Fallout Equestria; Hard Roads

Prologue: Question and Answer

“Today's weather: Excessively violent with a chance of dismemberment. Stay tuned for our five-day forecast!”

Death.

Death is the only truth of the wasteland; the only reality.

Beyond the taint and the radiation, beyond the twisted and fucked up “wild life”, there are hordes of assholes who exist for the sole purpose of making everpony else's lives as short and miserable as fucking possible. Drug fiends, raiders, cannibals, slavers; all of them ready to do anything to get what they want. Well, everything except maybe asking nicely.

Some ponies may see these assholes doing whatever it is they're doing and ask, “Why? Why would they do something like that to somepony else? Why would they kill them? Rape them? Slap an explosive collar around their necks?”

They do it because they have to. They do it because they will do anything to get away from this fucked up world; to get away from whatever the hell they turned into. They do it to get away from what they feel. Most of all, though, they do it to survive.

For me, it was to get my next fix.

Most of my childhood is a blur, a distant dash induced haze. I drifted place to place on a constant high, faster and more awesome than than anypony else. I didn't feel anything for what I did; stealing food and more dash from shop owners. They were weak, and I was awesome; it was as simple as that.

One huff and I was better than all of them. I never got hungry. I never got tired. I was too good to slow down.

Without it, though, I was nothing. I needed it the same way a fish needs water, or a pony needs air. Without it I was weak, hungry, and tired. I tried whatever I needed to get more, but dash never came cheap. It was more than a small homeless colt could afford. There were times when the shakes got so bad, when the all the cold I had been too awesome to feel caught up with me, and I would have done anything to get rid of it. I had even huffed brahmin shit trying to get some sort of fix.

Even when I was so young, I did what I thought I had to do to get what I needed.

* * *

I'm not sure where I was, but it was cold and dark, even for the wasteland.

The soft glow of a light from the window of a merchant's wagon stood out vividly against the dark night.

I shivered as a cold wind blew through my already ruffled and greasy mane. I had waited all day for a chance to get inside. There was no need for me to hide; the dirt in my coat blended in perfectly with the rubble.

I could just barely make out the silhouette of the trader in the darkness, leaving towards the bar. I tried to steady my nervous shaking as I lifted myself up just high enough to crawl towards the battered wagon.

I looked tentatively from left to right, making sure nopony was watching. I knew she had dash in there. I had tried to get it from her earlier, but she wouldn't give me any, even though I had promised to pay her later.

I picked myself up and leaned on the sill with my forehooves.

The window was too dusty to see through.

Laughter from the bar shook my attention. I needed to act fast before anypony else could stop me.

Without hesitation I lifted back and put as much force as I could into the window's panes. The glass cracked and shattered under my weight, sending me part way into the window. I jumped in, not wasting a moment, ignoring the jagged shards of glass tearing at my stomach as I pulled myself all the way through.

I set about frantically shifting through everything there; knocking over the few boxes and crates, pulling out drawers, breaking what locks I could. I rummaged through the piles of worthless scrap metal and damaged weapons now spilled on the floor. The sharp angles of random salvage scraped at my nose as I pushed through the piles of things I had dumped on the floor.

Broken gun, no. Lead pipe, no. Clipboards, no. . . . . .

Voices sounded from outside the wagon. They must have heard me break in; they sounded angry.

I jumped as I backed up into a small desk behind me, knocking over a small wooden crate. How the hell can anypony find anything in a mess like that?

I turned around to the box; small and locked. Of course it was.

I needed that dash, I couldn't handle the cold, I just needed . . . .

“AAARG!!” I shouted in frustration, stomping down hard on the box. However complicated the lock was, apparently the box wasn't too strong. The lid dented as the hinges on the back of the small crate bent and flew off.

I clenched the lid in my teeth, jerking my head sharply to the side, trying to rip off the lid.

The voices outside grew louder, they knew. . . .

I jerked the lid again, and again. With one final pull, the lid came off. Along with assorted syringes and pill bottles, there they were; three of the blue inhalers I has looking for. . . .

Thump Thump. The pile of small crates I had inadvertently piled up shook as somepony kicked the door behind me.

