Fallout Equestria: SSDW

Same Shit, Different Wasteland

Barter and Loot

Moonbeam learned a very important lesson when she tried to shake the Courier awake: don’t do it. She received a revolver pushed up against her jaw for her trouble. “Oh,” he muttered. “It’s just you.”

“What the fuck!?” Moonbeam hissed, pushing him away and rubbing her cheek.

“Too many bad experiences.” Thomas casually reached back and stuck the revolver in the back of his pants. With his duster covering it the .44 magnum was invisible.

“Next time I’ll just poke you with a stick,” she muttered. “Besides, we have a problem.”

Thomas understood immediately what sort of ‘problem’ the mare was talking about. “So, they came back,” he said calmly, picking up his rifle.

“I heard them arguing before. They don’t know we’re here yet.”

“So we might be able to sneak out.” Thomas nodded happily at that.

“Yeah, if the only other way out hadn’t caved in,” Moonbeam replied bitterly.

“And all the windows are at the front...” Thomas reached down and grabbed his helmet. “How many were there?” he asked as he did the straps.

“I dunno, at least six,” Moonbeam answered nervously. “One of them mentioned a shotgun.”

“Okay, worst case scenario; there’s at least twelve, and they’re all armed.” Thomas flipped on his low-light optics and treaded softly to the end of the aisle. He poked his head out for a few seconds. “Okay, make that eight and they’re all armed,” he amended when he turned around.

“We don’t stand a chance!” Moonbeam groaned.

“Maybe we can talk with them,” Thomas suggested. “It’s worth a shot,” he added when Moonbeam looked at him as though he was completely insane.

“Oh, yeah, let’s just negotiate with the murderers and rapists! That’ll go well, surely!”

“Here,” Thomas said, passing her his 12.7mm SMG. “I’ll try and talk with them. If things go south, open fire.”

The mare stared at between her SMG and his. “What is with you and big guns?”

“Please, this is nothing compared to the shoulder-mounted machine gun I have at home,” he scoffed. “Now, get ready to cover me.”

Thomas took a deep breath and stepped out, his rifle pointed at the ground. “Howdy!” he called out, getting their attention.

The eight ponies turned to him, a few of them backing away. “What the fuck?” one of them asked.

“What are you doing here?” another asked.

“I could ask you the same question,” Thomas replied, his eyes darting between them. Three of them had horns, and the ones that didn’t had small pistols in their mouths. He saw the drum-barreled shotgun Moonbeam had mentioned before, held up in a unicorn’s magic. It was too dark to tell what gauge it was, but that didn’t exactly matter if she had slugs.

“We’re here to scavenge,” the one with the shotgun said. Thomas guessed she was the leader, simply because she had the biggest gun. “We sealed the ghouls in, and we were gonna kill them all. Guess you did that already?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Thomas tilted his head. Even with his low-light optics, he could make out the shapes of spikes and scrap metal that some of them were wearing as makeshift armour. The others, though, wore what looked like rough leather. He couldn’t be sure if they were mercs, raiders, scavengers or all three.

There was a tense, wary silence. “Look, if you found any food, it’d be great if you handed some of it over,” the leader suddenly said.

“Are you trying to rob me?” Thomas asked, tightening his grip on his rifle noticeably.

“There’s eight of us, and one of you,” the pony with the shotgun pointed out. “The easy way is to share.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Thomas smirked. “You really think anyone would be stupid enough to be out here alone?”

The ponies glanced at each other. “The thing’s got a point...”

“And even if I was, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to kill a few idiots who bit off more than they could chew. Hell, at this point it’s practically routine and trust me, the last people who tried were way better armed than you guys.”

“All right, you’re a tough alien thing, we get it.” The mare with the shotgun stepped forwards. “All we’re asking for is some of the supplies we know you scavenged. We don’t want to attack another trade caravan.”

Thomas’s rifle was against his shoulder in a flash. “Raiders,” he growled. “Shoulda known.”

“Woah woah woah! Put the gun down!” the mare pleaded. “We’re not raiders! We only do that outta necessity. We’d rather trade, believe me.”

“You just admitted to attacking caravans. Why should I?” he asked, his sight not wavering in the slightest.

