Fallout Equestria: Side Stories are Magic

by Harry Clopper

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, Comedy, Adventure, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Other
Length: 10123

Ponies kill each other and stuff, you know the drill.

In the grim dark future, there is only ponies… SO MANY FRIGGIN' PONIES!!!

So, you all should know the formula by now. End of the world, killing, emo-ness, violent unspeakable acts, idiots, references, and some sort of “deep” and “meaningful” message at the end about being a better person in world of mis-equinity. Well SCREW THAT! Who wants read about some Mary Sue and her problems being the Second Coming in the wasteland? Lets make it interesting, how about an absolute psycho who gets off on seeing his blades covered in blood. Lets throw in some diesel punk mechs and clandestine mercenary corps! Heck, just chuck in the kitchen sink while you’re at it! None of its gonna make any sense, but holy cow are you gonna feel it in your curvy bits.

This is the tale of Running Water.

Published 2013-05-31 00:00:01 UTC
Last updated 2014-05-18 10:53:06 UTC

Tuesday’s a bitch

"Only the insane have strength enough to prosper. Only those who prosper may truly judge what is sane."

There are few things in the world that annoy me like undercooked food, not enough ammunition, too many guns on me, having to work with idiots, trespassers, Talon Company, Steel Rangers, and ponies who think that cause they’ve gotten lucky with a couple of other war bands think they can take me on. Okay, so theres A LOT of things that annoy me. But the one thing that pisses me off to no end is Stable Dwellers. Cushy prats who live in the lap of luxury and get their shafts polished for being so privileged. I guess thats why so many of us hate Stable Dwellers, and whenever they pop surface, ponies like me get to have so much fun making them realize just how many places they can bleed from. Its for the lulz, really.

So lets get this part started, I’m Running Water, a One-Pony Warband so far. Use a combat knife and a SMG, favor the knife though. Bit more personal. Anyways, I’ve been running around for… some unspecified amount of time, look all I know is that I’m alive, have a full belly, the roof is still over my head, and nobody has come to the Library in a good while. I wanna keep it that way. Its peaceful, quiet and since some maniac ran through here with a hard-on for bloodshed, no sharing of rations. Truly paradise. Only down is the retard and brat have escaped their cage. Makes things rather dull.

But hey, plenty of time to practice reading and to praise She Who Watches. Boring as fuck otherwise. Its actually been this way for a few weeks now. According to the radio, some mare with a gun has declared martial punishment on any pony who even so much as sneezes wrong. Guess that means I have to stop being a blight on ponies and not go on killing sprees. And I get head from Hellhounds with every tenth stamp on my ‘Good Samaritans’ Card! It will never cease to amaze me how much some still believe the old ways are ‘The Way.’ Bunch of suicidal nimrods.

Now for current events, there are what appear to be some heavily armed and armored scavengers in town. Would’ve popped a skull or two, but whoever swept through here took Top Hat’s Far-Away Poker. The dick. Well whoever Wingus, Dingus and Cunnilingus are, they’re dead.

I am so fortunate to live in such a graced urban environment. Most buildings are still intact, everything is burnt and ruined so my garb blends quite well, and sound is essentially canceled when all you wear is denim, leather, and some padding. Props to Terry Cloth for coming up with the tire-shoulder pads. Resistant to small-arms fire and lightweight, best of both worlds.

I lie crouched in rubble, they don’t seem to have noticed me. All I do is watch as the three meat puppets as they march through my town.

“You sure its safe to come through here, Loose?”

“Ja, ever zince zat Mare tore through here, zings haff been qvite cahlm.”

Is that guy retarded or something? He sounds like someone cut the tip off his tongue and cauterized the wound with a taser. Note to self: try that on next captives to prove point.

“Uh just what is it we’re looking for?”

“Anything on ze Minister Mare Twilight. If I remember korrectly, Frau Twilight had a library here in Ponyville. Zat is vhat ve are here for.”

Draw my knife and choose my target. The big one with the flamethrower, he’ll be easiest. I get close enough to see that he has a large gap in his armor right beneath the base of his skull. I ready blade to stab when one of them notices.

“GREASE! BEHIND YOU!”

“UNLEASH THE SOY SAUCE!” I cry.

I stab the blade up to the hilt. He barely had time to inhale to scream as he fell to the ground. His friends take and fire, I pull homeboy up and make use of the abortion poster-foal. His chunky torso made for an excellent meat shield against the friendly-fire.

When their clips ran dry, I tossed the lead bag at the lispy one and charged the other. He was so startled and so much bigger. Must’ve been under forty pounds of armor, yet he still screamed like a filly when I hooked my fore-hooves around his neck and let inertia pull far enough to see the vertebrae pop out of their sockets’. What a delicious crack.

Finally Fritz, or whatever the fuck his name was reloaded. He aimed the rusted shotgun at me, and we just stood there staring at each other.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ju thought zat vould vork, didn’t ju?”

I looked to the left and nodded my head. This would’ve been over sooner, but I had neglected to retrieve my knife and I had dropped my SMG when I was crawling through the houses. My gear wasn’t bulletproof enough to stop shotgun fire and he caught me facing him. So unless I wanted buckshot rhinoplasty, had think.

“Do ju realize how much ju half kost me in caps?”

I shake my head, not that I care, but I still need time to come up with a plan. The two that I thought of, well, I’d need to induce The Quickening in Plan A; Plan B would require Zombie Wiener Dog Commandos and enough pepper sauce to fill a bathtub. Why oh Smiling Goddess was gifted with such brilliant mind and yet so incapable of rational thought?

“1,500! ZAT IS ENOUGH TO RESUPPLY, RENT A STUDIO, GET A HOT MEAL AND ENTERTAINMENT FOR ZE NIGHT! AND JU HAFF JUST PISSED IT AVAY VIS YOUR STUNT JUST NOW! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET MY DEPOSIT BACK, IF THESE TWO MERCS ARE DEAD!?”

