Fallout Equestria: Las Pegasus

The calm snoring of a worn out traveler was cut short as two strong earth ponies burst through the door of the old ranch shed. Steele woke up abruptly only to be punched in the face and restrained. His head spinning and vision fading, he only managed to catch the distinguishable armor of his attackers; it resembled that of the old royal guards, and Steele knew he was in deep shit. A few more moments of being dragged along the ground, and his captors dropped his body at the feet of his favorite decanus.

“Steele. I thought a clever snake like you would know better than to hide right under the sun’s rays.” Spoke the unnervingly calm voice.

“What.... what are you going to do to me?” Steele asked. This was no time to act macho. Genuine fear replaced bravado, and to Vulpes’s amusement Steele groveled like every other weakling in the Mojave.

“Execute Justice.” Vulpes answered. “You broke a man’s legs without him wronging you in any way. You deserve to suffer like he did. An eye for an eye. His legs for yours.” Vulpes explained, waving his hoof around as if to explain a trivial matter.

“No! You can’t! You forced me to do that!” Steele yelled, but it was all in vain. He was restrained again, and his legs were held in place the same way the Powder Ganger’s legs were.

Steele looked up to meet Vulpes’s smile as a Legion veteran swung a large bloody hammer onto Steele’s right knee.

“No!” Steele screamed.

The sound of bone shattering was mind-numbing, and pain washed over Steele, seeping into every crack as it drowned him in burning agony. He writhed in the throbbing pain, enduring wave after wave of rhythmic torture.

Steele screamed and violently recoiled into reality. His alarm had been going off for a few minutes now, and he magically silenced it to prevent it from giving away his position.

“Just a bad dream.” He realized, taking a deep breath and wiping the cold sweat off his face.

The Mojave finds ways to get under your skin. It haunts you, grinds away at your body, and batters your mind until you wear away like the sand that stretches as far as the eye can see. You could act as tough as you wanted to, but the guilt death entails never escapes the mind, not even for ponies as cold as Steele.

Steele took a few moments to calm down. It felt like there was someone in his head, beating the inside of his forehead with a hammer, demanding freedom from the dark confines of his mind. He finished his second to last water bottle, and angrily shook the empty apple whiskey bottle, damning it for not containing the liquid cure to his headache and guilt. He put on his hat, checked his gear, and left his stupid alarm clock to rust. Steele was hungry, really hungry, and food took priority as he pondered as to where he might satisfy his ravaging hunger. He couldn't go back to Nipton, that place was off limits at the moment, so the only place left was wherever this endless desert led him to. He picked a direction and began to walk, hunger motivating him to press onward.

His path brought him to nothing more than steep hills and rocks. He was about to pick another direction, but the rocky cliff to his right seemed like it had an opening, and his curiosity and empty stomach led him to find that there was an old weather damaged wood door. Anything could lay behind it, either death or profitable goods would be found. Such a decision was usually made on a full stomach, but with it growling in protest Steele convinced himself he had no other choice other than raid whatever was behind that door. He swung it open and stepped into a dark cave; a few gem powered lanterns provided the only illumination in the form of dim, green flame.

I'm going to regret this. Steele thought before descending further into what seemed like an endlessly winding cave. A few moments of travel and he started to feel sick. Either the emptiness of his stomach was getting to him, or something was not right with this cave. As Steele’s hooves clicked against the rocky floor, sending echoes throughout the cave, he noticed that the only life here came from green glowing mushrooms; no doubt the result of radioactivity. Once the idea of this cave being nothing more than a radioactive stone casket for some unlucky traveler clicked, Steele began to turn back, but stopped in his tracks when a barely audible hissing noise caught his attention.

Steam? Here? There aren't any pipes around here, how could there be steam? He pondered. Unfortunately, the realization hit him harder than the over-sized mutated rat that had dug its teeth into his armor. He screamed as its hardened teeth bit into one of his armor’s plates, crushing the forearm underneath. Steele drew Mustang and Sally in time to tear a hole in his attacker’s head, but the screaming and gunshots had attracted a lot more rats, calling them to the source of their potential meal.

“May the goddesses forgive me for what I’ve done!” He yelled, being forced deeper into the cave. Strangely enough, he felt that if he was going to die then he might as well ask for forgiveness, because wherever he was going wasn't going to be pretty.

Steele ran through the cave, firing into the swarm of rats behind him and leaping over radioactive barrels.