“It’s not like we kill them! We just rough them up a bit, take what we need,” she explained. “And we need this food! We’ll be dead by the end of the week if we don’t get it, and the next caravan ain’t due in three!” she yelled desperately.

Thomas sighed. That was real desperation, not the sort that could be faked. Whoever this mare was, she was telling the truth. He lowered his gun, and gazed intently at the group. Sure enough, the few that didn’t have armour covering the main parts of their body looked emaciated. He swore he could see one sway uneasily. “What’s your name?”

“Twelve-Gauge,” the mare replied. It took all of Thomas’s willpower to stop himself facepalming.

Well, Miss Twelve-Gauge, my companion and I will trade some of the food with you.” The mare sighed with relief. “But if I find out that you’ve lied to me, I will shove my hand up your cunt and tear out your ovaries,” he growled. “That clear?”

“T-t-that doesn’t seem physically possible!” Twelve-Gauge stammered, backing away fearfully. The other ponies stared at him with revulsion and fear.

“That’s what the last bitch said. I proved her wrong. Moonbeam!” he called out!

“I heard everything,” the mare said unhappily. “Really? You’re planning on giving these guys some of the food we worked so hard to get?”

“Trading,” he clarified. “And don’t worry, if they try anything they won’t be leaving this building alive,” he added, taking his SMG from Moonbeam’s telekinetic grip.

“All up we have about eighty caps,” Twelve-Gauge said suddenly.

“Bottlecaps?” Thomas asked, his eyebrows rising up. When she nodded, he turned around and grumbled. “Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised...”

“How does sixteen boxes or tins sound?” Moonbeam asked, ignoring the man’s strange behaviour. “Five caps each?”

“Four caps,” one of the other ponies suddenly said, stepping forwards. “We ain’t gonna last on two boxes each, not all of us anyways. The extra should keep us going.”

Moonbeam thought for a moment. The Library’s council wouldn’t be happy with this, but the caps they could use to trade would always be a good thing. And it wasn’t like they were relying on only her for food. “I think we can do that.”

“What is it with you and your fucking terrifying threats?” Moonbeam asked loudly, half an hour after negotiating a trade. Despite her bags being a little lighter, they still looked like they belonged on a pack brahmin.

“They’re terrifying, that’s the whole point.” Thomas sighed and looked at the cloud-covered sky. “I’ve gotten hit-squads to run in fear, mercs to cough up the name of their employers and scared information outta people I would’ve had to bribe. The right words, and people will do whatever you tell them to stay alive.”

“So you have no intention of ripping out her ovaries?” she asked skeptically.

“Breaking her neck, sure. I don’t even know what the fuck ovaries are, just remember hearing some of the Followers mentioning it years ago.” He shrugged.

Moonbeam rolled her eyes. “So the threat you made to that Ranger is baseless as well, then?”

“Pretty much. Might’ve been better off if I’d killed them, though,” he muttered. “Can’t imagine letting them tell their bosses about me is gonna end well.”

“Hey, that’s your problem. Not mine,” Moonbeam stated clearly. “You get into any sort of trouble with them, you’re on your own.”

“Really?” Thomas asked, sounding a little sad. “After all we’ve been through?”

She was really starting to hate that helmet he always wore. She had no idea what was going on underneath that thing. For all she knew he was scheming to sell her to slavers. “We haven’t even known each other two days. I still don’t trust you.”

Thomas didn’t respond. Instead, he reached inside his duster and threw a pair of bottlecaps at her. “Would those be any good?” he asked.

Moonbeam looked at them, head tilting in complete confusion. “What the fuck is Nuka-Cola?”

“If I had to guess, my world’s take on Sparkle-Cola,” Thomas explained. “What about the other?”

“Sunset Sarsaparilla?” the blue mare asked. “You really weren’t kidding when you said our worlds shared similarities. And no, these would get thrown out. You might be able to sell them as novelties, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

“That’s what I thought.” Thomas looked around. “We going to try our luck with the manticores again?”

“With any luck, the raiders will be drugged up out of their minds.” Moonbeam looked down the ruined road that would take them in that direction.

“And if we get in a fight, we can scavenge their stuff.”

“You mean rob their corpses,” the mare deadpanned, giving him a flat stare.

“That’s what I said, scavenge,” Thomas replied cheekily.