Now, more than ever, I needed dash. I needed to be awesome.

I picked one of the inhalers up in my teeth, curling my lips around it. I pressed down the button on top as I breathed in as much of the spray as I could. It stung the back of my throat, but I could already feel the dash working as the world stopped shaking. Even the pain in the back of my eyes that I had forgotten left, making everything much clearer.

Thump.

Right, somepony at the door. Probably dangerous. I was going to need another huff.

I pressed down for another spray, breathing in what was left of the inhaler.

Thump.

The boxes tumbled down. I turned around, seeing the merchant standing there in the opening of the narrow space. A mare. Standing in my way.

A rusted pistol glowed with magic as she levitated it in front of her.

“C'mon kid,” She stepped back, motioning with her pistol, “Get outta' here. You got what you wanted.”

Who was she to tell me what to do?! I was awesome, and her? She was hungry, and weak. She, didn't have dash and I did!

She hesitated, “C'mon kid, I don't wana' hurt you.”

Me? She was going to hurt, me?

“Kid . . .”

That was the last straw. I leaped under her gun, faster than she could react. My shoulder collided heavily with her chest, knocking her to the ground back from the wagon. She tried to levitate the gun around to shoot me from the ground, but I was faster than her. I knocked the pistol away with a kick, and aimed a heavy kick right at her horn.

She screamed in pain as the horn broke with a sickening crunch.

But I wasn't finished.

I threw kick after kick with my forehooves down into her chest. I wasn't as big as she was, but I didn't need to be; because I was awesome.

Blow after blow landed, as I shouted with each kick, “I! AM! NOT! WEAK! YOU! CAN'T! HURT! ME!”

I pulled back, panting through clenched teeth.

Crack!

The gunshot rent the air, and for a moment everything was silent. Three bucks bearing pistols ran out of the bar.

I jumped hard from where I was, bolting as fast as my legs could carry me. Voices shouted behind me as my hooves pounded dust out of the ground below me. The whistle of bullets filled my ears, but I was to fast for them. Plumes of dirt rose from the ground where the bullets collided with the ground and ricocheted off into the night.

The yells faded into the distance behind me, but I kept running. And running. And running.

I ran until I felt the ground start to pull me down again. I grew heavier and slower as the haze grew over my eyes again.

I was hungry; and I was tired; and I was weak, but I kept running. I ran until my lungs burned. My heart pounded so heavily that it threatened to wrench itself out of my chest.

Tears stung my eyes as I stopped. My throat burned as I coughed heavy, dry coughs.

I collapsed onto the ground as my coughs died into ragged sobs.

I curled onto my side, cowering against the cold air. Hot tears from my eyes and blood from the gashes on my stomach mingled with the sandy earth beneath me.

“Why?” I asked myself between sobs. Why did she have to get my way? Why did she have to be weak? Why did she have to die?

Why did I have to kill her?

My sobs faded to whimpers as I shut my eyes against the dark and the cold, praying for sleep.

* * *

The next morning I was woken up by the edge of a rusted spear at my neck.

“Lucky us, looks like we found a snack.”

Fuck.. I opened my eyes and looked up; into the yellowed eyes of a gaunt, deranged looking buck. His smile widened into a sick, distorted grin, showing off all the sharpened nubs of his teeth. I shuddered. It was all I could do to keep from pissing myself.

“Fuck off, Lily.” A chain pulled taut behind him, “Ya' can't eat 'im, ya idjit, we can't sell 'im if he's dead.”

I turned to see the red coated mare that levitated the spear at my throat.

“Get on your feet.”

I struggled to try not to shake to hard as I picked myself up, but the wind felt like it was itching beneath my skin, and even the usual dim light of the shrouded sun burned the backs of my eyes.

“Ha! Look at 'im,” A buck's rough voice called from behind me, “He's 'bout to pass out agin' just lookin' at us.”

I squinted at the mare holding the spear, trying to look her in the eye. Damn it was bright out. Her manged crimson coat and the fire blackened tips of her orange hair stood out rocky hillside behind her, and her eyes were vibrant gold; proud and alive. She was barely older than I was, but she was already bigger and stronger than I was.

