Equestrian Wasteland

Sacred approached the cave slowly, his hooves making a clacking sound off of the stones. A small stream burbled behind him, its water clear and cool. The sun had just dipped behind the horizon - the sudden coolness on his back confirmed that - and Equestria was plunged into a purple-skied darkness. It had been midday when he'd left this cave - it was now almost midnight. A day of tracking had left him exhausted but he was confident this was to be the last night of it. He whistled into the mouth of the small cave and after a moment, a Zebra clacked out, a cigarette hanging from one mouth. It looked nothing like the pre-war propaganda had showed Zebras. There was no sign of a Fu Manchu or the blood of innocents dripping from his mouth. In fact, were it not for the black-and-skin, the Zebra would be the most Equestrian pony Sacred had ever met.

'Well?' he grunted, rubbing one tired eye with a hoof. 'I found them, Decimus' said Sacred, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. A stream of smoke left Decimus' nostrils and he grinned. 'Good pony. Where are they?' he gestured Sacred to enter the mouth of the cave. 'A pre-war village a few miles west. They're hiding out in one of the husks that used to be homes' said Sacred, jumping up to stand beside the larger Zebra. 'Are all eleven of them there?' he asked, breathing a smoke ring from his mouth. 'At least seven of them' nodded Sacred. 'An unusually big group anyway'

'You've done good, Sacred. I'll go awake the rest. We'll be heading off in ten minutes. Prepare yourself' Decimus spat his cigarette onto the ground and stomped it out before turning back into the cave. The Prench pony found a comfortable spot outside the cave and settled down. His bones ached from spending the whole day wandering the wastes, checking haunts and laying on his knees for extended periods of time. His eyes closed and he sighed in bliss. It would be lovely if I could rest like this all the time. But with those...ponies, I haven't slept properly in a week, he thought, grimacing slightly at the thought of his companions. Recently, slaver tribes had begun supplying small groups of their own to accompany Decimus and Sacred in hunting down slaves. They were basically hired muscle who would drag the slaves back home after Sacred had found where they were hiding. Four unicorns had been accompanying as the representatives from the slavers this time and Celestia, were they nasty pieces of work. Loud, impatient and an almost scary obsession with rape, murder and torture. Even the pretty mare slaver talked fondly of her times spent doing unspeakable things to others.

Sacred felt a tang of pity in his chest when he thought of the fate of the 11 slaves they'd been hunting. There was a large group at that small village They'd no doubt be chained up, punished and treated like shit all the way back to their masters by the . But when he thought of the high ransom that was going for these slaves, any thoughts of pity slowly evaporated. A job was a job, after all. There was one last member to this group that Sacred dreaded to think of. A raider unicorn who had worked with Decimus and Sacred before. She called herself 'Bliss' and was anything but. Her cutie mark a sniper rifle scope, she had horrific scarring on one side of her face, wore her mane in a bundle of horrible knots and she used a large rifle as a weapon. Sacred didn't particularly like Decimus or the muscle ponys very much but Bliss he hated. She had a certain cruel streak about her ad was usually only in the group to protect Decimus from harm (which was usually never there). In the past, she had killed captured slaves and got the group in a lot of trouble. Decimus had time and time again said he would never let her back in the group but judging by the amount of times they had slept together, this was to forever be a broken promise.

A presence appeared at the mouth of the cave and yawned loudly. The slaver ponies had awoken. They barely glanced at Sacred as they piled out of the cave mouth, whipping their whips off of the ground and whooping loudly. Barbares! How can they live with themselves? Decimus appeared behind them, smoking another cigarette. Behind him came Bliss, reloading her rifle with magic. She sneered at Sacred as he shakily got to his hooves. 'Right, Sacred. Lead the way to the slaves. And for fuck sakes, stop making so much noise!' he barked at the four whooping slavers, who continued for a few moments before going silent. They all pulled their hats low and their scarves above their noses, leaving only their eyes showing. All were dressed identically and all had whips floating beside them, ready to strike the back of some poor pony.

'Follow me and keep it down. The slaves suspect they have lost us' Sacred said, bounding ahead of the slavers. ''Oi, 'ow da you kno' that?'' snorted one of the slavers. Sacred look back before answering. 'They've started a fire in that little husk of a house they call home. Would you start a fire if you were being followed? Now, come. The hunt begins'

***

Before the war, Saddleshire had been a small, poverty stricken town in the middle of nowhere. When the bombs hit, there had been 167 ponies living in the village, all scraping out a living on small farms in the area. You could barely call it a village - it was three rows of houses just dropped in the middle of nowhere and been smashed to smithereens when a bomb had landed just a mile away. The only legacy left behind by Saddleshire was the shells that had once been the homes of forgotten ponies. Raiders had left their mark in the form of graffiti and spent shotgun shells. Right now, the only inhabitants were a group of scared ponies, huddled around a small fire behind a wall.

'Well, they certainly look like slaves' said Decimus, his eyes glued to a pair of pre-war binoculars. It was dark but even this small pinprick of light in the wasteland stuck out like a sore thumb. Standing on a hill a mile outside of the town were the group of slave hunters. 'I don't understand why there's so many of them, though' murmured Sacred, taking a peer into the binoculars. 'Slaves usually separate into smaller groups or go it alone' agreed the Zebra, handing the binoculars to the Prench pony. The slavers shifted impatiently and moved away from Bliss, who was giving them the evil eye. 'Mmm'kay. We're going to have to be clever about this. We can't let any get away but we don't want any dead. Your people won't be happy' Decimus glanced at the slavers, who nodded in agreement. He paused, deep in thought, before continuing. 'I'd say we all need to circle around, whip them into submission and then chain them up. After that, we can start heading back. Agreed?'

The group all nodded and Sacred secretly wondered for the thousandth time why this guy was leader. But then he remembered who the other candidates for leader were and immediately withdrew any doubts on Decimus. 'All right. Bliss and the Slavers are going to circle around that house, not making a single noise. Sacred and I shall be behind you, as we are both unarmed. When I whistle, you all pounce and get them. Any questions?'. There was a momentary silence before the muffled voice of a slaver piped up from behind his scarf. 'Are they armed?' he directed the question towards Sacred, who looked surprised he'd even been referred to. 'Oh...I don't know' he replied. 'I haven't found any spent shells but they might have some kind of melee weapon. I wouldn't know. A weapon is harder to find traces of if it's not been used yet' he shrugged. The slaver stared at him for several moments with an uneasy look in his eyes. [i]Merde! What's he looking at me like that for? Sacred became uncomfortably aware of how strong his accent had sounded and madly rolled his eyes away from the slavers gaze until they fixed on his hooves. 'All right' he said finally, turning to his companions. 'Come on, lads - and mare- , we'd better get going'. The slavers all nodded in agreement and began trotting down the hill towards the town.

Decimus waited a few moments until they were out of earshot and then turned to Sacred. 'Don't worry about those idiots. They won't lay a finger on my prized tracker while I'm alive' he said, giving a reassuring smile. 'Now come on. Bliss, you catch up with them. Don't kill any slaves. Sacred and I will be behind a bit. Remember, we'll give a signal when you should attack'. Bliss grinned, showing her horrible row of teeth. 'Can't even shoot one?' she said playfully. Decimus glared at her. 'No. Not one' he growled. 'Now, catch up with those slavers'. The raider gave another horrible grin, flipped her knotted mane out of her face and then turned hoof to catch up with the slavers.

Sacred gave an audible sigh of relief. He didn't like Decimus very much - he found him very controlling and hated the patronising tone he often took with him. But without that Zebra, Sacred would have been gobbled up by slavers or ponies like Bliss long ago. He owed his life to that Zebra.

And the Zebra knew it.

“Another Wild Pegasus… easy on the pegasus” Nexus slurred, slamming the her glass telekinetically on the counter to get the bar ponies attention.

The pony cast her a disapproving look as he fetched another bottle and slowly worked the cork out.
“Wild Pegasus is just whisky, there’s no ‘easy on the pegasus’” he pointed out as he topped off her glass. There was always one pony who couldn't handle their drink and this young unicorn had been drinking all night, alone. In fact, if she wasn't the only customer he’d probably have barred her after her third glass when she’d butchered some classic Sweetie Belle that’d been playing on the radio.

“That’ll be 5 caps”

Nexus blinked, blank faced “5 caps for what?”

The barpony fixed her with a face devoid of amusement then rolled his eyes as the unicorn began to crack up and tossed the caps on the counter.

“I’m just messing with you!” the laugh was strained. The kind of laugh somepony uses when their determined not to let their true emotions show.

The barpony grit his teeth as he scooped up the caps and deposited them in the ancient pre-war register

“Very funny miss”

“I know right! You should have seen the look on your face!” She slammed the bar top with a hoof causing the bottles and glasses on the bar to jump “Priceless!”

“Uh huh, it sure was” the barponies face remained as flat and unamused as it had the first three times she’d made that joke.

“Awh, you sure are one grumpy pony” the mare said having finally stopped snickering. She paused “Hey maybe that’s why this place is so empty. You should smile more! Ponies’ll find that more inviting than the stone face you have now!”

“Excuse me miss but I’m not one for façades. If i’m bored, I look bored, If i’m happy, I look happy. No sense covering up your feelings” He fixed her with another disapproving look as he said this, trying to convey that he’d rather hear whatever sob story she had then listen to her make another joke or worse, he shuddered, butcher another song.

Nexus looked down at the bar, the false smile gone from her face and replaced with one of sorrow instead.

“One month we said” she sniffed as her bloodshot eyes suddenly bulged with tears.

“Here we go” the barpony muttered. He’d worked this bar for many years and could spot a sob story a mile off. The wasteland was a cruel and unforgiving place. Loss was common and many ponies would seek solace in alcohol when they couldn't cope with it. Still, it kept the caps flowing and the bar in business.

“I was just so sure that they’d make it” Nexus said, her voice cracking as she buried her face in her hooves on the bar top. “After all we’d been through, the ponies we lost along the way…”
The barpony cast a steady glance over the mare taking her in fully for the first time. She was thin, like most in the wasteland who didn't have access to proper food. The scars and burns on her coat indicated a hard life of fighting or something similar but it was the sore around her neck and distinctive lack of muscle mass that gave it away for sure.

“Slave?” he enquired casually.

“Uh huh” came the muffled reply from the bar top followed by a hiccup.

“Mmm, a cruel life for sure” the barpony commented dryly “Still, you're free now so what’s to be sad about? Shouldn’t you be drinking in celebration.

Nexus lifted her puffy red face from her hooves and fixed him with a blurred stare.

“There were three of us” she sniffed again. We managed to escape Steelworks together when we’d been only hours from death. Once we got outside we agreed we’d all meet up here in a month if we were still free.” She hiccuped again before breaking into another round of sobs and face planting the bar “And I’m the only one here!”

The barpony awkwardly extended a hood and patted her on the shoulder.
“Hey now. just because they aren’t here doesn’t mean they’ve been captured. Maybe they just got delayed… or had other reasons they couldn’t make it.”

Nexus raised her head from the counter again.
“You think?”

“Sure” he shrugged, “There’s hundreds of other reasons they might not have made it.”
He mentally counted a few of them off. Raiders, mines, disease, starvation, rad-scorpions…
“They’ll probably turn up somewhere eventually.”

Nexus nodded drunkenly.
“Maybe…”

“Besides, even if the worst has happened to them. Do you think they’d want you to be sad? You have your life back. Your freedom! They’d want you to see the world! Make it a better place. Enjoy yourself, have fun. Drink, party, get laid, do some drugs! Hell, you’re a free pony they’d want you to make it count! They wouldn’t want you to spend your time in some backwater town drinking your life away. What kind of existence is that? You should be out there making a difference!”

There was a soft thud, the shattering of glass and the sound of light snoring.

Looking up, the barpony saw Nexus had fallen asleep in her hooves on the counter, knocking the still full glass of Wild Pegasus off the counter and onto the floor.
He sighed, rolling his eyes.
“Well if all it took was an inspiring speech to shut her up I would have done that hours ago” he grumbled, fetching a mop from the store cupboard.

Hoover, North-Western Equestria

The stink of the brahmin pit was no less stifled by the cold heavy air that punched deep into the fibers of the very city's being. Or perhaps city was hardly an apt term to use. A ruin was more accurate. One great urban ruin pocked with a dozen small settlements throughout. All of them in some way claimed the name of Vahoover in some way. It was just a way of finding which was which to find someone or something. It was just what happens in the gray stormy overcast weather.

“He doesn't look like much.” a staunch stuffy unicorn commented. His blue coat glistened with the heavy drizzle that fell over the city at a near constant. His pin-stripped suit turning soggy on his shoulders. Heaps of once-finely trimmed mane fell about his broad snarled face as he eyed the stallion passed out in the middle of a feed. The two headed cows in the pen gently ate around the dozing body of the mottled brown stallion with a bottle in one hoof.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” hissed the other. Though he was willing to give the figure the benefit of the doubt there, he certainly was far from impressed. His deep fluorescent green coat was untouched by the heavy drizzle as caught in his light-blue magic he held a heavy umbrella over his head. His oily black suit clean and pressed, despite having crossed over the whole of the wasteland.

“Well that's fine and all, but we could have passed the package along to the griffon at the tavern.” snarled the blue unicorn. He flared his nostrils as he gave a hearty sneeze through the cold rain, “And for fucks sakes I feel like I'm coming down with a cold in this weather!” he protested loudly, “Let's just go back to the hotel suite and find another.”

“If we gave the package to the griffon then she would have no doubt passed it to someone else for easy caps. She had the air of a dash addict around her. We can't trust those types.”

“And a booze hound?”

“Generally more reliable between paychecks.” commented the green one, “And besides, a lot of ponies drink these days, even with the sun in the air. They work well enough. Dash and stampede doesn't eat at them like booze.”

“For Celestia's-fucking-sake then, let's at least find somewhere to get out of this damnable weather. I would have much rather stayed back at Manehatten in any fucking case.

“I shit you not, I swear the more we stay out in the rain looking for runners – true or not – the more I feel the paycheck isn't worth the congestion.”

“If you stop your moaning then maybe I'll find something to knock your sinuses out.” the green one promised, shooting him a wry impatient expression.

“Oh yes sure, because two-hundred year old cold medicine will do anything!” the blue unicorn groaned sarcastically. He sneered at the sheepishly grazing bovine with an expression of utter contempt.

“It will if you apply the right persuasion.” smiled the green unicorn, turning.

“Fuck, that.” the blue one sneered, “I've seen what you've been able to do. Last thing I'd like to drink down is some swill you somehow irradiated.”

“The pleasures of being a doctor.” the green one chuckled. He turned to face his companion. What smile he had washed off as he caught his colleague following him. “Did I say you could come with me?” he said, his tongue was sharp and biting.

“I-” the blue one stammered weakly. He backed off a few paces, “N-no?”

“Exactly, I did not.” the green unicorn shot. His anger betrayed a thick, heavy tone. “I'm going back to the suite. I want you to sober this gentlestallion up. As I've heard, his abilities as a courier is admirable in this part of the old country. I want him coherent and in our room in an hour. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir.” bowed the blue one.

“Fine thinking.” his superior nodded, “Now from the looks of him it looks like he had a hard night of drinking. When you get him up make sure to find him some rad hog bacon and straight uncut brahmin milk. Plenty of water. I don't know how wholesome he might find it, but it'll keep his head from hurting.”

He gave a proud smirk, and turned away, holding the umbrella ever higher as he trotted along the cracked street. Stepping around puddles that lay open to the sky above and filled with cool murky water. Rivulets of discolored water trickled from the stock pens that surrounded the square, built over the ruins where buildings used to be.

As he drew out of hearing range the blue one turned to the drunken pony asleep in the animal pen. “Fucking excellent, forced to babysit a drunk.” he moaned, “Shit better be worth it.”

He looked over to the penned animals. He snarled angrily at them. “Right, I doubt you cows have any clue how to get him up.”

“Nope.” one said quietly from the far back.

****

Rusted's heart kicked hard into his chest as the sensation of being drowned washed over his body. Throwing himself up off the ground with a start he opened his eyes to a bucket's worth of warm water being thrown over his face. Caught instinctivly in a gasp for breath it took in a mouth full of the waste water, lodging his throat closed so as not to drown.

Reflex getting the better of him he soon discovered too his painful horror that he needed to breath. His chest heaved emptily against the mouth full of liquid and he threw himself to the side, rolling in the thick black muck of wherever he was and coughing out the bitter, putrid water that found itself in his mouth. Heaving, he spat out the water as his heart raced in his chest and his head was a firestorm of agonizing pain. It felt as though his head was cleft in two by an axe. All the while his chest burned from the shock and his shoulder ached.

