>You extinguish another cigarette and watch the smoke trail upwards.
>Berry sits opposite you in one of your chairs. Elenor is next to you, her own cigarette trailing ash.
>”But why did you go to the Legion?” Elenor asks after a long silence.
“You know how it was at the start of the war. Everyone still thought it wasn't our problem. 'Stay out of Europe's war,' remember? The ten of us thought otherwise. We were going to get our guns and glory.”
>Berry looks ashen.
“So that's why we went. I picked up the bass again when I came back. Mr. Fioretta was gracious enough to give me work with the boys, and now here I am. I'm sorry for going off on your brother like that.”
>The clock strikes one in the morning.
“Did we spend all that time talking about this? I hope I haven't ruined the evening.”
>Elenor smiles and rises from the seat. You get up with her.
>”Not at all. I think it's better to have learned it early. I wouldn't want to find out through an unfortunate bout of shell-shock.”
>She casts a sideward glance at Berry.
>”I'm sure she'll have questions aplenty for you. Will you be alright on your own?”
>You nod.
“I'd rather be the one looking out for you. I'll walk you down to the car.”
>On the sidewalk, the two of you stop and look up.
“You're right, you know. Better she learn now than later.”
>As you light another cigarette, you stare at the blonde in front of you.
“You get on home, alright? And take care.”
>You turn to go back inside.
>”Mr. Mously,” Elenor says chidingly.
“Yes?”
>She beckons you to her with her finger.
>When you get to the car, she grabs your tie and tugs you in for a kiss.
>”I thought we should end the evening on a high note. I hope you don't mind my cashing that check for you,” she coos.
>You stand dumb for half a minute after she drives off before heading back inside.
1/

>Berry is still waiting in the chair when you get back upstairs.
>She's staring at the box on your bookshelf.
>Sensing her question, you reach up, grab the box, and walk to the other chair.
“You have to understand, Berry: the world went mad for those few years and it took plenty of us with it. Didn't take long to bring us back to our senses, but by then it was too late.”
>”You... killed people?”
>After a long drink of whiskey, you answer.
“We went for foolish glory. We thought that the worst that could happen to us was a brave and heroic death. We were wrong. There weren't any brave deaths in that war. Not in the trenches where the water was as likely to kill you as the artillery.”
>There's a lengthy silence.
“Yes, I killed people. Perhaps it's why I was so happy to be put in the ambulance corps once we were handed over to the Americans. I was at least able to save some lives, then.”
>Berry looks like she's about to say something, but she stops herself.
“I'm truly sorry you had to hear all this. I've tried to forget it with all my might, but that simply isn't possible.”
>You slide the box towards her.
“If you're still keen to know what's in there, feel free.”
>The mare stares for a moment before pushing the box away.
>”I shouldn't have pried.”
“Are you aright? You looked ill earlier.”
>”The last war in Equestria was well over 1500 years ago. I've only read about it in history books. But even then, what you described... You said you drove ambulances, though? For doctors?”
“I brought men to the medical tents from the front.”
>”Is that where you learned how to drive?”
“Yes.”
>”Was it hard?”
“After being on the front lines for a few years, learning to drive a truck came pretty easy.”
>The mare is still fairly pale when you put the box back on the bookshelf.
“How about a nightcap?” you ask, clapping your hands together.
>That night you dream of trenches.
2/

>After a long day of chores and showing Berry her way around town, you finally arrive at Doyle's.
>The sun is barely beginning to set when the two of you walk in. 
>Doyle himself stands behind the bar, polishing bottles. You notice he's looking more harried than usual.
>He looks up and raises an eyebrow.
>”Got it a hat, didja, Mously?” he asks.
>You look behind him and see the shelves looking sparser than you're used to.
“Business slow or something? You got half an empty shelf there, Doyle.”
>Doyle stops polishing. His eyes flit to the hallway. You realize there's someone speaking in the back room. Quietly, you approach.
>”...what do you mean 'in the joint?'...” Victor barks. “What the hell do you think Mr. Fioretta pays the goddamned blues for? Get them out and get them here!”
>A voice you don't recognize pipes up. “I- I'm sorry, Mr. White, but it wasn't the bulls pinched Joe and Scoots. It was feds. They took the hooch, too.”
>”Son of a bitch!” Victor yells.
>You and Berry stand at the bar, silently listening. Eventually, the man comes out from the back and shuffles outside. Victor stops at the bar. He casts a glare at the two of you, though it could just as easily be his regular expression.
>”You're early, Mously,” he grumbles. “Here to make an extra dime helping set up?”
“Sounds like you've got some problems on the supply line, Vic,” you answer. “Hope it doesn't give you too much trouble.”
>”It won't. I made sure. Mr. Fioretta'll be here shortly to sort it out. The Compsons down south of town are still operating, so I believe we'll be talking to them soon.”
“Those three rub me the wrong way. They were in here last year and wouldn't stop hooting and hollering whenever a skirt showed a little leg.”
>”Their hooch'll get us through until we can get the stuff from up north. Folks here won't know the difference anyway.”
3/