There is only one answer that help my situation. I close my eyes and say...

“Let he who is without Cap, sink his putter in the company course.”

“Vhat?”

I leap at him, snap the firing mechanism in front of his face with my forehead and swipe at his neck with a hoof. He dodges and ripostes with a kick to abdomen, knocking the wind out of me. As I hit the ground, I couldn’t help but notice how a dead tree’s branches managed to make a cloud formation in the grey layer look as if it had turbines. Weird.

He rose his fore-hooves to bring them down for a crushing blow, but I pushed back and slid underneath him, unleashing a burst of kicks to his precious load. Top Hat used to joke how she turned a stallion into a mare with a single kick, it wasn’t until today had I heard a full grown stallion make noise similar to a fat mare imitating a cat with its tail in a meat grinder. This was a good day.

After looting and gathering my meals for the next few weeks, I decided that maybe this place was no longer the home it once was. It was missing something that not even all slaves in Old Appleloosa could fix. I needed a Warband. No! I needed friends. While it was a nice change from the normal malaise and savagery, I just couldn’t help but feel lonely without the others here to blabber about and have rancorous sex while I tried to figure out just who was controlling the Sprite-bots. I had got it narrowed to either The Melon Lord or the same punk who keeps leaving secret messages for me in my cereal. That pompous fucker.

And so it was decided that I had to leave my home in search of possible comrades who will bring me endless amounts of joy and happiness… Unless one of the bastards starts taking from my meat pile, in which case that fucker’s gonna be lynched quicker than the time it takes to crush a foal’s head with a power sledge.

Twily in the Sky with Cubit Zirconium

"You can't kill me! I'm already dead tomorrow!"

At some time around second lunch I had blacked out and found myself somewhere near a train. Among the many things wrong with picture, the issue that preludes all others is that said train is cursing at me. Never have I been threatened with slavery from an oversized vibrator. Kinky. Aggravating, but kinky. Wait this sounds familiar: trains threatening slavery, a smell of detergent and alcohol, and a cloth over my muzzle. Yep, the diagnosis is Slavers.

One of the things I liked about Slavers was how courteous they were when it came to the bags. They always put some lovely smelling perfumes or something in. Smells like cinnamon, or at least what I assume is cinnamon. Its sweet and makes my balls itch.

“Where’d ya git thissun’?”

“Down by the Grotto Express.”

“He’s lookin’ kinda ‘Raider-y.”

“He wuz tryin’ to shag the coal intake when we found ‘im.”

So thats why my crotch is itchy. What a weird day today is. If I could see who my captors were, I would probably begin scratching for another reason.

“I want a bucket! With turnips!”

I can only assume they looked to me. I can tell because I can feel the Cradle Robbers’ glare tearing through the bag. The knife hole also helps.

“Where you from, Raider?”

Wow, diction, never thought Slavers could do that. Wait, that was a question, should probably answer it.

“Filly Land!”

Gotta love the look of an angered Slaver, its like when you punch a colt in the mouth and tell his mane smells. Its priceless! The only down side is that they kick you afterwords. It hurts.

“Where you from!?” he inquires with a harsher tone.

“I AM FROM THE LOLIPOP GUILD! NOW GIVE ME YOUR TEATS!” I retort thrusting my pelvis towards him.

“ I’LL KILL YOU!!” He declares before being hauled off by the other Slavers.

Well that easy. Normally I’d have start cracking the individual bones of cats to get sort of response. That or shooting the favored child. That always makes ‘em violent. One of them approaches me.

“Alright Raider, whats your name?”

“Pasty Cake!”

“Rrright Pasty Cake, where are you from?”

“The land from which the Twilight’s presence Sparkles with Putrescent Knowledge! Scorched are its lands, the homes weep with eternal scars! HAhahaha~!”

Mother always said I had a knack for the arts, it explains my cutiemark.

“Any idea what the hell he’s saying?”

“None what-so-ever. I’ll ask New Appleloosa if they’ve heard anything about a new Warband in the area.”

Theres a New Appleloosa? Since when? Well that’s a first. Man I need to get my radio fixed, I hate being kept out of the loop. Oh crap they’re talking again, initiating the pseudo-cognative nodding and shaking.

“… think Red Eye’ll want to see this guy?”

“Why?”

“Could be fun seeing him screamin’ and shit while the crowd takes pot-shots.”

“Ya know that would be funny… Why again aren’t we in Las Pegas?”

Just fuck each other already, sheesh. Note to self: Get a gryphon, get a cockatrice, and a goat. Make em give each other rim jobs.

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass walked out of the room while continuing their cockmonglering of each other. It occurred only now that my captors had neglected to bind in chains, ropes, or even the trademark collar. Am I not pretty enough? Is it my breath?

Anyways I get up and find that not only are these slavers stupid, but possibly retarded as well. What kind of idiot leaves their captive in a wooden building with gasoline? Especially when theres a slight chance said captive is possibly, sorta, kinda, not really, maybe a little bit angry. Whatever, I’m a taking a can with me, the other one can burn for all I— PLAN B! I strap a can to my side, the other I plop a grenade into and ran like I was caught in a hay bail with the farmer’s daughter.

I read a book once about how there was a pony named ‘Celery’ or some dumb shit that had raised the sun, but forgot a small piece that fell down onto a portion of land now known as the Shattered Hoof Desert. Now clearly that pony was sucking down some hardcore Zebra ‘Medicine’ and was being a stingy dick about it. But we’re not here to discuss how ’You gotta Share, You gotta Care', no we’re here so I can form a proper metaphor for the totes-mcscrotes awesome inferno behind me that has caused every pony and his fondler to get into a panic.

“OVERSTIMULATION!!” I yell in an endorphine fueled ecstasy. The slavers mourn their lost supplies and slaves long enough to get caught slacking off by upper-management.

