If you’re a wanderer and you hear about a Stable that's somehow still running, chances are it’s already dead by now. Funny dissonance, isn't it? It’s one of the Wasteland’s favorite ironies, and pretty much every inhabitant knows it.

Stable dwellers are common enough; seeing a Pip-Buck above a hoof barely raises an eyebrow anymore. But ask anyone wearing that funny blue-and-yellow jumpsuit about home, and they’ll tell you straight up – there’s nowhere left to go back to.

It was no different for Rhodos, who was left with nothing to remember the Vault by except a mutation and some old scars.

An experimental Stable built for pony scientists and loyal-to-Equestria zebras. Spies, shamans, ordinary settlers – anyone who didn't want the war and possessed even a shred of valuable intel was stashed away almost as soon as the first megaspells fell. Ponies and zebras united to crack the code, unraveling the threads of death-dealing magic, brewing radiation cures, and attempting to blend pony science with zebra lore.

Rhodochrosite – the name of a beautiful mineral that his mother found amusing in its natural blend of stripes and cotton-candy hue. Just like the zebras and ponies in that Stable.
His mother worked in the division trying to decode the Pink Cloud.

Usually, that’s where Rhodos would stop, refusing to press the matter any further. He’d pause for a minute, toss a couple of caps onto the counter as a tip, and leave the place to the faint clinking of the glass spheres he carried with him.

As soon as his shadow slipped past the doorway, everyone would let out a breath. You don't need a high Intelligence stat to figure out what happened. Even if the Cloud couldn't touch Rhodos himself, the price of that immunity was clearly his Stable.
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