Sprawled in the mud he groaned. Shutting his eyes against the piercing reflection of light in the piss-yellow puddles in the hoof tilled muddy ground. The smell and sight of it turned his stomach over, and to his duress he quickly found the summation of his previous night bubbling up from the depth of his stomach. Splitting hangover combined with the sickening stench of manure and he retched up the contents of his stomach, emptying out into the muck a viscous clear slime of several possible alcohol mixes. It reeked as such too.

“They say drinking too much like this will kill you.” a voice chimed mockingly behind him. It was a painful voice. High pitched and shrill. Rusted Bit would have rather dug razors into his ears than listen to whoever talk. It also made him sick again.

Letting out a burning wet burp he took deep breaths as he sat slouched over the muck. He didn't want to know how he got there. And he kept his eyes sealed shut. If he couldn't see where the pain was from, maybe it would stop hurting.

“What?” he croaked. His voice dry and strained. His breathing was deep and his head spun like a devil.

“You heard right,” the voice said again, “Drinking too much'll kill ya. Dont'cha know?”

Rusted Bit groaned and rubbed his temples. His nostrils were full of all sorts of sickening smells, and his mouth tasted like shit. “Do you want a job?” the same voice said again.

“Fuck would I want with work?” Rusted Bits protested angrily, staggering to his hooves. His entire world felt heavy.

“Because you'll get paid and I won't throw another bucket of piss on you.” the voice said again, “Now you going to crawl out of there, or will I need to douse you with some more?”

Anger boiled up inside him as he heard those words. But he felt too sick to do anything about it. He tried moving fast, squinting against the needle-like pain that bore in his eyes and wrecked havoc on his hungover head. He thought of charging over the gate and tackling whoever it was. But the thought of moving too fast just made him feel even dizzier.

Staggering to the gate he collapsed against the posts. “What's the job?” he asked bitterly.

“I'm not inclined to discuss it here.” the voice said again. Clearly stallion. To Rusted, he still looked blurry and bright, but he looked green. Wore a nice suit. Too nice, perhaps.

“But I can promise you it's not shoveling Brahmin shit.” the mysterious stallion said, nodding behind Rusted. He turned around, finding the familiar if hazy figures of well over several dozen Brahmin watching them.

What did he do last night?

“I'll also treat you to breakfast.” the stranger invited.

“Charity...” Rusted scoffed, “Fucking great. So how are you going to kill me then? A knife to the back, or will you be upfront about it as I eat some preserved carrots and shoot me in the face?”

“From the looks of you, both would be merciful. But I have to say it's neither.”

“Could we talk about it here? I'll move out as soon as I sleep off this hangover...” Rusted Bits said hopefully.

“I'm afraid that's not an option.” his perspective employer said, “Now come on, before you catch phenomena in this rain.”

It was late, later than Romt had thought. The journey from where he had met up with the caravan to getting to New Appleloosa took longer than the Hellhound expected. The caravan held general goods; Medicine, food, water, some ammunition and weaponry. It was ran by an old Earth Pony by the name of Brissletooth, along with his niece Cottonbottom. A hired stallion by the name of Pump-Action kept the goods safe, though, to him, there were more goods than just what was in the wagon. Behind the back of Brissletooth, Cottonbottom and Pump-Action were having a bit of an affair. It was only ever serious when they were in town and had time to be alone, and when on the road they tended to keep a low-profile on the matter as to not piss off Cottonbottom's uncle. As such, Romt was also oblivious to it. Not that he would care; Romance wasn't exactly his strong-suit, and he wouldn't have much of an opinion on it. That was their business, not his. All he could think of the group as of now was that Pump-Action was a half-decent shot, as he managed to hold his own against the raiders while also keeping his employers safe. And that Brissletooth was generous, albeit possibly just tactical on allowing Romt to travel with them to New Appleloosa. He hadn't conversed much with the young mare, not having much of an opinion on her. She seemed friendly enough, and very willing to assist Brissletooth with his caravan. It was nice to see family sticking close. Warmed Romt's heart somewhat, it did.

Warmed heart aside, Romt was quiet as they approached New Appleloosa. He was simply ready to get there and do what he needed to do. Considering the time of night, he figured he'd have to wait a few hours before anypony started waking up. That wasn't too much trouble, as he could probably relax during that time. though there were no promises of that, as there could be trouble at anytime. Romt slowly shook his head, figuring that was why he was out here. To try and keep the troubles of the Wasteland a little more in line. It was difficult work, and sometimes seemed quite honestly hopeless. He was sure that for every problem he solved, there was twenty more he couldn't as he just wasn't there. Made it hard to keep at it, but the thoughts of the elders approving of his actions kept him from changing his ways.

Besides; what he did didn't only benefit those he aided. It made a better impression on ponies about his race, made them perhaps slightly more accepting of the hounds that were considered one of the biggest terrors of the wastes. Romt himself had met a fair amount of ponies that didn't trust him, and some who just drove him away out of fear. It still happened, though he'd gotten to know a few ponies across the wastes. He had ponies he could trade with, some with jobs that needed doing. He knew a pony in New Appleloosa that usually had a few jobs that required the help of somepony with a gun, and thankfully Romt commonly carried one around. The details were kind of sketchy at times though, he knew to be cautious with the jobs as they weren't all justifiable.

"Well, it's been a heck of a trip, but we're finally nearin' our destination." Brissletooth said, causing Romt to snap out of his thoughts and pay attention. "Finally, I feel like we've been trottin' for ages...!" Cottonbottom groaned, obviously tired. Her hooves were aching, and she was somewhat irritated that Brissletooth decided to go the whole way instead of resting. It was probably for the best, but didn't change how she currently felt. She nodded off every now and then as they continued forward.

Romt glanced over at Pump-Action as he let out a loud yawn, a smile crossing his face as his mouth closed. "About damn time, eh? I'm beat and need a drink." He grumbled, the blonde-maned pony looking in Romt's direction. "You drink, hound? I owe ya one for helping us out back there." His question crossed Romt's mind, and soon enough he nodded in response. He occasionally did drink, though never enough to leave him careless. Before he could speak up, Brissletooth did. "Heh, we all do. We might not have come out of that in one piece if you hadn't stepped in, son. Can't thank ya enough for what you did."

Romt allowed a satisfied expression to cross his face, feeling good as he responded. "Not an issue. I'm happy I could offer my assistance." He said simply, before putting his attention back on Pump-Action. "I'm also happy you made that offer, because I certainly won't mind holding you to it." A grin crossed Pump-Action's face, and he let out a loud laugh. "Yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about! Our first destination is the bar then!" He cheered, and Brissletooth rolled his eyes, not commenting on the two, giving he would probably get a drink later as well.

As they trotted past the guards sitting out as sentries to protect the town from raider attacks, Romt tipped his hat to one of them, though got nothing but a skeptical look back. He simply shrugged it off, not expecting anything else from them. It wasn't long after they entered the town that Pump-Action was ready to go, seeming to believe since they were in that the caravan would be fine. "I'll catch up with you two later, I'm goin' for a drink." He said quickly, beginning to trot off. Brissletooth didn't say much, seeming snickering to himself while Cottonbottom was barely even trotting. Romt stared with mild concern, unsure of her condition. "Is... She going to be alright?" He asked, and Brissletooth nodded. "She'll be fine, she's just not used to travelling for so long. You go ahead, we'll be fine."

With those words, Romt nodded. Following after Pump-Action towards the bar. Once the hound caught up, the stallion looked up at him with a happy expression. "You ever been to Turnpike Tavern? Best Apple Whiskey around, dude. I love stopping here." He licked his lips, staring ahead. Romt nodded slowly, making sure to keep up with the pony who was very eager to reach the bar. "A few times. Certainly one of the better places to spend time at night." He replied, not having too much to say about the watering hole of New Appleloosa. He didn't exactly converse with those who were in the bar, he just sat there sipping away at his drink. The Bartender was alright, though. Romt shared a few words with the unicorn on a few occasions, though never on anything serious.

"Damn right. This place is fantastic, the best place around here. Not only good drinks, either. You can find some nice looking mares sometimes, too." Pump-Action coughed awkwardly after saying that, keeping focused on the path ahead of him. "Well, uh, that's not my concern. I've got a girl, y'know? Nopony better than her, heh." He closed that topic off as they approached the bar, gesturing at the entrance. "Well, less talk, more drinking, eh? Wash away our frustrations for a bit."

Romt wasn't going to argue with that. "Agreed." He replied plainly, following behind Pump-Action into the watering hole. For better, or worse.

---

It was, as expected, noisy inside the Turnpike Tavern. Romt eyed the ponyfolk seeming to be enjoying themselves; Groups were at tables chatting it up or gambling, some were right up at the bar, laughing or arguing with each-other, and occasionally across the floor you could see somepony passed out. It was a pathetic sight, but at the same time he couldn't help but be amused. As he followed Pump-Action to the bar, he noticed a few ponies looking his way. He didn't pay much attention to it, but noted it nonetheless. It's not like it was going to ruin his night.

Sitting down, Romt glanced down at Pump-Action who decided to sit beside him. He was looking forward to getting a drink, the joyful expression on his face told Romt that. Though, as the bartender approached, Romt ended up getting distracted. Back behind the bar there were multiple little postings he could see. Some seemed to be trivial bullshit nopony would care about, though he could spot a few jobs.

'Some of these sound like chores. Shoveling shit, cleaning house, hunting Radhogs... Pfft. Like I'd hunt Radhogs and give the bacon to somepony else. That stuff is just too delicious.' Romt licked his lips at the thought of some bacon, before shifting his eyes to look at the other posts. Nothing too interesting, sadly. Which was depressing. Though he couldn't expect too much out of the town, he figured they would at least have something interesting.

His eyes shifted down to the counter as the bartender put his drink down. He nodded to the bartender, and cringed as Pump-Action, after putting the bits down for their drinks, grabbed his glass with his front hooves and drank the entire thing in one go, before slamming the glass onto the counter. "Aaaahh. That's the stuff." He was satisfied, though needed another. "Aaay! Another apple whiskey for me, huh?" He called out, snickering as the bartender gave him the stink-eye for how quick he was to ask for another. Pump-Action looked up at Romt. "So, you're one of those hounds guarding the caravan routes, huh?"

Romt shook his head. "I travel, actually. I was just taking the caravan route since I was heading towards here." He explained, and Pump-Action simply laughed. "I see. I'm pretty damn lucky you decided to take the route, then. I might have had a few holes in me before we got here if you hadn't showed up." He admitted, the honest appreciation making Romt feel good. "Like I said earlier, I was happy to help." Romt said, taking a sip of his drink and not thinking much of the matter.

Pump-Action raised an eyebrow, tossing some bits onto the counter as his drink arrived. "Damn, man. You just treat it like it's nothing, but... Not everypony would have tried to help us." He commented, taking a sip of his whiskey and causing Romt to look down at him for a moment, some silence cutting into the conversation. Romt thought of his response, before simply spouting out something simple. "I'm just used to it, I guess." Which was true, he usually had no issue jumping in to help a pony. Though it did prove difficult at times, he didn't mention it as he tended to usually handle a situation. More or less.

"So you just rescue ponies for a living? Sounds like something out of a comic book to me." Pump-Action responded, amused. Romt shrugged, before taking another sip of his apple whiskey. "Sadly helping ponies doesn't pay much. Have to do some work to keep my stomach full. Escorting, deliveries, bounty hunting."

"Shit." Pump-Action spouted out, seeming surprised. "I don't think I could put all that effort into work that didn't pay." He spoke honestly, though it wasn't the most positive thing to say. "I was testing the waters on the whole bounty hunting thing before I ended up with Brissletooth. Pretty crazy stuff, eventually became too much for me to handle."

Romt blinked. "Really? Sounds like you have a few stories to tell."

"Nah, nah. Not really." Pump-Action seemed flattered, but waved a hoof to dismiss the matter of stories. "Ain't ever done anything that interesting. Though maybe one day I'll have a pretty decent story to tell." He grinned. "We ought'a meet back up here once I've got one. We'll drink 'till we can't see strait and have a generally awesome night, huh?"

Romt nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I might have a few stories to tell myself."

"Awesome!" Pump-Action shouted, before downing the rest of his apple whiskey, wiping a hoof across his mouth afterwards. "I've gotta jet, though. Brissletooth tends to wake up early, so I gotta sleep when I can. Figure that whiskey might, eh... Help out a bit. Hehehe..." He stood up, beginning to trot off slowly. "Holdin' ya to that night of drinking though! We'll get totally wasted then, yeah? Like kings!"

As Pump-Action left, Romt simply stayed where he was. At least until he finished off his drink, deciding to head out as the place was too noisy for him. He stood, holding back a yawn as to not open his mouth too wide around these drunks. Or else they'd assume he was going to try and eat them. 'Should think about what I need to buy.' He thought to himself, slowly taking his leave of the bar. He wasn't exactly sure of where he was going, but he hoped wherever it was, it was more quiet.

Saddleshire Ruins, Equestrian Wastelands

The small unicorn shuffled closer to the fire, shivering. Her auburn coat was unhealthy looking, covered in scars and weeping wounds that occasionally excreted drops of bloods and pus. Her limbs were spindly and delicate and her mane had been completely shaved off in some act of cruelty. The horn on her head pulsated softly as a piece of firewood was dropped onto the fire from the small messenger bag on her shoulders, which grew smaller by the hour. Around the fire were her fellow slaves, all similarly thin and sickly. There were eight in all - another three had long left the group. The Earth Ponies stared into the fire in a dream-like state, all stuck to their own thoughts.

'L-Lank? Are we s-safe yet?' came a small voice from across the fire. Lank the Unicorn paused before speaking. ''I won't let anything happen to you'' she croaked back. ''You should get some rest, all of you. It's been a long day''. The ponies didn't move but continued staring into the fire, stuck to their own thoughts. In reality, Lank didn't know if they were safe. Two weeks ago, eleven slaves had escaped the clutches of their slavers and they had been followed ever since. However, their pursuers hadn't been seen in over three days and nights, so the group had tried to persuade themselves they had given up. Lank knew better than to be so optimistic but she would never admit it to the group. She had become the leader of these ponies and they all looked up to her. Admitting failure to them was like giving up and she hadn't given up yet. Lank didn't know where she was going. They all followed her regardless. She was their leader. Their god. No pony questioned her decisions or plans, they just went with it. These ponies had spent their whole lives following orders and it would be a hard habit to break.

'What shall we do tomorrow?' asked a buck to her left. She felt tempted to say 'I don't know! Stop asking me! Don't rely on me!' but bit back her lip. 'We will continue heading west' Lank answered simply. The buck nodded and broke out into a fit of coughing. He spat mucus and blood into the fire. They were getting worse.

A long, sharp whistle screeched through the ruins and all ponies sat up, the spell of the fire broken. 'What was that?' whispered a mare. 'The wind?' answered a buck, his voice betraying his true fears. 'When have you heard the wind make such a noise?' hissed the mare back to him. 'Hush' said Lank suddenly, standing on her feet. 'Let me listen'. The ponies all silenced immediately. Lank strained her ears, her heart pumping at eighty miles an hour. The only sound was the cracking of the fire and a slight breeze dragging dead leaves across the ground. She looked all around, trying to find the source of such a noise. The fire cast a long shadow on the wall behind her and the edges of her vision were pure black, the fire having ruined her night vision. Lank became acutely aware of the sound of pumping blood in her ears, the dry taste in her mouth and the breeze that rustled the bristles where her mane had once been.

A rustle came to her left and she spun around immediately. A whip lashed across her face and the unicorn slave was sent reeling. 'Right, you useless sods! Get on the fucking floor or you'll get the whip' came a roar from the darkness. All ponies jumped to their feet, ready to assist Lank. Out of the darkness came five unicorns, their faces covered. One mare burst into tears when she saw that there was no escape and a buck growled in frustration. The slavers had caught up to them.

The slavers moved quickly with their whips, circling the group of enslaved ponies. Their whips licked the bare flesh and the sound of cries carried across the ruins. The last cries of freedom these ponies would ever have.

***

'Good job, gentlemen!' said a cheery Decimus, entering the doorway of the husk that had served as the slaves hide-away just an hour ago. The fire had been stamped out, the slaves beaten to submission and all chained together in a long line. Sacred Grey skulked in after Decimus, avoiding the tear-filled stares of the ponies and staying close to the Zebra. A roll-call had already began, a slaver moving up and down the group reading from the brands that were on every ponies flanks. 'ID number 345, earth pony buck' shouted the slaver to his companion, who promptly ticked a name off his list. The pregnant mare, who had been sobbing the whole time, began a wail as the slaver roughly held her flank down to read the brand. 'ID number 48-SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING MARE!' he screamed at the pregnant mare and struck her with his whip again and again until her wails became light sobs.

