Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste

by S-Clark

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Original Character, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 27321

Over 200 years ago the great war doomed Equestria and poisoned the world. Yet what of the lands beyond Equestria’s borders? This is a story of the great scrubland to the West, and the ponies and creatures who struggle to survive.

Welcome to the Waste, a dry land of cacti and sagebrush, buffalo and ponies, radiation and taint. Life here was hard even before the war that tainted the land. Dehydration and lack of food will kill you almost as surely as the creatures, to say nothing of the bandits, raiders, and the general populace.

Out on the steppe, a mare struggles to find her place in this new and harsh world. Yet her task is complicated by roaming gangs, turf wars, crazed mystics, and puzzles nearly two centuries old. It takes strong stuff to survive in a land gone mad. Will she be guided towards her destiny? Or will her dried corpse serve as a warning to those who happen to find it?

Published 2013-05-23 16:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-10-06 05:09:30 UTC

Chapter 1: The Mare With No Name

Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste
Written and Illustrated By SparkusClark

Chapter One: The Mare with No Name
“You see, in this world there’s two kinds of ponies, my friend… ”

It is night in the desert. The burning heat fades rapidly to a chilling cold. A lone pony lies on the dry, cracked earth; gaunt chest heaving rapidly in ragged, panting breaths. Froth covered lips open and a tongue licks out, searching for moisture that is not there. Chest rises, rises, and falls.

There is no one to mourn but the insect on a nearby rock. Soon that too leaves, flitting its way over the nearby hill and past the pool of water beyond. A coyote looks up from its nighttime drink to grin and snap at it. The bug spirals up into the air to gaze down upon the nighttime activities of the desert folk:

Watch as a valiant pony trots from an abandoned mine shaft. Looking up towards the sky, she shivers in her blue utility barding. There’s a click, and the glow from her PipBuck illuminates the land beyond her, drawing the attention of hungry predators.

Miles away two griffons fight to the death in a flurry of claws and feathers, their voices screeching insults. Their prize, a canteen of water, lays forgotten. Neither notice the opening that leaks the precious fluid.

See here, a place where the dead plants shiver and voices seem to whisper among the sagebrush, though there is no wind to speak of.

Further along two towering figures lumber across the waste. One dragging a battered, unconscious pony by its leg, the other has a corpse thrown over his shoulder. The sound of chewing can be heard.

Well and beyond them, a herd of ghouls attack a small farm, their glowing eyes like so many murderous stars in the night. The inequine screams terrify the family as they cower in their home. The farmer fights alone from the rooftop, his companions already fallen to the jagged teeth and broken hooves below. His shotgun roars in the night and something huge bellows a reply from the back of the herd. The wall of the house splinters and the ghouls pour in through the breech. The farmer weeps as they devour his family. He has one shell left.

Away now, past rundown buildings and forsaken settlements to an abandoned railway running east.

And here fresh blood is splattered across a crumbling road as raiders gallop, giggling, into the night. Pastel horns and hooves, newly harvested, adorn their belts and clack together in furious song. They do not see the glimmering eyes that follow them, slinking catlike from the rocky shadows.

In the town beyond, a pair of buffalo are beating each other in a drunken stupor. Their friends watch in passive silence until the winner vomits on the unconscious loser. The neon lights flicker and die as the bar closes for the night.

And again beyond that a lone protectapony marches through the dusty silence, its tinny voice spouting anti-zebra epitaphs.

Moving again. Flying through the dark. No living soul. Nothing of use. And then…

Voices.

Arguing.

One smooth. One harsh. One which sounds bitter.

See the corpse that lies beyond their lights.

The mare that lays within them.

Her eyes open. She panics. Struggles. No good. They have her hobbled. Gagged.

They.

Griffin. Scarred. Armored. “Ah hell, she’s awake.”

Stallion. Unicorn. Well-fed. “Well, that makes things easier.”

Donkey. Haggard. A blinking collar. “But what if-”

The unicorn cuts him off.

“See, now that she’s awake, it means she’s seen us. Seeing us means she could tell folk who we are.”

No. She would forget them if they asked.

He approaches her. Magic flares. A gun. From his holster.

Beg for mercy!

“So instead of wasting time better spent on moving...”

Yell for help!

“We only need to waste a bullet on her.”

Fight him!

He grins. Cheerful.

Do something!

ANYTHING!

“Sorry, but that's the way it goes, kid.”

Her prayers to Celestia and Luna go unheard.

Welcome to the Waste.

***

My entire body hurt. My back. My legs. My hooves. My head, oh Goddesses my head felt loaded with rocks.

I tried to open my eyes, but instantly regretted it as the world rolled and pitched. I groaned and tried to hold my head but my forelegs felt stuck to my sides. As I struggled to focus, I was vaguely aware of something large moving close by. Just as my vision started to fall into place, a giant, hazel eye filled my world and I gave a startled cry of surprise.

Or tried to. All that came out was a spitty “Glck!?”

“Hey there, little earth pony,” the eyeball rumbled, its deep voice shifting and echoing in my ears like a bad… something, the word escaped me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Opening them only revealed the same eye, just more clearly.

“Still feel as bad as you look?” the eyeball chuckled.

I made another attempt to speak. “Glck.”

The eyeball bobbed, “Good enough. Let’s sit you up.”

Strong, gentle hooves raised me and I realized I had been wrapped snuggly in a patterned blanket to keep me from moving. Probably for the best.

“Still got all your parts inside you?”

The eye was, thankfully, not a free floating monstrosity, instead it belonged to a dusty-brown buffalo.

Sitting back on his haunches, the buffalo propped me up with one foreleg as he reached for a tin cup. This close I could see the grey streaking his fur, most of it in his beard.

“Drink up,” he rumbled, pressing the cup to my lips.

Cool water poured down my throat. My body trembled as the liquid spread through me.

“Easy now,” his command barely registered as I sucked greedily at the cup.

He was patient, tilting the cup so that I never got more than a sip. When I had finished he put the cup aside and carefully laid me back down. Questions as dry and fragile as moths flitted past the light of my mind. One got too close and burst into flames; my brain struggled to catch the ash as it fell away.

“W-…wh-…” My throat worked but the words slipped away.

“What happened?” the buffalo supplied.

I nodded and winced at the thudding inside my skull.

“Careful,” he smiled kindly. “Don’t want to shake anything loose. That bullet took a good chunk out of your head.”

Raising my eyebrows made my face hurt. No, wait, make that my forehead that hurt with a sharp ache. Even though I winced, the expression proved to be a better means of communication than speaking had been.

“That’s right," he nodded. "You got yourself in some trouble. I don’t know with who. By the time I dragged myself down there, they were already gone.”

The fur on his shoulders barely ruffled as he gave a small shrug.

“I did what I could for your friend, but you were more in need.”

He glanced away from me when he said that last part, his face suddenly dark in the campfire light. The gesture meant something, but the meaning was beyond me just then.

“You need to get more rest tonight, little mare.” He rumbled softly when he spoke. “I’ll change the poultice in the morning.”

I found it strange that he was right. No sooner had he said that then my eyes started to droop. I wasn't even aware of when I drifted off, but when it came, the darkness of sleep engulfed me.

***

Dreams. Wanderings of the mind. Pieces of our daily worries, desires, and fears given image, life, and focus. A small incident can haunt you in the guise of a mortal pony. A being that is both your lover and protector can hold you close; keeping you safe and warm no matter how big you’ve become. An enemy, real or imagined, can exploit all of your many weaknesses and failings. And sometimes…

Sometimes dreams are memories.

***

“How many hooves am I holding up?”

I glanced at the buffalo's outstretched forelegs. When I spoke, my voice sounded gravelly and uninterested.

“One… and a stump.”

He gave a wide, toothless grin at my answer, as though this were his favorite joke. I did not laugh. Though I felt that I should have. It had been kind of funny.

He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Not everyone likes that one.”

It was the next day, or it felt like it was. The old buffalo had been making sure I ate enough food and drank more than enough water, which was dirty, and the only food he had seemed to be a thin gruel made from the same water. Still, it was something and I was in no mood or position to complain. He also made me eat a spoonful of a green-brown paste made from some kind of ground up plants. The paste, he told me, would help me heal more quickly. It tasted like dirt. He had me propped against the wall of the cave we were in. He told me he wanted to do some tests to see how well I was recovering. He also told me to call him Tiny.

“Follow this one with your eyes.”

Even looming over me I noticed that Tiny was quite thin for a buffalo. Dangerously so. I watched as his intact hoof moved slowly left to right, then up and down before coming close enough to leave me cross eyed.

“Good, good. Alright,” he spoke to himself as he gently untucked the blanket, exposing my chest and ribcage.

I glanced down at myself and found that I was both thin in build and from lack of nourishment. I was surprised to see that my coat was a light tan color. How had I forgotten that?

“Okay, breathe in for a count of seven, hold it, then release.”

I did this several times. Placing the stump against my chest, Tiny tapped my ribcage lightly with his good hoof. Occasionally he’d shift the stump to a new spot and tap again.

Being touched left me with an uneasy feeling. The stump of his hoof didn’t bother me; it was an old wound that had healed over ages ago, the skin forming a soft, calloused pad. Was it that I didn’t like being touched? In which case, why?

Tiny leaned back, “Sounds good to me.”

He gave me an assessing look.

“I want to ask you a few questions. Help figure out if your brain-box is working.”

I gave a careful nod, “Okay.”

“What’s your name?”

“………” I sat there with my mouth hanging open. I tried again, “………”

My mind raced with all I knew; yet the place where my name should be was empty, ragged, as if something had been torn from me. Tiny nodded sympathetically.

“As I thought. I was able to dig out the fragments, but it seems the damage was done.”

“What does that mean?”

“Outside of the hole in your head?” He gave another thin-shouldered shrug. “I’m no medicine-buffalo to tell you for sure.”

My mind finally produced something of use.

“Cutie mark. I mean, my cutie mark. That could tell me my name.”

I labored to remove the blanket that piled around my hindquarters. Tiny, still sitting back on his haunches, made no move to help me. I soon found out why.

I looked up at Tiny then back down at my flank.

Same tan hair as the rest of my coat, a ragged black tail, and nothing else
.

I stared down at myself. I was a full grown mare, who had no idea who she was, and I… I was a blank flank?

Tiny was watching me, gauging my reaction. His voice, when he spoke, was not unkind.

“I know that most ponies earn their cutie mark at a young age. Maybe you just haven't found your special talent.”

This was wrong. I had a cutie mark. I knew I did. I must have one, how else could I have gotten this far in life without a special talent?

I carefully replaced the blanket, trying to think of something else.

“Let’s try a few more questions. See if we can figure out anything else about you.”

It was my turn to shrug. “Why not?”

“Do you remember who shot you?”

The dream from last night hovered in the back of my head. “Some... pony did it because I saw him and his friends.”

“Really? You get a good look at him?”

I gave him what passed for a description of the unicorn, griffon and donkey; I remembered now that the stallion had had a light-grey coat, and that his mane had been a dusty yellow.

Tiny produced another lopsided grin. “Well now you know who to avoid. Any idea why you were out there?”

Again there was the paper fluttering of moth wings in my mind. “I was on my way to… somewhere.”

He made noise deep in his throat. “Hm. Anything about the mare travelling with you?”

Nothing.

“Where did you grow up?”

Another empty spot in my mind.

“Friends? Family?”

Only a rapidly fading sorrow.

“Any idea where we are?”

This little moth of a thought held very still. I frowned, “Unless you dragged me very far we should still be in the San Palomino Desert.”

“My people used to call it the Great Bison Desert; it was all one and the same. Now everybody calls it ‘The Waste.’” He scratched his bearded chin. “You didn’t grow up in a Stable did you?”

There was certainty in my bland voice, “No.”

“Hm. Some enthusiasm. You seemed very sure on those last two.”

He was right. There were more moths now, their fluttering filled my mind. “I remember the desert.”

Why had my voice sounded hollow when I said that? Tiny gazed at me, some thought deep in his eyes.

“Well it’s a start,” he said in a rumbling wheeze. “What do you remember about the desert?”

“Well,” I started slowly, “It’s dangerous if you can’t find food or water; but both can be found if you know where to look. A prickly pear can provide water. A leaf of aloe can sooth burns.” The moths rustled and my words came quicker. “Some places are more difficult. The ground steeped in venoms: one burns the body worse than the sun, cooking from the inside out. The other twists the body, wrenching, tearing, grinding…”

I trailed off feeling a little perplexed. Where had all of that come from?

Tiny looked angry. No, he looked… worried? Why?

He tugged his grey beard in thought. “Your tone is elegiac yet your words poetic when you talk of radiation and taint.”

The moths fled at his words, and would have left me lost and puzzled if not for the one that stayed. ‘Radiation’ and ‘taint,’ I remembered those words now.

“Do you know why they infect our desert?” he asked.

“They… fell from the sky?”

That sounded ridiculous even as I said it. Tiny surprised me by nodding.

“That’s right, the war between your kind and the zebras. Tore our world apart not two hundred years ago.”

There was a susurrus inside my head as the moths returned. “The princesses and their…” the word was elusive, “their hoofmaidens?” That sounded right. “They fought to end the war… to bring peace… and failed.” The papery wings fluttered. “The meg-spills? Mespels? Messells?”

“Megaspells?” Tiny offered.

I nodded, “The megaspells fell and the kingdom of Eq…uestria was destroyed.”

Tiny was watching me again with his large, hazel eyes. Something unrelated to the moths niggled the back of my broken mind.

“Wait, you said you're not a medicine-buffalo?”

For a moment he looked bitter, then a smile spread across his face. He chuckled as he shook his large, shaggy head.

“Looks like your short-term memory is doing well. Nope, that was my great uncle. Taught me a thing or two before he died. Me? I’m a PipBull technician.”

He held up his hoofless foreleg to display the battered metal device clamped to it.

“Pip…Bull?”

“A variation of your kind’s PipBuck.”

Here was uneven ground for me. Tiny politely filled me in. “Basically keeps track of your health, where you are, and anything you’ve got in your pockets. Any buffalo that made it to the Stable was given one of these.”

Something in my mind creaked like old leather. I spoke slowly, hoping the thought would not fade as I tried to look at it. “I know that the Stables were sealed, underground… buildings. But built by ponies for ponies.”

He nodded in amusement. “Not many folk know about the negotiations between ponies and buffalo.”

“Because it was two hundred years ago?” I shifted in the blankets; the wall of reddish-tan stone was pressing against my back.

“That and the fact that the wording was...” Tiny waved his hoof in a vague gesture. “But it did include a promise of aid if attacks were made against us. When the megaspells were created and Stable-Tec broke ground, my ancestors made sure Stable B was built for us.”

“And you’re from this Stable?”

He grew somber, “I was.”

I mulled this over. “Stable…B?”

A shrug. “We always assumed it stood for buffalo. Some of us supposed that Stable A was full of alligators.”

Tiny smiled and again I was bothered by how, even though I felt the humor, I couldn't bring myself to laugh at his jokes. However it was a bother I had felt fading.

“And you left your Stable?”

He became quiet. Slowly, he pulled out a necklace that had been hidden in his thick chest fur. A small figurine dangled from the loop at the end. I peered closer and saw that it was a buffalo, crudely carved from a sun-bleached piece of wood. I felt a familiar flutter and realized that I knew just how rare wood was around here. Tiny held the effigy in his hoof, touching it lightly with his stump. When he spoke, his words sounded distant.

“A white buffalo is the most sacred member of our people, a Teacher.” I could hear the capital letter in his voice. “Entrusted with all of our knowledge, traditions, and history. They were our guides, and our hearts. While they could pass their knowledge to any of us, they could only teach us one path or discipline each. The wisdom they gave helped us find our place in the tribes. The cycle…”

There was a silence as his eyes searched for something. I followed his gaze away from the figurine to the wall of the cave above and beside me. There was nothing except the bare rock. What was he looking at? I turned back as he spoke again.

“…when a new white buffalo is born, the Teacher would pass all of their knowledge to their young counterpart. Once the young bull or cow learned every path, could recall every piece of our history, and became the Teacher themselves; the elder retired from their role. Some stayed with the tribe and lived out their years, while others became hermits out in the desert.”

