Fallout Equestria: Little Boxes

Theme Music- Dungeon 4 Low by Inn Zur and Mark Morgan

During the period of time before the Great War the was waged between the countries of Equestria and Zebrica, both nations’ respective leaders felt the need to build up their military to an acceptable level, as neither side had seen war in millennia, in fact, not since the alicorn known as Luna was transmogrified into the hideous demon known as Nightmare Moon. Both sides poured vast amounts of money, research and personnel into creating the latest weapons, discovering previously unknown sciences and technologies, writing new and deadly spells and alchemical formulae designed to inflict harm and support their brand new armies. Both sides also poured resources into building vast military base and bunkers, designed to hold out the worst that the enemy could throw at them. Vast imposing edifices of concrete were constructed into the sides of hollowed out mountains that contained winding bunker complexes designed to house countless ponies or zebras. In some of the larger ones, these contained the megaspell missiles that would go on to wreak devastation on the fertile world, turning it into a dusty shell of itself. Others housed laboratories where the best and brightest worked on top secret projects, projects that could supposedly alter the course of battle itself. Regardless, they were all fearsome castles of the Pre-War age. Each one has a story to tell, a history soaked in the blood of innocent and guilty alike. This tale is about one such castle of yore.  Area One-Five, supposedly the greatest fortress ever built by the sovereign state of Equestria. It was supposedly a bastion of imposing might, a bastion of concrete and steel that nothing in the world could crack open. It supposedly housed tens of thousands of soldiers. It supposedly contained the secrets of Equestria, every single one of them. It supposedly played host to dozens of megaspells, all waiting to be launched at the heathen Zebricans. Of course, I say supposedly, because nopony has ever found One-Five. It was hidden in the remotest location known to Celestia’s generals, and it was said that not even the Sun Goddess herself knew where it was. It is doomed to remain desolate and empty with the corpses of all those soldiers that dead during the War. Its riches, secrets, warheads, all the things Equestria locked up in that fortress-city and destined to collect dust for eternity.

Or it was. Until Turmoil and his personal army found One-Five and in doing so changed the face of the Wasteland forever.

“You do know what you’re going up against, right?” A stallion with a whip-thin moustache regarded the insane mare in front of him with worry and amusement.

“As I recall, Mr. Mayor, you just told me.”

“I know I did. And it’s insane to even think that you can take them on alone.”

“I can do this, Mr. Mayor. I know how to fight.”

“Do you? You most certainly don’t know how to fight against those raider fucks. They aren’t like other raiders. For sure they aren’t.”

“Have a little faith, Mr. Mayor.  I won’t attempt to kill them all, that’s insanity. No, I’ll attempt an assassination. Most raider parties I’ve encountered tend to fly apart at the seams once you cut off the head.” The Mayor of New Canterborough whinnied.

“Alright. You can go. Here,” He handed over a map to the mare, who began looking it over. “Is where the gang is currently staying. It’s in Old Canterborough, a few miles south of here. Full of ruins. Your payment will be-”

“I don’t need payment. I’m doing this because it’ll make the Wasteland a safer place.” The mare suddenly spoke.

“...Right. I wish you luck, kid.” Mr.Mayor watched the mare pull a salute, then she walked out of his office and down the stairs leading to the exit. He sighed, rubbing his hoof against his forehead in an attempt to relieve his sudden headache.

"Poor bastard. She's got no idea what she's going up against."

The lone earth pony walked through the cracked streets of a ruined town caught up in the devastation of the Great War, ironshod hooves click-clacking on the broken tarmac. She was holding a simple looking 10mm pistol in her teeth, safety off. On her left foreleg rested a Pip-Buck 3000, waiting for a chance to slip into S.A.T.S.  She looked around, wary as if at any moment a raider would pop up and begin firing wildly at her. She blinked. Again. And again. Each time, a raider would pop up and gun her down. Each time when she opened her eyes, she was greeted with burnt out buildings. This quiet was beginning to fray on her nerves. As she blinked again and another imaginary raider rose out of a window and proceeded to turn her into chunky soup, a voice rang out.

"Well hello there, filly!"

Her eyelids shrank into her sockets and she pointed her gun at the unarmed elderly raider who was backing awa- wait, unarmed. She closed her eyes and let out a breath that she realised she had been holding, and she flipped the safety on. The rust-red old colt with a mane of dirt brown returned her steely gaze, standing in front of a shack with a campfire burning merrily in front of it. A pot hung over the fire, something edible bubbling away inside the dented cast iron. The geriatric opened his mouth and spoke.

"Bless my soul; you're shaking like a leaf in a gale! What's eating at you?"

She hesitated, wondered if this sweet old soul could be trusted with her information.

"Well...I don't know if I can trust you."

"Dear, I'm an old pony. I'm not going anywhere with these hooves! Sit yourself down. Tell old Monkey Wrench here about it."

She gingerly lowered herself onto a bench and sat still. Monkey Wrench sat next to the fire and dipped a spoon inside the pot, stirring the stew inside. Every now and then, he brought the spoon to his lips and slurped, before frowning and adding some other ingredients he pulled out of a knapsack leaning on a fallen log the old stallion was using as a seat. As he was cooking his stew, he spoke.

"So now, dear. Why are you here in Old Canterborough?"

"A nearby settlement told me they were having problems with raiders. A nasty bunch of bastards calling themselves the Insurrectionists."

