Fallout Equestria: The Badlands

Chapters

Prologue
Chapter 1: The Big Bounty
Chapter 2: How Far They Fall
Chapter 3: The Light At the End
Introduction

Prologue

First off, it’s pretty important that you understand that I am not from the Enclave. And I’m not one of their Dashites either. I’m simply the result of pony genetics doing its thing. My grandfather and his parents, all unicorns, came from a stable; don’t remember which one. When their Stable opened its doors for the first time in almost 125 years, when the megaspells had rendered this once beautiful land to irradiated slag, they simply stepped out and bravely walked on. With the rest of their Stable behind them, they did their best to adjust to this wide-open world of wonder and… well, you know how it really is: a complete shithole. And honestly? That’s just if you’re lucky.

You see, this particular Stable happened to be one of the furthest south Stables ever built. And in case you didn’t remember, there’s nothing good down south. For one thing, somewhere around the south-east you have Hoofington, arguably one of the deadliest places in the Wasteland. It’s populated by some of the densest collections of technomagical horrors ever conceived. And worse, is populated by hundreds of battle-hardened ponies, including some of the most lethal killers in all the Wastes.

Shit, even the San Palomino Deserts and Caledonia in the south-west tend to suck plot; even if they do have that pussy mountain range protecting them from the worst of it.

Then, you have the Badlands. You know, the ACTUAL deadliest place in the Wasteland. You know what we have down here in the Badlands? Death and terror on a completely different level. Ponies, well all peoples in fact, know better than to even try to live down here. Everything tries to kill you. The air. The monsters. Your food. Your family. The sand. The sun. Everything!

Going further south doesn’t help either. You’d eventually hit the Zebra lands, or whatever’s left of them. It’s a pity all of our balefire didn’t seem to put much of a dent on the incredible creatures rumored to still roam around down there. I’m talking about the sort of things that would make any raider warlord wet themselves and cry like a foal. And lucky for us Badasses - the insane residents of The Badlands - they seem to like to come north every now and then to say “Hi”. Doesn’t that sound like a bushel of fun?

So why in Tartarus would anypony, anyone, live down here? Simple. When you want to run away from your troubles, what better place to hide than the big bad Badlands? It was mostly uncharted even before the world ended. It’s the perfect place to disappear if you’re tough enough.

So, what do you think? Why would I live here? Do you think I’m one of the runners? Or do you think that I might be one of the talented bounty hunters that gets paid to bring them back (or make sure they don’t)? If you guessed the second one, you’d be correct. Actually, they both might be correct. Don’t remember, truthfully.

I’m not going to lie, I had it all. The money, the booze, the guns, the tail, the adventures. Everything! So I occasionally had to go hunt down some poor schmucks and put shiny bullets through their skulls, even if maybe they didn’t actually deserve it. Big whoop. That’s life. You fight for yours or you lose it, simple as that. It’s a pity that a few contracts - a few teeny, tiny, absolutely fucking huge contracts - managed to really spin me around and get me to take another look at my life. It was such a nice life too.

I could tell you about the time that I stumbled across a monster so mythological, it didn’t even have a name in our language. It had a Remnant asshole or two suddenly consider running like a little filly in the general direction of “away” to be so much more important than annihilating their enemy of almost 200 years. Y’know that, that can really get your blood a’pumping.

Or there was that one time that I single-hoofedly defeated the entire Equestrian Navy. Well, I actually had some help on that one. And… we kind of had to run like little fillies that time, too. Now, don’t you get the idea that all I do is just run away from stuff. I do plenty of running towards stuff, too, I assure you. But it’s always best to know when you’re outgunned.

But with the right ponies by your side, sometimes it’s best to know when to stand your ground, or even push back. Whether that be against those that threaten us, or whether that be against those that threaten others, sometimes it’s best to stand up tall, aim down the sights, and not let them see the barely concealed panic threatening to escape through your eyes. Sometimes it’s best to have some shots with friends, rather than taking shots at bounties.

Anyway, I figure I might as well tell you the whole story. It’s way cooler that way anyway. My name is Parting Shot, and here’s how I went from Badass of The Badlands, to… well, I’ll let you decide for yourselves what became of me.

Before I start though, we’re going to need a round of drinks over here! Drink up, fillies and gentlecolts. This one’s on me...

Chapter 1: The Big Bounty

Fallout Equestria: The Badlands

Part 1: The Party

CHAPTER 1: THE BIG BOUNTY

“They still get to experience the thrill of discovering who they are, and what they're meant to be.”

Bzzt...crackle...bzzt…”-f you can hear this, please send help, we’re at coordina-”...bzzt… ”-ALLING ALL PEGASI! I REPEAT, WE ARE RECALLING ALL PEGASI! PLEASE FALL BACK! WE ARE CLOSING UP THE SK-” …bzzt...crackle… “mmphmphmph bumph umph umphumph” … bzzt… “ah, ah! You didn’t say the magic word! Ah, ah, ah! Ah, ah,” ...bzzt… bzzt… crackle… “...a joke. Or a story. This is real and I know that. Because I don't know where I am. Please. Please...” ...bzzt…

“Oh, give it a rest, Donks!” I shouted over to the bartender. He was indeed a donkey, and a balding grump of a donkey at that. “Ain’t nothing on but the usual talk shows!”

This garnered me a couple chuckles from my new drinking buddies, and a glare from Donks. The aging bartender just went back to fiddling with the knobs. The two bucks at my little table looked like they might have been around the Hoof once or twice, maybe even been some of those Reapers. Sadly, I could tell from their eyes that The Badlands would be breaking them within the week. Aw well, at least they looked the part.

“So, my fine gentlecolts, what are we drinking?”

“Buckweiser,” grunted the hot one with the piercings. “This place got anything hard?” asked Mr. Third Wheel. I grinned for a second, impressing myself with that clever nickname. Then I choked on my drink. Did he really just say that? And did I really just miss an opportunity to make a dick joke? Damn. I should probably slow down on these Wild P and Colas.

“Hey Donks! Four more Wild Pegasus and Sparkle Colas! Put it on my tab! Donks! MY TAB!” I turned back to Hot Flanks and Third Wheel, “He’s slower than molasses, but mixes drinks like nopony, errr, no one you’ll ever find!” I grinned my most winning-est grin I could. I think that’s what I was going for at least.“Unless, of course, you’ve been out to Flank. That Caprice makes a hell of a cocktail. Plus, her drinks ain’t bad either!” I leaned in and waggled my eyebrows, enjoying their attention. I really hoped it was because they were interested in more than free drinks and a laugh. There weren’t nearly enough adventurous bucks in the Wasteland to waste my time barking up the wrong tree. Although, I guess there were always a few mares...

Donks popped up right by our table and deftly slid off the five Wild P and Colas I ord-... wait… One, two, three, four… Oh well, more for me. Unless Hot Flanks was interested in loosening up a little, that is. Donks slipped back through the crowd towards his bar again.

“Alrighty, my fine bucks, these here are my specialty,” I said, pushing them each a drink. “I’d normally make them myself, but I tend to break the glasses after about ten of them.”

“What is it?” Hot Flanks asked cautiously, before taking a sip. Instantly, his frown, indeed his entire grumpy, gruff exterior, simply melted away with a satisfied sigh, followed by a wonderfully out of place hiccough. That certainly looked promising to me. I might be able to get in a good dicking after all.

“One part Wild Pegasus whiskey to two parts Sparkle Cola. Really bucks ya right upside the head, but without the burn. Plus, get this,” I leaned in and stage-whispered conspiratorially, “the carbonation gets ya’ drunker, faster. It’s an old Shot family secret.” Third Wheel took a sip himself, seemingly not quite trusting me. The sip turned into another and another, as he went wide-eyed, and started gulping it down. “Third Wheel” might be a tad bit mean, now that I think about it. Might move him up to “Sloppy Seconds”… I mean, he was kinda cute too, in a rugged sort of way. Kinda.

“These are fantastic!” Hot Flanks said finishing off his second, and plowing into his third. Wait, what? Aw, man! I wanted some... The things I do for tail… Third Whee- erm, Sloppy Seconds seemed to be trying to finish his second drink first. When did this turn into a race?

“Uh, guys, you might want to slow it down a bit. That stuff can really get to you-”

Fwhump, fwhump.

“... faster than you realize.” Dangit.

After “borrowing” some of their caps, I slipped a napkin with my room number into Hot Flanks’s pocket. I let them catch some shut-eye on the floor. Hope no one steps on ‘em. My ears were instantly drawn to the sound of a unicorn buck’s laughter. Maybe, just maybe. Wandering over, I noticed that he was built well, with pretty fine flanks, and… and he was checking out that waitress. I huffed. Not having any luck tonight. None at all.

Of course, I proceeded to check out that waitress, too. Sweet Celestia’s warm buttery nipples, what a body! I had a feeling that my mood for the night may have just shifted to the other team. And that takes some doing, lemme tell you! Cutting in front of Mr. Not-Interesting-Enough and Mr. Doesn’t-Stand-A-Chance, I asked her what she was drinking.

… bzzt … crackle… “ood evening, Wasteland! How’s it going this evening, my fine fillies and colts?”

I started as the buck’s deep and rich voice flooded the pub. I completely missed what the waitress had said. Was that…DJ Pon3?! Holy shit. We haven’t been able to get good reception this far south in years. He must have had another tower fixed or something.

“Uh, hold that thought, sweetheart,” I said, being as suave as I could while still totally blowing her off.

I weaved up to the bar, avoiding all of the light-weights staggering around. Huh, and I was only just starting to feel a buzz. Man, it sucks being expensive…

“We have news from out near Baltimare, and unfortunately for us good, honest folk,” the DJ sighed, “it’s not very good news.”

Slowly, people around the bar realized what was happening and started falling silent.

“I can now confirm, my little ponies, that The Fallen Hero has indeed fallen. That courageous mare did what she could, but it appears that the Wasteland has finally worn her down.”

By now, the only noise in the bar was coming from a booth in the back corner, where some plastered pirates were singing some shanty about what was going to happen to the drunken sailor. Ironic.

The Fallen Hero’s legend had been floating around even this little, out-of-the-way joint. When she had first popped up about a year and a half ago, she’d made a name for herself in the wasteland by decimating every raider she came across. The good ol’ DJ had given her the nickname “The Fallen Hero”. Honestly, he was just putting a nice spin on it. It was clearly just a Waster turning their revenge into a purge of the local wildlife. Definitely a stretch to call her a hero. Antihero, maybe?

