TEST CHAPTER – If today was my last day? Yeah right, I’m gonna live to be a thousand.
"Fuck It! Pickles get a move on!" I shouted through the blistering rain, the unnatural heat frying my senses. I could barely see my own hooves through the steam rising from the ground. It wasn't much further till Red Light, but at this pace we be one more boiling body on the side of the road.
How'd I pick up such a slowpoke is beyond me. Pickles had been the local mechanic from the last town I passed and before I knew it he was following my every move. The only reason I hadn't turned him around was due to his actual usefulness. Surprising since he looked like he could barely pick up the wrenches that he had the talent for using.
Seeing a pony bash a griffons head in can change your point of view on them.
"Lucky! Where are you?"
"Right here ya dope!" Turning around, I saw nothing but the curtain of steam and water separating us. Damn. "Don't move! I'm gonna try to find ya!" Flicking a flashlight out of my saddlebag, the dim light barely made a dent in the storm. Hopefully it would reach Pickles.
Trudging back through the mud over my own hoof prints, I wasn't finding any signs of the mangy white stallion. C'mon Celestia, give me a bone here. I waved the light back and forth trying to signal my own location.
"Lucky!" Something was wrong. My mouth was filling up with the taste of copper. Like that time when I ran into -
"PICKLES! ROLL! ROLL OVER FOR YOUR LIFE!" The explosion kicked me onto my back, my spine screaming as something sharp hidden in the mud drove itself deep under my skin. The hot sludge of the rain soaked earth flooded around my quaking body. I tried to move but between the agonizing pain blazing up my back and the black starting to crowd the sides of my vision my mind shut down on that idea quickly.
"LUCKY! LUCKY I"M SCARED!" Shit on the moon, my ears were ringing badly. I wasn't going to leave the little guy out there on his own, however. Not if I could give him a fighting chance without me. I might not be a unicorn, but ol' Twisted Luck had magic up his sleeves.
The sharp tinny clack of metal on metal, wrench to helmet, cut the air. I had to work fast.
One of my bags had ripped open, spilling it's scrap and trash organs within reach. My legs were going numb. As I strained my neck to locate the object of my desire, a new angry flash of agony scraped my nerves raw. Shit on the moon and piss on the sun! Now that was a different feeling. Not one I wanted to greet openly again.
Bingo. My tail wrapped around the stealthbuck in a heartbeat, dragging the device close to my face. My chest was starting to sting, the feeling of a strangling garter constricting how much I could get with each breath. Something wet and vile was gargling in the back of my throat. I shook the raggedy trusty stetson off my head, placing the stealthbuck within the inside cup of the hat.
One shot. Praise the sun and moon, let this work. With a quick, surefire twist of my tail I shot the hat into the air like a clay pigeon. My tail recoiled backwards snatching the pistol dangling loosely from it's damaged halter.
I fought the trigger, mud and grime clogging up the gun at the point I needed it most. Please, I begged the wasteland, let me have this.
With the welcoming sweet sound of a rusted church bell, the trigger loosened giving me my one shot. The stetson burst into a flaming mass of long gone memories and dirty fabric. I could hear something cry out in the distance. The noise reminded me of hope. Of old marefriends and warn liquor on cold nights. Good pals who took their licks with pride til the very end.
Maybe Pickles saw the flash. Maybe he found the stealthbuck in time, saw another wonderful grey morning in bloom. Maybe it was the loss of blood and eerily dulling ache settling in my bones that was making my head all nostalgic, innocent, and naive.
Huh, so that's what a rainbow looks like.
Footnote: Level Maxed
New Perk: Rainbows & Sunshine – The chance of seeing colorful rainbows and old friends is dramatically increased
TEST CHAPTER
I bucked the stallion in the side as another brought a knife down upon my shoulder. With a quick flash of red being drawn up in a line before my vision he again brought the knife down, this time onto my scrambling hooves; I needed a weapon I didn’t have. He and I were both genuinely surprised when the blade only scuffed the surface of one.
