explosion. Fire given form and purpose was a regal phoenix. 

And so, he would live his life as a phoenix, rising to whatever challenge he should come across, a fiery spirit and a champion for good.

Unseen to all because of his overcoat and unnoticed by him, Falcon Wing’s cutie marked appeared: a silver shield with burning golden wings extending from either side. 





Fallout Equestria: Clipped Wings



> Story Two: Brighter Futures 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter One

Reach for the skies and grasp the heavens, for the tyranny of the clouds has been broken!

Magical energy weapons lashed out at the weathered walls the Wasteland militants took refuge behind. The fighting force of the free took cover in a large residential building ravaged by the elements while the winged ones in their dark armor blasted holes through them. The buzzing and cracking of their weapons filled the air. There was an electrifying ambiance in the wake of each shot, each entry hole glowing hotly and each impact marked by scorched spots. 

Shock and awe indeed. 

Falcon Wing was positioned at the corner of the war torn street, peeking out furtively and using his Pipeye to identify hostiles. With the brass goggles he saw them: ten Enclave soldiers, top of the line combatants with years of training and armed with top of the line weapons. That, against twelve Wasteland-hardened survivors, excluding Falcon Wing. The Enclave pegasi were having a skirmish with another group of defenders and were apparently winning. 

"So what are we dealing with, Falcon Wing?" Klaxon asked, bracing against the side of the building, standing behind the wingless pegasus.

"Enemies well out of our league," Falcon Wing wanted to say, but shunned those thoughts. Barely a month ago, he considered these ponies to be his kin and in a few ways, admired them, believing them to be the highest quality ponies left in Equestria. How could they not be, living in the clouds and away from the harmful effects of magical radiation and sustaining themselves with technology all but lost on the surface? 

The red colt poked his out from the corner once more, sweeping his vision across the street then looking up to the skies, using his E.F.S to simplify and corroborate his findings. 

"Ten of them. Four have Novasurge rifles, really powerful things. They were designed by the top shooter in the Enclave before he left, Deadsho -- ... this isn't a time for a history lesson..." Falcon Wing replied, shaking his head. 

He put a hoof on the dial, shifting Pipeye functions. Falcon Wing's sight turned to black for all but a split second, returning vastly amplified. He was staring down the length of several city blocks yet he felt as if he were mere feet away from the pegasus in their black carapace, banking around the building where the others were to fire a pink stream of energy through a window... seeing the bright flash within the shadowed alcove where the shot must have struck true. A pony was just vaporized. Falcon Wing dropped his gaze, for an instant feeling as if he was hurtling to the ground before the Pipeye's view mode returned to normal. 

That was all Klaxon needed to see to know the time to act was now. He looked up to the eleven other ponies assembled around him, several of which had formed a perimeter of battle saddle coverage, making ambush impossible unless the Enclave were using Stealthbucks. Steiner and Alana stood closest to him. 

"These Enclave fuckheads made a grave mistake coming to Hope, so lets go ahead and send them packing!" he whinnied. "Steiner, what's the best course of attack?" he asked the hornless unicorn. 

"We set up a kill zone. Alana will draw their attention, the rest of us will offer fire support when they come down this straight," Steiner replied. Falcon spoke up.

"Enclave suits have Eyes Forward Sparkles. They'll know they are going into an ambush... hell, one pony firing on a group of ten would be suspicious enough. No offense to your skills, Alana." 

"I will take care of that, don't you worry," Steiner said, streams of light visible between the mess of black mane on his head.

A few of the other ponies looked uneasy. They were from Hope and remembered Steiner's accident in vivid detail. The fact he was still using magic long after he removed his horn -- which was very difficult to do, as Falcon recently discovered, supporting his belief Steiner was one of the most powerful magic wielders out there -- only disconcerted them further. The dark blue stallion did not care, he would not hold back his true power in such a dire time. 



The roar of Alana's rifle could have rivaled a dragon's. Klaxon upgraded the rifle from its dingy condition before the strikes against the Enclave and Steiner enchanted the weapon. The result was something with enough power that shooting it nearly sent Alana sliding back across the asphalt. The fact she stood her ground was testament to the caramel mare's resolve. 

The slug punched through the pegasus armor and in the distance, the spray of blood was but a fine mist. The stricken solider spiraled from the sky. Two others dived after their comrade while the remaining seven swerved around and rocketed over the desolate streets.

Alana yelped, spun on her hooves and was going as fast as she could down the street. Like the raider before her, Alana was being hindered by the large unwieldy gun.  

She did not get far, between navigating the obstacles of wrecks in her way and her handicap, the agile pegasus flyers ahead were on her tail in less than two minutes. Streaks of light: pink, green and Novasurge orange came down all around her, some hitting so close she felt the searing heat and the ionizing tingle on her coat. 

She ducked behind a wagon laying on its side, knowing the hulking mass of metal would offer no protection against the beams of energy and with the E.F.S, the soldiers knew where she was even as she hid. 

However, she knew they wouldn't dare fire on her now. She was behind an entirely different kind of wagon, not one towed across the ground, but one meant to fly. A sky cart, and an especially large one. It was more akin to a boxcar than a chariot, worn white paint with blue stripes, large cloud generators attached to its exposed underside.  

Shooting it would be like setting off a mini Balefire bomb. 

The kill zone. 

Steiner dropped his magical cloak around himself and the eleven others. All at once, the Enclave soldiers were surrounded utterly by red marks in their E.F.S. Instinctively, they turned their attention to the ground, looking at the destroyed entrances to various stores and buildings. This group of rebels had no flyers, after all. 

Their tactical misjudgment was a mistake they would pay dearly for. Arranged on various floors of buildings down the street and positioned at windows, the ponies of the Hope compound opened fire with their battle saddles, assault rife fire streaming into the air, sparks jumping off of armor accompanied by splashes of red. Seven pegasi fly in. None come out.


Badly bleeding, in excruciating pain, the one Enclave member that had not succumbed to their wounds yet dragged themselves behind a pile of rubble and mangled metal, out of sight. They let themselves fall onto their back, looking up at the oppressive gray sky above, breathing heavily. They took off their helmet and laid it down next to them. 

The dying pegasus was a creamy orange in color with white and black mottling. He had a white spot over his left eye and a black one over his left. Those eyes were a striking blue. The stain of red was a new color on his face, staining a light brown mane. 

Those eyes rolled upwards slowly at the sound of approaching hoofsteps. There he saw the cloaked pony who stood over him. Red pelt, black coat, wearing some weird pair of goggles with green lenses. Veiled in shadow was the pony's cutie mark, a silver shield with fiery gold wings extending from both sides. 

Falcon Wing raised the goggles so they rested on his forehead. His eyes were cloudy. Soon enough, the orange pegasus also had glazed over eyes. 

"You're alive, Falcon," he rasped.

"And you're dying, Flint" the red colt replied, sitting down on the asphalt. 

The pony let out a pained chuckle that sounded as if he were about to heave. "You had us... worried sick for a while... you know..." 

"Stop talking. Save your strength. I can help you," Falcon Wing said, bringing up his inventory sorter and was about to remove every bit of medical supplies he had on him. 

"Don't, please..." the dying pegasus said as Falcon prepared to open a health potion. "I've been forced to do some... some things I can't live with. I didn't want to but... I was forced to... I'm... sorry." 

"What kind of shit is that?!" Falcon Wing exclaimed with the cover of the potion still in his mouth. "You took care of me! You and Erasure! How the hell can you ask me to let you die after all of the shit you've done for me!?"

"Because... we aren't any better than the ponies who kill foals... and destroy innocent lives at somepony's behest."

Falcon Wing quivered. "This can't be happening... why the hell is this happening!?" he choked out, setting the potion down on the ground. 

Flint groaned. "Hey... Falcon... bleeding out isn't... isn't exactly the best way to go..."

"You cannot be fucking serious," Falcon Wing thought in the midst of his grief.

"You think... you can speed this... up? Make it quick... make the pain stop?"

"Holy fuck this is happening!"

"I'd prefer if you did it... especially after what I did... did to your parents... what we all did."

"..."

"Ain't it a bitch... that when the truth comes out... there is no way to explain it..."

"What are you talking about!?" 

"This... really... hurts. I... I don't blame you if you'd want to see me suffer... or if you want revenge..."

"I literally have no fucking clue what you are saying!" Falcon Wing shouted, alerting the others to where he had gone. 

"Maybe... it's best that remains... unchan-"

Flint, laying in his pool of blood, stared blankly at the gray clouds above. 

Falcon Wing was wracked with conflicting emotions, grief for the loss of one of his caregivers, confusion about his dying words and an underlying rage that it seemed it was true, his parents were victims of betrayal and foul play. The red pony bared his teeth, wanting to close his eyes and run inside one of the husks, to be alone to process what he had been told. 

He was pulled from his turmoil at the sight of light. Light of all colors, tearing across the skies and sweeping the clouds away. The fabled Sonic Rainboom... and it was occurring all across Equestria. Bright yellow light then cut through the gloom. Streaks of light... sunlight. He looked up at the formerly gray expanse that Flint stared at in death and saw the blue breaking through with the streaming light its herald. 

The cloud cover had been broken by who else but the Stable Dweller

An age had come to an end.

And Falcon Wing would enter the next disoriented with a pained heart.
> Chapter Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Two

Time keeps on moving, one must keep moving with it, lest they are left lost in the far gone past.

Two weeks passed so quickly.

Once again he was alone, but he was not on some mad pursuit to be a hero. Rather, his cause was much more realistic and manageable: explore the Wasteland. Get to know it and the ponies that survived the apocalypse better. Help where he could, not because he would be respected and revered for his deeds, but because it was the decent thing to do. The pledge that got him his cutie mark. 

He currently resided in Junction R-7, the railroad settlement that exploded outwards into a town thanks to the Stable Dweller's deeds. Granted, his shelter was a shared boxcar-for-a-room not even on the rails, but at least the bedding was nice.

There was an open skylight and many windows, allowing sunlight to stream into the container so it was not dark in the day, and the darkness of night was alleviated by the return of the moon and the stars. 

The main aesthetic of the car was wood. A dark, red tinged wood that matched the age old furnishing. The floor was made of the stuff, as were the seats and booths that now served as beds for the other esteemed guests of Junction Town. The seats all had burgundy cushions, some in better condition than others. Falcon's was in almost in a pristine state. Little things like that that reminded him the universe was not out to get him. 

Falcon Wing laid on his back, legs stretched out on the long seat, hood draping off of the edge and hovering above the floor where his saddlebags were set down. A window was directly over him, rays of light shining over the red colt. His right foreleg was under his head while he flipped through his Pipeye settings with the other.

He had discovered the thing had a radio as a feature not too long ago, which meant the loss of his actual radio was no loss at all. It was used for a good cause, surely giving up listening to music and DJ Pon3 in exchange for finding and taking out Enclave forces was a fair trade. 

He tried not to think about what happened to Flint. 

He found that the broadcast quality of a Stable-Tec radio to be top notch. At first the volume was incredibly high but a few panicked turns of the dial rectified the issue. At that, Falcon Wing pulled his hood further over his face and hoped there weren't ponies looking over their seats at him. 

"-ave today, faithful listeners.  Ol’ DJ Pon3’s got some packin’ t’ do, an’ I need t’ program a good week or three o’ music before I go.  One final announcement: earlier, I was able t’ spend some time with Velvet here in my recording studio; and startin’ today, Velvet Remedy’s Equestrian Anthem will be part of our musical rotation

Knew you’d enjoy hearin’ that!

But for now, I leave you with this song, an ol’ favorite.  I dedicate this one to Strawberry Lemonade, Amber Waves, and every other pony who gave their lives at the Battle of Dragon Mountain.  You stood fast, defending valiantly without even knowing what you were dying to protect --"

Falcon shut off the radio. 

"Just my luck to miss an entire news segment!" he thought with a sigh. 

The sound of approaching hoofsteps set itself apart from the rest of the din inside the boxcar and immediately gave way to the sound of shuffling just off to his side. He pulled his hood from over his eyes and sat up, looking over the dark red table that separated him from a very particular mare. 

"Just your luck to miss an entire Pon3 broadcast, huh Falcon?" Alana said with a snicker. She was sitting in the opposite seat of the booth with a tray of various foods in front of her. She was wearing that gray barding of hers and had been carrying large saddlebags that she rested on either side of her on the bench. "Those things look really funny on you!" she added before leaning into the tray and nibbling on a carrot. 

A carrot. 

A carrot that was whole.

A carrot that was whole, somewhat discolored but not in a can.

Food that did not come from a can.

He raised the brass goggles from his eyes, left them on his forehead and stared wide eyed at the find. 

Alana giggled, "Orange definitely suits you better than green!"

"I could say the same about that carrot, but since it's an actual carrot who gives a flying --!" 

Alana gave him a warning look without raising her head from the tray, halting her chewing.

"... Phoenix," Falcon finished saying. Alana smiled, bit the carrot in half and swallowed her piece.

"Never seen a carrot down here?" she asked.

"I've seen pictures. On the cans. Canned carrots. The cans with so much preservatives in them that you can mummify a pony without any bandages," the red colt replied, still transfixed on the vegetable. "I haven't seen a whole carrot since I left the clouds... that was over a month ago...holy...phoenix I haven't seen a whole vegetable in over a month!" he said a tad bit too loud. A few ponies gave him sidelong looks and once again he sank into his seat and pulled the hood over his face.

"You are a very strange little pony, Falcon," Alana said with a shake of her head. At least she stopped calling him mister hero after well over two weeks. 

"Yeah well, for a pegasus like me the Wasteland is chock full of wonders and amazement. Speaking of which, it's funny how we both ended up here in R-7," Falcon Wing replied.

"Not really," the caramel mare replied with a wave of her hoof. "I did say my mother and I would have come here if we left Hope, and since Hope is doing just fine I thought it was time to see the rest of the Wasteland. Maybe lend a hoof where needed, you know?"

"A bit too well, actually," Falcon Wing responded without elaborating. Of course any Wasteland sightseer would start their journey in Junction Town. It was, after all, the capital of the New Canterlot Republic! "think I could join you?"

Alana put a hoof to her chin and made an exaggerated thinking face, complete with a loud thoughtful hum that got a few passing glances from the other ponies. 

"Yeah, sure why not! It'd be like old times except hopefully there will be less anger. And crying. And sexual tension,"

"Excuse me?" Falcon replied.

"Want the rest of my carrot?" Alana offered.

Falcon arched his brow. "... Okay," Falcon Wing replied, reaching out and taking a small bite of the carrot....

Which he then ate whole with another large gulp. 

"Wow. You weren't kidding," Alana said flatly. 

Falcon pulled down the goggles, went through his inventory sorter and retrieved a canteen, drinking a small amount before having it returned to his bag. He then raised them from his eyes. 

"No. No I was not," he replied; paused then asked "What have Klaxon and Steiner been doing?" 

"Well, last I saw they were loading up a wagon and were moving out of Ponyville, going back to Hope to help fix things up there, though I heard Steiner's gonna take a while longer," Alana asked then started eating the yellow-gray mush that was applesauce. What Falcon Wing assumed to be applesauce, at least. 

"Longer? Why?"

Alana pulled a cloth from a bandolier and wiped her muzzle with it.

"Ponies are realizing Ponyville doesn't have a raider presence anymore and that, with a bit of... sprucing up... it can be a place to live again. Steiner told me that with his magic, he could help rebuild. Something about being a better pony," Alana said; flashing Falcon Wing a wry look when she was done speaking. She mouthed his nickname. 

Falcon Wing sighed and shook his head. There was no winning this fight. 

"And Klaxon is planning on doing a few builds himself in the compound. Repairs or new projects were all the same to him back when I was a filly, he saw a problem and he went about fixing it. I suppose it's no different now. Well, maybe a little. Before he didn't know you mister h --" 

"Where did you get all of that stuff anyway? I've just realized just how starving I am!" Falcon Wing interjected cheerily. 
> Chapter Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Three

Just when you thought things couldn't change anymore, they do. And yet, some things never change. 

Just where did he go wrong? 

Falcon Wing awoke in a muddy ditch five miles past the center of nowhere. Most other ponies would have been in extreme agony, but the red colt managed his most recent beating well enough. A bit of a dull pain, but he was numbed to everything else and from what he could see through his spinning vision, that wasn't because he was lacking anything. His body was quite whole in spite of his latest physical conflict. 

Meaning he was several times better off after this last incident than he was during that first night. 

Wait, no. He put a hoof on his forehead and did not feel his Pipeye there. He reached for his flanks and realized he did not have his saddlebags either. As his vision focused, he saw he didn't have his overcoat on. He only had his vest, badly torn up and lacking the straps of bandoliers. It was blood stained from the deep gashes in the red colt's hide. 

He groaned. Not only was he knocked unconscious and dumped Celestia knows where, but he was robbed too? And so thoroughly? Then again, could he have expected anything else? 

Falcon laid back in his dirt bed -- finding the moist dirt to be somewhat comfortable -- and looked up to the skies over the Equestrian heartland. The midday sun shone through drooping, dark green trees that grew thick and large. Trees full of life. Life that was once confined to the Everfree Forest alone a month ago. 

Because a month ago the Gardens of Equestria hadn't been activated. 

He was in the swamp. The Froggy Bottom Swamp, he recalled. He was here with Alana. Why were they here? His memory turned up something about finding herbs for some zebras in a place called Glyphmark, a settlement of theirs at the base of the Canterlot Mountains -- or what remained of them -- to help them with their weird zebra potion making. What potion in particular? 

What potion was worth getting knocked out, dumped in a ditch and robbed? 

And while he was wondering about that, where was Alana anyway? 

As if Celestia herself were listening in on his inner musings, the red colt heard the caramel mare's voice "Falcon Wing!" 

He raised his head slowly, seeing the silhouette of her figure against that brilliant circle in the sky. She was a lot bulkier than he last remembered... and it did not take long for him to find out why.

She slid down into the ditch carrying four large saddlebags, his and her own. On her forehead was his Pipeye. 

"Hey y --" he rasped only for Alana to stamp down into the moist dirt, making an underwhelming squelching noise that still carried her intended message: shut up. Falcon fell silent, understanding why she would want him to stop talking. He was a mess. She undid his vest and prepared to get down to business. 

She put her bags down and pulled out disinfectant and clean rags. Memories of his visits to Patchenfix returned to him as she cleaned his wounds, the familiar sting nipping at his body. When that was done, she carefully stored the bloodied cloths away in her saddlebags for wash in the future then wrapped him in healing bandages. His wounds were not extensive enough to warrant a health potion and it was best that it was saved for a more serious circumstance, but she couldn't afford to leave them exposed in such an environment. 

When his vest was back on, the gauze was visible through the cuts in it, dark red staining it but the wounds would heal shortly. 

Alana gave him a drink from his canteen, propping him up with her foreleg to do so. After that she pulled off the Pipeye and fastened it back to his head. He smiled. "Good to know that before whatever stroke of stupidity got me in this mess, I was smart enough to give all my valuables to you," he said weakly, though he was feeling his strength return to him quickly. 

She returned the smile and replied, "What kind of an earth pony would I be if I couldn't carry a bit extra weight?" 

"As good as a wingless pegasus, I'd imagine," the red colt said with a good humored smirk. She gave him a gentle nudge in the shoulder. 

"You're not so bad when you aren't unconscious and left for dead," she assured him in her strange way.

"Yeah...speaking of which, how'd this all happen?" Falcon Wing asked. 

It was a long story .

"There are ponies... here? Experimenting on animals...?" Falcon queried when Alana was finished speaking. She nodded. 

"We came across their camp not too long ago and not too far away. We saw their cages... and the magic they were doing... if it could be called that... anyway, you wanted to free them and I agreed... but we both knew what could have happened to you if you got caught. You left me with everything you have and went in. And they found you. I thought you were going to die, mister hero," 

Falcon Wing scoffed. "It'd take a lot more than them to put me down! Have you even seen my cutie mark? I have one of those now in case you haven't been looking at my flanks over the last few weeks!" he said, trying to be as charming as he could to lighten the caramel mare's spirits. He succeeded in making her blush. Was that a good thing? 

Inwardly, he was kicking himself and kicking himself hard. Sure he gave Alana everything he considered valuable... but his overcoat too? "Did I not think I'd need that cloak to sneak properly!?" he chided himself. He could have been dead now because of that mistake. He should have been dead. The fact he wasn't meant something was up in this swamp and Falcon Wing suspected magical experimentation on animals was not the end of it.

"What kind of experiments were these ponies doing?" Falcon Wing asked Alana, wriggling his way out of her admittedly tender hold. 

"I... I don't know. Maybe Steiner would have some idea... all I know is that they gave me bad feelings. There's a wrongness to them," she said. 

"Ugh. This shit never changes..." Falcon Wing muttered. He walked over to his saddlebags, pulled down his Pipeye and went through the sorter spell. He pulled his cloak out and put it on. 

"... Falcon..." Alana began with some trepidation. "... what are you --"

"I'm going back in. And going back in properly. Dear Celestia, how could I be so smart and dumb at the same time!? Sure they won't see the bright red pony sneaking into their camp in broad daylight! What a flawless plan!" said the red colt. He got the 10 millimeter from the bag and its holster. He put the strap over himself and stowed the gun away. Properly meant preparing for that inevitability. 

"But you're still recovering!" Alana protested. 

"Learning experience, and I learned. Boy did I learn..."

Equestria was no longer a wasteland, its soil was purged of the taint and radiation. It was healed of those blights, but there was still the cancer that remained after 200 years. 
> Chapter Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Four

Stay light on your feet, stay to the shadows, keep a box at hoof. The guidelines to be a stealth master. 

Falcon parted the brush to look at his objective.

The camp was encircled by a tall woven wood fence that had branches and leaves sticking out every which way, a barrier of foliage and vegetation. It was in the shade of the swamp trees, several yards away from a waterline of murky greenish-brown water that bubbled and stirred constantly. 

He looked back at Alana and nodded to her one last time. She looked uncertain but nonetheless nodded as well. Falcon Wing was a lot more prepared this time around for his mission than his first failed attempt.

For one, he had his cloak on, hood pulled over his head so that his face was enshrouded. Secondly, he had his Pipeye on, E.F.S active in addition to its myriad of other functions that would no doubt prove useful in one way or another. Thirdly, he had his bandoliers on and they were filled with potion vials for quick aid should he get hurt while on the other side of that fence. It was a much better plan.

"I wish I had brought that battle saddle with me," Alana whispered. "Then you wouldn't be going this alone..."

Falcon Wing waved a hoof. "It'd only slow you down while traveling. This is a quick detour. After this we get those herbs and get back to Glyphmark," he said to console her. "besides, I wouldn't want you firing that thing from a tree or something. After what Klaxon and Steiner did to it, that would end just as badly for you as the pony you shot!" 

"Just be careful. A lot more careful. More careful than you've ever been. Those ponies might think you're still in a ditch bleeding out but they will be on alert," Alana warned, seeing past Falcon's words. Realizing that his attempts to take the edge off of the situation weren't working, he nodded. This was very serious business. 

"I will, and I mean it. Unconsciousness is old hat anyway," he replied, smiling a small smile then slinking off into the bush, sinuously approaching the wall, taking cover behind burly trees and moving along lines of shrubs, his dark cloak allowing him to slip through the dimness under the swamp canopy seamlessly. 

He had a sense of deja vu doing so, most likely because he had done this before and it was just another detail he had forgotten after his beat down. This and how he actually got into the camp the first time had yet to come back to him. On the bright side, his Pipeye's auto mapping was at work recording the data it couldn't have the first time.

Before too long, Falcon Wing was bracing against a mossy tree, peeking out from the side at what looked to be a gate. Unsurprisingly, it was closed. Red marks were on his HUD compass, he assumed they pertained to the ponies that were behind the wall, but as with the Enclave E.F.S, the level where enemies were and the type of enemy were details not shared by the Pipeye. He maintained a level of enhanced caution. 

The only other entrance to the camp was from above if the gate was closed. Logically, the guards would have most of their attention trained on the trees whose tendrils snaked over their heads. Without his cloak, Falcon would have stuck out like a sore hoof. 

He skittered over to where two large trees grew close to each other, their roots mingling amongst each other and making strange bumps in the mud. It was in that soft earth, Falcon Wing saw hoofprints. His own hoofprints. Deja vu indeed. 

Falcon Wing opted out of repeating his previous actions for fairly obvious reasons and did a once-over of his surroundings. He found a few other trees growing in close proximity and decided those would be the preferable choice. 

He jumped onto one tree, kicked off onto the other and alternated between the two with surprising silence, ascending until he landed skillfully onto a tree branch in a way only a pegasus could have dreamed of, swift, poised and most importantly of all: quietly. 

He crept along the branch carefully so as to not rustle the leaves that hid him from view. As expected, ponies in black, form fitting armor were standing guard. Four Enclave pegasi. Or rather, former Enclave pegasi that became soldiers for hire apparently. They were not as well equipped as he'd expect his former military kin to be. They lacked magical energy weapons and instead had more conventional -- though not at all less deadly -- battle saddles. Assault rifles of various models, a few shotgun wielders. In spite of the fact they all had their helmets on and thus had their E.F.S, the guards seemed oblivious to the sneaking colt. 

He considered himself fairly skilled in the art of stealth, but not good enough to beat arcane technology. Definitely not that good.

The answer to this little mystery came in the dark blue stallion's words spoken so long ago. "I will take care of that, don't you worry."

"Steiner you magnificent son of a bitch!" Falcon Wing thought. His cloak was enchanted! The realization almost gave him a giggle fit. 

He regained his focus and continued slipping through the shadows, coordinating more revealing moments with the occasional breeze that swept through the swamp, such as leaping over to another branch. As softly as he landed, it was bound to make some noise, but as long as it seemed natural he didn't have to worry. 

His destination was a large building of lustrous gray metal and dull, rusted scrap all built around a wooden frame. It was a shack, but a glorified one. It even had places for windows, without any glass panes. It worked for Falcon's intent quite well.

He felt like a ghost, moving so effortlessly around the soldiers with them being none the wiser. There was a pleasant irony in fully grown soldiers that went through extensive training exercises being bested by an infiltrating colt with a magic coat.

Then again, these were the ponies who beat him to the verge of death and dumped him in a ditch. It was a good thing they underestimated his damage threshold and didn't consider Alana at all. 



He was in the glorified shack. There was a rim of catwalks over the ground floor where numerous cages were kept. The cages seemed to be as crude as the structure itself but apparently they served their purpose well. Large, dangerous animals appeared to be held at the whims of the bars. 

"Fuck," Falcon realized. "enchantment goes both ways. It can make me a shadow... and it can make crap diamond-strong."

He ducked at the edge of the platform of wood and metal as a lime green unicorn in a white coat stepped forward towards a Manticore. What was left of a Manticore. The unicorn's horn flared and Falcon saw a very large dart fly out from somewhere underneath him, impact with the beast's discolored hide and then retract. The tortured creature groaned and snarled. Seconds later, that area of its body began swell and writhe in a way that made Falcon's stomach lurch. 

It was not long at all before the cancerous looking bulge of flesh burst, splattering the lime green unicorn with crimson. The pony -an elderly sounding mare- started laughing to herself, reserved at first but as the process escalated that laugh became a deranged cackle.  

Sinew and flesh were morphing, the Manticore roared in protest, clawing at the bars it should be able to break so easily, flashing a vicious set of teeth at its tormentor with blood lust in its feline gaze. It reared its scorpion tail and lashed out but the barb ended up short every time it struck out. The unicorn took care in keeping out of its strike range, doing their mad science solely with telekinesis. 

It was making Falcon Wing's blood boil watching that animal suffer under such unfair and harmful treatment. Being angry and sick to his stomach was an interesting combination.

An ear rending screech filled the room as the bloodied serpentine head emerged from the gaping hole in the Manticore's body. That warranted an enraged bellow from the beast, which then turned on the intruder in its body, swiping it with a claw, tearing off a chunk of flesh and then screaming in agony. That intruder was as much a part of it as its bat wings and scorpion tail. 

That intruder was a Quarray eel and somehow the unicorn was able to instill rapid development of the animal in a completely unrelated host, though it was far from perfect. Even before that slash across the dying head's throat, it was horrifically deformed. Bony ridges stuck out of where an eye should have been, its jaw was misshapen, its head was bulging on one side and caved in on the other. 

Falcon Wing had seen enough. 

He whipped his gun out and fired...


... onto the Manticore. Three shots went wild but one drove its way into the suffering animal's head, ending its misery. Another shot found its way into the Quarray eel. Seven shots left. 

Before he could have gotten up to run, Falcon Wing was caught in cyan glow. "Aw fuck this is gonna hurt!" he managed to think seconds before he was wrenched from the platform and sent tumbling through the air, though with much less force than he anticipated. Rather than being slammed into the ground with a power greater than the unicorn could have ever conjured physically, it was more like he was made weightless, floated over the edge quickly and left to fall the roughly twenty feet to the ground...

... which was no problem for him, being a pegasus pony and all. He streamlined and twisted his body, succeeding in maneuvering during the fall to turn himself around and land on his feet in a heavy crouch, facing the unicorn, 10 mm pistol pointed at the lime green mare. That crouch looked a lot like a combat stance. His cloak billowed, fluttered and wafted over him during it all.

Needless to say, the mare recoiled, eyes wide. "Intruder! Assassin!" she shrieked. Almost on cue the large scrap doors to the glorified shack turned laboratory were bucked open, impacting with the walls with a "bram!" which echoed through the structure. Growls, roars and snarls of all sorts of other very dangerous animals erupted in response to the commotion. They were in no better condition than the Manticore other than the fact they still lived, but that was hardly better when Falcon thought about it. 

Another loud slam was heard but this one was farther away. "Celestia damn it, Alana!" Falcon cursed mentally. 

The unicorn ran past her Enclave guards, who fell into their own combat stances, the clicks of their weapons arming sounding off nearly simultaneously as their aim locked on the wingless pegasus. The lime green mare was just out the door and around the corner when the report of the Peashooter reached his ears. 

The arrival of another threat and the possible death of their employer was something Falcon was willing to bet the ponies were not expecting. Taking his chance, Falcon Wing raised a hoof to the side of his Pipeye and cycled through spell functions quickly. The lapse in their reaction was frozen in a surreal tranquility when Falcon Wing activated S.A.T.S.

His focus was clear, he was able to count the specks of dust in the air, able to see just how the light streamed in from outside. Able to see the tiniest droplet of blood still caught in the air, expelled by the Peashooter. Alana must have shot the unicorn just split seconds after she disappeared from the doorway.

It was kill or be killed and these ponies were protecting one seriously fucked up mare. So what if they didn't kill him the first time he snuck into their camp, it wasn't like they were sparing his life, taking pity on the pegasus who could not fly. They had simply underestimated his ability to survive and didn't account for him having assistance to get to him in time. And now it was going to bite them in the ass. 

He queued up his shots. Four bullets for each helmeted head. Three would be left over. His aim was for the weakest part of the helmet: the eye visors. 

Time sped up and he found himself pulling the trigger in rapid succession, the muzzle flash dazzling in his eyes. One guard went down instantly, another was dazed -the shot hit but didn't hit a visor and simply pinged off of the carapace- the other two simply weren't hit at all. 

Just as they registered what had happened, Alana's swift aim put them asunder, the yellow lenses being stained red from the inside. The one that was stunned was the last to fall. 

Alana gave Falcon a worried look, scrutinizing his body for any new wounds or to see if he had reopened his old ones. He holstered his gun and told her "I'm... alright. Shaken... a bit stirred but fine regardless."

He looked over the bodies of the Enclave ponies then to the stock of darts that the unicorn mare had beneath the catwalk. They were in a metal cart with numerous slots dividing different serums she had created. There was a spell matrix terminal there as well. 

"See what you can get off of them, Alana," Falcon Wing said, gesturing to the downed pegasi. "I'm going to see what I can get off of that console over there..."

The console was not locked as the mare was using it just before the interruption. Gaining access to his Pipeye was as simple as plugging in a cord.  

Hybridization project. A wayward mind that wished to mix what shouldn't be mixed in the attempts of creating a new bio-weapon for the Enclave remnants. There was mention of a Hellhound mind control project amidst the Hybridization notes. The lines of text streamed down his vision as Falcon read the copied files from his Pipeye. 

The recent logs caught his attention. They gave him an idea. 

"Hydra activity in the water- avoid at all costs...?"




Alana watched as Falcon wheeled the last of the serums to the edge of the bog water. He had left a trail of the serums along the ground from the camp to the water, smashing each dart with a rock to spill its contents. The ones in the cart he used the last three shots of his magazine to break then bucked the cart into the water. He holstered the gun and beckoned Alana to run.

"Those serums all had traces of blood in them, belonging to all sorts of animals! That hydra's gonna come charging out of there expecting a meal like no other!" he explained as the two darted away as fast as they could. Alana had made sure to strip the pegasi of their supplies before Falcon rang the dinner bell. 


The bubbling water exploded upwards as the dark gray and green monster burst from its depths, nine heads sprawling up into the sky, overlooking the swamp. Its necks all had wicked spines extending from them and its legs were like tree trunks. Its thundering footsteps quaked the marshy ground, the two ponies feeling it even as they fled.

When it was finished, there was nothing but rubble left where the camp once stood.  
> Chapter Five
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Five

It's a wild, wild world out there. It may be harsh and unforgiving, but there is magic in friendship, and it makes the difference between having an adventure or enduring a hell of sunshine and rainbows. 

When the two stepped out from the well forested area bordering Froggy Bottom Bog, they were tired and filthy, but managed to avoid getting hurt. Rather, Falcon Wing managed not to get hurt more whereas Alana was able to escape with only a few cuts and bruises to show for navigating the dangerous locale. The plants were bad enough with how they wanted to kill those who wandered into that place, one didn't even need to think about the animals that resided under the cover of the trees.

Or in the case of the hydra, towered above them. 

The skies were tinged red and orange in the waning afternoon, the sun dipping down beyond the horizon with the last of its stubborn rays reaching over the land. The moon's silvery outline was already in the sky.

The colt and mare were on the other side of the river running past the rebuilt Ponyville, the former piles of rubble now respectable structures. The once raider hub looked like it could have been a pre-war settlement from afar. Directly across town was where Klaxon and Steiner used to live. A bit further off than that was the city, surrounded not by dead earth but green rolling pastures with trees and all.

Falcon Wing would have liked to pay the town a visit, to see Steiner's magical touch on the place, to see what had become of their old hideout. Were the tunnels still open, or did Steiner retract his magic and close them off?

"Maybe he extended them all the way to Hope... nah..."

"Zebra potion..." Falcon Wing said, directing his attention to Alana as they walked over to the clear running water, the bridge across the river visible several tens of yards upstream. "was it really worth everything we've gone through today?"

"We? You mean yourself. And if we're talking about you I'd say... no," Alana replied just as they reached the water. "Getting beat up in the late morning, waking up by noon, provoking a hydra, searching for a type of plant and nearly getting your butt bit off by another in the process," she continued thereafter, "they called it a fly trap, but I didn't think they meant flying pony trap!"

She placed her saddlebags down and slipped out of her barding before wading into the water. Falcon sat down and watched her, wanting to take a bath himself but not wanting to damage his wrappings. 

"Just because it has wings doesn't mean it flies," Falcon Wing deadpanned, raising his stubs to emphasize his point, pushing up his cloak. 

Alana snickered a bit and teased "Do you miss flying, or am I making you rise in other ways?" then she flipped her soaked mane over her, nearly splashing the red pony in the process.

"I guess I miss my wings, but there's no point in lamenting about it I suppose, and I've already had my sharing of rising when I had my run in with that crazy unicorn," Falcon Wing answered, missing the innuendos.

Alana sputtered a little at that but quickly became aware that the colt hadn't caught onto her ulterior meaning. 

"The water's a bit shallow for you to be drowning, don't you agree?" Falcon Wing commented with a chuckle.

"Wow Falcon, even with those goggles -- you are really blind!" Alana said before ducking below the water.

She reappeared soon after, walking out of the river with her coat drooping and dripping. She stopped just off of the red colt's side before she shook, Falcon Wing throwing himself to the ground with his back to her so that his cloak kept him dry from the sudden shower. 

"What's the matter, mister hero? Afraid of a little water?" 

Falcon Wing turned his head and peeked out from under his hood. He had a confused look on his face. "Do I want to know why you decided to do that?" he inquired. 

Alana chuckled. "You need a little wash,"

Falcon Wing frowned then nodded. "I really do. Can I take these bandages off?" 

"Well, I'll need to redress your wounds regardless, so you might as well go take a dip to get the gunk off out of your fur."

Falcon Wing did not need to be told any more. He slipped off his saddlebags and Pipeye, laid his overcoat down in the grass then took off his bandoliers and vest. Alana undid the bandages; the cuts on his body were closed but they left unsightly pink markings with dark lines running down the middle and they would remain until his coat grew back. Another coating of healing bandages would speed that up, though. 

Falcon Wing waded about in the water as the skies above went from bright orange and red to pink nearest the horizon which bled off into cool purples and blues.

The first signs of stars appeared in the sky. For some reason, it was a different sight for the wingless pegasus down on the surface. He was further away from the heavens and they in turn became more alluring to him, more entrancing. 