Sacred cringed and looked away. He always hated the cruelty the slavers showed to their stock but he constantly reminded himself of the caps being paid for this. The roll-call continued uneventfully as the other slaves feared the whip. Decimus smiled at Bliss warmly as she approached him, her own whip slowly wrapping itself around her chest. 'Good work, Bliss. You didn't kill a single one!' 'It was hard but I got through remembering you'd be disappointed with me' she said, her tone dripping with the faux-sweetness she was infamous for. 'Oh, you' grinned Decimus, blushing slightly. Sacred spat on the ground in disgust but bit his tongue. Decimus could take sarcastic or mean comments pretty easily (however rarely Sacred said them) but Bliss would turn on the Prench pony the second Decimus wasn't around to save him if he said anything particularly mean.

Something else was bothering Sacred. It had seemed almost too easy re-capturing these slaves. And there were so many! In all his career, he had never had such an easy time capturing eight ponies. They'd barely put up protest to being captured again and there were eight of them! Sacred would of at least thought they would of had a weapon or something. They all looked a weaker too. It almost seemed like they were ill.

'All right, eight in all. Three still missing. We'll start taking them back now, yeah?' called a slaver over to Decimus. 'Yup! We'll head back to your people in one go, no rests, sod the other three. I can't wait to get out of this bleedin' desert! Sacred, lead the way!' said Decimus cheerfully. He was clearly happy with the result of tonight. Sacred nodded and bounded out the door. ' The slavers all whipped the ground and began whooping loudly as they herded the line of chain-ganged slaves into a line to follower their tracker. They took up a formation around the slaves as the exited the husk of a house to the street and began a slow walk back into the desert.

It was to be a walk that Sacred couldn't wait to finish.

Something nudged at Nexus side leaving a cold wet sensation where it pushed against her coat. She moaned softly and rolled over, pressing herself tightly against the wall. It was to early, her head was thick and her stomach burned. Nope, whatever it was could wait. As long as she refused to acknowledge the world it would leave her alone.

Her theory was immediately shattered by the return of the wet nudge at her side. She slapped a hoof out hoping to deter whatever was bothering her but hit only the damp wooden floor.
The nudging persisted a little longer, before something soft, wet and cloth-like slapped across her face.
With a barely audible squeal she grabbed hold of her suffocating attacker and wrestled it from her muzzle before flinging whatever it was across the room and rolling upright.

It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the surrounding room but when they did she was surprised to find herself in the bar from the night before. Her attacker lay on the far side of the room, alone and unmoving, for it is rare a mop moves without somepony holding it.

“I think you got it” the bartender dead panned from beside her, his face barely concealed the amusement at her reaction to his wake up call.

“Right… yeah” Nexus muttered in response, her head still thick from the previous night's drinking. She levitated the mop back across the room and propped it against the bar.

“Hope the floor was to your liking? Personally I would have rented a room for the night but that’s just me” The stallion snorted “You’re still paying for a one night stay, not letting you off easy. Oh you owe me a glass as well”

Nexus groaned “But I didn’t even want to stay here last night” she protested weakly.

“Well you did” retorted the bartender “Just as well really, you were in a right state”

Not wanting to discuss the subject of her missing friends with this stranger, Nexus began to search her saddlebags for whatever caps she had left over from the night before.

“Huh” She said after rooting around for a while “I don’t suppose I could open a tab”
she offered an innocent, pleading smile but was met with a familiar flat expression.

“Ugh, I’m sorry! I really wasn’t planning to spend the night here! ...Or drink as much as I did!”

“Or smash that glass” the bartender added with a roll of his eyes “Alright, I’ll cut you some slack Sob Story, but don’t think I won’t remember you next time. Your tabs open and you owe me.”

“Thank you!” Nexus clapped her hooves together, happy to have found someone in the wasteland not a total ass. “I promise to pay you back next time I’m in town!”

“Sure” the barpony grumbled, once again picking up his mop and dunking it in the bucket at his side “Now scram before I change my mind”

---

There was no sense staying in town now that she had no money, not that there were many buildings to spend it in anyway. Instead Nexus made for the thin dirt path that snaked up a short incline before joining a cracked concrete road. Looking left she could make out the distant shape of mountains far away, their white snow peaks merging in with the bleak horizon. To her right, the road stretched off into the wastes, to the unknown.

What should she do now?

The question hung in the air around her. This wasn’t how things were suppose to be. She was suppose to have met up with her friends, they were suppose to be together, free at last! Instead she was alone. Her ears drooped and she lowered her head to look at the floor.

“What am I going to do” she whispered.

Resting his head on the rough wood of the counter Rusted Bit felt as though he could fall back asleep. It was in all matter of respects what I wanted. Or felt he wanted. And the flickering neons of the kitchen interior weren't helping his eyes. Sparking on the walls they flickered on and off in random patterns. It was painful to watch. He held his eyes close tight as he frowned.

The only blessing was the smell of hot food. It helped him forget the smell of piss and shit and brahmin sweat. He could hear the sizzling of something on a griddle. The heavy aromatic aroma of freshly grilled food.

The blue unicorn had nearly carried Rusted Bit through the streets in an envelope of his own magic. He couldn't claim it felt good, it was more a tugging on his mane. But disoriented and swimming in a painful haze that clouded his mind it was perhaps for the best. His stomach turned. He felt as though he would throw up again. But he had done that all previously. All he had was the two-punch discomfort of an empty belly twisting about itself, feeling as if it were drilling a hole through him. He felt completely tied up on the inside.

There was a soft thunk on the wooden counter. He weakly opened his eyes to see. A tall glass of water rested in front of him. A timid yellow unicorn stood nearby, giving Rusted a fearful anxious look. He wondered briefly if it was from last night. But he wouldn't know for sure. And he doubted anyone would tell him. But it didn't matter. Not to him.

“Drink, it'll make you feel better.” Rusted's suited companion barked. He sat next to him on the short row of wooden crates dragged up to the counter as rough chairs. Cushions full of dry dead grass and hay had been added to try and add a little been of comfort to the dining experience, but they did nothing but make his ass itch. Over head the sound of rain pattered across corrugated iron. The ferocity of the weather had picked up, and now the rain was more than a drizzle, but still less than a full proper rain. One could see the droplets falling to the muddied streets at least.

The entire diner was open-air. An effect of the building it was built into having been bombed out during the city's final days after the war, or as an effect of centuries of neglect and misuse. It was one of the sturdier structures in all of the ruins of Vanhoover, heavily over built from concrete, the walls were nearly as thick as a large pony, and just as solid with a skeleton of twisted steel rebar; most of which was being reused to hold a variety of coffee mugs and pans. The roof pulled over the dining area was more a shelter against the persistent elements in north-western Equestria. Even with the SPP towers restored Equestria was still clouded here. Some had hazarded it to several centuries worth of entropy gnawing at the vertigo-inducing concrete and steel spines that dotted the towers. At least one was known to have been knocked out during the Pegasi invasion ten years ago.

“It's not going to be piss again, is it?” Rusted Bits grumbled, shutting his eyes tight.

“No, I had quite enough dumping that over your head for the morning. I don't want to ask anymore Brahmin to piss into a bucket.” the blue unicorn smirked, levitating a shriveled carrot to his mouth. With a soft crunch he bit into and chewed delicately. Not really eating. More appraising it.

“No, it's clean water; or so I've been assured.” he said, “I should hope. I'm paying out good caps for this.”

“I don't feel like it. Could you give me half a day?”

“I'm afraid we don't have the time.” the unicorn sneered, “Now you're going to drink what I'm paying for or I will hold you down and force it in.”

Rusted hesitated on the sharp threat. Considering the glass of water. Grumbling he picked himself up and rose his head. He winced back at sharp searing pain as it tore through his brain. Eventually working himself up enough to shakily pick up the water and carefully drink from it. It passed his lips and dried cotton tongue, whetting them. He felt it fill his belly, and he fought to hold back the threat of vomiting. Instead only burping wetly. He still groaned at the searing pain of the rest of his external stimuli, but at least the drink had restored a little confidence in his prospects of eating.

The unicorn smiled alongside him, “Great. Keep drinking it. My employer wants you to be refreshed before you meet him.” he said invitingly, tapping his hoof on the wooden table and demanding a second glass of water.

“Your employer?” Rusted Bits said, between eyes clenched shut.

“We all work for someone in the wasteland. From top to bottom. It's all about service.” the blue stallion replied philosophically, “You're no stranger to this economic model, so why should it surprise you?”

“Because a stallion dressed as you are generally is the one being served.”

The blue stallion chuckled, grinning sardonically at Rusted. “Hardly. Though sometimes I get the pleasure. Not even my employer is the top of his chain. Keep drinking, by the way.”

“I am.” rusted croaked, taking another deep swig of the glass. “Who is your employer?”

“Just someone connected to a very large investment that we need resources to be allocated into.” the blue one sneered, “If part time.

“I'm not at liberty to discuss all the details. But I can tell you he's willing to make a large down payment on principle of you assisting us.”

“Can I back out if I don't like it?” Rusted asked.

“You could, but it would be an unwise move. But if I may ask: what would make you consider doing so?”

“I'unno. Depends.” the hungover stallion shrugged, “Can you at least tell me the job?”

“Courier. That's as far as I can go.” the blue unicorn said flatly, spreading his front hooves on the counter.

“You make being a delivery horse a shady proposition. I haven't ever been a hitman, but I didn't think this shit would come down to this sort of secrecy.”

“Oh, believe me my dear mud pony. My employer would prefer to keep it shady. He likes security.”

“I just hope his security doesn't make things look too suspicious. Some ponies get mad when things are suspicious.”

“It'll all come together.” the blue unicorn replied. Leaning back as a large plate loaded down with all varieties of piled on food was slid over to Rusted.

The caravaneer gave the plate a suspicious look. Piled in an indescribable lump were bits of red and fried green. Greasy white and caramelized browns. Alongside it was a glass of thick white milk. “The hell you order?” he asked.

“Doesn't matter. Eat it. We got a little over half an hour to go.” the blue unicorn snapped.

Romt's paws pressed against the ground as he exited the Turnpike Tavern, thoughts of what he needed to buy filling his mind with every step. A few medical supplies, for certain. He had some food, though was running low in the water department, so that was something to put on the mental list. He considered ammunition, but figured for the moment he had enough. He had enough to not show a whole lot of concern about it. He figured he'd get to his next destination before having to worry, though maybe he was being risky. He was considering his options as a voice rung up from behind him.

"A bounty hunter, huh?"

Romt turned halfway, looking back at the entrance to the bar. A pegasus mare stood there, a smirk on her blue face. Her black mane sticking out in front and from behind her News' Cap. She wore basic leather armor, and a submachine gun was her weapon of choice considering that was all she had from what he could see. To Romt, she came off as the mercenary type. "I've been looking for somepony strong to do some work. You seem pretty tough." She said, her eyes examining him top to bottom. Her tongue slowly shifted in her mouth as she judged his appearance, a remark escaping her. "Heh, yeah. As tough as they come."

"Your work is already sounding dangerous." Romt replied, eyeing her skeptically. The mare let out a small laugh, before answering his suspicion. "Dangerous it is. That's why I need somepony strong and reliable. You caught my attention with that conversation of yours in the bar." This wasn't enough to catch Romt's complete attention, but he had to admit he was curious about the work. He fully turned to face her, crossing his arms. "I see. So what's the job? I'll need some details if I'm going to make a decision on it. Danger isn't too much of a negative for me."

"Cocky, eh?" The mare was amused, though put that behind her as to give him the details. "I suppose I'll give you the details, then. I'm a bounty hunter, like you. And I'm looking at a good paying mission that could fill my pockets." She looked up at the sky, frowning. "Sadly, as much as I'd love to do the job by myself, it's far too dangerous. I have sources that will pay a pretty amount of bits for the heads of the raider leaders of some of the biggest groups in the wasteland. These guys have either a lot of firepower, a town's worth of men, or are fortified enough it'd take a lot of work to breach their defenses and take them down. Too much for one pony to handle, as you can probably tell."

"So you're looking to make a team that can help you with taking out these raiders, for a cut of the profits." Romt said, and the mare nodded. "Correct. I have a few ponies in mind, and I had only stopped here to resupply on my way to find them. When I saw you trot into the bar, and heard you conversing with that stallion, it made you look like somepony I could use on this job." She explained, looking back at him. "You'd be in for twenty percent. Like I said, I have a few other ponies currently in my interest, so it'd be the only fair way I could split it between us. I'd also ask you to accompany me to get the others, as I'd like us to be together as soon as possible so we can get this job done." The mare stared with her pink eyes, seeming to be only waiting for an answer now. It wasn't the end of the world if he said no, as she could probably find replacements. Though she probably couldn't find another Hellhound.

Romt thought it over. The bits would probably be good for those raiders, and he'd be doing the wasteland a favor, right? He saw it that way. It was a dangerous job, but she seemed to have a plan in mind for after she gathered this group of hers together. All he had to do was shoot raiders, and he'd probably have enough pay to keep him going for a short while. It sounded good, since he was hoping for something interesting anyhow.

The mare stared, seeming to want her answer as to not waste too much time. "Well...?"

"I like it. Sounds like we'd be doing the wasteland, and ourselves, a favor." Romt replied, a thought crossing his mind about these ponies in her interest. What if they didn't want a part of this? Wouldn't it turn into a big waste of time? 'I guess I have to give it the benefit of the doubt...'

The mare smiled, approaching him. "Great! Glad to have you! It'll be nice working with you... Eh..."

"Romt."

"Right. Romt, got it. Won't forget it." The mare replied, extending a hoof to him. "The name's Freya. I'm a good shot, and I'll certainly have your back during this job as long as you have mine. Sound good?" She questioned, as Romt extended one of his hands and shook her hoof as they came to an agreement. "Yeah. Sounds good." He replied, letting go soon after he spoke, his arm returning to his side. Freya's hoof returned to the ground, the smile on her face not fading. "Good. You'd best get everything you need tomorrow, as we'll be leaving to find the first pony on my list."

"Understood. Where are we going to meet up tomorrow?" Romt asked, simply not wanting to wander around town searching for her. He watched as Freya narrowed her eyes, turning towards the bar. "Well, I could always share a room with you. It'd be convenient, and I could see how strong you really are." A seductive, unexpected tone with her comment followed by a small flank-shake allowed for Romt to reply with nothing more than a shocked whine. Freya laughed. "Heh! Just messin' with ya, big guy. I don't care where you sleep, just meet up with me in front of the bar here in the morning." She said, trotting off back into the bar without giving the hound much of a chance to respond.

Romt stood there for a moment, before shaking his head and deciding that maybe it was for the best if he got some sleep. He figured he'd be up at sunrise, and on the go not too long after that. He could probably find a decent spot somewhere around New Appleloosa. Probably behind a train car or something, as he wasn't one for sleeping indoors, so the terrain outside worked fine for him. If it got cold, he'd simply burrow underground. Though he doubted it'd get bothersome tonight. With his thoughts wandering about the job he had just accepted to help with, he trotted off away from the bar, to find a place to get a few hours of sleep. He had a feeling that he'd need it.

A full belly had the warm welcoming sensation of being heartily cared for. More so when paid out of the pocket of someone else. However this feeling was dampened by the nauseous feeling of being hungover. It stretched and strained oddly in Rusted's gut, and did not feel none to comfortable. He moaned as he moved, fearing at any one point he might vomit. The food which he had choked down was thick and laden with grease. An odd juxtaposition of flavors that neither settled nor flew against him.

And despite his muted protest, the unicorn insisted he kept eating. He barked and hemmed and hawed. Running on irrelevant tangents and making his ears bleed before he surrendered and ate the food. It was poorly hidden, and he felt little pride. Radhog bacon and grilled brahmin mixed with all sorts of preserved vegetables and filler. It wasn't a meal for a pony, it was more for a griffon. Or a hellhound.

All the same though, he wasn't dying from the meal.

As soon as he had finished eating, the unicorn had flipped the large tab. Leaving behind an uncounted assortment of caps before stealing him off. Wrapping his magic around his tail and flinging him off the crate-chairs of the open air diner and dragging him along the muddied streets. This didn't last long, and he lashed out angrily. His enraged and pained mewling giving him the freedom to walk on his own.

The light still burned. It still dug in his eyes. And his head still felt heavy. But whether it was being told it was good for him or magic of the meal, he wasn't feeling as doghaired.

It still did not slow the trot of the unicorn. Or dodged quickly between the diverse crowds that muddled about in the safer settelments of the old Hoover ruins and the regions around it. Many prospectors coming in from the city interior, or going out to meet it. It was not unusual for shadier characters to lurk off to the side, raiders disowned of their weapons in order to enter the settlements. Escorts and whores looking for a good catch.

