Prologue
Darkness. That would be the first thing to come to anyone's mind at the sight of the room.
Coldness. That would be the second thing. He liked it cold. Not too cold, but not room temperature. It had practical application, but it was mostly for his personal inclination to the lower bars of the thermometer.
The third, and final, aspect that would immediately come to mind was the single, nondescript figure who occupied the only lit area in the room: a mahogany office desk with a single computer atop it, casting its lonely glow into a face that refused to be shown. A single chair sat opposite the other, eternally tilted outwards so as to invite any visitors to sit.
The unicorn tapped at the keyboard with the tip of his hoof, effortlessly gliding across the keys with practiced ease. After clicking a folder, he brought up some financial records for the entire city of Canterlot. Nothing interesting. Nothing changed.
With the click of a link, the NCR's shipping manifests for the month flared up on the screen. Nothing interesting. Nothing changed.
Click. He brought up he amount of recorded deaths for the day. There was a slight, two-percent increase from the day prior. Nothing overly unusual.
Click. The incoming and outgoing flights in Equestrian airspace.
Click. The number of major construction projects ongoing.
Click. Count of high school graduates for the year.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Bing!
That made him raise an eyebrow. It was a message -- newly received -- that had the header, "Patient 216". He raised the other eyebrow. Patient 216? Ah.
He opened the message, but he already knew what it said. His reply was simple and concise. For a competent pony, of course. However, he didn't make a habit out of hiring incompetent ponies.
Bring her in.
With a feeling of liberation, he clapped his hooves together. Finally, the games could begin. He took the opportunity to do a lovely spin in his office chair before returning to his computer. Oh, the little things.
That was enough time for the little things. He'd have plenty of time for that when the game reached completion. But, for now...
Click.
A single pony gazed through his binoculars at a city of untold industrial wealth, his haunches planted firmly on a grassy hill about a mile away from the city outskirts.
Fillydelphia, they called it.
Fillydelphia was a Mecca standing for the great industrial machine that was the NCR. If it could be built, it would be built at Fillydelphia. From the toys and luxuries afforded to the civilians who quartered there to the tools of war that held the NCR in its height of military dominance.
Things that couldn't be constructed were imported in the Great Coastal Highway, which ran from the city to the ports. Prized goods such as griffon-made arms and authentic buffalo tribal charms were brought in by the hundreds each day to sate a growing demand.
Currently, the stallion watched the city gates. Nearly every city in Equestria was fitted with protection of some degree, courtesy of the NCR. Back when the NCR, of course, hadn't been knee-deep in international debt. Fillydelphia, specifically, sported a fully functional police force, a thick, metal gate constructed from materials on-site and an armory that would've been considered only marginally worse than the national military. It was, for all intents and purposes, a fortress.
Unless you didn't believe what the government fed to the citizens.
To break it down, the "police force" was a mess. The Fillydelphia Police Department was rife with incompetence and corruption, only housing a hoofful of truly police-worthy officers. The gate was in a state of disrepair due to the city's budget being directed to a meanwhile cause like de-salting the harbor's water. However, what was said about the armory was true. It was almost on-par with the quality of the arms the NCR outfitted their own troops with. That was not an accomplishment.
The pony watched a caravan roll up to the gates. A single guard walked up and talked with the driver. After a second of conversing, the driver became agitated and began to point towards his cargo. Though ambiguous to an untrained eye, it was clear to the bystander what was happening. The driver was being extorted. For what was a mystery. It could've been money, or some form of goods, but he didn't care. All he cared about was what came next.
Wait for it...
The guard waved over another guard.
There it was.
With the binoculars, he spied the newcomer's cutie mark: a grindstone. Perfect. The stallion packed his gear up and trotted back to his camp.
It wasn't long until he reached it. Ten minutes or so. He had taken a turn into a forest and had utilized his knowledge of path-finding to find his way back, taking note of the most disturbed ground he saw. With varying degrees of interest, he was met with welcoming calls of "Ave!"
Up a lazy knoll he went, passing trainees of different, fit builds and bashful servants. A particularly clumsy one fell and dropped an entire platter of cheese bound for the same tent he was headed. At the sight of him, she fumbled out an apology and ran back to the kitchen tent to retrieve another. The stallion shrugged, picked up a piece of cheese still on the tray and ate it. He then continued on, figuring that she would come back for the tray eventually.
When he reached his destination, the two sentinels standing vigil outside let him through without so much as a second glance. The guards inside, however, told him that he was to wait, as a meeting was underway. Once it was over, and the attendees were long gone, he went in and kneeled in front of a stallion on a bone and hide throne. The stallion looked upon him with a thoughtful gaze.
"What have you to report, Frumentarii?"
"Exalted one, it has been done. Our own forces replace their own. The city is ours for the taking."
"Good. We march in a week's time. If we need more, then so be it. Tell Centurions Vulparn and Incultes to gather our legionaires for combat training at dawn."
The courier waited a moment.
"That will be all."
"On your word, Caesar."
He bowed out of the tent, narrowly avoiding another collision with the cheese-servant. He looked down into the gladiator pits, then back to Fillydelphia. It was far away, now, but it still maintained its sheer size and scope. He saw its buildings, grimed and dirty, and imagined a time when it was all clean. When colts and fillies of every race were allowed to freely roam without fear of bodily injury.
Then, he imagined it burning.
Darkness was my world. All that I knew. I couldn't see, hear, think or taste anything that could be described as anything other than "dark". It had been that way for as long as I could remember. However long that was.
Then I heard the voices.
They had been here for a while, coming and going. Now, they were louder. Almost indecipherably so, but they were.
I started walking towards them. They got louder. I sped up. They got louder and louder. I could hear what they said, now.
"... power levels optimal?"
A light had appeared.
"Yes. Initiating reanimation. Vitals functional..."
The world became tangible. I could feel the ground beneath me.
"Cognitive functions stable..."
The air was rushing past me.
"Life signs green! We are a-go for revival!"
Light flooded me. It wasn't dark anymore.
"Do it."
My world, in an instant, was light. A gray sheet of frosted glass enveloped my vision.
I gasped.
FALLOUT EQUESTRIA: SOLITARY PARADISE