“It appears that the initial reports of her death by raiders were a bit premature. Seems that she was captured as their prisoner, and only just managed to break free in the past couple of days.”

But, wasn’t the assault on that raider camp three months ago?! My mouth gaped. Weeks, months, being tortured by those sadistic bastards? I remembered that particular broadcast well, as it was one of the last one’s I’d heard in quite a while as I was traveling in the far northern parts of The Badlands.

“It seems she was put through too much and when she exacted her revenge, she ended up slaughtering a caravan and a nearby village. It is my sad duty to warn all of you fine folks to give her a wide berth if you happen to pass her out on the trails. She does appear to be headed south, and out of Equestria. So, to our Fallen Hero,”

here, the DJ paused to make a small sniffling noise,

“we salute you and remember the good that you did for all of those ponies; we will not remember you as another damn hero lost to the Wastes, but as one of the great ones, eternally fighting the good fight.”

The Fallen Hero was headed south from Baltimare? Hmm…

“This has been DJ PON3. Giving you the truth,” here the DJ paused once again with a small sigh, “no matter how bad it hurts.”

Damn, I knew it was too much to hope for, that she wouldn’t be broken like the rest.

“Into each liiiiife some raaaaain must faaaaaall…”, sang a soulfully-voiced mare. A long dead one, at that.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does, I guess,” I muttered as I put my head in my hooves.

“Why, the long face? Aren’t you at a party, Party? Can I get you a shot, Shot?” I looked up, past a bushy beard, at probably the only other bounty hunter in the room that could actually stand his ground in a fight. And the only other one that would crack such bad jokes.

“How’s it been, Yawn?” I asked him, going in for that perfect semi-awkward bro hug, with exactly two back pats. “Haven’t seen you since you left for that one job out in Stalliongrad. Did your fake accent get any better?”

“I’ve beeeen doing prehtty alriiight, PS, accent ees much behtter,” the earth pony replied, with an attempted Stalliongrad accent. Huh, I guess it was getting a little bit better. You could almost pretend that he might have visited Stalliongrad at some point. That’s a step in the right direction, I suppose.

“I’m guessing you heard the news from PON3,” I asked. Yawn nodded. “And we both know that that means that she’s probably going to be heading through The Pass pretty soon.” Yawn nodded again. “And you know that somepony’s going to be putting out a bounty for her. Just like they always do for those types of heroes.”

Yawn went to nod once again, but paused, scratching his beard while he thought something over in his head.

“Yeah, but I don’t think that we can take her down with just the two of us. Like it or not,” he said, “we’re going to need some help.”

I scowled at the yellowish-tan buck, as he lightly smoothed down his beard again. “You know how much I hate playing nice with others,” I pointed out. “And you know I only tolerate you ‘cause you are one of few that can drink me under the table.”

“Okay, ouch,” he replied, looking a tad bit hurt. I instantly felt bad about saying that, but would never be caught dead admitting it. “Well, I think we can make do with just one more pony, and I just so happen to have somepony in mind.” He got down from the bar, as did I, and he led me across the room, through the press of sweaty pony bodies.

“Please be hot, please be hot, please be hot,” I chanted under my breath.

“Sorry, Shot. He’s even straighter than me.”

“But.. butbutbut… you’re *painfully* straight.” I whined. (Or was I complaining?)

“Yeah, well, he’d probably pass out if you made a pass at him,” Yawn replied with a wry grin on his face.

“Is that a challenge?” I asked with a goofy grin on my face.

“Yeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhh, no. Let’s not and say we didn’t,” said a midnight blue unicorn buck to my immediate left. I leapt half out of my skin.

“Don’t do that, jeez! That just burnt off my buzz…” I commented, looking down flustered, while doing my best to look indignant instead.

I took a second to get a good look at him though. I thought I recognized him from somewhere, but I couldn’t quite place it. He had a firm, yet softer sounding voice. His charcoal mane with a white skunk-like stripe through it, certainly caught my eye, as did his piercing, sparkling blue eyes. Couldn’t see his cutie mark from here, and I certainly wasn’t going to make a scene trying to sneak a peek at his rear end. Hmm. Nope, still can’t place him. Maybe I’ve worked with him before?

As he reached back into his saddle bags, I gave into the temptation and caught a glance at his cutie mark. A lit lightbulb over crossed wrenches? Huh, still nothing.

Turning back around, he extended his hoof. “Nightfall.”

“Parting Shot,” I replied in kind, bumping his outstretched hoof. “I’d love to see what goodies you got and hear your tale, but we should probably go. Like right now.” His confused look was shared by Yawn, as well. I lowered my voice, “I’m guessing that you two didn’t notice those rowdy drunk sailors are awfully sober-looking and quiet now. I’m not testing my luck with them, in here at least. Let’s get going.” I started heading towards the door. “Anyway, my stuff is already pre-packed.”

Donks navigated the crowd of ponies as if he were swimming. It was a neat trick. He came up to me and handed me my tab for the evening. Ugh. How did I manage to spend nearly 400 caps tonight? The bartender then handed me a contract. As suspected, it was for the head of the Fallen Hero. How does he always do that? I glanced down, taking in the details. Wanted dead, no surprises there. Take care of it away from innocents, of course. And the backer was offering a bounty of...

“WHOAH!” I gasped, far louder than I meant to. “Who in the hoof is backing this, Donks?!” I loudly asked him, gaining curious looks from my two companions. As well as probably half the rest of the bar.

“First off, ‘Donks’ isn't my name. How many times do I have to tell you that?” the bartender rasped. Quite a lot, apparently. “And second, this client has specifically requested to remain strictly anonymous.” I always hated the anonymous clients. There was just something creepy about it. It always gave me the thought of some shadowy pony, plotting a murder most foul in some evil castle, half lit up by a flash of lightning. Their pay tended to be the best, though. And frankly, their jobs are usually the most fun.

“Fine, be that way. You keep your secrets,” I grumbled as we started to leave, hoping that Donks failed to notice that I hadn’t paid my tab again. I swear, he lets me do it. One of these days he’s probably going to slam me with interest. Celestia help me when he does.

As I passed by Hot Flanks and the Other One, I heard my original target for the evening ask from the floor, with a pretty heavy slur of course, where “my hot flanks” were going. Dang it, I FUCKING KNEW IT! Yet another chance blown to get myself blown. Aw well, there’s always next time.

“HOW MUCH?!” shrieked Nightfall.

“I know, right?! Twenty. Four. Thousand. Caps.” I enunciated slowly. “That’s one of the biggest bounties I’ve ever heard of. I’d be afraid of actually having that many caps on me at any one time.”

“Hey, you know what? It divides nicely, too,” added Nightfall. “That’s eight grand for each of us!”

My grin disappeared, and was replaced with a scowl as I got right up in his face and glared down at him. He started backing up. “Are you saying you think that you can actually do a third of the work? That you don’t think that us more veteran bounty hunters deserve a little more cut?” I asked in a dangerously low voice. He continued backpedaling, and fell onto his rump.

He gulped as he looked up at me. “Um… uh…” he stammered.

“Huh?! What was that, Night Light?” My voice rose.

“Uh... uh… Yes, sir! I mean, no sir. Um…” he finally blurted out, sweating heavily.

My scowl instantly turned into a bright grin as I extended a hoof to pull him up. “Excellent! Great to have ya!” Yawn just started guffawing through his beard. Or with his beard. Whatever.

“ ‘What was that, Night Light?’ That was great. Classic Potty shenanigans!” he roared. “I thought he was going to wet himself!”

“Hardy fucking har har…” muttered the clearly embarrassed unicorn, as he brushed himself off.

“Aw, don’t take it so personal, Nighty-Night,” I lightly teased. “If I didn’t think you had it in you, I wouldn’t have even left the bar with you.” Wait, shit… Yawn’s hearty laugh renewed for a few more seconds. Surprisingly, Nightfall blushed harder than I did at my unintended wording.

“Yeah, see?” I asked, slightly annoyed, gesturing with a hoof at the bearded buffoon. “We do this every time we work together.” I smiled. “Makes me actually look forward to the harder bounties. That and I might actually get a bullseye with this one.”

He side-glanced at me, unsure of what I was talking about, cautiously alert for another trick. I trotted ahead a little bit, so he could get a look at my cutie mark, a black white target, made up of three rings of black and rings of white around a central black circle. There were several dozen small red dots all over the target.

“See, I found this nifty magic marker in a stable a few years back. Not really sure what it was supposed to be for, but I use it for marking my targets. The closer the dot is to the center, the higher the score, the more difficult the target was.” I paused. “You’ll notice that I don’t have any bullseyes yet.” Nightfall nodded. “That just means that I have yet to find a target truly worthy of my skills. I’ve come close a few times, usually when one of the DJ’s pet “heroes” doesn’t have the fortune or decency to die peacefully when they fall.” My enthusiasm drained right out of me, replaced by a sudden and intense melancholy. I bowed my head and trotted softly away for a little bit, calming myself in front of the noobie, before coming back over to him.

“Sometimes, I wished PON3 would just stop broadcasting and shut the fuck up. It makes it really difficult for people like me. Having to pull the trigger on a face showing that much pain, turmoil, rage, confusion… and behind those haunting eyes… not a bit of hope left in them… their light extinguishing itself before I even pull the trigger… It just…” I sighed, turning away from him again, and sat down. “It’s not pleasant.”

I turned back to face him. “I hope you’re ready for that, Night. I really do. ‘Cause we can’t afford it if you’re not.” I turned back away from him again. “They used to be called heroes for a reason, and it was almost always because they were nigh unbeatable in a fight.”

We started walking again, headed to my apartment on the second floor exterior of The Staging Point Tavern. As one of the well-paying regulars, I’d earned myself a room in the old motel part of the place. As we passed by a few of the first floor rooms on the way to the staircase, you could clearly hear the sounds of more than a few slapping flanks. These particular rooms had been converted into a brothel of sorts. Someone had even knocked down some of the walls to combine a couple rooms into one large play house of horny fun. Never liked the place myself. I’m a flirt, so stuff like that sucks the fun out of it all.

As we started climbing the stairs, I noticed that Nightfall was blushing from the sound. You’d think he’d never heard it before. “You alright there, Nightlight? You’re blushing bright enough to glow in the dark,” I teased, as we got to the top of the stairs. He somehow blushed a little harder, adding a scowl to his face, but otherwise didn’t say anything. This kid’s not gonna be much fun if we can’t get him to relax a bit, I thought. He’s wound far too tight for his own good.