It wasn't so much a case of "You don't know what you have until it's gone," as much as it was "You need to adjust your perspective to see the big picture."

And the night sky was a really big picture. 

Before night befell Equestria in full, Falcon Wing left the river and shook himself dry. After being coated in his own dried blood, laying in a dumpster and sleeping on a worn bed-mat, being clean was a feeling like no other. 

He flapped his wing stubs to shed the water from his feathers, the plumage on them making them look like comically small wings and Alana was not strong enough to suppress a snicker. The red colt didn't blame her, Klaxon and Steiner would have done worse. A quick snicker was nothing to him. 

After being wrapped in bandages again and suiting up, the two walked along the river's edge and across the bridge into Ponyville. They'd find shelter, sleep the night away and hit the trail back to Glyphmark by morning. Falcon Wing's inner pony demanded to know what this potion was to validate all the trouble he -- and mostly him -- went through. 



The streets of Ponyville were mostly cleared of rubble and the buildings were in vastly better condition than they were before -- which is not saying much in all truthfulness -- but the signs of 200 years of post apocalyptia were present etched into the concrete and asphalt of the town. At least the vulgarity of the raiders that occupied the town had been wiped clean. At least the raiders themselves had been cleaned off of the streets.

It was the start of a better Equestria. 


The wingless pegasus had quite the shock when he and Alana came across hulking gray figures of muscle and claws. Alana informed him that they were Hellhounds, and that they were an endangered species in Equestria, and that many of those remaining were going to call Ponyville their home. 

Falcon Wing remembered what they used to be: Diamond Dogs. There were a few books on them that he read... mostly because the Enclave had gone onto experimenting on their mutant descendants as he learned earlier.

He kept his wing stubs pasted to his sides as he walked through the streets with them. They seemed tolerant enough of the ponies in their midst but for some reason the red colt did not think they would appreciate the fact he was indeed a pegasus, one that lived in a pegasus stronghold under the Enclave at that. 

Walking all the way across town was a bit of a trip, but compared to the sheer amount of trekking across the Wasteland the two had done over the course of several weeks it was but a stroll in a park. Quite literally so perhaps, as nothing tried to kill them by time they reached their destination. 



That old building at the end of that meandering path, rebuilt. It was like looking back in time. That balcony that blocked the front door was back extending from the second floor again with struts of wood anchored into the ground adding extra support to the underside. 

Steiner really didn't want it falling down again, it seemed. 

Another new addition was a bit of Stable-Tec to the front door: a spell matrix terminal.

“Plug goggles into any spell matrix terminal.”

Falcon Wing did just that and before his eyes, lines of runic symbols and streams of energy danced. It was a psychedelic sight to behold but one that did not last too long. 

Falcon Wing assumed Steiner added a unique identification spell function to the console and Klaxon helped him install it. If he was right -- and he had little reason to think he was wrong -- then the two stallions were expecting him to return to the place one day. "Magnificent bastards, the both of them," the red colt muttered with a smirk, pulling the cord from the terminal. 

"What was that?" Alana asked, to which Falcon dismissed with a hoof wave.  

"It's open," he said, turning the knob and pushing the door in. "apparently I was given the key before there was a door to open with it."

"Go figure," Alana replied with a shrug, then entered. Falcon walked in behind her and shut the door.

The interior of the once-collapsed building was sparse, but it was a roof over his head. To his left, he saw the stairs heading down to the cellar level. He cocked his head. Alana was off taking a look around the place, so he saw his opportunity to return to the "lair" of sorts. He turned on the Pipeye's headlamps and ventured down into the darkness, opened the cellar door and stepped in. The shelves remained but they were cleared out completely. The two stallions' bedroom was a similar sight. The books and their beds were nowhere to be seen. Even the small table and lamp was absent. 

What remained however, was the "welcoming mat".

His bed, with a note on it.

Falcon Wing investigated, discerning that this one was not written by Steiner, but by Klaxon. His writing was sloppy, as if he were in a rush... or as if he couldn't contain himself while writing it. The latter was very... very likely.

"Dear Falcon Wing,

Damn, I would have thought you'd look for a more respectable place to score with Alana.

Sincerely, 
Molasses"


Falcon Wing shook his head.

"Huh. So Klaxon's real name is Molasses? Molasses what? Molasses Sarsaparilla?" 

Falcon Wing's heart nearly burst from his chest. His fur bristled. Composing himself, he managed to ask "... Weren't you just upstairs!?"
> Chapter Six
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Six

On this winding road, who knows where it goes? The only thing one can do is follow it.

Falcon Wing's eyelids parted slowly, seeing the shadows cast by the early morning sun through a window behind him. Eight squares created by the shadow of the window frame.

He was upstairs, laying on the magically restored, polished golden floor in the house. He blinked a few times then yawned. "When did I end up on the floor... flaming Celestia will there ever be a time where my memory works as it's supposed to?" he thought. 

He stirred himself into the beginning movements required to stand up but found himself anchored to the floor by the strong grip of a smitten earth pony mare. 

She may have been asleep, but Alana's hug was as sure as steel. Falcon did not know what to make of that. Had she felt like it, she probably could have squeezed the air out of his lungs. 

"Alana?" Falcon said in a gentle voice, hoping to coax the caramel mare awake. 

"Hmm?" she hummed drowsily, but before Falcon Wing could advance she pulled him closer to herself and attempted to bury her muzzle into his mane.

Attempted because he still had his overcoat on, hood still draped over his head. 

"Well this is... awkward," he mumbled. 

Alana mumbled something herself in her half-sleep state, as incoherent as it was, nipped his hood and pulled it back. She then proceeded to nibble on the red colt's ear. 

Right then, time for plan "DJ Pon3 and his Golden Pipes".

He pulled down his Pipeye and cycled over to the radio. Dialed in on the broadcast's frequency.

"-- oooooooood morning Equestria!" the deep voice of the DJ boomed in the room. Alana gasped and Falcon flicked her chin with his now freed ear. He shut off the broadcast. 

"And a very good morning to you, Alana. Had a nice sleep?" Falcon Wing said flatly, pushing the goggles back up. 

The mare yawned and replied, "You and your timing, mister hero, you can't ever catch DJ Pon3 on time can you?" She paused then added in a teasing tone "This is the closest we've ever gotten, hmm?" 

"I... suppose so... you don't intend on getting any closer than this though, right? I mean, not that it isn't nice... getting hugged rather than getting shot at or tossed by crazy unicorns or being nearly eaten by plants but... still..."

She tightened her grip around him suddenly, tugging him very close and then nuzzling his cheek. "I slept very well, thank you for asking," she said, her voice muffled in his fur. 

"Not the question I wanted answered..." Falcon said, though he was honestly enjoying the affection. It was also confirmed: if Alana so wished she could constrict the red colt with a hug. 

He was glad he took that bath last night. He was sure Alana was thankful for that as well. 

"Well that's enough of that I think," the caramel mare said, releasing the wingless pegasus and getting to her hooves. "we've got a whole day ahead of us, places to go and ponies to see! Come on Falcon, quit laying around!"  

Falcon rolled over and gave her a bewildered look. "I was going to tell you that!" he said.

"And it looks like I beat you to it!" Alana responded with a smug expression. "And yet, there you are, still on the floor. Don't you want to get to Glyphmark?"

Falcon Wing shook his head as he stood. There really was no winning this. 

He looked around the room, seeing that they must have rested their bags against a nearby wall. His bags were leaning against hers. "Well... that's just peachy," he thought as he slipped them onto his back and fixed his coat so that it fell fell over them properly. 


Before leaving Ponyville, the two stopped by the market place. There were only Hellhounds there, doing their business and moving goods around. It made Falcon question why the town was still called Ponyville on his Pipeye's map. 

"Two caps!" Alana shot at the gray pelted merchant, who slid the caps back to the caramel mare over their stall's counter and rasped "Fow' Cahps!" 

"Three caps!" Alana fired off again, sliding the sparkle cola caps back to the Hellhound and skillfully flipping one extra one out from her saddlebag. 

The Hellhound growled. "Fine, three cahps and zee paypercleep. It weel make my neckless complete"

It just occurred to him that the merchant Alana was bartering with was a female. He did his best to contain his surprise. 

"Hmm..." Alana replied, making her exaggerated contemplative face. "Deal!" she announced, pulling out a small red paper clip and dropping it with the three bottle caps. A strange smile appeared on the Hellhound's muzzle and she hoisted the basket of freshly grown fruits and vegetables onto the counter. Alana took the basket in her mouth and mumbled her thanks through the thatch handle. She then began departing the square. 

"Thank you ma'am," Falcon chimed in after being silent for the whole exchange which took several minutes to reach this point. He watched as the Hellhound hummed and twisted the paperclip around in her long, intimidating claws until it formed a backwards S, which she stuck onto a crude rope on her neck. 

"Some necklace you have there," the red colt commented. 

"Yoo like, pon'ee?" 

The paperclip was almost invisible in her dark gray coat.

"Sure," Falcon said with an uncomfortable smile. 

"Zee ess is foar Sharpie!" said the Hellhound merchant. 

"... I see..." Falcon Wing responded. "... I have to go now..." he added, gesturing with a hoof to the mare as she walked off. "have a nice day... and stuff,"

He turned and galloped after Alana before the merchant could reply.

Alana mumbled something through the basket handle when he caught up. "Excuse me?" Falcon asked. She stopped and rested the basket on the ground.

"Oh hey, Falcon, nice of you to catch up!" she repeated, picking up the basket and walking again after. 

"Oh, yeah well... you know how it goes. Hellhounds and paperclips... compelling stuff!" the red colt replied. 

Alana mumbled something in response, and it became clear that this was fast becoming a problem.

They stopped at the bridge to ration their supplies, dividing the food evenly between each other and storing it in their bags. Then they had their breakfast, apples that were actually grown rather than packaged more than two centuries ago. 

"Equestria's agriculture is recovering but we still use bottle caps to buy things with. From what I read, back before the war ponies used things called bits as money," Falcon Wing mused before taking the last few bites out of the apple, leaving the core in a hoof. "How long do you think it'd be until the nation's economy is based on something... less scrap metal-y?" he mumbled with apple chunks still in his mouth. 

"I don't know, mister hero, but as long as they can keep getting us food like this then I'll keep collecting them where I can!" 

"Shouldn't we just get jobs?" Falcon Wing asked, getting a laugh out of the caramel mare. 

"Silly little pegasus, did you think we were just wandering around aimlessly? We are on a job! We need to get to Glyphmark, or did you forget?"

"I did not forget, and who are you calling little!?" Falcon Wing retorted quickly, stamping his fore hoof down and splatting the apple core underneath it. 

"You sure showed that apple who's boss, mister hero," Alana said with a grin. 

"... Just start walking" Falcon replied, pulling his hood further over his face with his un-appled hoof as he stood up.
> Chapter Seven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Seven

Some questions should be asked sooner than later. 

"But... but they are all kids..." Falcon found himself saying flatly at the top of the hill where lines of shacks were erected leading towards a larger structure, a Ministry of Peace building by the looks of things. "Yes. And they are all Angels!" Alana said and grinned. He heard her squee. "... They are all kids" the flightless pony repeated. 

The young zebras poured out of their homes and they lined up at the front gate of their village expectantly at the return of the two ponies. Falcon Wing still couldn't remember the details of their first meeting here. He was beginning to fear he had some kind of brain damage from his last beating. It would explain the onset of occasional amnesia...

He looked around the place, feeling as if he were taking in the details for the first time. The place looked pretty well kept for a bunch of younglings living on their own. The shacks were well built, the ground free of clutter and there was even a fence. It was if the village was a mini version of Hope populated by juvenile zebras.

So it came as a shock when Alana told him the place used to be a dump. 

That shock disappeared after he was informed the Stable Dweller had come this way a while back. "Of course she did," was Falcon Wing's reply. "explains why a bunch of zebra foals have been able to take of themselves like this..."


"You survived the bog!" one of the young zebra colts said excitedly at the front of the gathering, several hooves appearing out from behind him and tugging him back into the bulk of the group. 

Falcon didn't respond immediately, captivated by how their stripes blended together, his eyes following the maze of black and white they formed when they stood together. 

"Oh Celestia, is this a sign of brain damage? It is isn't it? Oh, fuck me!" he thought frantically.

Alana was more than willing to compensate for Falcon's silence, pulling out blue plants with purple speckles a similar shade to her mane and laying a bundle of them in front of the group of zebras, their large eyes widening further upon seeing the herbs. 

"I hope these are the right ones, I don't think Falcon Wing will take well to another trip into the forest or the swamps!" she said. 

Every head she could see was nodding to her words, the words of the group blending into each other into a droning murmur. She gleaned from the tone that she had gotten the right herbs. 

"What... what potion... what potion will those make?" Falcon Wing stammered, trying to pull his attention away from his potentially crippled mental faculties. 

"The potion to fix your head silly!" Alana said, playfully nudging his shoulder. 

"... I don't follow" Falcon Wing said. For some reason, that seemed like a given. Of course he didn't follow. He was sure he had brain damage!

"Weeeell..." Alana began to say, "a few days back we got into a little scuffle and you took a few bad hits..."

"Don't you mean yesterday?" Falcon Wing asked. She shook her head no. 

"That was just some of the more recent hits, and even those weren't as bad as the other ones!" she explained.

The prospect made Falcon's mind go blank, and in his current state that was very distressing. He had gotten into a fight and lost days of time? Perhaps losing a bit more after being beaten by those Enclave guards? 

"... Just how much did I fuck up my head!?" Falcon blurted out. The zebra foals gasped. "Swear!" the colt from earlier called out from somewhere in the crowd. 

"Quite a bit," Alana replied matter of factly. "Why do you think I've been extra attentive to you?" 

Falcon looked down at his chest, seeing the bandages through his frayed vest. He leaned over to Alana and mumbled into her ear "I thought it was because you loved me..."

Alana smiled then whispered into his ears "Who says I don't?"

"They share lies and secrets right in front of us!" the colt cried out, the sound of several hooves striking him audible all at once.

Falcon recoiled slightly then pressed forward: "Why didn't you tell me all of this before!? When I woke up in that ditch!?"

"Well for starters you didn't ask, and I wasn't inclined to tell you: 'Oh by the way Falcon, you may have a concussion!' Secondly, I knew you'd panic, like you are now!"

"I'm not panicking, I'm freaking out!" Falcon Wing retorted. "I had a concussion for days and you had me running around like nothing was wrong!?"

"... I was keeping a close eye on you..." Alana said sheepishly. Falcon Wing had to agree, when things were going south back in the swamp, Alana had sprung into action instantly. 

Wait, no he couldn't give her that! That would only justify part of her reasoning and make him look like a colt in over his damaged head!

"Ugh, whatever --" he looked to the gathering of zebras, who watched the proceedings either with patience or a strange interest, as if the exchange were some kind of soap opera to them. "-- just...just do your zebra thing, kids. I want my head to feel normal again."

A mare with a short mane nodded and retrieved the blue flowers. Alana guided Falcon Wing further into the village, where other zebras beckoned him into one of their huts. 

It was a simple shelter, but he had just spent the night in a place a lot larger and a lot emptier. He had no complaints. He was told to lie down on a bed roll and rest his head. Again, he had no objections. Alana laid on the ground next to him.

He did not expect love to be something like this and certainly did not expect to find it with the caramel mare. 

"Alana?" he said.

"Falcon?" she replied.

"You make my head hurt."

"I'm sure that's just the head trauma. Try to get some sleep while the others brew that potion."

She paused, then added teasingly, "Do you need a hug?"

"I...suppose so. It helped last night I think... even if I can't remember too much after that thing in the cellar..." Falcon Wing responded. He felt her forelegs wrap around him. "... What... happened after that?"

"The usual. You had a fit about me being down there with you. Dulled senses because of the concussion I figure," Alana replied, "then you sorta collapsed. I had to carry you but, what kind of earth pony can't carry a bit of extra weight?"

"Don't do that," Falcon said.

Alana lifted her head and looked at the red buck with a confused expression. "Don't hug you?" she asked. 

"No, I mean... don't say things that are similar to things you've said before... my sense of time is warped enough without having to feel deja vu..."

"Ah. Right, sorry," she apologized.

"... How did you know Klaxon wrote that letter instead of Steiner?" Falcon Wing went on to asking.

"Because I know Steiner's name. His real name. It isn't Molasses, I'll tell you that..." she answered with a chuckle. 

"And what, may I ask, is Steiner's real name?"

"I suppose you'll find out when Steiner feels like telling you!" Alana teased. Falcon groaned.

"You really do make my head hurt... deja vu?"

"Concussion," Alana assured. 
> Chapter Eight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eight

The higher one climbs, the longer the fall is. 

When Falcon came to again, Alana was not with him. He was not sure if he had fallen asleep or if he had another lapse in memory. All he knew was that he was lying on his back without the mare's presence beside him. 

He remained still like this for some time until he heard the creak of the door. He looked to the entrance, four long shadows stretching into the shack, small figures silhouetted by bright streams of light. Alana entered the room after the four Zebra fillies and closed the door. She kept her distance as the others got to work. 

They pulled his hood back and took off his Pipeye to lather some gel into his forehead. It was strangely cold and he didn't particularly like the sensation at the forefront of his head, but the worried looks from Alana ensured he didn't put up much resistance. 

Once that was finished, they introduced him to the potion they whipped up in full. It had a strong, sweet smell and was in a health potion bottle.

The taste was positively bitter and its texture was slimy sliding down his throat. In no time at all he felt nauseous, as if his red pelt had been tinged green. 

The Zebras gathered their things and left him with Alana. She approached him tentatively, taken aback by his seemingly rapid decline in health. "Falcon...?" she asked with a small voice.

"... This was not worth nearly getting eaten by a plant for," the red colt replied even as the cloud he didn't realize was there was clearing up in his head. Recovery was punctuated by a dull ache at the back of his skull, where he assumed he sustained his trauma inducing injury.

Alana snorted. "Would you rather wait out your concussion then?"

"I could have probably waited a month and I'd only remember a week's worth of time. And not necessarily the same week, at that," Falcon said, "with that in mind I suppose I'd rather endure zebra chemistry..."

"Is it really that bad?" the caramel mare queried.

"I'd rather swallow charred wood and splinters again before drinking that potion again."

"... Again? What made you swallow charred wood and splinters in the first place?" she asked with a raised brow. 

"I don't remember," Falcon Wing said in response, then grinned when Alana's confusion turned to momentary shock. 

"That potion might have been bad going down, but you have to admit that it does its job fast, huh Falcon?" she said, playfully poking at his chest. "You're already getting back to your old self."

Falcon put his own hoof to hers, stopping the jabs at his chest and replied, "I'll feel more comfortable saying that when I can remember the last few days."  She giggled.

"Then rest until you do, I'll be right here," she said. She then laid down on her side next Falcon Wing, a foreleg resting across his torso.

With that, he let himself drift off to sleep, recognizing it as such rather than just another period of missing time.

The memories came when he was most susceptible.  



"We need to get the hell out of Dodge!" Falcon Wing yelled over the sound of gunshots and the clamor of panicked ponies. He burst through the swinging half-doors and leaped over the building's porch. He ran across the sandy flat outside of the saloon where things had exploded into turmoil. Alana was close behind him. "Why did you try to hack his terminal, Falcon!?" she exclaimed. 

"I wasn't trying to hack anything! I was just trying to recharge my Pipeye!" Falcon shouted. The doors of the saloon flew off their hinges with a spray of sparks and the boom of buckshot seconds later.

"Thar be the little red varmint, and his little wench too!" the angry barkeep proclaimed to his mob of equally enraged patrons and employees on the deck of the saloon. "I knew we couldn't trust their kind in Dodge!" another pony added, the mob voicing their agreement loudly. "Thieving, raider scum!"
"They're getting away!"
"Like hell they are!" 

That was said by a pegasus stallion. An especially adept flyer of a sunfire yellow coat. He tore across the desert town like a bolt of lightning, twisting about in the air so that he slammed into Falcon Wing with all four hooves. That was when he got injured and started losing bits of time. The last memories he had of Dodge City was Alana shooting the yellow stallion with the Peashooter and an undetermined amount of time later, being on a hoofcart, his vision fuzzy, staring at the caramel mare as she pumped the lever and powered along the rails leading out of Dodge.

"Health potions aren't gonna cut it this time, I think," Falcon Wing recalled her saying, "but I know a place where they can probably make something to fix you... its going to take a few days getting everything together so just stick in here, okay mister hero...?"



That must've been before they reached Glyphmark the first time.



His body was numb save for the burning of the cuts on his chest. Breathing resulted in dull pangs of pain. He looked around the camp through narrowed eyes, unmoving. He looked at the four Enclave pegasi that had found him and had beaten him down to the ground where he lay. The muzzle of an assault rifle was just inches away from his snout. Game over, he was certain of it at the time. 

"Wait," the familiar voice of a mare commanded authoritatively, "he is a pegasus"

"A Wastelander by the looks of things. A nosy, trespassing, stupid Wastelander who got his wings chopped off" a stallion spat. 

"That stupid Wastelander is Falcon Wing," the mare asserted.

"No way, didn't he go missing weeks ago? Wasn't he a blank flank?" another stallion inquired. 

"It seems we found him... or rather he found us -- and his talent -- down here."

"So I don't kill him, Erasure? Because you had been looking after him for a while? Do you want him to wake up to know what we're doing here? What you are doing here?" the first stallion asked. Apparently they thought he was unconscious already. 

"He won't know, and you won't kill him. Give him a bit of a poultice so he doesn't die here, then we leave him as he is outside of the camp. Somewhere where the creatures won't get at him. After what he went through, he won't remember how he got there... hopefully he'll get out of the swamp alive once he gets his wits about him"

"That is very unlikely," the second stallion chimed in.

"If he dies, then he becomes another casualty to the Enclave, like his parents. But at least we attempted to do right by sparing his life," Erasure responded coldly in a way that made the red colt wonder if the mare ever cared for him, or if taking him in was just her first attempt to "do right".






When Falcon Wing woke up, Alana was sitting on her haunches, holding him in her forelegs. He had been crying in his sleep. She hadn't attempted to wake him up or question him. She only held him and gave him a shoulder to sob into. 

"She was the reason they didn't kill me..." he said almost breathlessly. "She got them to leave me as I was... for you to find me...  and I killed her. I know I killed her... I could have talked with her one last time if I hadn't been so quick to use the gun..." 

The dam burst and his tears flowed freely at that, but Alana still did not ask any questions. She only tightened her hold and let him cry.

It was with these recollections that Falcon Wing saw just how much Alana had done for him, having saved his life no less than three times in the last few days: from Dodge City to healing his battered body in that muddy ditch and coming to his aid at the unicorn's camp, watched over him while he was impaired and now offered herself as an emotional crutch. 

He didn't think himself worthy of her nickname for him... but he was sure in his heart that the caramel mare was his hero... or heroine as the case may be.
> Chapter Nine
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Nine

Everything is clear in hindsight, but understanding does not lessen the sorrow.

Falcon Wing held Alana as tightly as he could manage and buried his face into her pelt as far as he could, sobbing relentlessly. She kept one foreleg wrapped around him and pulled off his hood with her free hoof, proceeding to stroke his yellow and orange mane. She rested her head on his, maintaining her silence while the red colt grieved. 

He wanted to continue speaking, to explain, to tell her what he knew, but could not bring himself to do so. His ability to speak was completely lost in the surge of pure grief and the only thing he could do was cry. 

Cry and hold onto the mare for dear life, as if he never wanted her to leave his side again.

He imagined how Klaxon and Steiner would have looked at him if they were there to see him, unable to know just how much they had changed over the course of these many days. He only knew them as they were. 



“A sobber by the looks of things. What a waste of water,” was the memory pertaining to the bronze earth pony.

"Well that isn't pathetic at all," echoed the blue unicorn in his mind, his words cold and piercing after more than a month. 



But he knew Klaxon cried and he knew Steiner knew immense sorrow as well. They would not look down at him for his tears, but envy his ability to shed them so readily. And Falcon now knew the burden the two stallions carried. He could now count himself among them in their misfortune. He knew what it was like to take the life of someone who was nothing short of a parent to him, even if her reasons for being one were not entirely pure. Erasure was surely dead by his hooves and the guilt ripped its gnarled teeth into his spirit. It thrashed about, tearing him up from the inside. 

He did not even bury the pink pegasus that had long streams of an even lighter pink for a mane. He had Alana loot her corpse then left it for the ravenous hunger of a nine headed behemoth. 

He shuddered badly at the thought, took in a ragged breath, then continued his deluge into Alana.

"You didn't want to do it, did you Falcon?" he heard Alana ask over the sound of his sadness. 

She thought his maelstrom of sorrow was caused by him having to take a life for the first time... she had no idea what was truly the cause.

She couldn't have known.

Falcon Wing never told her about the series of unfortunate events that comprised his life and she never told him about her past in detail. The most Alana knew about him was that he was a pegasus who lived above the cloud cover and he lost his wings to the Wasteland. The most Falcon knew about her was that she was a pony who lived in the Hope compound for most of her life and lost her mother tragically. Her father was never brought up, perhaps for the better. 

And then he remembered when Fogchaser died: the mare knew a similar pain to his own, even if she didn't know it yet. 

"Misery loves company," Falcon Wing thought bitterly from the pits of his despair.


"I... thought I had no... ch-choice," the wingless pegasus willed himself to say after pulling his face away from the caramel mare; "but... I... her..."

He almost lost himself again, shaking away the quivering lips and ignoring the rivers forming on his face.

"One of those pegasi back in the swamp... she used to take care of me... after my parents died," he continued, knowing he would have to tell his story again for Alana to understand. And by the end of it, she too had tears in her eyes, holding him close and telling him how sorry she was.


"You couldn't have known... you were not well... I shouldn't have let you go back..." she said rapidly, her tears coming out of her eyes just as quickly. 

"I insisted," Falcon Wing responded. "You tried to talk me out of it but I went ahead and did what I did anyway."

"Again," he added mentally. 

"I should be the one apologizing, Alana. I am so sorry for Dodge City... for starting all of this. You cannot imagine just how awful I feel knowing everything we went through those last few days happened because I decided I needed to hook up to some crazy... phoenix's terminal!" 


"As... but -- that pony didn't even wait for an explanation! He just found you and immediately tried to kill you! It wasn't like you were trying to steal his caps or break into his savings!" Alana shot back. "It was... foolish, I won't deny that," 

Falcon's ears drooped and he wanted to pull his hood over his face.

"but it was a misunderstanding... the ground and water might be free of radiation and the skies might be free again, but this is still the Equestrian Wasteland, Falcon Wing. Ponies still living with the memories of a harsher time, ponies still dealing with the scars left over. You just forgot that in Dodge."

"Well I shouldn't have," Falcon Wing replied. 

"Agreed. But there's nothing you can do about it now. I'm sorry... I really am but... do you really know what would have happened if you didn't try to defend yourself?" Alana asked. "If you had attempted to talk to this Erasure?"

Falcon Wing thought about what the pink pegasus within that black carapace said then considered what Flint had told him. He felt like Steiner again as he did and came up with an answer.

"She was just as likely to shoot me as the others with her," he said glumly. 

Alana frowned. "If it wasn't you or her, it was you and the three other pegasi with her. You did what you did so that you'd live another day and there's nothing wrong with that, Falcon."


The red colt did not feel like saying more, his guilt now replaced with self-disappointment. Sneaking without his cloak wasn't the only mistake he had made in the last few days... and even though it had quite nearly cost him his life, it was only a minor mistake.

He was truly regretful for putting Alana through everything she had gone through up until this point and being so oblivious to it until now. 

He let go of Alana and wriggled out of her embrace. 

"Thank you... for everything. I don't think a pony like me deserves a mare like you --"

She put a hoof to his mouth. 

"Rest up, get yourself together. Then we start thinking about what we do next. I'm gonna give you some time alone to figure things out," she said, getting to her up after and then walking to the door to the shack. She looked back at him again before opening the door, watching him lie back down on the bed roll and put his goggles over his eyes. 

She sighed softly and left the shack, closing the door behind her gently, leaving Falcon in dimness with only the light being the sunlight shining through spaces in the ceiling and the green glow of his Pipeye. 

Cycling through the functions, Falcon Wing found new data stored on the goggles. Information taken from a terminal in Dodge City.

The whole ordeal wasn't sparked by him doing something as trivial as recharging his goggles... he had stolen something from that saloon. But why...?


He opened the file named "Contact", hoping it would jog his recovered memory.

And jog his memory it did...
 
> Chapter Ten
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Ten

Things rarely go according to plan. When they do, generally something terrible is going to happen.


It was an audio file. That same pony who had burst through the saloon doors proclaiming him to be an outlaw, Falcon Wing listened to him drawl on about an encounter he had a week prior. 

"That pink peg'sus appeared again, askin' 'bout our wranglers. I don't know what a pony like her needs with all them wild animals but she's willin' ta pay caps like nopony else. I don't think she's makin' an honest living out here. I only sees her in that frilly dress of her's so I aint willin' to bet on her bein' a killer... probably some whore with good worth ethic. Doesn't explain the animal biz'ness but it makes me wonder if she's in need of a new client... the things I'd do to her-"

Falcon shut off the recording. 

Erasure. She was in Dodge as a representative... the one arranging for animal trapping. Falcon Wing understood how she would be given such a role. She was a commanding figure to be around, stern as well. A pony who was able to get things done just by speaking. 

For the saloon owner to call her a whore was an insult to the pony she was and made Falcon Wing grit his teeth. She might have been just as likely to murder him as any other enemy in the Wastes, but Erasure had firmly planted herself in his life as a mother figure. It would take some time getting used to the fact that he may have just been her way of dealing with a guilty conscience. 

For him to record his fantasies... or perversions made the red colt furious. 

But he only knew of them because he decided to jack into that terminal hidden away in the backroom of a bar. It was entirely of his own volition. Entirely because of his curiosity. His foolishness.



The place was a large gathering hall with many of its furnishings being a blend of pre-war flare and rustic Wasteland mishmashing of scrap. The wingless pegasus and caramel mare sat at one of the latter accommodations, their table being a rusty red passenger wagon door mounted on top of a barrel. Their stools were barrels cut in half, overturned so that their bottom ends were the seats. 

It was not exactly comfortable but it was better than sitting on the floor. 

The two were sitting close to the bar, Falcon Wing not partaking in the goods available while Alana helped herself to few carrots and celery stalks, enjoying the music that was streaming out of many radios fixed to the walls. 

Falcon Wing was busy contemplating the decorations mounted on the walls in addition to the radios, mundane items that he would have written off as worthless scrap metal. Apparently there was an artistic beauty to bent wheels and struts that he wasn't seeing. 

His ears flicked and turned under his hood towards the overpowering voice that was audible over the sounds of other patrons. 

"Okay boys, that mare's been pokin' round these parts askin' for animal trappers for a while now. Now I'm not complainin' about the caps but I gotta mention how strange it all is!" he overheard the saloon owner from the table he and Alana were sitting at. Falcon looked over to the source of the voice: the bar.

The owner was leaning over from behind the long wooden counter. The pony was a light tan in color, wore a leather jacket and blue undershirt and had a torn up ten gallon hat on. Ponies of both genders looked at him admiringly, some more so than others. 



One thing led to another. Falcon Wing eavesdropped on the conversation...which was not really eavesdropping seeing as the saloon owner was practically shouting. When his intrigue was piqued he asked about this mysterious collector, only to be turned away by a pony who "didn't have time ta deal with colts an' their questions."

So he excused himself to both the stallion and Alana, disappeared on the pretense of needing to use the facilities of the establishment and pursued his intrigue as a shadow. Eventually he found himself to the stallion's office. Found his terminal on that desk in front of a dingy upholstered chair. 

Helped himself to its contents- or at least, attempted to.

"Boy, you must think I'm hella stupid if you expected me not to be suspicious of the hooded fuck that asks me a question then goes lurkin' in the darkness," the tan pony snarled when he opened the door, glaring at the red colt who stared back at him through green lenses. 

"... Shit" Falcon Wing replied, yanking his Pipeye connector out of the console when he saw the stallion engage his buckshot battle saddle. The saloon owner must've put it on before his foreseen confrontation. 

The red colt was upon the tan stallion in an instant, swinging himself around to kick the older pony hard into the door, stunning him, and then speeding out of the doorway.

The situation exploded right then and there. 

It was just over ten minutes before he felt the sharp blow to the back of his head as that yellow pegasus drove their weight into him at speed. After that, things were fuzzy and then ultimately became black... 


"Alana?" Falcon Wing said as the two departed Glyphmark, having voiced their many thanks for the assistance the Zebra foals gave before doing so. 

"Yes, Falcon?" the caramel mare replied, looking to him with a somewhat worried gaze, still unsure of his emotional standing at the time.

"We're not welcome in Dodge City, are we?" the Wingless pegasus replied.

"...I shot one of their own. Not to kill... but still... I still shot him" Alana replied.

"Right. That's a no then"

Alana nodded. 
> Chapter Eleven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eleven

All that glitters is not gold and even the sun will die one day.

They walked down the dirt path leading away from the foothill where Glyphmark was located. On either side of them were rolling grassy expanses, the Everfree Forest and Froggy Bottom Bog visible off ahead, Rambling Rock Ridge just south east of their position. 

Falcon Wing continued to talk about the implications of what occurred in Dodge City all the way.

"So what happens if they start warning other settlements about us? Or if they put a bounty on our heads? Do you think we'll be able to get back into Junction Town?"

"Well they think we're outlaws already Falcon, we might be able to get into other towns but we'll never get a break from those inside... and if we go back to Dodge they're likely to shoot us before we even pass through the gates," Alana replied, oddly calm for someone admitting they were criminals on the run. "I suppose it might have been different if we could clear our names but most of the population saw us running away from a mob of ponies with me shooting one before we got out of there..." 

"Some hero I turned out to be..." Falcon Wing snorted. 

"You mean well. You just... stumble a bit from time to time," Alana said comfortingly. 

"I've been stumbling more than a drunk, one-legged donkey as of late," Falcon Wing retorted. 

"Which means you'll just have to work hard to compensate, and I'm more than willing to help mister hero. Do a few good deeds, gain some notoriety, eventually they'll be sure to see that we're not thief-raider scumbags!" Alana said in response. 

"I didn't think we'd need to be on the run to do something good and decent, Alana," Falcon Wing replied, the whole notion uncomfortably similar to his initial goals when he left the cellar. 

Klaxon's words came back to him. 

"Look kid, if you expect to go out there in the Wastes and become a hero, I think you need a reality check. Better stallions than you have tried and lost their lives in that ridiculous pursuit. Not everyone can be the hero."

And after everything he went through, he believed it. But at least he tried... even if he went about it completely wrong. 

"We don't. It's just that it will be a... fortunate benefit. A gift that keeps on giving, you know?"

"I still have my reservations... but I suppose its the best plan we have right now. So how do we go about it?"

"We travel, we help where we can and hope that we are recognized for our efforts!" Alana said triumphantly, raising a hoof in a dramatic fashion towards the sun. 

"... And this is our best plan..." Falcon Wing mused. "Oh boy..."

Alana scoffed. "Nothing good will come around with that attitude, Falcon!" 

Falcon bowed his head. "I'm for it, not to redeem myself in the eyes of Equestria -- though I have no objections if that ends up happening regardless --  but to help you clear your name. You did what you did to save my life, I won't have you become an outlaw for it."

"That isn't necess --"

"Oh, but it is," Falcon Wing interjected sternly. "You... are stronger than I am by far. Able to make tough decisions on the spot. Have endured so much yet can still look at our world and smile. Willing to put yourself in harm's way for the good of some idiot pegasus colt. I'm no hero Alana, you are."

There was silence between the two for a short while, Alana having a wide grin on her face for most of that time while Falcon walked beside her feeling a bit sheepish. 

"That's... sweet. Thank you Falcon. Good to see that you have high self esteem as well!" Alana teased him. 

"There's not much about myself to be proud of," Falcon Wing said dismissively. "The only reason I survived the first week out here was Klaxon and Steiner. The only reason I'm still alive now is you."

"Are you forgetting that it was you who saved me before, Falcon Wing? The way I see it, we're just about even," Alana retorted.

Falcon Wing smiled. "One good thing to be proud of."

"You used your know-how to track down those Enclave units too," the caramel mare added. 

"Two things then... though that wouldn't have been possible without Klaxon and Steiner"

"That's not the point," Alana asserted. "you have a lot to offer and you have the potential to do a lot of good. You can't linger on your mistakes, just learn from them."

"Be a better pony?" the flightless pegasus asked. 

"Be a better pony."


The walk thereafter was done in much higher spirits by the both of them. Falcon Wing turned on his Pipeye's radio and allowed DJ Pon3's selection of music to take the edge off of everything that had happened in the last few days. Dodge City and Froggy Bottom were said and done. The future on the other hoof was still up in the air. 

A cheerful melody without lyrics came to an end and the DJ's deep voice filled the lapse in music.

"We interrupt this broadcast of sunshine and rainbows t' report some fucked up shit, because of course, we can't have nice things!" 

Falcon Wing cringed, half expecting the report to be about his less than stellar exploits. 

"Look out for a red colt in a black overcoat and a mare with gray barding, they started trouble in Dodge City, shot a pony and are now roaming the country side!" Falcon Wing thought.

The reality was a lot more morbid. 