“No, it's something else,” An older brown buck said from behind her, stepping forward.

He motioned at the darkened earth at my hooves, “That piss, kid?”

I looked down at the ground. No, that was tears and blood, though the blood was probably hard to tell from my dark red coat. I shook my head slowly.

She tilted her head, looking around at the others, “Look at these cuts,” she pointed the spear down towards the shallow gashes on my sides, “He don't even have his cutie mark and he's already seen some action.”

The spear levitated back to her, planting itself into the ground beside her as she looked up proudly, “Reminds me o' me.”

The buck beside her shook his head, “'Cept you have a horn. . . . . . . and that was only three months ago.”

“And your dick's bigger!”

“Shut it, Lily!” A rock glowed as she flung it somewhere behind me.

“Wha'dya' think, Pops? He looks small, but he looks like he might have some game in 'im.”

She took another look at me, “Somewhere.”

The buck stepped forward, circling around me. I tried to turn my head as he looked me over, but I couldn't stop shaking.

He stepped back to her side, shaking his head, “I don't think we have much of a choice. No slaver'd buy anypony in this condition. If they caught 'im sure, but buy 'im. . . . . . . . . if we wait for Meatwagon we could get mebe thirty, forty caps for him.”

Meatwagon; didn't much sound like poppies and sunshine to me.

The red mare scowled, “I hate dealing with Meatwagon, he smells like burnt cheese and griffin shit.”

“Well, unless you want to just leave him here, I'd say only thing we can do with 'im is the Playpen.”

Somehow I didn't think the Playpen was gonna' be all that much better.

“Haha, yeah,” Lily barked out behind me, “Smells your age. Just small. Kinda' like Dash. Let 'im play.”

Lily hacked a strange chortling noise as the chains rattled behind me.

“Just uh,” She motioned her spear, spinning it in my direction, “Wrap him up in bandages or something. He can't play if he's already bleedin'. Then let's go. Only a couple o' miles to Ponyville.”

I tried not to wince as the Brown buck brushed the sand from my wounds and levitated a band of grungy looking bandage around my waist and chest. It stung, but I was glad to get the cuts covered. It hurt a hell of a lot less than leaving them filled with sand and exposed to the wind.

* * *

While there wasn't any sun in the sky, that doesn't mean it couldn't get hot. Especially with those bandages wrapped around me. The brown buck had fashioned them on real tight, and hooked them on with little metal prongs.

Though it was probably a good thing that I was found, I was pretty damn sure these weren't exactly good ponies. In fact, I wasn't even sure why they had left me alive. “Pops” was level headed enough, but Bit, the red mare, was eager and proud. Lily, though. . . . . Lily just scared me. Between the crazy yellow eyes, the sharpened teeth, and the talk of eating other ponies, nothing about him looked very nice at all. Thank Luna Trashcan always kept a good strong grip on his leash.

“Here, kid,” Pops levitated a piece of radroach meat in front of me as we walked.

“I'm not hungry.” That was a lie; my stomach was killing me. I felt that if ate anything, though, that I'd just hurl it back up.

“Don't gimme' that,” He said, jamming the stale jerky into my mouth, “I've seen what dash does to a pony. Ya' need ta' eat.”

I grudgingly chewed the rubbery meat. Well, I tried to, at least. It refused to break apart in my mouth. It was kind of like chewing on an old boot, except the boot would have tasted better. I eventually gave up trying, and swallowed it whole. My eyes watered as I choked it down, holding my breath in the hopes that it would stay down. Goddesses that was nasty.

Apparently my stomach liked it better than I did, as it growled in satisfaction.

“Thanks,” I said weakly.

“Don't mention it kid,” He said, floating another piece of radroach meat into my mouth, “Can't have you dying on us just yet.”

I tried not to think about where exactly they were taking me as I worked the tough piece strip of radroach.

“Is the colt going to fight, what if the colt doesn't want to fight?”I could here Lily muttering behind me.

“No!”

Did he just snap at himself?

“No, he will fight, he will fight. You can tell, can't you,” There was a sniffing noise somewhere behind me.

“Yes, yes. He will fight. . . . .”