After putting a few more doors’ worth of rooms between us and the rut huts, we finally got to my apartment, number 219. “Welcome to my humble abode!” I said a bit prematurely, fumbling with the lock. Stupid key. “I mean, welcome to my… One second, nearly got it.” The lock finally clicked, and I put the key ring back in its pocket on my barding. “Right. So now, welcome to my humble abode!” I said proudly, while gesturing broadly with my outstretched wings and forehooves.

“It’s… nice,” said Nightfall, hesitatingly. My wings and arms fell a bit. Eh, I guess I agreed with him on that one. It was nothing to write home about, even if this weren’t your home and paper wasn’t so damn hard to come by.

My apartment consisted of two large beds, a small couch, a desk, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. I’ve been told that my suite is better than most of the rest of the apartments, but I still think it kind of sucked tailhole.

“Feel free to use that bed to get your stuff together,” I said, pointing to the one closest to the door. “Don’t touch my bed or you’ll mysteriously wind up with a broken nose,” I threatened, pointing at the other bed. The sheets and blanket were all bunched up at the foot of the bed, with the pillows thrown halfway across the room.

Yawn checked left and right along the balcony before shutting and locking the door. Seeing him in better light, the big earth pony stallion looked a bit older than I remembered him being. Premature aging does tend to happen in the Wasteland, especially to those of us who actively seek out trouble. His ragged coat seemed to have a few more wicked scars and his beard, which used to match his brown mane, was now decidedly streaked through with some grays and whites. His bright orange eyes, though, were just as intense as ever. I liked to imagine that eyes like ours were one of the more terrifying things to see in your final moments. Of course, my green eyes weren’t nearly as bright. They definitely didn’t shimmer like a flame like his. It was like staring through little windows into a fiery hellscape whenever he got worked up. I swore they became actual blazes whenever he got right pissed off. One thing’s for sure though, Yawn could still kick my ass so I was definitely not going to point out his aging. Probably.

“So Parts, how much time do you reckon we have to get to The Pass?” asked Yawn, with a yawn and a wave of his hoof in a roughly north-ish direction. The Pass was the only easy route to take between The Badlands and Equestria. At places, it was only just wide enough to have four ponies walking side by side. In total, it was maybe 3 miles long. Most of it was surrounded by nearly sheer rock walls with little ledges littered all over it. Plenty of places for spying and sniping.

“I’d say about three days, maybe more depending on if she’s slowed down by injuries or any attacks on the way. Luckily, it’s less than two days' travel to get there by hoof.” I laid back on my bed and closed my eyes. “Hey Yawn, do you remember that sniping spot I found a few months back? The one we used to quickly take out that one caravan from?” The mention of that job seemed to stir something in Nightfall, but I ignored it when Yawn nodded an affirmative. “We can lay low there and scope her out. Better bring double the usual rations.” A sudden thought made me brighten up. “If we get there quick enough, there should be some time for us to get hammered. Yawn, pack an extra few bottles of Wild P!”

“What do you mean ‘extra bottles’? You already packed some?” asked the incredulous Nightfall.

“Of course I did. I never go anywhere without at least one bottle of the stuff. You’d be surprised at how useful some good liquor is,” I explained.

At his skeptical look, Yawn added, “You can use it to sterilize wounds if you’re running low on potions. It also works well as a full body anesthesia if ya’ need to dig a bullet out of somepony.”

“Don’t forget that it’s also just plain fun to drink!” I added with a grin. My grin faded as I shrugged, “But once a job starts, you better damn well be sober. I never take on a mark unless I am.” My grin returned. “Of course, that doesn’t stop me when I’m not on the job!”

“Fucking alcoholic” muttered Yawn.

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” I retorted.

“At least I don’t get smashed off my flank from only a couple dozen drinks, ya lightweight!”

“Yawn, you big idiot, to you everypony’s a lightweight! You could out-drink a dragon,” I returned. Grins slowly creeped across our muzzles.

“Ya, well, at least I can read!”

“Motherbucker, you know perfectly well that I can read, you shaved buffalo!” Our grins were now covering our faces.

“Your mother was a radhog, and your father smelt of elder- OOF!” Before he could finish, I tackled him to the floor. While a bemused Nightfall looked on, I got Yawn into a headlock. For such a large, muscular buck, he was pretty bad at hoof-to-hoof combat. We both started laughing our asses off, Nightfall’s chuckling joining in.

I looked up at the blue pony, a little sheepishly.

“You are very weird, and I can barely believe you’re actually bounty hunters,” Nightfall said. Realizing how blunt and hurtful that had come up, he tried backpedaling. “Well, I guess, what I meant was… uh… is that you’re unique in your methods? Uh… you definitely still are… um…are the toughest Waster ponies in town.” He gestured vaguely at the two of us on the floor. “And you certainly, uh… got the moves?” he added hesitantly.

Slightly winded, Yawn added between breaths, “...got the… mojo…”

“No harder working ponies around!” I agreed, accepting the olive branch from the flustered new guy. “Look, you need to relax, kid. You’re hunting with the best. And we’re all wastelanders here, right? So lose the awkward, walking on eggshells routine. You’re acting like you were sent to the headmaster’s office.” I put a hoof on his shoulder. “You’re only going to make it through this kind of life by being yourself out there. You won’t have the time to devote to putting on this mask of who you think we want you to be.” Yawn belched. “Exactly my point, my good gentle pony!

“Look, I need you to be 100% you, 100% of the time, cuz’ we need 100% of you watching our backs. Don’t distract yourself by playing dress up,” I added, gesturing at his armored barding, “Don’t play the part, be it.”

I took a breath, for dramatic effect, then extended my hoof towards Night. “So. Last chance, my buck. What’ll it be? Are you in…” I glanced over at Yawn, as he put his hoof on top of mine. We both looked at the blue stallion. “...or are you out?”

Searching his eyes, I could see the uncertainty and hesitation. But then, something changed deep within those deep pools of blue. He confidently put his hoof in, with a determined nod.

“GREAT!”

“So PS, when are we leaving?” the tan stallion asked as he plopped himself back down on my floor, pulling a comic book out of nowhere, and casually leafing through it. It seemed to be about crabs attacking from space, or some nonsense. “I’m going to need at least thirty to get my gear ready.”

“Right, we’ll leave as soon as you get back,” I decided. “Alrighty, Nighty,” I grinned at the rhyme, but kept talking. “You have half an hour to meet back here. Hopefully you won’t need me to hold your hoof while you’re packing, will you?”

“Oh stuff it…” he muttered, as he just left and trotted towards the stairs. “That’s the general idea,” I called after him. Yawn rolled over, stashing the comic book somewhere. He got up following Nightfall out the door, nabbing a bottle of Buckweiser off my desk, deftly popping off the cap and draining half of it in one gulp.

“Ugh, it still tastes like donkey piss.” He turned and hollered in the general direction of the bar, “NO OFFENSE!” Turning back to me, “You’d think that I’d be used to the taste of beer by now…” he muttered as he headed to his room, number 225.

I heard his door slam shut, realizing that once again, I had to get up and shut my door myself. How many times have I told him to close my door when he leaves, damnit!

I climbed back atop my bed and lay on my side, staring down at my cutie mark. Now, the room was empty and quiet.

“Two hundred seventy-three. Two hundred seventy-three lives snuffed out. One hundred forty-seven ponies. Sixty-six zebra. Fifty-two griffins. Five donkeys. Two mules. One zonkey.” I sighed as I pulled out a red marker. The item was magically enchanted to permanently stain my coat, even over a cutie mark. “Actually, make that one hundred forty-nine ponies.” I snapped open the lid and added two more dots on the outer ring. Then I rolled over and added identical marks to the other side. “Two hundred seventy-five.” I had nearly forgotten about the two scavengers that had tried to jump me on my way to the Tavern earlier. Damn fools shouldn’t have been running with knives. Especially in the direction of a clearly armed waster. Would have let them go if they hadn’t decided to be racist little fucks about my wings… The tiny bit of anger at the memory boiled itself away. “Right. So. It’s two hundred seventy-five. Two hundred seventy-five lives snuffed out. One hundred forty-nine ponies. Sixty-six zebras. Fifty-two griffins. Five donkeys. Two mules. One zonkey.”

Sighing, I recapped the magic marker, and returned it to my saddle-bags. Then I lay back down, staring at the ceiling. That’s funny, I thought. My vision’s going all blurry again. Hate when that happens.

I closed my eyes. Lost in thought, my mind drifted, without a single life vest in sight.

I was relieved when Yawn burst in a half hour later, instantly breaking my mood. Behind him came Nightfall.

I hopped off my bed and onto my hooves, and began strapping my armored barding on. “Ready to go then, my bucks?” I asked cheerily, moving on to my saddle bags.

They both nodded and checked their own straps.

“Alright, you ready for some fun, Nighty?” I asked the blue unicorn.

“Fun?” Nightfall asked, with a slight tilt of his head. “You mean the hike out to the Pass?”

“Nah. I’m guessing you’ve forgotten about those pirates from the tavern, then. They were definitely watching us, as they followed us out when we left.”

“Aye, I think I spotted them hiding behind the other side of the building, when I glanced out a window while heading back over to your room,” added Yawn.

“Huh. I guess I missed that,” admitted Nightfall, a little embarrassed

I threw a hoof across his shoulders. “Eh, don’t worry about it. They’re obviously pretty good at being sneaky. Just not as good as we are.” Yawn grinned in agreement, his beard twitching a little bit.

It didn’t take too much effort to get past the thugs, though, and about five minutes later we were trotting down the road next to the old rails, heading west. We chatted and laughed together at how we had embarrassed those pirate idiots. Nightfall knocking one of them out cold from a well-placed groin shot especially tickled our fancies. But talk died down as the hours started to roll past. None of us had any illusions about what we were heading out to do and the price that it might cost us.

After another couple of hours, we arrived at a junction. Taking a right at this crossroads would take us north, straight to our destination.

Suddenly remembering DJ PON3’s broadcasts were back, I dug my great-grandfather’s PipBuck out of my pack with my wings. I stopped and sat in the middle of the worn out roads, fiddling with its knobs and dials until I finally got to the radio menu. I then fiddled some more until I finally found the right station. Stupid technology, being all hard for no good reason.