>You sit at the bar with Berry for about half an hour before Michael Fioretta arrives and goes to the back room.
>”What do you think they're talking about back there?” she asks.
“Probably having a bull session to figure out how to get the booze up here from the Compsons' place. It's out in the boonies south of town and it sounded like Mr. Fioretta's runners got bagged.”
>The mare looks at the shelf with concern. 
>”What happens if they can't find a runner?”
>You think for a second.
“Well, the hooch'll start running low. People will start going to other juice joints to get primed. We won't get paid, either.”
>Berry scrunches her face and looks forward for a minute.
>Suddenly, she perks up and looks to the hall brightly.
>Before you can ask what she's thinking, she hops down from the stool and dashes to the back.
“Wait, Berry! What the hell are you doing!?” you yell after her.
>By the time you make it to the back room yourself, Berry has already burst in and is standing in the middle of a circle of men smoking cigarettes.
>Fioretta looks from her to you, annoyed at the intrusion.
>”Mously, what's the meaning of this? What's she doing in here?” he asks.
>”Is that a horse?” one of the men asks.
>”Pony,” Berry answers.
>”Did you put cannabis in these things, Fioretta?” he says.
>The mare extends a hoof. “Berry Punch. Pleased to meet you.”
>All you can do is shrug at group.
>”I heard you have a supply problem, Mr. Fioretta,” Berry says.
>”Did you now?” he replies.
>”Am I right in thinking you haven't found a replacement?” she continues.
>”Not for tomorrow's run. Those country roads are tough. Not many of our boys can handle them.”
>Berry looks at you.
>”Well, I think I know who can help you.”
>You go wide eyed.
4/

“What!? Berry!” you yell.
>Fioretta cuts you off. 
>”What are you getting at, Ms. Punch?” he asks, putting his cigarette out and clasping his hands. “That Mr. Mously is suited for this job?”
“Mr. Fioretta...”
>”Mously?” Fioretta says, looking to you along with everyone else in the room. “Was this your idea?”
>You shift uneasily.
>”Country roads are dangerous,” he warns.
“I suppose it couldn't be any worse conditions than the western fron--” You stop yourself too late. Berry grins.
>”Ah, that's right. You ran ambulances for Uncle Sam, didn't you?”
“Yes, sir,” you say heavily.
>”Alright, if you think you can handle it, then I'm willing to give you a shot. I'll have directions written up. You still live down the road? I'll send the car you'll be using at eight.”
>”What about me?” Berry asks.
>”It's not a place for a lady,” Fioretta replies. “Leave it to Mously.”
>”Anon?” She looks at you hopefully.
“I agree. Rough outfit like that isn't somewhere you should have to go.”
>She looks deflated.
>”Thank you, Mously. We'll discuss pay after the job, alright?”
>You nod and start out of the room.
>When you get down the hall, you feel something strike your leg. You look down to see Berry scowling up at you.
“What's eating you?”
>She scowls harder. “What was that in there? 'It's no place for a lady?' That's stupid! I'm not even a lady!”
“You've got a lady's hat, don't you? Why are you so keen on going, anyway?”
>”Why are you so down about going? You're helping a lot of people doing this!”
“I'd rather play my music for them.”
>”Well, there's extra money in it for you, too, it seems.”
“That's always nice.”
>”Let me come along!”
“No.”
>”Are you mad I brought up the ambulance thing?”
“No.”
>”I'm coming along.”
“Berry, I said no.”
>She huffs like an upset child.
5/

>The next morning, you're pouring yourself another coffee.
>The box sits in front of you, closed on the table.
>Berry is slumped next to you, looking at the window wearily.
>You stare at the box and the clock alternately.
>”Did you sleep last night?” Berry finally asks.
“A bit.”
>You take another gulp of coffee.
>”Are you sure I can't come?”
“Ab-so-lute-ly.”
>There's a knock at the door.
>You get up and open it. A man in a charcoal suit hands you a set of keys.
>”Black car by the lamp post,” he says. Without another word he walks off.
>You sit back down, drop the keys on the table, and open the box.
>Inside, on top of everything, sits a .45 pistol. You pull it out and start taking it apart.
>”What's that?” Berry asks.
“Protection.”
>”What are you doing?”
“Cleaning it.”
>You take a small can of oil from the box and go to work on the parts.
>Berry watches intently as you spend the next half hour servicing the sidearm.
>Finally, you don't have any more parts to stall with. You put the pistol back together and put on a holster.
“I'll be back tonight,” you say, opening the door. You light a cigarette in the hallway and proceed outside to the car.
6/

