Same Shit, Different Wasteland

This ain't the Mojave...“Stupid fucking Think Tank and their stupid fucking...”

Thomas picked himself up angrily and looked around. This certainly wasn’t the Mojave Drive-In. All around him were ruined buildings, cracked roads and damaged... carts? That last detail confused him. Everywhere he had been had seen at least one wrecked car, a burnt husk of pre-War luxury. These looked as though they’d been designed to be pulled by small creatures, which didn’t make much sense.

Out of curiosity, he opened up the Map tab on his Pip-Boy 3000. Worryingly, a blinking message informed him that it couldn’t find anything. “No connection?” he asked quietly. He grumbled a little as he made his way to the nearest cart. Maybe he could identify something about it, and through that determine where he was.

A brief inspection told him that it looked as though it had been made to be pulled by miniature Brahmin. The back was open and only had two wheels. He guessed this was some sort of transport cart, but it wasn’t a rickety, splintery thing held together by Wonderglue and hope. He knew pre-War manufacturing when he saw it and this, while it wasn’t like anything he had ever seen before, was definitely pre-War.

This... cart was at odds with everything else, though. If whoever built this was capable of building towers easily twenty stories high and paving roads, why would they not use motorised vehicles? A brief thought passed that perhaps every vehicle had been taken because of the war, but he quickly dismissed that. Those cars, even when they had been serviceable, didn’t look particularly versatile.

The brief idea that he had ended up on another world was dismissed the moment it appeared. What could he be expecting, anyway? Intelligent dogs with plasma rifles? That was easily one of the more stupider things he had ever thought. It wasn’t like the Transportalponder was even capable of that.

He looked at the device in his left hand and gasped. The glass cylinder keeping the crackling energy within had cracked, the sleek black casing of the handle was shattered, exposing the fusion battery within, and the small orange cap that concealed the components had split. It still seemed functional, but he did not want to take a risk. There was absolutely no telling just where he would end up or what could happen.

“Great,” he muttered. “Stuck somewhere I don’t know, no way home... at least I’ve got my guns.” If this was part of the Wasteland, then he would undoubtedly need them. After stowing his damaged Transportalponder back into his duster, he checked his armaments. His Sequoia rested on his hip, secure in its holster, while his Medicine Stick and 12.7mm SMG rested on his back, held there by slings. The Displacer Glove had a fully charged small energy cell and his holdouts, his .44 Magnum revolver and his knuckle dusters, were exactly where he had put them.

Checking his pockets, he found a small amount of Rad-Away, a few stimpaks, Rad-X, a few chems and a few bottles of water. “Need to find some food,” he muttered. That was easily the most important thing he had to worry about. Without that, he was looking at a few days before succumbing to starvation.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting shot. Most small calibre weapons tended to just bounce off the body armour of his Elite Riot Gear, and it was definitely intimidating enough for only the bravest of individuals to even consider that course of action, especially with his helmet on.

Pushing himself away from the centuries-old cart, he decided to follow the street, hoping it would take him to a settlement or at least a scavenger.

Thomas found himself reconsidering the idea that he was on another world. It would certainly help explain what he had stumbled across. It was a simple poster, featuring a strange quadrupedal creature, reminiscent of a Brahmin or horse. It was wearing armour that, after a few seconds of thinking, he realised resembled T-45d, although the number of attachments on the back and sides were a little confusing. It was looking proudly off into the distance, probably meant to inspire, though age had left it tattered and worn. Across the top were the words ‘You too can be a Steel Ranger!’ in a bold font. “Steel Ranger?” Thomas asked to himself.

He took in this new information. The fact that he could clearly see an alien creature on the poster only reinforced this new idea of being somewhere that wasn’t Earth. The fact that the words were in perfectly legible English was something else. That just defied logic. He knew odds, being used to gambling in his spare time, and something like this could only be described as ‘astronomically improbable’. It wasn’t like he had any reason to dwell on the matter, though. All that mattered was getting home.

Sighing and walking along underneath the ruined balcony, he heard screaming. At first he ignored it, but the gunfire that sounded three seconds later warranted investigation. He looked around, trying to identify the direction from which it came. The number of ruined buildings didn’t help, creating some sort of twisted echo chamber, but after close to ten seconds he picked a direction and walked.

It didn’t take long at all to find the cause, and he concealed himself from view behind a pile of rubble. When he peeked out, he was surprised by what he saw. There were twelve of them, and they certainly resembled the creature from the poster, though they definitely had no T-45d lookalike. Instead they were wearing spikes, leather straps, scrap metal and bits of ruined clothes. Like raiders, Thomas realised with a shock. The fact that they were quite a bit more colourful than seemed sensible was really insignificant compared to that.

Eleven, he realised. The one with a midnight-blue coat was different, instead wearing a set of what looked like modified combat armour. The odd one out had a horn, and it was... glowing? It definitely looked like it, and Thomas muttered to himself in disbelief when he saw a small SMG levitate next to them.

One of the raiders laughed callously. “You really think that little piece of shit is gonna save you?”

The rest began to laugh. “Put the gun down, and we’ll just rape ya a little!” another of the raiders, a male, called out.

The armoured one was the next to speak. “I’ve already taken out three of you,” she commented. Even from this far Thomas could hear her nervousness.

“And for that, we’re gonna make you pay,” another raider said.

“Tell ya what, if ya turn around and lift your tail, we’ll make your death quick,” one of them offered. This roused more laughter from the group.

“Yeah, downright painless!” another added. Thomas felt even more disgusted when he realised that it had been a female that had said that.

Carefully pulling his lever-action from his back so as not to make noise, he resumed his vigil. The raiders had gotten closer to the other one, and she was waving the gun around, not knowing which one to shoot first. Thomas noticed an assortment of weaponry amongst the raiders, hammers, knives, there was even one with barbed wire around its front legs. He knew that the lone... horse-thing had no chance of surviving. Oh sure, she might take some of them down before she died, but they’d just make her death all the more agonising for it.

He didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, she might be able to help him.

The sudden crack! of a rifle got everypony’s attention, with the exception of the one who fell to the ground, two new holes in his moldy-green head. They all looked in the direction the bullet had come from, seeing a strange, minotaur-like creature headed their way.

“I’m giving you one chance,” it said in a deep, commanding voice, ejecting the casing with a pump of the lever. “You can either leave, or you can die.”

There was something in its voice that brokered no argument. It was going to get what it wanted. But one of the raiders was not planning on giving up his prize that easily. “Oh yeah? You really thi - ” It only took a blink but the strange biped’s gun was against his shoulder, the barrel smoking as another body fell to the ground.

“I don’t think,” the being responded. “I know.”

“W-what the hell do you want?” one of the female raiders asked, backing away slowly.

“Her,” it said, pointing a finger at the mare in combat barding.

“Fuck no!” she said loudly, backing away.

“Yeah, she’s ours!” one of the males said angrily. They were also his last words.

“Okay, that’s it, they’re both dead!” The raiders began to charge at the bipedal figure. Calmly, it dropped its rifle and pulled a different gun off its back. This new weapon was an automatic, and it mowed down the raiders before they could even get close.

The mare watched as the thing calmly reloaded its weapons and walked towards her. She didn’t like this thing. It had just killed raiders like they were nothing! Granted, they were raiders and needed to die, but it had done it so effortlessly. She raised her sub-machine gun and pointed it at the being, doing her best to keep it steady in her magic.

“Put that down, you might hurt someone.” As it came closer, she realised that it was male. There definitely weren’t any outward signs underneath all its clothing, but there was something, perhaps it voice, that was undeniably masculine about it. “Besides, I just saved your life. That’s how you want to repay me?”

“You killed them,” she said nervously.

“It was them or you. And raiders aren’t the kind of folk to give me the help I need.” Those last three words stuck in the mare’s mind the most.

“You need me?” she asked. “That’s the only reason?”

“That, and they were gonna rape you,” he added. He reached up and undid the straps holding his helmet on. The gun aimed at him pointed a bit higher up. “So, what’s your name?”

The mare stared at him. He had a gun pointed at his head and he was asking for her name!? “Moonbeam.”

“Well, nice to meet you Moonbeam,” he said politely. “I’m the Courier.”

Moonbeam looked at the dark-skinned creature’s face. “The Courier?”

“I deliver life and death. Salvation and destruction. Hope and despair. Also mail. Mainly that last one.” The Courier added his last point nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the seriousness of the rest. He scratched his chin absently as he looked around the ruined city square. “Where are we?”

Moonbeam blinked at the abrupt change from a serious tone to a more conversational one. “Err, Manehattan. At least, what’s left of it.” Her voice was hesitant. How did he not know this? The direction he had come from was from the city center. The Courier looked at her blankly. “Equestria?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m lost.” Moonbeam didn’t know what to make of his behaviour. He looked around despondently, as though trying to think what to say next.

“Lost?”

“Would you believe me if I said I’m an alien?” he asked. The Courier was rewarded for his question by the sounds of the mare dropping her gun and scrambling backwards into the nearest wall.

“Don’t anal probe me! Please, anything but that!” she pleaded, sounding completely terrified by the idea.

The Courier just stared at her for a moment, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous that was. “I won’t do anything to you unless you want me to.”

“So... you’re not going to probe me?” the mare asked nervously.

“Unless you’re into that kind of thing. Are you?” he asked with a smile. Then it disappeared. “You’re bleeding.”

Moonbeam looked down at her left foreleg, which was leaking blood from a gash just above her hoof. “It’s just a scratch.” Privately she wondered how she had missed it before.

“Yeah, then it gets infected and the only way to save your life is to cut off your leg.” The Courier sighed before reaching into his duster. “Hold still, I’ll do what I can.”

“Stay away from me!” Moonbeam begged, pushing herself against the wall.

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have shot you when I shot those raiders,” he pointed out. He pulled his hand out, revealing a syringe and a roll of bandages.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing a shaking hoof at the syringe. A part of her was still incredibly wary. It wasn’t common to meet someone who was this charitable without wanting something in return. That, and a part of her didn’t want to let this alien too close to her.

“Med-X, painkiller,” the Courier calmly explained.

“Don’t bother, chems don’t affect me much,” she said, waving a hoof at the drugs.

He shrugged. “Better than nothing.” In a flash he was by her side. Before she could react the needle had punctured her skin. “Hold still,” he instructed as he started bandaging up the wound.

“Why are you doing this?” Moonbeam asked, too nervous to run.

“Because I want to get home. If putting you in my debt is the way to go about it, then fine. That, and it gets lonely in the wastes,” he added. “A little company is always nice.”

“The wastes?” Moonbeam asked, wincing a little as he tightened the bandages. “I thought you said you were lost.”

“I am. Different wasteland,” he clarified. “A lot nicer than here, that’s for sure.”

“So, what, you want me to help find your mothership?” Moonbeam asked with a careful laugh.

“No,” the Courier replied with a laugh of his own, glancing at the sky. He frowned at the blanket of clouds but thought nothing of it. “I need something fixed.”

“Well, there might be someone who can help back home.” Moonbeam grabbed her gun and pointed it at the Courier. “But I need to know I can trust you to not hurt anyone.”

“If I do, I’ll put a bullet through my own skull.”

The mare’s eyebrows rose up into her mane. She could tell that he was completely serious, that he would do it if he had to. She had never met someone like that. “Okay. Follow me.”

Author's Note

Oh I am a terrible person. I won't deny that.