Sweetie Belle’s voice poured out of the PipBuck’s little speaker as I put it back in my saddlebag, on top of everything else. It didn’t really muffle the sound too much, thankfully, so we could enjoy a little traveling music. It wasn’t really an ideal way to carry it, but I didn’t really have any other options. I definitely didn’t have the tools or know how to put it on, and I wasn’t wasting any rope on lashing it to the outside of my saddlebags or anything.

“Where did you get that?” asked Nightfall, curiously, as he came over to sit next to me. “And why aren’t you wearing it?” He poked at it through the tough material of my saddlebags.

“It was my great-grandfather’s. My father took it off of his body when he died, but didn’t really have any way of opening it to put it on his own hoof. And neither do I, even after all of this time, not that I haven’t tried.” I glanced at him sheepishly. “I don’t suppose you happen to be a certified StableTec Pipbuck Engineer?”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” he replied. “It takes a very specific tool that you’d have to get from a nearly intact Stable or something.” He added thoughtfully, “Although, I did see one come through the caravan I used to guard, before...” His face changed abruptly to a rather stoic mask, betraying nothing, as his voice trailed off.

Oookay. Angsty back story alarms were going off in my head. Whiny ponies never lasted for long in the Wasteland. I waved it off, “Aw well, I’ve been looking for years, so no biggie. Still makes for a good map. Radio, too, at least when we’re in range of something.”

Sweetie Belle ended her sweet, sweet crooning, just before a sultry, sexy Sapphire Shores took over with a little tune of her own.

His change in mood seemed to kill the possibility of conversation for a while. By the time the sun started setting, I was ready to physically yell and shout, do anything until the virtual silence was driven back. Being quiet meant that we were being boring, er bored. Damnit… And I HATED being bored!

Interestingly, I had made a realization a couple hours in, and it was the distinct lack of DJ PON3’s strong sure voice. He must really be torn up about this latest hero. Poor buck. If his voice was any indication, I’d gladly be there to comfort him… I shook that idea from my head. Not now, Parting. You’re working, I told myself.

Another hour of trotting got us to one of my hidden campsites. Ok, ok, so it wasn’t really that well hidden, but just camouflaged from travelers’ eyes and a ways back from the road. Wasn’t much of a campsite either. Oh well…

We all curled up under the worn enchanted camo, hoping that when the sun rose again, it wouldn’t get too hot out here. The desert, even this late in the year, was still burning hot during the day, especially around noon. As resident newbie, we made Nightfall keep first watch. Sometimes it’s good to have newbies, I thought as my body slowly shut down, and my brain turned off. It didn’t take too long for me to conk out all the way.

My dreams were the usual amalgam of re-living various firefights and having my bounties rise from the dead to hunt me down. Pleasant stuff. I preferred those dreams as compared to some of the other ones that I’ve had. Taking out an innocent always seemed to bother me more in my sleep than I’d like to admit. The colts and fillies were the worst, always seeming to haunt my dreams, lurking in the shadows, and softly calling out for their mamas and their papas as their blood poured out onto the dusty ground. Why must sleeping suck so much in the Wasteland?

I awoke a few hours before dawn to Nightfall shaking me. “Oh god, what is it? Are we being attacked? Robbed? Is there a spider on my face? Get it off! Is it blue and pulsing? GET IT OFF!”

The unicorn shook his head and replied that he simply couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and just wanted me to take over on watch. I grumbled something about colts these days, but quietly traded places with him.

Man, he wasn’t kidding, I thought as he started lightly snoring within a few seconds of lying down. Lucky buck. I could tell that he hadn’t quite experienced what the Wasteland could truly dish out, but clearly he probably had an inkling from whatever it is that he’s running from. I had a feeling that when the time came, he’d be able to take it. He gave off this sense of quiet strength, but his fear and pain still shone through the cracks.

I shrugged. Well, whatever his story, I’m sure he picked up some training somewhere along the way. He seemed pretty comfortable in a fight. I was hoping his cutie mark meant that he’d be pretty good at repairing stuff. Without fail, every single mission I went on, one of my weapons would break or I’d fire a dud or my saddlebag would get a tear. My luck always seemed to improve a little bit when I was hunting with Yawn, but we still always had stuff break on us.

Taking out one of the bottles of Wild Pegasus, I took a sip. As I took another sip, or three, I accidentally dropped the cap. Picking myself up, I trotted over to where it had rolled, behind a small rock. Bending down to pick it up, I blinked in a moment of brief confusion.

Buh-hwah? Shining up at me was a small pile of pre-war coins. Where in the hay did those come from? Scooping them up into my saddle bags, I glanced over at Nightfall’s sleeping form. “I wonder…” I muttered to myself, returning to my post. I leaned against the tent pole, and took a final sip, or two, from the bottle of whiskey. I put it back into my saddlebags and patiently, sort of, waited for the sun. There was nothing like seeing the sun rise in the desert. It was the single biggest thing that I missed whenever I had to take jobs up north in the Equestrian Wastes. It was enough to make a buck think that there might actually be a higher power out there. Of course, if there were, I was pretty rightly screwed.

Footnote: Level Up!

New Perk: Life of the Party! - The number of alcoholic beverages and/or chems required to cripple your head is now doubled. You are also now unable to be addicted to alcohol. This does not affect the chance for addiction to anything else. This drink, I like it! Another!

New Quest Perk: Big Game Hunter - Critical shots from Small Guns do twice as much damage against your target if you have an active contract against them. Dead or alive.

Quest Note: Companion (Yawn) joined your party

Quest Note: Companion (Nightfall) joined your party

New Companion Perk: CMCBFF4EVER! (Lvl 1) - While having a third companion, each member of your party instantly has their Luck attribute increased by 1 point. You are now able to fast travel as a party when any or all members are overburdened, up to a total carry weight of 300% of your party’s combined maximum carry weight. Three little ponies united by a common goal, huh? Where have you heard that one before?

LAST UPDATED: 10/14/2024

Author's Note

Notes from the Author:

Thanks for taking the time to give this relative train wreck a chance. I just hope that I don’t get written into a corner at some point! I’ve got big plans for this fic, so please, please, please stay tuned for more from our trio.

A big thank you goes out to my editor SkyDreams. You should totally check out his side story, Fallout Equestria: Pariahs.

I am always open to constructive criticism and pointers. Send me an email to firenvygames (at) gmail (dot) com with “FoE: The Badlands” in the subject and I’ll be glad to hear you out.

This story is a work of fiction based on Fallout Equestria by Kkat, which is itself based on both My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (mostly seasons 1 and 2) and the entire Fallout series of games. This story is also heavily inspired by Fallout Equestria: Project Horizons by Somber and Fallout Equestria: Murky Number Seven by Fuzzy. Basic knowledge of the source material is recommended. All works belong to their respective owners.

-With love and bullets, FIReNVY

Chapter 2: How Far They Fall

“No one just starts giggling and wearing black and signs up to become a villainous monster. How the hell do you think it happens? It happens to people. Just people. They make questionable choices, for what might be very good reasons. They make choice after choice, and none of them is slaughtering roomfuls of saints, or murdering hundreds of baby seals, or rubber-room irrational. But it adds up. And then one day they look around and realized that they're so far over the line that they can't remember where it was.” - Jim Butcher, "Cold Days" - Dresden Files

Bzzt…crackle...crackle…bzzt!

“Why won’t this stupid thing work?!” I demanded, while banging my great-grandfather’s PipBuck against the sheer cliff face. “It was working fine yesterday!”

Nightfall just looked on, mortified at my complete lack of respect for the impressively sturdy piece of arcano-technology. Yawn was pretending to be dozing off next to our gear. And I was fidgety and restless. We had made it to The Pass a few hours earlier than any of us had expected, arriving just after midday. Surprisingly not as beneficial as would be expected. Especially when your brain is full of feathers and you have to put down the booze so you can be a responsible big colt.

The climb up to our sniping spot had worn us out. Or at least it had worn out those of us who couldn’t fly, I thought to myself, wiggling my feathers a bit.. Since we weren’t expecting the Fallen Hero until around midnight at the absolute earliest, we decided it best to grab some sleep now while we could. She would probably be turning up a couple hours before dawn I reckoned, so the extra bit of sleep would definitely help.

Of course, I decided that a nap was too boring, so I broke out a bottle of whiskey and was doing my best to get the radio on my PipBuck working. Unfortunately, it seemed that PON3’s return was short-lived. Oh well.

Night-Night settled back down against the cliff face, on the other side of our gear from Yawn, muttering. While I hadn’t known him all that long, he seemed to have changed in the last day or so. He was a lot colder towards me and Yawn. I wondered what was eating him. I think Yawn was noticing it, too. I’d have to talk with him about Nightfall at some point. Maybe he’s had a rough bounty? Or maybe he’s new to the business, despite Yawn’s obvious confidence in him. Nah, the kid obviously knows how to fight efficiently, so I doubt that it’s his first rodeo. Maybe he started out in a different line of work? Hmm…

The ground rumbled again, dislodging a few rocks, but otherwise not affecting my focus as I aimed my sniper rifle down the pass. I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by a muted curse from Nightfall. As much as I’d like to see the sure-to-be-there lump on the blue unicorn’s noggin, my combat discipline wouldn’t allow me to peek away. Well, maybe I peeked just for a little bit, not seeing much in the dark anyway, but I was back to my steady, ever-watchful self fairly quickly.

The super darkness of both a nearly moonless night combined with the oppressive cloud cover (FUCK YOU, YOU ENCLAVE ASSHOLES!) made it difficult for most ponies to find their own hoof in front of their face. But with my right-mounted sniper rifle with custom magical scope and left-mounted zebra assault carbine with suppressor and combination scope, I could handle most anything that could sneak up on us. Or at least try to sneak up on us. My sniper’s scope was apparently one of maybe a couple dozen, manufactured for the MAw’s Shadowbolts markspony teams. It had some sort of internal talisman that auto-stabilized the visual, removed blur, and could be set to both infrared and night-vision. All of that with an adjustable magnification between 5x and 20x. And dear, sweet Celestia, I wish I knew how to work all of the gizmos and doodads on that cool ass scope’s talisman thingie. The monochrome cloud and lightning bolt on its stock always reminded me that the owner of this rifle probably worked directly with Rainbow Dash herself. The sniper rifle was a true work of stunning beauty.