“It made sense then that the younger, his education complete, would be among the protected.”

I nodded because I felt as though I should. Why was he telling me all of this when what I had wanted was a yes or no?

Tiny started to shake as he continued. “When the megaspells started to fall. Those of our people who were selected went to the Stable and sealed the door. Once inside they continued their lives in their new home. But the cycle…” He took a sharp breath. “We were lost. Two hundred years of the same walls, the same food, the same daily activities so many times traipsed… We lived for no other purpose than to keep living. It felt as though the Stable had saved our lives at the cost of our souls.”

His voice trailed off. I waited for him to continue yet his eyes remained fixed on the wall of the cave. I watched him for what must have been three or four minutes. Since I could still see the rise and fall of his chest, either his story was at an end or he had forgotten to finish it. I wondered what would happen if I spoke.

I gave a throaty “Hey.”

Tiny gave a start and his eyes focused on me as though he was surprised to see me. I wondered if this should worry me, and I noted that he seemed older than when we had first started talking.

“Mm,” he muttered absently. “A new generation came… and then another… yet another white buffalo was not born to us. In time the Teacher died, taking all of his knowledge with him. And so we became… lost.”

I thought about this. “Why not have him teach everything to all three generations?”

I could see his eyes starting to tear up and he gave a sad laugh. “He tried to. Learning something from a Teacher takes time. He kept holding out hope that his successor would be the next birth.”

“After his death, each generation inherited less and less from their parents.” Tiny shook his head, “Just because you can be instructed does not make you an instructor. And then there were the forward-thinkers.” He spat the words out as if they were a curse. “They took it as a sign that the old ways were as dead as he was. They abandoned our traditions and threw themselves into the technology around us.”

I nodded, his situation was starting to come together in my head.

“And you left after his death.”

It felt strange to be able to piece together someone else’s life while my own was still so broken.

Tiny gave another hollow chuckle, “Oh no, his death was well before my time. By the time I was born the old ways were only held onto by a small group.”

“Which you were not a part of,” I guessed.

“My parents were technicians,” he rumbled. “I was raised amongst the casings and wires of PipBulls. Yet I was intrigued by my great uncle and his friends…”

He sighed as he turned the necklace over in his hoof. “I was a charismatic young bull. I was able to persuade enough of us, including my younger cousin, to petition the Overelder to allow us to leave. We felt it certain that if the Teacher had not been born in here, she must have been needed more by those that had been left outside.”

“You said the cycle was broken.”

“We felt convinced that to try was better than to give up. To lose the last of the traditions that had been so much a part of us.” His eyes found me then. “You did not see how empty our lives had become, little mare.”

I nodded because, again, this felt like what I was supposed to do.

“Our group was allowed passage into the unknown on the other side of the Stable door. Some of us were elders, most were young bulls and cows.”

There was an expression on his face that I could not read. When he spoke, his words were full of contempt and regret.

“As I said, I had a way with words. I had helped sway them back to our beliefs. Together we were full of conviction, knowing that we would return our people’s saviors. We basked in the powerful glow of our virtuous hope.”

I glanced around the cave, at his meager possessions and scant supplies. “What happened?”

“The Wasteland crushes hope.”

Again his eyes gazed deeply at the stone next to my head. I wondered if I would have to bring his attention back when he looked at me, blinked several times, and his smile returned.

“You probably need some more water.”

I considered this, “Yes. I think I do.”

Tiny nodded and tucked the necklace back into the bushy depths of his chest fur. Then he turned and slowly dragged himself over to where he kept a few jugs of water. As I watched him I realized I had been mistaken. Tiny had not been sitting back on his haunches the entire time. He no longer had any rear legs.

***

I lay awake later that night, staring at the roof of the cave. My dreams had been… empty. I must have awoken at some point, but I was unsure of when that had been. I felt I had gone from asleep to awake in the time between one breath and the next. Then I realized I had heard something.

A snuffling sob came from Tiny’s bedroll.

I craned my neck around and could just make him out in the darkness. From the light of the dying embers, it looked as though he held a bundle of rags to his chest. I realized I could hear him, his words drifting through the quiet stone chamber.

“Cousin?...... I’m sorry Cousin. I’m…... I’m sorry everyone. I- I killed you all…..I’m so sorry.”

I rolled back over. Soon the sobbing subsided.

Or maybe I just fell back to sleep.

***

There was a surprise waiting for me the next day. A pair of saddlebags. My saddlebags apparently. At least, they had been on me when Tiny had dragged me up to his cave.

I was strong enough now that I could undo the buckle without his help.

Tug the strap with my teeth. Flip the catch with a hoof. Easy. Tiny busied himself on the far side of the cave as I sifted through. The first item I found was… odd.

It was a small sculpture of a pink earth pony, her mass of hair crackling with energy. An engraving on the base read ‘Awareness: It was under ‘E’!’ I frowned at her smiling face. If this was mine, why had I carried around something so obviously unessential?

I tossed it aside and felt somehow… less. I shrugged as the feeling passed.

Next was a woven necklace with some blue beads.

Gaudy. Useless.

A book of pressed flowers and leaves.

Heavy, but could be used to start a fire.

A length of rope.

Curious, but there may be a need.

Three bottles of dirty water. A box of ‘cake’ and a can of ‘Magical Fruit.’

Now these I could use.

A hoofheld lighter.

It flicked easily to life. Good.

A metal case that held a gun.

I set that to the side for later.

Ten bottle caps.

Why would anypony carry those?

I tossed the caps aside as I turned the saddle, investigating the other bag. Maybe there would be something in this one to tell me who I was.

An empty pack of cigarettes.

Well that explained the lighter, my raspy voice, and the way I occasionally shook.

A hunting knife.

The blade looked dull and was pocked with rust. It could still be useful.

A round ball of cloudy glass the size of an… apple? Yes. That was the right word.

I tossed it in the pile of trinkets. Useless.

Three bent tin cans.

Very useless.

A foldable hat. Brown, well worn with a wide brim circling the edge.

Help keep the light out of my eyes and shade my face and neck. Useful.

The final item was a cracked hoof-mirror.

About to toss it, I paused.

Slowly, I turned it towards my face. A sandy colored mare looked back at me. Her eyes, long and delicate, hid irises that looked blue-grey when she tilted her head. Her mane was gone, though dark stubble poked through her scalp. Shifting the bandage revealed a gash that traced red lines of flesh across her forehead.

I frowned, which wasn’t that hard given how my face already looked set that way. Nothing had come back to me. I had felt no dawning recognition when I looked at a face that, despite the healing scars and shaved mane, should have been instantly familiar.

I tossed the mirror aside as I made a note to ask Tiny how he had managed to do surgery with only one good hoof.

***

The days settled into a routine. Eat gruel. Take a nap. Watch Tiny mix herbs. Eat the resulting paste. Another nap. More gruel. Fall asleep. Wake up. Do it all over again.

The cave was usually quiet. Tiny seemed to be all talked out after our big discussion. For my part, I found myself not minding the silence. I started to spend the downtime inspecting the gun from my saddlebags. It turned out to be a revolver. It was worn from use but, to my untrained eye, still in working condition. The case also held two speedloaders, a cleaning and repair kit, but no bullets. With the Waste outside being so dangerous, why would I have been carrying it in a case in my bags? Answers still eluded me.

The first few times I tried to take the gun apart ended with pieces littering the ground around me. After a few days I was familiar with the parts (hammer, bite-grip, barrel, tongue-trigger, etc.), disassemble it with little trouble, and put it back together with even less.

Eventually an exercise regime of sorts was worked into our routine. Tiny said it would help me “recoup my faculties” as I healed. We started simply enough: Pushups to recover my strength. A game with three tin cups and a pebble to help my perception. Carrying heavy loads in my saddle bags to build up my endurance. Light conversation was supposed to help my communication. A few books were on hoof to read; he said it would help me feel intelligent. An easy game of catch was supposed to keep me agile. I felt the most confused by the guessing game. Tiny said that after what had happened to me I would need the luck. Which puzzled me. Yes, I had been shot in the head, but surviving should prove I was lucky enough.

Even so, the rhythmic structure of our days felt natural to me, and, as my body rebounded, I made Tiny increase the difficulty.

Push ups began to add muscle. With my thin frame I would probably never bulk up, but I could still build what was there.

Tiny eventually let me try my hoof at the cup game. Though no matter how fast I shuffled the cups back and forth, he was always able to spot the pebble.

With each lap I cantered around the cave, another item would be loaded into my saddlebags. Eventually they were so heavy I was forced to move at a slow plod. I found I enjoyed pushing myself for that extra lap.

Catch evolved into what I think was called ‘Kelpie Uppie.’ I would try to bounce a cup from hoof to fetlock. Flip it up to my forehead. Balance it for a moment. Then back down to juggle some more.

Conversation however was completely abandoned and except for some magazines about guns and armor repair, the books were not very interesting.

Tiny kept insisting on the guessing game.

***

I was unsure of when I first noticed Tiny’s gradually dwindling supplies, or even that the old buffalo was becoming more malnourished while I was feeling better. One evening, despite myself, I decided to broach the subject during our meal.

“We need more food,” I rasped between bites. “Water at the least.”

Tiny paused with the spoon trembling in his hoof on its way back to the bowl. I made another note to ask him how he had been able to patch me up. He chewed slowly, thinking, I suppose. I ate a few more bites. The old buffalo finished his mouthful with a heavy sigh.

“We,” he said pointedly, “do not need any more.”

I eyed him warily. “Pretty sure we do.”

My gesture took in the empty water jugs and the single sack of oats.

“That will give us four meals. Maybe.”

He watched me carefully beneath hooded eyes. “Or it will last one of us eight meals. Enough to find a town and trade for supplies.”

I frowned, inspecting my wooden bowl as I took another bite of gruel. Chewed thoughtfully. Swallowed.

“What about the other one of us?”

He shrugged.

“I suppose what happens naturally.”

We finished our meal in silence.

***

Going through my exercises the next morning was more from routine than need; I was as recovered as I was probably ever going to be. Breakfast was its usual quiet affair. When we finished, Tiny helped me pack my saddlebags.

“You’ll need this,” he said, passing me a small cloth bag.

I shook it and heard the clink of metal. “Bullets?”

Tiny gave a wry smile, “No, bottle caps. Most folk use them for trade.”

Packing them away, I made sure to grab the ones I had previously discarded.

Without any bullets, the gun went in alongside the few items I had saved and the last of our, now my, supplies. He’d even given me the blanket I had woken up in.

Tiny watched as I cinched the bags until they were snug on my back.

“Any plans?”

I considered this, for I had no real idea. Then I felt the papery flutter of a thought at the back of my mind.

“I’m going to find that grey unicorn, and I’m going to shoot him.”

Tiny suddenly looked much older.

“You survived by a miracle alone only to waste your life on revenge.”

Thoughts fluttered through my head before one settled to the forefront.

“It’s not about revenge. It’s the principal of the action. Nopony should do what he did to her.”

Tiny raised an eyebrow. “Her?”

I felt lightheaded. “Me. I meant, ‘what he did to me.’”

He considered this for a long while, looking past me as he had when we first talked. I glanced behind, just to make sure. Nothing. Eventually his eyes focused again.

“Wait here a moment.”

Without another word, Tiny shuffled around and dragged himself towards his sleeping pad. The worn blanket he sat on left a smooth trail in the dirt wherever he moved. Soon he returned with something cradled in his stump. It was the bundle of rags I had seen him clutching when he slept. Carefully he unfolded the rags until he held another, smaller, PipBull. It looked like there was still some dried blood on one end.

Tiny’s voice was heavy when he spoke. “This belonged to my cousin, Don’t Jump.”

The quiet of the moment was broken, “Don’t Jump?”

Tiny gave a small smile. “He liked to climb things when he was small. His real name was Fridge Fixer, but I just called him Cousin. Buffalo tend to have several names,” he explained.

“Cousin was…” Tiny clenched his jaw for a moment. “He was about your size when we left the Stable.”

He looked up at me. Standing, I was almost half a head taller than the slouched old buffalo’s hump. It was still odd after so much recovery time had been spent laying on the ground.

“I don’t know what the Waste has in store for you little pony, but I think you’re gonna need this.”

Not waiting for my answer, he used a tool of some sort to open the smaller PipBull and fit it to my left foreleg.

I frowned, feeling confused. “Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged, focused on his task. “I was already at my end.”

I blinked, more puzzled. “You came here to die.”

He chuckled dryly as he connected some wires from the PipBull to his own. “I am too old and too crippled to do much else. So I took enough to find a place and make my peace.”

I still felt lost. “And helping me?”

“Helping others is rarely done in the wasteland.” He shrugged his gaunt shoulders again. “I felt a bit of good might balance something. Ah, there we go.”

My vision flickered as a dozen yellow symbols brokered for my attention.

“What… did you do?”

Tiny gave a proud smile. “The PipBull has a range of uses. What you’re seeing now is the… oh, what was the pony term for it? I can’t recall. We referred to it as the Everything Up Ahead or E.U.A. That will let you know the direction you’re trotting, what you’re carrying, where you are, and even if you’re not half dead yet. Actually, it’ll even let you know if something nearby wants to kill you.”

I frowned again, trying to let my eyes adjust. “How does it know?”

His shoulders bobbed in his favorite movement, “Pony technology could do a lot. I’m just glad they made these things accessible to other species.”

I found the blinking lights distracting. “Can I turn it off?”

“You just have to think about it. Same thing with the S.A.T.S., the Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell. It lets you focus better during a fight.”

That part surprised me. “You think I will be in many fights?”

“You’re the one who wants to shoot a pony.”

Silence settled between us. I was about to turn to leave when Tiny spoke again.

“I was born under ground and I chose to die underground.” He looked me in the eye. “It might be happenstance that led me to choose this cave, maybe not. If I hadn’t, I think you still would have gotten help.”

Now I was at a complete loss and told him as much. He grasped my foreleg in response. I felt a crawling sensation in my stomach and I tried to pull away, but his grip held me in place. Luna above, how could a beast so frail looking have so much strength?

“There’s something about you little mare. Something off.” His voice sounded distant and muffled as my heart thudded in my ears. What was he talking about?

“Great-Uncle explained it to me back in the Stable.” Tiny’s gaze was distant again. I twisted my leg around in his grip.

“Maybe you were too far gone, I’m not sure, I panicked. I wanted to help, to- to make up for what had happened.”

Celestia help me, why wouldn’t he just let go? My stomach was in knots and I was sweating though I felt like I had been drenched in cold water. A word blazed in my mind, trapped. It wasn't touch, it was the fear of being ensnared. I struggled harder, but Tiny hadn't seemed to notice, his eyes lock on mine.

“I tried my best… I- I don’t know. Maybe if I had learned more, if I hadn’t been a PipBull technician, I could have done more, done it right.”

Tiny bowed his head, his grip loosened and I yanked myself free. I was shaking so badly I had to force myself to stand. He just sat there, looking older than ever.

I had no idea what to say or even what to do. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I turned and galloped away as fast as I could.

Footnote: Introduction Complete

Trait: I Am Not Lanky – Your determination to prove you are not ungainly has given you +1 to AGL. However your long leg bones mean you are more likely to be crippled.

Event Trait: Desert’s Blessing – Something has granted you a familiarity with the desert and you receive +10 to Survival. Leaving the desert removes this bonus, and grants you a -10 penalty to your Survival skill for being in unfamiliar surroundings. Note: This penalty counts while being inside large structures such as Stables.

Quest Begun: Returning the Favor

New Mission: Ghost Dance

New Mission: The Mare With No Name

Alert: Hardcore Mode Activated – Potions do not instantly heal hit points. Crippled limbs need special attention. Ammo has weight. Companions can suffer permanent death. Food, water, and rest are mandatory for survival. Note: Complete this entire story in Hardcore Mode to unlock a special ending.

Author's Note

Okay, this here's the super-long list of crediting and (possibly) helpful links:

First off I'd like to thank bobdat for taking the time to edit out my ellipses-philia. Thanks to MaxyPony for the advice that helped restructure this first chapter. To TheLiterateDead for lending a helpful hand (I promise to give it back). To my darling wife for listening to me natter about starting this project for the last three months. And, above all, thanks to Buttons-the-Muse who's helped me stay creative, hammer out plot ideas, and inspire me to not just dream about something, but to start it.