And all of which between those trying to live. Ranchers, caravaneers, and the people who lived off of them. Farmers, a few who called themselves miners, and doctors, and those who served into them. It was a loose, wanton mingling of anarchy under a very loose law concerned only with protecting peace. Which meant no one was armed, in an obvious way at least. And no one denied in such a way it might invoke wrath. But the Hoover region was nearly always characteristically calm, if wet.

The ruins of Hoover was a symbol and a relic of the time passed. Stone and steel towers that rose up above them. Some torn apart from the inside out. Torn or toppled. Fallen sky-scrapers leaned over the wide broken roadways creating long stretches of cover lit by innumerable lamplights. Wooden catwalks ran over where the sewer and storm drains had collapsed in on themselves, and were now a strongly flowing current to The Sound.

Interspersed between the skyscrapers stood more modest buildings. Townhouses built in rows down streets trimmed with dead bushes and the remains of shelled cars. Residents had chipped away at these corpses some times. Salvaging a little scrap when they could, or fuel for fire when they needed it. The old hedges were not much anymore, gnawed down to only trunks. And the old wagons only metal frames at many common times.

Where the unicorn was taking Rusted was a far reach. Passing into and out of the croweded and empty places of the city. The longer they kept on the trail the faster they moved. Hastening from a casual trot to a canter. Rusted feared if he'd ever attempt a gallop. He also feared he was lost. Or this was all bullshit on his part and if he should turn around and find more promising, consistent work and leave the north-west.

His haste came to a close as he trotted up to the doors of a smaller building. Its surface a pearly white, like what was rumored to have once stood in Canterlot proper, before being cursed and destroyed. But cracks broke its exterior shell and shattered its uniformity and nobility. Still, all the same, those that had taken up residence had decided to treat the structure with respect due to it. The yard had been cleared, and the sickly green of young grass poked up from the blackened charred soil as someone sought to nurture greenery in the wasteland. Though splotchy, coats of new paint covered the exterior, hoping to restore the vibrancy of its stone; though in vain. Columns and pillars that braced its face and the veranda above had been sealed and packed with what looked like homemade Wonderglue. Even the windows had been somehow replaced.

The doors of its entrance were heavy and dark, inlaid with cleaned and polished brass. It still shone dark as the ancient wood itself, but carried with it a sheen that reflected the stormy light. And with a groan the hinges gave as they opened, goaded open by the unicorn who bid Rusted inside.

***

Sounds of horns sang softly down the hallway, smoothed and timed to the soft timely strum of a bass and the soft hiss of cymbals. Dullened by the soft grainy hiss of static it danced muffled down the narrow carpeted hallway from behind a far door. Uncharacteristic of the outside and the foyer, the hallway was a long and unfortunately ruined space. Several side-doors they passed had been boarded up. The crimson flowered wallpaper peeled back from the drywall behind.

The carpeting as well was rough and jagged underhoof. Walking across it was like walking across sharp stones. And still not fully recovered from a hangover Rusted Bits kept to the side, keeping as little contact with the abrasive rug as possible and choosing to walk along the uneven and splitting wooden floorboards. The entire hall groaned under the two's weight as they drew nearer to the music at the end.

“For as long as I've been in the area I didn't think once I'd visit the Northern White House.” Rusted said unimpressed, “But now I regret I have.”

“The foyer did not impress you?” the unicorn grinned as he looked back. He took kept off the rug. So it wasn't just Rusted.

“Well, I've seen better in older mansions.” Rusted scoffed, “Now I'm beginning to doubt anything notable from the Old World is as good as it should be.”

“Mmmm, then you have not been inside Tenpony.” laughed the unicorn, “That tower surpasses this place by not miles or leagues, but centuries.

“But,” he added with a taunting smile, “I doubt they'd let a filthy mud pony such as yourself in on a whim.”

“You should count your stars you so thankfully paid me off in food and I'm not still already half-dead from a hangover.” Rusted cursed between clenched teeth.

“Not your morning? Oh, then I'm sorry. I'd like to see just how well you can get through someone pinning you to a wall with magic.” the unicorn taunted.

“Am I going to get this hospitality from your employer? I should walk out now.”

“Oh, just see him out.” Rusted's unpleasant companion assured, stepping alongside a set of double doors at the end of the hall. Murky glass caked over with still persistent grime shrouded the room beyond, allowing only the faintest light out.

“Who are you anyways?” asked Rusted as the unicorns magic shrouded the door handles. They clicked loudly with a sudden pop as he turned them and gently pushed them open.

“You'll find out.” he said, heading in. Rusted followed, cynical and cautious.

The door opened up to a sizable open main room. Wide windows along the far-wall let in the dim stormy light, broken by the trailing droplets as the outside rain picked up. Beyond which the forest of steel and ruins that was Vanhoover stretched out to the distant hills, mixing with clumped patches of wild forest just trying to regrow.

Alongside the windows night stands topped with shining glass bottles of special Sparkle Cola sat. Less as an invitation to drink, but more a source of ambient light to bathe the room. The tessellated wallpaper shone with the soft blues and greens of the luminescent soda.

In the middle of the window stood an old gramophone. On its turn table spun a vinyl record, plied over by a bent old needle. The megascope itself was in no worse wear, brandishing the same scratches and dents the wood-paneled body did. But for artifacts of the old world, it was in one of the best conditions Rusted had ever seen.

Stepping inside the caravaneer looked the room over. The halls may not have been impressive, but the room here made up for it, half way. It was spacier than the closets he often was forced to rent at numerous road-side roadhouses and motels. And smelled less like blood, piss, sex, and shit.

“Gentlemen.” a voice said from the side. Impatient and refined, it spoke with a deepened drawl. From somewhere out east.

Rusted turned to a light-green unicorn standing in the door. Crystal blue eyes ran the earth pony up and down with a discontent look. A long horn rose out from a mat of combed back chocolate mane. “You're a minute late.” he said, magicing out a stop-watch from the pocket of a light-purple dress vest. Rusted was amazed to see – for once – an immaculate dress shirt underneath.

“It was busy on the streets.” the blue unicorn said uncomfortably.

The green buck shot him an irritated expression and he flinched back. “Never the less. Better than never.” the green one said with a dismissive cough. “Rusted Bits, am I correct?” he asked, turning to Rusted.

“I am...” Rusted said uncomfortably, “And you?”

“I'm Dr. Alms. No need for anything more.” the green unicorn introduced himself, “You've met my assistant Clear Morning.”

Rusted nodded, “Nice to meet you.” he said, “I'm under the impression you have a job for me?” he asked.

“I do.” Dr Alms said, “If you follow me, we can sit down for a little coffee and discuss what needs to be done.” he invited.

“As you wish.” nodded Rusted, following the doctor deeper into the suite. “So, you're a doctor?” the caravaneer asked.

“I am.” Alms said.

“So in the Wasteland care thing?” he asked.

“No, very little of that these days.” Alms said, keeping a flat tone, “Not since the Day of Sunshine and Rainbows. I was always the ambitious type, I guess you could say. When most of the hospitals near where I lived in Manehatten cleared out of radiation I was the first to dive in. I aimed to carry off as many surviving records as I could, and any medication I could find.” the doctor walked around the side of a pair of couches facing each other. The sitting room they found themselves in was much less spacious. But dominated on two sides by a pair of large windows overlooking the city-streets outside. A coffee table sat in the middle between the light-blue couches.

“I devoted myself to what study I could, expanding my practice, and even went into Tenpony to study a little under the doctor there. Ever since I started practicing, I wasn't set to keep patching bullet holes and running a half-working auto-doc. No, I had better things.

“And well, now I'm different fields. As the Old World might call: radiology and general physiology. And not field dressing. My skills and practice goes well into the study of cancers and tumors now. I'm not handing out simple poultices based on two-hundred year old healing potions to treat simple stomach ailments when I can recommend and prescribe simple vitamins.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand.” Rusted said, stepping up to the couches. Alms was the first to take a seat, stretching out on the cushions.

“I didn't think you would.” Alms smiled, his blue eyes shining with a deep natural smugness. “Go on, take a seat.” he invited.

Rusted nodded, obliging the officer and sitting back into the couch. It was hard, and hardly really sagged under his weight. Leaning against the arm he waited for the doctor to speak.

“I – and my assistant – have come under the privileged employ of two very powerful, and very old ponies out east.” he said with a sigh, “The two I have learned since working with them that they seek immortality. A prospect generally made easy that they're ghouls.”

“So I'm working for a pair of ghouls?” Rusted said, “I don't know why this couldn't have been said earlier.”

“Well do note that I said they're powerful.” Alms replied critically, “They both assured me their power may bring the attention of some personal enemies of theirs if it got too out in public. I guess Morning kept a strict air of secrecy.”

“I did, sir.” Morning said from the corner.

“Fair enough.” Alms said, “So where's the coffee?”

“Oh, sorry sir.” Morning bowed, stepping out of the room.

“Anyways,” Alms continued, “my employers have been looking for a way to keep alive. With the snuffing out of the ambient radiation from Equestria it's become increasingly difficult for them to heal their injuries and be, well, ghouls. And they want to live independent off of irradiated water.”

“Well how come?” Rusted asked, last he checked the so called Aqua Cura of Ditzy Doo was a pretty powerful tonic for ghouls.

Alms shrugged, “No doubt they want independence. But they've been seeking out the means for them to have their own personal radiation. And I've been the one to investigate leads on their behalf and examine anything that would be promising.

“And you can imagine this has become incredibly difficult these days to find something soaked still with balefire radiation that's operable. Much of it has been scrubbed.

“Recently though, I was called out here to check out rumors of a surviving, small Megaspell bomb and ensure its even operable, as my sources claims. And then to procure it. I've done just that.”

“Doesn't really sound like you need me at all.” replied Rusted. Morning walked back into the room, carrying a tray of old silver cups and a pitcher. Strong bitter smells filled the room as he put the coffee tray down. With his magic Alms lifted the pitcher and poured himself a cup of deep black coffee. He did the same for his companion and levitated it to the end table alongside him.

“Because it'd be dangerous to transport a whole bomb on one pony.” Alms replied, taking a sip of black coffee, “So I've had it dismantled and sent east on individual couriers. Mostly all the worthless parts that we wouldn't be at a pain to loose. All we got left is the warhead itself.”

“Wait, wait!” Rusted shouted, “You want me to move the boom part of a bomb!?”

“Not at all. We destroyed the detonator.” Alms said casually, “So other than it leaking lethal levels of uncontained radiation: it's no problem. But I also solved that problem and had it packaged safe for transport. As long as you don't blow a hole in its new box, you won't succumb to radiation sickness.”

“I still don't feel very well about this...” Rusted said, nervously lifting the cup of coffee in his hooves.

“How's a ten-thousand caps down-payment?” Alms said, freezing Rusted mid-sip. He could feel the hot steam of the fresh brew at his nose.

“Final payment will amount to fifty-thousand when you reach Neighagra Falls. My employers have their mansion there. They'll pay you in person.”

“fifty-thousand caps?” said Rusted... That was enough to restart his family's old caravan.

“And whatever else you might pick up in loot along the way.” suggested Alms, “I'm already financing for you a whole new set of gear and a new Brahmin. And any other goods you might be able to move between here and the next settlement you come across. So long as you don't sell the warhead.”

Rusted's hooves shook. The thick black liquid splashed out passed the lip of the silver cup. Crashing down on the couch. Or his hide. But he didn't care. Fifty-thousand final payment, after ten-thousand down.

“Where's the warhead? When am I moving?” he asked.

“I figured you'd agree.” Alms smiled, sipping more coffee. “To health!” he declared cheerfully, levitating out the cup.

The sun had already been rising for a little over an hour. The light that shined into Romt's resting place between two old salvaged train cars had woken him up, and he was quick to begin preparing for his latest trip. Generally a larger than average sounding task to him; Normally he'd just have to worry about the target. But now, he had to be concerned with getting a team together. A team of ponies who were probably not guaranteed to become a team at all. This would be, if anything, tedious. But he figured if the mare wasn't able to take on the job by herself, it was quite possibly too dangerous to tackle at this point. He had planned on leaving today anyways, so travelling with the mare wasn't too much of an issue. Aside from the fact Romt himself hardly traveled with others for a long period of time. He didn't mind having others along, though he never looked for company. It'd be hard to travel as he did with others anyhow; He doubted they'd be willing to be as on the move as he was at times. That being said, ponies, and in extension, most races in the Wasteland, were always full of surprises.

Romt knew, before going to the Turnpike Tavern, he needed to gather supplies. From what he had noticed yesterday, Brissletooth had pretty much everything he needed. The hound hadn't thought to of purchased what he needed before going to the bar with Pump-Action. He wished he would have, as it'd of saved him some time today. Or... Maybe he would have missed out on this job if he did that. Perhaps it was best that he was shopping now? The thoughts began making his head hurt, so he simply shook them away and trotted along in search of Brissletooth's caravan.

It didn't take long to find; Ponies had flocked in to purchase the wares Brissletooth brought, and Romt, for a moment, simply stood back and watched as the amount of ponies lessened. Everypony took a little something different; Healing potions, bandages, a nice weapon or two. He was having good business, that was for sure. It worried Romt that he might not even get what he needed after these ponies were through. Soon enough, the group of ponies began to lessen more and more, finally giving him some room to trot up to the caravan and do his own shopping. A small amount of worry lingered in the back of his mind about Freya waiting, but he tried not to think about it too much as to not rush and forget something.

"Aay! Look who's here!" Pump-Action said happily, gaining the attention of both Brissletooth and Cottonbottom, along with the few remaining customers. A smile crossed Brissletooth's face, as he looked over at his niece. "Keep an eye on these ones over here, alright?" He asked, as he glanced out at the customers, unsure if they'd try anything. He simply hoped not, and felt relieved as Cottonbottom responded. "Of course, uncle~" She replied in her usual sweet tone. Though one Romt didn't hear before due to her being tired and irritated from their travels yesterday.

Brissletooth approached Romt, leaving Cottonbottom to keep her word. "Howdy there! Good t' see ya again before one of us took off." He said, generally showing a friendly nature towards Romt. Who appreciated the general kindness. "I'm actually about to take off before too long." Romt said, figuring it'd be a good idea to get to the point and not stay for a long period of time. "I thought I'd get some supplies before leaving. A few Healing Potions if you have them, some water... Two bottles ought to be enough. And a box of ammunition for this gun that I think you're familiar with." He tried to make a joke, and though the humor wasn't exactly laugh-out-loud, Brissletooth was amused anyways. "Heheh, yup. .357 Mags, I'm pretty sure." His words were confirmed as truth when Romt nodded his head, and soon after, Brissletooth was trotting back towards his stock. "Got it. I ought'a have a few of those potions 'round here somewhere. Keep tight an' get a few caps out, I'll be back in a minute."

Romt watched as Brissletooth trotted off, before shrugging his bag strap off his shoulder to plummet downwards until his hand caught it. He brought the bag up to his face and opened it up, digging with one hand in search of his cap pouch and finding it without too much issue. As he usually tried to keep it on top rather than burying it under everything else he had, for convenience. He spent a moment after finding the pouch simply starring off into the distance. Uncertainty crossed his mind more than once while trying to sleep last night. Was this a good idea? He wasn't sure, honestly. He figured he could question Freya once they were on the road, that was about it. There wasn't really a whole lot to know, though... Aside from the identities of these ponies they were looking for, and an actual explanation of these raiders. He tried to not expect too much, snapping out of his circle-running thoughts as Brissletooth came back, a small crate with the items Romt wanted in his mouth.

As the stallion put down the crate, he looked up at Romt. "There ya go, son. Two of them potions, a few bottles of water, and a box of food for that little gun of yours. That'll equal out t' 80 caps." He held out a hoof, expecting Romt's caps. Romt was quick to comply, dropping his bag to the ground and opening up his money-pouch, pulling out the caps (Which were pretty much all the caps he had) and handing them to Brissletooth. He watched as the stallion counted out the caps, finally giving a nod of approval for Romt to take his items. Which he quickly did, stuffing his money-pouch back in his bag before collecting his items. He carefully placed the potions in his bag, not wanting them to end up spilling everywhere and making a mess if he was clumsy. After getting them stuffed into the bag nice and snug, he reached back into the crate to grab his ammunition and water, placing the items in somewhat more carelessly, before closing up the bag and slinging it back over his arm.

"Appreciate your business." Brissletooth said, and Romt was pleased to hear it. "Appreciate you doing business with me. I have a feeling I'll be needing those potions within too long." His words caused a bit of concern for Brissletooth, and his face showed it. "Heh, well... Be careful, y'hear? I'll always be open for business when you need it, so come on up anytime ya see me."

"I certainly will." Romt replied, before turning and starting to trot off. Pump-Action whistled and waved a hoof as he left, and Romt raised one of his hands and waved back as he continued trotting. His shopping was done, now all he needed to do was move towards the Turnpike Tavern so he could get going. His hand soon dropped to his side as he got farther away from the caravan, and he focused on moving forwards.