But then, so was the zebra carbine. I picked it up off of one of my first bounties years ago and have been modifying it ever since. Say what you want about the Stripes, but they made some truly impressive weaponry. It has only jammed once the entire time that I’ve had it (in the middle of a firefight, of course), and it seemed to be designed to be used as a blunt weapon if ever out of ammo. Once or twice I’ve used it to brain some poor schmuck on my way to my bigger targets. But the downside is that it wears down freakishly fast and requires a lot of extra love and attention. Over the years, I’d taken its black and white striped paint job (zebras and their stripes) and covered it with a matte black particle spray. It gave it a slightly rough texture for a better grip if I ever had to hold it zebra-style. I’d also added an extra suppressor to the barrel. It took the soft fwhip fwhip of the gun and made it completely silent with almost no visible muzzle flash. Finally, I added a combination scope that I looted off of a pony soldier ghoul in the deeper south of The Badlands. I think a captain? Not the ship kind. The scope had two settings: 4x magnification dot sight and a special 2x magnification X RAY sight. I have no idea what those letters are supposed to stand for, but the thing was nothing short of miraculous. It allows you to see everything in front of you for about 100 meters, even if there are walls or even mountains in the way. Of course, the details get fuzzy and less distinct the further away you look, and the differing shades of gray didn’t really tell you very well how far something was either. But who cares? Using that scope inside of a building was almost cheating, even without an EFS.

My amusement at Nightfall getting clunked on the back of his head slowly faded as I felt the familiar calm that came over me when I lined up shots. My mind both raced and stood still. I left my brain on autopilot as it started automatically figuring out where I would have to shoot to compensate for drop-off and the wind, etc., etc. But my thoughts? They wandered, brushing over many things, but not latching on to any of them.

I found that sometimes my sniper’s calm would allow me to solve difficult puzzles and problems. I remember my dad used to do the same thing. Although his version involved playing the violin, then smoking an old-fashioned pipe. He said he stole the idea from some story, probably from one of the many books that his grandfather and father took from the stable when it finally cracked open. Regardless, I used the heightened state in many of my more difficult battles to adapt to my enemies quickly, while still being able to drop them through my scope systematically. Yawn, having seen me do it a few times, liked to call it my PSPTM trance - or Parting Shot’s Party-Time Mintals trance? - saying I always came out of it like I was doped up on the drug. Yawn had quite the “gift” of coming up with the most ridiculous acronyms and backronyms. But as far as the mintals were concerned, I would never touch the stuff. Considering what I’ve seen it do to some of my targets, it’s ALWAYS the first thing I barter away. I need my noggin sharp at all times. Or at least at all sober times.

A movement half-seen through the corner of my scope caused me to jerk it slightly back to the right, until the shadowy figure came into view. Even with my Shadowbolt scope, I could still only just barely pick out the pony outline. Shit. I should have known she’d have a StealthBuck on her. We already expected her to be cautious coming through the pass. She was obviously still put together enough to know a choke point when she sees one.

I leaned my head to the left, switching eyes, and swapping to the carbine and its X RAY scope on the other side of my battle saddle. She was pretty fuzzy from this far away, but her outline was there. Yup, pegasus. Seeing as how I’ve only come across like six pegasi - and cashed in bounties for four of them - it was a safe bet to say that I’d spotted our mark. Not able to hit her reliably with only the noisy carbine at this range, and wishing to hold off on my sniper rounds until I established her armor, I was content to track her with my X RAY scope as the adrenaline started to kick my nerves up a notch.

I swished my tail, swatting Yawn in the face. I heard him shift, probably alerting Nightfall that I’d found her. I heard them quietly readying their combat gear, following the plan to the letter. I cursed Yawn’s insistence on bringing his obnoxious, super janky, and unfortunately LOUD battle saddle for this mark. He’s been fiddling with it for as long as I’ve known him. It’s jammed, exploded, fallen apart, caught fire, and nearly been eaten by one of those freaking quarray eels. Hey, maybe it will actually fucking work this time, I thought as I gently knocked a hoof on the wood of the carbine’s trim.

Sir Knightly Nightington carefully and neatly repacked his rucksack. Goddesses, why does he have to be so dang anal, I thought with exasperation. I giggled a little, letting my professional focus fall away for a second. Besides, I mischievously thought, he’s made it perfectly clear he’s not into that. I grinned at him for a sec anyway as I enjoyed my moment of accidental cleverness.

“What?” he mouthed over at me. I put up a hoof to shush him. Now is not the time for idle chit chat.

We were going to leave our gear up here on this ledge, tucked against the rock wall. The advantages of this - like the freedom of movement that it afforded - was painfully obvious to anyone with half a brain. So buck howdy was I shocked when Nightfall proved his fractional brain to be one of those in that simple-minded minority. I was not feeling that confident in ol’ Beardie’s choice of companions. I had to explain to him that, no, in fact, we aren’t going to be worrying about bandits stealing our stuff. I had clopped a hoof on the back of his head for that nonsense. “ It’s The Badlands. Anyone that HAS stuff out here and is still alive is not someone you steal from. Everyone that didn’t become a meal to the Hyenas or vultures by now knows that.” I’d swear he just waltzed out of Stable One Two Three, or some shit. Why are the very smart ones also so very stupid? I mean, yeah, I know, kettle meet pot, but still. We’re supposed to be professionals, not hopeless stable ponies with their noses stuck in a copy of the Wasteland Survival Guide.

Since I was already thinking about last night anyway, my mind flashed to a little earlier in the night, when we laid out our final plans. I was going to remain up here providing support and drawing her fire and attention. Then Yawn and Nightfall would close in, using a simple forward pincer maneuver.

If she rushed Nightfall at her flank, he would switch to his combat shotgun. That way Yawn would (probably, hopefully, maybe) use his punishing rapid-fire combat saddle. Can you say minigun and two assault rifles? I swear, Yawn, if there was ever a moment for them to all work, at the same time, as advertised, THIS would be that moment…

If the Fallen Hero instead charged forward after Yawn - less likely, considering his imposing size and beard - Nightfall would switch to his dual energy pistols while Yawn would break out his giant stick.

Yep, you heard me right; stick. It apparently used to be one of the world’s largest bonsai trees, taken from the Gardens of Canterlot. Although, Yawn occasionally would slip and change his story to being from the last great zap apple tree from Sweet Apple Acres famous orchards. Or some tree monster's arm from deep in the Everfree Forest. Well, wherever it was from, the gnarled old branch was somehow sturdier than he was. And of course if that didn’t work, he had something that was very good at slicing and chopping. Strapped to the double rifle side of his battle saddle, he kept a strange, squared-off combat machete. I’d never actually seen him use it, but it looked cool all the same. Honestly, though, neither of his mouth-held weapons would do much against the Fallen Hero and her combat barding. But then again, it was just to hold her attention long enough for Starry, Starry Night to get in a few devastating magical energy blasts.

OKAY, OKAY! Geez, I’ll stop with the nicknames for Night. They were getting a little stretchy anyway.

If the Hero hadn’t fallen by then, or attempted to escape back the way she came, I was to glide down to the floor of the canyon pass, cutting off her escape back to the Equestria side. Modifying the pincer to this Y-formation should allow us to really bring the thunder without risking too much friendly fire. And friendly fire was an important thing to consider with Private Noobie Nightfall on the case. And here I thought that I was supposed to be the bird brain.

Of course, the formation had its weaknesses. We all had to move in unison with her to stay out of each other’s lines of fire. Plus, while I could always use my sniper rifle essentially point-blank without aiming, it was a little too slow for effectiveness. Which meant that my overall firepower was drastically reduced. Hopefully, we’d be able to bring her down before she got to me, or else I’d have to try hoof-to-hoof with a battle saddle on. Not an easy task, I assure you. I could always flap away, but then she’d be left with an avenue of escape, not to mention she could just follow me into the sky.

Eventually, we settled on using my plan. The only other option brought up was Nightfall’s plan to rig explosives to the walls of the canyon to crush her in a rockslide. Although, we did still rig the explosives as a plan b to at least trap her here in the Pass with us if things got out of hand. Of course, her being a pegasus kind of made that generally useless, but having ANY back-up plan is better than nothing.

We decided to also trap a few radroaches in hastily thrown together cages all around the Pass to distract her, just in case she ended up having a PipBuck. We didn’t remember ever hearing about her having one, but we couldn’t be too sure. When it comes to PipBucks, better safe than sorry. You don’t fuck with Eyes Forward Sparkle.

Snapping back to the present moment, I saw her swiftly, yet carefully making her way closer and closer. Yawn and Nightfall started creeping their way down to the floor of the canyon. They were carefully following the paths that Yawn had previously prepared before nightfall. He’d cleared them out and marked them. That way they could minimize giving themselves away due to sound. Like sending a shifting rock - or a certain blue unicorn falling on his (perfectly fine) ass - tumbling all the way down to the bottom.

I got a feeling that she may have noticed them already, for she had stopped dead in her tracks. Shethen lifted her head up, scanning her surroundings. Dang, she’s even better than I’d expected.

Wait a minute. Her EFS shouldn’t be able to pick us up yet. Even if it could, there’s no way she’d pick out our red bars from the background interference of all those decoy roaches. She glanced up at the rock wall to her right, just as the ground trembled slightly.

I started to sweat, worrying that there may be someone, or worse, something, joining the party soon. I silently willed her to hurry up and get over here. I did not want to have to claim a bounty that had already been selected as someone else’s meal. Not again…

Luckily, the rumbling stopped, and she continued forwards, this time much faster. Whatever it had been must have spooked her. I almost felt bad now, taking advantage of that, but time was not on our side.

Lightly holding my breath, I squeezed out a rapid succession of shots from my carbine, letting the air slowly out. The bullets seemed to have hit their mark as her StealthBuck deactivated with a sharp pop and fizzle. I was finally able to get a good look at what kind of defense and weapons we were up against, and…

My jaw dropped. Holy crap, she was huge! And fucking decked out! She was wearing what appeared to be modified military grade bomb squad armor adorned with bloodied spikes and chains, with assorted armor plating applied seemingly at random all over the armor to reinforce it. On her broad back, she had a strange, makeshift battle saddle, sporting two enormous mounted guns.

The Fallen Hero recovered astonishingly quickly from my barrage. Instead of using whatever that battle saddle fired, she drew a fancy-looking scoped revolver, then leveled it immediately at me with what could only be SATS accuracy.

SHIT! I managed to duck down enough to avoid most of the obnoxiously large bullets, but the first two still grazed me. One tearing a chunk off the top of my right ear, the other ripping through the top of my right shoulder. SHITSHITOWSHITOWSHITSHIT!! What the fuck are those two idiots doing? Take her, damnit! I thought furiously in their general direction.

