The ABCs of Fallout: Equestria - H is for Heresy

by TheBobulator

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Other, Crossover
Length: 6762

In the grim darkness of the Equestrian Wasteland, there is no black and white. Only Steel.

This story is a prequel to Fallout: Equestria - Memories

Inquisitors, agents of the Circle of Steel, uphold the integrity of the Codex. Any Steel Ranger that fails to abide by the Codex or has renounced it will suffer fatal consequences. When words of dissent and treachery reach the ears of Inquisitor Souffle, he departs to silence the renegades that dare oppose the Codex and threaten to destroy what the Steel Rangers stand for.

Proudly part of The ABCs of Fallout: Equestria!

Published 2014-01-10 01:10:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-10 01:10:04 UTC

The Only Chapter: Give me the grand tour, would you?

H is for Heresy

“We are the only salvation this tortured planet and its ponies have. Without us, equinity is sure to perish.”

Tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap.

I was wearing a hoof-shaped pattern into the pitiful excuse of what this dive considered to be a table. My other hoof stayed on the saddlebags lying on the bench next to me as I scanned the relatively quiet pub for the pony I was meeting.

Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap.

Sure, the alcoholic a few tables down was beginning to look annoyed and the barpony wouldn’t stop scowling at me after I’d shot her radio, but I kept up my tuneless beat nonetheless. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do while I waited. As I waited, I flicked a few clumps of grime from my gold-plated horseshoes and adjusted the peaked cap on my head and brush a few erant black strands of hair out of my face.

One of an Inquisitor’s symbols of office was the hat—a peaked officer’s cap with the Circle of Steel’s logo on it. The logo was similar to the Steel Rangers’ own, except that the sword was replaced with a shield to symbolize the Inquisition’s purpose of intelligence and law enforcement. Usually it told Steel Rangers my rank, but currently it was serving as a social deterrent.

Tap-tap. Tap.

“Thin pony, can I get you something? A drink, perhaps?” the barpony asked loudly, not bothering to cover her insolent tone. “Or maybe you’d be more comfortable with a snare drum?”

More insolence from a worthless waste of resources. “I’m fine, thank you,” I calmly replied, giving her one of my well-rehearsed smiles lest I summarily execute her on the spot for speaking to an Inquisitor of the Steel Rangers in that manner.

The only thing harder to take seriously than a wastelander was a fat wastelander. The rotund barpony resembled a minotaur-sized grapefruit with a face. She had a comparatively neat green mane tied into a bun, which horribly contrasted with her bloated yellow-orange coat. She probably looked a lot more pleasant once a certain level of inebriation was reached. Unfortunately for me, I was still mostly sober and very alert.

If the battered old clock barely hanging onto the far wall was a mere semblance of being in motion, my colleague was only about thirteen hours late. Quite impressive, considering I had only been sitting here for fifteen minutes. I sighed, woefully wishing for a replacement for my broken pocket watch. At this rate, I was starting to get the feeling that I’d been tricked into coming to this run-down establishment.

An old zebra that had just trotted in caught sight of me. “By the nine, you actually came!” he exclaimed, ignoring the burly stallion that pushed in right after him.

Being slightly more privy to the long-forgotten secret of education, zebras generally tended to be better with the written word. Shameful as it was, that explained why the writing on the note was actually legible. Sworn enemies or not, it had brought to light rumors of high treason from within the Steel Rangers. Blood was thicker than water, but information was thicker than blood.

While I had been distracted by my abrupt mental tangent, my contact dropped himself into the seat across from me. Zebras all looked basically alike, and this one was no different—black stripes, arbitrary mohawk, lack of cutie mark. I estimated his age at about thirty-five, only because he had a sort of older voice.

“I know your type—down to business.” The zebra tilted the trilby on his head back as he lounged in the creaky chair across from me. “I’ve got a problem, and you’ve got a job to do, buddy.”

I leaned forward and slapped the zebra’s hat right off his tiny head. “First of all, I am not your ‘buddy’. You will address me as ‘Inquisitor Soufflé’, with respect toward my seniority and rank. Are. We. Clear?” In case he was just as slow as most wastelanders normally were, I carefully enunciated those last three words.

The zebra shrank back in his seat. “Okay, sorry Inquisitor. I’m just saying that your Steel Rangers are seriously overstepping their bounds.” That could be interpreted in a few ways.