Well, that explained what the Playpen was. At least I was alive for now. Alive and fed. After I finished the second piece of radroach at least. My jaw was already getting sore just from chewing it.

* * *

Ponyville was a horror show. I had heard stories that the six mares responsible for the fucked mess that we call Equestria had once lived here. Seeing what had happened to their home, well . . . . . whatever they did that destroyed everything, it came at a cost.

Every inch of town was covered in little squiggles; graffiti. I had seen it before, but I had never learned how to read. No doubt their meanings were as vile as the ponies living here. Nopony was seen without their rough leather barding, or hardened or manic expressions plaguing their faces.

And they had weapons weapons. Everywhere.

Rusted, duct taped, jagged, or covered in barbed wire; everything here looked in some way shape or form deadly. Or at the very least, made to hurt ponies. And by the way they treated the ones they had on leashes, well. . . . . I was glad that my captors were as gentle as they were.

Bit, Pops, and Trashcan had wandered off somewhere and left me tied to the side of a chain link fence. . . . . .

Right next to Lily. Not that his sharpened teeth and murderous yellowed eyes weren't friendly enough for me, but this guy had a seriously bad smell to him. Like rotten bacon. And piss. Like somepony pissed on rotten bacon.

At least the other raiders kept their distance.

We sat there a long while. My eyes were starting to feel the sting of going without dash again. I had gone without it for as long as a month at a time, but that never made it any easier to manage.

Lily looked over at me, something off about his look. Well, more off than his “I'm hungry” look from before.

“It's not that bad,” He said, breaking the silence.

“It's not that hard, killing ponies,” He said, looking off somewhere in the distance.

I wasn't sure where this was going, but I pretended not to listen. Talking with him was bound to be about as enlightening as talking to slenderpony.

“That's alright; ya' don't have ta' talk,” He said, flashing a twisted grin, “Just listen. Nopony listens to Lily anymore. . . .”

He sighed, dropping the smile.

“I didn't always use to be like this, ya' know. I used to be. . . . . well, different. I don't much know if I was normal or not. I'm not sure there is a such thing as normal anymore. . . . .

“We traveled around, doin' odd jobs for caps; ma' brother and I. Mostly bounties. They were easy. Go somwhere, kill sompony, take your caps. Well, they were easier for him. Best shot in the waste, he was.

“But we wanted more. We went up to the Hoof to try our luck, but things got messy. On our first job he got bit, and bad. The infection alone nearly killed 'im, but I was good 'nuff with fixin' ponies up.

“'Couple nights later, though, he went nuts. His eyes went all yellow and he kept chatterin' on 'bout being hungry or somethin'. I thought it was just the wastes getting' to him. Ponies go haywire all the time. I woke up the next night with his teeth around my throat.”

He looked at me, strait in the eyes, “I killed him.”

He looked back away, “It was easy. He was trying to kill me, so I killed him first. 'Course I got a nasty infection and this scar 'cross my neck for it now. . . .”

He lifted his chin and motioned to a jagged red line showing underneath the collar against his grungy yellow coat.

He looked down at the ground, laughing quietly to himself.

“When I got my cutie mark, I was excited. Thought I could be the best chef in all Equestria . . . .”

I glanced down at his cutie mark; a frying pan.

“Never thought I'd ever want to cook another pony,” He said, his voice nearly a whisper.

That was . . . . . . disgusting. But that was sad. I didn't know much about destiny. I never much cared. I still didn't have a cutie mark of my own, so I didn't really think all that much about it. But for somepony to have their purpose in life twisted like that . . . . . .

“But killing,” His look hardened, “Killing is easy.”

“Yeah, easy. . . . ,” I said softly, more to myself than to him.

* * *

When Bit and Pops eventually got back, the sky had already started to darken. Some ponies had even started small fires on the other side of the city bridge.

“Are you sure he'll even fight?”

“He doesn't really have a choice. . . .”

Pops said more, but I wasn't paying attention. Sticking out of Bit's saddle pack was an oh so familiar blue inhaler. . . .

“I'll do it,” I said, interrupting whatever it was they were saying. “I'll figh. . . ow!” The rope around my middle tightened as I tried to stand up, pulling me back down to the ground. I flinched as part of the bandage peeled off, exposing one of the cuts along my stomach.