I was glad that she seemed to be having trouble reloading the revolver with her wingtips. Of all the frickin’ ponies out here in the wild, wild Wasteland, how is it that SHE is the one that doesn’t have a speedloader. Mind-blowing.

Switching to my sniper and quickly dialing down the scope to its lowest magnification setting, I took careful aim, inhaled, exhaled half-way, and squeezed the trigger. I was rewarded with a clean punch-through of her neck. If she hadn’t jerked away instinctively, I probably would have severed her spinal cord. As it was, though, she was going nowhere fast. The bomb squad armor was sadly not very good at protecting your neck from above. Thank the goddesses I took her out quickly. I’d HATE to see what her ridiculously huge battle saddle fired. Actually, at that point, I WAS beginning to become really curious. I couldn’t wait to regroup and loot her. Respectfully, of course.

But first, BLINDING PAIN. Pulling out a Med-X, I jammed it into my injured shoulder. I sighed as the pain started to lessen. Glancing back up to see what the heck the doofus duo was doing, I noticed something that took a bit for my brain to process. Instead of dropping to the ground like her revolver did followed by very quickly bleeding out and dying, she chose a different path. The Fallen Hero had instead grabbed some duct-taped syringes from her saddlebags and immediately jammed them into her own right shoulder. Suddenly, her bleeding stopped. No. Wait. NO. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”, the shout slipped out of my mouth. The death sentence that I’d surely signed for her, that massive fucking hole where 90% of her neck should be, closed itself up completely!? That didn’t look like any sort of Hydra-cocktail that I was aware of. I mean, damn, she should at least be catatonic. Yet there she stood, not even shivering. Or blinking.

She lifted her head, turning it in my direction. Still looking through my scope, I suddenly found myself confronting my own mortality. Snarling directly up at me, we locked eyes for just a moment. A very long, horrible moment. Her murderous intent felt like the desert sun, its intense heat and power overwhelming me.

From a different pouch, she pulled out a bottle of what was probably Buck, then a syringe of what was definitely the super chem, Rage. Aw shit… I leaned left as I leveled my zebra carbine’s sights down at her and started firing quick controlled bursts at her. Nightfall and Yawn finally popped out and started unleashing shotgun and assault rifle rounds upon her while she popped a hoof full of the tablets in her mouth, chewing. She deftly injected herself with the insanely dangerous chem, right into her jugular vein. What the fuck did we sign ourselves up for with this bounty?! If we made it back in one piece, I was going to be having very loud and angry words with you, Donks, my old “pal”.

Any rounds that actually managed to hit her through her armor appeared to still be closing up almost immediately. Makes sense with the remnants of the Hydra mixture still going around in her bloodstream. Honestly, it was quite a discouraging thing to behold.

Now that she was hyped up on one helluva cocktail, her attention finally snapped back onto us. Her eyes started scanning back and forth over the three of us, like a predator picking out its first meal.

Unfortunately for him, Nightfall was the closest to her. Leaving her dropped revolver where it fell, she leapt over his frantic gunfire, fluttering just a little to give herself a bit more air. She landed hard with a sickening crunch on Night. I sincerely wished she had only knocked him out. Please? I prayed to anyone who was out there. As she bent down to take his dropped shotgun, I sent a sniper round at her head. She jerked back in time, with the round missing her. She’d pulled the shotgun up to protect her face. The shotgun blew apart into a million splintering wood and metal shards. Unfortunately, the head I’d been aiming at did not.

She growled like a damn Ursa Major, but ignored me for now. She instead focused on Yawn as he started to rush her. He unloaded his modified saddle’s full complement right into her armor, a lot of it surprisingly punching right through and out the other side. I’m glad that at least someone was up there listening: that damn contraption was finally working when we needed it.

Sadly, it didn’t seem to matter. Shockingly unfazed, the Fallen Hero reached back into her saddlebags and grabbed a wicked looking baseball bat with spikes and nails driven through it at various angles. Biting my lip, I frantically tried to send another round into her head, but I couldn’t seem to get a bead on her, let alone hit her. Uh oh, I was losing my sniper’s focus. Shit. I was losing the ability to not soil myself. And I was probably going to be losing a helluva lot more than that by the time she’s done with our mangled corpses. I found myself struck by an intense fear unlike anything I’ve experienced in this line of work. She wasn’t just another fallen hero. She’d plummeted further down, straight into becoming a monstrosity from hell. Simply put, I was now looking at the scariest monster of them all. Given the option, I’d rather skydive into Hoofington strapped to a megaspell, then face her. I found myself trembling, with tears running down my cheeks. Fuck.

I struggled with all my might to push through the panic, to calm down, to put all of my focus and energy through that scope, and right into my target.

“Okay, PS. You’re okay. I’m okay. She’s- she’s just another red dot. Hell, she might even be the bullseye you’ve, I’ve been looking for,” I muttered to myself. Breathing deeply, I let that thought grow and drown out all of the others. “Actually, yeah, you know what, that’s actually pretty damn awesome! Finally, a worthy challenge.” Less monstrous-looking now, especially from way up here, she shrank back down to the size of a regular pony. One that I could fit within my crosshairs again.

Yawn, abandoning the bit on his battle saddle, pulled out his own beater as she thundered over to him. I watched as they both swung at the same time, both connecting with the other’s side. The Fallen Hero just bounced off the ground. Yawn: not so lucky. She had left her bat embedded in his ribs. Yawn took two steps towards her before collapsing. Finally, having a shot placed on her temple, I inhaled, held it, left half of it out, and fired right into the side of a sudden mountain of scales.

Just as I fired the sniper round, a massive serpentine creature came rocketing up out of the loose ground with an ear-shattering roar, right into my bullet’s path. It looks like we found out what was causing the mini-earthquakes. Great. The round impacted harmlessly on its side as it looked around hungrily. Also probably trying to figure out who had tried to sting it.

I hadn’t seen a sand wyrm this far north in years. Also called sand sharks by a lot of the denizens of the Badlands, they were terrifying creatures, most likely mutated in battle from the smaller and less intelligent dragon-adjacent species of old. The zebra had used a variety of terrifying magical creatures and beasts on this front of the great war. And you will never guess where all their, now even more horrifying and dangerous, descendents STILL ROAM. Seriously, I’m reminding you. Don’t come down to the Badlands. Don’t. Don’t do it.

But anyway, unlike their tamer cousins, nicknamed the land sharks, sand wyrms seemed to have this nasty habit of growing to absolutely gargantuan sizes. They liked to roam the Badlands, blessedly as solitary hunters. They have been known to work together in small groups to take down some of the true mega-monstrosities still out there. Namely, oliphants. But they’re a story for another time.

Land sharks, the earth wyrms if you will, weren’t too bad. They seemed to mostly stay in one place, and were really only active during certain times of day. Kinda like the quarray eels that still inhabit Galloping Gorge. But the sand sharks? They didn’t care what time of day it was. If there was food, they were awake.

Thankfully, they didn’t share the eels’ freaky ability. They can swim through solid rock like it’s just a thick fog. The wyrms could only dig/swim through softer dirt, clay, and sand, much like the diamond dogs of yesteryear. Can you guess what makes up the entire composition of The Badlands surface, huh? Fortunately, they were pretty rare and mostly stayed way out in the No-Ponies-Land, where their humongous prey roamed. Unfortunately, I don’t think this particular wyrm got the memo.

The massive sand shark’s draconian eyes locked on mine as it dove back into the ground, er, through the ground, in my direction. It swam through the loose soil as if it were water, before its spines sank below and the grounds were once again still. Whatever freaky magic they used to do that was just plain cheating. I didn’t trust that the solid rock would protect me. So, I leapt up and launched myself off the ledge towards my fallen companions.

Oh, shit, right, killer mare. I’ll have to deal with her later…

...or right now, I guess, I thought as she immediately leapt back over to Nightfall. I readied a shot from my zebra carbine as my wings snapped open with a sharp POP. Transitioning my falcon dive like that was very satisfying, but I think my joints are starting to show their wear and tear. I’ll definitely be feeling that in the morning. I glided back down to the ground, keeping my crosshairs on her. Instead of pulling the trigger, though, I hesitated. Did she just give him a potion? She bent down and lifted Nightfall onto her back, then glared up at me. Ah. There it is. There’s that menace that made me pee a little.

“You’d better be able to get that giant idiot up or he’s going to be food,” she called to me, in a rough, relatively deep voice. “We can finish later.”

Huh. I guess there might still be a little bit of the hero left in there.

Trusting her odd sort of battlefield honor for now, I dropped the last dozen feet, landing at Yawn’s side. A blur of movement drew my attention back up the wall of the canyon, where I saw the sand shark pop up where I had been sniping from not a moment ago. It frustratedly started tearing through our gear. I sent a quick prayer for our liquor up to Celestia. A little voice in the back of my head cried out about how it was so unfair that the pretty blue boy ended up being right about our gear after all...

Focusing back on my brother-in-arms, I drew a sharp breath. Yawn was definitely in a bad way, as one of the spikes appeared to be stuck in his ribs, dangerously close to too many of his internal organs. One false move and it could puncture a lung. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled out the bat, and immediately clamped a hoof over the hole. I pulled out our only remaining supplies I had stashed in my saddle bags: healing bandages and some duct tape. Honestly could only have been better if it was a restoration potion. Or whatever the hell she’d pumped herself full of.

I began patching him up as best I could. Needing him awake, I pulled out another Med-X and stuck him in the neck like I saw the Fallen Hero do. He jerked awake with a shout. A shout that unfortunately drew the attention of the hungry and officially VERY pissed off wyrm. Yawn stared over at the creature blankly, blinking almost comically slow and slightly out of sync.

I shoved myself as close to his head that his beard would let me. “Yawn, move your flank, NOW!” I shouted in his face. His eyes quickly snapped back into focus, moving over the gigantic monstrosity, and before landing on my face, seeming to realize that we were both snack-sized. He got up and started galloping down the pass, catching up to the overburdened Fallen Hero. Yawn roughly bumped his flank into hers, jerking Night up off her back onto his own in a neat little trick. He gave a smug grin at her, as she glowered back at him. “Earth ponies…” she muttered.

I noticed that her eyes were absolute pinpricks. How could she even see where she was going? I amended that statement as I caught myself with my wings after tripping on a rock. Oh, forget this! This running nonsense….. I’m flying.

