The current inhabitants of the town of Gutter resembled nothing of who they once were. Many
of them were even beyond being recognized as ponies. They shambled through the streets, in and out of
buildings, only coming several feet beyond the town limits.

 One of these creatures looked up at the oncoming figure with only three of its dozen eyes,
before falling to the ground with a bullet in what might be its head, tenticular limbs bent at angles that
shouldn't be possible. The others didn't stir, only continuing their mindless shambling.

 The figure stood just outside the town's zone of influence, white rags flowing in the slight
breeze. In her quasi-magical grip, she held a worn revolver, smoke rising from the barrel. She reloaded
the spent bullet, and moved forward.