“That explains the Celestia damned rats.” He thought out loud.

With each time he looked back a new surge of adrenaline coursed through his body. The swarm was so thick that the thin hallways could not support them all, and many were jumping and tripping over one another to get at the tasty new meal running away from them.

“Luna fuck me with her horn!” Steele screamed, counting his blessings as he magically swung the heavy metal door, and once behind it, slammed his whole weight into it.

The rat swarm behind him squealed in protest, and a few rats managed to squeeze their heads through the door. Steele shot them, and to his relief, his magic and body weight were enough to close the door despite the protest of its rusty hinges. Steele slide against the door, revolvers drawn, and took a moment to have the adrenaline wear off. This was more excitement than he asked for, and now it seems like he was trapped and left to die.

He was never a religious pony, the Goddesses and their glory were only colt tales to him, but despite the bastardizations of their perfection from the NLR and Solar Legion, Steele had to admit that he was a bit more than just lucky, and thanked the Goddesses for his safety. All those stories couldn't be made up, could they? He hoped. The nights by his mother and the fireplace had to mean something. She had often told him that Equestria used to be lush and beautiful, that death and destruction were non-existent. Often he would find comfort in his mother’s soothing voice as she sung stories of beautiful princesses capable of love and tolerance.

Steele drifted back into reality and stood up, shaking the bullshit out of his head. The radiation was getting to him, and the Mojave was far from a children’s tale of wonders and peace. Steele examined his soon to be grave, and found an old desk. A few very old, intact notes and a busted stabletech terminal sat on top of it. He read began to read the first note, noticing that the lightly written words appeared to be the work of a unicorn mare.

Research Log # 32: It’s Dr.Livingworth again. I’m still mad at the other followers of the apocalypse for forcing Bill and I to study this radiation filled shithole. Nothings changed in the last few weeks. The rats keep getting bigger and more aggressive. Today Bill had to take out four of them as they attacked our lab; they've never had the nerve to do that before, but it seems that the lack of food and added radiation are making them more desperate. Honestly I don't know how I would have ever survived had Bill not been here to save me. I mean Luna dam does he look good when he uses that gun of his. He’s the only reason I still haven't left this place; I would never want to make myself look bad in front of him. He was saved by the followers, and is really devoted to help them. I just can't abandon this project, he’d just hate me if I did. Oh I wish I knew how he feels about me, if he’d ever forgive me if I gave up this stupid task. I hope he never reads these, but a part of me still wants him to, just to see how he would react. Oh well, back to eating canned food and studying the radioactive rat corpses Bill patiently salvages for me.

Bill’s Diary: I’m getting tired of sitting here. I appreciate what the followers did for me, but sometimes I think they aren’t the best example of “knowledge keepers”. I probably would have left had it not been for the doctor. She’s so kind and pretty, I don't know how I would have ever lasted had it not been for her medical expertise. She’s so modest too; when she was patching up my leg after a rat bite, she blushed and turned away when I told her how great of a doctor she was; her cute little glasses nearly fell off. I don’t know how much longer we have to stay here, but I promise to keep her safe. I guess she’s just worth living for. Dear Celestia I hope she doesn't read these. If she found out I made that joke, she’d kill me. The rats have been getting more vicious. I’m afraid my trusty old Ratslayer might not be enough. Either way, I’ll stay here as long as the doctor needs to, I’d never let her down.

Steele stopped reading; he hated to get into the dead’s affairs. There were enough things to trouble his conscience, but he couldn't help but read the last note. After all, it might contain info on how to get the hell out of here. To his dismay the last note was stained with darkened circles; either blood or tears. Steele tried to reconsider, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Unlike Bill’s heavy magic-writing, the words were light and smooth, Dr. Livingworth’s work.

Dr.Livingworth’s Note: To whoever reads this, I left behind the diaries of my co worker Bill and I. We have run out of food, and the rats have become completely feral. We are currently trapped by a hungry swarm outside the lab and are out of ideas. Bill wants to run out there and sacrifice himself so that I can run, but I just can't let him. Oddly enough, I was right about him liking me. I regret not telling him how I felt from the beginning. Maybe then we wouldn’t have to die. When Bill will fall asleep, I'll sneak out and use the few explosives we have on the rats. Bill is strong; he can take care of the few rats left behind. To whoever reads this, please give this to the Followers of the Apocalypse. And if you are reading this Bill, then please don’t be mad. I just wanted you to live and move on. I’m just a stupid, weak little mare who the Mojave will forget, but you are strong stallion who can make a difference. I love you Bill. Please don’t hate me.