She audibly gasped at me, I guess finally noticing that I too was a pegasus. I saw the look in her face as she noticed that my cutie mark was intact. I’ve seen that look a few times over the years, a look full of pain, longing, and hate. The look from the eyes of a Dashite. Well, holy shit. I always thought she was stable-bred, like many of the wasteland heroes that the DJ held up as proof of the good fight. I couldn’t see her flanks to confirm right now because of her barding, but I knew what the branding would look like.

“Okay, once we shake this asshole,” I loudly started, motioning with my head back at the swimming mutated sand demon chasing after us, “we can sit down and talk. Until then, no one shoots anyone. Got it?”

Everyone nodded their heads, even Nightfall, though that was probably more of a lolling of his head more than a true nod. He was still unconscious after all.

Glancing back over at the mare, I asked, “I’m sorry, HOW are you even functioning? You shouldn’t be able to put two words together.”

She didn’t respond at first, just twitching a little as she ran. I honestly didn’t expect her to answer

Finally, she replied, “I’m surprised that you’re not asking about why I’m still on the ground. You know. Because of these.” She lightly shook her wings, which I noticed were definitely missing some feathers. I didn’t know what to think, instead saying nothing and focusing on Yawn and his big bouncing flanks. You know, to make sure he doesn’t stumble and drop Nightshade. Oh come on, it was for safety’s sake. Get your mind out of the gutter, me!

Further internal conversation was halted, as was our forward progress, when the sand shark popped up out of the ground not twenty feet in front of us. Fuck! It must be over 100 feet long…

We backpedaled as I quickly, but sloppily lined up my sniper scope with each of its eyes, quickly firing a couple rounds into each. The eyes were so big, it didn't matter that my hurried aim was shit. The shots saved us, as it reared back, creating a terrible screaming noise from deep within its throat. I saw that its ruined eyes were now bleeding a horrid pus-blood mixture. It retreated back underground as we continued our race to exit the canyon.

I realized too late the direction it had accidentally corralled us in. Luna damnit, we’re heading up into Equestria. I swear I was already hearing one of those accursed spritebots. The skies were lightening up as the sun rose high up enough to surmount the tall walls of the canyon, but they were already completely cloud covered. And as we continued to run to where I knew the mouth of the Pass would be eventually opening up, I knew we’d be hearing my great grandpa’s Pipbuck start its incessant click-clicking. There was really no feasible way to get back to the Badlands without having to travel for several days to get to one of the relatively intact train tunnels. Not that anyone should ever go in them. At least not without a freaking platoon of experienced wasters or desert rats like us escorting them.

“Shit. I really fucking hate the Equestrian Wastes.”

It was a while before we managed to get away from the fucking sand shark. Goddesses. We managed to escape with our lives, partly due to doubling back a bit, but also by and making use of Night’s Plan B to distract the damn thing.

We had finally stopped somewhat near the entrance of the Pass, somehow losing the big creature. I’d spotted a section of some old bunker or facility wall, freestanding and proudly, too, but ultimately standing completely alone. Whatever it had been connected to was clearly long gone. Flopping onto the ground and using it as cover and concealment, all of us took a well-deserved rest. After a bit, Nightfall finally stirred and sat up. Relieved, I forced myself to my achy, shaking legs - hey, flying is exhausting too, ya know - and started to tend to the various wounds of the party, starting with my own maimed ear. I poured some of my spare alcohol out of my shoulder flask onto a clean-ish rag, and noticed Night was doing much the same, but with… oh for heaven's sake, he had put healing potion in his flask?! Goddesses, what a waste of perfectly good hooch. He better have put it back in the bottle and not dumped it out…

I started dabbing at my partially missing right ear, whimpering a little bit more than I’d like to admit. The shoulder wound was surprisingly just as superficial, although the missing chunk was not as visible, and would actually heal and grow back on its own. Not like my poor, mismatching ears.

Hearing my quiet whine, the Fallen Hero limped over to me. She sat on her haunches, facing straight in front of her, and not looking at me. She was still clearly in pain and still clearly coming down off of her high. Or was it a low? Shoot, it was probably both. Drug cocktails are some scary ass shit.

She reached into one of her larger hip pockets and drew out a slightly pale healing potion. It looked like Enervation may have gotten to it a little bit - when had she been near the Hoof? - but it should still work well. She popped out the cork and chugged about half of it, before setting it down on the ground and sliding it sideways over to me with a corner of her hoof. I cautiously picked it up in my mouth and downed the rest of it.

I could feel the magic start taking effect almost immediately, knitting my wounds together. The bullet wound in my hide was slowly closing up, itching a little bit. Unfortunately, even healing magic had its limits as my ear’s bleeding merely stopped. I was still missing a pretty good-sized chunk out of it, but I’d live. And you know what? I thought, pep-talking myself, maybe it’d make me look more mysterious and rugged.

I coughed into my hoof as she pulled out another potion, this one much more brilliant purple.

“Umm, Miss… Fallen Hero? We still have a contract to fulfill,” I intoned, tapping my right hoof over my left shoulder on the barrel of the zebra carbine.

She gave me a flat look in return, turned away, and started walking towards the rest of my party with the potion. Once again, I hesitated, very unsure of what the next fifteen minutes was going to look like. I mean this wasn’t a completely unknown situation for me, I guess. But it happened when catching a live bounty, not when executing a kill contract. She flipped the potion over to Nightfall, who fumbled it a bit before helping Yawn get some down past his ruffled beard.

“Look, you pipsqueaks might get lucky and take me down. But not all of you would survive.”

Pipsqueaks? I bristled. We were basically the same height! I mean, sorta, kinda, if you squint at it a little.

She continued. “Just leave me alone for now. I have some important business down in the Badlands that I need to take care of before I can go back to “rampaging mindlessly” or whatever. It’s far more important than you making a few caps and fucking all of the wasteland pussy that you can reach.”

“Uh, point of order. I prefer the wasteland dick, thank you very much. Also, what kind of business could you possibly have that would snap you out of your murderous revenge quest? And third… do you happen to have any pipbuck tools on you? I’ve been trying to get my great-grandpa’s pipbuck open and put on for quite a number of years, you see…”

Before she could stop the nonsense babbling out of my mouth, likely in a painful way, I was interrupted; quite rudely, I might add. The goddesses-damned wyrm had found us. AGAIN! What was with this thing? Thankfully, it couldn’t seem to find our exact whereabouts thanks to this old wall.

“Yeep!” yipped Nightfall. That was fucking adorable, I thought. Wait, why was THAT my first thought? I shook my head.

“OH YEAH!! Forgot to tell you what monster we were running from. My bad,” Yawn apologized.

“Yawn!” screamed Nightfall. “That is not a small detail to leave out!!”

“Okay, so now what are we going to fucking do?”, I asked of the group. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Suddenly quiet, Nightfall seemed to be halfway onto a plan. “Night. Buddy. Tell me you’ve got something. Please, anything,” I pleaded.

“Well, this type of wyrm probably hates water as much as most types do. And with these solid rock walls, it won’t have time to maneuver…” He intoned, still lost in thought.

Suddenly, he sprang to his hooves, with an excited look on his face. I swear I saw the lightbulb of his cutie mark light up, too.

“Alright, I need you to distract it so I can flood this part of the pass,” he said.

“So you can…” I trailed along, catching up to his train of thought.

“How in the hay are you going to do that? Do you know how much water that would take?” asked Yawn.

The Fallen Hero said nothing. Also, she wasn’t there anymore. We heard her already engaging the wyrm. Poking our heads out from behind the wall, we saw her do a massive running flutter leap off a nearby ledge, up and over the sand shark’s blind head. She finally used her massive battle saddle, to deafening effect. Was that an automatic .50 cal machine gun?! And what was that grenade launcher firing? Sticky grenades? Shit. She is a very scary pony. Glad she’s on our side, for now, at least. Well sort of. Wait…

“OKAY, I guess it’s a go!” Nightfall seemed confident in his plan. Thatta boy, Nightie!

“Alright, Yawn. Time for us to go play, while Mr. Adult Pony here enacts his master plan.” With grins, we also burst from around the wall, on opposite sides, pouring more small guns fire on the towering wyrm. Glancing back, I saw him using a stick to sketch or maybe write something. The next time I was able to spare a glance, I saw him standing tall, beginning to cast the water spell. His horn’s glow was massive and bright. Sweat was pouring off of him with the effort. As I was watching, a second glow added itself on top.

At this point, the light had drawn Yawn’s attention, too. Unfortunately, the sand shark had also noticed. Somehow. I thought, fucker doesn’t even have eyes left, the hell? It managed to get a good swipe against the Fallen Hero, sending her flying back down the Pass, landing crumpled on a high up ledge.Glancing back again, I saw what seemed to be yet another layer of overglow flickering in and out of existence. The poor stallion looked like he was going to pass right out, but he managed to get it stable.

Then with a loud “ZAPP” sound, all of that magic focused into a tight beam, flew from his horn, right at the Wyrm’s face. Unbelievably, the spell seemed to bounce right off of its scales, before slamming into the rock wall next to us. Nothing happened for a second, other than the wyrm acting a little woozy from the blow to the face. But then, water. Just, tons of water. It burst forth from the rock like some massive waterfall crossed with a leaking water pipe.

Everyone, including the wyrm, stopped and stared. The water kept coming. And hot damn, it was making quick sand at the bottom! The wyrm must be using another sense to experience the world right now, because it angrily growled and screeched, and eventually backed off entirely, as this mini lake formed seemingly out of nowhere. But the water kept coming. There was so much of it coming out so quickly, that it wasn’t draining fast enough.

“Hey, Nightfall, that’s enough water. Turn it off at the tap. Night?” Poking my head around again, I didn’t see him at first. He’d blasted himself off of his feet, and was laying crumpled a couple yards back. “Hey, are you okay?” I called over to him. He lifted a front leg and briefly waved an affirmative, but he didn’t get up just yet.

I was about to ask how to stop the water before it floods us out, too. But I didn’t get to that question before the ground slid sideways and fell out from beneath me. I caught myself in mid-air, hovering while trying to figure out what was happening. I guess the water had hit so hard and so suddenly part of this massive rockwall split off and started collapsing.

“Yawn!” Panicking, I zipped over to where I’d last seen him. I was relieved to see him clinging to his side of the ruined concrete wall piece. Scooping him up, I flew him back up to where Nightfall was laying, only a few feet from the new cliff edge. Dropping off my heavy cargo - seriously, Yawn, cut back on the, well everything, will ya?? - I swung around to check on our bounty, perched on her ledge on the other side of the new lake.