“If I wasn’t already lugging around a hundred pounds of food, sure,” Moonbeam answered. “I don’t want to risk getting any of this damaged, though. I’m already gonna get in trouble for trading some of it away, the last thing I want is to give them another reason to get angry with me.”

“A hundred pounds?” Thomas asked, impressed.

“Something like that,” she replied with a shrug. “Probably a bit less, but you get the idea.”

“Alright, how about I clear them out and you take out anyone who tries to run?”

Moonbeam blinked. “Wait. Are you seriously planning on attacking a raider compound by yourself?” she asked in shock. “Can you at least die somewhere I can get to your body easily? I bet a minotaur somewhere would fork over a fortune for your gear,” she added, trying to joke about it.

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve,” Thomas replied slyly. “I’ll be the last thing they’ll never see.”

“Aaaaaaaaaargh!”

Moonbeam watched as the raider fell, or more likely was thrown out of a window five stories up. He hit the ground with a solid thud as his neck gave out and snapped from the impact. “That’s all of them!” Thomas yelled out from the same window. “Wanna help me loot their stuff!?”

“Are you sure you got them all!?” Moonbeam yelled back, ignoring the corpse not ten feet from her.

“I’ll meet you down there!” Three minutes later, the man emerged, sounding a little breathless. His right hand and the contraption he wore on it was covered in blood that wasn’t his, as were his boots.

“What did you do, kick one in the teeth?” the mare asked, taken aback by his appearance.

“More like ten,” he replied casually. “It’s a lot easier to kick someone in the jaw when it’s about level with your waist,” he commented.

“I imagine it would be...” Moonbeam looked around. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

The interior of the building was a lot like the exterior; covered in macabre decorations and blood. “How do ponies live like this?” she asked, trying to hold down her breakfast.

“Drugs. Lots and lots of drugs.” Thomas ignored the sights and made his way to the first body. Its head had disappeared, the coat stained with fresh blood as though the skull had exploded. “Hmm,” he grunted, looking at the bullets.

“If you find any 10mm rounds, can you give them to me?” Moonbeam asked rifling through a different corpse’s pockets.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied absently. “Reckon there’s a first aid kit in here somewhere?”

“Check the bathrooms. Eww,” she moaned, extracting a healing potion that had been covered in blood.

“I saw one upstairs.”

The pair made steady progress upwards through the building, stripping every corpse of anything valuable or useful. By the time they reached the top floor they had found five healing potions, ten rolls of bandages, close to a hundred rounds of 10mm ammunition, three dozen shotgun shells, five frag grenades and enough chems to kill a brahmin. Thomas had never heard of Stampede, Dash or Mint-als, but he was sure he could sell them to someone somewhere.

Their biggest find, though, was a rusty, dilapidated .308 calibre semi-automatic battle-saddle that had been stashed in a cabinet. Moonbeam almost let out a cheer at seeing it, despite its damaged magazine receivers and firing mechanism. Thomas had promised to take a look at it, but he had never seen anything that resembled that, and had no idea how to go about repairing it.

As the mare rifled through a first aid kit and Thomas sipped from a looted bottle of whiskey, they heard something they did not expect. “What the fuck!?” the voice echoed from downstairs.

The man and the mare stuck their heads out the windows and saw close to a dozen raiders standing outside the raider compound. “Well fuck,” Thomas muttered.

“Well now what?” Moonbeam asked, looking at the stairs they had come up.

Thomas instead focused on a number of beer bottles “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?” Moonbeam asked in shock, turning to look at the man like he was crazy. “Don’t worry!? You’re insane! We’re trapped up here, with the only way down through a pack of rapists!”

“Which is why we kill them,” he stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m going to need some cloth.”

A few minutes later, Thomas was ready. Five half-empty beer bottles with soaked rags stuffed in the necks rested in arm’s reach of him. “Okay, how the fuck is that going to help?” the mare asked, getting more and more worried by the second.

“Simple. Alcohol is flammable.” He picked one up and grabbed the lighter holding up to the rag. “I’d rather use flamer fuel, but this’ll do for now.” He stuck his head out and smirked when he saw that the raiders were still arguing about what course of action to take, the broken corpse of one of their fellows distracting them. “Burn,” he muttered as he lit the rag and dropped it.