“What in The Goddess’ Name has happened here?!” The green alicorn bellows at her impudent lackeys. The seductive flames dance in the reflection of her eyes. Eyes like grapes, delicious. She looks to me and calls to her puppets.

“Soldiers of Red Eye! There be thine enemy! He who ceased your holy work!”She said as her eyes glow and in suit, so do the slavers. Fascinating, they turn and charge me, but still fascinating. “I want his head on a pike!”

The slavers move rather drunkenly. Its both entertaining and rather odd. See, their eyes are glowing some shade of blue and

the way they hold their guns is the same way a feral ghoul does. Funny and yet weird. But back to the attack, They open fire and I leap up onto the roof of a trading post behind me, their collective fire makes short work of the dirt and rubble from where I once stood. I bound across the rooftops, now while I have evaded the gunny-buns down there, I had neglected to remember that gryphons ALSO work as slavers. To be more precise, Talon Company Mercs that signed allegiance to Red Eye. And I hate Talon Company Mercs. The turkey-rats rain lead from above in sweeps to try and corral me onto a building I can only presume has been rigged to blow. I don’t really know if it is, but wouldn’t that be cool? Stay focused, I make a leap from the roof I’m on to the one in front of me. While midair, I turn and fire my SMG up at a gryphon making his sweep. He stops a few shots with his neck, a couple with his pelvis, and lets his wings take the rest. Add ‘see a gryphon turn into cherry pudding’ to the things I have done, should really make a scrapbook sometime.

There was one thing I did not count on when I got up here, running out of roofs to leap onto. Or rather a roof I could not get too. I had made the brilliant mistake of choosing single story buildings to make my escape on. At least the fall wouldn’t kill me, but the zombified grimaces screaming for my blood would. Now for what I did count on was for Ms.Thang over there seemed to forget that I am but one pony with a hook-ended knife. The last gryphon lands in front of me, my face reflecting in the visage of his metallic helmet. Need to get more sleep, those bags under my eyes make me look like a psycho or something.

“Have you decided to surrender, bandit?” The alicorn inquires.

“I want a hug! And some pretzels! But mostly...” I unsheathe my knife, kick the barrel of the shotgun in my face, and run behind the gryphon before hopping on his back cause him to buck and gallop. “I JUST WANNA FLY!”

The gryphon takes my exclamation to heart and lifts off. And then my knife finds its place just beneath his shoulder blades. They say that back before the wasteland, there were these devices that ran simulations that let users learn and hone skills, usually to achieve a task given to them by the simulator. Well today I run my first flight simulation. Using my blade’s grip as a control stick, I direct the gryphon where to go in glorious agony. We fly over the heads of the slavers below, and I undo the security latches on the gryphon’s grenade satchel with one of my own acting as a catalyst. The shockwave nearly knocks me off, good thing my knife is so well secured. However I believe the pain and exertion has cut my ride short and we plummet to the ground. Greenie has decided now would be a tactically genius time to try and escape by FLYING DIRECTLY AT ME. So I do what any individual would do, I pull out of homefried and leap onto the meanie green giant.

I miss by an inch, but my blade didn’t. She looked like Hearth’s Warming Virgin with the long bloody slit running down her back from where the hook sunk in, ripping down to the base of her tail. Is everyone seriously incapable of flying with blades and viscous wounds in their backs? Well both she and the second red mess can’t, but she had something he didn’t, a shield to absorb most of the impact. It still resulted in her legs being broken when she tried to brace herself. I just had my jaw dislocated and was quite thankful I was not born a unicorn. After reseting the bone, I walked over to the disabled alicorn. She tried to form a bubble around herself, and nearly did so. Fortunately, horns are rather frail and I had enough adrenaline running through my veins to lift a train car over my head.

“You whats the worst part about having extra bits?” I hissed at her. She shook her head. “They can always be BROKEN!” I snarled as I bucked her horn causing it to shatter. She sung a hymn of pain and suffering for my pleasure. But I didn’t stop there, oh no. I’ve heard wonderful things about eating pegasus wings, mostly how tough yet succulent the meat is. Well I’m feeling pretty hungry after that display. Knife up, blood out. The sound of the flesh ripping and bones being sawed was the coup d’ gracie to the symphony of pain she was in experience.

After I got her wings, I considered leaving. But that would be rude, she should at least have a face to remember when she gets to freaky-green-monster-hell. I go back and stare her in her eyes, but she was not alone in there. I could feel it. Dozens maybe a few hundred, staring back with hate through her eyes.

“You cannot stop us..” She said in a hoarse voice.

“Bitch I will be in your nightmares!"

Arigato Pinkie-San

Arigato Pinkie-San

“Sun Szu said that…"

I’ll have to remember that alicorn wings, while delicious and exotic, do not part as nicely. I think my guts have liquified.

Blacked out again, found myself on the second floor of a hospital. I think I should see ‘The Good Doctor’ about these things, could become problematic. On the other hoof, this place is freaky clean. Like re-goddamn-diculously clean. Weren’t ruins supposed to be, well, ruined? This place, aside from some paint chipping, was spotless. And I’m bleeding, when did this start? It would explain why I awoke in this hospital, but why the second floor? Another thing is that there’s spent shells on ground and my gun is warm. Clearly I’ve been spreading the magic of friendship someone special.

Alright, alright, gotta do something about the bullets in my gut. Gonna need something to extract them, clean the wound, and seal it.

{Running~...

Oh this is new.

Ruu~niiing~..

Where have I heard this voice before?

I dunno, maybe you found a audiolog in your sparkle cola?

Cognizant voices in my head that speak possible truths? More likely than I thought.

Look to your left, you silly pony...

