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.

[center]***[/center]

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.