---

Freya was, as Romt expected, waiting in front of the Turnpike Cavern for him. As the hound approached, a smile crossed her face. She was happy to see that he hadn't decided to back out of the job, and instead was just running a little late. Not late enough to be troublesome, but late nonetheless. "There you are. I assume you have everything you need?" She asked, figuring the answer was obvious but she wanted some confirmation. "Yes. I'm ready whenever you are." Romt replied, though soon speaking again. "But I do want some answers."

"Answers about...?" Freya questioned, seeming open to revealing what he wanted to know. Romt asked the most obvious question first. "I want to know more about these raiders. Tell me about their leaders, and what we can expect." His words were responded to with a sigh, and Freya simply began trotting off, gesturing for the hound to follow. "We'll talk as we trot, eh? No need to stand around wasting time." She seemed to want to leave, and Romt decided quickly about following after her, soon right next to the Pegasus as they began travelling out of town.

"So, these raiders." Freya began, not glancing in Romt's direction. "There's a few groups of them, at least a few groups of really dangerous ones. There's a top-three listing on which groups are considered the most dangerous, and those three are our targets. First, at number three, you have a band of raiders lead by two Earth Pony stallions, the Semi-Auto brothers. They are as brilliant mechanics as they are vicious savages, tending to make their own weapons to slaughter innocents with. I've heard they have been able to make some terrifying weaponry, so after we clean them up we might be able to swipe some of their goods for ourselves. Just make sure we leave room to carry the heads."

"Any idea what those weapons might be...?" Romt questioned, and Freya shook her head. "No idea. I've heard they have some sort of pre-war tech, though. Possibly really dangerous stuff. We'll have to be careful."

Freya didn't take long to get onto the next subject. "At number two, there's Fletch. He's a bit of a special case. His band are still raiders, but they are usually real pumped up on drugs. Buck, Rage, Dash, you name it. He makes it a necessity to have all that shit in your system to be a part of his group. He's got a lot of addicts under his control, but they are generally weak. The drugs will make them difficult to take down, and bloodthirsty consider they have to fight for Fletch to keep them supplied. I've also heard of Fletch possibly having access to Hydra."

"Hydra?" Romt questioned, still not too knowledgeable about the Wasteland and it's many forms of substances.

"It's crazy." Freya replied, shaking her head. "It's like one of those normal Healing Potions, except way more powerful. I've heard it can put broken bones back in place, and even help with bullets that are lodged in ya. It does it all quick, too. It can make a pony really hard to kill, but it can have some real bad side-effects. You could be dead not before after using it if you're unlucky."

Romt nodded. "Sounds like this could make our job more difficult if it's true." He said, the effects seeming to be extreme to him. It was actually kind of terrifying how far that could go. "Yeah, it really would. Especially if the other raiders had access to it as well. We could be in some trouble, then." Freya replied, seeming to share Romt's concern on the matter. For good reasons.

"So, what about this big number one?" Romt questioned, curious about it. Freya was quiet for a moment, thinking. A moment of silence passed, but eventually she responded. "We'll worry about that one if we get that far, yeah? Shouldn't bite off more than you can chew, or you'll be too distracted to work effectively." She smiled, looking up at him. "Besides, we have some ponies to track down. One specifically right now by the name of Bridgeback. He's apparently a pretty tough pony, and actually used to run with raiders. I figure he'll be good in a firefight, and might give us an edge over the raiders. Smart, huh?"

"Are you sure hiring an ex-raider to go kill raiders is a good idea?" Romt asked plainly, and Freya thought it over. "Well... Eh..." She glanced down at the ground, before looking back at Romt. "Yeah! I think it's a good idea, since he probably has a lot of experience." Her words brought some concern into Romt's mind, but he nodded anyways. "If you say so. I suppose after hearing about those raiders that we shouldn't pass on the chance for help. I just hope he doesn't get any ideas about going back to his old ways."

"Anypony ever tell you that ya worry too much?" Freya asked, and Romt nodded slowly. "I hear that, occasionally. But I worry for a good reason." He responded, only to have Freya roll her eyes and stare ahead. "Whatever, it'll be fine. Let's hurry along, eh? We have a long enough trot ahead of us as it is." She started trotting a bit faster, and Romt sighed as he followed after her. Hoping for the best out of the situation.

The two soon took leave of New Appleloosa, and began their journey to Junction Town. For better or worse, considering Freya's idea. The Wasteland was a dangerous place, and though travelling throughout it was a normal task, there was usually a few hardships. You never truly knew what'd happen out here...

---

-Footnote ~ Companion Perk Obtained

Hit First And Last: Freya's fast nature in combat has rubbed off on you, allowing for you to be generally more agile in combat. As long as Freya is a companion, you gain a +1 to your Agility while in combat, and a +2 to your Combat Sequence.

The cracked road stretched on endlessly into the distance. The surrounding landscape was quiet and still with the exception of few shrubs and some wild grass that bobbed lazily in the light breeze. Along the road Nexus trotted, the only visible sign of life in the apparently deserted wasteland. She had no idea where she was going, she didn’t even know what lay in this direction. It was simply the direction in which the road stretched.

The breeze kicked up a light haze of dust from the dry soil giving the distant horizon a shimmering effect. There was nothing out here but one pony and an ancient trail. Probably for the best. Nexus didn’t have a gun or any form of weapon. She was hungry and had no food or drink, no caps to buy them either. The limp saddlebag at her side contained few items. A single Dash inhaler she’d found in a burnt out building days back and never got round to selling. A couple of rounds for a gun she couldn’t even begin identify and an assortment of junk she’d picked up while walking. The only thing of interest she carried was the pipbuck attached to her right forehoof. The device was the only indicator of her stable dwelling past. Despite the rough treatment it had received during her years as a slave it remained remarkably intact structurally Sadly the slavers had disabled it when they found it impossible to remove and since then it had been little more than a dead weight at her side.

After what felt like hours, some shapes became apparent in the distance. They looked like structures, crumbled and burnt but still standing. Fortunate timing as well. The wind had steadily picked up over the hours she’d walked and black clouds were drawing in over head. Her trot became a gallop as the rain began to fall but by the time she’d reached the first building her mane and coat were soaked through. Ducking under the charred door frame she took shelter from the deluge in room beyond.

It wasn’t a large space, the ceiling had partly collapsed filling the tiny store room with rubble from the floor above. A little investigation of the surrounding area led Nexus to believe that it had once been some kind of convenience store. It seemed to have long since been cleared of anything valuable but she did manage to find an old bowl which she placed just outside the door to collect water.

Scouring the shelves on the shop floor turned up nothing but wrappers and long moulded foods that even a radroach would turn down. Disappointed she made her way back towards the door hoping to drink whatever had collected in the bowl to at least quench her thirst. Just as she was about to step outside however, the sound of voices caught her attention.

“I’m telling you man, somepoines in there. I came by here 10 minutes ago, no bowl. Now? Bowl. We’re not alone.”

“You sure you din’t just miss it? Ah mean it is a brown bowl on ah brown floor”

“It wasn’t there man. Somepony put it there!”

Nexus heard the faint sound of a gun being loaded even over the driving rain. This wasn’t good. Steadily she began to back her way toward the blown out front windows. If they came in she’d have to make a dash for it. Hiding behind a partly tipped shelf she watched as two stallions stepped through the doorway and into the back room. One of them, a reddish brown unicorn, held a crude looking rifle in his telekinesis, while the other, a dull grey earth pony, held a vicious looking blade in his mouth. Both of them were covered in spiked armour constructed of scrap. Raiders.

Fear gripped Nexus as she watched the two carefully work there way through the upturned shelves, combing the shop for her. The mere thought of what would happen if she was caught terrified the life out of her. She’d have to run.
Using her own telekinesis, wary of the light her horn was producing, she nudged a barely standing shelf on the far side of the room. With satisfyingly loud ‘clang’ the shelf clattered to the floor discarding it’s load of empty soda bottles over the floor. Both raiders turned at once to face the noise and seizing the moment she ran.

A shout of alarm echoed behind her followed by the crack of the unicorns rifle. The ground to her left erupted sending chips of worn concrete spraying into the air. Glancing back for just a second she was shocked to see both raiders already in pursuit, the unicorn reloading his rifle as he ran. To her growing panic she realised that knife pony was gaining on her closing the gap between them rapidly.

Without even thinking about the potential consequences, Nexus drew the Dash inhaler from her saddle bag, shoved it in her mouth and breathed deeply. The effect was instantaneous. Around her the world seemed to slow. She could see clearly the drops of rain as they crashed into the ground, exploding into tiny flowers on the cracked side walk. Behind her she heard another loud crack as the rifle fired a second shot. Turning she was amazed to see a shock wave of prismatic colours explode from the rifles barrel. The shot again crashed into the ground near by kicking up wet gravel and dirt.

Then she energy rush came. It was like drinking 100.. No 200… No 2000 bottles of sparkle cola. She felt great! Amazing. Ready for anything! Nothing could stop her! She was powered by rainbows. Amazing rainbows. Rainbows and sunshine. Wow rainbows were awesome. No. She was awesome! Rainbows were also awesome. If there was a list of the top 10 most awesome things, 1 with be Nexus, 2 would be rainbows… 3 would probably be something like snack cakes or sparkle cola or sunshine or rainbows… Wait, no, rainbows were number 2!

So great was the rush that she barely acknowledged the third rifle shot. Both raiders were now so far behind her that she barely even registered their existence any more. They were nothing, insignificant. After running a little further, looping behind buildings and down alleyways Nexus was satisfied she had ditched her pursuers and slipped inside a house out of the rain. By this time, the Dash was starting to wear off and she was suddenly feeling incredibly tired. More than that, she really wanted some more. Desperately she tried the inhaler again but to no avail. Disappointed, she made a note to acquire more in the future. It’d be very useful if she ever had to outrun raiders again or anything else in the wasteland for that matter.

Hoover

Shelled and collapsed, the warehouse's roof was a patchwork of tarps and heavy sheets tied to close the massive hole that had formed in the massive storehouse's ceiling. But torn and frayed over the years and many of the chords dry-rotting the hole itself was coming back. And with the day growing older, so did the rain become stronger. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the sound of the heavy drops raining against the metal ceiling and old tarps was a constant drum roll. Thick rivers of water ran from the roof down to the cement floor below where it collected and pooled in craters formed decades – or centuries – ago.

Despite the roar business was as usual underneath. Throngs of ponies, ghouls, griffons, and other intelligent creatures of the north wandered the stalls and booths scattered over Hoover's market chamber. Perched atop towers made of discarded steel parts and wood mercenaries stood watch on the business below, rusting and age-worn rifles and pistols in hoof, talon, or magic.

The sounds of the market was cavernous. Echoing demands and arguments circled heavy in the air. And more often it seemed arguments over prices were clearer on the far-side of the chamber than they were next door. A phenomenon due in part to the sagging bowed roof and walls of the pre-war installation. Foals and fillies cried in protest against their mothers, quickly bored with daily grocery shopping. And the hammering of metal as ponies went about repairing traveler's and resident's broken gear.

It was all a mechanical thing. Carried on out of necessity and with hooves and horns so well trained to the practice they were a machine. Even the tongues of the merchants were well practiced and timed.

In the far corner of the market center Rusted Bits stood at a pen of Brahman. The smell of the beast in one corner was overpowering, even more so than the unwashed smell of over many hundreds of heads of ponies in one close space.

“The fuck do you mean this one is in great shape!?” Rusted shouted, half over the general noise of the market and the other in legitimate anger, “Her hooves are chipped, and she has sores on her legs! There's no way she's in great physical condition! She looks like she's been ran in this pen for far too damn long!”

“I assure you, she's in perfect shape. The sore are merely birthmar-”

“Yes, and so is my fucking cutie mark, bitch!” Rusted boomed, “No, they're not. I can tell they're clearly inflamed! And those hooves like that, what's to say they won't develop an infection on the road and I'll be forced to put her down? I'll be shit out of luck there, 'friend'.” he snarled.

“Very well, I can tell she's not to your liking.” the merchant said, backing off. He was an obviously young buck. Younger than Rusted perhaps. In an effort to look like a pre-war sales pony he dressed in a suit he obviously dug out of some ruins somewhere, gashes and deep smudges patterned the coat everywhere, showing his bright yellow fur underneath. His pale-blue mane oiled and slicked back against his head.

“L-let me show you another.” he said retreating, “This is another of my choice breeds. You'll like her, strong and only seven years old.”

Smiling nervously he planted his hooves on the back of the battered and wrinkled Brahman he had brought out to show Rusted. With a surprised “moo” it trotted hastily back into its pen. Its owner following, trotted through the thin layer of dung and straw to fetch another.

He soon came back with another two-headed overweight beast. Its thick balding hide twitched agitated at the assault of flies and its dull listless eyes stared forward as its owner pushed it gently to the pen's side. “Here!” he said proudly, “Only seven years old with plenty of life ahead of her. Strong legs, a high endurance beast. Experienced and at home to the wastela-”

“Strong my ass. Her udders look too big. Has she delivered calves!?” Rusted frowned, “Because if I have to milk it on the road then I'm going to shoot you. I'm a fucking caravaneer, not a dairy farmer for Celestia's sake. Find me another!”

The Brahmin dealer visibly sweated as he pushed the bovine away. Only the will of taking Rusted's caps was what kept him dealing with the aggressive caravaneer. But Rusted had an excuse, his head still burned with the fury of dynamite and the ambient noise of the enclosed market wasn't helping at all.

The dealer returned with another fat cow. But Rusted took one look at the two head's milky eyes and frowned. “Nothing with cataracts. Next one, dammit.” he spat.

The dealer jumped back, and turned the blind cow around and pushed it off. It predictably walked on until nearly colliding with the wall, stopping only inches from the cold wet concrete. “S-see, it can see.” the dealer said nervously. Rusted wasn't impressed. Nervously, he caught this and surrendered to getting another.

“Alright, alright.” the dealer said. His voice wavered defeatedly as he walked up to the pen's fence another Brahman. A stout, strong looking cow. Rusted's only issue he could find with it thus far was it size, it was built on the small size.

“She's only six-years old. Traveled Route 52 and East 31.”

“How'd you come across it then?” Rusted asked skeptically.

“We found her with a sackful of gear. I can only assume its owner was taken out on the road by raiders or wildlife and it escaped.”

Rusted eyed it cynically. “Six?” he asked.

“Six.” the dealer said.

“Open the mouths, I want to look at the death.” he ordered. The dealer obliged, simply surrendering at this point. Rusted leaned in, looking at the gum and teeth of the beast.

“How much are you asking for?” he asked.

“Seven-thousand caps.” the dealer replied.

“Seven-thousand sounds a bit much. She looks to be more closer to ten!” he pointed out, “Her molars are too worn.”

“Right, right. Six-thousand.” the dealer said.

“No, five-thousand.”

“Five-fifty.”

“Good enough.” Rusted puffed, “Sold.”

“Thank you sir, anything else?” the Dealer asked, tired.

“I got some more shopping around to do. Can you hold onto her for an hour?”

“I can.”

“Good.”

Traveling in the Wasteland wasn't Romt's favorite thing to do. The trots were long, usually hot, and all he ever got out of it was one night's rest in a town before doing it again to the next town where help was possibly needed. He wasn't overly bothered by it, but over time it had gotten less special and more tedious. Especially when the critters came out to play, looking to stab, bite, and claw him to death by any means necessary. Most of the wild life in the Wasteland wasn't that bad, but occasionally you ran into something nasty that was more persistent in it's goal of ensuring your death.

When Romt thought about it, that was how his race used to be seen as entirely. Nasty, terrifying beasts that wanted nothing more than to kill ponies. They weren't like that now... Well, mostly. There were still hounds that attacked ponies, but slowly they have began thinning out. Romt didn't like the idea of his brethren dying, but knew that they brought it upon themselves by being stubborn. Stuck in their ways, which sadly were negative ones that would lead them down a path of destruction. There weren't many Hellhounds as it was, and having some throw their lives away fighting ponies because of what happened during the war was, without a more polite way to put it, stupid. It would probably take awhile for the Hellhound race to have a fair population, but eventually they would be more stable and be able to possibly make more settlements. It'd all aid in the rebuilding of civilization, though it'd take time. Thankfully they were nowhere short of time, so they'd be able to work through the process, even if it was slow.

Everything would eventually be alright; That was the thought that kept a lot of ponies going, instead of just surrendering to the madness of the Wasteland. It was a positive thought, one that was true, as well. Slowly the world was piecing together, though Romt feared danger would always exist. There'd be no changing that. But they could always fight it back, protecting those who can't quite protect themselves. Ponies, and others, with good, honest hearts. As long as they existed, there was a chance of the world making a turn for the better. Of course, even heroes fall. It was just the nature of ponies in this day and age; Certain things could just have a slow, but life-changing effect that'd lead to a once respectable individual becoming just another bandit, preying off ponies they came across. It was depressing, but that didn't change that it was a fact. A fact that, no matter how hard they tried, was not going away.