“Well,” I rubbed the back of my head with my hoof, “If you get me that dash I would . . . .”

“I'm not sure,” Bit said, looking at Pops as he worked to tighten the bandages back into place, “He won't be winning any caps like this. Maybe if we let him rest for a day or two. . . . “

“No,” He returned, his eyes hardened, “A few more days without dash and he'd be bigger than you are.”

She looked at me, confused.

“Yeah, the kid's probably about your age,” He levitated the dash from her saddle packs, motioning at me with it, “He's probably been on this shit his whole life. I've seen it before, up by Flank. Foals born addicts die if they don't get enough of it, born all fucked up. . . .”

My gaze followed the inhaler as he waved it back and forth.

He lowered it, shaking his head, “To heal right he'd need a month or two without it. That long he could get back to normal. But more likely,” He said, leveling with Bit, “He'll die.”

There was a long silence. That would explain quite a lot.

“Well, that buys it,” I said, “Looks like I have to do it.”

That was big, but if living without the dash meant being weak like I was right then, not even able to move without hurting myself, well. . . . . then there was no real choice. It was better to die than to live like that.

“It's not like we have much of a choice either,” He said to Bit, ignoring me, “We need the caps. That spear o' yours is about to break, and Luna knows what'd happen if we don't get Lily's chain fixed. Or would you rather be left in that hole I found you?”

Bit looked like she was going to say something, but a large metal door on the building next to us swung open. An earth pony in a striped suit stood in the doorway. The suit looked like it had seen better days, but this buck's white fur was spotless. Which believe me, in a town full of scarred up ponies wearing little more than leather and dirt and the occasional piece of metal, he looked like he could have been straight out of one of those pre-war posters.

“Hey Popsicle,” He said, “I hear you got a small one ready to play?”

Pops nodded, “ Right here, Bank.”

Bank stepped forward, looking me up and down as he circled me.

“Hmm,” He looked back to Pops. “Kinda small . . . .”

If I had dash on me right then . . . . .

“Picked him up this morning,” He nodded, “Kid can barely walk the way he is. A huff o' dash'd make him equal to anypony else you got in there.”

“Can't do that.”

“Oh yeah?” Bit piped up, raising her chin up defiantly, “And why the fuck not?”

“It's against the rules,” Bank said flatly, “I haven't made all my caps by breaking my own rules. . . .” He turned back to Pops, “I could enter him in a weapons match, though, if dash would be his weapon.”

“You mean you expect us to send him in there unarmed?” Pops looked down thinking it over.

“Gimme' an extra fifteen per cent and it's done.”

“Ten.”

“Deal.”

“Good,” Bank shot him a smug smirk before walking back inside, “Puff him up and throw him in. Next is in match in five.”

Pops levitated out the dash inhaler and shoved it in my mouth. I hungrily wrapped my lips around the mouthpiece. Without waiting for Pops to press it down, I pushed the button all the way down with my hoof, closing my eyes as I breathed in as deeply as I could. I could feel my heart speed up; I could feel the muscles in my legs tightening; I could feel the burning in the back of my eyes leaving . . . .

* * *

My eyes snapped open. I was so engulfed in draining every last drop from that inhaler that I hadn't even noticed that they had moved me to the ring.

Short metal walls around me rose just high enough for the ponies in the crowd to peer over. Their grungy faces and bloodshot eyes stared intently at me and the pockmarked and bloodstained stone floor. Their bloodthirsty roars mingled into a single, constant, malicious grumble.

Across from me stood the unicorn colt; my apparent enemy. His eyes were as angry and as hard as the raiders watching us. Faded brown bloodstains speckled his off white coat and sweat beaded down from his horn and rugged crimson mane. No doubt both stemming from the heavy looking red brick hanging from a chain levitating at his side. . . . .

He wasted no time waiting for me to even stand up completely as he charged recklessly forward, whirling the brick above his head by its chain.