Oh hey, trauma center. That could help. No wait, that would be helpful! Forceps, pure alcohol, and extracting tools, just what’s needed to clean a wound. One of the many things you learn either from others or experience is field medicine. After all, who neglects to remove a slug before administering health potions? Stable Ponies, thats who. Fuckers don’t even know the difference between pony and radigator meat. Back to crisis at hoof, I can now get better. Thank you, hallucinatory voice in my head!

Anytime… Spooky noises~ Spooooky-ee noises...

I’m amazed that I didn’t bleed out or die of toxic shock by now. These holes look at least four hours old. I was expecting at least a little pus or inflammation. But they came out with little effort. Weird. And there goes the alcohol aaannd…

“PLUTO’S NOT A PLANET!” Oh yeah. That hurt. Clean, but by Pinkie that shit burns. I take a swig of the whiskey in my pack and start patching up with healing bandages. Between the burning numbness coming from my wound and the firewater I just drank, I don’t I’m good to shoot.

Suddenly an invisible hammer slammed into the side of my head, knocking me off the table. Now I really shouldn’t consider sharpshooting.

I leap to my hooves and turn. Who hit me, where are they, and why is the medical equipment being tossed aside by nothing? I drop to the ground as a series of scalpels fly into the wall behind me. I smell something familiar. Blueberries? What. Another shot this time to my side relieves me of the air in my lungs. For split second, I saw something cerulean.

Four hours ago I had been eating breakfast, when I was attacked by an assassin. Well several, but they were a diversion. Slavers with assault rifles are nothing to joke about, they tend to be crackshots when shooting slaves or ponies they want as slaves. This time though, they lacked the eye-glowy thing from before. Whats more, when they had been dealt with, something else attacked me. Caught me off guard which would explain the holes in me. Only thing I don’t know who it was that shot me.

I had found cover behind an overturned gurney, but seeing that I can’t see my opponent(what weird phrasing), I’m at a loss short side of blind-firing my weapon and hope I at least hit my foe. The wet thumping noise informs me I’ve hit something other than wall and air. The clopping of hooves down the hall and trail of red blood is all I need.

“Red Rover, Red Rover, please send that fucker over!” A grenade in a blue bubble, unicorn or magic wingicorn. Still bleeds, still dies.

One never gets used to ringing of a detonation in a enclosed location. Is this what its like in a Stable? Shit, how do they fight when they can’t even use frags? I put my SMG back onto it’s carousel, no point in shooting. By now they’ve probably sealed their wounds, so going by the drippings will be pointless. But the blood itself? I dab my hoof into the puddle, take a taste, take a sniff, behind me.

I drop down as the air whooshes overhead. I sweep my hind legs behind me and make contact with somepony else’s, drive further and theres a heavy thump as they fell.

“FUCK!” She cries out, a mare. Who knew they taught that to slavers these days. Then again, they’ve always had a bead on us Raiders even if there is a armistice. We’re tenacious and natural born warriors. Well those of us who make it as long as me and my former crew had. Guess alicorns don’t just come in ‘Big Mean Bitch Green,’ good to know. She copies my sweep, I jump, she grabs my throat with her magic and tosses me to the side. Lets chalk up it to three blows to my head. How fortunate the wall was hollow and softer than it looks.

Well she’s gone and I can’t smell her blood anymore. Gonna have to go for something more subtle. I close my eyes and smell. Nothing... Nothing… Nothing… Oh. Oh hello! Smells like its some pony’s time of the year.

“I CAN SMELL THE MAGIC!!” I scream, getting a strong sense of rage directed at me. I head towards my prey, gotta love the smell of a mare in heat. Tangy, pungent, with a touch sweat. “Come to me, my pasty—!”

I was lifted and slammed into the walls by a blue bubble. Then I was flipped over and had my back make a dent in the reinforced floor.

“Flavor my fancy... *wheeze* but you put the pants… *hack* in panting!” And up we go again. I felt pressure around my neck and Blue decloaked in front of me. She grabbed my knife and placed it to my forehead.

“Any last words, worm?” She growls.

“You… Smell… SO… GOOD!” I choke out as I bring up my SMG. Her eyes go bloodshot with rage she begins to push the blade in.

BRAKKA! BRAKKA! BRAKKA!

And air rushed into my lungs after the depravation. It felt like a rebirth. It appears I’ve made an enemy of Red Eye and The Goddess. Fine. But I’ve a bone to pick with somepony else first.

Loose Lips sink Ships

“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.

That itchy feeling.

”Kind of a big deal..."

I had a dream that I was in a music band. We were playing some kind intense music that sound pretty damn awesome. Then I saw my dumbass playing a triangle while trying to look hardcore. I think my sub-conscience is punishing me for letting myself get sat upon by that lard-ass rent-a-cop. I just hope I still have control of myself when I come to. Nothing would be more embarrassing than to return to the world of the awake spouting nonsense about ballet dancing snake-monkeys while in the middle of being disemboweled.

“The tentacles… Get tHEM AWAY FROM ME!!” Atta’ boy, keep ‘em on their toes.

“Mornin’ sunshine. Got a few questions fer’ ya.” Oh right. Being disemboweled would be less degrading than this. Being chased down by psychotic children or being devoured by a flying herd of automobiles, all though more bizarre, would still be less embarrassing. I’d sooner wear a Pip-Buck. A new face walked in from behind me.

“See, a few of our boys went missing some time ago. And we got reason to believe you’re the reason why.” My fame precedes me. Just took a while I suppose. Now here comes my dilemma, act cognizant or play the fool? If I continue to react sanely, then I probably can get out of this fairly easily. If I go back to my old self, I risk losing all the progress I’ve made. Oh decisions, decisions.

“Oh I’d love to hear how you came to mag-fucking-nificent conclusion.” Hope my mouth is smarter than I am. Sanity is something I miss, so all I can do is pray I chose right.