"You're real quiet." Freya's words caused Romt to look down at her, noting she seemed to be content. There was a small smile on her face as she kept focused on the path ahead. The attempt at conversation caused Romt to think for a moment about how much time he spent just thinking. There wasn't much else to usually do during his travels, and being loud wasn't ideal unless he wanted to attract trouble, so it just came naturally for him to keep quiet.

Slowly drifting his gaze elsewhere, Romt eyed nothing too out of the ordinary. Dead plants, dirt, rocks... When he thought about it, the Wasteland certainly was a plain-looking place at times. Could perhaps use a little more color... "Sorry. I tend to think to myself a lot." He explained briefly, continuing to look around, his eyes sharp and focused on any possible dangers. Though for the moment they seemed safe, he wasn't going to let his guard down for a long period of time. The Wasteland was unforgiving for those who did.

"Oh, really?" Freya sounded intrigued, eyeing him curiously. "What about?"

"A little bit of everything," Romt answered. "Mostly about Work... Survival... Home." He worried somewhat about Ponyville at times. The hounds would be fine, generally, but occasionally ponies that hated their guts came along. Made trouble. It was problematic, but he figured after awhile they'd be too scared to come along. The killing looked bad for them at times, though. Even if it was in self-defense, it served as a reason to be disliked by outside sources, as well as a bit of fuel for the fire of shunning ponies. Thankfully the elders were smart enough to not let those groups get inside their heads, which in turn kept the other hounds in line.

"What's that Hellhound Sanctuary like? I've heard about it, but I haven't really ever thought of going there." Freya wasn't exactly comfortable with the thought of being surrounded by Hellhounds, even if they were more peaceful than the murderous ones she'd heard of. She was surprised ponies had the guts to go in there with their caravans and sell their wares. When she really thought about it, though... It was possibly more impressive they had the caps to spend. Considering Romt being out and about though, maybe it wasn't too impressive. There were surely more like him that went around, and probably brought caps and supplies back for Ponyville.

"We aren't that different from other settlements, honestly. We trade whatever we manage to collect and scavenge to ponies, And offer our repair services to those who need it. We don't have as many talents as you ponies do, though we are slowly expanding and learning more from those who pass through." Romt wondered if they could one day be as varied as the ponies, but doubted it in his mind. No matter what the task was, there was always a pony that could get it done. It was impressive, in Romt's opinion.

"I see..." Freya nodded, taking note of what he said. Thinking to herself about the subject of how well put-together they actually were. She didn't think it could be going too well, but she also knew that she'd been wrong on more than one occasion. It'd be for the best to avoid the place as long as this uncertainty remained in her mind. Which, by her own guess, would be for quite some time. She "Well, I might have to visit the town sometime. Get some of my gear repaired. Maybe a little shopping, too-"

Before she could continue speaking, she was stopped as Romt put one of his arms in her path, his ears perked as he looked around. Freya looked up at him with an eyebrow raised at the sudden pause. "Somethin' wrong...?" She questioned, and after a moment, Romt nodded. "I think I heard something. Think it's over the slope there..." Romt gestured ahead, Freya cautiously following his hand and looking at the small slope. She listened carefully, and could faintly hear something. It sounded like chatter, but she wasn't absolutely sure. "What do you suggest?" She asked, and Romt lowered his arm, his hand keeping close to his revolver. "I suggest we take caution. In case there are ponies who won't take too kindly to our presence."

Freya smirked. "Got it. Let's see if we can't get the jump on them, eh?"

"Right. Dispose of them if they are a threat, leave them be if not." Romt replied, beginning to quietly climb the slope. Freya followed, and the two were at the top and able to peek out within a minute or so, able to see a jagged rock formation near the bottom with a campfire nearby. The voices became a little clearer; That, or they were shouting louder. There was no way to really tell.

From what Romt could tell, there were two ponies standing over a corpse. Both seemed rugged, with shaved manes, cuts, and enough spikes as accessories to be deathtraps by themselves. "Looks like raiders," Romt commented quietly, as they observed what was happening below.

---

"Heheh! You hit that zombie bastard right in the back of his rotting skull!" One of the raiders, a Unicorn, shouted. Laughing loudly at the sight of the ghoul laying at their hooves. The poor pony seemed to have taken a dangerous blow to the head, leaving it in what seemed to be a dead state with it's face in the dirt. at least, the raiders thought it was dead. Romt couldn't say he honestly thought the pony was alive, either. "Heh, I know. Son of a bitch thought he could just trot around lookin' like a damn corpse. Serves 'em right." The other raider, which was an Earth Pony, replied. Seeming proud of his kill as he glanced down at the bloody murder weapon; An average run-of-the-mill hammer.

"Wait, how do you know the fuckin' thing was a guy?" The unicorn questioned, and the Earth Pony stared at him, as he didn't really know for fact. "Well with a voice like that I couldn't assume it was some chick, yeah?" He argued, the Unicorn sighing. "They all have those weird-ass raspy voices!" The yelling from the Unicorn began angering the Earth Pony, who glared down at the body. "Let's just check it, then. If it's a guy it would have it's stallionhood, right?"

"Not if it rotted off." The Unicorn scoffed, smirking at his point.

"Screw you. Just flip it over." The Earth Pony demanded.

"Fuck no, you do it. I ain't touching that thing!"

---

"We really ought to take them out while we have the chance." Freya whispered.

"I agree, but they are too far away for us to really get a shot in from up here, considering our weaponry." Romt replied, staring down at the raiders. "From what I can tell, only the unicorn has a gun. If we can take him down, the second one shouldn't be a problem... We'll be out in the open if we move, so being fast is ide-"

Romt stopped before he finished, his ears picking up a sound that wasn't coming from in front of them. It sounded familiar, his world almost feeling like it froze as he processed what it was. Yes, the sound was indeed familiar. In fact, it was something he'd heard many times. And it was a sound that meant they weren't alone. When it hit him, words flew through his mind as the realization was necessary.

'That's the sound of somepony cocking a gun...!'

---

As his world seemed to unfreeze, the hound quickly lunged forward over the small amount of stable, flat terrain off the other side of the slope, using one hand to push Freya with him. The mare yelped as she heard the sound of a shotgun firing behind them, with a laugh following it, but was more focused on the ground as they were currently diving down towards the raiders they had planned on quickly disposing of. Both tried to gain their footing, Freya using her wings to help her, managing to stop and not plummet down towards the raiders. Romt was naturally good with the terrain, managing to catch himself using his hands by clawing the slope on his way down. The two glanced at each-other, not liking the situation.

Looking up, Romt noticed the pony that had just tried to creep up and shoot them; A raider with a shotgun in his mouth. He seemed amused and smug, trying to aim down at them to fire again. Romt was quick to reach to his side and pull out his revolver from it's holster, delivering two shots upwards at the raider. The first bullet hit the pony in the neck, a gasp escaping him as he dropped his weapon and staggered back, blood spouting out of the wound. He did not move fast enough to avoid the second bullet, which found it's way going into his head, getting lodged in somewhere. The pony's eyes rolled back as he fell over limp to the left, leaving his shotgun rolling down the slope.

Romt stopped the gun as it approached him, picking it up and figuring it was better in his hands than in the hooves of the raiders below. "I think this is going pretty well." He commented, Freya having simply glanced between Romt and the raider during their sudden and deadly encounter. She shook her head, snapping out of the state she was in. "Right. Don't forget there's two more below us. I'm taking to the sky, you do... Well, what you do!"

"That's not really a plan-"

"It's good enough!" Freya shouted, spreading her wings and quickly taking off, not leaving much space for an argument.

Of course, as likely as Romt thought it was for them to see the pegasus as better target, the unicorn was focused on him and had opened fire with what seemed to be a pistol, from what Romt could tell. He quickly pushed himself up the slope, eyes wide as the bullets surprisingly connected very close to where he had been. "Damn, that's some accuracy!" He spouted out, somewhat impressed. Though the fact he was being shot at by said weapon made him truly hate it.

"You should be shooting that pegasus!" The Earth Pony raider shouted at the Unicorn as he was attempting to reload, the magic-using raider glared downwards as he responded. "That's a Luna-damned Hellhound! It'll kill us if it ends up getting close! You deal with the pegasus!"

"How am I supposed to do that?! You're the one with the gun!" The Earth Pony shouted irritably, picking up his hammer.

"Improvise, idiot! At least try and do something instead of standing there!"

As the Unicorn finished reloading, he could hear gunshots from up above. This sent him and his Earth Pony partner into a panic, causing them to take cover behind the jagged rock formation that the camp was built near, cringing as bullets hit the dirt and rocks. Freya seemed to have an easy enough time pinning the raiders down, allowing for Romt to descend and get on even ground to aid in the fight.

"Alright, you might have a point! This bitch has to come down." The Unicorn managed to say, aiming up at Freya as she began circling around to fire down upon them. He tried to take precise shots at the mare, but she was moving too fast for him to follow and hit. The sound of paws stomping behind them caused the Earth Pony to look out at what was coming. And to no surprise, it was Romt. "The Hellhound is coming!" He spat, still in a panic after nearly being hit by a rain of bullets. The Unicorn took another shot at Freya, but missed again, getting irritated. "Well- I... I don't know! Fuckin' bust his skull like you did that ghoul!"

"That's a terrible idea!" The Earth Pony disagreed.

"At least you don't have to fight the pegasus anymore." The Unicorn replied, as he continued shooting up at Freya. Thankfully for them, putting her off course and buying him time to reload. Though he was running out of ammo, so he knew he needed to make one of these shots count eventually.

"Shit, man... This just isn't my day."

As Romt approached the rocks, he kept his revolver aimed and ready. Not wanting to be taken by surprise. Though not wanting to be surprised didn't mean it wouldn't happen; as he hadn't expected the Earth Pony to charge out at him with nothing but a hammer, screaming through his gritted teeth. Romt struck first by swinging the butt of the shotgun he picked up, smashing it directly into the muzzle of the stallion who decided charging a Hellhound was a good idea. This strike was enough to knock the pony down, blood squirting out onto the ground from his nostrils as he screamed from the pain. "Y-You motherfucker!" He cried out, hooves on his face as the hammer fell out of his mouth. His eyes managed to lock onto Romt, the hound pointing his revolver downwards at him.

A few scattered pleas followed, a gunshot not long after. Leaving the Unicorn to assume his remaining backup was dead. He wasn't certain about taking on a pegasus and a Hellhound at the same time, but knew if he didn't do anything, he'd be dead for sure. He focused on pegasus, narrowing his eyes as he aimed ahead, attempting to predict where she was going. Though she began opening fire on him, he fired, the bullet soaring into the sky and piercing one of Freya's wings, as her bullets didn't have a real chance of hitting the raider; they instead scattered about around him, kicking up dirt. She cried out from the sudden injury, the Unicorn watching as she began struggling to keep in the air, her descent beginning within seconds, though she tried to slow her fall with her remaining good wing while fighting the pain of her injury.

Romt noticed Freya struggling to keep herself from falling, the injury to her wing obvious by the red that clashed with her usual blue, even from this distance. He holstered his revolver, running forwards and jumping up to get a grip with on hand on the top of the jagged rock the Unicorn was hiding behind, pulling himself up and noticing the Unicorn beginning to peek out in search of him, only to see the dead raider that was once his companion.

"Where the fuck..?" The Unicorn glanced back, checking to see if he was behind him. He wasn't there. Though, on the ground, there was a large shadow. The raider followed it and noticed Romt on top of the rock, shotgun in hand. It was surprising, and as Romt jumped down, the Unicorn was quick to back away, attempting to take aim at him. He wasn't fast enough to avoid the butt of the shotgun the hound was still holding, hitting him hard enough to ruin his levitation spell, causing the gun to fall to the ground. The raider retaliated by attempting to stab Romt with his horn, but the attack was foiled by Romt stepping back and dodging the forward thrust. Only to respond with another swing of the shotgun, hitting the raider hard enough to not only knock him to the ground, but to knock him out, as well. Possibly with a skull fracture that was fatal.

Though, as of now, making sure he was dead wasn't Romt's biggest concern. He threw down the shotgun, and glanced up at Freya, surprised to see she had managed to slow her fall somewhat. She was still falling, but her landing wasn't going to be bad enough to break anything. At least he hoped it wasn't, as she tried landing on her hooves and ended up falling over, thankfully folding her good wing up before doing so.

Romt rushed over, staring down at the mare and her injury. "Is it serious...?" He questioned, not exactly knowing how bullets effected the wings of shot pegasi. Freya slowly managed to sit up onto her flank, looking at her wing with narrowed eyes and a scrunched up face. "Ngh... The bullet went through, but even with a potion I'm not going to be flying for awhile. I can't believe that shithead got a shot off on me." Angry, but accepting of what happened, she sighed. "At least I'm alive."

"You'll be fine. You can take more caution on the ground, anyways." Romt explained with a small smile.

Freya chuckled, nodding. "I guess. Let's hurry and collect the spoils before there ends up being more trouble." Her suggestion was one Romt could certainly agree with, though he figured she needed to focus more on her wound at the moment. He was certainly glad he had bought those potions back in New Appleloosa, otherwise she'd be in more trouble. He reached into his bag and felt around for the potion, his finger rubbing against the bottle the liquid resided in. He gripped it and pulled it out, handing it to Freya, who happily accepted it. "Heh, thanks. With this, I at least won't have to be worrying about any infections."

"Don't mention it." Romt replied, turning to go and check the raiders for supplies. "Take a minute to rest up; I'll check the bodies."

"I guess you deserve dibs on the goods. Feel free to share the wealth, though, yeah?"

---

Romt noted the shotgun might be a nice addition to his arsenal, but had a bigger focus at the moment. He trotted over to the Unicorn, crouching down to search the small saddlebag he had. "Let's see... Some Buck, what ammo he didn't end up using... Was this food?" Romt stared skeptically at the skewer, unsure of what it was. He decided to leave it, but to take the ammunition and Buck. The latter not for his use, but it could make for decent trade. After he was done looting, he stood up and walked over to pick up the pistol the raider had been using. It was small, but nice. Seemed too clean for a raider to have. Did it belong to that pony they killed...?

"Speaking of which..." Romt trotted around the rocks, approaching the body of the victim. As he approached, he glanced down at the Earth Pony he had killed; He had no saddlebag, and the hammer didn't interest him, so Romt moved on and got a good look at the pony. He could confirm it was a ghoul, the blow to the back of the head certainly was the blow that left it like it was. He was clueless about the gender. "Not moving, and judging by what they said, it's probably dead..." He muttered, not wanting to disrespect the pony by searching it's corpse. He sighed, slowly turning around. "Guess I'll grab the shotgun and we'll get going." He said to himself, trotting back towards Freya to see how she was fairing. There was nothing else for them here.

"Oog..."

A sound caused Romt to turn his head, and his eyes widened as he saw the ghoul stand, though it's legs were shaky. He remained still as the pony turned it's head, revealing it's confused and somewhat peeled face. It's eyes locked onto Romt, seeming to observe him silently. The two simply stared at each-other in an awkward silence, one not knowing what to say to the other.

Freya, after having drank the potion Romt had given her, stood up and managed to trot past the rocks, wondering what he was doing. "Hey, what's taking you so long? I feel like I've been waiting forever alread- ....y." She stopped as she noticed the scene; Unsure of why they were staring at each-other. Though that pony was alive, that was something she could note as of now.

It lead to three of them staring awkwardly, nopony exactly sure of how to speak up. It wasn't until the Ghoul fully turned was a word spoken; By it, no less.

"...Confused, I am. Pony and dog, work as team? Dispose of raiders, they have. Rescued me, is certain."

The rain had tappered off by late afternoon. The muddy streets shone with the wet puddles as the clouds swam among themselves, holes opening only to close quickly again. In the delicate dance above the light shone in the pools of water, reflecting in the city streets the blinking eyes of a clear sky with mirror quality.

The gate ahead was filling up again post-storm, the numerous travelers who sheltered in the ruins to the side and one of the settlement's several taverns were eager to press on their travels now it had dried up. To some, it seemed simply keeping dry was more important than being timely. And in all due probability, it would only rain again in several hours. After all as the locals chimed: if you didn't like the weather, just wait five minutes. Rusted was eager to leave this unpredictability.

The gate was a small affair, but where he was told to meet up with the good doctor and his assistant. Looking over the heads Rusted looked. It was quickly clear that they weren't in the enthusiastic out-bound crowd, mingled chaotically with the sporadic in-bound traveler. The gate was small, and the guards liked to handle visitors here on a one-by-one basis. Which for a settlement openly accepting everyone didn't mean it had a trifling, small number going through in either direction.