I shoved myself off the ground towards him with all four legs, before he could bring the heavy stone down on my head. My shoulder collided heavily with his, stopping me where we hit and sending him back. He was muscular and heavy, though, and stumbled back only a couple steps. I was too fast, though, and was on him before he could act.

I swung out with my forehooves, one and then the other. Never staying in the same place where he could hit me with that rock he was swinging. I ducked under his broad throws, only hitting him with what I could get without being hit. Each strike did little more than piss him off, but every time he attacked, he was rewarded only with his brick glancing off the hard stone floor.

He may have been stronger, but I was much, much, more awesome.

The crowd roared in primal delight as he screamed in frustration. He redoubled his efforts, whipping the chain around faster and faster as he tried to force me closer and closer to the metal wall behind me.

The brick skimmed my mane as I ducked back again, just barely dodging the heavy blow. He followed me step by step, pressing his assault. It was all I could do to not get hit as his chain became a spinning blur in front of me.

Fuck. I felt the cold steel of the wall behind me, but he didn't let up. He laughed in arrogant triumph as he swung the chain in a broad arch behind him, aiming a heavy blow at my head. I dove forward as he swung, barely making it away from the deadly attack.

My hoof caught on his as I bolted, and I stumbled forward.

I tried to pick myself back up, but it was too late. Before I could turn to face him he heavy brick slammed against my jaw, shattering in a red-brown mist. Dull pain exploded down from the side of my face and down my back and my ears rang from his back swing that threw me down to the ground. I looked up from the ground, but I could barely see his silhouette moving through the dust that coated my face.

Suddenly, the now separated chain pierced through the already vanishing cloud and wrapped itself around my neck. I raised my hooves to my neck to try and pull the chains free, but before I could even roll over he leaped onto me, pinning my hooves to the ground underneath his. I tried to shout in pain, to fill my screaming lungs with air, but the sound caught in my throat.

The shouts of the crowd grew distant and muffled as my ears went numb. My limbs burned in pain as my vision went gray; devoid of all color. Dark tendrils grasped at the edges of my vision, threatening to pull me under completely. I struggled to get out, but he just pushed down harder.

I stared up into his vengeful glare.

He was going to kill me.

I was going to die.

My body went numb as the world died down to a whisper. Time slowed as the beat of my heart overtook all my senses.

Thump thump

“Who is it going to be?” A soft voice whispered in my ears.

Thump thump

“Who is going to die; you, or him?”

Thump thump

The beats of my heart slowed to a crawl.

No. I wasn't going to die.

Thump thump

“Somepony has to die. . . . Whose it gonna' be?”

Thump thump

Him.

I tensed my hind legs and pounded every last inch of strength I had into a single, earth shattering kick. Right between his hind legs.

The chain released around my neck as he rolled to the ground next to me. I pulled the chain away from my neck as fast as I could, trying to suck in as much air as possible. I rolled onto my hooves and pushed myself up, coughing ragged and dry coughs as my lungs burned for the air it lacked.

The colt struggled to his feet, but he collapsed back into a heap, sobbing with the effort. I could see the glow wrapping itself around the now plain chain. , , ,

I planted my forelegs and sent my rear hooves in a buck of terrifying force, jarring my own back with the impact. I hacked out another rasping cough, but there was no time to waste. I turned and sprang onto him. He struggled wildly beneath me, but I wasn't going to give him the opening that he gave me.

One after another, I brought blow after blow down on his throat, each one colliding with a sickening pop. I didn't stop. I didn't stop until he went still.

I rolled off of his limp form, leaning my head back as I panted raggedly. The dash drained from my body and my legs became sore once more. The pounding of my heart gradually slowed down to something more reasonable.

A felt a tingling sensation on my flank . . . . .

I twisted and looked back at it, not wanting to get up.

A broken brick. What the fuck does that even mean? A brick broken in two.

I didn't care, though. I was alive.

The wasteland asked me the question, and I answered.

Note: Welcome to level one!

Traits: Heavy Hoofed: Your unarmed blows are heavy, but lack finesse, dealing more damage, but doing less critical damage.

Chem Reliant: CHEMS CHEMS CHEMS CHEMS . . . . . . Chems have a greater effect on you, but you have a greater chance of getting addicted . . . . . CHEMS!