The two exchange looks then step aside. I smell chemicals, flowery accents, and a distinct scent I could only describe as fresh baked cookies. Lo and behold, a pegasus. Stark-white with a deep blue mane, lasers on his flank if I could tell right. “Well, well,  so this is the filthy mongrel that killed my men. Just scavengers. Just simple ponies with simple jobs. Then you run off and burn a city down. Then finally you erase a hit squad before they make short work of your piddly-ass. I must admit, I’m impressed.”

I think I’m blushing. Terry Cloth used to commend me on my immaculate displays of violence. She said I had such a way with knives. She made me feel proud. This guy though, he makes it sound like I’m a demon in the sack. I feel dirty. How does he do that?

“But you know whats the kicker? Its just so out of nowhere. Its so unprovoked, like its a second nature. Tell me raider, how do you do it?”

“Uhh, I take my vitamins and eat my Wheaties?” That got a chuckle out of him. I hate his voice. It feels like theres a slimy tendril running up and down my back whenever he speaks. I want to tear out his tongue.

“Thats cute. A sense of wit on a barbarian, its so cute when it comes from something like you.” I have been once again, demoted from pony to ‘unspecified genus’ but this time from a ‘noble’ pegasus.

“Clearly the Glorious Master Race has officially ran out of things to shove up their ass, so they’ve come to me. I guess creativity dies when they let inbreeds run their world.” Aw, there goes that smile. Must’ve hit a nerve.

He pushes a flash-point to my temple. “Look here Scum, at any point of you being knocked out I could’ve killed you. I could’ve avenged the widows and now orphaned foals you've created. But I’m curious. I’m curious as to how a creature like you could’ve done so with such little effort.”

The words, they pour like caustic immolation from his orifice. “Look dude, I’m just now having an easy time formulating words in a coherent manner. I couldn’t really tell how I do what I do, aside from its something you learn from being out for so long.”

Not sure if that agitated him or made him realize how futile it was to information from an ex-maniac. Can I really call myself a maniac? I just did what came naturally when presented with an unnatural situation. Granted somethings I did were rather excessive, but one does not eat just one seasoned eyeball. Either way, what do I care those families are now a little less? They came into my territory with intent to plunder. I had every reason to kill them, same as anyone who I victimized. Only difference is that I’m a better shot and know how to dodge.

“Truly, you are a heartless beast. Not pony, but a monster.” Oh no, my feels. They are slightly more disgruntled.

“If those widows and orphans want me dead, then let them try. I’ll kill them all too.” I’d still give them a sporting chance. No fun if they don’t at least try to fight back. Something’s not right though. These guys are waiting. Either someone’s missing or they’re just stalling. I shift under my bindings, these aren’t very secure. I look around, Rust Bucket and that other dude seem fidgety. They keep looking to the clock. Whats the time have to do with me? A countdown to me ripping them apart or until someone arrives? Nothing’s stopping me from breaking free and killing them, so why haven’t I?

“Uh boss, the clock.”  The pegasus looks to the clock and gains an expression of one who just had their tail tweaked past the breaking point.

“Bad news Mr. Raider, I’m afraid you’ve just left our hooves.” Doors open behind me, two armored ponies with nasty hardware drag me out. Look like Steel Rangers, these guys won’t die easy. How exactly is it that I find myself in such ludicrous situations? I mean really, these guys come out of nowhere and decide to take me. Whats so important about me? Why do these big bastards want me? Why am I asking you?

My bindings are replaced with some choice shackles and I’m relieved of my gear. They throw me in the back of an APC with two guards. I think I understand why I would black out during trips. This is boring. It felt like time had slowed down to a quadriplegic lurch.

The guards continue to banter about their day or some shit. I’m more intrigued with the maze formed in the walls. Another couple hours and maybe I could move on to 3-D mazes. We come to a stop at some point, I can feel myself declining back into  radical mania as my mind goes into a flurry of slaughter and hemophilia. It would be rather counter productive to revert back to madness.

“Hey,” the guard ponies look to me, “Either you lads have a coin?” They look to each other and one of them pulls a coin out.

“Flip it.”

Coin up, coin down. What a marvelous parable the coin flip. Its a magnificent means of letting fate decide what your next move is. And now I have my answer, it is no longer a choice of ‘either/or’ but now a unity. A conglomeration of chaos and order, logic and imagination, madness and sanity. I shall become an avatar of the Wasteland. I couldn’t help but giggle with the new delicious schemes and methodologies forming in my mind.

We arrive at a military installation in the desert. I appear to be somewhere in the… Oh no. Nonononononononoo.. I’m in the midwest. My brother lives here. This explains why these guys picked me up. Why their armor looked so weird. Rather than bulky and lumbering, these Rangers were sleek and graceful. Their armor looked like a slightly heavier version of the Enclave's armor. I haven’t been this scared since my father started walking around the house with a shotgun. The two guards push me forward and I march to wherever it is they’re taking me. We go down hallway after hallway, everywhere I look I see various arcane technologies and ponies in weird garb. I want all of it. I want the technology. I want the weapons. I want the followers. Perhaps this what my father meant by ‘Manifest Destiny.’

They throw me into a cell. A energy field separates me from the outside, whatever. I lay down and begin to chuckle as I devise a means of generating a following. They click on the intercom, the speakers begin to play the radio. Pon-3 tells tales of the ‘Stable Dweller’ and she ‘cleanses the Wasteland’ of scum and evil ponies. He glorifies the killing of my fellow raiders and the freaky alicorns. Apparently New Appleloosa’s Guardian travels with her as well as a medic and an Eastern Steel Ranger. Supposedly a Zebra as well, but that would just be stupid. The way he makes her out to be, you’d assume she’s the messiah or something with all the ‘Lightbringer’ crap. New plan, get out of here and kill the Stable Dweller for all my fallen brethren.

I hear whimpering. Apparently I was not alone in this cell. A grey filly unicorn shares this prison with me. She’s crying, but this is such a joyous occasion.