Really appreciate your help folks!

Credits:

This is a fanfiction is based on a fanfiction called Fallout Equestria by fascinating Kkat; a familiarity with the source material may aid your understanding such things as references, jokes, and plotlines.

Cover-art credit where it belongs:
Credit for the desert foreground and background goes to [url= http://jrrhack.deviantart.com/art/Desert-background-281498640] Mr. Jrrhack

Mesas, cacti, shrubs, clouds, and various other bits and bobs are thanks to Mr. Boneswolbach

And of course Mr. DotRook who first came up with that nifty logo and has allowed so many of us to use it.

Couldn't have done it without you gentlemen

If you enjoyed this (or if you didn't) then you may want to check the Fallout Equestria Side Stories post on Equestria Daily where there are MANY other tales to tell.

If you want to share your experience, or want to jumpstart your own fic-of-a-fic, head on over to the nice people at the Ponychan hatching grounds. They even provide a list of potential editors.

There's also the Fallout Equestria Side Stories thread on Ponychan

Chapter 2: Scrublands Drifter

Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste
Written and Illustrated By SparkusClark

Chapter Two: Scrublands Drifter
“When you hear a strange sound, drop to the ground.”

I nudged the corpse with my hoof.

Not much was left of the dead unicorn that Tiny had said was my travelling companion. Even the smell wasn’t so bad. After the dry heat and hungry creatures her coat was a dark, matted red. Bright orange strands of hair clung to what had been her neck. Unless buzzards had started growing manes this was the only clue as to what she may have looked like.

“Hope you don’t mind,” I spoke to the corpse as I rummaged through her saddlebags.

I quickly found out that somepony had already gone been by and picked her clean. Carrion eaters had torn up her leather armor too much for it to be of any use. She had been wearing a leg holster, which I found a little ways away from the body. It was damaged and would need to be repaired. Not here though, I knew I needed to get moving before the temperature started climbing.

I turned my attention to the dead brahmin. It lay on its side not far from the dead mare with one head curled towards its chest. I couldn’t find the other head, but I didn’t waste time looking either. Searching the pack proved… I couldn’t think of the word I wanted to use, but I had the feeling it had something to do with a kind of food. Not remembering words was becoming a real annoyance. It didn’t matter anyways as there was nothing left in the pack.

Sitting back I frowned at the carcass as a notion stirred in my noggin. The heavy cow was on her side; I could still see traces of the blood and viscera that had dried around it. That meant… what did it mean? Studying the scene, my eyes darted between each part of the picture before me, and the thought came together in a weird, disjointed kind of way:

It means the body hasn’t been moved.

I rose to my hooves and trotted to the far side of the corpse. Sure enough, I could see a second bulky pack pinned beneath her dead mass. Getting it out was more difficult than I would have liked, given all of the rope. Merchants, it seems, like to make sure that not even Celestia herself can move their wares. Eventually I had to use the hunting knife to cut the pack off completely. By that time my muscles were sore and I was drenched in sweat. I took a long drink before inspecting my prize.

I couldn’t believe the number of useless items: empty soda bottles; pieces of scrap metal; some sort of metal plug with a lightning bolt on it; clear rubber tubing; and even a square tin with two wheels sealed inside.

The last one looked familiar; there was some black tape wrapped around one of the wheels, but seeing as how it wasn’t food or water or medicine, I tossed it aside.

At least my efforts had paid off. I now had three more bottles of water, which were warm, but I wasn’t picky. Extra food consisted of two cans of Cram and a blobby green pod that I somehow recognized as a yucca fruit. The word ‘fruitless’ popped into my head, but I let it slip aside, too busy inspecting a pair of bottles with a vivid purple liquid inside. The labels read ‘health potion.’ A variety of bullets was a nice discovery, but finding that twelve fit my gun was even more pleasant. I loaded my revolver and one of the speedloaders.

I decided to abandon the bullets that hadn’t fit, just to make sure my bags never became overburdened. There was also a piece of skin-leather that I could use to repair the holster. The final prize was a pack of cigarettes. I didn’t even think twice about them.

Smoke curled into the air as I nodded to the dead brahmin. “Much obliged.”

Rising to my hooves, I considered my options. I had only been outside of Tiny’s cave for an hour. The air was dry and with the sun climbing higher in the sky, the little gauge in the corner of my eye was starting to rise. I was still getting used to the Everything Up-Ahead. Along with the temperature gauge it was also floating a compass, a clock, and a number of other meters in my vision. I looked in the direction it said was west. Nothing but a trail made of metal and wood running into the yellow-browns of the open scrubland. A pull on my cigarette, an exhale of smoke; I looked east, almost lazily recalling the word for the trail in front of me. The railroad stretched towards the horizon and I could just make out an immense structure of some kind. I shaded my eyes with a hoof and squinted. No good.

Then I remembered the hat. Maybe I should have felt foalish about forgetting something so simple, but then again, I’d had an elderly buffalo pull a bullet from my head. I was digging through my saddlebag when a little cartoon buffalo appeared in my vision. Wearing thick glasses and a pair of coveralls with a ‘B’ on the side, it asked me if I was looking for something in my inventory. Tiny hadn’t told me much about how I was supposed to use the PipBull.

“Uhm, hat?” I asked aloud.

There was a beeping from my PipBull as a list of items quickly spooled across the screen. It stopped on the one labeled ‘Hat, Foldable’ and the little buffalo proudly told me the item(s) had been found for retrieval. I stood and waited for the hat to appear, feeling more ridiculous with each passing moment.

“So how am I supposed to get the thing?” I grumbled.

The little buffalo’s words scrolled across my vision:

Please retrieve the item from your bag(s)/pack(s)/satchel(s).

I had a feeling this was going to get old very quickly. I cautiously poked my nose into a saddlebag and bit down on the first thing that brushed my lips. Low and behold, it was the hat, neatly folded too. Sparing a wary glance for the magical PipBull, I shook the hat open and flipped it onto my head. A little wriggling to make sure I tucked my ears through the two holes in the brim, and it sat comfortably enough.

I peered eastward again to find the world much clearer with the brim shading my eyes. Now I could easily make out a tower in the distance. Thin and white, it rose into the sky to pierce the clouds. Waves of shimmery heat obscured the base, but I could just make out a strip of green surrounding the foundation.

To the south of me were the high rocky hills that hid Tiny’s cave, the north was nothing but dry rolling plains with withered, overgrown vegetation.

Which way did he go?

I took another pull on my cig and regarded my two friends. The mare was splayed on the ground, her neck twisted towards the northeast. What was left of the brahmin was facing due west. Now that I looked at it, I noticed the large hole in its head, right between the eyes. I nudged the skull and listened to the faint rattling sound from within. I wondered how long she’d lasted with only one head. Probably just long enough to cause trouble. If so, a smart pony would have shot both at the same time, and she’d have died where she stood, facing west. So we would have been coming from the east. I felt my thoughts stir up again as I put together the pictures of that night.

We hadn’t been running from the unicorn, because you took a brahmin for extra supplies, not speed. He and his friends had been here ahead of us to set up an ambush. Must have hidden in the low ditch that ran along the far side of the tracks. If they had been amongst the rocks on the other side, they would have found Tiny’s cave. In the darkness, it wouldn’t have been that hard to stay out of sight until we were almost on top of them.

So south was out, since they hadn’t bothered Tiny. Across the tracks to the north I could just make out a range of mountains in the distance. The E.U.A also showed several wandering red bars in that direction. Now I still hadn’t finagled the specifics of the PipBull, but I got the distinct impression that red did not mean anything friendly.

Not to mention that the rolling plains looked quite devoid of any kind of settlement. A railway, on the other hoof, lead somewhere. Even if it was an abandoned town, it meant more chances of meeting other ponies; and ponies, or even buffalo, meant more chances of finding the grey unicorn. Which left me with either east or west.

East had the curious tower and the possibility that the unicorn had set out from there early in order to wait for us; west just looked empty by comparison, though I felt a certain tugging in my gut the longer I looked that way. A decision needed to be made. I scratched at the bristles of my growing mane while considering my options. My thoughts, so active up till that point, drifted away one by one until I was left with only silence. Then, with the slowness of uncertainty, I pulled out a bottle of water and, holding it in my hooves, I looked to the sky.

‘Luna,’ I implored in the quiet of my mind, ‘Goddess of fortunes, dreams and fate, heed my words in your daylight slumber. Your guidance I seek.’ With that I tossed the plastic bottle as high as I could. It spun leisurely through the air as it reached the top of its ark, and plummeted back to earth. I rose to my hooves, and went to inspect my fate.

“Hmph,” I grunted in a puff of smoke.

That settled it, I was headed west.

I drank the water down, considered the empty bottle, and, seeing as how it weighed next to nothing, stored it away for later use. About to leave, I paused for a moment and thought about the mare and the brahmin. Should I say something? I thought for a moment and realized that there was no need. Dead was dead, and they had been that way for some time. Besides, I had already thanked them for the supplies.

All the same, I tapped the brim of my hat to them before heading down the rails.

***

Most of the day I kept to a simple trot. Somehow I knew that exerting too much energy would only kill me faster, especially when the thermostat rose to sweltering levels. Outside of the heat I found I was actually enjoying myself. The rocky hills had sloped off further to the south, leaving me surrounded by the expansive reddish-browns of the scrubland. The wind blew in occasional gusts; not enough to keep me cool, but the sharp, dry air it provided filled my lungs, tasting of heat and sage.

The PipBull, on the other hoof, was starting to get on my nerves. Tiny may have meant… well I don’t know what he meant in giving it to me. It was bulky, cumbersome, and the copper colored metal practically soaked up the heat. The E.U.A. was quickly becoming more of a nuisance than anything.

The thing would let me “see” if there were creatures up ahead; but never told me what they were or even how far away I was from them. More than once I approached ‘friendly’ yellow bars, only to find a flock of crows and, at one point, a coyote watching me in the distance. The way he was grinning, I could have sworn he was laughing at me. The only red bar I saw was from a large, hairless rodent with a huge set of buck teeth. It was about twenty yards out from the railway. I tensed up as I watched it, but it was more interested in trying to eat a barrel cactus. After a while I realized the thing wasn’t going to bother me, and since I wasn’t going to bother it, I left.

Eventually I clamped my eyes shut and thought about the E.U.A. switching off. I opened my eyes to find my vision clear just like Tiny had said. Relaxing a little, I popped open another bottle of water and downed it. My continued survival in mind, I decided to find some shade to spend the worst of the afternoon in.

***

Shelter came in the form of a small area tucked under a rocky outcropping. I lay with the patterned blanket draped around my haunches. After being in the heat for so long, the coolness of the exposed stone was bracing and uncomfortable on my bare hide. With nothing else to pass the time while I waited out the heat, I decided to get a closer look at my PipBull.

I was surprised that something so weighty wasn’t all edges and angles; its smooth finish began with a thin cuff near my knee and tapered down to a thicker one near my fetlock. The interface was a little awkward since the switches and dials had been designed for folks with cloven rather than solid hooves. The screen gave off a dull sepia tone as I tried to scroll through the different menus.

“Hmm,” I read aloud, “‘repair function provides a full three dimensional blueprint of the selected weapon or ite-’”

The sound of shifting rocks and dirt caught my attention. I was halfway to my hooves before I spotted the coyote settling itself atop a large boulder. My little alcove was several yards from the railway, and my friend had chosen a perch almost half that distance away. I stayed where I was, my eyes locked on his, my muscles tense, I wondered if I should have grabbed the gun case. After a moment or so he yawned, lazily displaying a set of pointed fangs, but made no sign of moving.

“Crazy,” I muttered, smoothing my blanket back into place. “It’s probably well over a hundred degrees out there.”

He spared me a lazy huff and settled himself into a more comfortable sunbathing position. Had he just laughed at me? For some reason it made me think of the coyote I’d spotted earlier and I peered out at him. If it was the one I’d already seen, I couldn’t tell.

Casting a last wary glance in his direction, I settled back to exploring my PipBull. I had to admit that the thing was very interesting and had quite a number of useful features, beyond those Tiny had mentioned.

Tiny… What had he meant when he told me something about me was “off”?

I shook my head to chase the thought from my mind. If I wanted to find the grey unicorn I couldn’t afford to get distracted. Hoofing at the dial I fumbled it over to the final feature which turned out to be a radio receiver. I skimmed the instructions, which were very basic, flipped the switch and listened as static filled the air; only a word or two coming in over the harsh buzz. Clicking the volume up, I strained my ears to hear what was being said.

Aaaaand... ... afraid that’s ... ... .... .. .... ...... faithful listeners. ... -J Pon3’s got .... ....... t’ do, an’ I .... .. ....... . good week .. ..... .. ..... -efore I ... ... final announce-.... earlier. . ... .... t’ spen- .... time .... ...... -ere in my recor-... ....... -nd startin’ ...... -elve- ........ Equestria- ...... .... be part .. ... .-sical rot-.....

The static crawled and I turned the volume up as far as it would go. Nothing. I tried using a dial to ‘tune’ (new word there) my PipBull to the ‘station’s frequency’ (another new one). Static. Static. Sta-

Music blared louder than anything, which was good, as the lonesome wail of a guitar and the twang of violins covered up my yell of surprise.

Wish I may, I wish contrite,

That my love’d died that night!

Sent his soul up to the sky,

On the wings of pegasi!

Instead he lives within her halls,

Deaf and blind unto my calls.

Cooper’s Hawks my deeds do weigh,

Pleased to take my life away.

I glimpsed the coyote’s wide, tongue-lolling grin as I frantically hoofed at the PipBull’s interface.

“Quit laughing!” I snapped. He was laughing at me this time, I was sure of it.

As I die, you shall not see

The ending of my misery.

Yet shall I watch from stars above,

And someday you will join, my love.

We shall embrace eternally,

No one else just you and m-

Sweet, blissful silence swept in; I’d finally flicked the right switch. The ringing in my ears faded, but music kept playing and, now that I noticed it, the tune was different. The first one had been bitter, forlorn, and angry, while this was more heavy on the oompah-pah noises.

The tinny sound echoed slightly off the rocks but was dampened by the vast emptiness of the scrubland. I was about to bring the E.U.A. back up when I spotted something floating along beside the railway. It was a metal ball the size of my head with a grill on the front; it seemed to have been slapped together with scrap metal and flattened tin cans, a pair of buzzing wings kept it aloft.

Like the hairless rat I’d seen earlier, it was ignoring me, so I shrugged and decided to pull out another cigarette. I had just tucked the lighter away when the music cut off with a static *pop*. I glanced up, expecting to see it stuck in a cactus. I almost jumped when I found it hovering right in front of me. We stared at each other, the weird little machine and I.

I smoked. It hovered. Nothing happened.

“Alright,” I drawled around my cig. “Just don’t sneak up on me again.”

“Wow,” it said, its voice buzzing slightly. “You know, most folks say ‘Hello.’”

I looked back at the silver contraption.

“Well,” it mused, “That or ‘What are you?’ But ‘Don’t sneak up on me’ is a new one.”

I regarded it, or should I suppose the voice was a him? It was difficult to judge the gender of a… “Alright then, ‘What are you?’”

“You could call me 'The Watcher,'” the voice buzzed, “The thing you’re talking to is a sprite-bot.”

“Mm,” I grunted, my gaze had wandered towards where the coyote was relaxing. The thing was watching us with an uncomfortable amount of intelligence bordering on fascination.

I heard the Watcher grumble, something that sounded like, “Well isn’t she a friendly one,” before speaking up again.

“Actually I was wondering what you were doing out here, all alone. It’s not something you see everyday in the Waste. Well,” he amended, bobbing in place, “Not for very long.”

I thought about this before I just shrugged; an expression that had worked for Tiny, and I found it worked for me. “I’m looking for somepony. A grey unicorn with a group of friends.”

“Interesting,” the Watcher floated silently in the air, like he was thinking.

My eyes drifted to the coyote again as I waited and I could have sworn it was frowning.

