Fallout Equestria - The Wish Machine

Prologue - The hand of the clock ticks and stops

I lie in my blood, my bones shattered in so parts. I can feel their broken edges titillate my organs. This recurrent and excruciating pain tears my body apart. And there, suffocating, in that puddle of dark red and circled by crumbling ruins, I only see billowing smokes and hear screeching sounds of mangling metal. I can’t think about anything else than remembrance. Yes. You understand me very well, lonesome wanderer. Above all of my wishes, I wish to be remembered. I want somepony to find that PipBuck recorder and listen carefully to this data. I want somepony to keep it like a treasure. I would give away my limbs, tongue, eyes, kidneys, and on… and on… just to know that somepony will listen to my long and once boring story, and will learn how I changed from a sheepish, annoying and anonymous mare to a creature that trod a blood smeared path for years on the tragic land of the wastes.

Until I was shot a few minutes ago of course. Until one daring pony spared me a final bullet right through my chest. A bullet that sealed my future… a future of death, nothingness and oblivion.

Equestria has changed with the balefire bombs, the taint, and the pink cloud. Ponies and Zebras alike spread their vicious poisons over the world, washing it with a mutagen bleach that scorched us all. We, the earthbounds, while the pegasi closed the sky above us with a low and thick lid of unfathomable clouds.

Some would bring forward the idea that the bombs changed ponies too.

I don’t think so.

Ponies never changed. I’m sure you know the truth. Everypony know it, even if they hide it from themselves. Let me just repeat it again. What we really are dwells deep beneath the skin, hidden and dormant. We just need a tiny little push to reveal our true selves, and break apart the cage we have been trapped in for so long.

Society. A jail that represses the most basic instincts and repels the most mind-boggling ideas. A society: many outspoken lies, unachieved hopes, and crying foals. This was the society from before the balefire. The world we lived in.

Now I have one question. Are we ponies that dream of being monsters, or monsters that dream of being ponies?

First of all, I’m not a stable dweller. Not at all. I’m a less than average pony that survived the apocalypse thanks to an ungodly luck. Oh, perhaps you were waiting for a more recent story. Maybe you won’t regret the trip if you keep listening, or reading… It all depends on how you get my story. I’m not even a unicorn, or a pegasus by the way. You must really be disappointed.

So who am I? I’m a boring, magicless, ground-bound pony. A simple earth pony mare that saw the scrolls of fate unfold before her eyes and witnessed the world give in to the abyss.

By the way, my name is… was Vault Skin. Strange name isn’t it? Yeah, my parents were miners before the war. My friends called me Vava. Now, I have plenty of names. Names ponies called me or fate decided to attribute me. And about my story? Well, fasten your seatbelts. And I hope you’ll enjoy the ride.

Ponies will always start their story with the dull and chirping ‘Once upon a time in the magical land of Equestria’. I will go straight forward.

Today in the devastated wastelands are ponies that roam, searching for deliverance, redemption, or something that would restore their faith. Others will seek for a meaning in their life or a purpose to fulfil. And some choose a path telling that you can’t repair something that has always been broken. A path that hammers in your empty and shallow head that you have to break things apart to ashes… and hope something anew will erect from it. From the dust.

Well I’m among the latter and this is my story, a story of faith, hope, blood, mud, and bones.

Welcome in the Equestrian Wasteland, where fallouts never fade away.