“Hey little sister, why are you crying?” She looks to me with puffy eyes and a snotty muzzle.

“My parents are dead.” I am sensing a bad joke so I slap myself. I tear off part of my sleeve and give it to her. She can keep it.

“May I ask what happened?” The filly looks to left than the right.

“Somepony killed them. A Stable Dweller.” I raise an eyebrow, this gives me an idea.

“It wouldn’t happen to have been The Stable Dweller, would it?” Her eyes sparked, I know that glare. Thats the sort of glare I get when someone steals from my foodpile. “What if I were to tell you I too had a bone to pick with her?”

“*sniff* What she do to you?”

“She killed my brothers and sisters and much like your parents, she probably is getting revered for it.” Two guards deactivate the laser field and order me to rise. “Smile, I’ll be back.” I give my best attempt at a non deranged smile while looking back.

More hallways and I feel like my name should be something stupid like ‘Lightning’ or ‘Sazh’ at this point. Wait.. Nevermind. We approach a door with the trademark emblem, ‘Captain Hot Water’ is etched into the door. Oh this is going to hurt.

Brothers Are Such Misery

”I betcha Romulus never had to put up with this shit."

Back in the days of yore when I was an awkward grayish-pink colt, I had two older brothers, Hot and Cold Water. These two, Cold and I were the favored children. Hot apparently had bad genes or something that made our parents just flat-out despise him. They always looked down on him for no reason I can fathom even today. I think it had to do with the fact he looked like Mom, and even Mom didn’t like the way Mom looked. But none the less, here I sit before the most neglected unicorn in the Wasteland.

He's just staring at me, its unnerving. “So… how goes shit, bro?”

“It goes Running, it goes.” He maintains his ‘Gendo Pose’ while he speaks. To avoid confusion, let me explain. Hot Water and Cold Water are my biological siblings, unlike the Raiders who are my ‘brothers in arms.’ Right now, this is the only unicorn with the skill and training that can kill me. He legitimately hates me to a point where the fact he has not reduced my body to a puddle of steaming slag is making it hard to keep my bowels under control.

“So Running, what have you been doing for the past 2 years?” Oh thats a question I’d rather not answer.

“Oh you know, little of this little of that. Nothing dramatic.”

“Rrright, so how’s you club?”

“Dead. Some psycho with a gun wiped them out.”

“Wasn’t you I’m guesing.”

“No, ‘parrently it was the fabled Stable Dweller.”

“I heard you burned down Old Appleloosa.”

“They made the mistake of leaving me in a wooden building with petrol, it was only the natural escalation.”

“I suppose it was their mistake for leaving you unattended. What of that incident at the hospital?”

“Hey, they came after me!”

“True, true. And New Appleloosa?

“Second verse, same as the first.”

“Now, I’ve been getting reports saying you’ve been using acrobatics. Brother, why have you been flaunting our training?” Story time children, 10 years ago me and my brothers were training to be the best damn fighters in the Wasteland. Our teacher was our father, an Enclave Commando turned bodyguard for our mother who was a top tier scientist. Dad taught us combat doctrine and survival skills, Mom educated us in the sciences and medicines. When we came of age, Mom and Dad left me and Hot down here while they took Cold up above the cloud layer. They said they’d come back for us when the time was right.

“Gotta do what ‘cha gotta do, am I right?” His eyes narrowed.

“You’ve been raising red flags all over The Wastes; there are mercenaries, bounty hunters—! The goddamn Reapers are considering leaving The Hoof to come after you! There was a reason I said to keep under the radar, now you have half the damn Wasteland coming after you!”

I smile sheepishly, “Oops.”

“Oops? After all that all you have to say is ‘oops?’ Tell me Brother, why? Why do you do what you do? HOW do you do what yo do?!”

“You really wanna know?”

“YES!”

“I’m a mutant.” His jaw dropped then shifted to into a scowl.

“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me.” There be a look I haven’t seen since we were kids.

“No seriously, I’m a mutant dude. Got the super strength and everything.”

“Strength ain’t shit, show me something I haven’t seen.” I hope it wouldn’t come to this. I mean I really don’t want to do this. There’s something I can do, that I learned I could do when I was starting off as a Raider.

“I’m fire-proof.”

“Bullshit.”

“No I’m serious, I’m flame retardent.”

“I believe you’re stupid, but thats being pushed to certain levels of retardation as of now.”

“I can prove it.”

“Oh? DO tell.”

“Bring out all your men, a couple of flamers, and all your prisoners. I want to show everypony.”

I find myself back in my cell with a large grin on my face. The filly has since stopped crying and is drawing pictures on the wall with a bit of coal she apparently had. Doodles of ponies smiling and shooting each other. Reminds of myself when I was that age, I think.

“What ‘cha doing?” She doesn’t look to me, just keeps drawing.

“Drawin’.” Adorable.

“What ‘cha drawing?”

“Stuff.” Annoying.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Stuff I wanna do.” Nix that, adorable once more.

“You wanna kill?”

“Yeah.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“Just ponies.”

"Only ponies?”

“Yeah, and maybe some others. But mostly the ones I don’t like.”

“Like?” She stops drawing and looks to me.

“Like whoever killed my parents.” We’re going to be good friends. “You said something earlier, that your sibs were killed. What happened?”

“I don’t really remember, I wasn’t what you’d call of sound mind at the time.”

“And you are now?”

“Not really, but then again you can’t be sane and live for as long as I have out here.”

“How long is that?”

“17 years and counting… I think. Kind of a patchwork up here.” I motion to my head while crossing my eyes, she giggles. Thats new, I made someone smile without having to kill. To be specific I made a broken filly laugh. Neat, I’ve always wanted a little sister.

“So what did your parents do?”

“They worked in Fillydelphia, they were Chain Bosses.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there. On the radio they said she held some sort of revolt.”