Caught in the corner of his eyes there was a shining glimmer. To the side, sat at a salvaged chair sat one of the pair. The lackey. The green unicorn. In his magic he waved a mirror, playing with the reflection of his own magic's light to catch Rusted's attention. Grumbling, he trotted to the side to where he sat reclined.

“Boss is inside with the package.” he said simply. Rusted, still not feeling like giving him the time of day kept on through.

“Yea, and I'll just watch your shit factory!” Morning called as Rusted breezed by.

The inside of the structure wasn't so much closed to the elements as the wasteland was closed to the sky above. The roof had long collapsed on itself, though also long swept away and reused when ponies had returned to inhabit the city. Was remained now was a bare concrete floor, puddled with rainwater and rippling streams that traced the lines of cracks until finding the holes underneath.

Standing on the far side of the room waited Alms. A closed umbrella leaned against his side. On the ground nearby a large metal box rested. Featureless, save for its lock.

“Of all the gates, it was this one?” Rusted protested.

“Of all the entrances to this damnable watering hole this seemed like the best.” Alms replied, “And I have no preference for whichever. They're all an exist and entrance as far I am concerned. Traffic is a whole other matter, I can't control the booze hounds and dash fiends who want in to get their next hit, or the merchants, or the other ponies.

“I was hoping the storm would keep up myself, keep them all inside.” Alms laughed.

“Yes, well even though I did a little shopping I would still like my guns.” Rusted protested, “And they're not at this checkpoint. They're at the northern post.”

“Right there are. So I had morning do a little asking around and got them recovered.” Alms smiled smartly, pulling out from behind him a small sack.

“I must say, I'm not thrilled with the caliber of weapon. Just a pistol? 9 millimeter?”

“What were you expecting?” grumbled Rusted.

“More something heavier gauge, not a mare weakly protected her marehood. Unless I sense something happened?”

“Maybe...” the caravaneer grumbled defensively.

“Do you gamble, Mr Bits?” Alms inquired. His stance moving far less casual. He held a sterner posture. His expression growing judgmental.

“From time to time!” shouted Alms, “I just didn't play a good game before I came in.”

“That too will destroy you as well as the drinking.” Alms lashed, “And I hope for the safety of my master's property that you have not racked up a significant debt!”

“You don't need to worry. I'm clean!” he replied, “Or what would you do if it turned out I wasn't and I was danger?”

“At this point I would have Morning kill you and your brahmin and everything on it and you would be mind.” Alms said, “But for the sake of the deal, I'll believe you don't. I trust you can handle yourself, and will find something stronger on the road.”

“I always do.”

Alms nodded, “So, package is here.” he said, stepping aside, “It's shielded by a containment field, and a lead-lined steel box. It should withstand the penetration of many small-arms rounds and the containment field shouldn't shatter except by the force of balefire, which would disrupt it. Though it keeps a lot of the radiation in, there's some leaking through, hence the lead.

“Do not break it. And do not open it. And certainly do not sell it.” Alms added with a stern scowl, “We clear?”

“Yes.” Rusted nodded.

“I'll hold this contract to your word. Wasteland rules, you know them.” he said, “Now, on your way to Neighegarra, I advise you take Route 27 over the more direct 29. Last we went through 29 was being picked over by feral Hellhounds and various raider groups. One or the other pushed the one out and is chasing the other, that much I will say.

“We got to 27 maybe a quarter of the way through 29. Apart from the usual, it was smooth sailing.”

“Thanks doctor.”

“You're welcome.” Alms grinned, “I'll have Morning help you with the package. We've ensured the guards won't bother you, so don't worry.”

“May I ask you a question?” Rusted asked.

“Yes.”

“How'd you get a bomb into the city?”

“It's not a bomb, it's a warhead. And it's very safe. And don't you worry about how it got in, and how it will get out.”

As she opened her eyes, Nexus felt as though her head might split open, yet at the same time the pain felt very distant. A bright light shone through a hole in the roof of whatever structure she was in, momentarily blinding her. Disorientated she looked around for some clue as to where she might be. It was hard to focus with the room swimming and her head thick but she could just about make out a pastel pink butterfly mural pasted on the wall nearby.
As she tried to stand she became very suddenly aware of the blazing pain in her hind leg. Wearily she raised her head to look back. The floor around her was soaked in blood and puddles from the earlier rain storm were dyed a dark crimson. Blood still oozed from the jagged wound to her leg.

Panic surged through Nexus and she desperately tried to stand on her three good hooves only to stumble sideways as a horrible dizziness swept over her. Trying to clear the fogginess from her vision, she focused hard on standing still and taking in her surroundings.
The room around her looked like it had once been some sort of reception. The white walls were stained and cracked with age and neglect. Here and there bullet holes had blown chunks of brick away leaving ugly craters. The glass front had been blown out long ago and the shattered glass was strewn across the floor all around. Light streamed in through a skylight far above through which Nexus could see blue sky and clouds. At the far end of the hall was a wooden desk though it appeared someone had once used it for cover judging by the splintered wood that traced along its length. Behind that was the damaged yet still oddly cheerful looking butterfly mural.
From the ancient equipment and mural, Nexus figured this to be some kind of hospital. Before passing out she must have been looking for a healing potion or bandages to treat her wound. Everything after the dash inhaler seemed to be a merged multi coloured mess in her mind that refused to make sense.

Gingerly hoping on her three good legs and trying to blink the darkness in her vision, Nexus began to make her way across the room. It was doubtful anything would remain unlooted but if she didn’t find a healing potion on some bandages soon she was surely pass out again.
Crossing the reception was an agonisingly slow process on three legs, occasionally hopping off the forth to keep balanced. There was a terminal sheltered behind the shot up reception desk which miraculously still worked despite having both a cracked case and screen. The text was hard to read, more so with the burning pain and thundering headache but she just about managed.

Disappointingly, there was nothing worthwhile to Nexus unless she developed an urge to fill out tax returns on syringes. As she turned to leave however, another wave of nausea inducing dizziness filled her head and she toppled over, face planting the floor with a dull thud. It was from this position that something caught her attention beneath the desk, something small and silver. With a little magical manipulation. which did nothing to improve the headache, she drew out a small key with a tiny tag attached to it.

‘Store Room 2A’

Nexus could just make out the tiny writing scribbled on the tag. If this was the key for a store room, maybe it was still unopened? Either way it was her best and possibly only chance at this point. With fresh determination she fought her way upright and began limping towards the nearest corridor.

(I should probably mention to you all that I have decided, as of this post, that all of this is taking place a few days before y'alls stories. So I'll ask no one try to interact with Sacred just yet. At least until this little prologue is cleared up.)

Equestrian Wastelands

The sun peered over the horizon, announcing the arrival of morning. All night the weary band of slaves and slavers had jangled their shackles through the wasteland, silent save for the occasional crackle of a whip or groan of pain from one of the slaves. The slavers stuck to their stock like glue and only once they had reached the cracked tarmac of a former road did they feel safe enough to take a break, almost eight hours after beginning. Grass pushed through cracks and various potholes in the road, the paint faded and dusty. The border by which the road began and the scrubland ended was blurry in spots, as decades of wicked winds and sand had spread across the tarmac, re-claiming it's land that had been stolen by ponies all those years ago.

In the shaded husk of a burnt out pre-war wagon in the middle of the road, Sacred sat lazily, his hooves folded neatly under his body. His eyelids were shut but occasionally twitched as the tracker dozed. A short distance away, Decimus stood with two slavers over a map that had been spread over the ground, his voice steadily getting louder in anger. They were lost, according to Decimus but the slavers assured him this was the right way. The remaining two slavers stood with their stock, occasionally flicking their whips at the weaker ones for fun. The slaves were in bad shape and had been piled into the middle of the hot road so that everypony could keep an eye on them. Not that it mattered. Eight hours of trekking across the desert had exhausted the formerly optimistic group of Earth ponies and now they lay close together, licking their wounds or claiming a few minutes of sleep. Bliss stood somewhere outside of Sacred's view and he was absolutely fine with that. She had taken to trying to seduce one of the slavers and her sweet, sickening voice had been cooing all the way. Celestia, he hated that fucking mare.

Sacred stood unsteadily to his hooves, his eyes flickering open and close as he tried to awake himself. It had been 24 hours since he had a good meal and rest and he was now running on fumes and water. He casually wandered over to the group of slaves, who were watched suspiciously by a pair of slavers. It was a thought that had suddenly came to him - check out the slaves. He pulled the water bottle from around his neck into his mouth and gulped slowly, his tired eyes flickering over the slaves. He was curious - runaway slaves never stuck together and yet here was a group of 9 slaves, all together like a family. A few watched him with hungry eyes, envious. Old scars on their flanks had been replaced with biting new wounds, probably inflicted over the course of dawn by slavers. Wounds were a sickly yellow colour and weeped a mixture of blood and puss. Flies flitted across the pregnant ponies face but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes had a look that Sacred had grown familiar to over the years, a thousand yard stare. Her stomach area was swelled but she looked too thin to give birth and live. She'll die soon, Sacred thought grimly.

No pony should live like this. The thought surprised Sacred for a moment. Was this...pity? Was he feeling pity for the slaves? But they were sub-pony, not worth his time. Yes, that was what Decimus had said. They were just property, not ponies, just property. Just property. Inferior, sub-pony, property....

''Thinkin' about buying one, Sacred?'' grinned one of the slavers, unhooking his whip from his side with magic. Sacred returned his question with a tight-lipped smile. 'Non, monsiuer. I'm curious, is all'' he answered. The slaver looked disappointed and wrapped the whip around his flank once again. The slave hunter drew closer to the group of slaves and they all immediately pulled away, as if he was going to strike them. 'Non, non' he cooed softly. 'I shall not hurt you. I just wanted to offer some water'. He looked to a slaver for confirmation and he just shrugged. Taking that as a good sign, he carefully pulled the water bottle from around his neck and passed it to a slave, who gave him a dirty look before greedily gulping the water. The water was passed around so that everypony got at least a sip, all apart from the unicorn in the centre, who shook her head.

Somepony had shaved her entire mane off and left her with several scars for complaining. But it was her eyes that attracted his attention. They were large and a light shade of blue but filled with a look not seen in the other ponies. She didn't look scared, obedient or even angry - her eyes looked curious, constantly flitting around from one pony to the next, drinking in her surroundings. Her horn was small and unassuming, probably the most boring feature of her auburn coat.

'You don't want?' asked Sacred. 'We shall be moving soon. You need your strength for...' His voice trailed off, as if he were afraid to say what was next. 'Work?' croaked the unicorn, shifting slightly. 'Oi! No talking!' snarled a slaver, the whip unfurling with magic. A group of the slaves huddled closer to the unicorn, protecting her. 'Non!' said Sacred suddenly. 'Please, do not hit her. she was only answering me'. The slaver stared at Sacred for several moments, considering his chances. Attacking Sacred meant pissing off Decimus and that Zebra was not one to be messed with. The slaver spat on the ground and re-wrapped the whip around himself. He whispered a curse to no pony in particular and trotted over to his companion. 'Thank you' said a slave quietly. The unicorn hadn't moved at all, seemingly unfazed by the whip. She nodded her appreciation to Sacred nonetheless.

Sacred stood in silence for several moments, looking at each and every slave. They seemed weary, almost afraid of him but the unicorn had a look of curiosity behind that tired, scarred face. As he opened his mouth to talk, another voice cut in behind him. 'Checkin' out the stock, Grey?' said Bliss, giving a sick smile. Her rifle hovered at her side , lazily making arcs in the air. She stood next to Sacred, barely a few inches taller than him but her scars and knotted hair making her look ten times more intimidating. 'Well?' she demanded. 'I am, erm, curious, to be honest' began Sacred, his previous confidence gone. Although he didn't like to admit it, Bliss scared him. She was a wild card, barely controlled by Decimus and could not be trusted alone around anyone. 'Curious? Of what?' she said, her eyes flickering over the slaves. She sized each one up with her eyes and all avoided her stare. 'Oh, you know...numbers and-and shit...' murmured Sacred. Her gun swung around and began another lazy arc in the air. The barrel swung past his nose slowly and for a moment, he stared down the bloody barrel of Bliss' rifle. 'Numbers and shit? What do slaves know about numbers? They're illiterate. Sub-pony, inferior. If it were up to me, all Earth Ponies would be slaves' she said coldly, casually glancing in his direction. 'Not you though, Sacred. You're...cultured, compared to these...things. You have a useful skill, these things are made for dragging wagons through the filth'.

'Merci, Bliss' murmured Sacred, lowering his head. He knew it wasn't a compliment to show she appreciated him - she appreciated that he stayed out of her way and got on with his job. She gave him a horrible smile and flicked her knotted mane across the horrific scars on her face. The rifle was carefully placed into a holster on her back with magic before she spoke again. 'Come, Sacred, lets sort out those bucks' she motioned to Decimus and the arguing slavers. She turned, ignoring the slaves and giving one of the slavers a small wink. Sacred reluctantly walked behind her, giving a glance back to the group of slaves and the unicorn in particular.

'S-sir, your bottle' came a small voice. 'Oh, of course' smiled Sacred, sauntering quickly back to the group of slaves. A small pony carefully passed his now-empty bottle of water to go back around his neck. 'Thank you' nodded the tracker, giving a warm smile to the slave. The unicorn caught his eye and gave a smile, showing a row of perfect white teeth. It was the warmest, loveliest, most welcome smile Sacred had ever seen and for a moment, he stood, enthralled. She was the most beautiful pony he had ever come across, an angel in the wastes, a lovely little gem in a pile of stones called the world, a mare he could see himself settling down with and having many little f-

'Sacred' came a sharp growl from behind him. 'Come. Decimus is about to kill these slavers'. He felt a firm hoof on his shoulder drag him away from the group of slaves but could only gape at Bliss when she looked him in the eye. 'What the fuck is wrong with you?' she hissed, slapping him across the face . 'Putain de merde' he mumbled in reply, his eyes wide in disbelief.

'I am in love'.

"I'm sorry... What?"

Freya had responded while being somewhat confused. According to those raiders, this ghoul was supposed to be dead. But instead, it stood up, and started talking in a manner that seemed like some sort of tongue-twister. She'd seen ghouls before, that certainly wasn't the issue here. The implications had simply left her unable to grasp how the pony was standing unless it had some sort of goddess looking over 'em. Or, more reasonably, maybe those raiders just didn't hit the poor thing hard enough.

"Confused, are you?" The ghoul questioned, blinking it's brown eyes at the duo. It observed them curiously, a smile creeping onto it's face. "Surprised to see Hound and Equine working as single force. Even since joining the NCR, Hounds not respected by many. Sad."

"We manage." Romt replied, pushing the topic aside quickly, as he wasn't exactly interested in talking about it. "Such things aren't a concern as of now, though... How bad is your head injury?" He questioned, unsure of the ghoul's condition. It seemed fine, but with the way it was talking, there were no certainties.

The ghoul seemed to glance back, trying to see the back of it's own head. "Unsure. Enough force to knock out, certainly." He turned, staring down at the spot he had risen from. "Wound certainly damaging, but not fatal. Will live." As the ghoul spoke, Romt and Freya both stared at the injury on the back of it's head. It seemed like the hammer pierced and found it's way inside his skull before he passed out; The wound seemed rather dangerous even if the ghoul was acting like nothing was terribly wrong.

"I'm not a doctor, but that looks pretty bad. Are you feeling alright?" Freya questioned.

"Feeling fine, I am. Headache apparent, but nothing uncommon." The ghoul replied, turning back to face them. "Not a doctor, of course. Details unobtainable without professional opinion. Worried I am not, however. Awake and alert, I remain."

"Even if that's true, it wouldn't hurt for you to get that checked." Romt said, slowly approaching the ghoul. "We're heading towards Junction Town. I suggest you come along and meet up with The Followers, to let them at least take a look at you." He suggested.

The ghoul nodded slowly. "Yes, probably for the best. Moving in a group... The best method of travel, it is. No issues joining you and reaching a sanctuary."

"Good." Romt responded, stopping in front of the ghoul. He extended his hand, offering the weapon he had picked up. Romt had considered keeping it, but figured that the ghoul would be needing it more than him. The temptation wasn't enough to put the ghoul through the risks. "I assume this is yours?"

The ghoul nodded. "Indeed. Appreciate it's return, I do. Holds a lot of memories, it does..." The ghoul said as it took the weapon, finding comfort in having it returned. It seemed to simply be satisfied to have the weapon, not asking questions. At least not yet.