“Elaborate,” I ordered, sitting up straighter. “We’ll see if you’ve been a good use of my time. If not, I hope you don’t mind being in the redecorating business.”

“Huh?”

What a thick creature. “I plaster your brains all over the far wall.”

“Oh. Well, uh, some Steel Rangers r-recently moved into the place around Seapony Energy and they’ve been wrecking the local trade,” the zebra quickly stammered. “They’ve glutted the stores with healing potions, supplies, ammunition, everything! You’ve got to put a stop to it.”

Misappropriation of resources wasn’t too severe, but they were supplying those damn wastelanders with gear that the Steel Rangers could use more. “What else can you tell me? What kind of weapons, perhaps?” I asked, somewhat intrigued.

The zebra shakily nodded. “Like, i-it’s small ballastics for now. Submachine guns, pistols, but that’s only because they’re slowly going through their weapon stores and giving away what they’re not using.”

That meant it would probably escalate to assault rifles and laser weaponry once they’d finished cleaning house. “And what of their Elder? Do you also know this, zebra?” I spat.

“Their Elder is called uh—something Rolls, I think. He regularly preaches about ‘helping the wasteland’ and ‘redeem the unworthy’ and stuff like that. Last time I checked, that’s not really what you Rangers are about, are you?” The zebra slowly slid down in his chair and tried to reach his fallen hat without taking his eyes off of me. “By the way, Inquisitor—you may want to investigate what else they’re up to. My employers have lost quite a lot of, uh, inventory thanks to them.”

Against my better judgement, I had to believe the zebra until further proof surfaced. “And this broadcast—when and where is it?” That would be the deciding factor.

“What time is it, then?” the zebra asked, checking the clock on the far wall.

I sighed. “It doesn’t work.”

The zebra shrugged. “Uh… it should probably be soon though. It’s on the wide band—you can’t miss it.” An open broadcast for all to hear, hm?

“Your cooperation is appreciated. For the convenience of the Circle of Steel and for your own safety, please stay in the area in case further questions arise. Failure to do so may result in summary execution. Have a nice day,” I droned, only for the sake its meager intimidation value.

I began to stand, but the zebra quickly dug a piece of paper out from somewhere and tossed it onto my bags. “Please read that soon!” he hastily whispered.

“Get out of my sight before I purge you like the outsider scum you are,” I snarled, picking up my belongings.