"We have another death in Baltimare, the young Cliff Racer, a mare described as being 'as beautiful in soul as she was in body'. Now all we can do is honor her spirit. She's just another confirmed victim of the sick freak ponies in that area are calling the Shadow Sweep, and if this trend continues unchanged then their targets are young ponies, both colts and fillies. Keep your kids inside at night Baltimare folks, and our hearts go out t' ya...the Baltimare guard have our hopes and prayers..."

DJ Pon3's voice trailed off, and an especially somber song started playing in respects to the deceased. 

The two ponies looked uncomfortably at each other. 

"Shadow Sweep?" Alana asked. 

"Baltimare..." Falcon Wing replied, scrolling through his Pipeye settings and pulling up his map. "It's just a train ride away..."

"We're going after a child murderer?" Alana queried, raising a brow. "Falcon... this pony doesn't sound like any regular raider. He's been eluding the city guardsponies and has struck more than once at that..."

"So he can sneak around pretty well. So can I. Sweepy probably has magic on their side... and so do I," Falcon replied, pushing his Pipeye back onto his forehead as he did. "Even if we don't catch him... even if he gets away from us in the end... we've gotta do something. We've got to try... there are kids at stake... ponies that aren't much younger than myself at that!" 

Alana frowned, looked to the ground for a short moment then nodded in agreement. "And maybe we won't be the only ones going after him. Maybe there are other ponies already pursuing him in Baltimare," she suggested. 

"Then it's settled. We're going to find us a shadow," Falcon said with a fiery determination in his gaze. 

He was back.
> Chapter Twelve
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twelve

Only through trials and tribulation does one truly find out who they are, even if the revelation is not pleasant. 


The ground pounding gallop of earth pony Olympians was drowned out by the beast of metal and wood they carried behind them, the train snaking out behind them as they started the turn on the railway. The red cars behind the coal black locomotive canted gently along the way. 

Falcon Wing and Alana boarded at Ponyville. The train had just gone through the Canterlot tunnel. 


Falcon Wing was idly gazing out of the window and at the landscape rolling past them, laying on his bench and resting his chin on crossed forelegs, which in turn were rested on the small windowsill, thinking. 

The grassy countryside was broken by sparsely spaced trees. Far off in the distance there was a river cutting across the land and a bridge was erected where said river crossed paths with the rails quite a long way ahead. Beyond the river was an expansive stretch of huge green trees, which grew at the base of a massive mountain with frozen peaks. The mountain continued along the train tracks a large distance after they diverged past the bridge, the northern rail to Fillydelphia and the southern one to Baltimare. To the Shadow Sweep. 

The booth he and Alana rode in was not in as good condition as the one they stayed in during their time in Junction Town, but at least the boxcar was actually on the rails. Win some, lose some as they say. She was laying on her back upon her bench, flipping through a pre-war magazine of sorts, pages discolored and pictures faded. Falcon Wing didn't know where --or when, for that matter-- she got it. 

"It's been bugging me," Alana said absentmindedly. "this train has an engine... why do ponies need to pull it?"

Falcon Wing looked back at her, a small smile on his face. He had read a few books on the subject. That was not to say he understood it too well either. "It's... complicated. You need coal for the locomotive to run but the ponies are what give it its pulling power," he replied. 

"You need coal for the engine but the engine isn't what gives the train its power?" Alana asked after lowering her magazine, her features contorted in confusion. 

"And Equestria doesn't have coal, before the megaspells the zebras traded it for gems..." Falcon Wing continued, which served to perplex that caramel mare further. 

"We had machines running on resources we didn't even have?" 

Falcon Wing shrugged. "It's best you don't linger on it. I'm sure there were a few key details missing from the Enclave archives about the subject." 

He was especially careful about mentioning the Enclave, wary of other ponies who shared his affinity for hearing things better left to the intended listener. 



The train thundered over the bridge that was a cobblestone arch. In its prime it would have been a work of art and a beauty to look at. Now it was a cobblestone arch given the Wasteland touch, struts and plating of aged metal used to keep it from falling apart. 

From there, the train swung around another, smaller mountain, though this one bore the scars of war, some part of it craggy and jagged where chunks of its rock face had been blown out ages ago. Opposite it was another patch of forest and another stream extended out from behind the trees, running into Horseshoe Bay.

The city of Baltimare was at the end of the track.


The train pulled into the station with a screech of metal and a slight lurch at the late noon hour. The doors slid open and ponies walked down the short stairs down to the platform. The station had a large triangular roof of shallow angles overhead. Large beams of metal stretched out above the platform. The roof was covered in what appeared to be light orange shingles, though there were some holes in the ceiling. Small rays of light shone down through them.

The platform edge were lined with pillars of a similar color as the roof, each having dim lamps attached to them. The light levels were low -- much lower than outside where the sun shone uncontested -- but it was not too dark. 

Falcon Wing and Alana walked among the crowd of ponies, blending in fine with the others surprisingly well. Cloaks and armored barding were not so uncommon after all.

Alana squinted her eyes stepping outside through the large gateway, Falcon Wing pulled his hood further out to shield his own. When they had adjusted in their own ways to their surroundings, they were amazed.

Baltimare was surprisingly well preserved... or restored. Whichever of the two, the buildings looked amazing in comparison to the concrete and steel shells that had come to define the urban Wasteland. Windows were intact, the walls were clean and of bright colors. Even the roads were in great condition, chariots and wagons rolling smoothly over red bricks. The only gray in the city it seemed was the sidewalk, slightly marred by cracks and breaks but still quite above the Wasteland standard. 

This was the city with a foal murderer... and probably many other unsavory things that had yet to garner equal attention. 

"The DJ was right. We really can't have nice things," Falcon thought with a slight frown. He felt Alana wrap a foreleg around him, the mare apparently reading his mind through his expression. 

"We should get ourselves a place to stay while we're here. Then we see what we can do about the Sweep," she said.

Falcon Wing nodded. "If we can't, we can always poke around the dumpsters to see what we can find," he said. 

"... What?" Alana deadpanned. 

"Life lesson I learned from Klaxon and Steiner," Falcon Wing replied. "but I'd rather have an actual room to stay in..." he added. 

"You are a strange little colt, mister hero," Alana said with a chuckle, letting the wingless pegasus go and then proceeding down the red road. Falcon Wing trotted after her, taking in the Baltimare architecture. Buildings with columns and extravagant buttresses, each being engraved with eye pleasing designs -- Falcon Wing felt as if he were living in the age he read so much about within the city. 


The two ponies came to a large plaza several blocks into the city, various merchant stalls established. Crowds of ponies did their business there, the air filled with salesponies advertising their wares. Around the stalls were the large luxury buildings, one of which had a large, dark green oval sign hanging from an overhang. In golden script the words "Hotel Hayweather" were visible. 


Falcon Wing looked around the lobby as Alana made the arrangements for the room. Other ponies adorned in fine attire stood around talking amongst themselves, chortling and giggling occasionally. It really was like looking at another time. 

It was a well maintained place, the dominating color of the walls and tiled floor was the same dark green as the sign outside, but light blues and black found their place in the decor and a few paintings. Paintings that were beginning to lose their colors but still offered something to the place.

Falcon Wing noted there wasn't enough art in the Wasteland. Just posters advertising the commodities of the past... and the war time climate. Most of which were defiled by raiders in many... many ways, as if the act in itself was art. But the art of hanging bodies and slathering blood was an art better left forgotten to the halls of time.  


There was also chandelier hanging over the lobby, shedding a dim yellow light over the floor. 

"Steiner should have hung the lamp. Would've added a dash of class to the cellar," he thought with a smirk. 

Minutes later Alana appeared beside him. "Any luck?" he inquired. She nodded. 

"It's cost us a fair amount of caps but we have a room on the second floor for two weeks."

"Two weeks, huh?" Falcon replied with a hoof on his chin. "Do you think we'd be able to get at Sweepy in two weeks?" he asked, again being cautious when mentioning the sensitive subject. 

"Nope," Alana said honestly. "Which is why I got a job here, so we have a steady flow of caps to buy food and keep the room a bit longer if we have to. Should be fun being a receptionist, meeting new ponies every day!"

"Should I get a job too?" the red colt asked. 

Alana stifled a fit of laughter -- he didn't quite appreciate that -- and replied "I think you'd be better off heading over to City Hall and informing the mayor, sheriff or whoever else is in charge about what you plan on contributing to the Sweepy business. We didn't come to Baltimare to become vigilantes, did we?" 

"I suppose not... and we could get a better grip on the situation with information right from the city's guards... but would they really take a pony like me seriously?" Falcon Wing responded. 

"Who was the pony who said you're going alone?" Alana said with a smile. "I find that when you do that, things don't usually end well."
> Chapter Thirteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Thirteen

Who decides the punishment for a crime, and which punishment is fitting for which crime?

From the lobby floor the two ponies made their way up a winding staircase that would have passed itself off as jade easily back before the Great War. Presently, the chipping and aging revealed it to be just smoothed stone slabs painted the striking green shade.

Their room was at the end of a long corridor of rooms. The key was ornate and Alana kept it in a pouch on her barding for the time being. Falcon Wing had his own somewhere in his saddlebags, he didn't really think too much about it when he tossed it into one of them. If he needed it he'd just bring it out with the inventory spell.

Alana took her key out with her mouth, put it in the lock and cocked her head to the right to open the door. She put the key back in the pouch and said "Home, sweet temporary home!" 

"Caps well spent for two weeks, in my opinion," Falcon Wing commented as he followed her in, closing the door behind him.

The green motif continued in their room. The first thing Falcon Wing saw was the fairly large bed, clean sheets and everything across the room from the door, a few feet off to his right. On either side were nightstands with lamps on top. To his left was a counter with a sink and behind that was a fridge. It wasn't much of a kitchen, but this was just a hotel room. Beside the counter was a door, what he assumed the bathroom was located behind it.

There were two windows over either nightstand overlooking the plaza, the sun setting directly in front of the building and casting a red glow through the screens. 

Alana set down her saddlebags at the base of the counter then launched herself across the majority of the room, landing hard onto the bed and rather than bouncing, the covers flew up and fell down over her.

"Bed. Bed-bed-bed-bed. It's been too long since I've had an actual bed!" she said contently, writhing about in the sheets as if the bed was quicksand and she wanted to sink into it. 

Falcon Wing shook his head and laid his his bags next to her's. He had to agree, he could use some sleep on an actual bed, not just a mattress, mat, booth or floor. Especially after the long train ride and trek through the city at that. 

"I don't suppose you're too keen on sharing?" he said, pulling himself onto the bed and taking off his Pipeye. He put the goggles on the table next to him and undid his overcoat, lying on his back after and draping the cloak over himself.

It brought back lukewarm memories of the cellar. 

Just as he put his head down on the puffed up emerald pillow, Alana started shifting about and before he knew it the covers had fallen over him as well, the caramel mare having him in an embrace by the end of the swift confusion. 

"You gotta share, you gotta care, its the right thing to do, Falcon!" she said with a giggle then added "I was not aware you used your coat as a blanket..."

"It's not -- I don't!" Falcon Wing stuttered hotly. He pulled the black hood off of himself and dropped it over the side of the bed where it landed in a heap.

It was then he realized he was not as insecure as he once was of his wings around her; that he didn't feel compelled to keep himself hidden underneath the hood when he was alone with her.

He would not be so inclined to take it off in public, but when it was just him and the mare it was no problem.



The next morning he woke up bewildered. It was the first morning in many days that he woke up remembering what had happened the previous day in full detail. That did little to help him understand just why he was lying on top of Alana while she rested on her side, angled sharply across the bed, muzzle half buried in her mane. 


By all means it should have been an uncomfortable sleep but the red colt felt fully refreshed. He wasn't too sure about Alana however, and was certain that he was the reason she would be sore and stiff throughout the day. He frowned and started to lift himself off of her, only to have her roll onto her back underneath him, reach out with her forelegs and yank him back down with a powerful hug. 

"This again... and me without my Pipeye," he thought as she nuzzled him. 

He was glad she wasn't in any worse shape than him though, even if it meant having to put up with her half-asleep displays of affection. 


Once again it was Alana who initiated the day's agenda, Falcon Wing finding himself mentally noting it was she who decided to spend extra time snuggling when he was more than willing to hop out of bed and get things done.Then again, he was sleeping on top of his companion. It was no surprise then that he wanted to avoid confrontation on the matter...

...which flew right back into his face when he opened the bathroom door, having taken a shower. If he were to join the ponies trying to bring the Shadow Sweep to justice, then he might as well look groomed and presentable. 

" You may have woken up on top of me, but we didn't do anything you know," she said without looking at him, going through her saddlebags for something. "or were you just making sure you smelled nice before you decided to make me your mare-bed again?"

Falcon Wing froze mid-step. "... I wasn't --... I-I... mare-bed!?" he stammered then stomped his hoof down. "No! I wasn't thinking of those things at all!" he said indignantly. 

He watched her with a bemused expression as she toppled onto her back and laughed at his reaction. "Oh Falcon, I didn't know you felt so strongly about that!"

It was his turn to get things back on track. 

"We don't have time for this, Alana," Falcon Wing said tactfully, covering his embarrassment and walking to his side of the bed where he put on his vest, frowning slightly at the tears and cuts. Without any bandages on, his red hide showed through it, faint reminders of his wounds visible in his fur. 

"Keep an eye out for any repair services, would you? The Ursa-mangled appearance doesn't quite look right without the gauze!" he said to Alana. 

"I think you look handsomely rugged," Alana replied, giving him an exaggerated flirtatious look complete with batted eyelashes. Had she been any less over the top Falcon Wing might have thought she was serious. 

"Yeah, the scrawny colt looks rugged. And bunnies are hardened monsters," Falcon Wing responded with a wave of a hoof and then started putting on his overcoat. 

"Well, not all bunnies, but what do you think the Glyphmark foals named themselves after?" Alana asked. 

Falcon Wing was stunned, caught in the middle of putting on his Pipeye, which hung lopsidedly off his head with one strap wrapped around an ear. 

"The Angels... Angel... Angel was a bunny... that is one detail... the archives left out," he replied. 
> Chapter Fourteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Fourteen

One's appearance speaks volumes about them before they even open their mouth. 


Baltimare Chic was a dress boutique located on the corner of Oats and Crunch street. There the classy ponies meet, talking, shopping admiring pre-war dresses that were kept ever so neat. But the two ponies had no business with these city folk, for their focus was on the Shadow Sweep. No, their business rested only with the shop keep.

For Baltimare Chic was not just a mere dress store. It was -- apparently -- the city's premier outlet for anything related to apparel. And that meant it was the ideal place to get a ripped up vest fixed. 

"A vest!? Only a vest!?" the lavender unicorn pony at the decorated counter exclaimed, exasperated. Falcon Wing narrowed his eyes at them, annoyed at the display which drew the eyes of other patrons. Alana maintained a pleasant smile. 

"Yes sir, mister Scissor Snip!" she said amiably despite the shop keeper's overly dramatic outcry. 

Scissor Snip shook his head and tutted at her. "My dear, you obviously have heard of my great talent, I could do much more than just repair a bit of torn clothing!" 

As if to demonstrate, without even a hint of focusing his magic, Scissor Snip's horn glowed pink and the vest laid out before him came to life, frayed strands of leather extending and weaving together. In seconds the vest was in pristine condition. 

The stallion was playing with his stringy gray mustache with a fore hoof all the while, a bored expression on his face. 

"Neat trick," Falcon Wing retorted evenly. "how many caps will that be then?" 

"Do not be so hasty my little colt acquaintance!"

"Little?" Falcon Wing replied quickly with a raised brow, but was ignored for the pony continued without halting.

"You are a Wastelander! You will no doubt be up against a great amount of adversity even in the wake of the NCR's formation! Do you not want to be given the utmost protection available?"

"I suppose --" 

"What are you offering?" Alana interjected. 

The lavender pony smiled confidently. His horn flared and in a flash of light two large wooden crates appeared, one on either side of him, suspended in a telekinetic field. They were floated down behind the counter, out of sight of the colt and mare. 

Falcon Wing shot Alana an uncertain look. She looked at him, grinned and then patted him on the head. "Not helping," he thought. He looked back to the unicorn.

The dress maker's eyes were closed and his face was devoid of emotion, as if he had slipped into some kind of inner zen. 

The vest was floating over the counter, completely filled out as if it was being worn at that moment by an invisible pony.An invisible, floating pony. 

Plates of metal and straps of leather were floated up to the vest. Two smaller pieces of metal were molded into shape by the unicorn's magic, becoming concave  and being fitted onto the shoulder area; shoulder guards. A few straps of leather were placed over them, the material bonding seamlessly with the vest and, amazingly, the fixtures became a stark black to match the vest.

The same was done to the rest of the vest, a metal plate was taken apart piece by piece and the metal slices were fitted in such a way that each fragment overlapped. They were secured together by leather fastening and the entire thing was then fitted to the black tunic, forming a flexing chest piece that integrated perfectly, color and all. 

"It will not stop bullets," said Scissor Snip, opening his pearly pink eyes, "but your vest will be less likely to fall apart on you now. I give it to you for...105 caps. Seems fair, no?" 

Alana's expression became thoughtful -- seriously so for once -- for a few moments before nodding. "Yes, it does."


The two left through the double doors, Falcon Wing's overcoat falling nicely over his armored vest, though he still looked troubled as they walked down the sidewalk. 

"You don't like it?" Alana asked, reading his expression.

"The vest is fine; I'm more worried about our caps situation. A simple repair job would have been enough, I didn't need an upgrade," Falcon Wing replied.

"You heard what Scissor Snip said though... and we aren't just going day to day wandering anymore," Alana responded, "we're looking for trouble. And knowing the Wasteland, Falcon, when you look for trouble you tend to find it very easily."

"Yeah but --"

"And, as I recall yourself saying, you're not much older than the victims of our Sweeper..." Alana continued, trailing off to let the red colt fill in the blanks. 

"...Well then. That's... unnerving" he stated, struck hard by the implication.

"When you are trying to hunt the hunter, you have to be prepared for the possibility that you may be the one hunted. To make things worse... after they get wind of you... the Shadow Sweep might think you're their competition."

"What? That's insane. How would a foal killer think I am compe --" Falcon Wing said in disbelief, to which Alana replied, 

"Because -- again -- as you said, you both are really good at sneaking around. Sweepy might be inclined to see which one of you is better."

And that was when the dread crept up on him. 

"You think... I could become their rival? Their nemesis...?"




City Hall was a white, monolithic structure with a domed roof, a statue of the nightly alicorn, Luna, on top. The once-ruler of Equestria was caught in sculpture reared up, wings fully extended. Her visage was especially striking against the sun which shone down from behind.

Falcon Wing found her ominous to look at, a dark, shadowy specter in an otherwise bright and hopeful place. It was especially jarring for him as he had read about Luna, about Nightmare Moon, the redeemed princess and eventual leader of Equestria she was. She was not an omen of misfortune, in spite of her appearances. 

And besides, the red colt did not need hexes and superstitions to find more than his fair share of bad luck. He was perfectly able without them. 

And that fact did little to fight back his growing trepidation. The Shadow Sweep to him had been a vile thing kept at a comfortable distance from himself on the basis of obscurity, that he was just a little colt in a very large city. 

But Alana's words destroyed that conception entirely. It was disturbing enough to think a serial killer could establish a personal connection with him around the fact they were both patrons of the darkness. It was completely horrifying to think it was well in the realm of possibility. Other ponies may have delved into the art of stealth... but most ponies did not have an enchanted cloak that could beat an E.F.S...

He steeled himself. He could not back down down. How could he? Disregarding the amount of caps spent on the endeavor already, wasn't this his special talent? Wasn't being righteous and decent what earned him the shield and wings that made up his cutie mark? What kind of pony would he be to abandon the cause because he scared himself out of it? 

His troubled gaze hardened and he looked over to his side, at Alana. She looked uneasy as well, but upon catching the look in his eyes, she followed suit, readying herself. 

"Right then. This is happening," he thought as he started up the stairs leading up the massive building where he would formally challenge the Shadow Sweep... and overtake them. 

At least, that was his intention.
> Chapter Fifteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Fifteen

To catch the hunter, one could think like the hunter... or lure them by becoming bait. 


Baltimare had a mayor. A pony which the city depended on, a pony who its denizens looked up to. A pony who could not be spoken with because they were locked up in their office, unable to handle the pressure bearing down on them because of the Shadow Sweep sensation. 

Falcon Wing looked around the main floor at the crowds of ponies clamoring for answers and the grossly outnumbered ponies in golden barding defined by light blue accents. The Baltimare Guard he assumed. Their uniforms gave them an authoritative air to their presence but there were so few of them here it seemed the citizens had more sway in power here. 

"So this is what the start of a mob looks like," Alana whispered into his ear. He agreed, but did not want to think about that. 

"Looks like we came at a bad time... but we've already delayed long enough," said the wingless pegasus, who then mustered as much courage as he could and started forcing his way through the barricade of ponies...

... which resulted in getting bucked so hard he went tumbling back out of the thicket of multicolored hides, sliding across the black tiled floor in a wild spin and only stopping when he bumped into Alana. 

"Thank you... for not moving..." he said dizzily. 

"Don't mention it!" 

She helped him back onto his hooves and he shook to clear his head of stars. "Any ideas on how to get a bunch of unruly... buck-happy ponies to stop acting like such?" he asked.

"Shoot something. Or someone. But then you wind up with an entirely different set of problems," Alana answered. 

Falcon Wing drooped slightly. "Really? Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Well, I know unicorns can use their magic to make their voices louder but since we are both without horns, I don't think we have much luck there..." Alana replied.

At that moment, Falcon Wing had a stroke of genius. "Horns don't make the unicorn and no one else in the former-Wasteland has a Pipeye!" he exclaimed, pulling the goggles down and cycling through the available broadcast frequencies.

Baltimare had a lot of isolated stations that were not nearly as far reaching as DJ Pon3. They were mostly for communication purposes; he assumed the Baltimare Guard used them to coordinate their efforts around the city. But if he could listen in on these frequencies, didn't that mean the Shadow Sweep could do so also if they had a radio on them as well? 

It was something to keep note of, he decided as he unleashed the voice of the DJ upon the restless crowd, Pipeye volume at max. 

It wasn't exactly his voice -- Falcon Wing had tuned in mid-song -- but the music might as well have been the voice of god, the natural echo of the building only amplifying the already loud broadcast. 

"-- I'll dance with Luna on the moon, look at the sun and go blind, but I'll die happy knowing I'm not you!" were the words sung by a somber sounding stallion to unusually uplifting music. Perhaps it made sense in context?

Falcon Wing shut off the radio when he saw that the crowd had stopped bombarding the guards with their concerns and had turned their gaze to him, their expressions ranging from confusion to anger.

Alana leaned over to him and muttered, "Well at least you didn't start a panic..."

It was right about then that the guards took advantage of the situation, pulling out their batons and herding the angry citizens out from the building's lobby and down the stairs beyond its large wooden doors, much better at handling their many protests now.

"Heh, thanks for that, kid," one of the guards said, an aged stallion that was a chocolate brown in color, his mane and tail only a slightly darker shade of it. "My colleagues and I were worried that gathering would have turned into a riot had we done that sooner."

"Falcon Wing is pretty good at making distractions, aren't you Falcon?" Alana chimed. Falcon rubbed the back of his head with a hoof, smiling sheepishly.

"It was nothing really, anyone with a Pipbuck -- or Pipeye -- could have done it!" he responded. 

"That so?" replied the chocolate colored guard. "Because I don't see any other ponies in this building with Stable-Tec equipment! The name's Cocoa, little Falcon Wing, and you are...?" he asked after looking  to the pony beside the colt. 

"Alana," the caramel mare answered before Falcon could ask his one word question.

"Nice to meet you both, good to have some outsiders who aren't a bunch of trouble makers!" Cocoa said after hearty chuckle then abruptly, he added with a deep, gravelly voice: "You aren't a couple of Wasteland trouble makers are you?"

"No sir, trouble just follows us around, but we try not to cause any," Falcon Wing thought. 

"You don't have to worry about us, officer Cocoa! We're just here to help out... with your... Sweepy problem," Alana answered for the two of them. She leaned in to whisper the last part in the officer's ear. 

The officer's yellow eyes widened then he nodded with understanding. 

"Should've expected as much, nowadays the Shadow Sweep seems to be all ponies have on their minds. I can't say I blame them though, this used to be such a nice town, all things considering," he said, "the city was climbing out of the ditch Equestria had fallen into around the time that crazy stable mare cleared the skies... when the new wielders of the Elements of Harmony cleansed the land of radiation and taint things seemed to be getting back to... normal. A new normal you know, not the constant struggle to survive kind of normal. The normal that they say existed 200 years ago!"

"When did the Shadow Sweep appear? How many ponies have they killed?" Falcon Wing inquired.  

"A bit over a week ago -- wait, Falcon you're just a kid, what are you doing trying to take on something like the Shadow Sweep!?" Cocoa asked. 

"I've been through a lot in a short time, mister Cocoa. I'm no foal... and I'm not much of a stallion yet, but I am certainly not a kid," said the red colt. "And I'm definitely not little!" he added hotly. 

While he spoke, his mind was racing to put things together. A week ago? Wasn't that around the same time Erasure was getting the animal wranglers in Dodge? Surely there couldn't be a connection between a mad unicorn experimentalist and a serial killer. They were halfway across the entire Equestrian former-Wasteland from each other for Celestia's sake! 

"We're just trying to do some good for a world defined by evil and savagery, officer; we can help restore peace in Baltimare! We're already quite aware of the danger but that isn't going to stop us!" Alana said, standing valiantly at the flightless pegasus' side. 

"And I already have a plan that could bring the Sweeper out of the shadows in just a few days, maybe even less if my hunch is correct!" the red colt proclaimed, which took Alana by surprise.

"You do!?" Cocoa and Alana said at once. They exchanged glances then turned their attention back on Falcon Wing.

"There have been... other events... that took place a week ago as well. I'm afraid I'm not too comfortable expanding on the subject but I'm not too convinced they are only coincidences. The distance between them is great but the time frame... it just can't be random chance!"  Falcon Wing explained. 

Cocoa narrowed his eyes.

"I think you should talk to chief Whiplash," he said, gesturing for the two ponies to follow him. 

They complied, following Cocoa into the recesses of City Hall. At the end of a long white walled hallway, the chocolate colored stallion opened the door.

An earth pony sat behind a large black desk that had papers stacked up on it, pens and  pencils in cups, a small toy train locomotive on the far side of the desk to them and a map of the city. A swiveling desk lamp shone intensely on the map the white police mare marked up with the pencil she held in her mouth. 

She put down the writing utensil and asked in an even voice "Is something the matter, officer Cocoa?"

"These two ponies have a proposition for you... concerning the Shadow Sweep..." he replied.
> Chapter Sixteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Sixteen

When one sees their self in their enemy, how are they to deal with that?

Falcon Wing walked down empty streets, pillars of golden light cutting through the dark blue gloom of night from the street lights. They were not as bright nor as far reaching as the red colt would have preferred. 

That was because his plan called for him to be in the open, not the shadows he had grown to consider his element. And it was within his element that the Shadow Sweep lurked. Possibly. 

It was more than likely for the killer to see the blatant trap that was the lone hooded colt, walking down well trodden paths in the dead of night, alone. Weak. Vulnerable. The things that made him an appealing target for so many others might have deterred the mysterious marauder. 

And for once, Falcon Wing wanted to get their attention, not avoid it. 



"That 'plan' is reckless and puts you at incredible risk, young Falcon Wing," Chief Whiplash said in rejection of the colt's tactics. Alana was silent, but Falcon knew she did not approve of the plan either. Cocoa looked between his superior officer and the hooded pony unsure of what to do with himself as he observed the proceedings. 

"I agree. To be honest I only thought of it a few minutes ago. But face it, it's the best you've got, isn't it? You have been trying to find the Shadow Sweep but they disappear from the scene of the crime long before your ponies can get there and there is no trail to follow. Just... remains," Falcon Wing shot back, "at least with my plan, I draw the Sweeper out from hiding. I become their next target."

"And you will become their next victim!" Whiplash said passionately, shooting out of her chair and slamming her hooves hard on the table. Falcon Wing and officer Cocoa winced. 

"I will not. Not if I am correct in thinking the Shadow Sweep uses your communications against you," Falcon Wing retorted.

"And how would you know about that!?" said the white mare, her voice taking on a biting edge.

Falcon Wing pulled his Pipeye off of his head. "This device. It has many spells and functions integrated into it. With its radio I was able to pick up on your transmissions. If the Shadow Sweep has a radio on them while they are committing their crimes... they would be able to plot ahead of your forces just by listening in on where they are mobilizing to," 

Whiplash looked at him incredulously. 

"but this device -- this Pipeye -- has been used to locate individual radio broadcasts and mark their location of origin on its auto-map in the past. It can do so now. It's the key to finding and apprehending the Shadow Sweep," Falcon Wing explained. 

"So tell me exactly what you plan to do," Whiplash said, sitting back in her chair. Falcon Wing smiled a little, for it seemed the chief was actually considering his proposition. 

"Cocoa, you have a radio right? You can talk to your fellow guardsponies across the city?" he asked the chocolate colored stallion. 

"Uh, yes. They are standard issue, every guard should have their radio at all times --"

Cocoa's eyes lit up when he realized what the red colt was getting at. 

"You want to use your Pip-thingy to locate my radio?"

"When the time comes, yes. But I won't be the one to do so. My Pipeye would be useless if it were on me when I confront the Shadow Sweep," he turned to Alana and put the goggles on her head. "so I need you to do it," he told her, then looked back to Cocoa, "and I'll need your radio. If... when I find the Shadow Sweep, I'll activate it. Alana, when it appears on your broadcast list you will need to track me down and you --" 

He turned to Whiplash; "-- you need to get every officer able and available to me, or I will become another of their victims."


When he told the chief his plan, he was confident and assured of himself. He didn't feel like the meek youngster he really was. He felt like he was the pony deserving of his cutie mark: a pony brave and courageous, willing to put themselves at risk for the greater good. 

What he should have been feeling was anxiety and dread. He was alone. He would continue being alone until the Shadow Sweep showed their self. And the radio strapped to his chest piece would be his only lifeline, in which time he would have to keep the killer busy and in one location long enough for Alana to lead the Baltimare Guard to him.

He was always cautious when he turned the corner of the street. Falcon Wing edged up to the corner of the building at the end of each block, taking hesitant peeps around it then quickly shooting a look over his shoulders split seconds later to make sure he wasn't going to be attacked from behind. 

It could not be more obvious that he was meant to be bait.

Then he'd scurry on down the sidewalk, giving darkened alleyways a wide berth. His ears constantly perked up and swiveled at the smallest noises around him. The sound of the breeze passing through the streets strangely. The creak of the hanging sign disturbed by it. 

"Maybe he hasn't appeared yet because he's enjoying the show..." Falcon Wing thought, and instantly flashes of that night appeared in his mind. 



He was on his back, scrambling away from the dark shapes looming in the black screen that was once the Equestrian night. The ground was rough -- asphalt -- and he constantly bumped into the wreckage strewn about the street. His breaths were ragged, his heart wanted to burst from his chest. Hoofsteps then reached his ears and his stomach erupted with pain as a savage landed a brutal stomp onto him. 

He was winded, but yet to be consumed by the pain, yet to cry out. He had gone through it all before. Even in the alien realm that was land, Falcon Wing knew how to take a hit. 

And so, more of them befell him. Hoof after hoof landed against him, blows that could have shattered bone he took unwaveringly. He was terrified. He feared for his life. These were not new feelings for him. 

An undetermined amount of time passed, he was aching and laying on the ground, surrounded by the shapes, those horrible oily shapes. They cackled and laughed amongst each other, enjoying their prize in full. 

"Aren't you a long way from home, little boy!?"

"Spread your wings and fly birdie!" the harsh voices taunted him. 

He wanted to. He wanted to so badly. But he could not return to the skies, where even there he would be pursued, and his thoughts spun at the prospect of flying in the complete darkness in the unknown territory. Instead of flying, he was paralyzed with fear.

Now he was crying out, screaming and hollering. The ponies had taken his limbs out from under him, holding them apart, their grip firm even as he attempted to flail and writhe. 

His protest was silenced sharply by the unimaginable agony he was subjected to: the amputation of his wings. It was not fast. It was not methodical. The pony who did it simply swung a heavy blade -- a hatchet or something similar -- into him repeatedly until most of his wings had come off, leaving only bleeding stumps to show where they used to be.

Tears flowed like rivers down his face as his torturers administered their "care", stinging poultices being rubbed into his bloody wounds, bitter tasting potions forced down his throat. 

Then he was left to stumble down that lonely street, the oily figures in the dark watching him, sparing his life so that he could amuse them. 



When reality caught up with him, he realized he was crying in the ring of light a streetlight provided. He was not sobbing, just silently shedding tears while standing under the light. He was not ready for this burden, but it was one he took upon himself.

"You want me, Sweepy?" Falcon Wing thought, drawing Klaxon's 10 millimeter pistol. "Then you're going to have to do what nopony has had to do before. You've got to earn the right to fuck with me."
> Chapter Seventeen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Seventeen

One can derive great strength from anger and rage. Likewise, a pony driven by love is a force to contend with.



"I don't like this," Alana had told him, following him out of the doors of City Hall. "You know I don't like this. Good things don't happen when you go off by yourself."

"Yes," Falcon Wing replied in his mind. "but what else am I supposed to do? How can I turn away now?"

"Do you remember what I said about letting emotions lead your path? About pursuing something blindly without thinking?" she asked.

Falcon Wing stopped descending the stairs and whipped himself around to face her. "I am not blindly pursuing anything. What I'm doing is for the good of this city and that's it. I gave it enough thought. It's going to work out."

His words were awfully ironic in hindsight.  

"It's... it's just that I don't want you to get hurt again... or worse. Last time I found you after you went off alone, you were nearly dead. I don't want to see what happens after you go over your limit --" she said, choking up as fresh tears came from her eyes. Falcon Wing winced. 

He smiled awkwardly and patted her head with a hoof. 

"Not helping!" she snapped, pulling herself back from the hooded pegasus and scowling at him. It was then he realized Alana was angry with him, angry about his tendency to put himself in such impossible situations.He remembered only one other time very long ago when she was angry with him, when he struggled with his inner turmoil. He did not like it when she was angry with him. Not after that incident.

"I'm... sorry. But I have to do this. You know why...!"  

"Because you want to do good, or you want closure about what happened to your foster mother?" Alana shot back. 

The red colt looked hurt, partly because there was some truth to that remark. He would never know what part Flint and Erasure had in the death of his parents or the ultimate purpose they intended to bring about with their fellow conspirators, but maybe he could piece together what one of them was doing in their last days alive in the Wastes...

"Who said I couldn't do both?" Falcon Wing retorted and then turned away again. This couldn't be their last conversation before his massive undertaking!

"I don't want to lose you!" the caramel mare said, following after him. By now other ponies on the grounds were giving the two passing looks as they went along on their way. 

"You already said that!" said Falcon Wing when he reached the bottom of the steps.

"I don't want to lose you, Falcon Wing! I don't want you to get hurt and scarred, mentally or physically! I don't want you to go the way of Steiner!"

Those words made him halt again.

“I hope my absence has allowed her to grow out of it. It wasn’t…healthy,” Falcon recalled the dark blue stallion saying. He wasn't referring to the difference in age between him and Alana... he meant it was literally harmful for her to be around him... and she was deeply affected by the events that burdened him for so long...




"Think like a shadow." 

That was Falcon Wing's mantra, slinking into the alleyways he made a point to avoid, his eyes adjusting the the darkness as well as they could. He was no Klaxon, but he would manage. 

He was not acting in self defense, he wasn't simply waiting to be pounced on before acting. He was hunting -- hunting what the ponies of Baltimare considered the essence of the night. 

He was certain he was more than able to beat it. He was begging for that rivalry now, as short lived as he was determined to make it. 

"But would succeeding mean I'm no better than the Shadow Sweep?" a tiny fraction of his own voice asked him at the fringes of his mind gripped by self righteousness. 

"What happened to shooting only when left with no alternative? Was spilling Erasure's blood not enough?"

This was different! He assured himself of that. He was going to find a pony whose virtues have gone rotten from the Wasteland's grip on them and put them down before they put him down. 

In a way, it was no different than before.

"Kill or be killed," he reminded himself, silencing that momentary distraction and then glancing around the darkened alleyway he was in, aware that his habit of breaking his focus would have presented a perfect opportunity for the Shadow Sweep to make the first move.

But all was still for now. Bags of garbage rested against the walls of the buildings to his flanks. Metal stairs extending up the walls were not being used as a predator's perch. There were no dumpsters -- surprisingly -- for anypony to hide behind. The end of the alleyway was a rusted chain link fence. 

The Shadow Sweep wasn't here.

"That's what they would want me to think. That's what I would want others to think if I were in their place,"

His own thought rubbed him the wrong way. 

"I don't rely on stealth to kill, though... I would never have to... not after tonight at least."


Falcon Wing forced those distracting thoughts away and readied himself, sprinting towards the wall to his right, jumping at the wall. His hooves collided hard with the surface and he sprung off of it, his landing on the fire escape muffled, his cloak falling over his body.