"Well!" Freya said, approaching the duo. "I suppose it'd be best to get introductions out of the way if we'll be traveling together. I'm Freya," She was quick to introduce herself, a friendly smile on her face. Soon after she patted Romt on the back, her smile turning into a grin as she looked up at the hound. "This big guy is Romt. Honestly, he smells, but I think he's alright. " She added, a snicker escaping her. This caused Romt to blink, glancing down at himself and considering what she said. A quiet sniff later he shook off the comment as he thought he smelled fine.

"Gone by more names than one, been called many things. Some more regretful than others." The ghoul said, catching Romt's attention. "Ambrose, was one... Call me that, if you wish. Or anything you see fitting..."

"That's a strange name for a pony." Freya commented.

"Doesn't matter. If that's your name, that's your name." Romt cut in quickly, seeming to hope Freya's comment would just slide by him changing the topic. "I suggest we get moving. After this detour I doubt we'll be reaching Junction Town today, but we could still cover some ground before night."

Ambrose nodded in agreement. "A wise decision, in my opinion. Commence traveling, we shall." The ghoul began trotting past Romt. "Assume you looted the raiders, I shall."

"There's a saddlebag on the Unicorn you might be interested in taking since you seem to be lacking one... Or was that yours, as well?" Romt questioned, turning and following after the ghoul. Freya wasn't far behind, though was focusing on her wing for the moment.

"Incorrect." Ambrose replied, soon stopping and glancing down at the dead unicorn. "Stole weapon, yes. Never owned bag. Obtain it, I shall." As the ghoul finished, it was quick to begin removing the unicorn's saddlebag to wear for itself.

Meanwhile, Romt went and retrieved his shotgun. As he picked up the weapon, he slowly looked it over. "Mhm..." He narrowed his eyes, noting that after a bit of modification and perhaps a repair or two, he'd be able to put it to use. He figured with his strength and the gun's power, it'd be very damaging at close-range against most opponents without being too difficult to control. Sure the weapon could be more awesome, but he wasn't too picky.

"You are ready to proceed, yes?" Ambrose asked, approaching Romt after managing to put on the unicorn's saddlebag. It was kind of tight, but the price was certainly right.

"Certainly." Romt answered, looking back at Freya. "You're ready to go too, right?"

"Eh? Yeah, whenever!" The pegasus replied, nodding quickly.

Romt, figuring since everypony was ready to get going, they ought to get moving. He began trotting off, the two following as the group now moved as a trio towards Junction Town. Though they had a bit of a situation, everypony came out okay. Everything, for now, was alright. Though Romt knew the Wasteland and it's tricks, figuring that it wouldn't be peaceful for long. Trouble always managed to stir itself up somehow. The only questions that Romt had were about when the trouble would show up, and in what form...

---

-Footnote ~ Level Up/Perk Obtained/Karma Changed

Romt has been promoted to a Good character! His Karma Title has changed to Polite Pup.

Gun Mutt: You have grown fond of guns and have more knowledge about them and their mechanics than the average Joe. You gain +5 to your Small Guns and Repair skills.

Hoover Wasteland

Out of the gate, and on the open roads again. For once a brahmin at his back, and a sack full of salvage. A gun in its holster at his hip. Cracked asphalt at his hooves. The alternating warmth of concrete and the cool muddy feeling of mud. The crackling breeze as it twisted through the bending boughs of two-hundred year dead trees.

It had been ten years since Equestria as he knew was scrubbed clean of balefire radiation and the pockets of taint which made malicious monsters. Though it was not a doubt they still remained, the wasteland looked as if it could breath again. If a little.

Poking up around the rocks left behind where buildings once stood or the metal wrecks of skywagons long crashed and abandoned the green signs of life grew weakly. Though much if it weak and yellowing, purity was returning to Equestria. Slowly, but progress was visible. Colors no pony has ever seen in the wider wastes were springing to growth, dampening the strength of the oppressing gray and brown of a desolated wasteland. Adding greens and yellows were the first dormant plants grew out as pioneers to a restored world.

But these splashes of colors still were subjects to the oppression of wasteland gray. But beyond the cities it was a change. In the industrial, urban ruin of Equestria past there was naught but neon to change the gray. But that was unnatural, alien. It did nothing to make the pony feel well to himself the way a fledgling blade of grass peeling out through the empty skull of a carbonized skeleton. Signs of healing were abundant in the wider wasteland, where it permitted. But the cities were still a ruin.

For Rusted, cities were little more than a glorified roadhouse. Though large, complex, and inhabited by many they were just not a home to him. He had not been born into a city. He hadn't been born to be sedentary. For as long as he remembered he was moving. He, and his families. When a cousin was born to his small clan they'd be on the move hardly a day after.

There was comfort in being on the move. Though having lost his own family and their caravan, Rusted had seen too many burned out and raided out settlements plucked off the face of the Wasteland by raiders or monsters. He had seen far few wrecks of a caravan. And when he had come to after loosing his own kin, struggled up in the care of that doctor, he had moved out first thing as soon as he could. He just wasn't built. He wasn't that sort of pony.

And stopping just meant he couldn't outrace that moment. He had to keep moving. To move past it. He had found ways as much as Alms had found his own.

He hadn't ever had an experience as easy as at the gates of that one of several nameless Hoover settlements. All checkpoints, no matter who owned them, had an element of scrutiny. But there... There they had given back his gear and waved them off. No one questioned the heavy metal box that weighed on his Brahmin's back. They looked at him, faces relentless in their apathy and nodded him off.

And without story or protest, he was in the wasteland. Heading east.

He danced in his head the map of Equestria as he knew it. Hardly orderly, a abstract and distorted vision of the nation that fitted more his concept of placement than it did distance. Route 29 would have taken Rusted due north of Gallopping Gorge, forcing him to flirt with the cold winds that flowed from the north. Though whether or not those were dealt by Light Bringer wasn't a matter he knew off, they were always chilly and dark. Even by day there was a lingering arctic cloud. One that threatened snow until coming to a brisk billowing stop.

27 would cut him over the gorge. But he would have to head south first, to the Smokey Mountain and the tail of the Unicorn range. Though not entering them and leaving the sand-blasted and naked peaks to his southern face. Chase the range over the gorge's southern tip. Then into the mountains Canterlot called home, brisking several miles north of the cratered city. And he could find his way there.

The voyage would be long, and speckled with only small settlements. But that would be expected of the Equestrian North-West.

_________________________

Level Gained
Level footnote: level 2
Skill footnote: Barter 32/100

It was fortunate for Nexus that Store Room 2A was on the ground floor of the hospital and conveniently close by. Unfortunately however, the store room door had a smallish window which somepony had smashed and climbed through to loot the contents. She looked despairingly at the shattered glass on the floor before jabbing the key into the lock and opening it up. Still barely walking on her 3 good legs, Nexus hobbled into the small storage room. It seemed like whoever had climbed through the window had done a great job on clearing the place out. Every shelf was bare with the exception of a few torn packets and some miscellaneous junk. None of it was going to be of any help to her.

Steadily walking deeper into the room, Nexus spotted a cabinet against the back wall. From her position, it appeared unopened with small lock keeping it closed. The doors had taken a beating and on close inspection the lock appeared to have been shot and burned numerous times to no avail.
Unsteadily and with great effort, Nexus raised the key again. Her vision dim and her telekinesis shaky but after a couple of attempts the lock clicked and the doors swung open.

Health potions! They were the first things she noticed and she drank a couple immediately. She lay down as the magic went to work, instantly feeling better. The wound in her hind leg stitched itself up and her vision cleared. It’d be a while before she was back to full health however, potions couldn’t replace blood.

Now out of immediate danger, Nexus began to sift through the contents of the cabinet thoroughly. This was amazing! She rammed her previously empty saddlebags full of medical supplies. There were another two healing potions, a few med-x syringes, some Radaway (Though she was unsure how useful it would be now), Mintals, Buck and number of drugs she couldn’t even pronounce and a couple of inhalers. This had to be worth a fortune!

Now with fully loaded saddlebags and a leg that could withstand her weight, Nexus trotted from the room following her own blood trail back to the hospital entrance. Part of her considered exploring the place further but the rest of her reasoned that this place had been cleaned out and she’d just got lucky. Really, really lucky.

Back on the street she tried to get her bearings and figure out just where she was and how far she had come before collapsing. It looked like the same town as before and it likely was. She couldn’t imagine having walked any great distance with a gaping hole in her leg. The street seemed quiet and still. There were a few sky chariot wrecks dotted along the road but other than that the streets were bare. With one final, cautious glance at the roof tops, Nexus once again set off walking.

North Western Wastelands

The sky again was painted a thick sheet of black. Not the night-sky, but an impenetrable shield of cloud so dark that the billowing roles of its surface became lost in its own mass. The ground below was covered in a thick darkness light night. But the wasteland held itself in an eerie stormy glow, in wait for the winds to blow in another pounding maelstrom from sea. With apt apprehension Rusted looked to the sky, knowing and expecting what he'll get.

Some days he wished the SPP towers were in uniform working order across the land. Pockets existed where the towers simply did not start, or they had collapsed. A swathe of mountain in central Equestria lost its capabilities to hold predictable weather when the tower there had been blown up. He'd probably pass close to where the edge of that system was.

But for now he still pressed along the highways. He long started his march east. Galloping Gorge was perhaps several day's trot away if he could hold the pace. But with worrying about storms he imagined the trip would measure at more like a week. He would need to find a place to bed down.

The concern was noticeable in his Brahmin. She stared up at the dark skies with a stricken expression of concern and apprehension. Her gait was hastened. Her nostrils flared at each breath smelling the cold damp air as it brewed in. Each sound solicited a sudden jerk of her ears as they searched the skies like radar dishes. Rusted couldn't say he was apathetic, he did the same himself.

He turned his sights down from the oily dark storm clouds. Years before ponies might have suggested this was the work of the Pegasi, some great revenge by some hold outs. This being shortly after their attempt at cauterizing the surface, as it was learned later. But those feelings trickled out of ponies' heads like water through hooves as each passing storm – explained or not – did not bring renewed destruction. The concept of renewed genocide had left for most. But he had met some yet whose hooves were still wet with the fearful anger that it could begin again.

Ahead of them the ancient highway marched on solemnly. Bending through the hills with a gentle curve, much like a river. Cracks in the asphalt threw up chunks like large boulders in places. Stripped down skeletons of old carriage wrecks littered the expanse. But in coming years these would disappear from traveling salvagers; their scars and some tools still remained along the concrete vein of steel.

Reaching for the sky the withering remains of ancient trees stood a silent vigil in the hills. Their shells blackened with ash, age, or balefire. Their branches gnarled claws that no longer were sharp, broken at the knuckles and swept away in the dust and dirt. Some green tried to carve a living in the new wasteland. The same stubborn grasses that existed even in the cities. Small pockets of flowers danced in the buffeting wind, clinging to the loose and dry soil.

Even more distant the faint remains of centuries old buildings rose from the landscape. Old farmhouses. Burned barns. Collapsed silos. The towering smoke stacks of a distant power plant poked out from behind the hills. The dragon's pipes that were the smoke stacks long having fallen silent though, but the ancient coal ash that bathed the exteriors still remained strong. Worn and rubbed deep into the concrete. An ancient stain for as ancient a building.

Rusted wondered what it had been like to live so long ago. He heard some things. But not many. But it wasn't wise to dwell that far in the past. Even if it shone like a tempting a jewel as The Hoof. Loosing one's self in it was suicide, no matter the splendor. That's what his family had told him once. To keep moving ahead. Don't stop to look back or think ahead. What was is now is and will forever be. No use crying in lost bones, strangers or family. Just keep ahead of the ghosts.

Low thunder rumbled in the sky and Rusted looked back up. The darkness of the clouds flashed dimly with lightning above him. In the distant horizon the dark tendrils of the storm's edge were beginning to blot out the last distant light. The world around him was getting darker. Looking down the first anemic drops of warm rain fall to his head, signaling the beginning of the storm.

He grumbled irritated at the change in weather and dropped his head. His Brahmin mooed in freight and began trotting faster. Up ahead in the growing darkness he could see a small farm house, just off the side of the highway. He looked back up and behind him, into the blackened heart of the storm. Even in the thickening cloudy darkness he could see the heavy veil of rain in the distance rushing near. It wouldn't be long.

***

The door came down with a crash. Shuddering as it hit the floor. Rusted walked in backwards, pulling the Brahmin in after him through tough leathery reigns clenched between his teeth. The massive beast – slick with rain that had just arrived not a second ago – struggled to keep out of the foreboding blackness of the house inside. It struggled and mooed against the thought, but eventually Rusted – or the rain – won over and she made it through the door way, if to the unsatisfying wet smack of fresh deification against the crumbling wood of the door Rusted had just bucked down.

The caravaneer gave the beast a disgusted look. “Great Celestia, I'm not cleaning up after you.” he grimaced, turned away, “Then again I doubt it would matter. No one home. I'll find something for you to eat.” he added sternly.

The two-headed cow only have a muted and cautious burp of a moo, before plodding long after its master. Its bulking sides scraping along the narrow halls.

Rusted looked back at it, frowning in disdain, “Did I but a coward?” he sneered.

The animal didn't respond outright. It looked at him sheepishly, just simply following its owner. He groaned angrily. “Fucking fine, dammit.” he rattled, walking out into a larger open room. His hooves clicked against hard surfaces. A tiled room. Probably a kitchen.

“Stay here then, I'll get a light on.” the merchant consoled, walking around the side of the great Brahmin to the massive packs at his side, “And don't shit on the floor again. I doubt we have enough air to breath with what you could put out.” he sneered under his breath as he dug through the contents of its bags in dim light.

With a satisfied hiss he cried out happily, clamping over cold metal with his teeth he pulled out a lantern, bundled with many more blocks of miscellaneous items which he tossed to the linoleum floor. It made a loud thunk as it hit the ground. Rusted leaned over it, working with his hooves to unbundle the light. He worked quick, pulling at it with that freaky Earth Pony ability with one's hooves and teeth until it turned out. With a sharp click and a persistent buzz it flooded the room with a strong sharp yellow light. He smiled and clapped his hooves together as his light beat back the graying stormy light as it fought to stream through the water-loged, grit soaked, and melting glass windows.

The fanning yellow light illuminated a small kitchen. Nearby a wooden table that had gone black. In the corner a sickly, olive-green refrigerator and matching drab green counters. From the ceiling a simple glass chandelier, though blackened with tar and age it was no doubt beyond use.

“It's no road house but it'll do while we wait out the storm.” Rusted sighed as he sat down alongside the light. His brahmin starred emptily into the heavy golden glow of the lantern.

“Stop that!” barked Rusted, “You'll go blind, and I don't have use for a blind saddlebag carrier.”

The beast registered what he wanted and dropped its head away from the romantic glow of the lantern light. Rusted smiled, beating his chest with his hoof as he beamed victoriously. “Good girl.” he complimented plainly, looking around the room. Much of it had faded and peeled away. Wooden struts and slats shone from behind sickly pale wallpaper. The rotting skeleton of the house's structure showing plainly for all to see. Who knew how much longer it had left to stand.

There was a feeling of relief to be where it was dry as the storm thundered over head. The rain fell in a constant heavy stream, buffeting against the roof as the wind did the walls, rattling the windows and causing the whole house to moan and sing. From somewhere – no doubt where they had entered – the air whistled and moaned ghostly as wind found cracks and holes through which it could rush through. Rusted could feel the cool moist breeze of the storm rushing in. Though he wished it wouldn't, he could smell all too well the pile of shit his beast of burden had left by the door, and it did not mix well with the ripe leathery smell it gave off naturally.

With no other company to wait out the storm with Rusted dropped to his belly on the floor, ready to doze off into a nap. Though as he lowered his head he heard with certain clarity the choking cough of something else there.

His heart jumped as he did. He bounded to his feet, face stressed tight as he craned his eyes and ears to find where the sound had come from. His chest a fluttering storm, like the rain. He wasn't alone.

“Who's there!” he boomed. His voice heavy, demanding. There was nothing.

“Fuck's sake, say something!” he roared again. Again, to nothing.

He licked scowling lips as he paced to the edge of the room. His brahmin watching with a stupid glassy-eyed expression on her twin faces. Rusted walked along the edge of the ancient cabinets, listening. His hooves fell heavy in front of each door.

The edge of the counter. The bottom of the sink. He slinked along, listening tentatively. “If you say something I won't hurt you.” he said, “Better speaking than rabid.”

Is invitation brought no new response. But he could feel something. And then he heard it. To his side a twitchy muffled shuffling. His heart shot straight and short and his ears snapped fast as he looked to the offending door. He moved quickly and with purpose, marching to the cabinet door.

Throwing out his hooves he reached for them, and through them open. Bowing his head low to look inside.

“H-Hello?” the frightfully filly said nervously, staring Rusted in the eyes.