“Actually,” the Watcher buzzed, “I may be able to help you with that.”

“You don’t say.”

That hung in the air before I looked back at the sprite-bot’s grill. “Really?”

“Err, yes.” The tinny voice replied. “There’s an old sky-carriage maintenance garage not too far up ahead. On a road just off the tracks. A group of ponies live there and get a good view of anyone travelling this way. They might’ve seen this unicorn you’re looking for.”

Something whispered darkly in the back of my mind, but I ignored it, I wasn’t going to pass up on a possible lead. Oddly, a part of me noticed that despite this good news, I wasn’t feeling even a hint of excitement or anticipation.

I nodded to the Watcher, still thinking. “Thanks. Good to know, good to know.”

“Well,” he chirped, sounding enthusiastic for me, “Good luck.” There was another *pop* and the sprite-bot floated away, music blaring to the empty desert.

“Mm,” I replied, watching it flit past the now empty boulder.

My other friend, it appeared, had left as well. I shrugged and settled in to wait for the cooler temperatures the evening would bring.

***

“Hmm,” I rasped aloud.

A couple miles down the railway I’d found the garage the Watcher had said to look for. It was off to the side of a road that crossed the tracks, and in the light of the slowly setting sun, it didn’t look like much. Its paint chipped exterior was grimy and faded, and its cartport listed slightly to one side, but structure itself was intact. The sign on the front read: PersiCo. Fuel and Repair.

What had caught my attention though, was the group of cacti a ways out from the place. They covered a wide swath of ground that started where the rails met the crumbling road and stretched towards the rusted remains of a downed sky carriage. The ones closest to me had flat, green stems about two hooves tall and half again as wide. However, it was the purplish fruit that sent the name fluttering into my head:

Prickly pears.

The name also brought with it some knowledge of the plant, such as how the fruit was edible or could be used to expand my supply of water. I was also quite certain that I would need a pair of tongs or forceps in order to harvest the spiky fruit.

Most of the plants were dead, withered things with only a few still showing signs of life. The ones closest to me looked more... natural than the ones nearest the sky carriage. The stems on those were five times as large and a bright, sickly yellow with spines that, on closer inspection, oozed some sort of fluid. The spineless fruit was about the size of a large apple and a pale pink with dark, angry red veins.

A ticking noise started coming from my PipBull as I got closer to the plants by the sky carriage. Holding up my foreleg, I saw that the needle of a dial marked ‘Rad Meter’ was twitching slightly.

“That’s strange,” I heard myself say.

I shrugged. I didn’t care what the ‘rads’ or these prickly pears were, not really. On the other hoof, information about a certain unicorn, that was at the top of my list of things to find.

Setting my back to the sky carriage and its spilled cargo of rusted, yellow drums, I made my way up to the door of what I figured was the garages’ office. While I could have tried either of the large bay doors, they were so coated in rust that neither of them looked as though they might budge. Looping a fetlock through the handle, I went in.

Light filtered in through dingy windows and a small hole in the ceiling. I blinked as my eyes tried to adjust and found myself in a fairly large room; a low, wooden divider with a gate on one end and a counter on the other ran across the width of the room. It separated me from the four or so desks that stood in two neat rows beyond it.

Grey shadows blurred and I realized that I was not the only pony in here. A dark-blue unicorn buck in piecemeal armor was leaning on the other side of the divider, his back to me. Beyond him, an earth pony mare with an olive-green coat was crouched atop a desk, doing something with a teal stallion positioned beneath her. Even from where I stood I could hear her heavy breathing. It was the orange mare on the far side of the room who looked past her friends and spotted me. Her face broke into a wild grin.

I nodded to her, unsure of what to say, “Err, hello. I was told-”

And that’s when I realized that the E.U.A. had come back on. The words Emergency Automated Display flashed briefly in my vision; there were red bars in front of me. The orange mare had pulled out a rifle and was taking aim, the unicorn’s magic levitated a shotgun from somewhere, even the green earth pony was pulling out a knife.

“Oh-” I started, but the important thoughts had already bypassed my brain, gone straight to my legs, and those sent me tumbling to the floor.

“-shit,” I finished as the rifle cracked. The bullet punched a hole in the door behind me.

I looked up into the muzzle of the shotgun and was rolling before I had time to think. The twin barrels roared. The shots shredded the floor behind me and a mix of pellets and linoleum bit into my side.

Rolling until I hit the wall, I quickly scrambled for shelter under the counter.

“She’s over there!” the buck yelled, the spent shells from his gun flying as his magic popped it open with a ‘chack!’

My head was spinning as I frantically dug through my saddle bags for the case with the Celestia-damned gun in it. Suddenly the little buffalo appeared in my vision again, asking me if I was searching for a new item. I cursed, having forgotten about the inventory management system.

“Yes!” I yelled, “Gun!”

There was a beeping as the items blurred across my screen before stopping on ‘Gun Case, Small.’ I buried my muzzle in my bags, teeth gripping metal just as something heavy landed on the counter above me.

My eyes met the bloodshot ones of the green mare as she grinned down from her perch, a rusty kitchen knife clamped between her teeth. Drool dribbled along the handle as she gave a cackling whinny and launched herself at me. Panicking, I froze and in that moment her knife slid into the spot between my neck and shoulder. It was so sudden I couldn’t even tell if it hurt.

The force of the attack slammed me to the floor, just as momentum pitched her into a tangled somersault and the knife was wrenched from my neck. Now it was beginning to hurt. The case in my mouth muffled any cry I might have made, but I was breathing heavily through my nose. I pressed my hooves to the wound to staunch the bleeding.

The mare giggled as she ran her tongue along the handle of her knife. I tried to stand on blood-dampened hooves but the mare swung at me and I stumbled back, a cut across my muzzle. A blast from the shotgun tore a corner from the counter and peppered me with wooden splinters and shot. Another new hole in the wall reminded me of the hunting rifle. I was caught in the crossfire, no weapon, no time, and the mare was coming at me again with her knife. I did the only thing I could do.

I prayed.

‘To the great Goddesses above:

Yea be I mortal to thine eyes,

Hear my truth in your hearts wise.

I have much to give and none to take,

And ask my life you not forsake.

Guide my hoof as danger cries,

Our heavenly sisters in the skies.’

*sclitch*

The knife buried itself in my chest.

‘Well same to you, ladies,’ I thought bitterly as my knees gave and the mare and I sank to the floor.

I was bloody, beaten, and abandoned.

‘So this is how I die,’ I thought, ‘on my knees and helpless, while my killer smiles down at me… again.’

My ears twitched and I could have sworn I heard a dry susurrus of wings.

‘No,’ I suddenly thought, ‘Not. Again.’

I lashed out at the green mare, no form, no finesse, I just tried to hit her. A kick connected with something soft that made her gasp and loose her grip on the knife; she staggered back cursing, a hoof to her nethers. It looked like Tiny’s guessing game had been useful after all. A look of maniacal rage in her eyes, the mare grabbed an old metal chair and raised it over her head.

And nothing happened.

I blinked as the world froze in place and the little buffalo popped back into my vision. This time he was wearing a helmet of some kind and carrying a gun.

Hello! This is the first time you have just activated the Stable-Tec Arcane Targeting Spell (S.A.T.S). Allow me to help you through the process. Please select a target.

The mare in front of me was now outlined in a yellow glow with a number on her chest, one hundred. She towered over me, ready to deliver a blow.

‘What about the others?’ I wondered.

Thinking about her friends made my vision whip around to center on the buck. His glowing form was levitating the shotgun at me, a number zero on his chest. The same thing happened when I looked at the mare with the hunting rifle. I could even see the casing from her last shot hanging in mid-air. Deciding to deal with the chair-wielder snapped my eyes back around to her.

Remember that choosing to attack a target uses up Arcane Power. You are only able to make a certain number of attacks before you need to let the system recharge.

Glancing at the A.P. bar showed that I had enough power for three attacks. Still unsure of how it would worked, I focused her and watched the meter dropped by a third. Time began to move again, slowly at first, as I found myself lunging to my hooves. Gun case clamped tightly in-between my teeth, I whipped my neck around and struck her in the side, hard.

The spell faded as she screeched and something inside her snapped with a loud crack. The impact wrenched the case from my mouth and sent it crashing against the wall where it sprang open, spilling its contents across the floor. Breath burbling inside my chest and my lungs on fire, I flung myself at the green earth pony. Blood loss made me stumble and I threw out a foreleg to steady myself, catching her around the neck. Momentum yanked us around, putting her between me and the buck just as his shotgun roared. The impact knocked us off our hooves and crashing to the linoleum. I may have cried out again as her weight drove the knife in deeper. She slumped across me and, with her face inches from mine, I saw the manic light fade from her eyes.

*chack*

There wasn’t time for pain or sentiment as I struggled to get out from under the dead mare. Moving made the knife wriggle inside me but I didn’t have much of a choice. Breathing hard I grit my teeth, long legs thrashing as I kicked her aside and clambered to my hooves. I spotted my gun laying in the corner of the room and bolted for it as plaster exploded and the orange pony shrieked.

“Run, piggy! RUN!”

My mouth clamped down on the revolver’s bite-grip just as I heard the shotgun slamming shut behind me. Not even bothering to turn around, I twisted my head, shut my eyes, and thought hard. When I opened my eyes again I found myself again in the strange world of S.A.T.S.

‘There’s got to be an easier way to activate this,’ I thought, focusing on the unicorn.

Using a gun allows for more accurate targeting, while using a small gun, such as a pistol or a revolver, uses less A.P.

The little buffalo was right, while I’d had two attacks left with the case, the revolver gave me six. Decisions flittered in swarms across my mind, because to avoid getting shot I had to take him down or break his concentration. My eyes shifted from the unicorn’s gun, 63, to his armored body, 95, to his horn, 13. After a moment’s thought, I aimed for his throat and tongued the trigger twice. The spell faded and the revolver’s chin plate absorbed the recoil as a bullet lanced out, slicing through the side of the unicorn’s neck. The second shot went wide but the shotgun jerked up, going off as the buck fell back with a strangled cry. A shower of dust and chunks of plaster rained down from the ceiling, turning my world a bleak grey and white; which was probably the only reason the bullet from the hunting rifle missed my head.

“Did I get you, piggy? Did I? ”

Dropping to the floor, I wheezed and coughed as something dribbled down my chin. I looked down to find my blood mixing with the dust around my hooves. Deciding that there was nothing else for it, I wrapped a powder-coated fetlock around the knife handle, and pulled.

It turned out to be a very bad idea as the knife clattered to the floor along with too much blood to be safe. In my vision, a buffalo in a lab coat was telling me that I was near death, and suggested I ingest a healing potion from my pack. My head felt fuzzy and when I tried to say the item I wanted, my words came out in a wet, garbled jumble. From my position on the floor, I could hear the orange mare; she was yelling something about whether or not I was dead yet, and hoping that I wasn’t.

My voice wasn’t working, so with a hoof that shook awkwardly I used a dial to scroll through my items. When the healing potions finally came up I spat the gun out and shoved my head into my bag, biting down as soon as I felt something; my teeth cracked the seal and I chugged down the purplish liquid, trying to breath between gulps.

My wounds were still leaking blood and I could feel my skin shiver as muscle began to knit itself back together, but it was going too slowly. A quick look at the PipBull’s items menu told me the potion would take five seconds to work. I didn’t have five seconds. By now the dust cloud had settled enough to give the rifle-wielding mare a clear shot, and I could hear her trotting closer. Something, an idea, was forming in the back of my mind as I spat out the bottle. Ignoring the spit and grime, I fumbled the revolver back into my mouth and reached for the nearby corpse. Rolling to my back I hauled the dust-coated mare on top of me. The gash in her back squished against my hooves as I propped up her head, my hat now wedged over her lifeless eyes.

“Piggy?”

Time was up. The gun cracked and the head I was holding disappeared with a ‘splutch.’ The tattered hat hit the floor beside me as I shoved the severed neck aside to get a clear shot. The mare swore when she saw me and fumbled for a bullet on the belt dangling from her neck. Sighting along the barrel I took a deep breath, and just like that S.A.T.S. settled into place. Three shots zipped towards what little of her I could see above the divider; one missed, one cut through her fetlock, and the last one lodged itself between her left eye and cheekbone.

The S.A.T.S. faded and the orange mare crumpled, her weight dragging her back over the other side. My back slumped against the floor and I had the far off notion that I was breathing heavily through my nose, my teeth clenched so tightly on the bite-grip. Had I been breathing like this the whole time? I must have, given how much my chest hurt. Checking the meter in the corner of my eye showed that I wasn’t… what was the phrase Tiny had used?... that I wasn’t “half dead” yet.

A gurgling moan wavered up from behind the divider.

The E.U.A. told me there was still one pony left to deal with. Sighing, I heaved the corpse aside and wearily pushed myself to my hooves. Tongue still on the trigger, I limped over, my legs trembling with each step. Which was ridiculous, I wasn’t in danger of getting shot at any time soon. It was probably the loss of blood that was making me sway and I resolved to drink another bottle of water when I got the chance.

I reached the divider to find the buck sprawled on the floor, pinned there by the body of his friend. He had both hooves pressed against the side of his throat but it did little to help. Even from where I stood I could see the bubbles that gurgled out every time he tried to breathe.

“Heghlp mgheee,” he burbled.

I blinked, puzzled.

“Pleghase.” His horn flared weakly, the magic tugging at my gun.

He wanted me to kill him?

I had to resist the urge that had my tongue tightening on the trigger, my thoughts jockeying for supremacy. Why couldn’t I try to save him? I did have another health potion. Then again, if I healed him, what guarantee did I have that he wouldn’t try to kill me anyways? There was only one bullet in the cylinder, and with six in my speedloader I would be in trouble if I couldn’t find more anytime soon. And yet...

I watched as the thin pool spread out beneath him. His dirty, dark-blue coat had gone several shades lighter while I stood there. How much blood could a pony lose before there was no going back?

His mouth moved like a creature that lived in the water, the air escaping from the side of his throat in a hiss.

“Pleeeghasss-”

I sighed inwardly and brought the S.A.T.S. up to help me help him. Even without a targeting spell, one bullet was enough.

***

I spat the revolver on the counter and stretched my mouth, working the stiff kinks from my jaw as I pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it.

What a mess this had turned out to be. They had tried to kill me the moment they’d spotted me, and with them dead I couldn’t find out anything about the grey unicorn. A curl of smoke left my nostrils as I stared at the far wall. Had the Watcher sent me here knowing this was going to happen? Why in Celestia’s name would somepony do that?

Whether he’d done it on purpose or not, I didn’t get much of a chance to think on it as a large, mustard colored earth pony trotted through the door. He had on the same piecemeal armor that the buck had been wearing, cobbled together from bits of leather, tires and flattened cans. His bloodshot eyes went wide when he saw the headless mare on the floor and then his mouth tightened as he spotted me.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

We went for our guns.

The cig stung my cheek as I jammed my mouth onto the bite-grip. Ignoring the burn, I triggered S.A.T.S. and tongued the trigger.

*click*

'Shit.'

Footnote: Level Up! (2)

New Perk: Luck of the Draw (1)– When you and an opponent act at the same time, you have a 10% chance to react first.

New Mission: Who Watches the Watcher?

Author's Note

You've just read a fanfiction is based on a fanfiction called Fallout Equestria by the fascinating Kkat; a familiarity with the source material may aid your understanding references, jokes, and plotlines.

Props to Bobdat, ButtonstheMuse, TheLiterateDead, and my wife AnaxibiaClark for edits, suggestions, and help in crafting this story.

If you enjoyed this (or especially if you didn't) you may want to check the Fallout Equestria Side Stories post on Equestria Daily where there are MANY other tales to tell.

Want to jumpstart your own fic-of-a-fic? Head on over to the nice people at the Ponychan hatching grounds. They even provide a list of potential editors.

There's also the Fallout Equestria Side Stories thread on Ponychan

Cover-art credit where it belongs:

Credit for the desert foreground and background goes to [url= http://jrrhack.deviantart.com/art/Desert-background-281498640] Mr. Jrrhack

Mesas, cacti, shrubs, clouds, and various other bits and bobs are thanks to Mr. Boneswolbach

And of course Mr. DotRook who first came up with that nifty logo and has allowed so many of us to use it.