The zebra shakily nodded and scampered off like the coward he was, strangely followed by the pony that he’d been followed in by. Irrelevant. Probably had a small bounty on his head or something. No matter, I’d gotten the information that I had been promised. Time to pay the local contingent of the Steel Rangers a visit. Seapony Energy? I knew where that was.

~~~~~

The Seapony Energy Southeast offices were located a good distance outside the former city’s limits. It only had two floors—“had” being the key word since most of the building had been reduced to rubble at some point. Most likely there was an underground portion to the whole thing, as it had the generic “corporate mass-produced concrete building” look.

“State your name and purpose, Ranger,” a loud booming voice rang out across the wasteland.

He sounded a lot like somepony asking for thirty lashes.

For a moment, I thought my peaked Inquisitorial cap—the one that plainly showed the symbol of the Inquisitors—may not have been on my head. “I repeat, state your name and purpose!” Somepony was about to get forty lashes if he didn’t figure out who I was very soon.

In case these Rangers were really this dense, I made sure to stand my ground and keep all my weapons hidden or stowed. Even as my very obvious Inquisitorial over-armor trenchcoat billowed in the wind, I was very seriously thinking that these sorry excuses for Steel Rangers were really too stupid to remember our strict code.

I continued to stand a few yards away from what passed as the entrance of the base, scanning the ruins for the Ranger that also really wanted a month on latrine duty. Evidence of heavy defenses were nonexistent, which wasn’t atypical for a Steel Rangers base out in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps they’d resorted to using landmines instead.

A different, smarter voice now rang through the air: “Apologies for the delay, Inquisitor. Please approach the front gate so we can confirm your identity.” That was more like it.

When I reached the front door area, a pink-maned Steel Ranger with the identifying marks of a Paladin Commander emerged. I doffed my cap at him, wherein he bent his head low in a bow. Oh good, somepony that knew his place. By the time he looked back up at me, I had my Inquisitor’s crest in hoof and almost against his nose.

“Hail, Inquisitor…?”

“Inquisitor Soufflé, Sector 14-A.”

The unhelmeted brown-coated Ranger held out his hoof. “Paladin Commander Rumcake Rum, at your command. Or Rumcake, whatever you prefer. Again, apologies for the delay earlier. Knight Red Wine has been a little slow ever since he took that grenade to the face.”

Speaking of marred visage… “Paladin Commander Rumcake, where is your helmet? What if one of those degenerates had a sniper rifle?” I asked, also noting his lack of helmet mane.

Commander Rumcake nervously chuckled. “It’s still in the wash?”

I groaned and facehoofed. “Commander, the rest of your contingent had better not share your inappropriate humor.” The Elder here really didn’t try to keep everypony in line, so it seemed.

Commander Rumcake coughed. “You’re a long way from your jurisdiction.” I noted this change of topic, although it was a valid question. Ultimately a stupid question, however, since my jurisdiction technically never ended anywhere.

“The Inquisitor assigned to this sector, Inquisitor Lobster Penne, is missing and presumed dead. I have been sent to investigate my colleague’s untimely demise; however, I have been hearing an awful lot about your contingent as of late. Give me the grand tour, would you?” I gave him my sincerest smile, realizing too late that I might have given away my true intentions too quickly. “This is also a sparse welcome, I’ve noticed.”

“We’re a bit short-staffed on the moment. For some odd reason, the Elder has commanded me to send more Rangers than I’m comfortable with out on expeditions. Losses have been, uh, unfavorable as of late.” Commander Rumcake sighed. “Would you like the grand tour or would you like to meet with the Elder first?”

“I’d like to have a few words with the Elder. Also, make sure Knight—uh… White Wine gets his thirty lashes.” Which was generously lenient, if only because of his disability.

“His name is Knight Red Wine.”

I nearly tripped over the threshold of a breached entry hole as we walked into the building. “That’s what I said.” I made a mental note of the name, just in case.

“I must have misheard you, sir,” Commander Rumcake smartly replied back.

What a quick learner. No wonder he was a Paladin Commander. These were the kind of ponies that the Steel Rangers really needed. Smart, tactical, and by the book. Unfortunately by my first impressions, everything was probably about to go downhill. By the end of the day, an Inquisitional report might not be the only thing that left here in a bag.

Hmm. That metaphor didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

We stopped in front of a huge metal door imprinted with the Seapony Energy logo—a curiously happy bearded seapony wielding a trident who was superimposed over a wireframe globe. “Hey, open up,” Commander Rumcake shouted at the little intercom next to the door.

It looked like there used to be a number pad below it, but it had either been broken or fallen off on its own accord. “What’s the password?” came a muted mareish voice through the door, as opposed to the seemingly fine intercom I was staring at.