Steele stopped reading; he had read enough. Oddly enough he now felt like he needed to do something. He had invaded on the privacy of the dead, and in doing so needed to make it up to them by fulfilling their request. He carefully rolled up the notes and placed them in his saddlebag. No hints on how to get out, but maybe there was something left behind that could be used to help him.

Steele looked around the room and noticed a small makeshift lab first. He salvaged the few healing potions and was grateful for the 5 new packs of radaway he now owned. Upon further inspection he found a few crates filled with food cans, but to the dismay of his upset stomach, they were all empty. Steele moved on the corner of the lab to find a makeshift bunk bed. There was a unicorn corpse on the bottom bunk, and judging by the gun it held, Steele knew this was Bill. Poor bastard must have found the notes and decided that he didn't want to live without the doctor.

Looting corpses was a must for survival, and this case was no different, but knowing the history behind a lifeless body really made taking from it an uncomfortable process. Steele slowly levitated the beautiful rifle out from under the corpse and stepped back to examine it. He let out a low whistle once he got a better look. Normally he would sell any gun he came across since he didn't want the extra weight, and his gun’s ammo was expensive, but this was something else.

The semi-automatic rifle had a black composite body, making it extremely light. It was also equipped with a 6x night scope, a silencer, and an extended magazine. This was truly a nice find, and the common 5.56 ammo for it would really go easy on Steele’s wallet. Upon further inspection it had a while rat skull painted on the side, and there was a set of tally marks above the name “Ratslayer”. Steele counted sixty nine total tallies, and shouldered the gun. This was his rifle now, and luckily the ammo crate by the bed gave him enough ammo to make his new toy useful.

Steele's attention drifted to a vomit-green duffle bag under the bed, and upon further inspection he found what he had been looking for; three shiny metallic apples stared back at him from the dark interior of the bag. Steele levitated the grenades and asked the Goddesses for support before pulling the metal leaves and throwing the grenades behind the door.

The cave shook as the grenades exploded, filling it with ear-shattering screeching. Steele reopened the heavy steel door, and the nasty stench of fried mutated rat organs strewn about hit his muzzle hard. He nearly dropped Ratslayer, but pushed forward. The explosions were enough to take care of most of the rats, and Steele had no trouble picking off the few that blocked his escape.

Once outside Steele gasped for the fresh warm air, willing it to replace the horrid taste of roasted rat. Steele downed three radaways, and actually embraced the bitter taste. His moment of freedom and survival was short lived however, when his stomach reminded him of its presence.

Steele downed his remaining water and traveled forward. To his relief he caught a campfire smoke trail not too far from the cave he just escaped. He used one of the hills to get a look at the potential food source; a Legion raid camp. Great.He thought sarcastically, smirking behind the scope of his rifle. There were four Legionaries total. Three prime, and one recruit; they appeared to be part of the Nipton raid considering there were two tied up Powder Gangers in the middle of the camp. No doubt they would be sold into slavery soon, but that didn't trouble Steele right now. A camp meant food, and this was an easy camp to take.

It was the perfect plan, but as always something had to go to shit. To Steele’s dismay a familiar beige maned, white unicorn was taking aim at the Legionaries from another hill. He might have had a superior aiming advantage thanks to his pipbuck, but unfortunately it didn't make up for his terrible hiding skills. The Legionaries immediately started to attack him, spreading out and closing in on him quickly. The courier put up a good fight, killing the recruit and wounding a prime Legionary immediately, but there were too many of them for his slow firing gun to handle. Luckily, Steele was hungry, and therefore in the mood to help him.

He positioned Ratslayer and began to silently take out the Legionaries. He only needed to fire three bullets. Once clear, he reloaded the magazine and shouldered his gun, regretting not waiting long enough to let the Legionaries kill his annoying problem. The courier was smiling and waving him over. Dam kid. Steele smirked.

“Hey, thanks for the save again. Since you killed most of them and saved me, you deserve most of the loot.” He said. His genuine friendliness was a nice sight to see, but kindness was rare in these parts, and it only raised Steele’s suspicion.

“What are you doing here?” Steele questioned bluntly as he eyed this courier of his. This was no time for being nice. He was hungry, and for all he knew, so was this courier.