>You spend several minutes inspecting the vehicle as inconspicuously as you can.
>It looks used. The panels are faded and the tires look worn. When there's nothing left to inspect, you get in and take a few deep breaths. 
>Finally, you put the keys in the ignition and pull forward. 
>Fioretta's directions are pinned to the dashboard. You tug the paper down and pocket it.
>After about 20 minutes of driving, the city starts to recede.
>The buildings become shorter and more spread out. You dive over a set of train tracks and suddenly the city is gone. The road stretches out before you into the countryside.
>You hear rustling once you start heading south.
>In one of the mirrors, you catch a glimpse of something pink in the back seat.
>You groan and pull over.
“Goddammit, Berry, what in God's name are you doing back there?”
>”Coming with you! Why did you stop?”
“How did you even get in here?”
>”I snuck in while you were staring at the wheels!”
>You pinch the bridge of your nose. If you go back now, you'll never get the delivery to Fioretta on time.
“Goddammit... Fine. I suppose there's no helping it, now.”
>”Yay!” Berry cries. She leaps into the front seat and looks down the road. “It's so open,” she says with a hint of wonder.
>You sigh. The pony's enthusiasm is jarring. Seeing her eyes brighten seems to rub off on you, too.
“Sure is. Flat, too. There shouldn't be any bull patrols out here, either. I think it's time to see what Mr. Fioretta's mechanics can do.”
>Berry braces herself, standing on the front seat to look out ahead. You pull back onto the road and slowly start pressing more and more on the gas.
>Before you know it, the two of you are flying past fields and streams, on your way to meet the Compsons.
7/

>Daryl, Harold, and Paul Compson live a good three hours south of the city. Fioretta's directions lead down more and more unkempt roads and ramshackle houses.
>Berry is still propping herself up on the dash and watching the road ahead.
>She almost looks disappointed when you finally have to slow down to avoid blowing out the suspension.
>The thick wooded road you find yourselves on are almost completely unmaintained. You're sure that the only thing keeping it from being consumed by the forest is the fact that the Compsons use it themselves.
>Berry yelps as the car rolls over a large hidden divot.
“Jesus! How the hell do those bastards use these roads?”
>”This is a road? I thought we were going down a hiking path or something!”
>You swerve to avoid another hole and slow down to a crawl. 
>After half an hour, the car reaches a large clearing. The Compsons' rundown house sits squarely in the middle, surrounded by overgrown grass and scorched rings where they've been burning trash. 
>You bring the car to a halt and check your gun before opening the door.
>Berry makes a move to do the same. You stop her.
“Absolutely not. You stay put. These boys are trouble. Now trouble isn't my usual business, but it sure as hell ain't yours. So stay in the car and stay down. I don't want none of this getting out hand, understand?”
>She nods slowly. You hear a door slam behind you.
>When you turn, you see Harold Compson casually holding a shotgun outside the house. 
>”Waddya wan?” he slurs in his raspy voice.
“I got some cabbage from Michael Fioretta here,” you answer. “He wants to give it to you for some white lightning.”
>”Whozat, Harl'd?” You let out a sigh as Daryl comes outside. He sees you and spits a wad of fetid brown sludge into the dirt. “Ciddy boy, ah? Waddya wan?”
>”He wansum juice, Daryl,” Harold says to him.
8/

“I've got four hundred dollars here. I'll take as much as will fit in the car. It's been special-outfitted for this.”
>”Git Pa, Harl'd.”
>Harold lumbers back inside, leaving the gun with Daryl.
>The man is huge. Both of the Compson boys are built like gorillas, but Daryl has the fortune, or misfortune, of being at least six and a half feet tall to boot.
>Eventually, Paul, the father, joins them. He's a stocky man with a perpetual scowl on his face and a long scar running down its length.
>”Waddya wan?” he asks loudly.
>”He wansum juice, Pa,” Harold answers.
“Four hundred dollars worth.”
>You feel the pistol's weight against your chest. Daryl shifts his weight.
>Paul looks to be sizing you up.
>”You lone?” he asks.
“Entirely. Mr. Fioretta has asked me to come down here to do business with you, Mr. Compson. I trust we'll be able to?”
>”Y'got money?”
“Right in the car.”
>”Show me. Harl'd, get th' crates.”
>You open the car door. Berry hands you a fat envelope.
>”Those men give me the creeps, Anon,” she whispers. You nod in agreement.
“Here it is,” you say, and show Paul the envelope.
>He smiles, revealing several missing teeth among the yellow tombstones in his mouth.
>Harold comes back around with several crates filled with small bottles.
>Paul motions to him to give you the crates. You toss him the money.
>”Dar'l, Harl'd, help er, watser name, son?”
“Mously.”
>”Help Mously load his jalopy.”
>You raise a hand.
“That's quite alright, I--”
>”I insist. Git on it.”
>You swallow hard.
9/