“Holy shit!”

“Fuck!”

“It burns!”

Thomas smirked as they ran around in panic as the firebombs fell down, burning their matted fur and greasy armour. “Too easy.”

“You know they’re going to come up here now, right?” Moonbeam asked, her gun aimed at the stairs and her saddlebags hidden behind a desk.

“Get behind something, we’ll pick off the survivors as they come up.” Before the mare could respond, he knocked over a filing cabinet and pushed it in front of the stairs, turning it into a makeshift barricade. He then pushed two more next to it, leaving a gap wide enough for only one pony to get through at a time.

“Nice,” Moonbeam commented, nodding from behind the desk she had decided to hide behind.

“Let’s see them get through now.” Thomas unholstered his revolver and aimed it at the chokepoint. Moonbeam’s eyes boggled.

“Sweet merciful Goddesses, you could club someone to death with that thing!”

“Yes, my guns are huge. I’m getting a little sick of hearing you say that,” the Courier said snidely.

“Well excuse me for not carrying around a gun that doubles as a fucking bludgeon.” Before the Courier could retort, she opened fire. “Here they come!”

The roar of Thomas’s Sequoia nearly deafened Moonbeam, and she was on the other side of the room! “That’s two!” Thomas shouted.

Suddenly, something came flying up through the chokepoint and landed with a tink-tink next to Moonbeam. Her eyes went wide as the grenade silently ticked away.

By the time her life had begun flashing before her eyes Thomas had leapt to her, scooped the grenade up and thrown it back. It didn’t make it ten feet before detonating, though, spraying him with shrapnel, the force of the explosion knocking him back over the desk.

“How do you like that!?” the raider who had thrown the explosive taunted, sticking her head up. She hadn’t expected any survivors, so it was a fatal surprise when Moonbeam gave her a few new holes to breathe through.

Moonbeam waited a few seconds before rushing to Thomas. “Courier!” she shouted. “You okay?” His right arm was missing a lot of skin where the metal plate wasn’t providing protection, and the raw wounds were bleeding quite a bit. His body armour had stopped a lot of the shards of metal from doing any real damage, but the sight of the twisted metal embedded in his faceplate was far from reassuring. “Courier?” she asked, now sounding especially worried.

“Oh god,” he muttered. “This is worse than that time with Fisto...” The man unsteadily pushed himself up and winced when he got a good look at his arm. “Shit.”

“Oh thank goodness you’re okay,” Moonbeam collapsed onto her stomach and sighed in relief. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You were frozen in fear. That grenade was gonna kill you,” Thomas replied, carefully removing his helmet.

“It nearly killed you, though.”

“Yeah, I’m not the sort to think things like that through.” Thomas grimaced from the pain as he looked at the damage done to his helmet. “I think the ventilator is fucked.”

“What about your arm?” Moonbeam, shocked at how casual he was about his wounds.

“Some bandages, a Stimpak, and I’ll be good.” His left hand fumbled around in his duster, trying to find what he was looking for, but he was stopped when the mare levitated something in front of him.

“Drink it,” he ordered, shaking the healing potion to make sure he was focused on it. “It’s safer than stabbing yourself with a needle.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” he said as he took the bottle.

“Hey, you’ve got the most firepower, I’m not gonna let you die. You might wanna pull out the shrapnel first,” she pointed out, gesturing at his arm.

“Can you do that?” Thomas asked. “I’m not as good with my left hand as I am with my right.”

“I guess. Give me a moment to look for some tweezers or something.” The mare rushed off for the first-aid kit she’d been rummaging through. “Tweezers, disinfectant and bandages. Perfect.” Moonbeam returned and began her work. “Hold still, would you?”

“Jeez, that stuff stings.”

“Stop being such a baby.”

“How do know what you’re doing, anyway?” Thomas asked, wincing as the mare extracted a bit of metal.

“We’re all taught first aid. It’d be pretty fucking stupid to rely on one pony to patch someone up, especially if our main doctor gets shot,” she explained. “That should do it.”

Thomas downed the potion without hesitation before unstrapping the metal plate from his arm. As Moonbeam retrieved her saddlebags, he hastily bandaged his wounds. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, the smell is starting to get to me,” Moonbeam replied, waving her hoof in front of her face.