“Hey relax man. I don't know what your problem is, but I’m thanking you for saving me twice; you don’t have to be an asshole about it.” The courier answered, his easygoing nature was starting to rub off on Steele, and he reconsidered his hostilities.

“Sorry. Near death and hunger tend to make a man impatient.” He explained.

“Alright, that’s a start." The courier began, eyeing Steele with one of his eyebrows raised; for some odd reason he was curious about his mysterious hero. "I don't have any food, but there’s a supply tent here. We could split the goods soon as I let these guys go." He added, motioning at the tied up Gangers who eyed them nervously. "I talked to some poor guy in the nearby town. Poor bastard had his damn legs broken by these Legion assholes, and told me about these two. I mean I just don't know how the Legion could possibly use the Goddess's name like that. It’s sick.” He ranted, proceeding to untie the two Gangers, who thanked them and ran off. He returned his attention to Steele. “So, I answered your question, now I think you should answer mine. What’s your name?”

This courier seemed like a nice guy, a bit too chatty and innocent for Steele’s taste, but his kindness was genuine. He actually risked his life for the two low life Powder Gangers without expecting a reward. Either he was some sort of saint, or that bullet must have done a number on his brain. Whatever. He was kind, and that earned Steele’s kindness as well.

“Steele.” Was the reply.

“Cool, that wasn't so hard now was it? My names Hermes, but I’m sure you could care less about that right now. Let’s eat first, then if you still want to, I could answer any questions you have. Deal?” He asked, offering his hoof and a warm smile.

“I like you more already.” Steele answered, returning the gesture. This courier might have been smarter than he looked.

The day soon became night and the two worn travelers took comfort in the warm glow of the campfire. With his stomach content, Steele decided to take Hermes up on his offer.

“So mister Stable dweller, what stable did you escape?” He questioned.

“Stable?" Hermes asked. "Oh right, the pipbuck and suit. Not mine actually. Doctor Mellowgrass gave them to me. I’m a courier, born and raised in the Mojave.”

“Really? You're using that fancy pipbuck like you were born with it, and for a Mojave dweller you sure act like an oblivious stable dweller. I’ve never seen any Mojave survivor this oblivious of his surroundings and this bad at survival.” Steele answered. Hermes was visibly offended, but knowing Steele's harsh nature, he didn't let it get to him.

“Not from this part of the Mojave." He answered bitterly. "I’ve never been this far west until I got my latest package, which wasn’t even mine to begin with. Some other courier died, and I got responsibility for his package. As for the survival part, well. Being a desert mail stallion doesn't mean you get to kill shit on a daily basis like you mister macho." He explained, pushing an accusing hoof at Steele's chest before laying down and staring up at the night sky. "Hell I only do well because I got this fancy computer strapped to my arm.” He finished. Steele noticed Hermes had a terrible poker face, and his easy going nature did a poor job of hiding his hurt feelings.

“Whoa relax. Just thought you’d rather hear it from me before thinking you can play hero whenever you want. The Mojave isn't a place for nice guys, and your heroism is just going to get you killed.”

“Well why can’t it be a place for good ponies?" Hermes exclaimed, turning to his side and facing Steele. "I mean if everyone wants to be a selfish asshole like you, then obviously nice guys won’t last long. You've gotta start somewhere. I might not be the survivor badass you are, but my profession at least taught me that kindness goes a long way.”

Steele stared the courier down. He sure had a lot of guts insulting Steele so openly, and that caught his attention.

“Ok kid, I see your point. Hell I used to play hero too." Steele yielded, his attention drifting to the past. "Didn't get me far though. A saint in hell won't last long. Feel free to keep trying to make the Mojave a better place, just don't go on dragging me into it.”

Hermes might have been an ignorant fool, but so was Steele a few years back. Who knows? Maybe the stories of Equestria thriving on peace and kindness were true. Maybe Hermes could make a difference, or maybe Steele’s brain was still irradiated from that cave and it was making him irrationally kind.

“You used to be kind? See, I was starting to lose hope in miracles, but that... that sure is something." Hermes chuckled.

“Can it smart ass.” Steele laughed. It felt good to stretch those muscles again.

“Holy shit! He’s laughing now! Luna strike me dead, he’s gone insane.” Hermes responded, laughing as well.

“Alright that’s enough.” Steele said, breaking the light mood as fast as it had come.

“And he’s back.” Hermes answered gloomily as he rolled his eyes and sighed. Steele was a tougher bastard to crack than he thought.