>Harold and Daryl each pick up a crate and heave them over to the car.
>You check Fioretta's directions and start pointing the two men to where the mechanics had put in the hidden compartments. There's one in the back panel. Another behind the spare tire. Another in the spare tire.
>Daryl goes to open the passenger side door. It doesn't budge. He scowls harder and tugs on it.
>You intervene before he tears the door clean off.
“Here, let me. Damn thing sticks. You've just got to get under a little...”
>There's a pause before you pull again. You hear a quiet thump as Berry jumps into the gap back seat and the front.
“See?” you say, opening the door. “Compartment is in the door panel. Should slide off here.”
>You manage to cram most of the bottles into the door compartments on both sides of the car.
>Berry remains silent in the back until the Compson brothers finish packing.
>Paul walks up and taps the door, stack of bills in one hand.
>”Y'know, son, y'really should get in th' habitta checkin' yer product 'fore ya pack it,” he sneers. “Lotsa folks lookina make a few bucks on watered-down hooch, y'know.”
>You light a cigarette and look him dead in the eye.
“I'm no expert. If there's a problem, I'm certain that Mr. Fioretta will let you and your sons know.”
>Paul grits his teeth. Daryl notices him bristle and tightens his grip on the shotgun.
>Harold frowns at you while you get in the driver's seat.
“You folks have a nice day. Pleasure doing business.”
10/

>Once you're out of sight of the Compsons, you let out an enormous sigh. 
“Jesus... Hey Berry, are you okay? You can come out now.”
>The pony pokes her head up from the back and worms her way into the seat next to you.
>”Those three were the slimiest people I've ever met.”
“Well we're done with 'em now.  Just have to get to the warehouse.”
>You make sure to drive especially carefully over the decrepit dirt road.
“Thanks for taking the hint back there, by the way. Glad you've got your head about you.”
>”I'm no dummy,” Berry giggles. “And I didn't really want to meet those men.”
“I don't blame you.”
>You turn onto the next road and start heading north.
“It'll be a longer drive back to the city. I can't go as fast with this moonshine weighing us down. Hope to God no g-men get on us.”
>”G-men?” Berry asks.
“It says here on the instructions. 'Watch for G-men on patrol.' That's who got his regular runners. If it were just the police, Mr. Fioretta could have convinced them otherwise.”
>”But who are they?”
“Some big-shots from Washington, most likely. Real tightlace types.”
>Berry nods. “I know somep0ny like that. She almost ruined Night Mare Night before we convinced her otherwise.”
“She sounds like a real joy.”
>”She's had some problems. She almost caused eternal night.”
“I'm sorry?”
>”It's a long story.”
“We have time a-plenty.”
>”Alright. About a thousand years ago...”
11/

>An hour later, Berry's story has veered wildly off course.
>”...so then I wake up and the stallion is pulling my house after him, trying to chase after her!”
>You glance up at the rear-view mirror. There's a black car driving a few hundred yards behind you.
“Great,” you mutter.
>”Huh?” Berry breaks off from her story and looks at you.
“We've gone and gotten ourselves a tail.” You gesture at the car.
>”Who is that?”
“Beats me. Could be g-men, could be Capone's boys, could be anyone.”
>”Are we in trouble?”
“I sure hope not.”
>You press on the gas a little harder. You can feel your heart racing.
>A police stop you could talk your way out of. G-men would be harder. Capone's boys would be a nightmare.
>Berry keeps looking back as the car holds distance behind you.
“What are they doing?”
>”They're just staying behind us.”
>You instinctively check that the gun is still in its holster.
>Faster, now. You look at the mirrors compulsively.
>The moonshine in the hidden compartments is clattering at every bump in the road. At least you think it is. You'd swear it is.
>It dawns on you that you're rapping your fingers on the steering wheel.
>”You're nervous,” Berry comments.
“What gives you that idea?” you reply, looking in the mirror again. “Jesus, they're closer.”
12/

>The car follows you for the next ten minutes.
>By now you're barely watching the road in front of you. Instead, your focus is on the black car.
>Every time it gets a little closer, you feel your spine crawl.
>Suddenly, the car moves. Your breath catches as you watch it.
>When it veers left and down a different road, you let out a long sigh of relief.
>You look at Berry. She turns to you. There's a lengthy pause before the two of you burst out laughing.
“Thought I was going to have a heart attack for a minute there,” you say.
>”They had me going, too,” Berry replies. “This was fun.”
“You've got a funny definition of fun, Berry.”
>”Oh hush. It was thrilling!”
“Well I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. I just hope the pay is worth the trouble.”
>”Mr. Fioretta seems nice. I'm sure it'll be fine. And besides, nothing bad even happened.”
“Not what I was talking about.”
End.