Title:           Boundless (8)
Author:          BoundlessAnon
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/1tAk6A8E
First Edit:      Saturday 28th of January 2017 03:11:01 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Saturday 28th of January 2017 03:11:01 PM CDT

As you prepare yourself, You convince Boundless to sit down, at least, so that she can fidget in frustration without tiring herself out. She settles on her haunches and hugs herself, breathlessly talking you through what she knows about the power station.
 
The three alicorns did a thorough aerial survey of the complex before moving in, and were satisfied that it was abandoned. Most of the upper floors are open to the air, completely ruined. Corona, according to Boundless, is relentlessly curious, so it's most likely that she was exploring down in the basement level of the main building. Right now you're in a smaller annex that used to be the administration wing, a short walk away. The inside of the plant, Boundless explains, is mostly intact, but large sections were gutted for scrap a long time ago, save for the main generators which are far too big and dangerous to move.
 
And there lies a dilemma. The spark generators are defunct, but once upon a time they turned enough raw magic into electricity to power a city. After centuries of disrepair, that magic leaks wildly into the air as radiation, and lots of it. There are pockets of it everywhere. Take too much of the stuff, and you'll wind up dead or worse. Boundless doesn't have the same problem. In fact, she might be able to siphon off enough rads to cast her magic properly and get a bead on her sisters. On the other hand, she simply can't afford to risk getting hurt again. You have no idea how much damage she might have already done by pushing her telepathy spell too hard. In addition, neither of you have any idea what too much radiation might do to her foals. She's adamant that no amount of radiation could harm an alicorn, but you're still going to have to move slowly and carefully.
 
In terms of supplies, you've got half a healing potion and some basic first aid gear, two doses of RadAway, a flashlight, and a small firearm with a dozen half-decent rounds. A cheap but reliable model dating back to Old Equestria, it straps to the side of your foreleg and fires when you twitch your fetlock just so. Awkward to use on the move, but at least you're not going to be turning yourself into a concussed, deaf, toothless mess by wielding the thing with your mouth. Boundless makes a quick detour to the break room to fetch a small rucksack with a few of her own things. She also trades out her coat for one with thicker, longer fabric and what looks like salvaged armor plating across the breast. Despite her condition she flatly refuses to stay behind - not while her sisters might be in danger.
 
The pair of you emerge from the admin building into an overcast and dreary morning, made more so by the fact that the plant itself is probably the ugliest building you've ever seen, looming over the entire compound as a fat, squat mass of stone. If not for the broken windows ringing the tattered and roofless upper levels, you'd think that whoever built it simply poured concrete into a rectangular mould the size of a city block and called it a day. Taking the lead, you find that the double doors at the main entrance have already been forced open, and so the pair of you proceed into a small, utilitarian foyer. Boundless looks around, bobbing her head as if sniffing the air, while you set to hunting down any sort of map or indicator of where the basement access might be.
 
The reception desk has been thoroughly looted already, along with the adjacent office and storeroom. There's coloured lines on the walls, which you assume were meant to help ponies find their way around, but the paint is so worn as to be almost invisible. Forget reading any labels they might once have had. The lines disappear around a sharp corner not far past the desk, presumably into the main corridor.
 
"There's radiation here, but it's very weak," Boundless informs you, "The walls insulate against it." You smile up at her - who needs a radmeter when they've got an alicorn? She smiles back, but it's subdued by her concern. "Tell me if you feel sick, hon."
 
With nowhere to go except straight ahead, you proceed into the corridor. An unnerving smell hits your nostrils, sickly and hot, but as you turn the corner you see nothing out of the ordinary. There's a staircase, but it only goes up. The corridor itself extends a good distance straight ahead, branching into offices, closets and maintenance accessways on either side and ultimately leading up to a large, heavy set of double doors. High, thin windows give you enough light to keep moving, and the pair of you proceed in nervous silence. There's no noise that you can discern from anywhere in the building - every hoofstep sounds amplified. Your imagination, ever unhelpful, offers up the image of a raider clan or an overzealous team of looters descending upon you from the shadowed rooms. But every step also puts up a little cloud of dust - nopony has settled here in a very long time.
 
The double doors are unhelpfully labelled. *EMPLOYEES ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT*. You push through, and find yourself in a high-ceilinged open area much larger than you were expecting. Overhead, mechanical arms and cranes hang from gantries long broken down beyond use or repair. Shutter doors wide enough to admit wagons dominate the far wall. Indeed, the husks of old cargo vehicles fill most of the space at ground level. The doorway is slightly raised on this side, and as you make your way down a short metal staircase into the wagon graveyard. Boundless wrinkles her nose and sniffs.
 
"I know that smell."
 
You turn to ask what she means, but Boundless doesn't explain straight away, instead concentrating on maneuvering herself down the stairs after you. They were never designed for a mare of her stature, let alone weight. Her long legs just barely keep the ponderous lower curve of her belly raised high enough to avoid grazing the guardrail, and the whole structure groans ominously the entire time, up until she finally lifts her hooves off it completely.
 
The mare clears her throat, perhaps hoping to salvage a little dignity. "Doing anything with raw magic on a large enough scale leaves waste behind. All the magic that can't be used for whatever reason, mixed up with the chemicals used in separating it from the rest."
 
So, you quip, it's toxic, radioactive goo? Wasn't Auriga *drinking* the stuff earlier?