“Heh, a One Pony Army, eh?” Her face cringed and she went back to drawing. “Ever want to be a One Pony Army?” That got her attention. “I can teach you how to be one.”

The guards escort me and the filly to outside. They have her stand in line with the others, time to show off. They position me in a chalk circle in front of them all. Two soldiers with Flamers stand at either side of me. My brother flashes me a big grin before signaling the two Burners.

I see a bright light, it feels warm. Like a hug or like someone just poured molten copper over me. Definitely that last one. I look around, I can make out the shadows in front of me as a combination of devil-horned and regular ponies and gryphons. I laugh. I laugh like I haven’t laughed in years. I feel so good, so powerful. This is what it means to be The Wasteland. I am unstoppable. I put my hooves together and shift them to make a snapping noise which cancels out the flames, don’t ask me how. All stare in awe and it feels fantastic. Why I can feel my inner gypsies cream herself with joy.

Aside from smelling a like a funeral pyre, I feel like a million caps. Closest thing to a shower I’ve had in years. Lets see, wheres the filly? Ah, of course she’s the one with stars in her eyes. My brother walks forth, mouth agape.

“How..?”

“Remember when we all lived together and Dad would give us those ration cupcakes?”

“Yeah?”

“Well I saved mine. All of them. And when we went our separate ways, I went to The Hoof. I found this neat rainbow goop and, well, I admit I was kinda tripping on Dash, but anyways the point is that shit was delicious on those things, man.”

“You ate cupcakes that were coated in Taint?”

“Mhmm.” I give my best ‘I’m fucking insane’ smile and his eyes twitch.

“I.. I… WHAT!? I COULD LITERALLY NOT BE MORE CONFUSED RIGHT NOW! You ate Taint, didn’t die, didn’t become an abomination, but gained the ability to not die from a baptism by fire!? Excuse me, I have to rethink my life because apparently my brother is a fucking BIOLOGICAL IMPROBABILITY!”

“So can I, like, leave now? Actually, I need to get some stuff before I head out if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Not like I can stop or anything!”

“Fantastic, just gonna need some armor and a shiny new gun. Also...” I walk over to the filly I shall now call ‘Midge-Midge’ and  put a hoof on her shoulder. “I’m taking short-stuff here, have plan I want to try out.” Hot points in a direction and off we go. More hallways, more hallways, yeesh you’d think these guys had a thing for long winding tubes or something. A left turn here and voila, Armory.

“Hey, whats you’re name?”

“Running Water. That other guy was my brother.”

“Thought so, he’s been ranting about ya for past few months.”

“Really? You’ve been here that long?”

“Yep, today’s my birthday.”

“Well than grant me the pleasure of taking you to birthday shopping.” Through the door and into a militaristic candy land. All around us hung weapons and armor that even I haven’t seen. And I’ve been above the clouds. Midge-Midge is given a satchel and immediately begins loading it with what I can only assume are explosives. “Uh, Midge only take what you can use.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m not familiar with most of these things, and field testing is not within the budget.” She’s a little disheartened as she puts back the devices. “What do you know how to use?”

“I’ve got a little know-how with laser pistols.” Energy weapons. Great. One of the most high-maintence weapons in The Wasteland.

“Aliright, snag a few of those, preferably ones with large clips. Er, batteries.” And what have we here? Armor, Wasteland in origin, looks to be inspired by Raider Designs. Made from… Combat Plating and that stuff BDU’s are made of. It must be mine. Unfortunately its behind some rather sturdy looking glass. A shotgun or assault rifle might push through, but that could damage the armor. Wouldn’t want that. “Hey, Midge-Midge wanna learn the first thing about being a Raider?”

The filly gives a curious nod as I look out side. I spot a passing guard, “Oh, Hun~!” The mare looks to me and runs over, looking as though I’m in the wrong neighborhood. She gets clotheslined as she enters, “How much do you weigh?” I ask while grabbing her hind leg. I drag her over to the display case and chuck her into it. There’s something beautiful about the sound of glass breaking. Like every shard is tiny symphony.

”Broken Wings and Shattered Dreams, these are a few of my favorite things~"

Midge-Midge looks with awe. Between the glass coated bloody mess and my new cohort, today has pretty damn good. “Happy birthday, kiddo."

Apprentice of Destruction

”So Billy, do you like Gladiator Movies?

Ever wanted to meet your childhood hero but when you do you find they’re a schmuck and you feel like you got ripped off somewhere along the line? Well that just means you’re a fucking idiot for choosing the hero that sucks. I forget where I was going with this, but the point is that I’m the greatest and I know it.

We had stolen an APC from my brother and were making our way to The Hoof. Would’ve grabbed a sky-wagon but I only know how to drive stick. About halfway to our destination the vehicle broke down and we had to continue on hoof. At some other point we had got lost and a storm was being brewed up above. We took shelter in an abandoned building in the outskirts of town. It was a fairly large complex, four stories high and with two sub-basements. We took our time to explore and neutralize whatever security protocols were still active. Midge-Midge is a pretty good shot for a squirt. Could be cleaner, but I’m just glad to see my apprentice is good for something. A few stray shots nearly nicked me, I’ll have to get her back for those sometime.

The rain’s coming down in palettes, we’re going to be trapped here for a while. “Hey Midge-Midge, go see if there’s anything to eat.” The filly nods and walks off. I look over my knife, something’s different about it. It seems cleaner than usual. Freshly polished and sharpened even.

“I don’t recall an engraving being on this. Tar.. Tari… Tarides.. Rires. Tarides Rires, the fuck does that… Oh.” Hearth’s Warming come early. Onto something slightly more prevalent, just what is this building? Its so pink and garish. Wait, I suddenly have an urge to bounce around and sing about how to bake a portal. Could it be? No… I need to check just to be sure. I gallop outside and look at the building.