Couldn't have done it without you gentlemen

Update: As of 12/18/14 I have been restructuring the story, trimming the fat, and loosening the springs. She's still the same story, just better looking and easier to read...I hope.

Chapter 3: Strange Company

Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste
Written and Illustrated by SparkusClark

Chapter Three: Strange Company
“Now listen here. What ah’m sayin’ to you is the honest truth:
Let go… and you’ll be safe.”

It had been so easy to die the first time. One bullet, a few grains of gunpowder, and I was gone. So easy. So simple.

One bullet had made all the difference.

***

The stallion’s mustard colored body spasmed, jerking and twitching like a spider with a pin stuck through it. With a groan, I reached over and wedged the rifle under the overturned desk. As soon as the weight was off his neck the twitching turned to thrashing and he caught me one in the face. The gun slipped from my mouth as the desk came down with a crunch that had a finality to it. Clamping a hoof over my bloody nose, I couldn’t help noticing the dead stallion's cutie mark was a chain in the shape of a noose. His body gave one last twitch and was still. At least it was quiet now. Just me and the dead again.

At that, I let myself flop down onto the floor; my body felt like a map of pain. Laying there was nice though, the dirty linoleum was cool enough that it drew some of the ache from my body. Most of my bruising was due to the part where I’d thrown myself behind the counter. It was either that or stand still when the stallion opened up with his semi-automatic. Then, instead of reloading, he’d lobbed one of the weird looking prickly pears after me. It had hit floor and exploded in a spray of barbs, each of them half the length of my hoof and jet black. They had peppered my side and most of the wall behind me. If I hadn't already had a leg over my face I might have lost an eye. I was trying to stand when he’d crashed through the divider, a medical syringe jammed in his neck. He'd slammed into me and we'd gone head over hoof into the desk. Luna's guidance was the only reason I hadn't been the one caught underneath when the thing had flipped over.

The teal unicorn was looking down at me, his head lolling to the side. He was still strapped to the overturned desk. Flies meandered across his sunken face. One stopped to nibble at the spittle crusted rags jammed in his mouth. Another buzzed its way towards his withers and the twin wagon wheels of his cutie mark. I couldn't help but notice that somepony had used a rubber band to keep him… ready. Somehow I felt this detail should not be entirely unexpected. The whole room, its chipped plaster walls decorated by bullet holes, ratty posters, and several words I didn't recognize, did not give off feelings of friendship or tolerance.

I needed to move. My body longed to stay on the nice cool floor but I was getting tired of watching the flies. Besides, the needles had started to burn a little. Closing my eyes I braced myself before rising painfully to my hooves. Steadying myself I brought the E.U.A. back online. After scanning around the room I hobbled over to the door and stuck my head outside. No red dots appeared and I almost relaxed as I retrieved my gun; almost. Tiny had said that a white buffalo was called a Teacher, and that they passed their knowledge on in the form of lessons. Maybe the Waste was one giant Teacher. If that was so, then the click as my speedloader chambered my last six bullets was proof I'd learned my lessons that day: one, never waste a bullet, and two, always keep your gun loaded.

If learning helped a pony survive then so too would being in one piece. Cracking the seal on the lid I downed my last potion and counted under my breath.

one… two… three… four…

At ‘five’ muscles wriggled and shivered beneath my skin. The sensation was both eerie and repulsive. As I waited for it to stop I found myself humming a tune I wasn't quite sure I knew. All the while bruises grew smaller, fractured bones knit together, and the knife wounds closed up at last. The fading magic left a strange tingle across my skin along with something more unpleasant. While the potion had closed my wounds it had not, much to my surprise, removed the needles but had instead healed around them, sealing them to my flesh. There were almost twenty by my count. Plucking them out with my teeth left me coated in sweat and fresh blood, and it also made me more than a little on edge. The dry decay that clung to the air didn't help either, forcing me to breathe through my mouth least I be assaulted by the stench of sour sweat, and a sharp tang that might be blood. Or maybe it was fear.

That was stupid. I was being stupid. Fear didn’t have a smell. Besides, there was enough new blood here to overpower anypony’s nose. The thought made me realize just how much of my own blood now covered the room, and that’s when a tightness gripped my chest. Why was I having trouble breathing? I felt ridiculous, laying there shivering and trembling like I had a desk crushing my neck. It was stupid and- and... weak.

I stood abruptly. Not because that word had oozed its way into my thoughts. No. The floor was too cold, that's why I was shivering and had to get up, nothing else. Spotting the mashed remains of my cigarette I plucked it off the floor and carefully relit it. Wispy plumes soon curled their way towards the ceiling, taking any strange imaginings with them. Closing my eyes I let the smell of burning tobacco fill the room.

It worked, and with each pull I felt steadier, more in control of myself. When I opened my eyes I took in the aftermath of the last five minutes: the shattered divider and upended furniture; each of the dead bodies under coating of powdered drywall; and, last but not least, the squishy, ruined remains of my hat. Thoughts zipped around my mind in a cacophony of feelings and reactions. Except the one I chose. The little voice that simply shrugged and said, ‘Oh well.’

Shrugging, I spat the glowing dregs of my cigarette at the headless green mare. By luck it landed on her flank, sputtered, then caught; burning a hole through the middle of the pony skull and wing-flanked heart that was her cutie mark. The acrid reek of burning hair soon permeated the room, threatening to eclipse the overall stench that lurked beneath my tobacco smoke.

Business concluded, it was time to see if I could stock up on supplies. The place wasn’t much to look at and I found it offered even less. A battered cabinet stood empty in the corner, its doors rusted open. Another desk, a trash can, a metal box with one side made entirely of black glass, and a decrepit sledgehammer completed the setting. I had an old-mare’s suspicion that I should know what the box was called. It sat on the floor beside a burnt section of the counter, the glass was shattered enough for me to see the burnt wires and other pieces melted to the inside. There was some lettering on the back, blackened and worn: ‘Stable-Tec Terminal: Model No. 2Q4B’.

“Terminal.” I sounded like a bored foal trying to sound out a new word.

Searching random boxes and pieces of equipment was a waste of time. My ‘friends’ turned out to be just as bad; their weapons were in poor condition and they carried little in the vein of food or water. A few things caught my interest: something called ‘wonderglue’ and a spool of twine with some industrial sewing needles. At least that was what the PipBull called them when I stored them in my bags. The armor the bucks had been wearing gave me pause. A closer inspection revealed that they had been cobbled together from pieces of leather with bits of metal and rubber sewn on. They’d even taken the time to tattoo extra cutie marks on different parts of the leather. However, these were far less sinister. One was even a can of beans. In the end it was their bulky weight that made me decide against taking them. More promising items were in the saddlebags I found stuffed under the second desk. They had a pair of wagon wheel buckles and I had the feeling they belonged to the teal pony still strapped to the desk.

“You were a smarter traveler than they were.” I spoke with a strange feeling of formality, like I was asking permission to add his meager rations to my own.

Maybe it had been the gloom of being indoors, or the fading light of the sun, but it wasn’t until I had lit up that mashed cig that I’d spotted the two doors. They were so defaced that they almost blended in with the walls. One to the north and one to the south, they both stood facing each other on either side of the... foyer. I frowned and wondered how long it would be before my everyday vocabulary was back to normal.

Gun in mouth, I eased open the southernmost door. The room beyond was dark and what little light that filtered through a small window was poor. Despite an empty E.U.A. I kept my gun trained on the darkness as I carefully switched on the PipBull’s yellow lamp. The beam swept around the room and it soon became clear that this had the living quarters. Sort of. Judging by the mattresses strewn about, sleeping next to flooded toilets hadn’t been a concern. A number of syringes and bottles littered the spaces between and across the stained bedding. Light reflecting off a mirror over the sink illuminated a loose ceiling tile that dangled overhead. It chose that moment to come crashing down in a cloud of dust and a distinct odor that washed over me. Whatever it was, the stains on their sheets stank of it and that smell I’d scented earlier. The latter was blood, I was sure of that now, blood and- and…

In quick almost fluid succession I turned off the lamp, shut the door, bagged my gun, and was trotting towards the northern door with a freshly lit cigarette in my mouth. The reigning silence made my hooves nearly echo as I crossed the tiles, the empty pit in my stomach slowly fading. There was a sign on the door that warned all non-certified PerciCo. ponies to not enter the garage bay. I barely glanced at it as I shoved my way through, my mind elsewhere. The garage had been a pit-stop at one point, a place for pegasi passenger and delivery vehicles to be repaired. It was now the final resting place for a battered passenger skywagon and stacked around it like cordwood, illuminated by the setting sun, were at least a dozen bodies.

I don’t know why, but I just stood there for the longest time. The stench was stronger in here than the brief whiff I had caught earlier. If fear did have a smell it rolled over me now in a noxious, cloying wave. My stomach churned and my head spun, but I managed to keep everything from coming up. At least, until I saw the little pony pinned just above a carriage window. I wouldn’t have even spotted the body if there hadn’t been a gap in the laundry line of drying ‘leather’ that hung from the ceiling. The brahmin this morning had been dead and dried for a couple of weeks. The dead ponies behind me had been a personal matter. The colt was different. At least, I thought it was a colt. Somepony had been very imaginative with a knife.

***

Healing potions, I discovered, are a cloudy color once the magic has been used up, and they taste vile. Shuddering, I spat another slimy gob into the sink. Catching sight of myself in the bathroom’s mirror, I grimaced. Unlike the hoof mirror, it gave me a better look at the scar that traced itself along my forelock. Tiny had said he’d needed to make the extra cuts in order to remove the bullet fragments lodged in my ‘noggin’. The line of pink tissue spread out from a knot of flesh the size of a bottle cap. My mane was making its reappearance in the form of a long, bristly strip of hair. Brushing a hoof over the stubble rewarded me with a smear of blood and vomit across my face. I needed to clean up and get out of this place, maybe find a place to camp before nightfall brought its cold.

The tap whistled emptily but gave a surprising gurgle before splashing a torrent of lukewarm water into the basin. The water was a reddish-brown but it was still the only water I’d come across so far that wasn’t already in a bottle. The PipBull’s Radmeter started clicking again, same as it had when I’d been near the strange looking cacti outside. Frowning, I the PipBull away from the water, paused, and then moved it back. Each time I did this the Radmeter would start clicking faster the closer it got to the water.

“Hmph,” I grunted. Whatever Rads were it wasn’t good. A memory tickled my mind and the word ‘radiation’ fluttered up to the light. “Ah, right.”

The needle was bobbing in the lower part of the dial and I noticed that it didn’t go back down. I felt fine. Shrugging, I got to work scouring myself with the brackish water. I took my time but it wasn’t enough. No matter how much water I used the sights and smells of the place still loomed beyond my lamplight. Washing my face for the tenth time, something in the mirror caught my attention. A metal box, bolted to the far wall. The faded yellow paint almost glowed in the lamplight. The pink and blue butterfly on the lid was barely recognizable, somepony had added red and black flames around them. Stick-like words were scrawled across the top.

“‘They come… from… the ceiling’?”

Immediately my Pipbull swung upwards, illuminating everything above. A dust-choked air vent and bare cement greeted me. Most of the other ceiling tiles had already fallen off. I decided that from then it would be best to ignore messages left by insane, murderous ponies. The box was locked, the number of dents and scratches told me I wasn’t the first pony to try and open it, only the most recent. Maybe if I used a little force.

The sledgehammer connected with the lid on my second try. It struck with a jarring clang that reverberated along the handle and into my skull. The hammer slipped from my mouth and I had to do a mad, scrambling dance to keep it from crushing my hooves. Turning, I saw purple liquid trickling down the wall. The lid fell open to reward me with a mess of ruined medical supplies. Three potions sat broken and empty, the bandages were filled with slivers of glass and a plastic bottle had popped open, the pills mixing with the liquid inside it to create a soup of swirling purples and reds.

“Great,” I grumbled, as my oozing wounds started to itch.

I trotted out to the foyer again, abandoning the sledgehammer and the torpid mess in the medical box. Once again my mind buzzed, forcing me to stop and try to organize my thoughts. What to do next? Wounds could get infected. I wouldn’t be searching the garage. The sun was only a slip on the horizon. Cold would be setting in soon. Wouldn’t be staying here. The colt was still in there. Should do something. Not my problem. Night falls, the bad predators come out. Can’t be out after dark. How had I known that? Need a defendable camp. Need a distraction. Need to find my grey unicorn friend. Need to repay him. Need ammo. Need supplies. Need- need to… What I wanted was another cigarette.

Lighting up again I could almost feel my body relaxing. The rich scent of fire and tobacco eased my mind and I felt better for it. It was then that my eyes fell on the tarp just beside the entryway door. A tarp that had, until then, escaped my attention. Lifting the corner, I shone my PipBull underneath, and felt a thin smile on my face.

“Luna be praised,” I breathed, “it’s my own Hearth’s Warming Eve.”

Under the tarp were two long rows of turpentine cans.

***

Night had come to the desert.

poc

poc

poc-poc

I should have been asleep.

poc-poc

poc

Dropping the rock I pulled the rad-pear needle from the leather and inspected my work. The hole didn’t line up well with the rest, but then again, it was my first time trying to repair a leg holster. My eyes were starting to cross and a I didn’t need to read the status screen to know the day had left me fatigued. With a sigh I packed away my equipment, thinking I might be able to stitch it together in the morning.

Hitching my blanket up over my shoulders, I idly tossed a piece of wood into the wastebasket I had scavenged. The flames burned brightly and underneath the crackling I heard the unmistakable sound of horn music getting closer. Now, maybe I would have seen the spritebot coming if I hadn’t turned off my E.U.A.; it had been difficult to see what I was doing around the compass and other meters. Several misses with the rock had added a throbbing fetlock to the number of aches I had earned today. Luna knew I could hear him coming. The music cut out with a *pop* just as the spritebot floated into my campsite.

“Hello, I’m… surprised to find you all the way out here.”

I sat with my back to a wall, glowering at him. In truth what was supposed to be a pace-setting canter had ended in an all out gallop. The exertion sent wisps of steam trailing from my body into the cool night air. It had kept my mind away from the image of the foal. I had become so lost in the steady rhythm that I hadn’t even looked at where I was going. When I’d finally looked up I found myself beside an old train station and a box-shaped water tower.

“I didn’t need to be near that place.”

“Errr, I noticed,” his voice crackled.

From the east there came a muffled whoompf. We had a decent view from inside the ruined water tower, watching as the distant flames from the garage turned a bright, roiling green and billowed high into the air.

“Ah,” he said, “and there goes the skywagon.”

I watched the fire settle back to a steady orange glow. “Was it supposed to do that?”

“No, not really. But if the spark battery is damaged enough it will release the magic stored in its cells.”

If I had known that, I might have thrown a few more cans into the garage bay.

There was a buzz from the spritebot. “I must say you made a decent job of it.”

“Of what?” my voice rasped darkly.

“Hmm? Oh, just surviving is all.”

A sudden gust blew through the rotted hole in the side of my camp. The shadows danced in the flickering light of the guttering campfire, casting wild figures across the inside of the water tower.

“Did you know?” I asked.

“About the raiders?” He hovered there as though considering how best to respond to this. “I suppose you could say I had an idea they might not be the most hospitable.” The spritebot bobbed in a way that might have been a shrug. “It is one of the problems that most frequently arises out here.”

I grunted, “Really.”

“Ok,” he sighed heavily through the speaker, “that, ah, group needed to be cleared out in order to make travel… safer. Relatively so. Either way, congratulations, you’re now a hero.”

Firewood shifted in the wastebasket and the crackling sound filled the silence.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, uhm,” the Watcher seemed at a loss for words, “generally a hero is a pony who helps others when nopony else will.”

I mulled this concept over and found it hard to believe, especially in regard to my own actions. The place had been a- a- a hunting ground, but an unnatural one. There was a part of me that had known what it was doing, that the fire I had created hadn’t been so much ‘right’ as it had been necessary. Even as that thought occurred to me I found myself forcing back a yawn. Between the long trek, the fight for survival, and the rapid healing from so many potions, my body had been through a lot. I was exhausted, but there was one thing I needed to know.