He made his way up to the roof of the building where he was bathed in the silver shine of the moon.

"I'll dance with Luna on the moon, look at the sun and go blind, but I'll die happy knowing I'm not you, Sweepy!"

He galloped on silent hooves across the roof, peering over the edge at the darkened city. He may be flightless, but that did not stop him from getting a pegasus'-eye view of the streets below.

He leaped across the spaces in between the buildings down the street, peering into the corridors of concrete and brick below as he soared overhead before ultimately coming back down from the air. 

He saw no sign of the infamous killer. Was his hunch wrong? Was there really no connection to what occurred in Froggy Bottom Bog? That there was no reason the Shadow Sweep would be after him specifically?

Was he really just a colt shrouded in obscurity running around trying to be a hero, a delusional youngling with a gun in his mouth?




Falcon Wing's eyes glistened in the moonlight. Had he really been scaring himself through the night with a phantom of his own creation? Swept up in the machinations of his own mind?

The red colt sighed, moments away from holstering his gun. He was a fool. A self righteous idiot willing to put himself in harm's way for an end his did not fully grasp. Did he really think it'd be so easy? To keep a monster's attention long enough so that they can be caught when the trap was sprung? A painfully obvious trap?

Did he really believe he could have outsmarted the Shadow Sweep with such a haphazard strategy?

He turned away from the building's edge, accepting his defeat at the hooves... of no one in particular. He was doomed to fail from inception it seemed. 

All at once he was dredged up from the depths of his self pity. Standing across from him several buildings away with eyes piercing the night, glowing yellow orbs of almost supernatural quality was a creature. A creature whose utter blackness was accentuated by the moon they stood against.

They were larger than Falcon. Their forelegs ended in talons. Their hind legs were those of a lion. Their wings were half extended, making them look even larger than they were already.

"Dear Celestia..." Falcon thought, utterly bewildered at how utterly naive he had been. 

He was expecting his enemy to be another pony, another earthbound pony.

What he got was a gryphon... a pegasus' natural rival in the sky... both staring each other down across the rooftops of Baltimare. 

And this gryphon was a ghoul with black charred skin, feathers molted and frayed so that it too should have been flightless as well. But it proved that it was still more than capable of flight when it took to the air and banked below the skyline.

"Because that would have been too ironic!" Falcon Wing snarked, finding himself bolting after what he was sure was the Shadow Sweep...
> Chapter Eighteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eighteen


What does it mean to be good? What does it mean to be evil?


Getting back to street level entailed jumping off the side of a building, landing hard on a fire escape and then jumping off from there to the ground. Falcon Wing, being as nimble as he was, did so effortlessly. 

He tore across the streets, galloping towards where he had seen the marred gryphon disappear to.

The hooded colt was expecting nothing less than a trap. After all, something as well versed in stealth as the Shadow Sweep would not show itself without reason. It wanted Falcon Wing to chase and chase he did; for pretty soon he intended to turn the tables on the murderous ghoul.

He would have his answers soon enough.

Falcon Wing's nostrils flared as he ran, pulling in air where his mouth was otherwise occupied, Klaxon's pistol held firmly in his jaws. His eyes scoured the skies and patches of darkness as he went, looking for the telltale glow of dead eyes that retained their predatory gaze. 

The red colt stopped running at the all too convenient sound of fluttering wings to his right and when he looked for its source, he saw the black blur round the corner of an alley and out onto the opposite street, the timing of it all garnering Falcon Wing's suspicions. 

"The fucker was waiting for me! Trying to bait me!" Falcon Wing thought in disbelief. Suddenly he was not so ashamed of his previous efforts. The Shadow Sweep was no better at subtlety than he was...

...which, as Falcon Wing quickly realized, was most likely intentional. Everything was a mind game. Everything could not be taken for face value. Falcon Wing was being too forward -- in trying to force the Shadow Sweep's... claw, he was blundering into their clutches.

"Well two can play this game, Sweepy," mused the hooded pegasus, easing his way into the darkness of the passage, hunkered down low to the ground and blending in. 

"Think like a shadow; be the darkness."


The blackened gryphon allowed their self to drop noiselessly onto the ground, head cocking around in a fittingly avian manner. It's skin was nothing short of patchwork and with every jerking motion, Falcon Wing spied the dark colored muscles -almost as black as its flesh- flexing, bulging and shrinking. Streaks had formed in what remained of the ghoul's plumage from where its bodily fluids were expunged readily and dried. Fleshy, hanging growths draped from underneath its beak like numerous dewlaps. Some were rancid looking sacks of puss and ichor that danced about with each movement.  

The Shadow Sweep was nothing short of revolting to behold. 


"I smell you, boy," said the ghoul gravely, their voice revealing them to be male where their features failed to denote gender. The voice was a disconcerting blend of a rasp and croak. 

"You may smell me, but you can't see me, can you?" Falcon Wing thought as he circled around the gryphon, slinking around the alley swiftly and silently, dispersing his trail, making it impossible for the gryphon to hone in on a single spot. 

"That same stench you left at Evecera's camp... or should I say, what little the hydra spared..."

"Oooooh, I fucking called this..."

"I imagined you being a smug little bastard, using her work to level everything she accomplished... spitting on the achievements of a great pony..." continued the gryphon. Now he was busy monitoring his surroundings, quick glances every which way, desperately trying to spot the tiniest bit of movement to betray the wingless pegasus. 

Falcon Wing's enchanted coat did well to undermine those efforts. 

"Who's the Shadow Sweep now?" Falcon Wing thought, smirking wryly, then realized what having such a title implicated. "Sure as hell isn't me..."

Falcon Wing cautiously pressed a hoof to Cocoa's radio, activating its signal. No words were to be spoken over the channel. The Shadow Sweep stiffened up and Falcon Wing heard a high pitched whine accompanied by static emanate from somewhere within the gryphon's flesh.

The radio had somehow fused into his body. It was how the Shadow Sweep was able to act against the Baltimare Guard so easily. The gryphon had been exposed to unholy amounts of magical radiation and taint...

The Shadow Sweep let out a hoarse sounding squawk and spread his ruined wings. Falcon Wing fired wildly, desperately wishing he had the aid of S.A.T.S to guide his bullets. 

Splashes of black spilled onto the floor and walls where bullets tore through the ghoul's body, yet the creature continued his ascent, beating his wings with more power than Falcon Wing would have thought possible and rocketing up into the night.

"Fuck!" he snarled through the grip of the pistol and charged after the gryphon. He had to keep the trail. He had to! He followed the whining static, his natural speed allowing him to keep pace with the gryphon as he attempted to circle the many buildings of Baltimare. 

It was underneath the halo of light a street lamp provided he saw the Shadow Sweep climb straight into the air, disappearing from sight, the static fading from audible range all too suddenly. Falcon Wing skidded to a halt and reared up, looking into the sky, trying to spot the gryphon --

Falcon Wing threw himself into a roll across the red bricked road, the eagle-headed ghoul skimming over where he once stood, claws swiping at where his neck would have been seconds prior. The crackling tune of his radio followed in the Shadow Sweep's wake.

The gryphon banked around in an arc and doubled back on himself, talons splayed ahead of him. He was coming down on where Falcon laid extremely fast. 

The red colt was agile, but not even he could escape from the pass unharmed. The Shadow Sweep's talons were as sharp as a well maintained blade. When Falcon rolled to his feet and sidestepped, the gryphon held out an arm, the claws scoring across his chest then over his side.

Luckily for the flightless pegasus, Scissor Snip's addition to his barding spared him the full extent of the damage. Rather than sustaining a rather grievous and most likely fatal wound to his heart, the talon tips hit his concealed chest piece and shoulder guards. Only the lower, exposed portions of his foreleg were wounded, three gashes running across its outer side. 

"Thank you, Alana!" Falcon thought, ignoring the sharp pain and ensuing bleeding. He had endured much more anguish than what three small cuts could bring. 

That was not to say this fight would not result in more severe consequences. 

The gryphon reared with his wings flared, coming to a landing a few yards away from Falcon Wing and then spinning around to face the colt. He was leaning heavily on the side where the ghoul's claws sliced into his leg, wincing. 

"You disappoint me, pony," the Shadow Sweep growled with that sandpaper-voice of his, "after seeing what you did in the bog, I have been expecting you to come after myself one day. I thought you had realized what Evecera was trying to do with her experiments... but such lackluster performance proves otherwise. What kind of Wastelander can't handle a few wee cuts?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, but I'm the type of Wastelander that knows how to look pathetic, and you're buying it!" Falcon Wing retorted mentally, eying the gryphon as he approached confidently, arrogantly. Was this horrible mess of a creature acting in such a way when he took the lives of those other children?

Falcon Wing laid his gun down -- something he was not comfortable doing at all, but he had his own personal interests to tend to.

"If you're going to kill me --"

"No my little pony, not if -- when," said the ghoul who then started chuckling, the expression on his decayed face becoming distinctly malicious.

"... Before you kill me," Falcon Wing corrected himself, "could you tell me why? Why would you go after foals, colts and fillies?"

"Am I really to answer the questions of the fool who practically threw their self at me?" the Shadow Sweep replied then stopped walking, tapping a talon against his beak. "I suppose so, dead ponies tell no tales, after all" he said, the corners of his beak curving as much they could to form a smirk. 

Falcon Wing dropped into an unbalanced kneel before the gryphon at that, playing up his ruse... making sure his gun was in easy reach. 

"You see, Evecera was always a gifted little unicorn... one who thoroughly enjoyed the science of magic... unrestricted," started the Shadow Sweep.

Falcon Wing couldn't stand the pompous tone he spoke in; it was bad enough that his voice was dry and gravelly without his arrogance coursing out of his beak like the black sludge dribbling out of the bullet holes in his body. The black gryphon paid no mind to the sound of his internal radio -- paid no mind to the fact Falcon Wing was a beacon to the gryphon's location. He clearly thought his task with the red pegasus would be over and done with long before the officers appeared. 

He must have been intending to leave the remains out in the open for all to see when they arrived.

"I was a subject of her... interest due to my unique condition, you see. Before long, her passion became finding a way to reverse the effects of taint and radiation... a way to curing being a ghoul," 

The Shadow Sweep's expression flashed to that of anger in an instant. "Do you know how many other ghouls could have benefited from her work!? But now she's dead, and everything she researched has been reduced to rubble!"

He growled with a simmering fury then continued on, "She was experimenting with what she called 'spontaneous biological generation'... she said that was the key to repairing the damage of radiation and taint..."

"The hybridization project..." Falcon Wing realized. 

"That... doesn't explain the killings" the hooded colt said, pretending to struggle with his words.

"Evecera believed magic was a science, that potions and serums could be brewed based on what she claimed were natural laws... I recognize her penchant for her work, but that does not mean I agreed with her views. I believed in the sacraments of old... that the magics needed to repair myself needed to be potent... powerful. The magics that come with Blood Rituals"

"That's sick!" Falcon Wing blurted out, scooping his gun up in his mouth seconds later and aiming. This monster took the lives of ponies yet to live so that they could restore himself!?

Before Falcon knew it, the gryphon had beat his wings and was now closing the distance between them in a low gliding dash.

Falcon Wing jumped and hooked his forelegs around the ghoul's neck, avoiding his talons and swinging around onto his back where he held on tightly. He was about to start firing into the gryphon's head when the ghoul shot off into the air, banking towards an alleyway.

Falcon was slammed into the wall of the building at speed. Dazed, he let go of the 10 millimeter pistol and was dislodged from the Shadow Sweep as he flew through the passage. He tumbled to the sidewalk, a thirty foot fall. He landed hard on his side facing the building and felt a sharp pain run through his body. He had broken several bones from the impact and subsequent fall. 

A thump was audible from behind him as the gryphon ghoul landed.

"Honestly, did you think I would fall for such a pitifully obvious pretense? But if you acted like you were hurt now... it wouldn't be an act... would it?" said the ghoul, who then began laughing cruelly. 


"... Fuck..." Falcon Wing mumbled to himself.
> Chapter Nineteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Nineteen

Suffering is the plight of the body; suffering is the trial of the mind. 



The Shadow Sweep was not going to make this as quick as Falcon Wing thought. 

He was flung across the street into hard walls, already badly bruised. He groaned with each impact, his world spinning, but never did shout or yell. 

It wasn't so much as him being resistant to the pain. In truth, his suffering was great, dull aches and agonizing pangs rippled across his body. He was sure that he had broke two limbs, a foreleg from the fall and a hind leg from when the gryphon picked him off of the ground and slammed him back into the sidewalk. He kept his silence up because of a most juvenile drive: he refused to give the Shadow Sweep the satisfaction. If he was going to die, he was dying being as strong as he possibly could be while being pummeled.  

He did his best not to think about the numerous other bones he must have shattered over the course of this beating. All he knew was that things inside of him were not fitting in the right places and that some things were not meant to bend in the ways they were bending. 

It was getting progressively harder to breathe. He must have broken several ribs and possibly punctured lungs. 

He watched the ghoul casually stroll over to where he lay through his blurring, wobbling vision. He braced himself, retreating to his only sanctuary: his mind. 

"Just a bit longer Falcon Wing... you've hurt this much before... and Patchenfix isn't here to help this time around. You've got to be strong... hold out... and it'll be better soon enough,"

Tears mixed with the blood that stained his face. 

"It'll be over soon."




The Shadow Sweep's blows thudded against Falcon Wing's broken body and though he squirmed, gasped and grunted, there was nary a howl nor cry. 

The gryphon could have cleaved him apart with those talons of his but he did not. There was more to the ghoul's aggression than his actual intent of killing for his black magic. He was dragging out the suffering of the red colt for what he had done, for his role in the death of the unicorn mare.

And while Falcon Wing felt himself being torn asunder underneath the rage of the Shadow Sweep, he could not help thinking about Alana. About the gryphon knowing how she smelled like...how he would be able to track her down across the city just as he found Falcon Wing through scent. 

It made him cringe in disgust. It ignited his anger. It filled him with gut wrenching fear in the midst of soul crushing agony. 

"Alana is with the Baltimare Guard,"

Another internal crack punctuated the breaking of yet another bone... or an already broken bone breaking again.

"She... she's... safe."

Lifted again, those glowing eyes swirling around in his sights. Keeping his eyes open was making him nauseous. He did not resist his stomach as it decided enough was enough and expelled its contents. Falcon Wing had a goofy smile on his face after he had vomited on the gryphon. 

"Now that's one way to say fuck y --" 

He felt the air rush over him and yet another jarring impact. The black ghoul's anger was not going to ebb anytime soon.

"Good," Falcon Wing thought, remembering Alana's words, "lose yourself, Sweepy. Lose yourself to your anger. I hope a wingless, idiot colt pegasus was worth it you fucker!"

For just a few seconds, Falcon Wing's eyesight came back to him. He was being showered in light at the base of a lamp post. The gryphon prowled towards him at the edge of darkness. The sound of static was distant to the red colt. All sounds were distant to him.

All sounds, including the booms and bangs of guns -one of which he recognized as the Peashooter- even as the wingless pegasus was drifting from consciousness, from life itself, to that great unknown that he had feared going to.

Alana and a division of the Baltimare Guard had made it to him in time. 

The Shadow Sweep became a fountain of black sludge, bullets tearing through his body, well placed shots ripping off extremities at their joints. Falcon Wing saw in an almost S.A.T.S-like peace bits and pieces soaring off in arcs -- talons, forearms, a wing and a shin -- before the ghoul's head exploded in a ghastly fashion, ichor spilling out onto the streets.

"Was... it... worth it?" Falcon Wing thought, reaching for a bandolier with his unbroken foreleg. Inside was a small portion of that stock of health potions that he had stored away since the incident in Froggy Bottom Bog.

With his life fleeting, he downed several potions swiftly. They would not be enough to mend his many broken bones. He would still lose consciousness.

But at least they would keep him alive just a bit longer.

Just a bit long enough so he could be saved...




When Falcon woke up again, he was not in the streets. He was in a clean, white room laying on his back on top of a comfortable bed. His body was not pulsating with pain. His vision was not a blurry, nausea inducing mess. From the light streaming in through the window off to his right, it was day time. 

He saw his cloak hung up opposite him on a coat rack. He saw that his vest had been folded up and rested on a metal table just to the side of the rack, his saddlebags resting at its base. Klaxon's pistol was lying on top of the vest.

He looked down at himself and saw he was wrapped up in so much bandages he might as well have been in a full body cast. He had no complaints. He was alive. Alive and hospitalized. 

From the corner of his eyes he saw a flash of caramel fur and violet mane. He turned his head to the side and saw Alana; the mare was seemingly asleep slumped over the side of the bed, resting her head on crossed forelegs. 

"I went over my limit...but I'm still here. I'm still your Falcon Wing," he croaked. His throat was terribly dry and somewhat sore. He almost sounded as bad as the Shadow Sweep. "I'm still alive... and you aren't even awake to hear all of this."

He sighed, turned his sights upwards to gaze upon the ceiling then closed his eyes, thinking it was probably for the best that he slept as well. He needed his rest after that ordeal.

His eyes shot open again when he felt the familiar weight being fitted onto his head. 

He saw Alana step away from him after she placed the Pipeye back on his forehead, her smile bestowed upon a tired face. Her eyes were puffy from crying. He wanted to reach out to her and apologize for everything. 

"Nothing good ever happens when you go off on your own," Alana said flatly, to which Falcon Wing replied: "The Shadow Sweep's gone. I'd think that's good..."

"You let yourself get into some pretty bad shape," she told him. 

"You can say my attempts to speak to Sweepy hit a brick wall," he replied. "hit a brick wall then got trampled by a hydra."

"Well at least you didn't get a concussion this time..." Alana said, sitting on her haunches beside the bed.

"My head got a bit harder," Falcon Wing quipped. He could keep doing this all day if his throat would allow it.

Alana reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a canteen then propped the pegasus' head up, pouring some water into his open mouth. After having him drink for the better half of a minute, Alana put the canteen away. The moisture had been something Falcon Wing was in dire need of.

"Thanks... for that," he said, his voice very much improved.

"They are calling you the Shadow Bane now, Falcon," Alana said, abruptly bringing up the topic. She was speaking in a monotone -- something that worried him greatly. He couldn't tell how she felt about it.

"They?" he inquired. "The news about Sweepy's death spread that quickly?"

"DJ Pon3 got ahoof of the story not too long ago. They don't know it's you, specifically... DJ Pon3 never mentioned a name or how you looked like... quite frankly I'd be more worried about how he would know that... but the ponies in the city are rejoicing about what you did. About some pony who appeared in the city the day before and the day after one of the city's most infamous blights are suddenly dead. The Shadow Bane"

"I got my ass pulverized and I get praised for it... what about those guardsponies? What about you?" Falcon Wing said. 

Alana waved a hoof. "I don't know about the others, but I don't need a nickname like that... and I'm more fond of 'mister hero' than Shadow Bane anyway," she paused then added, "I told Cocoa of our trouble in Dodge... he said he'd get Whiplash to organize something to get us acquitted there."

"Hey, would you look at that. One of our plans worked out as it should... and Sweepy was only one of this city's problems... the job's never finished..." the red colt said, mostly to himself. 

"Did you... get your answers?" the caramel mare inquired.

Falcon Wing was silent, pondering how to respond. 

"No," he replied. Alana did not need to know the reasons behind the Baltimare child killings. She did not need to know there were such foul practices in this world already defined by evil and savagery. "He was too busy trying to murder me to answer any questions from a fool who practically threw their self at him..."

He paused and glanced around the room. 

"Say... what kind of hospital is this anyway? How come I haven't seen the doctor... you weren't the one to fix me up again... right?"

Alana smiled a bit wider, looking a lot more like the mare he knew.

"Steiner!" she called out, and in a flash of crimson light the dark blue unicorn had appeared in the room minus his battle saddle. In its stead was a white coat of a fashion that made Falcon think of Patchenfix --

Steiner's horn was back, a scarlet aura surrounding dark blue.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, looking between Alana and Falcon Wing. 

"You --horn-- teleport-- magic... didn't you once say you're not a healer!?" stammered the red colt. 

"I learned. And it is good to see you too," Steiner replied simply. 

At that moment, the distant sound of pounding hoofsteps grew louder. The door to the room off to Falcon's left flew open and slammed against the wall it was hinged to with a quaking impact. 

"What the FUCK, Steiner!? Could've told me you were gonna poof away before you fucking did it --" Klaxon said, stopping when he saw that Alana and Falcon Wing were looking at him with wide eyes. Steiner regarded him with a level stare. 

"... Oh... hi, kid. Good work you did yesterday... getting yourself all sorts of fucked up..."

"Nice to see you too, Molasses," Falcon Wing replied with a smile. "How did you guys get over here overnight?"

Steiner was going to speak, but Alana was off like a shot."It was amazing Falcon! I was with you right in this room after we picked you up from the street and got you all sorted and stuff! For the first few hours things were looking pretty bad for you but then out of nowhere there was this bright red light!"

"We heard the breaking news report from Pon3," Klaxon said, sitting back on his haunches, "so Steiner and I loaded up a wagon and he did his freaky unicorn magic to teleport ourselves into Baltimare."

"You teleported across half of Equestria!?" Falcon Wing shouted in amazement. 

"Half of Equestria and half of the Celestia-damned city," said the bronze stallion. "Light nearly made me go blind, nearly got the law on our tails too."

Steiner spoke up, "We got to you as fast as we could from there. You were being stabilized by medics and meds but I knew I could do more for you than they ever could." 

"That's a bit... assured of yourself don't you think?" Falcon Wing replied.

"I had teleported myself, a friend and a wagon of supplies across Equestria not even an hour before that. I did not act in arrogance. I acted on the basis of my ability," Steiner retorted. "I just happen to be very... able"

"Called it," Falcon Wing said simply.

"And he means it when he said he did more for you than they ever could, kid," Klaxon said, gesturing to where the young colt would have had his wings...

Falcon Wing's eyes lit up.

> Chapter Twenty
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty

And with every conquered trial, there is triumph.


Klaxon pulled the wagon across the smooth brick road with the three other ponies riding in it. There were several other carts rolling down the Baltimare streets, all of them much more decorated and eye pleasing than the semi-rusted carriage that Klaxon dragged behind him without care.

The wagon was rectangular with raised edges to prevent things from falling over the edge and a semicircular black awning at the rear end. Under the shade it provided, Falcon Wing and Alana sat side by side.

His bandages had been removed not too long ago so he was back in his usual garb, black armored vest, bandoliers running across his chest and side, saddlebags and his overcoat, complete with the brass goggles resting above his eyes.

Steiner looked at him curiously. The dark blue unicorn was resting on a fairly large crate. One of several crates that were loaded onto the wagon. Crates that contained medicinal supplies and other...not so medically inclined ones. Parts, metal for the purpose of magical transmutation and arcane-technology. DJ Pon3 had reported that the red colt was in critical condition, so his friends brought with them everything they could for any foreseen contingency...and some not so expected.

"Are you not going to try them out?" Steiner asked. 

Falcon had a nervous look on his face. "... It's been so long..." he said timidly. 

Alana wrapped her forelegs around him and hugged him tightly, catching him off guard while doing so. His eyes bulged and when she let him go he was gasping for breath. 

"Is... that... any way... to treat somepony... fresh out of the hospital?" he panted, the smile on his face showing that he said it only in jest. 

"I needed to squeeze the scaredy colt out of the stallion you, Falcon!" she replied with a grin.

"I think you squeezed more than that, actually," Falcon Wing said offhoofedly, flexing his body, his cracking joints sounding off one by one. He then asked Steiner "Do you really think I'm ready?"

"You're a pegasus. I would think you were born ready," Steiner said plainly. 

"It doesn't work like that. You know it doesn't work like that!" Falcon Wing said hotly. He was never the most physically adept pony and it was only in the Wasteland did he develop his speed and agility -- long after he had lost his wings.

"Being in the sky is in your nature. Your kind are the only ponies able to walk on the clouds... to manipulate the weather itself should you be so inclined, such as the times of old," Steiner said matter of factly. 

"But I haven't been in the sky in... months! I've been striving to be an earth pony during all that time... is it really possible to go back?" Falcon Wing asked, looking very uneasy as he contemplated it.

"I don't think it's possible for an earth pony to be as light on their hooves as you," Alana chimed in. "During my time with you, I've seen you do amazing things. Jumping from wall to wall, landing silently with poise that any other pony could only dream of..."

"You may ground a pegasus, but you can never truly clip their wings," Steiner said.

Falcon Wing edged his way out from under the awning. He looked to that everlasting expanse of blue. Blue that was once covered in gray, the sun's rays reaching down from its place in the heavens.

"Do... you think I'm able?" 

Steiner bowed his head. "That is a question you should ask yourself... and answer by yourself" 

Falcon Wing looked to Alana. 

"You've done other things I wouldn't have expected you to do. Some of those things... they weren't exactly smart... but you've done other things of merit!" she assured him in her strange way.

He looked down to his hooves and thought. It was ultimately up to him to decide what he wanted. Did he want to be an earth pony? Or did he want to be a pegasus?

A better pegasus than the one he used to be?

"Be a better pony."


He knew what he wanted.


He stepped out from the awning in full, a determined look on his face, his eyes to the sky and his orange eyes burning with anticipation. He spread them...

His cloak was thrown up from his back, billowing outwards to his flanks, the coat now looking like a glider as it rested over black metal that extended out from either side of him. 

His augmentations were blade-shaped wings connecting to a metal base where his wing stubs would have been. The leading edge of the wings were yellow in color while the rest of them were stark obsidian. An aura of crimson rippled across the cybernetic wings as if they were burning.

The last red phoenix in Equestria. 

The product of Klaxon's talent for building and Steiner's nigh-legendary magical potential.

The red colt reared up, pulled his goggles down and kicked off from the wagon, shooting off into the air, streamlining his body, his coat and tail trailing after him, rippling in the flowing air. His wings left trails of red behind him.

"There he is!" voices called out from below. "The Shadow Bane!"

"Who is he!?"

"What is he!?" 

Falcon Wing ignored them as he climbed higher into the air, leaving the towering skyline of Baltimare behind and seeing the rest of Equestria stretch out from underneath him. 

He was faster than he ever imagined himself to be, cutting across the skies, banking and corkscrewing effortlessly, invigorated by flight in a way only a pegasus could understand. 





He had read about the Ministry Mare Rainbow Dash; the marvelous flyer of Old Equestria. The feats of skill and raw talent she accomplished during her time were still mostly unchallenged some 200 years later. She was what was considered to be the pinnacle of pegasus perfection. It was she was vilified so thoroughly when she went against the will of her fellow sky-ponies.

It was why even after the fact, the Enclave kept meticulous records of her exploits.

Falcon Wing had been nothing like her...but now he never felt closer to the pony of legend and rumor; lies and propaganda. He flew in the same skies she did. He knew what it was like to be at odds with the rest of his own kind. 

And he recognized the true joy that came with flight.

He passed over the sun, becoming a silhouetted figure in the sky, just as Luna had appeared to him atop of City Hall and then dived, his metal wings folding to his side. In seconds he had passed the rooftops of Baltimare, where he spread his wings again and skimmed over the heads of pedestrians, blowing a few hats off of heads in his passing. 

He passed over the wagon, stowed his black wings against his body and dropped down in front of Steiner in kneel, his cloak falling to rest over him as it always had. 

"You truly deserve your namesake, Falcon Wing," Steiner said. The red pony brimmed with pride. Alana rushed up from behind and held him in a tight embrace. He smiled broadly. 

"And to think," Klaxon said after his span of silence. "This all started when we found you crying in a dumpster!"





Fallout Equestria: Brighter Futures
> Story Three: Lifted Hearts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter One

Time does wonders to the broken and battered. 

He was young, but not too young. Though he was still young enough to be called one, he wasn't much of a colt anymore. Those few months he spent surrounded by harshness and adversity had done much to catapult him into maturity. He stood at the balcony of his home in Ponyville -which retained its name when the pony population was negligible compared to the Hellhounds. There he looked out at the restored town that had risen out of the ashes of destruction, leveled cottages such as the one he now lived in looking as good as new, homes for Hellhound families while larger buildings became places of work and commerce. Almost as if things were returning to normal, to better times that were centuries ago. 


His head rested on his forelegs, which in turn rested on the railing of the balcony, hooves hanging over the edge. He felt the cool morning breeze blow through his cloak and into his red pelt and saw the leaves quiver with it. He still remembered when the trees in Equestria were dried, shriveled twigs, blackened limbs reaching up to obscured skies. Those times made him appreciate these new days that much more. 


After his parents died...or rather, were killed; his life had become melancholy and as gray as the clouds that sprawled across the land. Each day and misfortune blended together. Each injury and doctor visit. Each awkward talk with Flint and Erasure. Every hour spent reading through the archives about a time when pegasi were not confined to the Enclave bastions. Every centuries old story he read to escape his reality. So it would remain until he was thrust into the realm of the damned...where he found peers and joy. 


He suffered. He shed many tears. Bled from many wounds. And he would not change that even if he were given the choice to do so by Celestia herself. To do so would be to take any meaning out of his life, for it was only with the pain and suffering did he develop his resolve. It was what brought him, Klaxon, Steiner and Alana together. They all went through the fires and came out bettered by it, though the burns had yet to truly fade.


But that was an issue of time. For now, the good in life would be Falcon Wing's consolation. He watched the shapes of Hellhounds in the distance making their way through the streets of town, basking in the warmth of the golden sun, Pipeye resting on his forehead as it always had before. His hood was draped over his shoulders so that his mane could catch the soothing, somewhat crisp air. The peace, the serenity. It made him so happy. After all he had gone through, he had all he could ask for: a place to live, friendly faces and a world so bright and promising -as long as he did not consider the potential for cruelty it still had. The late Shadow Sweep was a testament to the dangers of Equestria even after the clouds parted and the land purged of its poison. 


But to linger on such things would surely drive him mad. The horrors of the past would be locked away in the annals of time so long as ponies strived to be decent, to live lives where goodness rewarded good and conflicts were resolved peacefully. Of course, such an age was was still far into the future, where the Wasteland generation would be no more; the generation which became used to murder and pillaging as a means of survival from day to day, the generation that dealt with raiders and other savages who would rather tear the world apart and toss the pieces into a sea of despair than lift it from the pit of annihilation.  


In these happy days, the goal of making an even brighter future was what drove Falcon Wing. It was why he woke up in the early morning to see the first rays of sun reach up over the horizon. It was why he watched the first of the Hellhounds leave their homes to wake the town up, enjoying every cool breeze and golden warmth. It was what gave him hope that one day ponies would look back upon the blood soaked history of Equestria, praise its heroes, weep for the innocence lost and press on, vowing never to make the same mistakes again. 


He heard the door leading out to the balcony open and the hoofsteps as the caramel mare trotted across the wooden floor and rested her forelegs over the railing. She stood beside him for some time, sharing the silence until she couldn't bear to do so any longer. 

"Any other pegasus I've known would be up in the air already," said Alana, green eyes turned up to the skies above, "and since you can fly again, I thought you of any pegasus would be inclined to fly at any chance you got!"

"Leave? Without saying anything to you?" Falcon Wing scoffed, lifted his chin from his forelegs and waved a hoof. "Flying can wait. Good morning by the way."

She playfully tapped his shoulder. "So why were you so quiet up to now?"

"I was just thinking of a few things that make me happy. Standing out here... completely at peace with you by my side. I guess I wanted it to cherish the moment," Falcon Wing replied. 

"How cute!" Alana teased. 

Falcon Wing shrugged it off and replied "When you've been as close to death I have, things like this become a big deal! Like, to you going to bed may just be going to bed, but to me it's laying with one of the most awesome mares in Equestria with the hope that by some good grace I'll see her again in the morning!" 

Alana looked to him and cocked her head. "That so?" she asked simply. Falcon nodded. "Because going to bed for me means laying with one of the most courageous little stallions out in Equestria with the hope that he will still be there when I wake up and not off on some mission of good will!" she retorted, playfully scuffing his shoulder again. "Instead he's out on the balcony staring into town, lost in his thoughts."

"And I enjoy every moment of it!" said the red pegasus, before gritting his teeth and muttering "I'm not little...!" 
> Chapter Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Two

And so, time marches on.

Alana rummaged through the beige colored block of a fridge, gathering various vegetables and fruits that were recently bought to prepare her and Falcon's morning meal. 

"Where would I be today if I hadn't met these ponies?"

Falcon Wing mulled it over as he sat at the kitchen table listening to his Pipeye's radio; which was an actual table rather than scrap tossed together to resemble one. It was made of sturdy wood and was given a shining golden polish to match the restored floors and hallways of what used to be the old hideaway. The house had been fully furnished after the dealings in Baltimare -another little surprise the two stallions had in store for the formerly-wingless pegasus, granted it took a bit longer to come to fruition than the cybernetic wings. This was because Steiner had exhausted himself that night, working tirelessly to bring the colt from the brink of his demise with great magical prowess in addition to installing Klaxon's hoofwork. Steiner did well to carry on despite his drained state that morning, but it became apparent how exerted he was when he could not handle the task of teleporting back to Ponyville, much less the Hope compound. The fact he was still able to teleport into the room Falcon was lying in when Alana called for him however said something about his capacity for power...


The red pegasus spent that wagon ride getting reacquainted with the sky. How he had forgotten! There was a bliss to being able to leave the land at any moment he wished, looking down at the world which stretched out beneath his suspended hooves. The image of the wagon canting from side to side over worn roads was fresh and vivid in his memory, as was that strange feeling of weightlessness. He did not need to beat his wings to stay aloft though he felt himself compelled to do so from force of habit. He only needed to spread his wings and like magic -because that was exactly the cause- the red glow to match Steiner's magical field would manifest itself around them. From there, it was all a matter of thought as opposed to athletic potential. It took some getting used to for the notion was entirely counter intuitive to a pegasus. "What good is wing power if I don't need to flap?" Falcon Wing recalled asking the blue stallion over the course of the journey


Nevertheless, Falcon Wing found it quite amazing that Klaxon was able to demonstrate his innate ingenuity; from a rag-tag hash-mash of scrap and radio parts to fully functioning arcane-tech wings. The two ponies could have been legendary if times were different! Steiner could have been a fabled practitioner of magic like the ancient Starswirl the Bearded while Klaxon could have outdone any pony of the Ministry of Wartime Technology had he been alive 200 years ago. Ponies whose lives had lost direction early in their youth...whose gifts were reserved for themselves up until recently... Falcon Wing hadn't become a hero in the way he intended but he was able to revive something that was dead in the two stallions. Hope for a brighter future after the darkness that passed.


"Be a better pony."


"Aaaand...DJ Pon3 here! With me over broadcaster is that crazy blue juggernaut himself! The pony that helped rebuild Ponyville! The Crimson Explosion as everypony's callin' him now! Steiner! How's it goin', can I call you Stinger?" 

"I would prefer if you did not," the stallion replied, his calm and level tone a distinct contrast to the lively DJ. 

"Haha! Right then. I have my reports laid out in front o' me and boy oh boy are they amazin'! Ponies from your home in Hope and ponies in Baltimare all say the same thing: that you and your partner in crime just bolted across Equestria t' help that craaaazy son of a bitch Shadow Bane!" 

"You can say that my partner in crime and myself have grown rather fond of our little companion," Steiner replied.


Falcon rolled his eyes. "You did that on purpose didn't you?" he thought. 


"Well needless t' say ya got ponies talkin', Stinger! Talkin'! Everypony  wants to know more about you!" said the DJ, to which Steiner replied: "Steiner. And what, exactly, do they wish to know?"

"Well, what has a pony like you been doin' all this time to  go unnoticed by the rest o' us common pony folk?"

"You can say I've been living life in the underground of sorts. Magic had not been a priority nor a heavy asset to me until recently. Just know that I lived just like any other pony did in the before times. I did have the fortune to have Klaxon, 'partner in crime' with me, for all the good and bad it has been worth."

"Magic wasn't a 'priority nor asset'? Waddaya mean!? Did you just decide one day that you were gonna help lift tons of rubble and teleport across the country!? We coulda used a hoof like yours when things were bad!"

Steiner was quiet for a short moment before he responded; "There are matters of my life that I would rather leave in the keep of those who happen to know about them, with the trust that they will remain as silent about my being now as they have been for many years. With that said, I will admit that for the longest time indifference to the suffering of Equestria had been my vice, for after my own misfortunes I had no care or motive to fight for anything worthwhile. I will admit that I had become cynical and aloof, tactical and unfeeling because of my personal stance that life had wronged me and robbed ponies of similar plights of their happiness. I know now that I was foolish and unforgivably selfish for holding those beliefs."


Falcon Wing was snapped out of his trance at the sound of his bowl being set down on the table. It was filled to the brim with diced apples and oranges with a bit of lettuce adding green to the red and yellow. Alana then took her seat at the other side of the table, listening to the interview intently while she ate. The red pegasus dared not touch his food until he had heard all there was to hear. This would be the first time he actually heard a full DJ Pon3 segment, and it would be the one his friend was apart of. 