“Don’t do this to me right now.”

“See, you got part of it right, but the rest is wrong.”

“Seriously, open the door. You know it’s me. I was in there five minutes ago!”

“Okay, you got a different part of it right but you left out the first part.” Had I brought any reading material that I hadn’t finished yet?

“Junior Paladin French Fry, I will personally throw you into the radscorpion pit if you don’t open this door right now!” Commander Rumcake yelled, going as far as to punch the heavy door right where there were a small cluster of very coincidental dents.

It was some act of a goddess that these Rangers actually managed to function at all. “Junior Paladin, I am an Inquisitor of the Steel Rangers. Do you understand what that position is?” I calmly asked at the intercom.

There was silence from the other side of the door. Moments like these made me feel like all those years of bonebreaking work and effort were worth every second. This silence, this was pure gold to me. Muted shuffling of armored hooves were quickly accompanied by a loud groan and creak of distressed joints of the door in our way.

A smaller Steel Ranger, presumably the Junior Paladin French Fry by her bashful shuffle, slowly crept forward to greet us as the metal door finally clanked open. “Sorry for the wait, Inquisitor. Heh, my bad. It’s a thing that—”

“Don’t want to hear it,” I snapped, impatiently pushing past her. “A few days in the brig will sort you out just fine.”

Commander Rumcake galloped up past me to take the lead. “We don’t have a brig, sir.”

Oh. Unusual, but not a huge problem. “Well, what’s the next best thing you’ve got? No mistake can go unpunished.”

“The kitchens, sir. Knight Sergeant Sloppy Joe makes an exceptional rectally-ravaging chili. You do not want to be on that cleanup crew.” The Commander waved his hoof across his nose. “In either point in time, mind you.”

This wasn’t an essential part of my trip here, so that would have to do. “I’ll trust your judgement, Paladin Commander. Take me to the Elder, would you?” Time to see whether the information was worth my time. In hindsight, I should have waited for the alleged radio broadcast before I made my move…

“Lemme give you the quick tour.” Commander Rumcake tromped down several flights of stairs, me following, down to another heavy door. A quick shove and crank later, we were in the base proper.

As far as underground bunkers went, this was nothing out of standard fare. Here we had the drab concrete facade, steel supports running up the walls in a structurally secure arch-ish design, and the indestructible industrial-grade magical lamp mounted every other wall bracket. The only real difference was the Seapony Energy logo pasted on the wall every few sections.

“Scribes’ quarters down those stairs,” Commander Rumcake pointed out, passing a sealed door to our right then to the left. “That one goes to the library. No stairs, just a boring room full of terminals and books. You’ll usually find Head Scribe Chile con Queso doing his thing in there most of the time with one of our resident High Scribes.”

Two robed mares, one tall and the other short, passed ahead of us so suddenly we almost ran into them, so engaged in their conversation that they didn't notice us at first. “…ay that we’re taking over or something. Do we even have enough raw power to do—Oh, hey there, Rumcake. Who’s the—” Both of them caught sight of me or my Inquisitorial cap and immediately saluted.

Typical Scribes. At least they had some respect.

“Hail, Inquisitor!” they both chanted at once.

The smaller one was a few shades of orange, broken up with a white stripe in her mane. She had bright little eyes that hungered for knowledge—probably a new recruit. The larger mare was mostly yellow, hints of green mane neatly tucked into the back of her hood. A Senior Scribe, by the looks of her robe.

“Yes, yes. Carry on,” I grunted, giving them a dismissive wave. They carried on with their conversation, with the addition of the questioning of my presence.

“Cafeteria down that way. A few Ranger barracks past that,” Commander Rumcake added, quickly passing a junction. “Anyway, yeah, Chile con Queso is sort of new. Elder Pizza Rolls poached him off another contingent or something. Granted, I’ve never seen the archives so neat or organized, so that’s okay I guess.”

I mentally took note of that too. It wasn’t unusual for contingents to exchange personnel or intelligence, but the way that the Paladin Commander had worded it had me somewhat suspicious. Maybe my Inquisitorial senses were over analyzing, but the things I was keeping track of were starting to pile up dangerously into line.

Hold on a second—when did he have the time to don a helmet? No matter.

“Say, Commander, what are your thoughts on your Elder’s preachings?” I asked, taking a left down a similar hallway right behind Paladin Commander Rumcake. All these tunnels and branches looked exactly the same, which made keeping track of where I was going very difficult. I was more busy lining up all the information I had to compile into an accusation if the time came.

Be prepared, I told myself.

From the unhappy groan that came out of the Commander’s helmet, it was easy to tell he didn’t really agree. “It’s all a bu—” He stopped and peeked over his shoulder at me. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