“This package of yours. What is it, and why the hell did you decide Mr. House was a good client?” Steele asked, getting back to the idea of profit.

“I have no idea. It’s just a trinket to me. I had no idea it belonged to Mr. House until I was digging my own grave. Some whack job named Lucky Star and his two goons took it from me; he seemed to give it more value than I would have ever thought it deserved. Hell, the pay check was good, and the package was light. At the time it didn't seem like a big deal, but apparently I was damn wrong.”

"Trinket?" Steele pressed.

"Yea, a little silver lightning bolt. Must have belonged to a necklace or something, I don't know. Lucky Star seemed to give it more credit then it deserved, least he was willing to kill me over it." Hermes explained, scratching the back of his head.

“Welcome to the Mojave. Either way, what do you plan to do about it now?” Steele asked, taking a sip from his new bottle of apple whiskey.

Hermes plopped down onto his back again and stared into the night sky, letting his mind drift for a bit.

“Right now I plan to find that Lucky Star bastard, kill him, and take what's mine. What I’d do from there? I have no idea.” Hermes finally answered.

“Not as soft as I thought kid. I can respect that. You keep that attitude and you just might survive this shit hole.” Steele complimented, taking a swig of his whiskey and gazing into the distance.

“Say, what are you doing here? I mean, I don't have any family to go back to, but you might.” Hermes asked, never breaking eye contact with the sky. Steele sighed and leaned back to look at the sky as well. He often asked himself that question, but never came up with a definite answer.

“Surviving. Just like everypony else.” He answered gravely.

“And you never get bored of that? You never think, “Hey, I want something more; to do something no one will ever forget.” To be someone that makes Equestria better?” Hermes asked, swinging his hoof in the air as he explained.

“I don't think I’m cut out for that kid. I’m no saint. There are far better ponies out there than me.”

“Oh come on, you’re a badass. You can kill stuff without needing a computer like mine, and you seem pretty smart for someone who doesn't talk much.”

“I appreciate the flattery, but I’m not convinced just yet.” Steele answered. This kid was spewing way too much mushy bullshit for Steele's taste, but being called something other than an asshole was nice.

“Say, why don't you come with me? I could use your help, and you might want the company and support.” Hermes asked, leaning on one arm and staring at Steele through the fire.

Steele laughed, making Hermes frown. “Look kid, I don't exactly call you safe to be around. Sure you could hold your ground, but you aren’t exactly survival hardened.”

“Exactly!” Hermes exclaimed, sitting upright. I need someone to help keep me alive. Right about now you’re the only friend I have. I know I’m not the toughest out there, but take this as the first step in doing something kind. Everyone has to start somewhere, so why don't you start with helping me?”

It scared Steele as to how much he wanted to take Hermes up on his offer. The kid was oblivious, too nice, and way too chatty. But there was something about him. Something that made Steele want to go back to the good old days of being a good samaritan and make the Mojave the children’s tale he so often heard about. He looked away from Hermes and stared off into the distance.

"Well?" Hermes asked. He was silenced when Steele raised a hoof.

I'm going to regret this. Steele thought. He sighed and lowered his hoof. “Kid, if you want me to follow you then there are going to have to be some rules.”

Hermes’s grin couldn’t fit his face, and it sickened Steele.

“Ok, number one is I’m the boss. My word is final. I’m not going to get myself killed because you thought that being a hero is the right thing to do. Two, resources are under my control. I don't want to see a single cap spent without me knowing it. Rule number three is I get to change and make up more rules as I go. I don't want to focus on leadership just because I have a smart ass following me around; deal?” Steele asked, extending his hoof. Having a companion was... nice. Yep, it's definitely the radiation. Hermes smiled and shook Steele’s hoof.

“Deal.” He said.

“Alright, then my first order is go to sleep. It’s late, and I don't want to wake up to Legion soldiers selling me into slavery because I overslept in their camp.”

“Yes, sir!” Hermes answered excitedly, getting up to get to one of the faded green Legion tents.

Steele grabbed a tent. He knew he was crazy, but right now he was glad he was. Trust wasn't earned so easily in the Mojave, and a friend was a valuable thing to have. His colt tales told him that friendship was magic; who knows? Maybe, just maybe they were onto something. Either way, another pair of eyes that had a targeting computer at their disposal might come in handy. Hermes wasn’t perfect, but then again neither was Steele. He might come in handy, but that was a problem for another day and Steele fell asleep.