"The pony you know as the Shadow Bane has led a difficult life just as the rest of us. Perhaps more so, but the specifics of which I am not inclined to share just as I will not share the specifics of my personal experiences. Just know that in spite of it he went off into the Wastes, ignoring every argument against in the hopes of doing good for the ponies of Equestria. He had endured so much yet still was not broken by it. It was that pony that made me realize there was still more to be done, that indifference was not the way of progress. So while I am no hero, while I cannot reclaim the time I spent standing by... I can attempt to make up for it. I can only try to be a better pony. Now, is there anything else you would like to know, DJ Pon3?"

"... We're just about out of time but I guess I can ask ya one more question if it won't have you go off on another speech! Is Steiner your real name?"

"As far as you are concerned, yes. It is." 

"There you have it, children! Steiner, the Crimson Explosion! Nice speakin' with you and good luck on your 'bein' a better pony' thing!"

"Best of luck to you as well, DJ Pon3."

"Thanks for listenin', chiiiildren!" 


Falcon Wing shut off his radio. "Well... that was... something,"  he said. 

Alana finished chewing her salad and inquired "Do you still mind when I call you mister hero?"

"A little. Though with ponies calling me Shadow Bane now, what's the harm in it?" the red pony replied. 

"So do you know why I call you mister hero, Falcon?" she asked.

"Because I saved your life?" he responded.

"No, silly. Because you are an inspiration to other ponies! You and the ponies like you. Even if you don't realize it yourself."

Falcon thought that over a bit, then smiled. Not everyone was a hero and not every hero was a Stable Dweller. That did not mean everyone couldn't be a hero in their own way. Same was boring, and uniqueness was the spice of life, after all...

"Thanks for breakfast," Falcon said to Alana before burying his snout into the bowl, enjoying the crunch of apples, the sweet nectar of the oranges and the subdued flavor of the lettuce.
> Chapter Three
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Three

Fate rarely works in the manner of one's choosing.


The last time Falcon Wing walked down this road, he was accompanied by the two stallions and they were departing the then-flattened Ponyville ruins. Now he trotted with Alana, the two looking as they always have: Falcon in his vest and cloak and Alana wearing her gray barding. The town, renewed, grew smaller behind them and the worn, cracked road extended far ahead over rises and dips in the land. The debris of overturned carriages and wagons had been cleared from the stretch of asphalt, gathered up as scrap and other resources. Weeds poked up through the cracks and grew up the rusted, misshapen rails on either side of the road. The decaying metal shells had been replaced with actual life, however small it was. The land that was once dead and barren now made its mark on the creations of ponies. Trees on the roadside cast long shadows across the asphalt way under the risen sun.


By time they got to that beat up green sign at the edge of Hope, the sun was high in the sky, just before the midday position. From there, the two ponies made their way to the lone grave marker, where Falcon watched Alana sit in silence with her eyes closed from a short distance away. He scuffed at the ground uncomfortably all the while; he did not like seeing her like that as much as he did not like seeing her angry. But how could he ask Alana not to visit her mother's grave? Wasn't dealing with the unpleasantness of life as opposed to avoiding it a testament to somepony's character and strength? That did little to make the silence any less disconcerting though. It was all too easy to forget that a pony as cheery as Alana could carry the burden of grief. 


Falcon opened his mouth to say something but decided against it, frowning. He wanted to ask a question, one about them and what they were to each other. He knew they were more than just friends...but they weren't exactly lovers. They shared the same bed but the most they had ever done was...hug each other. That -and waking up in the most peculiar arrangements that boggled the young stallion's mind as to how his and her body did not ache considerably by the time they woke. He found it odd how he developed these feelings for a mare he knew next to nothing about and felt no urge to change that, more than happy to have her presence around him. He had a less than stellar record all his own without asking Alana about her past...and he had more than enough reason to suspect life had not treated the caramel mare well. Misery loves company as he once mused. 


This was not the place to inquire about the subject however, and it certainly was not the right time. He pushed those comparatively trivial concerns away and went back to studying her from his spot a few yards away at a shallow angle off to her left. Her posture was slumped over the grassy mound and she shook with silent tears. Reflexively, the red pony closed the distance between them with a haste and put his forelegs around her as she had done for him when he started crying. It took a lot to keep himself from crying with her. Again, he opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind before anything was uttered. He wanted to comfort her and offer some words to ease the pain but had nothing to say to that end. Falcon Wing -he whose life was defined by  fate's cruel callousness- had nothing to help another deal with their own sorrow! It actually made his blood boil how useless he was right then as he remembered the day Fogchaser died, how he wished he had known something more than applying bandages and drinking potions.  


His hold on Alana tightened. His eyes were clenched shut. His pelt warmed with his inner fire, which flared with all of its scalding fury directed towards himself. How he wished to shun her teardrops and pain! How he wanted to do for her what she had done for him many times before! His orange eyes opened when he felt her snout against his cheek. 

"Thanks, Falcon," she said, and he noticed that she was not trembling anymore. Trails lined her own cheeks and her eyes glistened wetly, but there was a small smile on her face. 

"Don't mention it," the red pegasus replied with a smile of his own, his frustration melting away instantly upon hearing her voice. And all of a sudden it did not matter that he did not quite know what he was to the mare with the caramel coat and purple mane. He knew he held her dearly in his heart and she did the same for him. Everything else beyond that was not important.


Hope was still a city of austere gray ruins and wreck-strewn streets, but it was far less depressing underneath a blue sky. Falcon and Alana traversed the cracked and desolate cityscape to where Steiner and Klaxon had taken up residence...well seemingly desolate cityscape. It appeared he compound had gotten a lot bigger -so much so that it wasn't much of a compound anymore. It was a citadel. The walls were expertly constructed from sheet metal, the sheer uniformity of them on such a large scale making it clear that unicorn magic was employed. They were taller than surrounding buildings and spanned entire streets. 

"So... you think Steiner did all of this himself?" Falcon Wing joked to which Alana answered: "Knowing him... it's a strong possibility, really."

They walked up to what had become of the compound gate: an imposing bulwark of an entrance that was made from large transportation wagons fused together. Standing lookout at the top of the gate behind a row of thick metal crenelations was a dark green earth pony with a blue mane and a particularly familiar sniper battle saddle: Alana's. The pony was one of the twelve that fought the Enclave fragmented forces in Hope. Upon seeing the two ponies approaching, the stallion gestured for the gate to be opened. With a metallic groan and rattling chains, the mass of wagons was hoisted up to allow passage.

Inside its walls were crowds of caravan ponies, their clothing vastly different in between groups. There were ponies that wore nothing but hats, ponies in light attire that implied they were from more arid regions in Equestria and ponies who had thick overcoats which they had hanging off the sides of their pack Brahmin. Those ponies especially did not seem like local folk. They looked as if they belonged in the arctic; their fur was long and fluffy! 

They all mingled about in what was presumably a town square of sorts. There were many other ponies who were not affiliated with the caravans wandering the streets, be them traveler or resident of the Hope citadel. 


Alana took in the sights with wide green eyes. "Uh... wow. This... is a lot different than I remember..." she said, somewhat overwhelmed with how complete the change was. Not only was the settlement larger, but just like Ponyville the buildings had been rebuilt and restored. 

"Steiner and Klaxon. It's what they do..." Falcon Wing replied. He was also impressed with the change. "Speaking of which, we should ask around for where they are holding up nowadays. I have a feeling we'll be doing a lot of searching if we don't..."

"Hey, Sea Breeze!" she shouted up to the sentry. "Can you point us in the direction of Steiner and Klaxon? We'd  like to stop by for a visit!" 

"They're back at their old place!" was all Sea Breeze had to say, the stallion breaking his vigil for only so long before he was back scouring the area beyond the wall. It was also all he had to say, for Alana thanked him then started heading into the settlement, flicking her tail in a gesture for Falcon Wing to follow.
 
> Chapter Four
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Four


The greatest deeds and merits are nullified if one loses the virtue of humility. 


There were a lot more ponies in Hope than Falcon Wing remembered. He followed Alana through the streets, watching as ponies went about cleaning walls that were covered in graffiti and taking down defiled ministry posters. The ponies he and Alana rescued -- the majority of Hope at the time -- all fit in a cage. Now? It was a bustling place, a place more deserving of the name Ponyville than the Hellhound sanctuary. Earth ponies, unicorns and pegasi all in one place, working together; to Falcon Wing it was like seeing all he read in the archives and books come to life. 


While ponies were cleaning, others were busy creating. The red pegasus saw a trio of unicorns scampering about the place, a little younger than himself. Their cutie marks were all art related in some way. "Here! Here!" he would hear one of them call out, a colt of a light blue coloration and the others with him would rush over to his side to stare intensely at a wall. Then the magenta filly in the group would pull out a large rolled up canvas from her saddlebag and spread it out on the wall. In unison, they would barrage the sheet with their magic, bringing out vibrant colors and uplifting images to offset the lackluster palette of the city.  Art groups like the fillies had their unique impact on the citadel. Store buildings all had their signs redone, most of them colorful and all around silly looking. But as if he needed a reminder that not all was sunshine and rainbows, Falcon Wing saw ponies in reinforced barding patrolling the streets or standing guard at street corners, their battle saddles ranging from various models of high powered rifles, automatic ones and shotguns. For good measure, each of them was equipped with pistol sidearms. 


When Sea Breeze said 'back at their old place', he meant it as such. Evidently, Alana knew this. She led Falcon to a large vacant lot that was isolated from the busier areas of Hope. It had a carpet of grass spread across it. It would not have been so those years ago. Those years ago, it would have been the flat of dirt and mud with scrap-shacks erected in various positions, littered with trash and rubble. Those years ago it would have been the place where the young Klaxon and Steiner lived... and where their lives were shattered. Falcon knew their story so his first thought was "Why the hell would they come back here of all places!?" He answered his own question with a question. "Wasn't dealing with the unpleasantness of life as opposed to avoiding it a testament to somepony's character and strength?"
At the opposite side of the field stood a lone building. A house, one that wasn't a construction of concrete and stone. A lone, wooden house, dwarfed by the ruins that stood spaced out around it. It was rectangular in shape with the roof being half flat on the left side and raised into a sharp triangle on the right. There was another building off to its left, something that looked like a small barn, but it was built out from the wall of the house, connecting the two. 


Falcon Wing knew they were at the right place; the house had a distinct look to it: the same look as the hideaway in Ponyville. It made sense that the stallions would have sought out something similar to their old home when they left Hope. With their return, they seemed to have given the place of their youth the same restorative treatment, cleaning up the yard in front of their home and repairing the building itself. It was not the first place that came to Falcon's mind when he thought about ponies who were growing in fame and prominence... but the two would never forget their roots it seemed. The young stallion and mare walked across the field and up the small stairs leading up to a porch. Underneath an overhang was the door to the house. Falcon Wing raised a hoof to knock on the door, but then stopped midway as a thought occurred to him. 

"What's wrong?" Alana asked, raising a brow. 

"Nothing... well... it's silly... but you know about the business with the basement in Ponyville. Something just tells me Steiner and Klaxon would not be the type to spring for the front door..." Falcon Wing replied, looking over to his left at the other structure. 

Alana hummed thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it... I don't suppose they'd pass up an opportunity to take advantage of the metro tunnels. They'd be able to travel all across Hope if they found their way into those tunnels." 

"Brilliant," Falcon Wing replied, "because teleportation takes too much effort!" he added jokingly, nudging Alana in the side. The mare returned to gesture and ended up knocking the air from his lungs. 

"Sorry!" she said, draping a foreleg over the young stallion when he started to stagger.

"No harm... done. I've been through worse... as you know," said Falcon Wing with a weak smile. He then asked "Want to go check that out?" as he motioned towards the extension to the house. "If they're home... and not underground, I'd figure they'd be in there doing whatever it is they do in there."

They got off of the porch and walked around to the "barn" where the sounds of activity were unmistakable. Falcon Wing shot Alana a short glance then edged up to the door, knocking against it. The door then glowed red and slid to the side. What the two visitors saw amazed them. 

"Ah, Falcon Wing, Alana, good to see you both," Steiner greeted them, floating large spans of metal above him. Klaxon poked his head out from underneath another one of his contraptions, this one being particularly large. It was the wagon he pulled from Baltimare... but he had changed it drastically. He was covered in filth. "Well take a look at that. You two here because you caught Steiner on DJ Pon3 earlier?" the bronze stallion asked. 

"Mm hmm!" Alana chimed. "I think you left an impression on him!"  

Steiner bowed his head to her. "And everyone listening, I would hope. Rebuilding Equestria is a nationwide effort. We need willing hooves at work to accomplish that goal," he said before looking over to the contraption at the center of the large workspace. 


The building was far from a barn. It was a blend between a warehouse with all the shelves lining the walls and a wagon garage...but what laid there was no wagon. It wasn't one anymore. For one, there was no place front or back for a pony to pull the assembly of metal. Secondly, the circumference of its wheels were fitted with rubber for some reason; rubber with large ridges and indentations. 


"What kind of wagon is that?" Falcon Wing inquired 

"One that pulls itself, boy!" Klaxon replied before disappearing underneath it again. Steiner positioned the bits of metal he had suspended over the frame of the wagon, telekinetically bending them into shape and then fusing them into place. Magical sparks leaped from the construction. 

"Pulls itself? How?" the young stallion went on to ask, intrigued. He sat down and watched the two ponies tend to their project. Alana joined him in listening to the explanation. 

"Energy expenditure dampening assembly," Steiner replied simply. Klaxon poked his head out from underneath the chassis and simplified: "Pedal power! Found some old pre-war arcane-tech that works on the same principle."  

"Pedals?" Alana responded. 

"Found?" Falcon Wing said flatly. 

"And chains, gears and magic," Klaxon said to Alana. 

"Something we... acquired around the New Pegas area," Steiner answered Falcon Wing. 

"Where did you get the right chains and gears from?" was the caramel mare's next inquiry. Falcon stared at the two stallions blankly. 

"You guys went to New Pegas?" 

"Not directly there, no, but near enough," Klaxon replied, "found us some kinda... propeller-bike thing. Must've been a flying machine 200 years ago but when we found it the blades were all messed up and shit..."

"So we decided to keep it as salvage until we found a use for its other parts," Steiner added, "and that time came just a few days ago when the ponies from far north started making their way to Hope to start a trade route. After some tales of... interest, Klaxon and I decided to mount a bit of an expedition to the land of ice and snow..." he paused and thought for a short while. 

"Would you mind if we brought them along, Klaxon?" the blue unicorn asked his comrade. 

"I don't see why not. What do you two say?" said the bronze earth pony.

"Well that depends... what is it that you two are after...?" Falcon Wing asked.

It looked like the beginning of another adventure for him and his friends. 
> Chapter Five
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Five


Nothing ventured; nothing gained. 


Falcon Wing and Alana walked away from the ponies with long fur, the two of them each having a thick, burly coat draped over their backs. "Leave it Steiner to plan ahead in getting more coats delivered," commented Falcon Wing as they walked back the long way to the two stallions' homes. In his and her saddlebags -- supplied by Klaxon -- were an assortment of gathered necessities for the trip to the frozen north. 

"Almost as if he expected us to tag along," the red pegasus added.

"Almost as if he expected us to drop by for a visit after hearing him on the radio. Maybe that's the only reason he agreed to be on DJ Pon3 in the first place," Alana replied offhoofedly, moving alongside Falcon Wing with a swaying stride, eyes pointed to the sky in a ditzy kind of way. 

Falcon Wing looked at her, raising a brow as he went over her words again. "... That... makes sense. Goody. I see Steiner hasn't lost his touch." 

"Almost as if he expected you not to miss it this time," Alana continued to say.

"Geez, stop it will you? You're starting to freak me out a bit. First he teleports to Baltimare then he develops precognition? Steiner sounds more like a myth than anything else by now, Alana. Like Bighoof and Sea Ponies," Falcon Wing said, feigning a frightful shudder afterwards.

Alana turned her emerald sights towards him and with a bright smile said "Sea Ponies aren't a myth, silly!" 

Falcon Wing gave her an odd look but left that subject alone. He loved her and her bubbly disposition, but there was no denying it. The mare was weird. In her own charming way though.



When they got back to the garage, a lot of progress had been made on the pony-less carriage operated by ponies. Falcon Wing opened the large door for his lady friend and stepped inside after she had entered. He laid eyes on Klaxon inside the wagon, which had been partially gutted at the front leaving a hollow metal frame. It was there the peddle assembly had been set up, the large chain linked up to a large gear housing which in turn supplied power to an axle equally impressive in size; which ran underneath the wagon to the rear wheels. There was brown wooden paneling and black metal braces installed there as well, which stored spell matrix terminals at the front of the vehicle. Over this was a driver's cabin, a boxy looking frame of metal with a rounded off top, a screen of repurposed glass running across the front. There was a door to Klaxon's left and another door off to his far right. Providing steering were handlebars. 


Klaxon was testing the steering assembly, his underbelly resting on the elongated pony seat of the recycled pink flying contraption, forelegs positioned comfortably on the handlebars while his rear hooves were on the pedals. Beside him on a cushioned seat was Steiner. Klaxon twisted the steering column left and right, the front wheels turning by means of sliders and unpowered pistons perfectly according to the designs he had laid out. 

"Okay then, time to see how the wheels handle. Steiner, I need you to give us a lift," said the bronze pony, to which the blue one replied, "Telekinesis is hardly my specialty... for something this big, my hold may last just under a minute. Perhaps a little longer."

"Because you went your entire life out of practice! Better late than never, now lift!" Klaxon retorted. Without a point to counter with, Steiner nodded and his horn began to glimmer, then glow bright red. The magical field enveloped the whole contraption, lifting it just a little under a foot off the ground. Klaxon peddled lazily, the four wheels turning in unison at a speed that would outpace a pony at a fast trotting pace and continued like this until Steiner set the machine down gently on the floor. The bronze earth pony yanked on the chord hanging a few feet over his head, a subdued metallic squeal being the sound of the brakes.


Klaxon for one looked quite satisfied with himself. He opened the door on his side of the carriage and hopped out of the driver's seat, his hooves clopping against the floor. Steiner's exit was much more graceful, a gentle leap and a soft landing. "How did he caravan ponies treat you?" Klaxon asked.

"They were expecting us," Alana replied, her tone becoming a sing-song when she said expecting. 

"They gave us no hassle," Falcon added, playfully nudging Alana in the side and wary of her retaliation that never came. 

"Excellent. Then my arrangements were all in order and everything is going according to schedule," Steiner said, as if he was reporting something. Of course he was -- he was Steiner.

"Not bad for two days of work, huh friend?" Klaxon said, looking back at his rusty, modified wagon with a strange kind of pride. There was a light air around him as Falcon noted. An air of happiness, actual happiness opposed to the stallion's previous pretenses and utterly biting humor. It was as if he were a completely different pony!

"It needs a lot of work but... yes. I am quite satisfied with the turnout. It should handle the tundra terrain nicely," Steiner agreed with a nod. 


In response, Alana slid the white fluffy coat off of her back and removed her packed saddlebags, slipping into the coat thereafter. A small portion of her face poked through a snugly fitting hood that had stringy white furs dangling in front of her eyes. The coat extended far back over her body, stopping just over her upper thighs. 

"Cozy!" she chimed. 

"You look good in that. Like one of those things ponies use to eat back in the day... marshmallows I think they were called," Falcon Wing said, getting a broad smile from the caramel mare. 

"You next!" she said while bouncing on her hooves.

Falcon shook his head, "Fine, fine. Just don't melt while you're wearing that, I'm a bit fond of you being... not a puddle,"  he said as he proceeded to put the coat on, finding that he needed to take his cloak off in order to fit into it comfortably. Like Alana's his was very form fitting, barely leaving enough space in the hood for his Pipeye. 

"You two look like you want to tackle the ice!" Klaxon said. "Which is good because we probably will be..."

"I assure you it will be worth it. Starswirl the Bearded's original records and tomes... first edition... ancient knowledge. If they are truly out there, it would be a major step in reclaiming the Equestria our ancestors knew..." said Steiner. 
> Chapter Six
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Six


Every search has a beginning, but not all end.


Crates. A lot of them, all loaded onto the converted wagon, each one filled with provisions for the journey ahead; saddlebags chock full of supplies.They were lined up into neat, organized sections with food, clothing and the likes all separated into their designated section of the wagon. Underneath the awning at the back of the wagon, Alana and Falcon Wing laid as they did when departing Baltimare. Steiner and Klaxon sat up front, going over the last few details of their creation. They had their coats on, so Falcon Wing started chuckling when Klaxon turned his head to look out of the open rear of the cabin and shouted over the containers: "Brace yourselves! It might be a bit rough!" His face was barely visible but his voice wasn't hindered in any way. 

Spilling out of the openings in the cabin, red light danced around the garage, reflecting off of the shelves of scrap parts and arrangements of tools. Bolts of energy shot out of them, electrifying the air like a Novasurge rifle's shot. The magical power continued to gather quickly, swirling around the wagon until an almost solid scarlet bubble formed around it. Metal clattered on the shelves, jumping from the massive gathering of raw magical power. 


"And you said telekinesis was tough for you!?" Alana called out, Falcon Wing in her hooves; the red pegasus burying his face into her coat as he held onto her tightly. There was no reply. Steiner was locked in his focus, tapping into his incredible reserve of magical power. He was no scholar nor expert spell caster, but his latent magical potential was astoundingly high. The energy continued to coalesce, the bolts of electricity running across the chaotic edge of the bubble until everything became a flash of white. A musical sounding chime seemed so far off in the distance.


An abrupt coldness swept over the ponies. Falcon Wing raised his head to the see the last of the dark blue unicorn's magic fade away, crimson ripples, sparks and bolts dissipating into thin air. Thin, frigid air. Spanning out for miles around them was white underneath that steely blue sky with nary a cloud in sight. Snow; actual snow and ice. Things the pegasi would have made fall over Equestria when they controlled the winter weather. Things that have not been seen by the average pony for over two centuries. 


Gigantic rocky spires were blue off in the distance, their peaks obscured by a fog that hung along their snowy caps. Mesas and and columns towered over the landscape all around the ponies, with gigantic glistening icicles hanging off of their edges. An occasional breeze blew powder across the frosty flat land, the sun's light twinkling off of the flakes. It made Falcon Wing's mouth hang agape. The air felt crisp on his tongue. 


"So that's what teleportation is like!" said Alana to the two stallions, simultaneously stroking the back of Falcon's head for the young pegasus pony was still awestruck and holding onto her. 

"Yep. Now you know what it's like to be in one place and then explode over to some place else!" Klaxon replied as he started to pedal idly, the large wheels of the carriage carrying the construct over the snowy terrain easily at a respectable speed. The tires dug in for traction and left their patterns in the snow and the carriage moved on.


When Falcon Wing finally came to his senses, he was quick to ask: "Where are we heading anyway? The frozen north must be huge!" Shortly after, he realized he was still hugging Alana and he promptly released the caramel mare, who then said to him, "You'd be a lot warmer and a lot happier with hugs mister hero!" and squeezed him much tighter than he could ever do to her. He felt as if she would bend his wings that poked through his pegasus-fitting coat. 

"The caravan traders talk about a city in the ice that hold many ancient wonders," said Steiner in response, ignoring the young pegasus' plight behind him. "The Crystal Empire is an ancient city in the heart of the tundra. Not quite the empire as the name would have you believe, but the city is expansive. I would imagine you would have more information than I do since you have made the most of your access to the Enclave archives but from what I have been able to gather in recent days, Starswirl the Bearded's very own assistant --"

"Auburn!" Falcon Wing managed to rasp from the grips of Alana's cuddling.

"Ah, you have read about it. Most fortunate. Like I was saying, Auburn was a prominent pony during his age over a millennia ago. He had relocated to the city from Canterlot after his mentor passed on, taking his entire collection of records and notes with him. Some of these notes he rewrote and left copies of for the Canterlot libraries, which have been republished under the title of 'Obscure Unicorn History' in the years before the Great War. The rest however, are said to still be in the city's depths... untouched by time and hoof alike. This was made so when the city disappeared for 1,000 years and even after the Megaspells, they would remain unharmed... for Auburn left a guardian to protect his and Starswirl's work..."

"Y'see, Steiner's plan is to get to the city, get to where the records are held and hand them over to the New Canterlot Republic. To start rebuilding our collective... collection of knowledge after Canterlot was destroyed," Klaxon said. He tapped his hoof on the terminal screen in the dashboard. "That's where this thing comes in. Stable-Tec integrated functions, perfect for treasure hunting!"

"We are not treasure hunting, Klaxon. We are knowledge seekers," Steiner said with narrowed eyes. 

"Doesn't make much difference to me," Klaxon responded, much to Steiner's annoyance. 

When Alana finally released Falcon Wing, he gasped for breath for a period of time. When he regained his composure, he inquired "And what about the guardian? If something like that exists... something that can protect ancient text for over a thousand years, how are we going to get it to give us Auburn's work?"

He heard Klaxon snicker. "Oh. Steiner's got that covered, don't you friend?" said the bronze pony. Falcon could feel the annoyance radiating off of the blue pony sitting ahead of him. 

"You know I do, Klaxon," Steiner retorted with some manner of spite evident in his voice. 

"Uh...guys?" Alana asked, her eyes passing in between the two of them somewhat worriedly. 

"Steiner?" Falcon Wing broached. "How?" he asked simply. He didn't want to seem like he was doubting the Unicorn who had proven himself so thoroughly... but he was not going to be ignorant about how his companion intended to go about this. How were they going to deal with magic that was centuries older than themselves?

"I will reason with it. If that does not work I am going to defeat it," Steiner deadpanned.

"... Wha --?" Falcon started to say but Steiner cleared his throat forcefully.

"I do not act in arrogance, as I have told you before Falcon Wing. I merely act on the basis of my ability, and I happen to be very able, as you will confirm," said the blue Unicorn evenly.

"Yes but --"

"Then you have no reason to think I am unable to accomplish my task," Steiner said with a voice that brought with it finality. Falcon Wing couldn't do anything but nod, trusting his friend. He was great. He was powerful. He was Steiner. How could he fail?

"Yeah. No reason at all," Falcon Wing replied, unable to shake the feeling of worry. 


"Uuuuhh...guys!?" Alana shouted, watching as the snow stirred all around the carriage. 


Frost shot into the air, powder blew on the cold wind. Emerging from the blanket of white was a pack of ten Ewes...what had become of them. They were no longer tiny but their bushy coats were still indeed of many hues. Underneath them were bodies packed with bulging muscle and their faces were feral and vicious looking. Two large canines pointed out of their mouths from their lower jaws, which were longer than the top ones. 


The ponies were surrounded by the multicolored monsters but they were far from defenseless. Falcon Wing rushed out from underneath the wagon's awning, spreading his black wings and taking to the air with crimson trails. He reached into his coat and from his holster drew Klaxon's 10 mm pistol. Alana leaped out of the carriage with the Peashooter in her mouth. Steiner levitated out his assault rifle and combat shotgun, the guns floating over the carriage like turrets. Klaxon threw himself out on the snow, head low. He scraped at the frozen ground and snorted, twin trails of vapor expelled from his nostrils as he stared down his share of the Devil Ewes. He did not need a weapon to handle them. 
> Chapter Seven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Seven


With beauty comes danger.


The retort of gunshots tore across the snow covered plains, carrying far on the thin air. The Ewes, maddened beyond comprehension pressed on even as blood spurted out of holes in their bodies, staining the blanket of white that they tore apart with mad dashes at their pony opponents. 


Alana dove into a sideways roll as one of the mutated monsters swung their forelegs around at her, the limb with wicked looking cloven hooves at the end passing precariously over her and before she could right herself, the other hoof came soaring at her from the opposite direction. The impact came hard and square -- but Alana hadn't been struck by the attack. The Ewe went tumbling wildly, scraping up the snow. A mound of it had formed by time it stopped sliding, which spilled over onto it as it staggered back to its hooves. Klaxon smirked, then his ears pricked. He spun himself to see another one of the Snow Devils coming down at him in a pounce. The bronze stallion flipped over onto his back, legs retracted until the last second where he then sent them flying into the Ewe's torso and abdomen. Alana heard the attacker's bones snap and saw its cream colored eyes go wide.

"Someone just had a bad day!" Klaxon snarled. He tossed the Ewe off to the side when he started to roll upright. From the corner of his vision he saw the Ewe he bucked away coming at him in a full pelt charge... then he saw its face erupt blood as the caramel mare opened fire on it, the Peashooter's rounds tearing through its flesh and muscle indiscriminately. Its body toppled into a heap and stopped just short of Klaxon, leaving a scarlet smear in the snow.

"Now ve're eben!" she slurred through the grip of the Peashooter and galloped off. Klaxon stood up, shook the snow off of him and muttered: "One down." He looked over to the Ewe whose chest had been destroyed by his blows, blood seeping out of the corners of its mouth. Klaxon walked over to it, reared up and brought his hooves down on its skull.

"Two down."


Three Ewes focused on Steiner, launching themselves at the carriage and being caught in his telekinesis just before they could land. With great effort and strain, he levitated the three massive animals while simultaneously training the killing ends of his guns on them, managing to fire a few haphazard shots into various parts of their bodies before flinging them away. Telekinesis was definitely not his strong suit; and whereas the assault rifle did not seem to be doing any substantial damage, the combat shotgun mangled everything its spray it. A few lucky hits managed to destroy the left foreleg of one of his assailants. 

"A change in tactics is in order," the unicorn stallion said to himself. "If I can't stop all three, then I'll just have to stop one." 

The crippled Ewe was plucked from the ground in an aura of red. Steiner made a swinging motion with his horn and sent it hurtling into the Ewe to its right, bowling the bestial creature into the snow. Another swing sent the crippled Ewe into the second and this time it was used to pin its fellow animal. Steiner fired the assault rifle into them, able to make the most out of its range and accuracy now that his concentration wasn't as divided as it was before. Burst fire aiming for their heads. It was not long before they both stopped moving. The third recovered from the impact faster than Steiner expected. It stood with snow gripping its bushy coat and unleashed a howling roar that reverberated across the frozen plains and up the mesas and snow columns...then the flying blur made his pass, hooves smashing down on its head and making it flinch mid-bellow. Its lips curled and its sights danced about the sky in search of the pegasus. Steiner took advantage of the opening presented, lining up his shots and firing.

It slumped over and fell, dead. 


Klaxon stood reared up as his opponent did, its jaws held apart by the bronze stallion's mighty forelegs, its oversize fangs dripping with saliva. He glared down the mouth of the beast as his sides were battered by those hooves, each impact loud and unforgiving. Each one drove shards of pain into his body and knocked just a little more air out of his lungs. His ribs couldn't handle much more punishment. Thinking fast, the bronze stallion raised his left rear leg and kicked hard into the Ewe's knee, making the limb recoil away in pain. It thrashed its head, attempting to throw the hold of the earth pony who in turn forced himself forward, the already unbalanced Ewe toppling over onto its back. Klaxon sat down on its stomach, using his own weight to keep it down while he stamped down on its face repeatedly with his fore hooves; its skull turning to mush before his very eyes. 


The remaining four had been focused on Falcon Wing, the pegasus staying close enough to the ground so as to keep them coming after him while still having enough time to evade them should they try to jump at him. They were surprisingly great jumpers. He cut through the cold air with the Ewe's in hot pursuit, their hoof falls sending snow flying into the air in their wake. Falcon Wing then looped about and corkscrewed, doubling back. The Ewes twisted themselves around, clumsily tearing at the snow with their hooves as their own momentum sent them tumbling through it, gouging large Ewe-shaped trenches in the white cover. Falcon Wing spun himself around in the air and hovered with the world around him slowed to a near dead halt. He had his Pipeye pulled down and fell into the sanctity of S.A.T.S. There he saw bullets sent by the Peashooter suspended in eternity, the rippling air around them ceasing for the duration of the targeting spell. Falcon Wing lined up his shots and opened fire. 


Of the four, one had fallen limp in the snow. The others continued their ravenous chase, another falling to the Peashooter. The other two fell swiftly to assault rifle fire. For now, the fighting was over. Left to show for it were bodies and blood stains. The ponies grouped up back at the carriage, inspecting each other for injuries and being relieved that none of them sustained any. Almost. 

"Klaxon, you are covered in blood," Steiner said flatly. 

"Not my own!" the stallion said defiantly. "And I may have taken a beating but what kind of pony would I be if I couldn't take a hit?"

"At least let me put some bandages on you before you start to bruise --"

"How about you do your fancy cleansing magic and get the blood off of me? I don't know about you but I don't want to smell like Snow Devil blood all the way through this little endeavor of ours!" Klaxon interjected. 

"If you are so assured of yourself, then fine. I suppose I cannot ask you to believe in me without returning the sentiment. But if something comes up because you refused treatment, Klaxon I swear to you --!"

"Calm your shit, Steiner! I'm fiiiiine!" Klaxon said then started laughing as the unicorn shot him a look, a frown that conveyed concern and a burning glare that voiced his anger without him speaking. 

"If you insist, partner in crime," said Steiner, whose horn started to glow and the stains of red left Klaxon's winter coat.
> Chapter Eight
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eight


Even the best laid plans can go awry. 


The Snow Devils were just another reminder of the grim reality of Equestria. The places of untamed beauty also harbored untamed perils. The journey continued with heightened cautiousness in spite of Klaxon's good humor. Alana tightened the straps on Steiner's battle saddle, securing the metal fastenings to her coat, assault rifle on her right and combat shotgun to her left. The reasoning was Steiner's set up would be better utilized by the group's resident sharpshooter, for his usefulness came with his magic, not guns. Alana agreed, the Peashooter was a powerful pistol but lacked proper stopping power. The unicorn's old weapons would compliment her skills very well. 


Falcon Wing found that the battle saddle complimented her in other ways as well, the young stallion watching her from underneath the awning. Or rather, staring, admiring how the straps hugged her well built body and brought out her more flattering features. Alana flexed experimentally, making sure everything was properly handled and put together. The red pegasus became a bit redder in the cheeks. Once she was satisfied with everything, she looked over her shoulders to Falcon and caught his wide eyes. "Liked what you saw?" she said teasingly.

"Yes," Falcon Wing said flatly, distantly. He blinked several times when he caught himself and cocked his head, going over what happened in his head. "...Yes," he said again. 

The caramel mare scoffed. "Not one for subtlety are you, mister hero?"

"I blame the cold. Clearly, embarrassing myself is how I plan to keep warm," Falcon Wing replied with as straight a face as he could manage. 

"Well if its the cold that's gotten to you then maybe I can warm you up again!" Alana said with with mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Falcon Wing chuckled, smiled a small smile and said: "I dunno, maybe a quick bit of flying would do me well! Scout out our surroundings and such!"

"Smooooth" Klaxon commented from far front. Alana had a puzzled look on her face.

Falcon Wing walked out from under the awning's shade and pulled his goggles down over his eyes in preparation for flight. He stopped off to Alana's side and inconspicuously whispered in her ear "Your hugs will be the death of me."

"Most definitely," she whispered back with a broad smile. Meek little Falcon Wing: reject of his stronghold, found a mare to love. His father would be proud if he were still alive. 


The black wings extended, rippling with arcane energy. Falcon Wing was off soaring off ahead of the carriage, moving through the frozen passage formed by two ice sheets. There were several outcroppings and platforms, each glazed over with thick ice, their tops covered in a recent snow fall. There did not seem to be any caves or alcoves for anything to hide in, but when threats resided below the very surface of the frozen north, appearances could not be trusted. There was always danger somewhere in some shape and form. Except, according to Falcon's E.F.S, it was a rare instance where there was not any immediate danger waiting to strike out against him and his friends. There were no red notches on the compass bar underlying his vision. Just rolling, breathtaking landscape unlike anything he had seen before. There was just a majesty to a place completely blanketed in frozen water for miles upon miles. He was not going to complain about it. The times where he had peace of mind were treasures he had come to cherish dearly. Time spent with Alana or chatting with Klaxon and Steiner...reading something worthwhile...time that was truly a luxury. Time like that -As Falcon Wing had come to realize- was just the prelude for things yet to come. 

"Might as well enjoy it to the fullest," he thought. He slowed to a hover a few feet over a frozen arch bridging the gap between the ice walls and folded his wings, dropping onto the cold white cushion underneath his hooves. He turned around to look at the wagon rolling on through the pass, a tiny thing from his perch. He used the Pipeye's magnifying spell and panned his telescopic vision over the tops of the cliffs and the far distance at the end of the frozen corridor. There were was still no cause for alarm. That did not mean Falcon Wing did not see anything worth noting, however. He jumped off of the arch, spread his wings and swooped down to the carriage. 

Steiner poked his head out of his window. "Anything to report?" he asked Falcon Wing as the pegasus pulled up along side the wagon. 

"Train station. The train... er... let's just say it is... a part of the station now..." he responded. 

Klaxon tapped the terminal again. "Yep, the old arctic express station. We're almost to your city if this thing is accurate, Steiner."

"Just as you have little reason to doubt me and just as I have little reason to doubt you, we have little reason to doubt the records I uncovered." the blue unicorn retorted. 

"Except for the whole... two hundred years thing," Falcon Wing said, mostly to push the stallion's buttons rather than to make a point.

"Says the pony who made a habit of reading Equestria's history -- or rather, what was approved by the Enclave to be Equestria's history," Steiner retorted.

"Ouch. I suppose you have a point though. The Enclave wouldn't have had any sensitive information that would have made the pegasi question their duty public. It has a tendency of..." he sighed, "...getting rid of what it doesn't see fit to have around..."