“IT IS! HA HA~!” Oh happy day, oh happy day! I rush back inside, I have to find M.M. and tell her the great news. Where is she? She’s not in the pantry. I smell kerosene. CRAP! CRAP! CRAP! CRAP! Where is she!? Down the hall! Left! Right! Right! Left! Right!

Feathers, grey, damaged and filthy. Gryphons. Probably from Fillydelphia. No, the wear pattern lacks the rad-damage and soot of the Pit. It looks more like vulcanized…

“MOTHER FUCKER!” Hot said those bastards were after me. As to how they tracked me is unthinkable. It’s not like I carved a scar of death and destruction up this way. Wait, oh that son-of-a-bitch is going to pay the next time I see him. Gotta move, my little sister is in danger.

“Hey punk!” I stop and duck just in time to avoid the wall decimating slug that tore through the air. A headshot if I was slower. You know, I was kinda apprehensive about swapping out my SMG for a shotgun and yet I feel it was wise. Now seeing the situation, I’m really glad I swapped. Before me stood an armored gryphon, in his arms my little sister covered in accelerant with a lighter. “Checkmate.”

“You alright, Midge-Midge?”

“Running I don’t want to be here anymore…” This is going to be a very painful, very slow death for the feather-fucker. “This dude smells like ass.” That’s my girl.

“QUIET BITCH!” He digs his claws into her. “YOU RUNNING WATER!?”

“Mother fucker, did I stutter?”

“SHUT UP!” He hits her again. “ARE YOU!?” I raise an eyebrow and smirk.

“Bitch, I might be.” His left turns red as a blood vessel ruptures. “You mad, bro?”

Midge-Midge raises her hind-leg and brings it down on his foot. He squawks and releases her. “Little cunt!"

“Hey stupid.” He looks to me, “Is it just me, or is it cold in here?”

BADDUM!

He screams and leaps back as flames erupt from the kerosene puddle. Midgey douses herself in dirty water before the flames make it to her. Coolest filly ever. The gryphon tackles me to the ground and slashes at me.  Midge-Midge’s laser pistol stabs his metal armor with pink bolts. One of them warps the flesh of his exposed neck. When he looks to her, I kick him off of me. The metal avian catches himself and ripostes with a volley of bullets. That rifle shouldn’t even be able to fire that fast, it has to be modded. Or custom, depending on how much of a cunt this guy is.

Pink bolts streak over head, good. While Midge-Midge is distracting the iron-parakeet, I’m gonna run out back. When we were scouting this place out, I took the lobby, basement, and storage room. In storage, I had discovered massive transport containers filled with drums of Taint. Tangy, spicy, sweet Taint… That sounded really dirty. I love it.

This thing must weigh 128lbs. cause by Pinkie, its fucking heavy. That or it only feels heavy because I had mini-doughnuts, a scotch, and a smoke this morning. Breakfast of Champions. Oh good, an elevator. Lucky we found the ONE FUCKING BUILDING IN THE WHOLE WASTELAND THAT STILL HAS WORKING GENERATORS. Pinkie Pie, I love this world.

This Music sucks.

“Thats why its called ‘Muzak’ cause it’s the Un-Music.”

Either way, it sucks and we should change it. Do we still have that Los Pegasus-Band disk?

“I think so. Ooh! 2nd floor.”

Alright, dragging this son‘nuvva bitch towards the sound of cursing and gunfire. Shit, the drum is ruining the carpet. Snagged a pitcher and a funnel along my way. What I see next I was not prepared for. Midge-Midge was sitting behind an overturned desk and was shooting rubber bands at the gryphon; who was in turn returning fire with paperclips and erasers.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!?”

Both look to me with embarrassed expressions. Midge-Midge was the first to speak.

“Well, we ran out of ammo and—!”

“She’s too small to fight claw-to-hoof in a fair fight—!”

“So we improvised and, well, here we are.” I set down the pitcher and funnel and cross my hooves. After glaring at both for about four minutes, I speak.

“I’m not angry, I’m just very disappointed in both of you. Midge-Midge, I thought I taught you better than to rely solely on firearms. Random Gryphon-Reaper-Dude, you’re supposed to be one of the Wasteland’s elite warriors.”

“My name’s Chad.”

“Don’t tell me your name, you’re not prevalent enough to the story to warrant a—“

“My name is Chad.”

“I don’t care.”

“Call me Chad, motherfucker!” He raises his empty rifle and tries to bash me with it, which is responded to with a slash across the groin on my part. While he’s holding himself screaming, Midge-Midge gets some belts and the desk she was using for cover. We strap him down and I start prying open the taint drum. Shove the funnel down his gullet.

“Doctor, the patient seems to be suffering from profuse bleeding in core region!” I say while adjusting my candy striper hem.

“SHUT UP NURSE!, I know what I’m doing. I was trained in CUCARACHA! The patient needs 40cc’s of zychlorimetrium!” Midge-Midge holds out her hoof expectingly as I dip the pitcher into the drum. My whole arm feels tingly, like when you masturbate by rubbing live batteries on your cock. Feels good man.

Midge-Midge teeks the rainbow goop thingy and dumps it down the gryphon’s throat, who immediately begins choking. The feathers around his head begin to fall off as tumors and cancerous growths form across his face. Between the choking gurgles and the freaky pulsing glare he’s giving us, this is entertaining. Midge-Midge is grinning like she has hemophilia.

“TASTE THE RAINBOW MOTHER FUCKER!” She screams just the last ounce drains into the gryphon's warped, exposed stomach. Is it… Is his?

“Oh shit. OH SHIT!” I hate to ruin Midge’s moment, but it was necessary to tackle her down and strap on a gas mask to her. The Gryphon’s abdomen ruptures and releases toxic gas is spewed into the room. Staying low to the ground, we make our way to the stairwell and close the door behind us.

“Hey bro..”

“Yeah?”

“Could you teach me how to be like you?” I love this filly.

An Error in Continuity Pt.1

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