“I’m still looking for my unicorn friend. Grey coat. Yellow mane. Seen him?”

The Watcher hung there for a long while before answering.

“There’s a town southwest of here. They might give you the answers you’re looking for.”

I eyed him warily.

The bot gave a tinny chuckle, “Oh, I’m sure you’ll do alright.”

With a burp of static the music cut in as the spritebot hovered lazily away from my high perch. Straight past the coyote sitting idly on the peak of the station’s roof. It watched the bot float by before turning its attention back over to me. I raised an eyebrow but it seemed content to watch me with its luminous yellow eyes.

I called out across the divide, “You got anything to add?”

The coyote put a dramatic forepaw to its chest and, in an affronted manner, called back, “Me? Why ever would you ask?”

It took a moment for any thought to come fluttering back into my head.

“Because you’ve been following me since this morning?”

The coyote threw his head back in cackling laughter that echoed in the stillness of the night. “Yes, well,” he chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “I must admit that curiosity is one of my more fascinating vices.”

“Right,” I drawled and brought up the E.U.A., only to find him in the yellow ‘friendly’ color. I gave a snort. “Really could have used some help back at the garage.”

“Oh it was nothing, really. Don’t even have to thank me for it.” He scratched at an ear with a hindpaw.

I glared at him. “When did you-”

He cut me off. “But since you did ask so nicely, I will add a thing or two to your earlier tête-à-tête. Ahem.” He drew himself up and spoke in a very advising voice.

“Be careful who you trust.”

The silence stretched between us.

“That’s it?”

“Well, only and especially if they’re acting like a friend on your first meeting.” He eyed his paw as though inspecting it for dirt. “And you might want to keep that blank flank of yours covered. You stick out like a cave troll in a juniper forest.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “And who are you to be giving me such advice?”

He grinned wide, his teeth bright in the moonlight. “Oh, just a friend.”

With that, he leapt off the edge of the roof, doing two lazy somersaults through the air before vanishing on the far side of the building. Kicking away the blanket, I grabbed my gun and dashed to the towers’ edge; he hadn’t just left my line of sight, he’d vanished from the E.U.A. altogether. Scrambling down the ladder, my tongue on the trigger, I flipped on the PipBull’s light to find… nothing. No tracks, no fur, no anything. The ground between the station and my camp was completely empty.

Climbing warily back to my camp, I covered myself with my blanket before laying the gun down next to my head. I stared out into the darkness for Luna knew how long, my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. A meter in my E.U.A. told me I was too tired to try staying awake any longer.

“Nice trick, friend,” I muttered before rolling over and drifting off to sleep.

Footnote: Achievement Progress Unlocked

Lessons Learned- 2 of 200:

#23. Never waste a bullet.

#4. Always keep your gun loaded.

New Mission: With Friends Like These...

Author's Note

Yeah... this was way late. I know there's no real deadline for posting fanfic chapters, but this chapter was just a giant struggle to work on let alone finish due more to outside forces: August was depression. September was a new school year. October was a placement change at work. Etc. etc. etc....

But the important thing is that I actually got it done and posted! Pictures will come later, for now I'm just happy to have some finished work up and running.

Big thanks again going out to ButtonsTheMuse, Bobdat, and my darling AnaxibiaClark.

P.S! Bonus points to folks who can spot both easter eggs.

Chapter 4: Bullets Never Bluff

Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste
Written and Illustrated by SparkusClark

Chapter Four: Bullets Never Bluff
“The coward will always run away from a battle they think they cannot handle, regardless of the opponents.”

Sunlight woke me as it filtered through the gaps in the water tower’s aged planks. Each beam of light made my body ache even more than it had the night before. Resigned to being awake, I arose to face the day and whatever the Waste might throw at me. As it was, breakfast came and went without much fanfare; the beans being almost as tasteless as the apple I’d found in Wagon Wheels’ bag. The only thing of interest was the front page of one of the newspapers I hadn’t used for kindling. ‘Colts and Fillies Club Founder Arraigned on Charges of Zebra Sympathizing!’ it read in big, bold letters. The black and white photo showed a grim-looking mare standing before a judge, her dark, cheek length hair hiding one side of her face. For two-hundred year old news it certainly sounded important. The reporter hinted that the charges would soon be dropped, due to her family connections among several big name companies. I couldn’t care less about it, but it was something to do while I ate.

Once packed, I carefully descended the water tower’s wooden ladder, pausing briefly as the structure gave a sudden groan, showering me with dust and splinters of wood. Back on the ground I took a moment to get my bearings, thinking about the directions the Watcher had told me the night before. Turning until I was aligned with the compass on the E.U.A., I pointed my hooves due southwest and headed out into the brush, cigarette smoke trailing behind me. If I wanted to catch up to the grey unicorn, I would have to cover as much ground as I could. Tuning the PipBull’s radio to a station I had found the day before, I trotted along as the warbling tune seemed to follow the rise and fall of the dusty land:

Call her drunken Little Strongheart;

She won't answer anymore.

Not the cider drinking Buffalo

Nor the Brave who went to war.

Gather round me ponies there's a story I would tell

About a brave young Buffalo you should remember well.

From the land of the Equestrian Buffalo; A proud and noble herd

Who lived in peace with ponies, of this they were assured.

Down in the ditches for a dozen years,

The water grew Little's peoples’ crops

'Till the ponies stole the water rights

And the sparkling waters stopped.

Now Little's folks were hungry,

Forced to only eat apple pies.

When war came, Little volunteered

And forgot the pony’s lies.

Call her drunken Little Strongheart;

She won't answer anymore.

Not the cider drinking Buffalo

Nor the Brave who went to war.

The vegetation around me was in declining bloom; most were outright dead, but others had large, multicolored flowers. It gave the landscape an odd variety, almost as though the Goddesses had spattered drops of paint across the land. Yet it soon became apparent that the more colorful the flowers were, the more my Radmeter ticked when I got too close. It seemed wiser to let them be, but a few rad-pears did find their way into my saddlebags.

There they battled up Shattered Hoof Ridge,

Two hundred and fifty strong.

But only twenty-seven lived,

When the day was long gone.

And when the fight was over,

When their flag stood apart,

Among the ponies who held it high

Was the Buffalo, Little Strongheart.

Call her drunken Little Strongheart;

She won't answer anymore.

Not the cider drinking Buffalo

Nor the Brave who went to war.

Little returned a hero,

Celebrated through the land.

She was wined and dined and honored,

Everypony thought her grand.

Some of the plants I recognized from Tiny’s cave, living or dead versions of the herbs he had dried to make medicines. I found myself unconsciously listing off their names as I passed; Agave, Barrel Cactus, Yucca, Broc Flower. The names came to me easily, which was odd after so many other words had escaped me. Had I been a gardener before all this?

But she was just another Buffalo,

No water, no crops, no chance.

At home no one cared what Little'd done,

Nor spared her a second glance.

Call her drunken Little Strongheart;

She won't answer anymore.

Not the cider drinking Buffalo

Nor the Brave who went to war.

So she ate fermented pies

And quickly turned to cider.

They'd let her fight before their sun

Then dump Little out behind her!

She died drunk one morning,

Alone in the land she fought to save.

Two inches of water in a lonely ditch,

A casket for our poor Brave.

Call her drunken Little Strongheart;

She won't answer anymore.

Not the cider drinking Buffalo

Nor the Brave who went to war.

The music unexpectedly cut out as a rough and distinctively female voice came over the airwaves.

“Sorry to interrupt the music folks, but I’ve got some news coming out of that burnt shell of a land out east. Seems that somepony called, get this, ‘The Light Bringer’ has found a way to-”

I switched the radio off. Music was nice, but talking felt out of place among the quiet, rolling hills of red rock and dry sand.

***

I soon found that a new day in the Waste came with a new corpse. This one was quite old, just a half buried collection of sun bleached bones in a small clearing. Scraps of cloth, too decayed and threadbare to even use for rags, clung to the exposed ribs, buffeted by a light breeze. A faded patch on the lapel showed the outline of a rearing pegasus with a scorpion tail, and it still read, ‘Ninth Enclave Strike Force.’ This was a strange decoration for what had clearly been a griffon.

crick

In the silence around me the sound was noticeable. My eyes looked to the horizon behind me. Nothing. Which was unnerving because I’d been feeling odd all morning for no apparent reason. Maybe it had something to do with how my coyote friend had disappeared last night.

crick

I glanced down at the skeleton. The griffon had been spread out, paws, claws and wings still held in place by thick, weather worn stakes. Bringing the E.U.A. online, I saw a red dot moving slowly towards me from the north.

crick-crick

Carefully ducking my head, I bit the grip of my gun and pulled it from the newly mended holster. It was annoying that the E.U.A. could only show me the direction of a ‘hostile’ but not the distance. I aimed down the iron sights as the brush rustled.

crick

A bug- a- a cricket? It was the size of a foal with long antennae and a mottled tan carapace. The S.A.T.S. was giving me an 85% chance to take its head clean off with just one shot; but that would mean that I’d be down to five bullets. Switching out of S.A.T.S. I scooped up a rock and was back in the frozen world of the spell just as the cricket leapt. It’s amazing how easy it is to forget that something small could still be a predator.

The buffalo was back in my vision with a huge smile on his face as he held a rifle in one hoof and a bazooka in the other. Dual wielding detected! Please select the weapon you wish to use. The menu gave me the option of either my gun, the rock, or both, something I wasn’t sure would work. I made my choice and watched as the spell faded and the cricket came careening towards me, just as my hoof slammed the rock into the side of its head. The green, mucus-like gunk that gushed out smelled like rotten vegetables, and a great glob of it arced through the air and splattered across my muzzle. It might not have been so bad if some of the fluid hadn’t oozed into my mouth. The carcass hit the ground with a squishy sound and was followed by my gun a moment later. If the smell in the gas station had been awful, then having a mouthful of cricket innards was somehow worse. I spat and rubbed at my tongue to get rid of the taste, wondering if dirt would be a preferable flavor to the vile stuff. Scooping up a hoof-full of sand and red soil, I noticed my gun hadn’t fared any better.

‘Great,’ I grimaced. ‘Nothing more useless than a gun that can’t be fired, Luna be damned.’

Meanwhile a stray thought was frantically beating its wings against the back of my mind, trying to get my attention. My eyes flicked to the E.U.A.

‘Wait, is that another red do-’ There was a great rush of air as something slammed into me and I was driven into the dirt.

‘Luna-please-forgive-me-for-taking-your-name-in-vain!’

My yells mixed with the piercing yowls of the creature as, kicking and striking, we both struggled for purchase on the dusty soil. Operating on desperate instinct latched onto its foreleg, getting a mouthful of blood and fur as I did. My head rocked as the creature cuffed me thrice in rapid succession. The sharp, deft jabs of its paw loosened my grip and left me dazed, the ground seeming to pitch and roll beneath me. My eyes weren’t working right and I tried to focus as the creature used its superior weight to keep me from escaping. Feeling dry, sun-bleached bone against my cheek, I quickly reached out to latch on to the only chance I had at a weapon. With a jerk the bone wrenched free as the sudden crack of a rifle echoed across the landscape. In an instant the weight was gone from my chest, the creature- a cougar, I suddenly realized -darted away with a yowl of pain. I sat up, panting, a rib-bone clamped tightly between my teeth as the black-tipped tail disappear into the brush.

“You alright, miss?”

Turning in the dirt I saw a bulky, dark purple earth pony in a wide brimmed hat; smoke drifting from his battle saddle. He was standing next to a covered wagon in the middle of a dirt road I hadn’t noticed before. I squinted at the pony’s cutie mark; a pair of rocks didn’t seem like something a raider would have.

Trying to slow my ragged breaths, I spat the rib into the dirt. “I would have had him you know.”

“Oh I’m sure you would’ve, miss.”

“You wouldn’t happen,” I huffed, “to be heading to a town southwest of here?”

***

“You’re lucky that wasn’t a puma!” the filly grinned.

Two Stones, as the stallion was called, had offered me a spot in the cart while I bandaged myself up. So long as I kept an eye out for anything dangerous and then shot at it, he seemed more than willing to give me a lift.

“What’s the difference?” I asked the filly, wincing as I tried to make myself comfortable. This was difficult given the entire wagon was filled reddish brown rocks, stones, and a boulder or two.

“Oh!” The filly’s eyes lit up. “Pumas’re bigger and nastier and they got all kinds of weird sh-”

“Daisy! Language!” Two Stones hollered from up front.

The filly didn’t even miss a beat, “-stuff coming out of their backs and they have three eyes and they can read your mind and shoot laser beams out of their butts and what were you doing out here on your own?”

My ears were still trying to process the slurry of words. “Uhm. I-“

“Didn’t have anyone else, didja? Might bit dangerous thing to do, but I guess you know that now. What with the raiders and the cougars and the mutaurs and the thunderhawks and, oh my, the bears, you’ll be right hurtin’ if you don’t have back up. That’s why daddy always brings me and the hootenanny.”

The strange word took me by surprise. “The what?”

Daisy jabbed a hoof over our heads. A pair of mechanical owls hung from the wagon bows, their sharp little claws embedded firmly into the wood.

“Meet the Tizzy sisters! There’s Hoot,” she pointed towards the other one, “And that there’s Anny. They’re off right now, but if he says the call word they’ll be up and about in no time and blastin’ away.”

Somepony, I was guessing Daisy, had decorated the ‘sisters’ with black paint, adding such things as hearts, flowers and fangs to their mechanical appearance. The one with a pair of angry eyebrows, Hoot, hung with its beak open, and I caught the gleam of a gem array inside. An obvious thought floated past.

“Is it because they’re mechanical?”

“Is what because they’re mechanical?”

“Owls don’t usually sleep upside down.”

“Oh, that.” The filly waved a hoof and rolled her eyes, “Daddy says their gyro talismans are cracked, which is why he got such a good deal when he bought them. Plus nothin’ spooks a raider more than a pair of sporadically flying owls shooting lasers at them!”

“Uh-huh,” I grunted.

“What’s your name anyway?”

I glanced at her and caught Two Stone’s ears twitching back to hear more. How he could hear us while riding behind the brahmin was a wonder; but Celestia knew Daisy had asked a question that I had been wondering about too. I opened my mouth to reply but Daisy, it seemed, had other ideas.

“No. Wait. Lemme guess!”

Filly-sitting, I decided, was not a special skill cleverly hidden from me by a bullet to the brain-pan. My eyes darted around the landscape for inspiration, but Daisy was on a roll and rattling off names like Sage, Fernbush, Sunny Days, Gamble Oak, Gum Chewer, Gumweed, Scotch Thistle, Whiskey Bottle, and even Stone Face. The only constant around us was the dry dirt road and the dusty sand that shared the same color palette as my coat.

“My name,” I ventured. “It’s, uhm, Sand?”

The filly pursed her lips in a skeptical expression. “Sand? Just Sand? Sandy maybe, but just Sand?”

“Now Daisy,” her father spoke above the jostling of rock and creaking of wood, “everypony’s name is gonna be different. You remember Three Eyes?”

The little filly clattered to the front of the wagon. “Yes daddy. But,” she mulled it over, “he had three eyes, even if one was in his neck. Sand, well, that’s like if we just called Mickie plain ol’ Rock.”

“Uhm…” Curiosity got the better of me as I opened a bottle of water, “who’s Mickie?”

Two Stones rolled his eyes as Daisy looked back and waved a hoof, “You’re sittin’ on him.”

I nearly wasted a mouthful of water. Giving the filly what must have been an odd look, I swallowed and glanced down at the boulder I was on. Unlike the other rocks that filled the wagon, this one was particularly large and had been decorated with the filly’s eye for aesthetics.

“Don’t worry,” the filly came bouncing back, “he won’t mind since it’s daylight out an’ he’s asleep.”

“Right,” I said carefully, unsure of what it might say that her closest companions seemed to be a rock and a pair of flying death machines. “So how does…?”

I trailed off. Daisy was wide-eyed. “How come you don’t have a cutie mark?