Steiner looked uneasy when he said "I did not mean to imply --"

"It never gets easier, does it?" The bronze stallion interrupted decisively. Falcon Wing knew Klaxon already had the answer to that question.

"I still miss them," he replied.

"We all have those we miss," Steiner stated. 

"The only difference is some of them are still around to return to us" Alana chimed in, laying across the supply crates. Falcon knew she was being too quiet. Without a word he flew back into the wagon's flatbed and landed. Misery loved company, but it was the company he kept that made dealing with the past just a tad bit easier to manage. 
> Chapter Nine
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Nine


The remnants of the past tell a story.


If there was ever a pictoral definition of the word "wreck", it would be the sight Falcon Wing laid eyes on from afar and the sight the others laid eyes on up close. Stalactites of ice hung from warped and broken tracks which were raised off of the ground they were laid on. The metal looked almost skeletal poking out of the snow, undulating and meandering in irregular ways for as far as the eye could see heading in the southerly direction. The station that the tracks led to was much larger than the one at Baltimare. It was bulky and metallic, the height of Equestria's technological and military might at the dawn of war. A towering ruin alone in the expanse of ice and snow. Starswirl the Bearded's work would not be found there, but the ponies went out to investigate the station. It was something from the past that few have ever seen. It was one thing to read about the age long lost...but to see what it had become was something else entirely. 


Klaxon approached the ruin carefully, slowing his pedaling down quite a bit so the wagon was just coasting up to one end of the mangled track. Its front wheels bounced off and over the metal, the suspension creaking and rocking the rest of the carriage. The bronze stallion brought it to a complete stop over the two sets of track that ended at the station, one that ran north and the other that ran back to the Equestrian heartland. No train would be going this way at all; and that was disregarding the dilapidated state of the railway. The train station was encompassed in a gigantic gray shell, beams of metal stretching overhead from end to end with a plethora of smaller ones crisscrossing the gaps in between spans. There were breaks in the walls and roof where the sky was visible and sunlight shone through meaning it wasn't completely dark inside; but these breaks were arranged around where the engine and subsequent train cars had been been thrusted through the structure, dangling there frozen over for years on end. The train hung at a shallow angle after it was punched through the wall, the front of it listing out of the dome tilted over to its side. The cars trailing it were sprawled across the platform and tracks, dented and gnarled in places, covered in frost.


"Well did your records say anything about Megaspell strikes up north?" Klaxon asked Steiner with a jab to the blue unicorn's side. They exited the carriage to take a closer look around at the station.

"Not explicitly so. But it was a given, wasn't it? Any and all major cities and installations were targets for Megaspell detonation," Steiner answered, not paying any mind to the snide comment. "A city with the designation of 'Crystal Empire' would have been as big a target as Canterlot itself, and this is after it disappeared for a thousand years. The final sanctum of Auburn is located in a place that had seen much upheaval over the ages. The guardian is surely the only thing preventing that ancient knowledge from being lost forever."

"I don't really care much for irony" Falcon Wing remarked from the north side platform, having flown over to take a look at the metal columns that extended up to the ceiling. On them were all worn posters, Ministry of Magic, Wartime Technology, Morale and Peace, all faded and victims to the chill. On the station walls were an assortment of Stable-Tec posters, each boasting about the advanced apocalyptic havens that the stables were. They hadn't fared any better than the ones pasted to the columns. One of them had the image of a female pegasus in a suit standing outside of an open stable, the gear-shaped door held off to the side of the entry tunnel that led into the deep underground. The mare had a light colored fur, possibly tan and a bright smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye and she was gesturing to the hulking bastion invitingly, as if any poor schmuck of a pony could just waltz on inside during magical annihilation. Her expression and mane color reminded him a lot of Alana. He turned from the wall and looked around the station for the mare, finding her scrutinizing the train while rubbing her chin thoughtfully. 

"Relative of yours?" he asked her jokingly from across the way.

"How can I be related to a train, mister hero?" Alana replied without looking at him and when she did, she started cracking up at the blank expression that was on his face. An expression that silently asked "Are you serious?"

"Just kidding!" she said and trotted her way to where Falcon was. She started snickering when she saw what he was referring to. "You think I look like the Stable-Lady?"

"Well she isn't nearly as good looking... 200 years will do that to you, but there's a resemblance I think," Falcon Wing replied. 

"You wouldn't be the first to say that. The part about me looking better than a faded, wrinkled and discolored poster mare is... new, though," Alana replied. Her eyes danced about the various images on the wall.

Falcon Wing's cheeks went red once more. "I... thought it was something to point out. You know... because it's true... and stuff," he said sheepishly. 

The look she flashed him did not help things, for it looked like she was fighting desperately not to laugh at his awkwardness."Feeling chilly again, are we?" she teased and without waiting for an answer she was off again to inspect other parts of the station.

"So very chilly," he muttered, watching her depart. Falcon Wing then turned to Klaxon. The bronze earth pony had hauled himself onto the platform and the young pegasus thought: "And here it comes...", in expectation of Klaxon's unique brand of quips.

"Isn't she a piece of work?" Klaxon said.

"This is different," Falcon Wing mused before asking: "Was she always like that back when you all lived in Hope?"

"She was always the odd one out of our group. Always the one trying to lighten the mood when she could after seeing a poster one day for a... Pinkie Pie party if I remember right. Not many of us appreciated her efforts though since we all had other things to worry about... but she always made an effort to keep herself happy," Klaxon said. He was also giving the posters around them a good looking over. 

"Pinkie Pie ...the one that watches us forever..." Falcon Wing muttered. 

"For a time we thought something had snapped in that head of her's y'know? Like she'd lost it but when her father started giving her gun training... well. Let's just say that mare was the only one we knew who could fire a gun while grinning from ear to ear. You wouldn't think it, but she was scary as hell to be around," Klaxon continued to say absentmindedly. Falcon Wing sat down and listened.

"It wasn't anypony's surprise when her cutie mark appeared. Well, after we figured out what the hell it was supposed to be anyway. And after everything she's been through she's still smiling. I guess you're part of the reason why --"

"What happened to her father?" Falcon Wing inquired without warning. Klaxon turned his head to look at him with an arched brow.

"It's just... she never talks about her life too much. I can't blame her... I found her after her mother was shot and a raider was flipping out at her... I can't imagine things being much better before all of that. It still bugs me though. Is she really like us? Is she alone out here?"

Klaxon frowned slightly and his gaze dropped, becoming thoughtful. After the pause he responded: "We've all got those we miss, right?"

Falcon Wing nodded, confusion evident on his face.

"But we've got each other, so it isn't so bad, right?"

"... Klaxon... and I thought my little speech back in the cellar was corny!" 

"I was just trying to make you feel better you little brat!" Klaxon said, instantly fuming.

"Who the hell are you calling little... and a brat!?" Falcon Wing retorted hotly, pressing the bridge of his snout against Klaxon's and spreading his wings. A burst of light blinded them both and when their vision was clear of red, Steiner was standing in between them. 

"I would say this is what happens when the unstoppable force meets an unmovable object," Steiner said, glancing between the two ponies, "but quite frankly, Klaxon is both of them. It is not wise to...irk him."
> Chapter Ten
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Ten


It is in the face of adversity that a pony knows their worth.


It is only among friends where mild conflict can turn into comedy and then be put aside to the realm of memories. For that was what had transpired between Falcon Wing and Klaxon. 

"Don't irk Klaxon? How do you not irk the stallion who gets pissed at everything and anything?" the red pegasus retorted to Steiner and Klaxon's reply came as quick as a shot. 

"Says the pony who can't be called 'little'. What's the matter? Feeling a bit insecure?" he said. Falcon Wing sighed and narrowed his eyes. 

"You? Asking me about insecurity? Why, that is positively ironic!" 

"Well as your friend, you can bet your ass I know just how much you love it!" 

Steiner put a hoof to his face and said: "Falcon, I would hate to be the one to have to tell Alana you've gotten involved with another pony behind her back. She already considers me the bearer of bad news without me having to do so."

The two of them bristled at that. "The hell is that supposed to mean!?" Falcon Wing yelled while Klaxon had a hoof raised, barely stopping himself from hitting the unicorn. It was around then Alana appeared on the opposite platform. 

"Guess what I found!" she proclaimed gleefully then pulled out a Sparkle Cola from her coat pocket. She popped the cap off, put it in her pocket then started downing the drink. "It's cold and everything!" she said after taking a long gulp of the two century old beverage. 


That put an end to the exchange and not too long afterwards, the group was back on the move. They were closing in on their destination. Upon the light blue colored map display shown by his terminal, Klaxon saw the marker for the city, though all he saw ahead of him across the rolling snowy landscape was a thick  wall of ice and snow jutting up from the tundra. Though it fit into the environment, there was something about it that seemed...unnatural. The way it was jagged at the top complete with icicles extending out of the face made Falcon Wing think of the Hope citadel, something explicitly meant to keep outsiders out on the other side. 

As if sharing the thought, Klaxon asked his blue companion: "Did your records mention anything about a giant ice wall of death?"

"Oooooh, do you think there are stables here made out of ice!?" Alana said with eyes as wide as saucers. She stood atop the crates looking out into the distance yonder. 

"I do not think so. For them to close themselves off like this, the ponies of the city would have been mentioned at least once in the records. And no, Alana, I am certain they did not make their stables out of ice," Steiner replied.

Alana voiced her disappointment with an "Aaawww!"

"So you're saying this came about some time after the war? That ponies were able to make a fortress out of ice?" Falcon Wing asked in disbelief. 

"I would figure unicorns that happened to live in this frozen waste would be able to combine their efforts and use their magic to make a barrier like so... but to encompass the entire ruin? Especially one that so very few visit?" Steiner responded, his question not directed at anyone in particular. "It is all so... peculiar" 

"Not even the long-furs? They did try to scavenge things from the city, right?"

"Of course!" Klaxon spoke up, having lived the life of a scavenger himself for so long. "But they say freaky shit --"

Alana cleared her throat. 

"... Stuff kept happening to them when they went in. They wouldn't go into detail about it."

"If it hadn't been for my findings, I would have dismissed the caravan stories as modern day myth-making. But there are too much substantial, factual ties to do so conclusively," said Steiner. "On the other hoof, the presence of this wall and what it implies simply does not make sense..."

"I've had my share of mystery," Falcon Wing began to say. "I've got a feeling we won't be liking what we know when we solve it."

"And what mystery was that, mister hero?" Alana inquired. 

"... Who took the cookie from the cookie jar," Falcon Wing replied, unable to bring himself to tell her the Shadow Sweep's true motives for what he did in Baltimare. Alana cocked her head, giving him that puzzled look of her's. Steiner looked back at him with a raised brow. 

"It was one of the hardest cases to solve in the stronghold I lived in." Falcon Wing deadpanned. 

"Your talents are wasted on being a jokester, Falcon Wing," Steiner, unamused, said and looked forward to ponder this new development. 

"So who did it?" Alana asked with a wry grin. 

"Caught me red-hoofed," the young pegasus said in a mock confession, raising his front legs up in surrender. "I've been a bad pony, Alana."

"I'm pretty sure you meant to say 'better' there." she said. 


The converted wagon neared the imposing wall that dominated the landscape, Steiner's horn glowing red. It sparked with pent up energy, which glimmered in his eyes. His expression was calm and focused in spite of the fact he was wielding dangerous magic, a spell he was only making stronger with his intense concentration. Less than ten yards between the carriage and the ice. It was time. Steiner bowed his head so that his horn pointed straight ahead. The air was charged again, magical streaks dancing about the vehicle as it approached the wall. In seconds a hemisphere of energy was over the the wagon, crackling and flashing ruby and scarlet. The snow melted in its vicinity and with it, Klaxon simply pedaled into the wall, the barrier cutting a perfect semicircular tunnel through the ice. There was no resistance and water hissed into steam, the hot vapors kept outside of the shield. In no time at all, the wagon was on the other side of the city. The ponies were in the Crystal Empire...

...and it was a most somber sight. The Crystal Empire had been hit especially hard -perhaps the epicenter of a Megaspell blast. From the outskirts of the city the ponies saw the ruined skyline of the city. Tall towers leaned against each other or had been fragmented completely, jagged husks that stabbed into the frozen sky with the other pieces of the structures flattening the smaller buildings they landed on. The truly monumental structure far off in the distance had fared no better. Though it still stood tall, reining over a kingdom of ruins, its walls had been stained and stripped away in the aftermath of apocalypse. It was a fraction of what it used to be in the days of old.

And everything was covered in ice and snow. It wasn't a natural covering. Jagged icicles burst through windows and doors, impaled wagons and other wreckage and suspended them high over the streets. The snow was considerably deep, mounds of the stuff at least two stories high and spilling into the ruined buildings. It was as if a bunch of pegasi had focused wintery wrath upon the once great city.

"It gets stranger and stranger," Steiner said as he lowered his shield. "what kind of ponies would wall themselves in here of all places?"

"Ponies who really have a thing for ice," Klaxon remarked plainly. "So we hit the library, correct?" he asked, clearly not as troubled as Steiner was. As far as he was concerned, this mission was defined and methodical. Enter the city, get what they came for and teleport out before things got too hairy. 

"The library," Steiner confirmed with a nod of his head. 

Klaxon pressed the buttons of his terminal, switching map functions to the local based one. A lot of the city had been marked and registered on the map because Steiner had provided a printed copy in the databanks, an admittedly aged copy that designated areas that simply did not exist anymore, frozen over or leveled completely. Once he was finished marking the library with a beacon, Klaxon started to pedal quicker, speeding down the packed in streets and navigating the ice-bound obstacle course they had become. That was until his vision was drowned in a tremendously bright light that forced his eyelids down and made him pull hard on the breaks. The wagon spun to the right and skidded laterally, coming to a stop and sending snow flying. 

All of the ponies had their forelegs raised over their eyes to shield them from the brilliant radiance. All the ponies except for Falcon Wing at first, who thought his goggles would be able to filter the light and winced when he found that the goggles did in fact do nothing to aid in that regard. 

When the glow had subsided somewhat, what they all saw left them aghast. It was a pony...except not. It was completely devoid of flesh and features. Only an immaculate, white body that emanated light. Its equally bright eyes differentiated themselves by being of a solid amber color that spilled wisps of energy out of them. There were six hexagonal plates of a strange purple and silver alloy surrounding the energy-pony, three on either side arranged in a triangular fashion. They all had a stream of energy branching out of the pony and into them, keeping them aloft and in formation at all times. Or was it vice versa? 

Steiner was the first to speak. "Guardian?" he inquired. The phantasm of a  pony tilted its head at the name. 

"I have not been referred to as such... in a very... very long time," said the energy pony without a mouth. Its voice came from the very air itself, the sound seeming to enclose the group of four entirely, echoing upon itself, whispers interlaced within the statement. 

"I have come to call myself the Maxim Magimus. And you are trespassing upon my domain. Have my warnings to the others before you not been heeded? Evidently so..."
> Chapter Eleven
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eleven


And the world is rife with adversity.


"Guardian... Magimus, is it true you have been sworn to protect the works of Starswirl the Bearded and his successor, Auburn?" the blue unicorn pressed without delay in spite of the energy being's mention of trespassing. There was a rumbling from all around them, as if the heavy air was rolling like thunder. The Magimus had started to... laugh? If one could call it such, at that!

"Sworn?" Maxim asked rhetorically. The booming that followed made the wagon quake. "Sworn implies it was a charge taken willingly. I was assigned," he said, the disembodied voice of the pony taking on an especially biting edge when he did so. Before Steiner could continue on to the subject of the records, Magimus stated: "You, blue one. You interest me. You are no ignorant savage from beyond my barrier. You have educated yourself."

Klaxon was bewildered. He found it near impossible to keep his senses about him as just looking at the being before him made every synapse in his brain fire off at once. Each one sending the same message: this is wrong. A pony wasn't just shaped like a pony. A pony was flesh and blood. Fur and hoof. Mane and tail. Not... magic. Likewise, Falcon Wing and Alana were stunned into silence at the ghostly apparition which Steiner spoke to so casually... perhaps even with a bit of reverence. 

"I make it a point to learn where I find myself lacking in knowledge," Steiner replied. Beyond the comprehension of his peers, he hopped out of the wagon and approached the machination of magical energy regally, looking the Magimus straight in his glowing eyes. 

"So fearless. So bold. I can sense how much power you possess. Is this why you stand before me as you do?" asked the Magimus. 

"I do not mean to appear arrogant... but as I have told others before you, I act only on the basis of my ability," Steiner answered punctually. The Magimus' eyes flared as that rumbling laughter bombarded Steiner, permeating within his body and mind, forcing him to his knees. 

"Such eloquence! Such a way with words! Such confidence!" Maxim growled and then he reared up, throwing his head back. His glowing chest rose and fell to match the disembodied laughter. 

Steiner's horn glimmered to life, his scarlet essence swirling around him into a shield which then exploded outwards, vaporizing the top layer of snow around him and for a short moment, silencing the magical entity. 

Maxim lowered his sights on the blue unicorn who got back to his hooves, his breath visible in the air. Steiner was breathing heavily. If the energy-pony had a mouth, it would have turned into a wicked smirk.

"Such power indeed! Yet so unrefined! That was such a low level spell that a unicorn foal in my day would have mastered it by time they were in primary school!" Magimus proclaimed tauntingly. "And you claim to seek knowledge where you are lacking? Child, your spell casting in its entirety is lacking! Oh it pains me to think that you may be what passes for a mage in this... pitiful era." 

Falcon Wing was galvanized into action at the Magimus' words. He launched himself out of the wagon, mechanical wings deploying and coated in red. He rocketed over to Steiner's side, driving his hooves down hard into the snow and trotting up the Magimus with a fiery glare locked on his face. 

"You listen here!" Falcon Wing said during his approach, stopping mere inches away from the radiant pony. "Steiner is a great unicorn! He has done things that other unicorns nowadays can only dream of! He teleported here across the country with the rest of us in tow!" he argued, gesturing back to the wagon with a hoof. "If that is what you consider lacking, I want to see what you consi --"

The air rippled, like a mirage over hot ground. In the blink of an eye the young pegasus' back met the side of the wagon hard, the pain shooting up his body before he realized he had been moved. He bounced off and felt the cold in his nose, face planting in the snow. 

"Falcon!" he heard Alana call out and seconds later he felt her hooves on him, the mare plucking him from the ground and holding his head up so he could look at her. 

"I'm fine!" he said immediately to ease her mounting worries, but she had been with him long enough to know that was hardly ever the case. Seeing that his words had no effect, he added "... Nothing's broken, at least. Just... lay me back down in the snow. That felt nice."

Steiner bared his teeth, glaring daggers into the Guardian. "Why!?" was all he said, practically snarling.

"He is quite annoying. You should put him on a leash," Maxim replied with a wave of a glowing hoof. "Quite frankly, its an achievement that did not kill him. I assume he's endured similar trauma in the past?"

Steiner did not give Maxim the satisfaction of a reply. His horn flared up and he had projected a beam of raw magical energy at the Magimus, the dancing beam of ruby crashing against a white wall that was less than an inch thick, its edges flickering in and out of existence until the onslaught passed.

"In my day, it was a matter of honor among unicorn stallions  to return magical blasts with magical blasts. I was just considering abiding by these long lost traditions, but then I realized: I'm not a unicorn!" Magimus' rumbling laugh followed suit. 

Steiner's eyes widened. The pony obviously did not have a horn but he simply dismissed that. His logic was that if a pony was made of magic, then a focal point for it would be redundant. But this new revelation caught him completely off guard. How could a non-unicorn master magic in such totality? How can a non-unicorn be magic!?

"It has been so long since I have seen genuine surprise on a pony's face. Or is that horror? Like I said, it has been all too long. I may be working on faulty memories!" Magimus joked cruelly, advancing forward as Steiner slowly started backwards. His unearthly voice suddenly became grim and chilling when he continued "Now, do you understand Steiner? You are nothing but an insect compared to me. Perhaps something even more insignificant. How can a pony so naturally gifted with magic like you be so completely worthless?"  

"We will be going now," Steiner said as evenly as he could against such an apparition, "we are...sorry to have disturbed you."

"LEAVE?" 

The avatar of magic's voice blared in the minds of the ponies, overpowering them. Alana clutched Falcon, Klaxon gripped his head and Steiner fell onto his haunches, trying to resist the Magimus' influence. 

"You challenge me and leave, whelp? I do not think so!" 


One by one, the ponies were whisked away in flashes of golden light. Klaxon disappeared from his seat. Then Alana vanished and before Falcon Wing could fall back to the snow, he was gone from sight. Steiner was given just enough time to register what had happened before he too was sent into the depths of the destroyed city. 

"You interest me, blue one. As unimpressive as you are, that remains unchanged. So I will extract as much amusement as you and your allies can provide, you should consider it an honor!"  Magimus rumbled in his mind...
> Chapter Twelve
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twelve


The greatest enemy one can face is their self. 


Klaxon forced himself to stand upright in an alleyway some ways into the frozen fortress. He was flanked by jagged shards of half-buried concrete, the buildings around him mostly frame than actual structures. Their metal beams were all iced over and patches of snow clung to the discolored metal. Shakily, he made his way out onto the street and looked around. A cold wind blew, ruffling his coat and sending stinging cold and powder at him. 

He was alone...wherever he was. Looking to his right, he saw that giant tower unobstructed. Though it was far away, it was breathtakingly enormous. The city, as large as it was, seemed easy enough to navigate. All of the streets seemed to connect to the central point far off in the distance where the tower stood, meaning that they were all avenues out the the outskirts. It was just a matter of knowing which path was an outlet nearest to the vehicle and walking down it, right? It was no stroke of brilliance and the others would be more than capable of drawing the same conclusion. He could trust that they would be following a similar course of action. Falcon Wing had his Pipeye; he could construct his path using that, not to mention fly. If anything, the young pegasus was already in the air scouring the snow blanketed streets for his friends. 

"That's assuming he's alright," Klaxon thought with a frown. After a moment or two more of planning, the bronze stallion had his course of action. "Get back to the wagon and wait a while. See if anyone gets there as well, then go looking for the others. Think about what happens if none of them gets there later."

With that, he started walking down the cold streets of the Crystal Ruins away from the monolithic tower, walking along where sidewalks would be underneath the deep snow. He was on alert, putting his sharp eyes to good use. He surveyed his environment frequently for all the good it was worth. The Magimus could appear anywhere in the city instantly, that much Klaxon knew. He probably would not see it coming and if he did then he would surely go blind. His focus was not the construct of energy but any other denizen of Maxim's domain. Snow Devils and the distinct possibility of Crystal City ghouls amongst other threats still existed regardless of the Maxim Magimus. 

He did not get far before the unthinkable took place. His eyes widened in disbelief as the ruins warped and distorted, shedding the oppressive frost and taking on a more familiar form. The austere gray expanse, the tops of buildings craggy, bent and broken, filtering in the light of a green tinted sky. The city of Hope, the blue skies reverted to the sickly, cloud choked cover of the Equestrian Wasteland. The snow beneath his hooves, cold and crunching with each step became the hard, cracked asphalt of the city roads. Debris, rubble and junk surrounded him, the work he and Steiner had done completely absent. It was as if he was sent back through time. 

"Impossible," Klaxon told himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head to regain his grip on reality. "This is not real. It is obviously a trick. An illusion."

But he felt himself warming up. He felt as if he were back in the Equestrian heartland and not the tundra...

"All part of the glowing bastard's plan. Get me to lose my fucking mind, take off my coat and go running around in my past until my body gives out in the cold. You'll have to do better than that, I'm no Wasteland fool either!"


"Oh, is that so?"


Klaxon's eyes shot open and looked around frantically for the Magimus.


"You are a pony that puts a lot of trust in what they see... but what happens when your eyes betray you? What happens when your very mind becomes my personal playground?" the phantom taunted. 

"You get out of my head right now or Ill --!"

"You will... what? What could you possibly do to me? I control your reality!"

"You're no god," Klaxon retorted. "You may be powerful, stronger than Steiner even, but you're no god. You can fuck with how I see things but not reality itself. Nothing close to that." 

For a moment, the mental affliction of the Magimus subsided, but the moment passed quickly. "You are indeed no Wasteland simpleton. You will be an excellent toy," the Magimus told Klaxon, leaving him to wander the ruins of his home.


Though he was left with an ominous parting, Klaxon knew one thing to be true. He had scored a victory against the magical pony. A small victory, but one nonetheless. He had shot down the Magimus' attempts to dishearten him with the boasting. He had destroyed the pretense of godhood the arcane being was trying to maintain by keeping his wits. He smirked. All he had to do was keep logical and this illusion would fold long before he did. With his mind's eye, he would be able to see past the lies crafted to break him. He was not walking down the ruins of Hope. He was still in the former Crystal City, his friends all separated from him in parts unknown. He may be gradually heating up, but he would not remove his coat. And whatever he saw had a counterpart to reality, twisted by the magic of the Magimus to be perceived differently. Klaxon pressed on, knowing the rules of this sick game. And since he knew the rules, he would jump at every opportunity he got to utterly break them. How satisfying would it be to beat the Magimus -- a pony made out of the very nature of magic itself -- at his own game? There was distinct chance that he would be furious. There was a strong probability that in his wrath he would end up killing the stallion without hesitation. 

But even if he was killed for what he was about to do, the Magimus would live for eternity knowing that some pony from beyond the frozen wastes had beaten him. And that knowledge filled Klaxon with a spiteful, vindictive vigor. 

"My final fuck you, shiny fuckhead."
> Chapter Thirteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Thirteen


But only one's self can know their true weakness.


Was this a dream?

Alana found herself in the middle of the Hope compound as it was when she was a filly. It's walls were the cobbled together mass of scrap metal she remembered so well, the forward and rear entrance under the watchful eyes of the settlement's sentry. This wasn't a carbon copy of her memories however. The mishmash of metal was colorful and cheery looking as if the sheets of wreckage and blocks of concrete had been painted, but they weren't. They were just naturally like that as opposed to the overwhelming gray, the only stand out colors being that of rust, subdued by the Wasteland gloom. The crumbling walls of ruined buildings were the same: oranges, pinks, reds and blues and so much more colors coated the walls in their entirety, swirling in mesmerizing ways, creating interesting patterns, bizarre and wonderful images. It was as if the poster of the pink mare had been enchanted and spread its joy throughout the compound. Even that vacant field, with its dry, cracked soil and its muddy puddles was effected. The withered weeds were not so anymore, but full, blooming plants with leaves colored like the rainbow and the soil had the impossible appearance of rippling water, as if a rainbow liquid was constantly churning on its surface.


Alana sat there in the middle of the colorful ruin, dumbfounded and blown away. She could barely understand it all. But one thought crossed her mind as she took in the sights with wide eyes: "Does this mean everypony is... happy?"


As if to answer her question, a young dark blue stallion trotted out from the deluge of color, his dark hide a stark contrast to the brightness around him. He carried a smile with him and his red eyes practically had a twinkle in their corners. He looked as if he were around her age... and everything about him seemed...wrong. The pony was Steiner... a younger Steiner. One that was not missing his horn. One that did not carry a huge weight on his shoulders. One whose cutie mark wasn't a vortex but something just as colorful and strange. A blur of many colors swirling on his upper thigh, rippling like the field... Alana could not think of any talent of Steiner's that would warrant such a thing. It had no shape, rhyme or reason. The caramel mare feared it was... meaningless. Color for color's sake. 


"Hey Alana!" Steiner said to her as he neared, either ignoring her confused expression or was completely oblivious to it. Much to her surprise, the pony wrapped his forelegs around her in a warm embrace, something that made her feel very uncomfortable. This was not Steiner. The Steiner she knew was not affectionate. Regardless, she returned the gesture and hugged him as well, because a hug was a hug, right? 

"It's been so long!" he spoke into her ear. Her discomfort only grew when she heard him sniffing her mane -- which she couldn't put reason to, after all it was not like she had the option or ability to wash it frequently. 

"As sweet as canned apples!" the Pseudo-Steiner whispered. 


"That's enough of that!" Alana said a bit too quickly, wriggling out of the embrace somewhat curtly as she did. She smiled broadly at the stallion after, so as to not offend, but she could tell it was a forced smile. It was noteworthy because she never had to fake a smile before. She either smiled because she was genuinely happy or didn't smile at all. This was a new experience for her... a strange one. One she did not like. 

Apparently, the Steiner imitation picked up on this. Not that it would be too hard to see that the mare was unsettled by something. "What's wrong, dear?" he asked with genuine concern evident in his tone. 

"Dear?" Alana queried.  

"Of course! Is it wrong to call the one I love 'dear'?" Steiner replied. 

"Love!?" Alana exclaimed, her cheeks beginning to burn. "Since when were we in love, Steiner!?"

Steiner frowned. "Did you not have feelings for me --"

"Years ago! A small... filly crush -- love!? No, Steiner!" Alana said, thoughts racing and scattered. "They went away a while after you left... you and Klaxon --"

She stopped mid-sentence and looked around at the rest of the compound. The others were going about their business as if Alana and Steiner did not even exist. They greeted each other with smiles and hoof waves and continued on their ways and dealings. 

"Where is Molasses, anyway?"

"Molasses...?" Steiner asked. 

"Molasses-possibly-Sarsaparilla," Alana answered. "Klaxon?"

"Ah, right. Of course..." 


Alana was the one to frown this time. Something was definitely not right here. This wasn't any regular dream. Her body had become hot underneath her coat and battle saddle. She wanted to take them off.

"But I'm still up north, aren't I?"    

Then it hit her. 

"I AM still up north!"   


The colors around her began to drain away, becoming inky and running vertically along the concrete faces, streaming up into the discolored, gray-green, cloud covered sky. In time, that was the only color to be seen. Gray-green. Everything else was black and white except for herself. Steiner and the rest of the pseudo-ponies had been frozen in infinity. 


"I thought you were a pony who wanted to make others happy," the Magimus rumbled in her thoughts.

"Where did you get that idea?" Alana asked, trying to sound defiant despite her growing fear. 

"My dear," the Magimus began. "I own your mind like I own my domain! I know all there is to be known about the wench known as Alana."

"But you didn't know I knew what Klaxon's name was? How does that work?" Alana retorted. The Magimus was silent, a low, irritated grumbling seeming to come from everything around her. 

"A pony with two names? How... stupid" the arcane weaver said in dismissal of the point. "I did not feel it important enough to delve deep for such...trivial information"

"Well I'm willing to bet that was a mistake, Shiny Swishy!" 

"My name is the Maxim Magimus, wench! You will address me as such!" the Guardian boomed, the intensity of which made Alana cry out in pain. 

"Good. I am sure you will not be so inclined to do that again," the Magimus went on to say with an eerie calmness. "You know, I actually took pity on you. Such... distressing memories. If there is one unifying force between you and your companions...it is your sad... sad lives. I wanted to... alleviate the grief here... but you simply rejected it as being too different from what you knew..."

A low, thoughtful hum made the air tremble. 

"If you cannot appreciate the cheer you once tried to share... well. I suppose I can only give you the misery you have long since learned to accept..." said the being of magic...
> Chapter Fourteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Fourteen


And where does a pony separate their past from their roots?


He was lying on a table, the edges of which rolled and drifted like a fog in that confined space where the cloud kept its shape. A table made of cloud, a table and an entire room. Shelves built into the blue tinted walls were stocked with all manner of medical supplies. Through blurred vision Falcon Wing looked up at the pills, boxes and other things sitting on them. A familiar sight; one he had grown up seeing on regular basis. His body lying prone protested still, pangs of pain running through him from injuries he did not know he sustained. Well, there was one he knew of: a bruised back. But how he felt now... he felt as if everything about him was wrong. As if every injury he ever had afflicted him simultaneously at that moment, leaving him to stare up at the shelves that lined the walls of doctor Patchenfix's workstation. His orange eyes slowly made their way downwards to see what they could see. His heart lunged, adding to that excruciating agony he felt in his chest already. He saw his forelegs laid straight off to his sides, swollen, the sleeves of his coat shredded. Severe bruising was visible where large patches of his fur was missing on them, red replaced with black and blue. He knew they were broken -no not broken- mangled. The rest of the wounds only got worse from there, large gashes and tears in his hide, dried blood denoting where a pool of it had formed around him. Rear legs twisted in gut-wrenching ways and the subsequent sickness informed Falcon Wing the internal injuries were probably no better than the outer ones. 


He was a corpse that was still lucid, if only barely so. His eyes slowly panned over to his side where Patchenfix was, the medic standing on her rear legs with one foreleg on the table's side for support. She looked down at him intensely with a flashlight in her mouth. He squinted when the white pegasus shone it into his eyes directly.  

"What do we have here this time, little one?" she mumbled through the flashlight absently, not speaking to him at all. 

Compelled to reply, Falcon Wing croaked: "A bit of everything,"

She did not seem to hear him however. Nor did she seem to see the extensive damage to his body. If she did, she had no reaction to the grievous wounds. It had been quite some time since Falcon Wing was last in her office, but he remembered the pony to be... a pony. One empathetic and considerate of the pain a patient could be feeling. 

"Unless that was an act too. Her attempt to do good?"

Falcon Wing was taken aback by the thought. Where had that come from? It didn't... feel like it was his. It was as if it came from some dark corner of his mind, not a conscious thought but one he found himself contemplating in spite of the unbearable aches and throbbing he felt constantly. 

"Was anypony ever truly honest with you? Aside from the bullies... who obviously hated you...?"

The red pegasus frowned. Was he really asking himself these questions? Or was the hurt finally starting to mess with his mind? Regardless, he answered his own questions as they came. He thought of his parents. For the short time he had them in his life, he knew them to be sources of love and care. The first kind faces he ever saw... faces he could barely remember now. He thought of Klaxon and Steiner, ponies who were straightforward and honest to the point of cruelty. Ponies who were the complete opposite of inviting when he met them, yet they still became his friends in the Wasteland. Last but surely not least was Alana; the mare who has been by his side ever since that meeting at Junction town and the one who had saved his life... three times. Or was it four now?

He heard her voice saying: "Good things don't happen when you go off on your own." 

If how he looked and felt was anything to go by, she was right. She was so right.

"Why is it that you of all ponies have suffered in the way you have? What have you done to deserve it?"

Falcon closed his eyes. "Life doesn't work like that. Ponies die all the time for any cause, great or petty. There are others who have gone through worse than I, surely. Who am I to ask if I 'deserve' it?"

"How noble. With a mindset like that, is there any doubt that you desired to be a hero?"

"My mindset comes after experience, not inherent understanding," Falcon told himself, "when I set off into the Wastes I was after glory as much as I wanted to help make things better. But a hero isn't the pony who acts in order to get praised. A hero is the pony who does what should be done because it is the right thing to do."

"How very profound. How very... amusing," the Magimus' telltale rumbling made itself known. 

Falcon Wing's eyes shot open. Patchenfix's white fur had been stained with brown and black, streaks of red mixed into the filth that clung to her fur and doctor's coat. Her eyes were dark, hollowed out holes in her skull where blood ran free like tears and flecks of flesh hung. Suddenly, Falcon Wing found it all too easy to scramble away from her, his injuries nonexistent. He fell from the table of clouds, the marred visage of his medic rising over the table to look at him. She grinned madly as she stood on it, spreading her wings and tilting her head in a jerking motion. Her bones cracked as she did, and a seam in her flesh circled her neck, flesh tearing like tissue. Blackened blood spilled forth onto the table and floor in globs. Patchenfix's head nearly turned full circle before it fell, bouncing in the puddle of her own blood and landing upright in front of the horrified red pony, staring at him in the same way that skull did when he disturbed the skeleton beyond the cellar door. 

Falcon Wing's lips quivered, his breaths ragged, caught in his throat. 

"Go ahead. Scream. I won't judge you. Well, not much," the Magimus joked. "Oh, how interesting you are little hero. A pony rejected by his kin, the closest to him are only there through obligation and his only friends are ponies just as unfortunate as he...  just how much can one pony cry? I suppose I will find out through you, my impulsive friend..."


"Go ahead," the head of Patchenfix said, lips still parted in that deranged smile, "cry!"


Falcon Wing screamed as loudly as he possibly could, putting more distance between it and himself before curling up into a shaking ball.
> Chapter Fifteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Fifteen


Woe be the one the battle chooses.


Steiner was faced with another rendition of Hope, his hood ruffled by a nonexistent wind. Whereas Klaxon's was a literal recreation of the city and Alana's was one of exaggeration, Steiner's was a spellbinding, warped representation of it. He stood at the center of the old compound, a small section of a much larger whole floating in a gulf of a dark green nothingness; a floating platform with part of the ruins situated on the black, cracked flat of the city streets, below which craggy earth extended downwards into the void. Slowly, other platforms rose and fell in a silent rhythm. The objects in this realm were distorted, angles bent and dilated as if the blue unicorn found himself living in a fun house mirror. Steiner looked at the otherworldly visuals with a frown on his face but little else expression. He was perplexed and in a state of unease, he wondered just where had he been sent by the magic-spawn.

"A place made especially for you, blue one," the voice of the Magimus echoed in the strange plane. Steiner did not reply. This was strong magic, he could divine as much. A low rumbling rolled through the empty space, like an annoyed growl at that.

"Only one of you has given into the illusion. I suppose that speaks volumes of their integrity."