His eyes widened, rusty gears turning as he wasted time trying to understand what had made his knife suddenly go dull. Hired raiders; a complete waste of caps.
Using the same hoof I chopped into his throat and watched as he collapsed into the muddy soil, his windpipe bare to the world. How in Sombra’s hotly styled mane did I do that? I didn't have the time for questions as knife guy’s buddy rose to attack again. The unicorn brandished a collapsible machete from the inside of his skinned vest, a wicked gap-toothed smile forming over his scarred features as the weapon expanded to close the small gap between us. With an upward slice it bore in to my cheek, barely missing the left eye.
When he brought the weapon back down I moved just in time to miss his second hit. Up again and I slid backwards away from the grimy point. His attacks came faster and faster, up down up down, I only a moment faster than his swings. We were dancing in the rain with our lives on the line. And he wasn't tiring. However as he continued his attempts at obtaining a private showing of my innards, he seemed to forget about his fallen companion.
I quickly stepped over the new corpse as I twisted away from yet another jab. The machete took a long swing down, but as he tried to strike up once more the handle was ripped from his maw and instead stayed lodged deep in the ribs of knife guy. Hey, he was useful for something!
Machete was smarter than most raiders, I’d give him that. Suddenly I was surrounded by every weapon that had been on his buddy’s body. The black and green aura brought every sharp object to every vital point on my body.
I was a dead pony. Should have been, anyway.
“Rusty Handles says Hi.”
Our eyes locked. Of course this was her doing. Only a mare like her had the need to play game like this. “She’s been looking for ya scout. Been a real long stretch she says. Almost didn’t find ya in time.” Machete laughed, some blood dribbling down his chin. “Heh, ya got a kick on yah. Yes ya do.” That little dribble was turning into a mighty river the longer he talked. “Wah? Not gonna say anytin? Oh well. She say ya not a talker.”
His magic was going. The armada of knives was starting to wobble under his grasp and his pupils were starting to turn funny colors. It must have been the aftereffects of something. By the looks of it, it might have been the only thing keeping him standing.
“Rus-Rusty want’s ya back champ. Got an offer. A big big big one. “ He swung his arms out wide and wiggled them around. “Sooo big. Be a real real shame if ya turn her down.” I ducked out of the way as the blades aimed at my head fell and was swallowed by the mire around us. Sadly, that still left three quarters of all the weapons left mere millimeters from turning me into a pincushion.
“Sh-she misssss yas. A whole lot, lot. Took us-“After a glance towards his deceased comrade, he shrugged “Me, a looooong while to t-tr-track ya down.” He did the leg wobble again and another chunk of knives took a dive. “Gotta go back now. Ya and me. Me and ya. Together forever!” Okay, he was singing now and I was officially done listening. Rusty Handles could screw the goddesses for all I cared.
Before I could grab for something however, his magic rung my neck tight; his eyes a little more focused. He brought me close until my face was up against him, our breaths forming thick clouds around us in the chill rainy night. “Don’t trust her…” Machete was starting to cough up blood, painting himself as he wiped a leg across his face”…. scout. “The corners of his eyes started to bleed. “That vulture will kill us all.”
Machete then dropped me and what was left of his attack. On shaky legs he turned around weakly trying to walk in the opposite direction. He made it about ten meters before his hind legs gave out from under him. With one front hoof after the other he tried to drag himself, mumbling incoherently. He wasn't going to make a lot of progress that way.
Getting up from where I’d been dumped, I worked on wrestling the machete from its meaty encasement. Once it finally dislodged I checked for damage. It had a slight nick in the metal. Most likely from hitting bone, but looked remarkably pristine. Odd; raiders aren't known for taking care of their toys. How one had come across something as unique as this also struck a cord of suspicion.