Commander Rumcake carefully regarded me for a moment through those impassive lenses. “Permission to speak freely without consequence?” he asked more carefully.

So it was like that, was it? “You drive a hard bargain, Commander. Go ahead,” I joked, giving him a slight nod.

“Elder Pizza Rolls is going senile. That’s got to be it.” Commander Rumcake sighed, following the tunnel right. “Armory in there.” He offhoofedly pointed out as we trotted past a large locked door. “One day he up and decides that we should be helping the wastelanders, as opposed to letting them deal with each other. First thing that goes is our one working water talisman.”

Those were rare, which usually meant that it should have stayed in Steel Rangers custody where it would have been safe. Simply giving one away was a huge deal, especially if it was to some dirty wastelanders. Wait, did he just say only water talisman?

“I’m more concerned that you no longer have a water talisman,” I furiously snapped. “This is a major issue that puts the safety of your Rangers in jeopardy. Did you not even try talk some sense into the Elder?”

Rumcake stopped and turned around to face me head-on. “What did you think I did? Of course I tried! He kept saying that others needed it more than we did.” He tilted his helmet back and snorted. “I even tried talking to the senior staff, but the only one who would be willing to speak out against him is the Head Knight. The Head Paladin won’t even consider anything else because she trusts in the Elder's guidance even if she doesn't believe in it herself.”

We eventually stopped in front of an identical metal door after passing more barracks, recreational areas, workshops, and other miscellaneous rooms I had already stopped caring about. It was time to go confront an Elder about his questionable change in decisionmaking.

“Elder’s room, sir. Would you like me to introduce you to him?”

By “introduce” he probably meant “sit around and make sure the Elder’s safety was enforced”. I knew stealthy suggestions when he tried to make them—something I’d learned to do ages ago. At the moment, I had better plans that simply leaving the good Commander outside on his own.

“Fetch me the Head Paladin, Head Knight, and Head Scribe. They may want to be present… in case,” I ordered with a slight sneer. “If they are indisposed, make sure to emphasize that their schedules have suddenly freed up.”

Without another word, I let Commander Rumcake do his job and made sure to flourish my coat as much as possible on the way into the Elder’s quarters. “Elder Pizza Rolls, I’ve heard much about you,” I loudly proclaimed, head held high and cap dramatically pulled low over my eyes.

No response.

I pushed my cap back up so I could actually see. Nothing special in the manner of quarters—a cot in the corner, a desk piled with scrolls, books, a terminal, and empty bottles right beside it. A mural of the Steel Rangers logo decorated the wall behind the desk, covering up the former owner’s bizarre art. The room was also large enough to have a throw rug, but it was so faded and threadbare that the original design was nearly unrecognizable. Long story short, I just dramatically entered an empty room.

The door squeaked open behind me and I quickly whirled around for my introduction. “Elder Pizza R—” I began, only to stop in mid-sentence.

A very confused Head Paladin stood in the doorway. “You’re a bloody showboat, you know that?” she grumbled, promptly taking a few steps to the right and immediately sitting down on the spot. “Got your nose so far up in the air I coulda sworn you were Enclave scum.”

“Watch your tone, Paladin,” I warned in an aggravated manner.

The Head Paladin took a moment to respond—probably too busy rolling her eyes.rather than where you got it, “Good luck trying to find somepony that’ll actually run this failboat. I’ll be back up to Head Paladin in a week if you demote me, so don’t even try.” I liked this one’s confidence, even if her arrogance was a bit stronger than necessary.

A hooded head poked into the room and looked around. “Sí, soy aquí. Ay, hola Señor. Me llamo Chile con Queso, el dirigente de las escribas de esta sede.” This was the Head Scribe I’d heard about earlier—Chile con Queso. Definitely not a native, since I understood absolutely nothing, except the word “soy”. He casually waved at me with bright yellow hoof. An equally bright yellow beard and presumably short-cropped mane lived under his hood, giving me the odd impression of a wrapped cheddar biscuit. He offered his raised hoof to me to bump.

I grudgingly returned the gesture. “I didn’t understand any of that. Do you speak basic Equestrian?” The last thing I really needed to add to my list of problems at the moment was an impassible language barrier.

Chile vigorously nodded. “Sí, sí, I speak enough.” Wonderful, although he didn't appear to have the lisp-like sound in proper Equestrian.

From the sounds of his broken Equestrian, I realized that the Head Scribe wasn’t native to the region and most likely not part of the original contingent, since a notable number of this chapter's other Rangers spoke with what I could assume to be Trottingham accents. Multiple Steel Rangers with accents from Trottingham weren’t a coincidence—they were all probably from that general region before they were transferred to this damned wasteland.