Despite, or maybe because of the coyote’s suggestion last night, my blank flank was bare and unhidden. The desert was strange and dangerous and I certainly wasn’t going to take advice from someone who liked to watch me from a distance; or who could disappear from my E.U.A.

I shrugged. “I, uh, don’t think I’m good at anything.”

Her face scrunched up in a frown. Clearly my answer didn’t stand well in the eyes of a five-year-old.

“Well that’s a stupid answer.”

“Daisy!”

The filly hunched her shoulders in exasperation. “I’m sorry, ’s’not a stupid answer.”

She flopped down in a huff and there was the feeling that I had missed something, an opportunity of some kind. Whatever it had been couldn’t have been too important, we’d only been talking about my lack of a cutie mark. She had been right about one thing, if I was to be around other ponies, I needed a decent name. My eyes on the receding roadway, I sipped my water as we bumped along. After a mile or so, something occurred to me.

“Hey Two Stones?” I called out.

“Eyeah?”

“What’s the name of this town we’re headed to?”

He was silent for a time. “It’s uh, called ‘Ecks.’” He paused, mulling over something. “Thought you already knew where you were headed?”

“No, not really.” I shifted a little. Mickie was uncomfortable. “I’m looking for a stallion. Was told somepony in town might help me”

“Ah, one of those things.” There was a smile in his voice.

“He shot me in the head,” I drawled.

“Ah,” he spat, “one of those things.”

“Eyeah,” I replied.

We rode on in silence.

***

“Heads up everypony. We got trouble up ahead.”

Glancing back, I raised an eyebrow as Two Stones’ voice broke through my thoughts. Daisy was still sulking, ignoring us as her hooves tapped a lethargic tune against a wooden plank. Stretching out sore limbs, I ground out a cigarette before making my way towards the front. Quick stepping across the shaking load I settled next to the purple stallion.

"What kind?" I asked.

He offered me a pair of binoculars. "You see that smoke down the road a ways?"

It was hard to miss. The carriage lay in the middle of the road, smoke pouring out of its side. The area was littered with debris and I counted seven or eight bodies laying amongst the wreckage. Movement caught my attention as a yellow mare dragged herself into view, her dark green mane obscuring her eyes. She was shaking badly and her skinny legs hardly seemed able to take what little weight she had.

“There’s a mare down there.” She had spotted us and was weakly waving to get our attention. “I think she’s hurt.”

Two Stones clucked his tongue and the brahmin started to plod a little faster. “Any sign of them that did it?”

Sweeping the horizon I spotted movement to the north and told him as much.

“Right, you better get back there. Don’t want anything circling around.”

I nodded and passed him the binoculars. “You always help other ponies?”

He seemed to think about this as I made my way back across the rocks. “Some folk say the Waste is a hard and harsh place, created to punish us for our past wrongdoings. I may be a rock farmer, but the way I see it, the desert was just such a place even before the radiation and the taint. Not to punish us, but because that is the nature of the desert.”

Daisy must have been listening to us. She spoke up as I settled myself down on top of Mickie, her sullenness beginning to fade. “Daddy says we have to work together, because nopony survives alone. He’s smart like that.”

I started to ask her a question when Two Stones called a warning. We passed by the first body, a teal buck who almost looked like he was taking a nap. Sparing a quick look at Daisy, I found her frowning at the growing scene of carnage. Wondering if maybe this was not the first time she had seen a body, I pulled my gun, now clean, and hopped out of the wagon as it rumbled to a stop. I kept my eyes on the scrublands around us, listening as Two Stones asked the mare if she was alright.

“Psst. Pssssst.” Daisy was trying to get my attention. “Hey, hey Sand.”

“What is it?” She was right, I did need to come up with a better name.

“I think that pony just moved,” she whispered loudly.

I spared a quick look at the body she was pointing at, not wanting to take my eye off our surroundings; the tea colored unicorn with a cup and saucer cutie mark lay next to a rusted shotgun, his legs at an odd angle.

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure he’s dead.”

I squinted against the bright sunlight. Was that more movement to the north? I would have to pick up another hat when we got to Ecks.

“He did move,” she hissed. “Watch, I’ll prove it!”

Something whipped past the edge of my vision and I heard the loud smack of impact, followed by a yell. I turned. Daisy stood there, leaning out over the edge of the wagon, one hoof extended, eyes wide with surprise. A small rock thumped to the ground as the unicorn rose, snarling, his magic enveloping the shotgun. Blood poured from the gash on his face, staining the dirt. Blood, a part of me realized, was what this massacre had been missing. All around us the bodies were twitching and eyes were opening and suddenly the shotgun was leveled at Daisy, the hammer drawing back as the purple magic squeezed the trigger.

Ka-Blam!

I had moved before I could even think. The impact lifting me clean off my hooves and slamming me against the side of the wagon.

“Cuppa! What in Tartarus are you doing?”

“Sand! Daddy they shot Sand!”

“Mouth away from the bridle! We have you outnumbered.”

“She hit me with a rock!”

The voices around me were dull, muffled by the ringing in my ears and the thoughts scrambling around my mind. Images flashed by; a dark night, the gun to my head, giggling raiders, the colt, blood on the ground, a shotgun blast, Daisy’s eyes wide in terror. The air that had left me when I struck the ground came back in a rush as one thought was sounded above all others, chittering in my mind ‘Protect. The. Young!’ I surged upwards as somepony screamed, a raw, guttural sound that came through clenched teeth. S.A.T.S. put a bullet in the unicorn’s shoulder and another just under his ear; the mess that came out the back splattering the ponies behind him. Lunging forward, I threw myself at the nearest mare, my PipBull cracking against the side of her ribs.

“Cuppa! Goddesses above, she killed Cuppa!”

“Shoot her!”

“Somepony get her off Candle Wax!”

Shots rang out and the mare dropped, caught in the crossfire as I scrambled to move. Somepony yelled something about playing nice and more screams filled the air. Bullets zipped by, grazing my hide in long, painful gashes. I whipped around, my tongue on the trigger a moment before a pony I hadn’t seen barreled into my side. Flying through the air, desert and sky became a blur as I hit the ground and skidded into a dead brittlebush, the gun knocked from my mouth . The pony was on me in a second, lashing out with her hooves as she struck at me with a baseball bat. A hoof caught me upside the face and there was a crack as pain radiated up my leg. The medical buffalo mentioned something about a crippled limb as I threw a protective hoof over my head. Blow after blow rained down on me as I half wriggled, half crawled my way out of the bush. The mare wasn’t going to give me a chance though as a buck to my ribs put me on my back. I got a glimpse of blood spattered corpses lying around the wagon before the large earth pony eclipsed the sky. Grinding the bat in her teeth, she raised it above her head and began to glow a bright pink. I blinked as the mare collapsed into a pile of ash and dust. A mechanical owl hovered above me. It was the one called Hoot if the stenciled-on teeth were any clue. The upside down face regarded me with bright green eyes.

“y0u’v3 b33n 4 g00d p0ni3!” it warbled before flying off in a crazy zig-zag pattern that ended as a shot severed one of its wings.

“Don’t move!” The voice was loud in the sudden silence.

I stopped, my teeth about to latch onto an abandoned rifle. The yellow mare hopped down from the back of the wagon, Daisy clamped tightly in her forehooves. A green telekinetic field enveloped the gun that floated up against the filly’s head.

Anny squawked from somewhere overhead. “b4d p0ni3.”

“C-call off your guard,” she stammered. There was a click as the hammer pulled back and something cold knotted in my chest.

“I don’t know how,” I rasped.

We both stood where we were, unsure of what to do as the mid-day sun burned down on us. When she finally spoke, there was a slight hitch in her voice.

“Celestia damn it,” she said, “we just wanted your fucking caps!”

I opened my mouth then closed it.

“We just needed some caps.” There were tears in her eyes. “You’re rock farmers for Celestia’s sake! Selling your gems and crystals. Whatever we took you could make back in a week! A week!”

She waved a hoof at the bodies that still smoked from laser burns. “And then you had to go and kill Cuppa, and the old man called out his flying robots and I mean- I mean… Fuck!”

Daisy whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up!” The mare yelled, shaking the filly. “Just SHUT! UP! I said don’t move!”

The gun swung towards me now and I skidded to a halt as my crippled leg collapsed out from under me, dumping me to the ground.

“My family’s dead because of you.” She was openly crying now. “I don’t care if your stupid contraption kills me, the last thing I’m going to do is put a bullet in your head you stupid ch-”

Rocks spilled out the sides of the wagon as something inside rose up. The mare whirled around, spotting the pair of reddish brown hands that reached out from the shadows. Stubby fingers gripped the her neck and shoulders as she dropped Daisy. Three shots embedded themselves into the creature’s chest. There was a grating noise, like pebbles down an embankment. It sounded like words.

“Owie,” the voice said. “Bahd Po-nay.”

There was a strangely fluid motion and the mare was suddenly hurled high into the air. Her scream was cut short by a beam of light from Anny’s mouth.

“n4p tim3,” the machine chirped as it fluttered back into the wagon.

“Nap tam,” the creature agreed.

With that, Mickie, the baby cave troll, curled into a ball and went back to sleep.

Footnote: Level Up! (3)

New Perk: Maternal Instinct – The children are our future, and you will make damn sure they live to see it. +5 to DR and unique dialog options are available when a party member is significantly younger than yourself.

Lessons Learned: 3 of 200

"Nopony survives alone." So make sure you have somepony along for backup.

Mission Status: The Mare With No Name

50% Completion

Author's Note

Big thanks again to my long suffering editors Bobdat and ButtonstheMuse (I know you're busy but I forgot which tense to use again), my best man LiterateDead (a discussion of cutie marks was fodder for the ambush), and my dear wife AnixabiaClark (who puts up with my fan-ramblings).

I hope you'll all tune in next month for more adventures of our mare without a past. Until then, keep up the art.

Chapter 5: Against a Wasteland Sky

Fallout Equestria: Once Upon a Time in the Waste
By Sparkus Clark

Chapter Five: Against a Wasteland Sky

It had been a fairly quiet ride since the ambush, after Mickie had settled down and Daisy had stopped crying. We’d found Two Stones with a knot on his head and a black eye. He’d been breathing fine but we couldn’t wake him up. So Mickie’d hauled him, and what was left of the metal owl, into the back of the wagon. We’d check on him every now and again, but he was still out cold. It wasn’t until I’d managed to climb aboard that I began to question the idea of letting a filly drive. Yet Daisy had taken the reins and was able to coax the brahmin into a steady trudge along the Western road, away from the bodies.

It felt like a long ride, what with Two Stones being unconscious and Daisy keeping her thoughts to herself. At the same time my broken leg ached with each bump we hit in the road. It was starting to itch too. Celestia’s eye was low on the horizon, painting the sky in crimsons and yellows, when we caught sight of the town, a dim silhouette in the setting light. Train tracks cut across the road directly in front of us, veering towards the small town. A paint-flecked sign was planted next to the tracks, the crossed pieces of metal still standing after nearly 200 years of weather and sun. Somepony had carved the words ‘Welcome to’ on a board tied to the top.

I turned to Daisy as we rattled towards the tracks. “What does that sign mean?”

“What? Oh,” the filly looked towards where I was pointing, “it says ‘Welcome to Ecks.’”

I frowned, puffing on my next-to-last cigarette. “Really?”

“Really.” The little filly nodded. “Why? Can’t you read? It’s okay if you can’t, some big ponies don’t know how.”

“I can read,” I grumbled as the cart bounced over the tracks, making my crippled leg ache. “Just thought your father said the town was called ‘Ecks’.”

“Sure is. Named it after the ‘ecks’ signs that’ve been there since before the war.”

I looked out the back of the wagon at the second weather-worn metal ‘X’, now behind us. It was an exact twin to the other one, except that the words carved on the board read ‘Now Leaving’. I shrugged in indifference. Who was I to question how a town got named? Daisy flicked the reins and the great beast gave a low, chorused ‘mooo’ as it plodded along the curve of the road.

The sun to our right, I finally got my first look at a pony civilization and found myself impressed by what I saw. The town lay spread out around a pre-war train station; a quaint village had been rebuilt and modified to survive in The Waste. Houses closer to the station had been fortified with parts from lesser buildings at the edge of town. Some even had extra floors added on or a sheltered passage between adjoining buildings. What really stood out was the wall that encircled the town. It stood near half as high as the station’s clock tower and looked to be as thick as our wagon was long, brahmin included. Ponies scurried around and along the nearest section, hauling rocks, erecting winches and levitating tools along its half finished length.

“Ain’t it nice?” Daisy asked. “Like one of them medieval castles in my picture book. ‘Cept rounder instead of square.”

I blinked. “That’s why you sell them rocks?”

“Sure is!” The peach-colored filly grinned.

“Huhn,” I muttered before asking, “what about the gems and such that mare was talking about?”

“Oh, that.” Daisy shifted awkwardly in her seat, scratching her mane.

It occurred to me that Daisy wouldn’t want to remember that she’d had a gun to her head. “Sorry.”

“What?” She looked up at me. “Oh. Nah, she was right. We do make plenty of caps when we sell those kinds of rocks. It’s just that… you see, with the work it takes and so few ponies to buy them, it ain’t really worth the trouble.”

She smiled again. “Building materials is where it’s at, ‘specially with towns like Ecks.”

“What kind of ponies buy ge-”

“Hey there folks!”

I looked down as the overly friendly voice cut me off.

“Gonna have to ask you to stop for a moment.”

A gray earth pony stood in front of a gate that blocked the way into town. The gate was a temporary one, not as tall as the stone walls around it, and seemed to be cobbled together from spare scrap. A pair of ponies were standing on a platform above the entrance, and casually aimed their weapons at us.

The buck smiled and nonchalantly pointed a riot shotgun at me. “Hey Daisy, who’s the new friend you got here? One of your father’s hires?”

“Hey Buckshot,” Daisy piped, all smiles again. “Naw, this here’s Sand. Met her on the road after a cougar tried to eat her. Daddy’s in back. He’s okay, we just need to get him to a doctor.”

Buckshot narrowed his eyes suspiciously at me. “What happened?”

“Ambush,” I drawled, matching his look with one of my own.

Daisy caught our staring match. “They, uh, they shot Sand, but Mickie and Anny saved us. Hoot’s pretty tore up though. Gonna need to take him to see Boomer.”

“Well I’m still gonna have to check your load, Daisy,” he said, trotting around to the back of the wagon.

Listening to the dirt and gravel crunch under his hooves, I wondered if this was the help the Watcher had meant. Leaning over, I whispered to Daisy, “Does he always check your wagon like this?”

“Pretty much,” she said, “but only recently. Been having some clever raiders try and smuggle stuff in.”

As Buckshot clambered into the wagon, I puzzled over what a raider might do to be called ‘clever.’ From what I’d seen they acted on a twisted base instinct, doing what they wanted when and how they wanted; and all of it done with a smile on their face. That reminded me of another pony I knew. Looking back, I saw Buckshot casually poking at the cargo with a hoof.

“Could I ask you something?”

“If it’s for a favor,” he said, “I don’t do those for ponies I barely know.”

“No, just… Have you seen a group of three come through here?” I asked.

Buckshot made his way up towards where we’d left Two Stones curled up on a blanket.

“Group?” he said.

“A Unicorn, a Griffon and a Donkey.”

Buckshot gave a low whistle as he spotted Daisy’s father. “That is a nasty bump he’s got there. You’re right Daisy, ought to get him over to Doc’s. But no, ma’am, that wasn’t so much of a group as it was a whole dang posse. They passed by, oh, almost a month ago.”

So the Watcher had been right.

“Can you tell me anything about them?” I asked.

“Them? Yeah I could tell you a thing or two, but if you want anything good you should ask Surly Stars. She runs the Schoolhouse Saloon.”

I nodded as, his inspection finished, Buckshot hopped over a yawning Mickey and out the back. He came trotting alongside us, giving the other guards the all-clear, before he looked up at Daisy.

“ You know where the clinic is, right?”

The little filly scrunched up her face. “Err, not really.”

“Don’t worry, I’m off shift in a moment. I’ll take you there.”