Collecting up the rest of the blades and whatever else could be scavenged from their late owner I came up behind Machete. He had managed to roll onto his back and was gasping for breath; his eyes silvery white and as wide as saucers.
I could almost swear they were reflecting the moon.
Then I stabbed him.
And took whatever I could carry.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Those raiders had chased me farther then I had previously thought, almost a haft hour passing before I made it back to the shanty shack I had been currently calling home. Surprise surprise, but of course it’s the one night in a long time that I sleep without my battle saddle on that I’m ambushed.
Luckily everything was untouched.
I dumped the pile I had brought back in the center of the one room building before moving over to retrieve my belongings. Proudly I looked over my hard earned stash, the hours of prospecting old stables and rotted out houses having not gone to waste. It wasn't my best haul, but I’d be able to get a good price for most.
Before my late night jogging session I had had plans to head towards a nearby pony friendly zebra village. The villagers didn't bother me much and were willing to pay for more exotic things like bloatsprite bile, hellhound tongue, and pony hair. Just to name a few. It meant making more off of a hard kill and since what they needed were rare I could jack up the prices. Either way, I won.
And those plans weren't changing even if Rusty Handles was looking for me.
But I would have to be more careful. No more getting caught with my metaphorical pants down.
The moment I saw my saddle I buckled up. A firm leather harness kept it tight against my body but still allowed freedom of movement. Unlike a normal saddle this one was specially catered to my tastes. Instead of nasty, noisy guns bolted to the sides, elegant yet strong hoofed carved spears guarded my flanks. The poles were held tight by metal barrels that locked them in place against the saddles barding. The spear tips themselves were actually multi-prongs of different lengths with each having backward facing serrated edges. The icing on the cake was the ability to cap each tip with a poison capsule.
I was a close combat nightmare. Just the way I like it.
Tapping the tiny fiery oval gem that met as the crossroads of the straps over my chest, I got to work organizing my newest merchandise.
Seven generic knives, four butter knives (Why?), two box cutters, three butcher knives, five letter openers (Really?) twenty one sewing needles (This is a joke right?), two busted shotguns, a rusted revolver, one very unique collapsible machete, and a complete lack of ammunition of any type.
How had these bucks gotten the drop on me? Oh right. Idiot slept without her armor on.
At least the lot would be an easy sell. Not the machete however. That I was keeping for myself.
What was left mostly appeared to be scraps and junk that didn't seem to be worth the weight to carry it. They only made it this far because I couldn't tell it all apart in the storm. The smaller items I’d take, but the ashtrays and paperweights would have to go.
I almost face-hoofed when I didn't see one healing poultice of any kind. And I was on the losing end of that battle? Maybe I should get my head checked soon.
Then I found what I was really looking for.
Buried at the bottom of the machete stallion’s bags were little packets of silvery goo. Sure enough, I would place a prime sized bet that this had been the cause of him demise. Whatever it was had kept him going after that crippling kick. Whether this would have killed him regardless of that blow didn’t matter. The outcome was the same and I wasn’t interested in taking any strange rides tonight either.
This all brought me to a new problem. Most of my wares I could carry on my back alone, but even I had a limit. After another hour of hard decisions, I packed what I could move without slowing down my pace. I hid the leftovers under loose floorboards in pure vain. The wasteland had a way of making things mysteriously disappear.
I relit the fire that had gone out hours ago and settled under a layer of moth chewed blankets. Then I began to stare at my hooves. I've slit ponies throats before but never like that; just a quick bare-hoofed jab. I had sliced without effort into the skin. Hopefully that could be duplicated. I quite liked the idea of never having to wear battle gloves again, since standing on my back legs just to operate them was a danger unto themselves. Who would ever want their belly exposed like that? I’d already known a few idiots who learned that lesson at the ends of my spears.
Yawning, I watched the shadows in the corners dance under the fire until sleep finally got me.
Author's Note
I might continue this one. Would anyone be interested in reading more of something like this?
