Entry One: Hell(o)

My name is Zen Star. I’ve begun writing this diary of sorts in the event that I die and somepony stumbles upon my corpse and, instead of just stripping me bare to rot in the wasteland or be fed upon by animals or raiders or Celestia-knows-what, they take an interest in who I was, where I’ve been or what I’ve done.

I guess I should start with introductions. You already know my name. I’m eleven years old, I have no Cutie Mark, and I watched both my parents get brutally dismembered by raiders. That’s a normal conversation starter, right? Sorry, got sidetracked there. Anyway, I was really young when they took my dad. Maybe four or five. When I was eight, they got my mom, too. They made me watch as they took a baseball bat and sm--

Sorry… Remembering that night made me sick to my stomach for some reason… I think a little vomit got on the page. I’d rewrite what was there, but I think it might happen again. I guess I just haven’t thought about it in a while.

Anyway, my memory of what happened after that is a bit fuzzy… I don’t know what happened to the raiders, because the first thing I remember after it happened was that they were all gone… No trace of them or anything.

Somepony else was there. They saved me. I know this. I don’t remember them at all, but I know. When I came to, the raiders gone, there was a big brown coat covering my mom’s body. I buried her right there, and took the coat so I wouldn’t forget any more of that day. But now I can’t even remember where it happened… I can never visit mom’s grave again.

The coat is way too big for me, even three years later. It smells of cigarettes and coffee, two scents I’ve grown fond of since I decided to wear the thing. I still don’t know who it belonged to, and believe me, I’ve tried to find out. Unfortunately, “pony of unknown gender wearing a duster that smells of coffee and cigarettes” isn’t really much to go on. Hell, I don’t even know if it belonged to a pony. It could’ve been a griffin or even a civilized hellhound for all I know about them.

So what have I been doing for three years without parents? Mostly I scavenge things. I travel around the wastes, doing what I can to avoid raider territory, and pick up whatever I can and sell it for however many caps I can get in the nearest town. It’s not a bad way to live, either. I’m really good at finding things other ponies can’t. I can walk into an abandoned house that’s been looted countless times, and still find a nice stash of caps or ammo. It’s all about checking the obvious place more carefully. The mattress, under which a father would have stowed some money, is always looked under but not really inside. If you know where to look, you’ll find a lot that you otherwise wouldn’t have.

Oh, remember when I said I do what I can to avoid raider territory? Well, unfortunately that doesn’t work all that well. For whatever reason, I just can’t seem to take the “raider-free route” anywhere. There was that one trip, but that ended me up in the middle of a minefield. Nearly didn’t make it out of that one… Just remember, explosives are not your friends. Anypony who tells you otherwise is either crazy or an idiot. Or both. Probably both.

For some reason, though, I can always seem to get myself out of whatever scrapes I get in, even with a profit sometimes. That’s where my first gun came from. I guess I’m a sucker for nostalgia, because I’m still using the damned thing. It’s a silenced .22, I think. I don’t know guns all that well. I just like this one because it’s quiet, unlike usual raider fare. You drop a round into a raider from hiding, the entire gang will start shooting and shouting and making a great big racket, which is nice to distract them from any goods they’re guarding, which I can just sneak in and take. I still don’t think I could take on a raider camp on my own, though. That would just be suicide. I’m just glad I’m sneaky.

Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that I’m a unicorn. Although, if you found this from looting my corpse, you can probably tell that already. I can even do a bit of magic. I learned how to find food using magic a while ago, and more recently I’ve adapted it to finding weapons as well, since they usually sell so well. Of course, when I learned it, I wasn’t thinking that the greatest concentration of weapons would be raider camps. Stupid raiders, hoarding all the weapons…

My magic is still pretty weak, but I’m getting better. Hopefully I’ll be able to do something offensive with my magic soon. All I’m good for now is finding things, and I’m complete garbage at defending myself.

I’m writing this in front of an abandoned factory, waiting for a team to help me with the salvage. I put up a couple posters in a nearby town last night. I don’t think anypony saw me. I like it better that way. Ponies will take you more seriously when you put up a professional-looking poster, and will be more likely to help you out when they’ve already travelled out to the location in question, even if it turns out the employer is just a filly. I’ve got a good system. I limit it to a five-pony crew, and give every participant 15% of whatever I make on the run. It’s a good way to make a profit, and I don’t get myself killed in some stupid ancient trap.

Hold on, there’s a group of ponies coming. Hopefully they’re here for the salvage run. I’ll write more later, assuming I survive this run.Zen Star

Author's Note

And here we go! Another PlazmaticBrony story! Enjoy!

I'll likely end up recording each game session and putting it on YouTube. If I do, I'll link each journal entry to the corresponding session. Cheers!
-Plaz