Nodding, Daisy snapped the reins and the brahmin lurched forward as the gate ground open with a shriek of metal. Orbs of light were buzzing to life as we rolled through the gate, their soft, flickering glow illuminating the streets. There were a great number of ponies milling around town; closing stores, coming off work, migrating home or towards the brightly lit areas near the train station. I even watched as two ponies stepped hurriedly into an alley behind a farrier’s shop, casting quick glances over their shoulders. It wasn’t a maddening crowd but it was still more ponies in one place than I had seen. The constant movement on all sides left me feeling uneasy, threatened even. After the stillness of the desert, it was a change I found unpleasant.

“Don’t take the searching personally,” Buckshot said, trotting along beside the wagon. “We just can’t be too careful.”

“You said somethin’ about clever raiders?” Daisy piped up.

“Eyeah,” he glowered. “It started a few months ago, same time as construction on the new wall. Hit us quick and run back into the Waste.”

He shook his head.

“Then last week some of them come waltzing in here dressed as merchants. Caught us during the shift change and everypony was out in the streets.” He growled, “Bastards got their hooves on some M.E.W.’s.”

“Mews?” I asked, the image of kittens fluttering across my mind.

“M-E-W’s. Magical Energy Weapons,” Daisy said. “You know, like the kind Hoot n’ Anny use.”

I decided to nod, then turned back to Buckshot, “Any trouble on the roads?”

“None more so than normal,” he mused, “you know the like; rabid mole rats, taint-squitoes, wild dogs. Which is weird since usually a raider comes running at whatever moves until either it or them is dead.”

“Aw shoot,” Daisy kicked a small hoof against the wood, “I was hopin’ there might’ve been a reward for that mare and her friends what attacked us.”

“I can check with the sheriff, Daisy, might be that they were worth a cap or two.”

I looked at the suddenly money-conscious little filly. She caught my expression and shrugged apologetically.

“Yeah, they were starvin’ and desperate and such, but…” she trailed off.

“If they’d really needed caps that bad they could’ve come and worked on the wall,” Buckshot said. “Celestia knows we could use an extra hoof or two. But ponies like that are just lazy, would rather take from a body that worked hard and earned it than doin’ the work themselves. Turn here.”

Daisy hauled on the reins and a group of ponies scrambled out of the way as the cart lurched around the corner.

Righting myself, I gave her a look. “You said you’ve done this how many times?”

“Loads of times. Tons of times,” the filly said, sweat forming on her face. “Loads of tons times.”

I arched my scarred eyebrow at her.

“Twice,” she mumbled.

“Well,” I drawled as the cart rumbled down the street, “you ain’t crashed yet.”

She ducked her head, her straw colored mane hiding her expression as we weaved our way towards the northern side of Ecks.

***

The labcoat-wearing pony held a small lamp up, examining Two Stone’s eyes. Buckshot had helped us drag him into the clinic and had only stayed long enough to chat with the doctor and nurse who’d come out to greet us. The doorway I limped through still had the barber’s pole outside, but I could see somepony had smashed through the lower walls. These new ‘doors’ had allowed the clinic to expand to the buildings on either side. The repurposed rooms were fairly clean for an old building. Once Two Stones was settled, a magenta pony in a nurses outfit had started fussing over my leg.

“What’s he doing over there?” I asked the nurse who had introduced herself as Ulna Radius.

She didn’t even look up when she answered. “Oh, just checkin’ him over for a concussion, don’cha know?”

“I didn’t know,” I said. “That’s why I asked.”

She gave me a dark look from under her orange bangs. “Oh? Is somepony being a Mrs. Smarty Pants?”

“What? N-nnrrgh!”

I stifled a yell as she jammed a hooftip down on my broken leg. It felt like hot wires burrowing into my skin, almost as bad as when it had been crushed. I broke into a cold sweat, breathing heavily through my nose.

“Now,” her voice was low but still chipper sounding, “I won’t tolerate a Smarty Pants in my office. ‘K?”

“Ulna? Is everything alright over there?”

The doctor set down the lamp he’d been using, a look of concern on his face. The nurse smiled brightly at him as she quickly pulled her hoof away from my leg.

“Oh we’re doing just fine Dr. Trots. Aren’t we missy?” She gave me a meaningful look. “Just a nice greenstick fracture.”

‘I’ve had too long of a day. I just want to get patched up and find somewhere to sleep for the night.’ I forced myself to smile.

The doctor took one look at my face and visibly flinched. “Are-are you sure?”

“Why sure we ar-” Ulna Radius saw my expression and stopped short.

"Uh, Sand?” Daisy asked with a look of unease. “Do you...uh, you know, smile much?”

I shrugged, letting my face go slack. “Not really?”

“That might be for the best,” the doctor mused, before turning back to the peach-colored filly. “Daisy, your father will be fine but I’d like to wait until he wakes up before we administer a healing potion. In the meantime I’ll have Nurse Radius fetch some of the ice that we keep for just such occasions. Ulna?”

“Already left for it, Dr. Trots!” Ulna said, halfway out the door, her chipper smile back in place.

“Alright then, Sand was it?” The doctor ambled over with a brown satchel in his teeth. “Let’s see about that leg shall we?”

“Sure,” I held out my now throbbing leg as something from one of Tiny’s books fluttered into my mind.

“Doctor Trots?” I said.

“Ah,” he popped open the satchel and started levitating out some bandages, “an educated mare, I see.”

I shrugged and kept my attention on the door as Ulna Radius came back in with a damp cloth and a bowl of ice.

“Well,” Trots chuckled, “not many have read Perplexing Pony Plagues. At least not this far out in the Waste.” Pulling out a metal splint of some sort, he noticed that I was watching the nurse.

“She did do something didn’t she?” he said quietly, a screwdriver in his mouth as he made adjustments to the floating splint.

“Yes,” I said.

“Dang it, I’ve told her time and again,” he sighed. “You’re gonna have to forgive her, she’s… adjusting to her new life.”

“Gonna have to…” Something about what he said stirred inside me and I felt that dry susurrus in the back of my mind.

“Being a nurse,” he added quickly, his voice scattering my thoughts. “She’s only been doing this for a month or two and, well, she’s still getting used to things.”

“Ah,” I said, not really paying attention.

“True, coming from where she started...” he trailed off, cinching the splint to my leg. “Well it’s just been a hard road for her. But at least now her talents are helping ponykind. Drink this.”

I downed the potion he handed me.

“There.” He stepped back, pleased with his work. “That’ll be 100 caps. That’s fifteen for the work, seventy-five for the healing potion, aaand ten for the leg brace. Unless of course you return it to us for your ten caps back.”

Testing my leg on the hardwood floor I asked, “Why wouldn’t I return it?”

“Well it’s best for you to wear it for a day until the bone settles. And there have been times when a pony will forget and wander off with one.”

I shrugged and started digging for my bag of caps. As the inventory system again reminded me that it was there to help, I asked, “Where do I find a pony named Surly Stars?”

***

Ponies filled the saloon, talking, yelling, or singing along with the radio. I found myself jostled every which way and spent ten minutes just trying to muscle my way to the bar. Once I got there, however...

“I ain’t got time to chat, lady.” The rust-colored mare spat, yelling to be heard above the crowd. She slapped a cleaning rag over her shoulder and started pouring a drink.

“It’s busier than a donkey’s rear end at this hour. No offense Webber,” she said, slamming the shot down in front of a toothless old donkey.

“None taken, Surly,” he chuckled before he guzzled his drink in two quick swallows.

“Good,” she hollered, cantering off towards the other end of the bar.

“Ahh,” Webber smacked his lips, “nothin’ like a good drink from a pretty lady. Even if she is a pony.”

I looked down the bar. Surly was thickly muscled with a twice broken nose. In The Waste, beauty must be where you could find it . It was a sentiment shared by the building itself. What had once been a well worn, one-room schoolhouse was now a well worn, one-room saloon. Somepony had bolted some of the old desks together to make crude tables. Most of the customers were ponies, but I spotted a few more donkeys and even a lone billy goat with a small shopping cart.

I turned to the old donkey to find him making a small pyramid from his three empty glasses. “Webber, right?”

“Sure is missy. What, ah, what can I do for ya?” he asked, taking in my scars and leg brace.

“I’m looking for a unicorn with a light grey coat.”

“You don’t say,” Webber mused, suddenly more interested.

“Came here a month ago with a griffoness, a male donkey-”

“‘S called a jack, missy,” Webber interrupted.

“-a jack, and maybe some friends,” I finished.

Webber raised a fuzzy eyebrow. “You, uh, bounty hunter, missy?”

“No,” I said, not having any idea what that was. “Just some… business.”

“Ah,” he nodded solemnly, much like Two Stones had.

“Do you know where they went?” I looked around the room again, because I had had a strange, niggling feeling on the back of my skull. “If they went.”

“Well now,” Webber chuckled. Leaning back, he gave me a look I couldn’t quite understand, tapping a hoof on the bar. “I might be able to help you out there if, uh, if I had a mite somethin’ to jog my memory.”

“Ah.” It seemed I wasn’t the only one who had trouble remembering things.

I took a breath, thought for a moment, then told him everything I knew.

“The stallion is a grey unicorn with a yellow mane and tail, cropped short. Well fed for a wastelander, he stands one hoof shorter than me. His magic is a bright blue and he carries a 9mm. The griffon looks like a Harris’s hawk with fur like a desert lynx, and she has many scars. Her armor is black and dark green, solid, not pieced together like a raider’s. She is also missing a claw. Left talon. The jack is older with scruffy coat and mane. Both of which are brown. He’s wearing a hard hat and a collar with a red, blinking light around his neck. They would be traveling west, expecting to reach their destination shortly, seeing as how none of them were heavily burdened.”

I blinked, slowly refocusing on the donkey in front of me, “Does that jog your memory?”

Webber looked dumbfounded. “Damn, missy. I was just askin’ for you to buy me a drink.”

“Oh,” I said, sounding louder than I should have.

The whole bar had gone silent. Even the radio sounded muffled as everyone stared at me. Something in the room made the air feel heavy, like the bar was filled with a nervous tension. One or two horns were lighting up as I mentally started counting the bullets in my gun. Then a small cough sounded, and a child’s wail split the air. Just like that the room was full of noise again as ponies turned back to their drinking and conversing. Across the room the lone goat bounced the kid on his knee, calming his child’s tears.

There was a thud and the sound of glasses scattering. Surly had shoved Webber’s head into the counter, holding him in place by one of his long, floppy ears.

“Damn it, Webber,” she hissed. “What have I told you about soliciting drinks in my bar?”

“T’ not to,” Webber grunted into the scattered pile of shot glasses.

“You’re darn right,” she spat. Seeing the pony seated next to Webber watching us, she gave a winning smile, “How’s your drink there, Sugar Bear?”

The stallion with a trio of candy-colored bears on his flank gave a tired nod.

“That’s great,” Surly said, “glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.”

As soon as Sugar Bear looked away she was back to frowning at me .

“Alright,” she huffed, letting Webber have his ear back. “If you want to ask questions, stick around until it gets quiet. Until then, don’t buy him a drink.”

***

I’d spent the next few hours trying to avoid a staring contest with the goat. It seemed that nopony had questioned why he’d been allowed to bring an infant into the bar. Then again, most seemed content to leave him alone. Of the five ponies that approached him, two were ignored, one was dismissed, one talked with him rather quickly, and one bought him a drink.

As the night wore on folk slowly trickled out the door. One of the exceptions was Webber who was still at the bar. Mostly. He’d put his head down shortly after his fifth drink and was slowly slouching towards the floor. The ponies at the table next to me had been taking bets on how long it would be until he hit the floor.

Surly wandered out from behind the bar just after the clock on my Pipbull ticked over to twelve.

“Here’s the thing;” she grumbled, pulling up a well-worn bucket to sit on, “I don’t generally like to deal with information.”

“Why not?” I asked, still watching Webber.

“Because a posse that big is trouble for anypony who goes sniffin’ around after them.”

She propped a foreleg on the table, watching as the old donkey’s face slid across a puddle of drool.

“Especially with that many Stone Throwers with them.”

“Stone Throwers?”

“Local guns for hire. I think they might be apart of another religious movement, or something.”

My PipBull ‘pinged,’ and a small light started blinking next to the display screen.

“I just want to talk with him,” I said.

“Talk?” She raised her eyebrows in interest. “Just talk and only talk?”

At the bar, Webber lolled to one side and slipped off the counter, stopping as one saggy cheek snagged on a barstool. He hung there, swaying a little.

“Yup,” I told Surly as Webber drooled a little on the floor.

“Not the way it sounded to me,” she grumbled. “Already had a couple of folk in here talking about you. Saying that you’ve been asking all kinds of questions.”

“I just have something to settle with him...ma’am,” I said, adding the last part because it was what other ponies had called her.

“Uh-huh,” Surly snorted, “Two Stones’ little girl tells it another way.”

That pulled at my attention. “Daisy’s been in here?”

“A filly? In my bar?” She asked...indignantly. “What kind of mare do you think I am?”

“But…” I struggled to put my thoughts together. There was something about what she had said that felt out of place. “Didn’t you say you’d talked to her?”

Surly waved a hoof. “Never said such a thing. Daisy likes to talk. Ponies like to listen. Ponies who, it so happens, like to talk to me.”

“Ah.” I said, feeling a fluttering thought land in just the right spot, before adding, “you know an awful lot for a pony not dealing in information.”

Surly’s lips tightened and her emerald eyes narrowed. “You were the filly always played by herself, weren’t you?”

I kept my mouth shut as Surly glared at me. We locked eyes and, after a long while, she grimaced, looking down and away, back to Webber’s balancing act. I settled myself and waited realizing that a shift had happened in our conversation. Something that had put things more in my favor.

Finally Surly sighed and turned back. “I can’t say where they went, but I know someone who could say. And if you ask him, then I guess you might not get connected back to here.” She thumped a hoof in thought. “Don’t get your hopes up, though. He left a few weeks ago too. Went off to join a group or somesuch out in the foothills. They do...stuff.”

I watched as she traced a circle somepony had gouged in the wood of the old desk. Something felt off. She hadn’t been looking at me when she’d said that last part. What..? I shoved the thought aside. It didn’t matter, she had what I needed. So I asked the more important questions.

“Who are we talking about, and where is this group he’s with?”

Across the bar, Webber hit the floor with a clatter of hooves and a bray of surprise.

Footnote:

Settlement Discovered: Ecks

New Quest: Postal Pony

New Mission: Casting the First Stone

Quest Progress: Returning the Favor

30% Completion

Author's Note

Thanks to Bobdat for still being my editor, my wonderful wife Anaxibia for being there for me, and anyone who has stuck in and waited for me to get my act back together.

You folks rock!

Prologue

I am…… well, you’ll find that out eventually. The important part is not when, but where my story began. Someponies’ stories start in a sheltered place, with the humdrum and mundane; until their life is changed to the eye opening, frantic battle for survival. Others are not so lucky.

***

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria...

Although I am certain you already know how that goes. About how “love” and “tolerance” were transformed into greed and selfishness, and those new ideals led to a decades long war. To be more precise, you already know how that bloody conflict reached its peak, when even the pawns carried as much power as the Queens; and you are doubtlessly aware that that was when the whole table itself was brutally upended.

In short, you already know about the end of the world. More importantly, you know what came after: The Wasteland.

What you might not understand is why Equestria was so afflicted.

For while the bombs desiccated everything they touched, in some places they made it flourish. Ponies had forgotten that the land itself was as alive and soul-filled as themselves. They chained the earth beneath their hooves, harvested her, and warped and twisted the corpse to suit their needs. In this way did the land became hateful of the life upon it; so when spellfire reigned it welcomed the poison, using it to become a place of living nightmares. In this way did the land of Equestria become the terrible Wasteland…

…Yet not all the lands had been completely subjugated. There were places outside Equestria’s borders already so harsh that they were almost unlivable. Almost. It was in places like these, where the land held no hatred for the life upon it, that it adapted to the terrible toxins. One such place was the great scrubland desert that lay to the west of Equestria. Here the poisons became so much a part of everyday life, that no one noticed when something vital was touched inside the land.

This is the story of what happened when the corruption took hold in the territory beyond the pony kingdom.

Fallout Equestria:

Once Upon a Time in the Waste