Steiner broke his silence with: "Of course, though I would not find your victory against Falcon Wing to be... substantial" 

"And how are you so certain it was the pegasus who faltered?" the arcane pony inquired and added in an almost scolding tone: "You really should not be so quick to jump to concl --!" 

"Because," Steiner interjected, cutting the Magimus' joke short. 

The blue unicorn surveyed his surroundings. In spite of the distortion and bizarreness, he saw what this projection was meant to be. His home, ruined beyond what the Megaspells did to Equestria. He was meant to feel small and isolated in an alien environment and admittedly... he did feel so.

"if you have subjected him to something like this, then of course the youngest of us who has endured what he has would succumb to it. But I have seen Falcon Wing at his weakest and I know what he has the potential to do when he is strong. Your triumph will be short lived," Steiner said. Though he was at the mercy of the Magimus, he would resist his efforts as much as he could. 

The Magimus' chuckle rippled through the ethereal expanse. "That has yet to be seen," he replied simply. 

"Yet being the keyword here... but that is an issue that is ultimately between you and him. What can I expect from our conflict?"


The Magimus laughed and said "Oh, I was thinking of bringing back the good times of your past, but your friends... I think having you watch them play my game will suffice."

A rift appeared in front of Steiner, light streaming out of the energetic tear. He turned his head and raised a hoof to cover his eyes, stealing glances at the rippling screen of various colors -- all of the colors. It was large and almost all encompassing, stretching around the unicorn. It was roughly rectangular in shape when it had cemented its shape, though its edges were wispy and writhing. Spread out across the magical projection were the others in the midst of their own tortures. 


Steiner was seeing them as the Magimus saw them as he observed their mental turmoil. On the far left, he was looking down at Klaxon as the bronze stallion thundered on through the ruins of Hope at full gallop, swerving around or vaulting over the debris that laid in his path. He was running from ponies, ponies Steiner recognized as peers, a small sum of which still resided in the citadel. Others he knew to be deceased. Two of those ponies he identified as Roxanne and Sparks. Klaxon's parents. The ones who took him in; the mare of a rich blonde coat and orange mane and the stallion which Klaxon took after, the burly bronze senior with a silvery one. Steiner felt himself tense up at the sight. Klaxon was running from his own parents!

... But he wasn't. "It's all an illusion," Steiner reminded himself. A terrible illusion to dredge up the worst kind of emotional pain. A ploy for the Magimus' amusement. In spite of himself, Steiner smiled. Klaxon wasn't terribly scholarly or well spoken, but that did not mean he did not possess a respectable intellect. He was a thinker, designer and a pony who just downright liked to read. 


The center of the screen was a world without brightness, without detail except for the washed out, green-gray clouds hanging in the sky. The point of view here was at street level, as if the Magimus were standing on the worn sidewalk of the city street. Through it, Steiner saw Alana walking through Hope, drooping. Her tail dragged behind her and her head was held low. Ponies lined up on either side of the street stamped their hooves, shouted expletives and slurs and spat at her. The group was comprised of ponies from the compound and complete strangers numbering in the tens, all arranged down the length of the straight. Steiner's smile faded, his expression turning blank and remaining like that for the duration of his viewing. He could see that the mare was fighting back tears, but she just carried on without lashing out at her tormentors. Steiner did not exactly get the context, he did not recall Alana ever being bullied or rejected so thoroughly...or was this a fear of her's that the Magimus was exploiting? Whatever it may be, Steiner did not want to continue watching. He could not tell if she knew the meaning of her circumstance, or if she had become aware as Klaxon did.

If the Magimus' words were to be trusted, she did. Which meant Falcon Wing...


The far right of the projection had Magimus' point of view right beside the red pony who had tucked their self into the corner of the room, staring with wide eyes at the mob that now filled Patchenfix's office. At the forefront, the dark shapes of the raiders. They appeared to be made of shadow, smokey wisps and writhing whips reaching out from their bodies, flailing and dissipating like black flames. Along with them were the ponies who took pleasure in abusing what they viewed as the weakest link. pegasi adorned in olive green Enclave uniforms with golden accents, fillies and colts that were training to join the pegasi military force. They held their heads high and proudly but their faces all bore expressions of scorn for the pony they gradually surrounded. Around them were the only pegasi that Falcon ever cared about; Erasure and Flint to the left and right of the shadowy assembly respectively. The blurry forms of his parents were behind them, the product of few vague memories, half formed. The blurry, pony shaped machinations were both a light gray. Falcon Wing did not even remember what color his parents were. Coming up from behind was the headless doctor, her body shambling after the group in a way that actual ghouls did not.

Steiner bared his teeth. "How damaged must he be to think this is real..." he mused.

"Oh, very damaged. Just not broken. Yet. What did you say about my triumph being short lived?" 

Steiner's blank expression flashed to simmering anger abruptly, his eyes and horn glowing brightly with a sudden surge of power. The phantom's laughter rolled out from all around the unicorn. 

"What do you think you can do in here? You are nothing but a toy --!"

"The game must end!" 

In his fury, Steiner mustered the will to pull of a telepathic spell and drew from his vast reserve of magical power. Through the Magimus, his proclamation reached his friends, his booming voice tearing through the snare the ethereal pony had created for them. 


Klaxon tumbled through the snow, taken by surprise by the sudden shift. The city of Hope had flashed back to the frozen fortress almost instantaneously. He scrambled back to his hooves and looked back the way he came. Ghouls. A pack of them charging after him with eyes glazed over, milky white with a few of them having one eye missing from its socket. They all growled and hissed, their fleshy bodies sickly looking. Unbelievably, they all had shards of crystal protruding from their decayed bodies. Klaxon looked repulsed, the thought occurring to him that these were what the ponies of the city had become. That he had been manipulated into seeing two of them as his parents. With the pack of crystalline ghouls closing in on him, the bronze stallion shot looks to and fro, locating an alley way and making a beeline for it at full gallop. His blood started to boil after what he had gone through, after what the Magimus attempted to do. It made him run ever faster...


Alana blinked several times then wiped the specks of liquid from her eyes. Color had returned to her... as well as the frigid grip of the north. She looked around the snow buried street, seeing nothing but destruction and rubble on either side of her. Rubble and ice. Like ghosts those she ignored had faded from her presence...and somehow that only compounded the loneliness and isolation she had been feeling. "But this is no time to be feeling sorry for yourself!" she chided herself. She had on her face a determined look as she broke off into a trot, moving down the long streets towards the gigantic tower at the center of the city. Though she had no means to validate her hunch, she had a feeling the most prominent structure of the ruin was where she had to be. After what happened in Baltimare, he was more inclined to trust such feelings. Falcon Wing did and he ended up being proven horribly right...


The shadowy figures merged into one the closer they got to the red pony. Falcon Wing felt as if he was having a waking nightmare, nightmares he hadn't had in weeks! Nightmares he thought he had rid himself when he departed from Ponyville the first time! But there he was, frozen by the trauma which raced through his mind, every memory and emotion bombarding him, making him senseless in the face of a power he did not understand. By time Steiner's message reached him, the raiders had become something that frightened him much more thoroughly: the Shadow Sweep. "What happened to your pledge, boy? You did not even fight back!" the gryphon ghoul rattled just a few feet away from his terrified face, then seconds later it was gone. All of it was gone. It took him a minute to register the change and he was still shaking afterwards. He was lying in the snow somewhere in a ruin, subjected to his innermost horrors.What he was told before it was over filled him with shame and made him feel ill...






> Chapter Sixteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Sixteen


And woe be the enemies defeated.


Steiner's mental prison fell apart spectacularly, the floating fragments of Hope smashing into each other and creating clouds of weightless annihilation above him. Buildings fell apart but did not topple. The earthen platforms they hovered upon crumbled into dust, expanding outwards in explosions of dust and smoke. The platform he stood upon began to break, pieces floating upwards and outwards, entire blocks simply floating away. From the green void came the Magimus' face, his golden eyes bright and flickering like a flame. He had incurred the apparition's wrath. Good. The blue unicorn would have been almost smug about his accomplishment if he were not so utterly enraged. 

"How does a wretch like you DARE to oppose my power in such a manner!?" the Magimus bellowed, devoid of his earlier callousness. 

"How does a monster like you justify abusing the power you have!? After all that has happened to Equestria, you use your power for games and torture!" Steiner shouted in response, his eyes glowing with such intensity they almost matched the pupil-less fire that were the Magimus eyes. 

"Of mortals and fools, their affairs do not concern me. But a being such as I is privileged to do as I see fit! You have no basis to judge me for how can you stand before a god!?" Maxim retorted.

Steiner snorted. "You are no god. Look around, I have destroyed your hold on my mind and your hold on the others. How do you defend being beaten by one so worthless?" the unicorn spat.

"Beaten? I think not! But I must commend this... new power of yours," The Magimus said dismissively as his facade degraded. 

"It is not new. I have always had this power... one that waxes and wanes on the whims of my emotions, be it happiness, sadness or anger," Steiner said, his voice dipping into a hateful octave when he said the word. 

"Regardless, it is paltry compared to the might I possess!"  boomed the Magimus. 

"Is it really?" Steiner snarled as reality crept back from the screen of the arcane being's influence. The void of green dissolved slowly, the basic details of some kind of chamber emerging from the veil. "I may not have studied magic as you clearly have, but I know a thing or two about the science of it."

The Magimus tilted his head, intrigued by the turn of events. "Explain yourself," he commanded. And so, Steiner did. 

"Arcane technology and the application of it. I have developed my own spells and enchantments based on my work with Stable-Tech equipment. So while you know your spells, I understand how magic works and I have a lot of it at my disposal. Perhaps more than you can ever possess."

Steiner was struck by another assault by the Magimus' voice, a strangling barrage that closed in from all sides. "Arrogant fool! Do you really think you can stand against me after you were defeated so easily!? Do you think I do not understand the magic I wield!?"

Steiner's shield flashed into existence, jagged bolts of raw magical power striking out at all that was near. The explosion cast the voice of the Magimus away and completely shattered the illusion that afflicted Steiner's mind. He saw that he was in a grand chamber within a scorched ring that glimmered a soft scarlet, towering pillars leading into breathtaking arches at the ceiling in a room of icy blue and white, the walls reflective of the red light of his horn and eyes. Reflective of the Magimus' radiance, only broken by the plates of metal that he held near. The pony comprised completely of magic floated in front of what appeared to be a throne from another era, twisted with spikes of ice crystals to form a frozen throne fitting to rule over his frozen domain. They jutted out from the royal seat in every which way, twinkling with the illumination from the two of them. From the windows lined with tattered dark blue curtains, Steiner  could see he was some distance above the Crystal City. He was in its castle. 

"... Naturally" Steiner said flatly before he struck a defiant pose, his legs spread out evenly underneath him, horn lowered so that it pointed right at his phantom foe. He stared down the machination of magic with a burning glare. 

"Tell me, blue one," the Magimus stated, unfazed by the display of aggression, "is this your way?"

"My what?" Steiner replied, assuming the Magimus was simply trying to distract him. Once his focus was thrown, he would strike when he could not counter. 

"Do you make it a point to fight even when you are outclassed in every way, shape and form?" Maxim asked. 

Steiner snorted and replied "No, that would be foolish. If one fights to the death when escape is not an option then so be it, but if there is an alternative I would surely take it. I oppose you now because I know that there is a chance I can win."

The ethereal pony mulled this over for a brief moment and then told the blue unicorn, "I see a lot of him in you. Perhaps that is why I find you so... intriguing..."

"A lot of whom?" Steiner pressed on warily, proceeding to pace across the floor before the frozen throne, never taking his sights off of the Maxim Magimus. 

"Why, Starswirl of course!" said the arcane anomaly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course you would never compare to him, but I do see some similarities. Like how the little red one jumped to your side like an obedient puppy when I brought up how insignificant you are. Just like Auburn," The Magimus' eyes flashed to a brilliant red at the mention of Starswirl's famed student which drowned out the light from Steiner's own eyes and horn before regaining its warm golden glow seconds later. 

"It does not take the sharpest mind to see that you resent Auburn. But I still do not see how you can project that onto Falcon Wing --"

"You know NOTHING," the Magimus roared, his voice distorting with the monstrous sound. Gone was the nonchalant specter that the being first appeared as. "You know Auburn as the earth pony who followed in the hoofsteps of the greatest wizard Equestria has ever seen! I see him as the undeserving whelp he is! He put me in the crypt with his works to reap the fame! Where is he now!? DEAD! But I remain eternal!"  

"You are blinded by pride, Magimus. He trusted you to preserve the knowledge of himself and his mentor, not to spite you. Instead you take over the city he chose to be its resting place and torture those you take issue with!" Steiner shot back. If he had been shaken by what had occurred, he did not show it in the least. 

"Oh? Can you say that I haven't been true to my duty? That I haven't protected their work!? I have kept those tomes safe longer than you can imagine, insect! I have kept them from you savage Wastelanders ever since your ancestors destroyed the world!"

Steiner bared his teeth. Him? Being called a savage? "Everypony did not become a degenerate in the wake of the war, Magimus. If you have shut yourself away long enough to become so ignorant then at least take me and my comrades as proof!"

"Please, I have peered into your mind. Your attempts to not lose control over your magic again, so as to keep another pony from dying the way your father did, the way you slaughtered others of your own kind because they happened to have the label of 'raider', had this been the time I knew, you would be rotting in a royal penitentiary or in an asylum as a result of all you have done!" boomed the magical pony. "You are no standing exception, you are no different than the filth I shun from my domain. Do not delude yourself by thinking otherwise." 

Another layer of the crimson glow flashed into existence, an aura beginning to form around the blue unicorn that made the extremities of his coat sway and flutter as if caught by a gentle breeze. "How... dare you... speak so callously of such things..." Steiner said lowly. "You are the one who knows nothing! You do not know the necessities of survival throughout my life, and while one can argue that a pony shouldn't have had to do the things ponies have done to live, that does not give you the right to think less of them!" 

"Oh, but I believe it does," the Magimus countered.

And then Steiner roared. It was a bestial sound of rage accompanied by a deluge of crimson energies that burst forth from the Crystal Castle. Red light that spewed forth from the windows and breaks in the walls on the various levels and illuminated the frozen expanse several tens of feet below.


Alana's eyes widened at the sight. There was no more doubt as to where she had to be...
> Chapter Seventeen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Seventeen 


It is funny what can be hiding right under our noses.



They crawled out from their frigid graves sluggishly, their decayed bodies frost bitten by the cold. Chips of ice had formed in their frayed and withered flesh in addition to the large shards of crystal piercing outwards from their unholy visages. They pulled themselves through the shattered windows, cutting their dead skin on jagged bits of glass that still clung to the edges of the frames. They burst from the snow itself, bony legs reaching out of the chilling cover and hoisting the rest of their corpse up to the surface, jaws hanging loosely and leaking with black sludge. Klaxon was up against a group of ghouls whose numbers only rose as he tore through the city. Now his back was up to a dead end, a wall of ice and metal sheets interspersed with concrete chunks, all brought together with a dabbling of snow. 

"When I get back to Hope the first thing I am going to do is lay out in the sun and damn Steiner if he says anything otherwise!" the bronze stallion told himself. His muscles tensed up in preparation for what he was about to do. He was not going to meet his end by being gnawed on by mindless monsters. He had endured too much to fall like that. The first line of ghouls charged and Klaxon struck true like lightning, one of the horrid zombies having their face flattened when the stallion lashed out with one foreleg. From their crumpled head, bits of brain and clotted blood spilled. 

"One down!" Klaxon called out before grabbing the stricken ghoul and swinging it around into another attempting to flank him, knocking both of them to the ground and then bucking his hind legs into another coming up from behind. Its skeleton became a symphony of cracks as its back arched sharply upwards and its chest was crushed, ribs snapping like twigs from the vicious double blow. Klaxon spun about and rammed the pony dead center, aged bile spilling out into his mane and onto his shoulders. Klaxon galloped full speed with the ghoul as an unlikely passenger slumped over him. Carried by momentum, Klaxon bowled over several of the crystalline undead with the ghoul as a shield, each impact desecrating the zombie's already decayed body further. 

When the powerful earth pony finally dug his hooves down into the snow and skidded to a halt, the ghoul was sent flying, splattering against an icicle rising out from the street. Klaxon smirked with some sense of satisfaction. He was working off quite a bit of his anger here and as therapeutic as it was, it made him wonder how he could enjoy the violence. It was not something he had the chance to contemplate in depth for he found his period of reprieve to be short lived. The ghastly calls of the others called for his attention in full. He turned back around to see that another ghoul was already upon him, its hooves encrusted with sharp crystal shards. Klaxon threw himself onto his side and kicked up at the pouncing ghoul, the blows causing it to deform and bend like a putty. Klaxon threw it aside, got back up and skillfully dodged by bitten by a zombie, jerking backwards and then bringing both fore hooves down upon its skull.

He was covered in ichor of black and dark reds. He reeked of death. Though he had felled many with his bare hooves, there were many still that remained. No matter how strong he was, he couldn't hope to keep this up for much longer. As he tired, an errant swing could bring about his own demise. Even as he stood, panting with bits and pieces littering the area around him staining the white blanket, the ghouls pressed on, swarming him down the straight. 

"Hey, daddy," he said while looking at the one ghoul who had appeared in his illusion as Sparks. "I know I've been bad for a long time..."

The ghouls got ever nearer. 

"I'm just wondering... would you approve of what I am today?" 

He struck a combat stance. 

"Because I try to be like you, you know. Living by your example."

He looked at the former proxy of Roxanne.  

"And I'm sorry for all the hurt I caused. Sorry for not being there to pull you up when you were going down..."

He spun about and bucked the nearest ghoul in the face, bloodied chunks soaring away in an arc. 

"And I'm sorry for ever losing hope!" he snarled, immediately throwing himself onto the next ghoul, pinning it beneath him and clobbering it with his hooves. 

Gun shots rode on the air, the songs of familiar weapons. Ones he had come to known over the years that tolled on by. It was how he knew Alana had found him. 

A ghoul stumbled in place as each bullet tore through its body from behind. Its head exploded when one drove its way through its skull and right out the middle of its face, ejecting shards of skull in addition to flesh giblets. One by one the ghouls fell to the retort of assault rifle fire. They turned to see the second pony galloping to the aid of the first, covering a few yards with each bounding stride and then planting her hooves down, unleashing another volley into the crowd. When ghouls tore off from the rest to confront her, Alana responded with shotgun shells, shredding the undead opposition without hindrance. Their bodies rolled a few feet after they were felled, limbs dismembered or in some cases, the corpse torn in two with one half still squirming after it was severed.

Klaxon surveyed the carnage. Shell casings and blood, the hallmarks of a good time. "I see your time with Falcon Wing hasn't affected your aim one bit," he told Alana. 

"I see you're still kicking strong. The Sparkle Shiny didn't do anything too bad did he?" the caramel mare asked, to which the bronze stallion snorted in reply.  

"He didn't know what he was fu --" he began to say, Alana shooting him a stern look before he could swear. "-...messing with. Anyway, how about you, are you okay?"

Alana nodded. "Methryl is angry, though... he's in the palace thing... he couldn't have given in, right? He isn't losing control again...?" she dared to question.

"Not a chance," Klaxon replied. "He's done everything he possibly could have to keep that from happening again. Nothing the magical fuc --.. .jerk... can do will bring out that part of him," Klaxon said. He may have made fun of Steiner's plans earlier, may have poked fun at him throughout the trip, but there was a basic faith he had in his long time companion that could not be shaken. 

"You sure?" Alana asked, and Klaxon chuckled. 

"Positive. A better question would be, where does a mare whose talent is gunplay get off getting others not to curse?" he said.

"Guns are not what define me, Klaxon. If my identity revolved around my weapons, I wouldn't be much of a pony at all, really. I'd just be just that -- a weapon. And a pony who could only shed blood and cause pain is a pretty sad pony, I'd figure," said the caramel mare. "And we live in a kill-or-be-killed world. When you're used to taking lives... well a tiny standard to hold yourself to is a good thing."

"Huh. Did anypony ever tell you that you're a real piece of work?" Klaxon said jokingly, then in a more serious tone he added "We need to find Falcon...I hope he's alright out there, wherever he is..."


Falcon Wing just did not have in him to fly. His spirits were completely dashed, burdened by memories he had been content with putting behind him and the taunting words of the Shadow Sweep. Where was his brave face and burning courage now? Was he still just a colt in over his head, even after all he had been through in recent times? Was he still so weak? He trudged through the snow, completely overwhelmed. He was lost and alone and not even his Pipeye could offer him much consolidation. He had a map of the city but no idea where any of his friends were. He had heard a strange sound carry on the wind and gunshots in the distance, but that did little to aid him in his current state. He felt pathetic and useless, pitiful and small. The runt of pegasus kind, the one who was fodder for the world.

"Why am I even still trying... better ponies than I have tried to do the things I've vowed to do and died for it... what made me think I would be any different than they?" he wondered as he walked the streets in the grip of eternal winter. He was a joke. A wannabe. A follower of a pony he had, at the time, only heard of once. He was no hero, just a fool with a bleeding heart. 

"Oh look, it is the Shadow Bro!" he heard someone say. The voice was strange, accented and deep sounding. The red pegasus looked around, spotting somepony waving at him from what would have been the second floor window of a ruined home. The large mound of snow that wrapped around the building formed a ramp up to the opening.

The pony was a unicorn and they had a very thick coat on. One thicker than the one Falcon wore, as if the leathery fabric had been stuffed. Its fur was white, which contrasted with the dark blue coat they wore. Their mane was two colored, dark purple on one side and light pink on the other. They had black shades on, so Falcon Wing couldn't see what color their eyes were. Though the colors made him think the pony was a mare, the voice was definitely masculine.

He hoped he wasn't going to meet another raider with a ruined throat. 

"Shadow Bro, come on up!" the stranger called out to him in hushed tones. Falcon Wing cocked his head and did just that, trotting up the small hill of snow to the window. How did this pony infiltrate the domain of the Maxim Magimus?

"It's Shadow Bane," Falcon Wing told the pony when he got to the windowsill. He paused, catching himself then said "I mean Wing. Falcon -- Falcon Wing. Not... Shadow Wing... or... Shadow Bane." 

"And I am known as Regolit! But call me Rego. Nopony calls me that but I like how it sounds!" said the unicorn of a small build that seemed just as old as the pegasus...
> Chapter Eighteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Eighteen


But every once in a while, one can discover what hid in plain sight.


"Okay... Rego," Falcon Wing said to the stranger. "What are you doing here? And how do you know about the Shadow Bane?" he asked. Word of what he did in Baltimare could not have reached such a far flung region, could it? Rego sped away from Falcon Wing, heading deeper into the house. 

"Come, come!" Regolit said in an excited whisper. Falcon Wing followed, hopping off of the snow mound and into the room where he fell into step with the white pony. They seemed nice enough. Didn't try anything funny... yet. Falcon Wing kept his guard up but tried not to assume the worst of the stranger.

It was dark and cold inside, and this particular room was bare. Very little furniture or details to take note of. Four walls, a ceiling and a floor. Regolit opened the door to a stairway heading deeper into the pony's hideaway. A dim yellow light reflecting off of the white walls reminded Falcon Wing of the cellar. The fact that this level of the house was technically buried underneath several feet of snow did not go without its recognition. 

"Nice place," Falcon Wing said flatly.

"You haven't seen anything yet!" Rego replied and he started walking down the stairs. 

"I'm sure of it..." Falcon Wing responded. From his experience, ponies living so far away from others tend to be resourceful and cunning. And also loaded with a past one would be wise to avoid talking about. But that was only Klaxon and Steiner, maybe Rego would be an exception!


When he got down to the bottom of the stairs, Falcon could see the white pony lived up to his word. It appeared to be a living room with bookshelves that were used to display everything other than books. Jewelery and fine crystals that looked untouched by the Great War were lined up in order of quality and size, the largest and most beautiful to the left of a row with everything of receding value going to the right. The single ceiling light was not spectacularly illuminating; in fact the cellar's table lamp was brighter than it, but the soft light made the trinkets glimmer. In addition to the shelves which braced against every wall, there was a circular rug at the center of room. Despite being dirty and dusty, Falcon Wing could make out the image of a snowflake. Resting at the center was a brown table with a few books on it and a large sea-green couch near it. The red pegasus was impressed, not only did Rego manage to evade the Magimus, he was evidently doing it for a long time. Long enough to get his own personal scavenger nest. One book in particular caught Falcon's eye. 

"Obscure Unicorn History: Starswirl and the Magus Magnus... reproduction edition," he thought out loud. 

"Yes! Good story!" Regolit said, nodding his head so quickly it was a wonder how his shades did not fly off his face. 

"Hey... Rego... you've..." Falcon began, trying his best to formulate the best way to go about asking about the arcane "ruler" of the Crystal Empire.  "You've seen...the glowing pony, right?"

Rego frowned. "Yes. Every pony who comes here have been sent back by him. Every pony that is lucky. I was with the Northern Traders, but got separated from them when we were attacked by him. There are other ponies like me, ponies who got lost in the city and are now hiding from the Forever Glow. I do not think we can live much longer like this." 

Abruptly, a broad smile was born from that frown. "But you are here to help, yes? Hero of Baltimare? Shadow Bro! I mean, Bane!"

"Not... exactly" Falcon Wing said with a frown of his own. "How... do you know about me again?" he asked. 

Regolit pointed to a radio tucked away on one shelf. It had gem beads lining the sleek black metal casing and crystals for buttons. "I listen to the DJ Pon3! It helps me stay connected with the world outside!"   

"... Of course" Falcon responded. Apparently the voice of the Wasteland did reach such far flung regions. "But as to why I'm here... my friends and I were looking for the original works of Starswirl the Bearded and his student, Auburn when the... Forever Glow... got a bit angry at us."

"And you still live!?" Regolit said, brimming with reverence that made Falcon Wing feel somewhat uncomfortable. 

"Only because one of my friends was able to disrupt whatever magic was being used on me. He's that powerful of a unicorn, I'll tell you that much," Falcon Wing answered. "The Forever Glow calls himself the Maxim Magimus... sounds a lot like Magus Magnus to me. Would it be alright if I took that book with me? It might shed some light on what this... thing really is."

Rego hummed thoughtfully then asked "You intend to lend us aid?" 

Falcon Wing had asked himself the same question. A hero isn't the pony who acts in order to get praised. A hero is the pony who does what should be done because it is the right thing to do. He couldn't count on himself to be brave all the time. He was just a colt in a world that concealed many terrors, after all. But that did not mean he was useless and small. He folded underneath the Magimus but that did not mean he had failed. Not yet. To truly fail would be to stop trying all together. 

"... Yes. You said it yourself, you and the others like you can't live in hiding forever. The Magimus has to be stopped, but I can't do anything if I don't know how," said Falcon Wing with rising assurance. Regolit was practically jittering. 

"Yes! Take it! Take it and kick ass!" said the white pony, dancing in place. "Shadow Bane Falcon Wing kicking Forever Glowing ass!" 

Falcon Wing walked up to the table, took the book and stuffed it into his coat. It was the best he had since his saddlebags were still in the wagon-mobile. 

"I'm sorry to have to cut this a bit short," he said to Rego. "But I've got to go find my friends, and together we'll free you from Maxim. I promise!"

"Glowing Bane!" Rego proclaimed, then started to chant. "Bane! Bane! Bane! Bane! Ass! Kick!" 

Falcon Wing hurried back to the stairs and just as he was about to dart out of Rego's place, something occurred to him. He wasn't wearing his cloak...

"DJ Pon3 didn't describe me over the air... how'd you figure I was the Shad --" he started to question, only to have Regolit rear up and do some tribal-looking dance, hopping from one hoof to the next, swinging his forelegs. 

"Bane! Bane! Bane!"

"... Right," Falcon Wing said, then proceeded on his way. He pulled down his Pipeye and hopped out the window, spreading his black wings and taking to the air. He made it a point to put a marker on the half-buried house so that he could find it later. 
> Chapter Nineteen
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Nineteen


For every calm forest, there is a raging fire. 


Things were intensifying in the palace. A foreboding cover of clouds rolled in from seemingly nowhere, collecting over the Crystal Tower. It was a silent, looming darkness that hung over the expanse of white far below. Energies ran across the castle's ruined exterior, bolts of many colors shot into the sky like reverse lightning, leaping into the shadows that watched from the heavens. It was something that could not be missed, a show that demanded to be seen. It was an especially striking sight to behold while flying over the Crystal City as Falcon soon discovered shortly after taking flight. The beams were so bright that hey could have been seen for miles.

"Oh no..." he muttered. He was making a beeline right for the gigantic structure. He had a gut feeling that his friends were already there, confronting the Magimus and a part of him screamed at such a possibility. "I have a book!" it exclaimed. "We'll beat him with pages and words! Just give us some time to read!" 

A lone shot tore through the cold air, the sound being one he recognized. Falcon Wing had been hearing it echo off in the distance with each use of the gun and now he was hearing it at a much closer distance. The assault rifle. Alana. He banked down towards where the last of the gunshot registered to his ears. There he saw the caramel mare waving him down and the bronze stallion looking up at him. Both looked relieved to see him. He was elated to see them. But as usual, his happiness was replaced with a sense of urgency. If they were all outside, then that means Steiner was in that castle. Steiner was facing the Maxim Magimus by himself. And if the palace's walls were anything to go by, things were quickly spiraling out of hoof. The question was: who was winning? The Magimus or Steiner? 

"Guys!" Falcon Wing yelled as he came in for a sliding landing on the ground, touching down on the snow and trotting over to the the two other ponies. He sat on his haunches and reached into his coat, pulling out the book. It had a reddish-brown leather cover and golden metal binding on the spine. In the daylight, its title that was a rustic golden script had an awesome sheen. The pegasus simply held it out, front cover facing towards his friends. Klaxon and Alana's eyes ran across it and they both had a spark in their eye when they realized what Falcon Wing was getting at. 

"Hold up," Klaxon stated while putting a hoof to his forehead, thinking through the implications. "Starswirl was involved with something called the Magus Magnus?"

"And Auburn too, I'd think," Alana replied. "Steiner did say some of their work became books..."

Falcon Wing nodded his head ecstatically. "The Guardian has been guarding knowledge long lost to Equestria and knows stories of the past. He would have known about the Magnus and with the right knowledge..."

"... He could make himself into something like that. The Magimus," Klaxon said, eyes wide with realization. He stamped his hoof down. "What the fuck is a Magnus!?" he exclaimed, then shot a look to Alana. "Pardon." 

Falcon Wing put the book on the ground and opened it to the first page. "I suppose we'll have to read to find out!" he said, then looked back to the Crystal Tower, the spire ablaze with so much magical energy that he feared the ancient castle would finally meet its end. 

Klaxon and Alana sat down. The bronze stallion cleared his throat and started to read aloud,


"Unacceptable!" I heard Starswirl say from his quiet study, but I already knew what the commotion was about. As his assistant, the message from the princess was brought to me first. Ergo, hearing Starswirl react as he did was far from surprising..."


"First person... why did I think it'd be written any differently?" Falcon Wing wondered as he listened along. They'd have to get through the book quickly if they were to make the most of the information they got from it, if any at all...



"Where was this side of you when we first met, blue one!?" the Magimus boomed, his ethereal body stretched out into a serpentine form, the six hexagons of purple metal orbiting around him when he reared up like a snake. Arcs of white energy had become solid streams in the gaps between the plates. 

Steiner did not reply. He had become the epicenter of a magical inferno. The energies surrounding him -the red glow, the crackling electricity and sparks- all made him seem almost diabolical. His eyes were solid crimson, the whites and pupils of them lost in the sea of ruby. His coat fluttered, hood whipped about by some unseen force. The same was true of his mane and tail, which tossed and turned inside the field of magic which he was suspended in. Self-levitation, which allowed him to stare the Magimus in the eye even in the new form he had taken. 

Instead of words, Steiner's rebuttal came in the form of a cascading blast of magic which swept across the chamber, turning the reflective floors and walls dark and dull. The Magimus' plates arranged themselves into a wall in which a barrier of magic manifested, dispersing the red tide harmlessly. A barrier the Magimus was forced to keep up, the air itself lashing out at the former Guardian. Red orbs of raw magical power formed around the Magimus, constantly channeling energy around him, locking the construct of magic within his own shield. For him to retaliate would put him at risk --

Just like Steiner, the Magimus dispelled the binding energies with a pulse of his shield, rending the hold asunder and then putting his own trap on the powerful unicorn. Caught in the Magimus' telekinesis, Steiner grunted and groaned. The magical pony was attempting to tear him apart from the inside out! 

"Tremble, mortal! Tremble before powers you could not even dream of!" the Magimus boasted as Steiner seemed to crumple in his own magical aura. It grew brighter with Steiner's attempts to resist.

"N-NO!" Steiner roared. With great strain, he stripped the walls and throne away with his own mental magic, sending the debris flying at the Magimus.

"You defile my chamber!?" bellowed the arcane antagonist. He diverted his concentration to catch the battle-torn rubble and in turn released his opponent. 

"Your vanity... and pride... will be your downfall," Steiner panted at the Magimus, his voice accompanied by an otherworldly echo. 

The Magimus only laughed at that, his disembodied voice rocking their arena. "For all your power, you grow tired. I remain unfazed!" 

The air distorted for a fraction a second and Steiner was flung out of a hole in the wall he had created himself. He left a trail akin to those left by Falcon Wing, one exceptionally long. He had been jettisoned several yards from the tower. The frozen ruins below beckoned for his speedy, unforgiving return to the Earth. 

"No..." Steiner snarled, a white film overtaking the red of his horn, even more power being summoned to his call. "I shall not fall! I refuse!" 

It was a brilliant burst of light in the sky when Steiner brought forth another onslaught of magic to his aid. Thin streams of energy flickered in and out of existence around the blue unicorn, his mane writhing. Steiner rocketed back into the fight, pushing himself to levels he had never attempted to reach before... 
> Chapter Twenty
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty


The best laid plans can sometimes be taken from the past. But the same is boring!


"Take a message, Auburn. For our report to the Princess." Starswirl said to me. I quickly retrieved a quill and parchment from my pack."Tell her the problem is solved." he told me to write. 

"That's it?" I asked. That surely could not have been all!

Starswirl nodded. "I think it best left unsaid. Perhaps it is best the Magus stay forgotten." were his last words on the matter, and it was with those words that my adventure...or misadventure of the Magus Magnus came to an end."


Klaxon looked up to the sky. "Damn," he said and shook his head. There was a short note at the very bottom of the last page, but Klaxon was not so keen on reading it. "I think Starswirl knew what he was talking about when he said forgotten, Auburn." 

Alana leaned forward to read the block of smaller text that was spaced out from the rest of the account. "Auburn knew why his mentor had wanted the story of the Magus Magnus to never see the light of day, but as the denizens of Equestria began to forget the incredible deeds of the old unicorn, he felt it best to show them. The story of Starswirl and the Magus Magnus would become one of the most popular stories in Canterlot, and served as a warning to those who sought nothing but power." 

She pulled back and shrugged. "Knowledge is a special kind of power, I guess..."

Falcon Wing opened his mouth to offer his own insight when the duel at the castle created a thunderous cacophony that would have drowned out his voice. He looked back at it, seeing rubble raining down from the tower, flaming. "What is with these magical ponies and their towers...?" he asked no one in particular. 

Klaxon scooped the book up and put it in his coat this time. "Starswirl was able to beat him with a single spell. Steiner's been up there throwing how many of them at the Magimus. What gives?" he asked. 

"The Magimus must have read the story too, Klaxon. I think he learned from the mistakes of his predecessor. Would explain the metal. He doesn't want to torn apart as raw energy alone. He needs... what would Steiner say... an anchor." Alana said matter of factly. Falcon Wing raised a brow.

"That was...very perceptive of you, Alana." he told her. She scoffed. 

"Have I done anything to make you think that I am not perceptive?" she asked somewhat incredulously. 

"It takes a special kind of pony to find Sparkle Cola in a train station... and pony of even higher caliber than that to drink the two hundred year old stuff." Falcon Wing argued. "So no, you might have eyes as sharp as Klaxon over there."

"Sharp eyes and sharp aim. I think my father might still be alive if you had been the one holding that rifle!" Klaxon said jokingly. The joke immediately made the two others feel uncomfortable, with Falcon Wing chuckling weakly and Alana looking horrified.

"But...I was just a filly..."

"Whoa sister, easy now. Just kidding around," the bronze stallion added swiftly.

"About your father? I seem to recall that being a... very touchy subject when I first met you." said Falcon Wing. 

Klaxon  paused to think of his reply and when he got it, he said: "Lets just say, this little trip and our friend in the tower has given me a learning experience. One a bit more profound than a talk in a cellar can provide." 

"And if we want to teach our friend a lesson of his own, we need to get rid of those panels he carries around. Otherwise he'll be too tough to beat," Alana said. Falcon Wing noted how strange it was that Alana was the one to put the conversation back on track to the matter at hoof. 

"She's right, we can talk about this all later. Right now, Steiner needs us to save his ass," Klaxon said. He shot another look at Alana. "Pardon."

"If it's your way then fine. You don't have to apologize to me whenever you swear, Molasses. Only Falcon Wing has to do that!" Alana responded and then she broke off into a full gallop towards the castle. Klaxon followed suit. If the situation had been under different circumstances, he might have felt a twinge of embarrassment that his jab at Falcon Wing reached her as well.