The old stallion's face crinkled in disgust.

"the Insurrectionists, eh? I've seen them here. Always hide in my shack when they come knocking around for drugs. They're tough sons-of-bitches, make no mistake about that."

"Really? You know where they are?"

The stallion paused for a second while he sipped his stew. He took out some leaves and tossed them in, stirring again.

"I don't know where exactly they happen to be. All I know is that the bastards seem to come from the direction of the old Ministry of Peace administrative building over there." He gestured with his wrinkled hoof at a large tower, directly south of them.

"Really? Thanks!" The mare was happy that this conversation had gone somewhere. The stallion smiled.

"Don't mention it. Anything an old stallion can do to help."

They were silent for a while, the stallion eating his stew now that it had reached perfection. He suddenly stopped.

"Oh dear now, where are my manners? Would you like some, dear?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. I ate along the way." It was true, she had eaten an old tin of Soy'N'Beans as she walked, the preserved food nourishing her. As tempting as the stallion's stew looked, she simply wasn't hungry.

"Alright. Whatever floats your boat." Again, the duo was silent. She slowly rose to her feet, and checked her Pip-Buck. She had been sitting there for a good hour or so.

"Well, I've gotta go kill some raiders now. Wish me luck." the stallion laughed, good-naturedly. Worry sank in his eyes.

"Alright, kid. But I'm not going to stress this enough. Be. Careful. Boss didn't get his name for nothing. And his Boys are mean sons-of-bitches. If you need anything, you come back here as soon as you can, and I'll help you as best I can."

"I don't want to risk your life, old-timer."

"Don't worry about me, kid. I can handle myself easily enough. But I know that it's very, very dangerous to face these bastards alone without some kind of support. Here," He fumbled around in his knapsack for a brief moment and drew out two syringes, both filled to the brim with painkillers. He handed them over to the mare, who took them carefully in her teeth.

"Take these. They're all I can spare. They'll help you if you get into a prolonged fight, but you'll need to see medical care afterwards."

The mare was touched. She looked up at him, thankful.

"I...I don't know how to repay you."

"Ahh, don't worry about it! Killing those bastard raiders will be more than enough! Now go! Go make a name for yourself!"

Emboldened by the old-timer's words, the mare started galloping towards the municipal building, justice in her mouth and triumph in her eyes. She was going to bring justice to this group of sadistic psychopaths. She would become a heroine.

As soon as the mare was out of earshot, Turmoil's smile gave way to an evil smirk. Slowly, the magical field surrounding him dissipated, and pretty soon Monkey Wrench the elderly Earth Pony was no more. In the rust-red old-timer's place stood a twenty something stallion, with a coat as grey as the cracked road beneath his hooves, and a strawberry blonde mane, spiked in the traditional raider fashion, along with the traditional sharpened teeth. He, unlike Monkey Wrench, was a unicorn, although years spent practising and refining his disguise techniques meant that he used mouth-based weapons instead of the traditional unicorn telekinesis weapons that his kind so freely used. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out a Pre-War military headphone set, which he adjusted on his head. He had found them in an abandoned Stable Armoury his boys had ransacked for him. The several devices which Turmoil had distributed freely amongst his boys worked like a ham radio set, using short-wave radio frequencies tuned to such an extent that only those with the sets could access and talk down them. They had proven invaluable, allowing the raiders to co-ordinate raids with extreme precision for a bunch of criminals and drug addicts. Activating the radio, he spoke down the microphone.

"Boss to Specs. Boss to Specs, over." There was silence, and then:

"Copy you Boss. What's the call for? Over." His lieutenant’s voice chattered down the line.

"Tasty-looking mare thinking she's a regular Littlepip heading your way. Show her what we do to heroes, over." Specs cackled nastily.

"Oh, with pleasure Boss. With pleasure. Over and ou-” Boss interrupted Specs before he could finish.

"Watch out. The bitch's got herself a Pip-Buck. You know what that means. Be careful, over."

"Copy that Boss. Give me the Pip-Buck once you’re done playing with her. I’ll see if I can’t utilize it for our benefit. Over and out." The communique ceased. Turmoil slowly put the radio back in his knapsack, then began slurping his stew. He frowned for a moment.

"Hmm. Needs salt." He rummaged around again, drew out a shaker. He shook some in and replace the salt container int the knapsack. The stew bubbled as he stirred.

Level up!

Turmoil: It's Good to be Bad:- As the head of a vicious ragtag ban of rapists, murderers and drug addicts, you are Vilified by all the factions with Good Karma, half of the factions with Neutral Karma, and a quarter of the factions with Bad Karma.

Alter Ego:- You're a regular chameleon, you! By concentrating, you can disguise yourself as Monkey Wrench, an old-timer with a heart of gold. Although you cannot use magic nor interact with your raiders, you can now access Monkey Wrench's perks and abilities.

Monkey Wrench: Old-Timer:- You've seen it all and done it all. As well as having standard faction relationships (e.g Neutral with a Good faction),you have +1 Intelligence and +1 Charisma, to represent your 'experiences' as a retired mechanic and wanderer, but you also have -1 Strength and -1 Agility. You're just too damn old!

Hello! GaryGibbon here! I’m busy rewriting all my original chapters, so I won’t start work on anything new until they’ve all been redone to an acceptable standard.  Fallout Equestria is property of Kkat. My little Pony and all related characters are the sole property of Hasbro.