Fallout Equestria: Side Stories are Magic

“My problem is that I’m an old dog who’s kept his nose in blood and gunpowder for too long…"

After leaving the Hospital I had an epiphany, I had a sense of loss since… Okay I have no idea how long its been since my brothers and sisters had been killed. I want to say a week ago, but my memory is kind of a patchwork. The concept of time is lost upon those who begin the day eating breakfast in their homes, then suddenly find themselves standing in the middle of a burning village, wearing a feather boa, spattered in green paint, and have googly-eyes glued to their pecker. C’est la vie.

I made my way to New Appleloosa, it was about half a click out from where the hospital was. Relatively short walk, and ever so happy am I that It look more of a merc than I do a raider. Less likely to get shot by the town’s 'Guardian Angel.' He’s next on list of ponies I want dead. He nearly killed Top Hat when we were caravanning to The Town.

“HO’ THERE PAR’DNER! Shotty says ya’ll gotta prove ya ain’t a Raider!” Yelled down one of Gatekeepers. This fucking guy. This fucking guy is why I’ve always had a fantasy of burning this place to the ground. Fillies and Gentlecolts, meet Rust Bucket, a prime example of why inbreeding should be kept in Stables.

“Rust… You know I’m good.” I forgot how hard of a fight it is to form cognitive sentences. However, I feel more in control than usual. “Jus’ let me in to get some things, and I’ll be gone.”

“Mmmm… Shotty says she saw ya fightin’ slavers down by Doc Wagon’s. Whatcha’ think Shotty, should we let him in?” I swear to Pinkie Pie, I will kill this stallion.

“Hey Rust!”

“Huh?”

“Think fast!” I toss up the bottle of whiskey, shame I have to part with it so soon. We were just getting to know each other. The dumb bastard catches it and takes a swig. Maybe next time I should try poisoning the booze before giving them away.

“HOOOOOOO-WEE! Tha’s some good ‘shine boy! Hey Jeb, raise the gate!” Open sesame, motherfucker. Once inside, I do everything in my power not to succumb to the urge to kill everyone in the immediate vicinity. Pinkie give me strength. Find the bar. Find the bar. Find the bar. Find the bar. Find the bar. FIND THE PINKAMENA-DAMN BAR!

Massacre successfully avoided, time to drink until the little pony in my head stops frothing at the eyes with rage.

“A bucket of liquor, leave the bottle.” The bartender eyes me, I eye him, he leaves a bottle. Not what I wanted, but fuck him I’m drinking it. Apple whiskey. Its always Apple Whiskey. Maybe when I form my Warband, I’ll do it at The Hoof. I hear there’s more diversity of whats brought there. “Yo! Turn the radio on.”

"Goo~ood morning Equestrian Wasteland! Its Pon-3, your favorite radio Disk Jockey! Whats a Disk? Hell if I know, but I’m going to keep talking anyway. New news from the front, kiddies. Apparently the Stable Pony didn’t clear out Ponyville as well she thought she did. Reports are coming in that Raiders killed three scavengers sent in. No bodies found, so its safe to say that a new tribe has moved in. Top that off, Old Appleloosa has burned to the ground. Guess those new raiders didn’t want the competition. Well back to sleeping with a gun under pillow New Appleloosa, the south lands aren’t safe anymore. Here’s Sweetie Belle with ‘Mad about the Boy.’ Till next time…”

Ooh, I’m famous. Too bad that now there’s going to be bounty hunters and mercs trying clear out my home for reward. Well I always wanted a change of venues anyway. Time to get moving before— oh shit. I know that filly. She used be on a Rockfarm up north near Shattered Hoof. Time to get moving before the whole town is on me.

I am beginning to sense something bad is about to happen. There’s a wet splat as my feedbag tears open, releasing it contents.

“RAIDER!!” There’s a time to fight, a time to kill, a time to butcher, and every good mis-equinethrope knows when its time to run like a little bitch. This is the time to run like a little bitch. I wish I could look down my sights and start wasting these fuckers, but if I do that then ‘Death from Above’ will be all over me. Just have to make it out of here without dispatching. A single. Living. Being. Oh this is going to be a bitch. I crash out a window, hook onto a ledge, flip on top the roof, and bound across the rooftops. Between the bullets flying at me and the irregular design of the town’s buildings, getting out of here is going to be difficult. Note to self: Consider building a fort out of strategic surfaces.

I caught myself reaching for my blade, can’t have that now can we? Hop on to that, dodge those, roll beneath that, leap and catch whatever that is. The gate so close, the urge to kill much closer. Just need. need. to. get. one. meter.

I spin around and hurl two molotov cocktails behind me, catching several ponies in the blaze. As I ran, I awaited for my head to  repaint the front gates. Well I guess Pinkie was with me. The only thing she couldn’t protect me from was Rust Bucket’s lardy ass.

“Well aren’t you jus’ plum outta luck?”

“Oh… I’m going to turn you into a FINE paste…”

“Good night, Irene.”

He raised his shotgun and brought it down on... This is me unconscious.