However, the guest of honor was still nowhere to be found. “Does anypony know where the Elder is?” I asked the other two Rangers, who both shrugged.

Most of the time, Elders kept P.A. system controls in their rooms or a short-wave radio to call their subordinates without having to actually go anywhere. Unfortunately it seemed like Elder Pizza Rolls either didn’t use this method or he had given his away, wildly inferring from his previous actions. If I sent one of these two to go find him, then the Elder would most definitely come back while the other was out.

The door opened again, but I didn’t bother to attempt another dramatic introduction lest I look even more silly in front of the two Heads here. Good thing too, since it looked like the Head Knight had just shown up. No helmet, just like the Paladin Commander, but it was only barely acceptable because we were in base.

“What’s all this then?” the muddy yellow stallion grumbled, giving me a once-over. “An Inquisitor. Great. It’s a good thing I just polished my armor, then.”

Well look at it sparkle and shine. “Yeah. Too bad your mane is nowhere near regulation length,” I snapped, pointing out his nearly shoulder-length salt-and-pepper mane. That was a snag hazard, fire hazard, and fashion hazard.

The Head Knight’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for an excuse. “I’ve been busy?” he weakly replied.

“So you aren’t sure if you’ve been busy,” I flatly shot back.

“Maybe?”

I facehoofed. “How did you even make it to where you are today?”

“With great difficulty.” The Head Knight nodded sagely.

And then it occurred to me that I’d forgotten my manners after my initial failure of an introduction. “Names. The two of you,” I ordered, pointing at the Head Paladin and the Head Knight.

Both of them smartly saluted. “I’m Head Paladin Chocolate Chip.”

“And I am Head Knight Banana Pudding, at your service.” The Head Knight bowed.

With that out of the way, it was time to play the waiting game. Perhaps the good Commander would be obliging to the idea of performing more tasks below his rank. It was too late now, but I should have considered the option that the Elder would be somewhere other than his living quarters at the exact moment I showed up. Damn you, hindsight.

Thankfully, the wait wasn’t too long. A few minutes later, Elder Pizza Rolls himself backed into the room, tugging a strongbox in after him. He dragged it just in past the door and immediately plopped down where he stood.

First, he noticed Head Scribe Chile sitting there with a stupid grin on his face. “Oh, hello. Did you need some assistance with the cataloguing? It’s a bit hectic down there but I’m sure I could probably help you with it.”

“Ahí viene el Mayor, y tiene un... You, eh, have guest, Elder,” Chile stuttered in broken Equestrian. “Is muy importante.”

A pair of tiny spectacles were swiftly mounted to Elder Pizza Rolls’ nose. “Oh. Banana Pudding, Chocolate Chip, what’s the matter?” he asked, a hint of worry in his elderly quavering voice.

I loudly cleared my throat behind him to get his attention.

The Elder quickly whipped around in fright. “Oh! I didn’t see you there. Dear me, my heart can’t take any more surprises today.” He held out a hoof, which I shook for form’s sake. “What brings you out here, Inquisitor?”

“Wild accusations of disruption and conflict, my dear Elder,” I drawled, idly dusting off my cap. “I’m here to see if any of them hold merit and whether your Steel Rangers are up to par.”

Elder Pizza Rolls frowned. “And where did you hear of these tales?”

I tapped my earbloom and smirked. “Word spreads quickly, Elder.”

“Ah. You’ve been listening, have you? And what do you think about my messages?” Elder Pizza Rolls asked.

It would have really helped if I had actually listened to one of his broadcasts. “I only managed to catch a few words here and there. Why don’t you enlighten me on your entire message, could you? I’m ever so curious,” I replied, as saccharine as I could muster.

“Of course.”

Head Paladin Chocolate Chip coughed. “So why the hay are we here, exactly?”

“In case I have further inquiries,” I simply responded.

Elder Pizza Rolls wasted no time. With great importance, he trumpeted, “For too long we’ve sat idly in our fortresses of solitude, hoarding old world technology while other unfortunate souls waste away. We have knowledge, we have the technology, we have the weapons. Why not use our material might for the betterment of others? Where does your loyalty lie—to the greater good? Or to the selfish doctrines that we’ve mindlessly followed without question?”

Huh. “So you plan to save the wasteland, one pony at a time?” I asked, mentally adding that to my list.

“I trust in the Elder’s guidance,” Head Paladin Chocolate Chip interjected.

I shot her a death glare. “I wasn’t asking. Twenty push ups, right now.”

Her jaw dropped. “What? You can’t be—”

“Thirty.”

“Elder? You can’t possibly let him do this to me!”

Elder Pizza Rolls shrugged. “He’s his own branch of command, technically. Anything he says has the same authority as anything I say.”

“Thirty,” I smugly repeated.

Armor loudly clanked and creaked as the Head Paladin began her sudden exercise regime. She muttered something under her breath, drowned out by her own movements.