Likewise, if things had been different, the red pony would have said something about that last part. Falcon Wing extended his arcane-tech wings and shot off into the sky. He intended to lend his magically gifted friend a hoof while Alana and Klaxon made their way up through the palace itself. The fear that it was going to collapse had not subsided. In fact, it only grew as the magnitude of power within grew. 



The Magimus coiled like some kind of flying snake, a wingless dragon, his incorporeal white body wrapping around the edges of the chamber, enclosing Steiner within his magical form. Tendrils of energy converged on Steiner from all directions, forcing him to keep up a shield as he had done to the Magimus. Except the Magimus' power could not simply be dispelled, it was just too great, even now. "You are so stubborn!" he exclaimed. "Just like Starswirl! You just will not give up!"

"As long as I am able to fight I will, Magimus!" Steiner replied, his voice otherworldly and unsettling as well. The effects of such concentrated magic seemed to make everything monstrous. 

"Ah, but you cannot keep this up much longer. I can sense that you are wasting away from your valiance! Be it by my intervention or your own unwillingness to surrender, you will die," the Magimus snarled. 

Steiner bared his teeth, regarding the Magimus with a hateful glare. It was true. He was not used to summoning so much of his power at once. His body was beginning to break because of it. He started to think tactically. He was going to die, that much was very much likely. But as he was now, he could still win. He just had to go all the way. He would die, but he would take the Maxim Magimus with him. Yes...that seemed preferable. A battle where the both of them were struck down was many times better than one fought only to end in crushing defeat because of fear for his wellbeing. If dying meant ridding Equestria of this malevolent entity then so be it.

"Steiner!" Falcon Wing's voice reached him and for a moment, the glare disappeared and was replaced with shock. Then worry. 

"Stay away!" Steiner boomed. The fool of a pegasus would be flying into his own demise! But it was too late, the courageous pony flew into the chamber through the missing chunks in the palace walls, dodging streaks of spectral energy that made their way to the skies above. For a moment, Steiner could feel the Magimus' assault lessen. The feeling of dread that came over him was instantaneous. 

"Ah... so the pet finally comes to his master's aid. Your timing... could not be any worse. Well, that isn't correct. You could have arrived when he had already died... wouldn't that have been... ironic?" the Magimus rumbled with a cold, calculating calmness. What he had for Steiner was simple anger, the desire to crush a rival as it were. But Falcon Wing? He had hate. Cold, repressed hatred spawned from more than a millennia of living in somepony else's shadow. A pony that the pegasus reminded him of in many infuriating aspects. 

"Falcon Wing get out of here! He is going to murder you!" Steiner barked. "I can handle him myself!"

"Destroy the metal!" Falcon Wing shouted, bobbing and weaving in the air in front of the Magimus. The serpentine pony's eyes followed his movement like a cobra being charmed. 

"Destroy the met --?" 

"It's how he maintains himself! He must've done something to them so he doesn't go the same way as the Magus Magnus --!" 

The Magimus unleashed a terrible soul rending screech, Falcon Wing finding himself thrown from the air onto the blackened, rubble covered floor. He rose to his hooves somewhat shaken, but resolute all the same. "Bet you weren't counting on us finding the fucking book did you, you shit!?" 

His eyes widened. If he had been less agile than he was, he would have been struck by the magical lightning bolt which blew apart the floor where Falcon Wing had been standing seconds before. The pony swallowed hard. Suddenly, having metal wings was not as awesome as he initially thought it was. 

"I will enjoy ripping you apart. I will enjoy ripping you apart then putting you back together! I will enjoy ripping you apart, putting you back together then VAPORIZING YOU!" the Magimus rumbled. Falcon Wing let out a sharp cry of pain as the arcane abstraction began to act upon his words. The unimaginable yet strangely familiar feeling of having innards rearranged underneath his flesh made his body tense in anguish. Steiner was not having any of it. 

"PUT HIM DOWN" the pony boomed in a fit of renewed ire, the aura surrounding him expanding into a jagged, chaotic mass of power. As the energies swirled around him in unpredictable paths, the rubble of the chamber started to clatter then float. Steiner's eyes were miniature, blood red suns. 

A pillar of energy shot forth, diverging when it hit the Magimus' neck and locking it in an entropic field of magical energy and then flinging the former Guardian's head into the far side of the chamber, pinning him there with a metaphysical clamp. Falcon Wing was released from his malignant mental grasp. 

"And you mean... to tell me he is not your pet!?" the Magimus snarled, vines of white energies swirling around the red, writhing angrily.  

"How I wish I can make this painful for you. How I wish you had bones to break... organs to rupture... flesh to flay. But instead I only have your mind to play with. Perhaps that will suffice --"

"No, Steiner don't!" Falcon Wing implored desperately. Steiner turned his head slightly. Slightly. The Magimus was still in full view. He was bracing against any spell the Magimus could throw at him. 

"I understand that you're angry. I know that you want to make him suffer for all that he's done, but it isn't justice or retribution if you do it out of rage!" Falcon Wing exclaimed. "It only makes you just as bad as him!"

"How noble!" the Magimus spat mockingly. He whipped his ethereal tail around, sparks of magic jumping from it, heading right for the red pegasus. Falcon Wing prepared to leap out of its way when it smashed hard against a crimson shield. 

"He is right," Steiner said simply. He directed his focus to the plates of metal that constantly floated alongside the Magimus. They glowed a hot red, and for the first time in ages the Magimus showed true fear in his emotionless visage. 

"Stop you idiot! You know not the havoc you will bring!" 

"Well if the book was anything to go by, this entire fucking tower is going to come crashing down!" Falcon Wing responded. He had to go warn the others, to tell them to turn back. He could only hope they hadn't gotten very far up the spire...

"Falcon Wing," Steiner said commandingly, "get the others a safe distance from here."

"Oh good, you're a mind reader now." Falcon Wing thought. He speedily departed through the nearest hole in the wall, diving from the tower through the stabbing cold air of the frozen north. 

"Just like any good pet, he heeds the orders of its master without hesitation!" the Magimus snarled spitefully, fighting a losing battle with the seemingly boundless power Steiner had mustered. It was all too easy to forget it would be the end of him...
> Chapter Twenty-One
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty-One


Of victory and sacrifice, ask not for whom the bell tolls. 



Electricity arced, lances of light which ran across the onyx metal of Falcon Wing's stowed augmentations. The result was magical streams trailing his descent even without his wings extended. He ignored the mild discomfort that came with the attraction, it was natural that Steiner's magic would be drawn to them. They were enchanted by him in the first place. They shot outwards to either side a short while after he fell past the exposed portion of staircase Klaxon and Alana were climbing. He twirled around and saw that Alana had stuck her head out of the craggy break in the building. Even though she was several stories above him by time he did so, he saw her eyes wide and clear as the frigid day. 

By time he flew up to their level, Klaxon had pulled her back out of fear some wayward piece of shrapnel was going to come plummeting onto her. His fears were well founded, as Falcon had to dodge one such wayward piece of debris: a fairly large chunk of the palace wall that had crumbled away. The burning chunk of the palace joined a growing mound at the snowy base of the tower a long ways down.  

"He got the message," Falcon Wing said with urgency in his tone. He slipped into the alcove in the tower to take shelter from raining death. "We've got to get out of here."

"We came to get him only to leave him? What the hell!?" Klaxon said after a snort of disbelief. 

"The Magimus has... changed since we last saw him. Only Steiner has a chance against him, and Steiner can't finish him off with us here. You know how the story of the Magnus ends."

"I do. That's why I'm going up there and why I'm going to help! Starswirl nearly died beating the Magimus, like fuck if I'm letting Steiner go through that shit alone!" Klaxon shot back. 

Alana wanted to say something but things were already escalating between the bronze stallion and the red colt. 

"Starswirl told Auburn to take everypony and leave the tower and Steiner told me to do the same! If you're here when the Magimus dies -- when this tower comes down... Steiner can teleport away! We can't!" Falcon Wing retorted. 

"I can't just turn away, Falcon! Not after all we've been through together!" Klaxon insisted. 

"There is a really fine line between being loyal to a friend and being suicidal, Klaxon! This is one of those times when the line is really, really fine!"

The stallion bared his teeth, clearly conflicted. 

"Just... just trust him. He asked you to have faith in him. He asked all of us to have faith in him. Steiner is the most powerful unicorn we know, maybe even the strongest in recent history. Maybe he is the next Starswirl." Falcon Wing offered. "So... don't worry about him. He's saved us from the Magimus' mind tricks and has been holding his own against the Magimus for a while now already, and that was before he knew how to win! I'm sure everything will be fine and this nightmare will finally end! But we've got to go!" 

Klaxon made a stubborn rumbling in his throat. He pawed at the frosty stairs with a fore hoof. "... Fine." he said begrudgingly. "I have faith in him."

"All three of us have faith in him." Alana said finally, relieved that the situation had resolved itself. 

Falcon Wing sighed. "Then let's get out of here. We don't have much time and it's a long way down."

He proceeded to make haste down the stairs, which Klaxon didn't understand. "You aren't gonna fly out of here?"

"Please," Falcon Wing said, stopping a few steps down from him and the caramel mare. He waved a hoof. "You don't want to leave Steiner, and I don't want to leave you guys. If this tower comes down with you still inside, well I'm sure as fuck going to be inside too. Sorry, Alana." 

"There's a fine line between being loyal to your friends and just being stupid, Falcon Wing," the bronze stallion countered. 

"Yeah, well I can tell you the same thing!" the red pegasus said, then continued down the stairs. With a grunt and a smirk, Klaxon started down as well, Alana bringing up the rear. She pulled ahead of Klaxon and nuzzled Falcon's cheek. 

"I'm glad you're alright, by the way." she said. 

"I'm glad you're fine too. You, Klaxon, Steiner. It could have been so much worse..." Falcon Wing replied. 



The Magimus had become a belligerent animal at this point, no longer boastful, callous or refined. He was snarling and growling, struggling against the restraints which Steiner imposed on the incorporeal pony as he pulled his anchors away from him. The beams of energy which held them in place grew weaker under Steiner's influence. 

"Monster! You are a horrible, terrible abomination of magic!" Maxim spouted in his last moments. "How could you possibly do this to your fellow pony!? How!?"

Steiner could not scowl harder even if he tried. Was this pony doing this on purpose? Was he attempting to run the gauntlet by enraging Steiner even further, so that he would burn himself out quicker?  It took all of his will power not to give in to his temptations. He had to remember what Falcon Wing told him. He could not mess this up. He had very little margin for error. In the end, he was his own worst enemy. 

He did not give the Magimus the satisfaction of a reply and instead made a final push. His horn surged with his essence and with a magnificent flash of light, the six hexagons of metal were pried from the Magimus' being, thrown aside like common scrap. They clattered noisily on the floors of the royal chamber, their purplish glow fading slowly. The Magimus' howl was like that of the coldest tundra wind. A sound that seemed like it could coat all it passed over in a layer of frost if Steiner's aura did not combat it so thoroughly. 

"Is this how it ends!? It could not possibly be so! A pony such as I held at the whim of Wasteland scum!? This is not dignified! This is not profound! This is... impossible!" the Magimus wailed. 

"I never did expect my last moments of life to be spent listening to something so utterly... pathetic. You are pathetic scum, and I want you to know that before I kill you, Maxim," Steiner said flatly with an edge of irritation. 

"I will not die without a triumph of my own, blue one! I will be vindicated knowing that my death will be soon followed by your own!"  

Steiner turned his gaze to the discarded metal plates. It was only then did he see the intricate imprints on the metal, crafting that was immaculate and ancient. But he also saw more.

"We shall see, Magimus. Well. Not really. You'll be dead!" Steiner replied with a hint of biting humor. How joyously fitting that was! Without any hesitation, Steiner's red streams pierced the white glowing pony, veins of scarlet permeating the Magimus' being. They coalesced at the core of the ethereal mage, where a swirling vortex appeared, a black disk with a prismatic outer edge, swirling in infinity. The shrieks of anguish that followed suit were a melody to Steiner's ears. Perhaps too much so...how could he revel in another's turmoil, even if it was a pony as terrible as the Magimus?

Said agony came with violent expulsions of magical energy, flashes of light and heat. The frozen chamber of the Magimus started to deform as the pony destabilized, just a raw body of magic that had no binding to define its shape. 

Steiner felt the world slipping away from him then. The Magimus was dying, and Steiner was indeed following him into the great beyond it seemed.  His life thus far flashed before his eyes, his moments of happiness with his father...the last happy moment he had with him being the one where his magic manifested itself in all its horrendous glory. The time after where he and Klaxon grew up and everything around them appeared to wither; up until they left Hope for what they thought was forever. That night he followed Klaxon to the dumpster where Falcon Wing hid from the world and the days that passed where the then-wingless pegasus decided to challenge the Wasteland itself. The night he and Klaxon teleported across the country to lend Falcon aid when he needed it the most. The mid-morning he brought them all to the frozen north in search of lost knowledge and finally, the battle which would claim his life...

Steiner drifted to the blackened ground, his aura fizzling away until it nary had a spark to shine. The undulating, spasmodic Magimus lit up the chamber with crackling white lightning which struck out at the nigh obliterated walls and ceiling. His cries and screams were a distant, muddling of sound. The blue unicorn staggered forth to where he threw the the panels the Magimus once relied on. What he was about to do would be a stretch...but as long as there was something to try, he was going to try it. That was his way.  


Falcon Wing, Alana and Klaxon bolted away from the tower, which had begun to fall apart before they cleared the exit. They sped across the field of flaming rubble that had formed during the duel of incredible mights, fleeing from the tons more which the spire released all at once with a great show of light and sound. No longer did energy shoot up into the heavens, but across the sky, rippling outwards from the very top of the Crystal Palace, which then fell into itself, dust and smoke rising as it slid from its position of greatness. Metal groaned. Concrete broke apart. A gigantic cloud obscured a considerable part of the ruins where the tower was reacquainted with the ground. 

The trio skidded in the snow and then dove behind the assortment of wrecks in the street for cover. The cloud wafted through the street, carried by a wind which sent shrapnel flying. Against the metal of old wagons, the projectiles came to noisy halts. 

"Well that was... inevitable" Falcon Wing said after a coughing fit. 

"I take it this means the Sparkle Shiny is gone?" Alana said, peeking up from behind the wreck and looking into the dispersing fog. 

"Where the hell is Steiner...?" Klaxon asked after doing the same and not seeing any sign of the blue unicorn. His great eyes were unhindered by the dust in the air and yet his friend was nowhere to be seen. 

"Steiner..." the bronze stallion stated, stunned. 

Tears were already in Falcon Wing's eyes and he tried his best not to cry. "He... he went out like a hero... sacrifice. The greatest of virtues. The last thing he said to me... he was thinking about you guys... about us --"

Klaxon's hoof resounded loudly in the cold ruins. He left a deep dent in the rusting metal. "Damn it! Damn it all!" he shouted at the skeletal remains where the tower once stood. "Damn the Magi-fucker and damn this shit... shit... shit!" 

He slammed his forehead down on the wreckage and started to shudder. He continued pounding his hoof against the metal. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" he said in between sobs. Alana trotted over to him and rested her head on his shoulder. Falcon Wing made his way over as well, putting a hoof on the other one. His tears were flowing free now. Never before did he have such attachment to other ponies... and never before he did have to deal with losing a friend. But the Wasteland -- or rather what the Wasteland had become -- did not favor one pony over the next. Just as Steiner was able to take a life, fate took his --

Falcon Wing felt a tingle around his eyes and where his metal wings were attached to his body. A tingle he had felt just before, free falling down the face of the tower. "Klaxon..." he said, his voice trembling. 

Klaxon raised his head and looked down the snow-buried street. The dust of the fallen tower had thinned out and a short distance away he saw a figure approaching. One dwarfed by six sheets of hexagonal plates which glimmered softly. Six tendrils of energy suspended them, six tendrils of red. 


"Steiner...?" Klaxon muttered, then bared his teeth. "Aw fuck! He's gone Magimus on our asses!" 

"I thought you said he couldn't have lost himself, Klaxon!" Alana exclaimed. 

"I did say that! He couldn't have -- he didn't!" Klaxon stammered. 

Falcon Wing activated the Pipeye's zoom spell. Magnified, he saw Steiner limping toward them, the stallion's state visibly deteriorating. "Oh no..." 

"What!?" Klaxon snarled. 

"We need to get him back to the wagon. He does not look good at all," Falcon Wing replied. 
> Chapter Twenty-Two
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Twenty-Two


For the bell may sometimes fail to sound.


The world was a blur fading in and out around the blue unicorn. He knew his body was shutting down on him, but he had to keep going. His hoofsteps were faint, crunching through the snow and debris field. His chest heaved. His legs were shaky. His breaths came ragged. He was so tired. So very tired...but he could not stop. He did not know what drove him to head in the direction he was heading in, but he knew that he could not stop walking for to do that would surely bring about his passing. Teleporting out of the tower when it started to crumble had drained the power of the Magimus' anchors drastically. He was holding on by a proverbial thread. What little magic the artifacts contained was being depleted very quickly to sustain the blue mage at the brink. 

He peered out through narrowed eyes at the swaying, distorted world. He saw shapes rushing towards him and heard the sounds they made. They all blended into one another, a wave of sound which washed over him, sound he could not discern or interpret. 

"Have I...only delayed my death?" Steiner thought. Maybe the Magimus' vindication would come to pass after all. The pain Steiner wanted to inflict upon the incorporeal fiend came to fruition in the end. At the very least however, Steiner knew he did all he could. He did not lay down and let doom drag him to the netherworld, whatever that realm may be. Instead he did everything he could until he had exhausted every possibility. He had won. The Magimus was no more, and no longer would anypony who ventured into the city be subjected to his sick games and torment. 

The last thing he had to do now was walk. Just...keep walking. Stagger if he must, he would not lay down until his consciousness had departed for good. To join the countless others whose spirits were stripped from their being by necromantic fire. 

"Just... keep... moving" he told himself as the darkness crept in from his peripherals. 

"I am... sorry... father"


"Whoa, geez!" Falcon Wing exclaimed, rushing to catch Steiner before he could topple into the snow, supporting his friend while he hovered. "He's not in good shape at all, Klaxon," he stated to the bronze stallion who came galloping to the blue unicorn. 

"I can see that, Falcon." he replied. Though there were specks of tears still in his eyes he had a look of determination on his face. There was still hope. His friend could make it out of this alive, and Klaxon would make sure he would.

He dipped himself underneath Steiner's body and stood tall with the unicorn slung over his sides. Even now, Steiner held the massive metal hexagons up, so it was a strange sight to see Klaxon holding him up. It made Falcon Wing think that was how the pony the Magimus used to be would have looked before their transformation. How an earth pony or pegasus could use a unicorn's magic was beyond him, though. Quite frankly, he did not want to know. Just as with the Shadow Sweep and their methods, there were some things in the world that were better left to the bliss of ignorance. Knowledge, as Alana eloquently said, was a special kind of power. 

"Lead the way Falcon, I've got the heavy lifting covered!" 

"Methryl isn't heavy, is he?" Alana asked. 

"Nah, but stronger than a dragon, the crazy son of a bitch!" 

Falcon Wing was too busy cycling through his Pipeye functions and his thoughts were to hectic to pick out the details of the exchange between the two ponies. Had things been different he might have caught Steiner's actual name being spoken, but as it stood his only care was getting the blue unicorn to some healing potions and get his strength up, or at least keep him alive long enough to go on another herb-hut for a bunch of zebra foals...

On his map, he found that the wagon's position had its own icon without having to be marked, as he had done with Regolit's place. "Must be Klaxon's terminal," he reasoned. "it makes sense that it'd be honing on other Stable-Tec stuff, right?"

With his destination clear, Falcon Wing soared. From his vantage point he was able to pinpoint the most -relatively speaking- clear route to the outskirts of the city where the converted wagon transport was left. Alana and Klaxon kept pace at full gallop on the ground. 


One might assume hoofing it across a city after being chased through it with the addition of climbing the winding stairs of a giant tower would have been more than enough activity to leave a stallion exhausted. They would be forgiven for not knowing of a pony the likes of Klaxon. His hooves tore through the snow unrelenting, his eyes locked in a state of constant determination for the time being. Alana, who was unhindered by any extra weight, had a hard time keeping pace with the bronze pony as he thundered on through the Crystal City, following the red streaks left in the sky above. 


At this rate, it did not take long at all for Klaxon to close in on the wagon. To his unending irritation, it was surrounded by Snow Devils. "Dear Celestia, you have got to be fucking shitting me!" he muttered beneath his breath. Falcon Wing weaved around in the air, rallying the mutated denizens of the tundra. They followed his every move like rabid dogs, leaping as high as they could and snapping their giant jaws at the pegasus, foam flying from their humungous teeth. After he had gotten their unwavering attention, he flew off toward the heart of the ruins with them in hot pursuit, hoping to shake them from his trail. 

Alana seized the opening and crossed the remaining distance to the wagon in seconds. She jumped up over the side and came down hard on the flatbed, going through the crates of supplies which the Snow Devils did not get into, thankfully. Klaxon was not far behind. After all that running, it was amazing that he was able to jump at all, much less make it onto the wagon. He slid Steiner off of his back and onto the floor of wagon, which would have to become a makeshift medical station.  

"And you said we weren't here for treasure hunting. Look at you, holding on to the Magimus' things like they are your souvenirs!" Klaxon said half-jokingly. 

"I'm sure he has his reasons!" said Alana. She buried her hooves into the crate and pulled out two potions, which she gave to Klaxon. The bronze stallion tore off the cover, held Steiner's head up and opened his mouth. He poured in the purple elixir. 

"Reaping the spoils, once a scavenger, always a scavenger," Klaxon mumbled, masking his uncertainty. "Come on buddy, wake up. We've still got our mission to do and everything!" 


Steiner's ember eyes opened slowly, but his revival was not an especially dramatic affair. He looked at Klaxon and Alana, somewhat confused because of his lapse of awareness. The last he remembered was hobbling through snow and rubble, now he was on the wagon with Klaxon holding him and Alana rummaging through their healing aids. The snow crunched when the metal plates that served as his lifeline were dropped into it, the hexagons standing upright like monoliths around the transport. 

"Yes, well," Steiner started to say, immediately starting to get to his hooves and succeeding well enough doing so save for a tremble in his legs or two. "That's enough of that, I think --" 

He had just gotten righted when Alana knocked him back onto his side, her forelegs wrapped around him. 

"... Ow. Thank you for the sentiment, but you appear to be crushing me, Alana," he said flatly. 

"Suck it up and let the girl give you a hug, you blue bastard. We all thought you were dead!" Klaxon said with a snort. Steiner would never know the bronze stallion cried over him if Klaxon could help it. 

"All...where's Falcon Wing? He didn --" 

"Falcon's off playing with the Snowy Bite-y things!" Alana answered before Steiner could finish the question. Almost on cue, several gunshots rang out in the distance followed by pained, dying yelps. 

Klaxon raised a brow. That did not sound like his 10 millimeter pistol...


And it wasn't indeed. Floated out beside him in a minty green glow was a slender sub-machine gun, light gray with purple and pink accents. The barrel of the gun had a long yet slim, perforated cylinder which was supposed to be a silencer but did nothing to that end. The report of the weapon was loud and the muzzle flash being filtered through the extension of the barrel was impressive. 

Regolit popped out the side chamber and loaded a full magazine into the gun. From the corner of his mouth extended a recently lit cigarette. It, combined with his shades and coat made him look like a bonafied badass. 

"... Nice timing," Falcon Wing said to the mysterious stranger, hovering over the bodies of the Snow Devils. Their blood seeped into the snow below him. 

"Don't mention it, Shadow Bane," Rego replied. He raised his shades up and winked a light green eye at the red pegasus. He added "Just keep doing what you do, Falcon Bro!" 

Rego turned, seconds from walking away. 

"Wait! Your book..!" Falcon Wing shouted. Rego waved a hoof and yelled: "Keep it! There's a lot more books where that came from, something tells me you'll appreciate more than I!"

"How did he know I liked reading...?" Falcon Wing wondered as he watched the pony walk away. It was very much possible that Regolit found him by the light he left when he flew. With he Magimus' death marked by the collapse of the crystal spire, the pony and the others like him could now venture out into the frozen city without fear. Relatively. That did not explain how the pony seemed so well informed about matters he really should have no clue about...

"It was nice to meet you!" Falcon Wing yelled to the departing Regolit. The white pony flicked their tail and turned the corner of a ruined, buried street. With that, Falcon Wing removed the marker from his map, but the location had an icon denoting its presence in its place. 

"... Fucking Stable-Tec equipment. How does it work?" Falcon Wing mumbled. 


The red pony could have done loops in the sky and wrote a message with the clouds, how happy he was! When he flew back to the wagon and saw Steiner up and about a giant weight had been removed from his chest and lifted his heart with its absence. 

"You're alive!" Falcon Wing exclaimed, hurtling from the sky in a dive, forelegs stretched forward to give the unicorn a hug. He was promptly stopped, an aura of scarlet enveloping him. 

"As if there was any doubt of my survival. I did say I would handle any obstacle to our mission did I not?" Steiner said matter of factually, setting Falcon Wing down on the flatbed. 

"... You passed out. You passed out!" Falcon Wing responded. "Hell yeah there was doubt for your survival!"

"I had just endured a trial unlike any other. I was tired and I needed rest," Steiner said dismissively. 

"Like hell you were!" Falcon Wing said hotly, fur bristling. Alana began snickering from behind him. 

"Hmm. Whatever the case, now that the distraction that was the Magimus has been dealt with, I think its high time we went about getting what we came for," Steiner said punctually. "Are you ready, Klaxon?"

"Yeah, sure," the bronze stallion replied. "Just... give me a minute or... ten. Or thirty, I really fucking need to rest," he said, dropping into a heap on the cold flatbed. Too much running. Pedaling could wait, especially now that the ordeal had passed.
> Chapter Twenty-Three: In Closing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Closing


Some endings are just the start of a new beginning.



"Watch your step! The rest of the way down is a tricky thing to handle!" Klaxon called out from the mangled edge of an enormous hole in what was left of the Crystal Empire's library. The wagon-mobile was parked outside and hanging off of his sides were empty saddlebags. 


Quite honestly, the building was in surprisingly good shape for something that was so close to the chaos of the tower's destruction. It was in good shape for something that had endured the end of the world, at that. Its exterior was a silvery metal of master quality crafting like the Magimus' anchors. Angular snowflake fixtures were on either side of the building's doors, a tall, gold and black obelisk shaped entrance that was simply grand to behold.  As soon as a pony stepped through the doors they were greeted by rows of shelves running across the huge hall and the walls with thousands of books sitting on the shelves, at the bottoms of which icicles pointed to the blue and white floor. After the striking collection of centuries old literature they then saw the skeletons laying on the floor, the cold making their bones hard and brittle. 

"Dear Celestia, there are no words..." Falcon Wing said shortly after the group's arrival at the ruins, frowning at the multitude of remains which littered the floor. He could only hope death came quick for the pour souls that spent their last moments inside the library; rather than them waiting out the aftermath of Megaspell detonation within the thick walls of what should have been a sanctuary of learning. 

The clicking of the battle saddle's firing mechanism echoed thereafter through the great hall. When the others shot looks at her, Alana said somewhat sheepishly "... There might be zombies running around."

"Well you don't need to tip them off that we're here. If we come across some zombie sons of bitches I can buck them out of undeath into their well deserved afterlife," Klaxon had replied, with Steiner deadpanning, "For somepony who was too tired to stand not too long ago, you're pretty eager to get back into a fight."

In the time after they advanced to the rim of the pit, knowing that the fabled chamber wherein Auburn's writings and Starswirl's final works were held was just below their hooves.  Falcon Wing circled about in the air, tracing the gnarled edge of the puncture in the roof. While the majority of the library was shrouded in shadow and its colors were muted, sunlight streamed in through the devastating wound left by a wayward fragment of the formerly standing spire. Said fragment continued down some distance, exposing several levels below. The still burning rubble was bright at the very bottom of the chasm it created. Orange flickered across Klaxon's face and danced in his green eyes as he peered down at the damage. He was joined shortly by Steiner, who regarded the sight with a frown. 

"For over a millennia that chamber has gone undisturbed," he began to say. "and then this happens. A flaming piece of a castle crashes into it."

"You're the mystical one here, Steiner. Wouldn't you say it knew it was time to be opened? Since the Sparkle Shiny is gone and all?" Alana asked without looking back at the unicorn. She was on the watch for hostiles, swiveling around the circumference of the crater, peering into the shadows beyond the pillar of light showering down through the smashed roof. 

"I am inclined to explain it away as random chance... but I suppose acknowledging that there might be other things at work here is my first step in becoming a proficient wizard," Steiner answered. He snorted afterwards. It sounded so strange to him, actually calling himself a wizard.

"If there was some higher power that wanted to reveal the sanctum, this was one hell of a way to do it. I can smell the burnt pages already," Klaxon said flatly. He had a point; what were the chances that ancient scripture would have survived such a violent unveiling? 

"Anyway, you are planning on becoming a... wizard?"

Steiner sighed. "It couldn't be helped after all the Magimus has told me." replied the blue unicorn. Somewhat tentatively, with an air of caution around him, his horn became an overcast of ruby light radiating outwards into the darkened regions of the library. Pulled from the depths of the ruin was the hulking shard of the Crystal Tower, smoke billowing up before the actual rubble itself became visible. Falcon Wing disappeared from sight and Steiner lobbed the smouldering remains out from whence it came. It came down audibly onto the remnants left in the aftermath of decimation. 

"There were no shortages of comparisons of myself to Starswirl himself. While such things should be an honor... the Magimus only highlighted my faults with magic using them. It has gotten me thinking... we intend to recover lost knowledge... but we have no one to teach it and very few who could attempt to learn..."

"Aaaand you're taking up the responsibility of that yourself. Without telling anyone," Klaxon stated.

"Well, I did tell you just now, didn't I?" Steiner replied somewhat wryly. 

Falcon Wing swooped into the library then, doing several banking passes around the pit before finally coming to a landing beside Alana. 

"And I thought Ponyville was a mess before!" he joked. "You guys sprucing this place up too any time soon?"

"It's definitely a possibility... depending on your definition of soon. I want to spend some time away from the cold for a while before I commit to rebuilding any cities!" Klaxon replied. "Not to mention, Steiner's decided that he wants to start experimenting  with magic. At least it's not drugs, am I right?" 

"Well... I know of a few cases where there isn't much of a difference..." Alana chimed in.  Falcon Wing really didn't want to know how Alana got to knowing about that, though he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd end up finding out eventually, sooner or later as it may be. Like a collapsing tower, there was a feeling of inevitability. 

"Your talents are wasted on being a jokester as well, Klaxon" Steiner deadpanned. "Yours too, Alana. Or at least, I hope you're joking."

"As far as you're concerned, I am." Alana replied, echoing the blue unicorn's closing statement to DJ Pon3. She glanced over to him and winked. 

"Good girl," was all Steiner had left to say concerning that subject. 

"Fun times aside," Falcon Wing started to say, "you're starting to actually practice magic? Not just learning a few spells here and there when it's convenient?" he asked. 

Steiner nodded. "To do anything other would be a waste of my innate talent. The Magimus has taught me that much... as well as serving as a warning as to what happens when one takes it too far. And while I am on the topic of warnings, I must thank you for your intervention during my... confrontation. If you hadn't, I fear that I would have done something that I would either regret for the rest of my life... or I would have become the architect of my own destruction."

"I-it was nothing really! Any pony could have done what I did! Besides, you should be thanking Alana... she was the one who hammered that lesson into my brain. Emphasis on hammer," Falcon Wing said.

"Mister hero, at it again!" Alana teased. 

"You have demonstrated a courage and vigor that I have not seen in ponies many years your senior, Falcon Wing. I have seen you at your weakest... and I have seen you at your strongest. This is why I would be honored if you were to accompany me on my journey. I would be honored if you would be my assistant," Steiner told Falcon with a humble bow of his head. 

"Me? Become your Auburn --?"

"No," Steiner said, perhaps a bit too quickly. The things the fiendish Magimus had said about Falcon Wing were still fresh in his mind. "If you are to be anything of mine then it would only be my assistant, and it would be you and you alone if you agree to that much."

"I..." Falcon Wing looked over to Alana, as if to ask her for her take on the matter. She had a broad smile on her face and she flicked a hoof at him as if to say "Go on!"

"I... would be glad to be your assi --" 

"And I'll be happy to help how ever I can too!" Alana blurted out, her voice carrying through the spacious hall. 

"Klaxon?" Steiner inquired without fully forming the inquiry. 

"We've been through everything together since we were foals. What the hell makes you think that will change now?" 


It was at that moment Steiner felt the onset of something he hadn't felt in... years. His eyes stung, he felt fluid damming up around them. His breath was caught in his throat and its lingering there created a mild discomfort. He cleared his throat and looked down the hot, glowing chasm. 

"Right then, I believe our last bit of business is simply retrieving those documents..." he said in an effort to maintain his composure and stony disposition. 

"All together?" Falcon Wing asked, prepared to storm into the chamber with his friends at his side.

"Actually, Falcon ...couldn't you just fly in, grab them and fly out?" said Alana. 

"... This is true. Gimme your saddlebags Klaxon, this won't take long..."



Epilogue: A Pony's Journal 



It's been about... a week since Alana and I finished moving out of our home in Ponyville. I want to say it was such a short time we spent there but since most of my time was spent living in the cellar of the place, my sense of time has been...skewed. As are my memories...it's only now that it has truly hit me; I was living in the place other ponies died in, even if it was a comparatively short period. It's... creepy, to the least. I'm very happy to be living in the citadel as opposed to that house. Maybe a few Hellhounds will fancy it better than myself. Maybe they'll find Steiner's tunnels!



I know Steiner wants me to "refine" my note taking skills -- it's why he had Klaxon put this terminal together for me in the first place -- but I actually find it difficult to sit down and... type. Type about... things, as random as they may be. Steiner thinks working on description and the likes will improve the quality of notes I help him take but honestly, I think he just wants me to have something to do while he works on... well, understanding just what the hell we got from the Crystal City. It's pretty archaic and needs a bit of deciphering. I'm guessing that's where Obscure Unicorn History steps in...



A few NCR ponies popped by to check on progress. Most of them were pretty blown away by the fact we got back ancient relics without us having to tell them about the Magimus. Which is pretty good because none of us are too interested in  sharing the details about what happened up north. Klaxon is organizing trade and talking about setting up a hub up there but that's as far as he'll go on the subject of the tundra. I think the ponies like Rego will make the most of the story though. I'm just glad the Shadow Bane won't be the only focus of the tale... the Crimson Explosion's getting a bit of a following of his own. 



Alana said she wanted to bake. I told her bullets don't get along well with ovens. We haven't been on speaking terms for a while after that... 

She kissed me. I'm not sure why -- and it's pretty damn weird to admit that I don't know why my girlfriend decided to kiss me -- but she kissed me when I went to apologize. She might as well have bucked me square in the gut, or have crushed my lungs with a hug with how stupid I must have looked. All I did was stare at her then she started laughing.

I really am lucky to have a mare who could put up with a pony like me. 




Is this what a receptionist does? If so, Alana would not have been able to hold down that job she took in Baltimare. Good thing we really didn't have to stay those two weeks. She might have gone mad. 




I'm actually helping Steiner with magic now! I find it really easy to type now after the things we've been trying our hooves at. And by we I mean him, of course. I just watch or fetch a book when he needs me to. Having wings makes navigating his growing study a... breeze. Steiner is right, my talents are wasted on joking around. 



He turned it into an orange! What the hell!? We spent the entire afternoon trying to develop a reversal spell! Klaxon came in and promptly had a fit. I didn't know what was going on, Steiner had some idea but clearly did not expect it to turn into an ORANGE! Then Alana comes in and, well, now she won't look at oranges the same way again!



Clack clack cloppity clop. I think I'm pretty good at this writing stuff. Steiner's found some old arcane-chemistry set thingy and now we're exploring the magical world of potion making! I'm keeping extra careful records on the experiments and whatever results we get. Last thing we need is a potion that turns things into fruit! Or worse!



Klaxon went back up north for a while. He's actually gonna help rebuild part of the city! Funny thing -- and by funny I mean "holy fuck" strange -- I think I saw Rego around the marketplace. I can't be sure... maybe I was just seeing things. But I'm a pony who works with magic... a pony who has fought a ghoul that believed dark magic was they way to restore their body... a pony who saw another one embody the will of magic itself. After all the shit I've been through I'm certain something's up with that pony... but he seems like he means well enough. 



It's hard to believe time's gone by so fast. When we were up north...it was the same day for hours. When we teleported back, it was...before dawn the day after we left. My feelings now match how I felt then. Steiner and I have come so far yet we're still so very far away from some end goal we don't know...can't visualize, but we know it's there. We'll know when we get there I suppose. Steiner wants to master magic to the point where he can comfortably teach others, though. I'm gonna be there jotting things down as he goes. Alana and Klaxon will be there too. That's a start -a step out of the cellar as it were...






Fallout Equestria: Lifted Hearts