“Anyway, so that’s why you gave away your water talisman?” I queried, beginning at the top of my priorities list. “I’m not sure whether you know this or not, but water talismans aren’t all too common around here.”

“And I’m aware about it. However, there is a water filtration system built into this facility that we’ve managed to restore into working order,” the Elder calmly replied.

I turned to Head Scribe Chile. “That true?”

The pony in question shrugged. “Sí. Is okay. Is worked on.”

“Which is to say?”

“Is… eh.” He shrugged again.

Which meant that it really wasn’t working. “On a side note, what caused you to acquire a new Head Scribe? Did your last one not perform to expectations?” Again, not unheard of.

“Our last Head Scribe, Buttered Biscuit, was caught trying to sabotage our operations to remove the water talisman from its former containment vessel. I had him exiled shortly thereafter for going against my orders. I put out a word to a good friend for assistance, and that’s where Chile con Queso comes in.”

I’d heard enough. “Elder, do you really understand what our creed is really about? Do you truly understand why we exist?” I asked in smooth tones, masking my rage.

He didn’t reply. Neither did anypony else, especially with Head Paladin Chocolate Chip only seventeen pushups in. Head Scribe Chile still had that stupid oblivious grin on his face, and Head Knight Banana Pudding only ambiguously nodded. Either nopony knew, or nopony was willing to pipe up because of my rank and the Head Paladin’s more recent punishment.

“Do you really think that those degenerate dirt-munchers really understand how powerful a water talisman can be in these times? They’ll fight and squabble over it, which will only bring about their own destruction. We exist to save the Wasteland from itself. We continue to collect old-world technology to keep it from forces that would wish to use their power for destruction. How do you save a world made of ash when that is all that is left?” I snapped in my best inspirational voice. “Tell me, Elder. What do you do when your methods leave you with nothing?”

“You are blinded by your devotion to the ways of old. There is no more threat of war! The war has come and gone, and we continue to follow doctrines that no longer hold any relevance. Let us do our work and create order once more. Applejack believed in the honesty o—”

“Don’t you dare slander the name of our founder with your baseless lies!” I bellowed, forcing everypony in the room to wince. “She entrusted us with the duty of protecting the Equestrian people.”

“And protect them we shall. We will rise from the depths of the earth and rebuild the glory of the old world!”

“Our job is to protect what is left of the Equestrian people from themselves. You’ve must have seen the work of Red Eye. You must have seen the blasphemous mutants that call themselves goddesses. You must have seen the bucking raiders on our doorstep! They cannot be trusted with weapons and technology that are too powerful for their own good or they will turn on each other and destroy whatever remains of our world. We are the last defense that Equestria has left, and by Celestia I will not have you undermine everything we stand for.”

“You don’t understand, Inquisitor!”

“Let me ask you something. How does giving away your only water talisman help your own Rangers? Sure, you’ve just brightened up some scavenger’s day, but did you think of the consequences?” I snarled, pointing at Head Scribe Chile. “That sack of potatoes can’t even get a water filter working.”

“May I add something?” Head Knight Banana Pudding asked.

I was temporarily out of material, so I let him have a word in. “Go ahead.”

“Elder, the filter won’t do anything about the radiation in the water table. ” Head Knight Banana pointed out. “Even with the overdrive we put on that talisman before it got taken out, that’s not enough pure water for a month. With all due respect, you’re an idiot. We sort of needed that talisman.”

“Este es cierto. Is true.”

“Thank you for your input, Spicy Cheese.”

“You’re welcome.” The Head Scribe bowed, as if he’d actually done us a great service.

That was all the fodder I needed. “You are disillusioned with dreams of grandeur, and you didn’t think of the consequences of your actions. Where will your crusade be when you’ve killed off all your Rangers from your own incompetence?”

“B-but, I…” Elder Pizza Rolls stammered, frantically grasping at straws. “I only wanted to help…”

I sighed, mentally preparing myself for the hard part. “Elder Pizza Rolls, you are under arrest for harboring sympathies with the enemy, misallocation of resources, and undermining the integrity of the Steel Rangers. Anything you say from this point on will be grounds for execution. You are entitled to your basic rights, but no further.”

“Not like this. Not like this!” His eyes darted back and forth. “I’ve had enough of his snide insinuations. Chocolate Chip, get the Inquisitor out of here!” There it was—his last effort.

There must have been abject terror under that helmet, since Head Paladin Chocolate Chip didn’t even try to take a step toward me. “Go ahead, arrest me. Try me,” I goaded.

“I’m gonna have to pass on this one, Elder,” she whimpered, taking a step back.

“Banana Pudding?”

“Nuh-uh. You’re on your own.”

“Chile con Queso?” The Elder looked around in desperation.

The Head Scribe was just gone. Probably at some point after his helpful interjection he’d slipped out before the fight had escalated.

I allowed myself a relieved chuckle. “Elder Pizza Rolls, you have defied a direct order from a servant of the Circle of Steel. Last chance—come quietly and maybe you’ll slip away with just exile to the wastes.”

“You can’t do this!” Elder Pizza Rolls scrambled for his desk and began to fumble through drawers…

This was it. “Oh, but I can. I am the authority of the Inquisition. And I will uphold the name of the Steel Rangers.” I loosened my coat in anticipation of what was most likely about to happen.

He defiantly drew himself up, pistol in mouth, and pointed it at my face. Unfortunately for him, I had the faster draw. In the time it took for him to find his gun and bring it to bear, a small compartment on my inner left foreleg sprung open and my standard-issue Inquisitorial pistol flew out of her holster. She was a cute little revolver, only packing five .38 rounds. Her body was painted a matte black, and wispy gold highlights danced all over her frame and barrel. The grip had my favorite decoration—the Circle of Steel logo, embossed with swirling mother-of-pearl. I called her “Complaints Department”.

The Elder had enough time to be somewhat surprised about the barrel of my pistol pressed up against his forehead before I summarily executed him right on the spot without further ado. The pistol in his mouth clattered to the ground and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. The two other Rangers in the room were obviously taken by surprise, so I let them recover while I returned Complaints Department back to her holster.

“Well, that complicates things,” Head Paladin Chocolate Chip muttered under her breath.

“Not particularly.” I took note of the large blood spatter marring the mural of the Steel Rangers logo and vaguely motioned at it. “Be a good little Paladin and clean that off, would you?”

“Well, Inquisitor, you’ve gone and shot the Elder. What do you want me to tell the boys? Chocolate Chip is in charge now?” Head Knight Banana Pudding asked, also giving the Head Paladin a gentle push. “You heard the Inquisitor. Go on, grab a mop and get to work.”

I still needed to find out how far the former Elder’s mistaken thoughts reached into my Steel Rangers. “My investigation here hasn’t ended just yet. I’ll take command until your soldiers are restored to their former glory.” Head Knight Banana Pudding opened his mouth, then closed it.

Note to self, interrogate the Head Scribe to see what he knows. Actually, even better…

“Do either of you know where the Head Scribe has gone off to?” Both ponies shook their heads. Time to do this the hard way, then. “Find him if he’s alive. If not, kill him. He knows something, I’m sure of it.”

The Head Paladin scooted into the room, shamefully toting a mop and bucket behind her. Without further ceremony, she dunked the cleaning implement into the murky water and began to try and scrub the blood off of the Steel Rangers mural on the wall. It was particularly entertaining to watch her try and scoot the corpse of the late Elder out of the way so she could continue work.

Back to the matter at hoof. It was all a huge hunch, banking on the fact that the Elder was tricked into accepting the lies brought by an unfamiliar scribe. Of course, this was also assuming he was trying to hide from me as opposed to him have gotten bored and left. Head Knight Banana Pudding seemed to support the codices, as did Paladin Commander Rumcake. Head Paladin Chocolate Chip might be a problem, as she’d seemed to support the Elder’s decisions until I intimidated her into submission.

Head Knight Banana Pudding was about to step outside when he abruptly paused. “Hold on a sec. Not to question your orders, but are you sure about that?”

“Find him if he’s alive—”

“—if not, kill him,” he finished. “You see a problem, sir?”

I groaned and facehoofed. “You know what I mean, Knight.”

“So by kill, do you mean…?”

On second thought, killing him wouldn’t really accomplish anything if he was guilty. “Ugh. You know what, just find him. If he runs, shoot to disable and then detain his ass.”

“Just his ass, sir?”

There was a fleeting moment where I was inexorably tempted to also summarily execute Banana Pudding on the spot for mouthing back at me. “It would be unfortunate if you met the same fate as your late Elder, now wouldn’t it?” I joked with as little humor in my voice as possible.

That got him into action. “Alright, alright, I got it. I’ll get my Knights on it.” Head Knight Banana Pudding immediately vacated the premises, yelling for one of his Sergeants. Annoyingly enough, the blood leaking from the back of the late Elder’s head was beginning to stain the throw rug behind the desk—a rug, in fact, that I had arbitrarily decided to take a liking to.

“Head Paladin Chocolate Chip.” She paused in mid-scrub to shoot me a baleful glare. “I trust your judgement, so I’ll leave the specifics of the operation up to your discretion. Retrieve the water talisman at any costs necessary. Do not disappoint me.”

Written by: TheBobulator
Edited by: Kydure, Unknownlight, and Crushric.

Thus ends the prologue to Fallout: Equestria- Memories.

Author's Note

This was written as part of a collection of FoE stories by many authors, but I received express permission to post it early. I hope you enjoyed Inquisitor Souffe's extra screentime!