The Fallen Hero looked a little rattled, and had her eyes wide in shock. She was motioning at us, trying to tell us something. Uh oh, that’s probably not a good sign.

I slowly turned back around to see… nothing. PHEW! What was she talking about? Leaping up to go fly over and ask, I got my answer. Ah.

Two of the shiniest warbots I’ve ever seen were slowly using their four massive legs, ending in omnidirectional treaded balls, to climb up the hill. They looked brand new. That would mean perfect armor, full ammo, and functioning robotics. If that had been all, we’d have been pretty bucked. But it was the two robots that followed after that made me pee a little. And I willingly admit that; yes, I wet myself. And you would have, too. And as much as those rolling terrors horrified me, the thing that truly chilled me was looking over at her perch across the ravine. That was the one and only time I’d see fear like that on the Fallen Hero’s face.

Rolling right up the rubble came two brightly painted robotic tanks. And I don’t mean one of those kinds of tanks that could be operated by 2 or 3 ponies. This one could easily fit a dozen ponies inside, comfortably. They had fresh looking rainbow lightning bolt patterns coating them. And really intimidating looking heads where the hatch would normally be. The visor protecting what I could only assume where its eyes were, was a surprisingly calm sky blue. Maybe cerulean blue? Eh, whatever. The F.N.P. (Fucking New Pony) has prettier blue eyes anyway.

I’d never seen a functioning tank, nor a tankbot at all. Shit, I’d never even seen the Ministry of Awesome’s signature paint job intact before either. Even on their posters and occasional flags or uniforms that popped up every now and then, the colors were always really faded after 200 years. Were these somehow brand new?!

“But, but, that’s not fair,” complained Nightfall, as he was trying to sit up. From where he was sitting, he could probably only see the two warbots cresting the hill.

“Uh… Nightlife. I get the feeling that you really aren’t going to like the next two.” I informed him. His whining (or was it actually complaining) had seemed to break the spell freezing me in place, as my brain started to brain again. Looking over at where I left him, Yawn looked like he’d actually swooned and passed out. All that was missing was a fainting couch. I saw him roll over in a panic, facing away from the bots, turning his head left to right wildly. Not seeing the menaces behind him, he sat down, just as I reached him and snatched him off his hooves once more. I was not going to be able to do much if I had to carry both of them. I’m a pretty strong buck; I did 500 wing-ups just the other day. But these were fully kitted out, adult wasteland warriors. I was not going to go too far. But still I tried.

The sound of the tread ball things was deafening in this relatively tight ravine. As I landed a few more ledges up from where we started, something occurred to me. I could hear the bots now. Popping my head over, I saw that the water spell had ended, and the mini-lake was finally draining, just becoming a big field of soupy, mucky quicksand.

“Were those Sentinels?!” squeaked out Nightfall. “They’re bigger than I remember.”

Now that he’d pointed it out, I realized that he was right. These just might be those Ultra-Sentinels I’d heard about once from some Steel Ranger deserters. But I thought that they would only be found guarding high security areas, like Ministry Hubs or downtown Hoofington. Plus, why weren’t they painted? And how could they possibly be so well polished?

“I think those might be Ultra-Sentinels,” I shared with the rest of the class. “But I have no idea what those tank things are. They might just be some of the Equestrian military’s super-heavies, but operated by a robot? Or maybe the whole thing is the robot?”

“Forget that,” interrupted Yawn. “Why aren’t they attacking everything that moves?”

“What if they don’t just look new, but actually are new? I’ve heard of brand new Mr. Handies being found, mint in box, that had never been activated,” said Nightfall. “So what if they are actually working as intended? ‘Protecting us pony civilians from the striped menace’ and all that”

I thought that one over. If that was true, this would be BIG. It could make us richer than anypony in the history of the Wasteland. But it would also bring the entirety of the Steel Rangers and Enclave down on our heads. Not to mention the all-out war the raider warlords would wage to capture these. Forget the hunt for the Loyal Legion; the big military prizes of the century were sitting and idling 30 feet down. This situation did not get too much better. I’d almost prefer if they were crazy, ponicidal robots just like all the rest of them. Now what do we do?

Yawn decided for us, by popping his whole head out and hollering down at the massive robots of war. “Are you friend or foe? The zebra horde has been soundly defeated. The war is over. So, again, friend or foe?”

I was quite impressed. That was really well said, Yawn.

The response, despite being fairly quiet because of the distance, still rumbled deep in my gut. I didn’t hear the words so much as feel them. I assumed it was coming from one of the tankbots. Despite being robotic and not having any inflection whatsoever, the unbearably deep voice was commanding.

“STAND DOWN, CIVILIAN. THE FULL MIGHT OF THE GREAT EQUESTRIAN MILITARY WILL SOON BE HERE TO ASSESS THE SITUATION IN FULL. FOR NOW, WE SHALL PROTECT YOU, THE INNOCENT, FROM ANY…”

*fwifffffffBOOM* The sudden massive explosion decimated the first Ultra-Sentinel. The second started getting pounded by fairly rapid-fire, extremely high caliber bullets. Following the smoke trail of the missile, I now knew what the Fallen Hero’s battle saddle fired. That’s one question solved. Now, the next pressing question: WHY IN THE ACTUAL FUCK DID SHE DO THAT?!

“REASSESSING… GUERILLA UNITS OF TRAITORS HAVE INFILTRATED THESE CIVILIANS. PROCESSING… MARKING ALL NEARBY UNITS AS ENEMIES TO THE THRONE AND MINISTRIES. ELIMINATE ALL TARGETED HOSTILES.”

The tank’s visor turned to a deep death ray red. Oh fuck, why did she have to do that? Celestia damn her. Damn her to the moon.

“FEAR NOT CIVILIANS, WE SHALL PROTECT YOU FROM THE ENEMY WITHIN.”

May Celestia and Luna have mercy on your soul, Fallen “Hero”. Because I fucking won’t, you stupid half-raider, mother fucking shit-for-brains, mule-looking, brahmin-humping, paint-drinking, druggy ASSHOLE! Oh I swear I’m going to turn you into fucking glue, bitch, just you wait.

The battle that ensued was definitely a fight for our lives. Both our trio and the Fallen Idiot had the advantage of height over the tanks, but that last remaining Ultra-Sentinel had a trick up its non-existent sleeves. Somehow swapping out its tread balls… (Okay, okay, I’ll stop calling them that. AHEM.) Somehow swapping out its omnidirectional treads for mother-bucking JET ROCKETS, it floated its shiny metal ass up to our level. It was equipped with a grenade launcher and something that might be a flame thrower.

Of course, it started off by aiming the grenade launcher right at our cover. Firing two rounds in quick succession, we knew we were shit outta luck. That is until the first one fizzled loudly in the sand next to us. Then the second one, after braining me pretty hard, didn’t even do that.

“Holy crap, Parting, do you have any idea how lucky we are?” rejoiced EBC News Nightline.

I gave him my nastiest look as I quickly nursed the massive shiner on my right eye with a splash of my backup whiskey. Yawn looked like he clearly enjoyed my misfortune. Why was the right side of my body suddenly a bullet magnet? “I don’t know, kid. Not looking so lucky from my point of view.”

My grump couldn’t do anything to pierce this little ray o’ sunshine’s bright excitement. BLECH! But as he explained why he was so excited, I found myself heartily agreeing with him! That is until the Ultra-Sentinel, still hovering, advanced forward using its secondary weapon.

As it turns out, I was mostly right in thinking that it was a flamethrower. But it didn’t just spit red hot death at you. It was so much more than just hot. Whatever it was blasting out at us was at such an unbelievably high temperature, it was a miracle of techno-magical engineering that the damn thing wasn’t melting itself. The blinding bluish-white liquid sun it shot out started turning the whole area into bubbling, melted glass.

Acting fast, Nightfall levitated the magical matrix disruption grenade up over the literal lava field and set it off right near where I hoped its power source was. Apparently it was close enough, as the magical stream of plasma shut off. The big shiny warbot clunked down heavily into the quickly cooling liquid glass. In theory, we could probably salvage some of it, especially its stash of remaining magic grenades. But that was going to have to wait a while. The oppressive heat of the Badlands did nothing to help cool down the molten slag everywhere. Maybe later.

We heard a deafening explosion, followed by some sort of war cry from the Fallen Hero. Shit, I guess that means it’s up to us to take down this last tank.

I slowly flapped us over the wreckage of the Ultra-Sentinel, well over it. The updrafts from the heat were very useful, but they remained a reminder of what would happen if we’d not acted as quickly as we had with that grenade.

We finally landed safely on the ledge.

“REASSESSING… INTERNAL CONTROLS APPROVED. PREPARE FOR LOVE FROM ABOVE.”

“Prepare for what?!” Night and I mouthed at each other. The answer came in the form of a *WHOOSH, WHOOSH*, which was then followed up by two rockets launching up slowly past our ledge, almost lazily, before they sharply changed direction and shot straight at the Fallen Hero’s position.

The ledge simply stopped existing. It was there, and then *KABOOM-BOOM*, it was not there. And neither was she.

“Do you think we can still claim the bounty?” Oops. I said that with my outside voice. One swift (and somehow bearded?) kick to my ribs later, we frantically weighed our options.

“REASSESSING… TARGET DOWNED. UNABLE TO VERIFY TARGET ELIMINATION. REASSESSING… TARGET EFFECTIVELY NEUTRALIZED. INTERNAL CONTROLS WITHDRAWING APPROVAL. STANDING DOWN AWESOME WARHEADS OF AWESOMENESS.”

Wut.

We all stared at each other blankly for a bit. “Who in Tartarus was in charge of naming these things? And for that matter, what is with the freaking rainbow paint vomited all over it?” Nightfall grumbled uncharacteristically. “It’s giving me a headache.”

Just wait until he hears that mare’s matching name, I wryly thought.

We ultimately decided it best to attempt to retreat. But how to do that was of hot contention. We all had our own brilliantly stupid ideas. The overall consensus eventually came down to one of us distracting the tank, so the other two could do… something.

I wanted to fly Yawn out, while Nightfall pleaded with the tank, begging for his life. It was not well received. Pity. Night was definitely the least threatening of us, so it probably could have worked.

Yawn wanted me to buzz around it like a fly, so he and Nightfall could somehow push it off and into the quicksand below. Good idea… if you were a crazy pony! Even if he wasn’t nearly magically burnt out, there was no way he could levitate something so heavy, even just enough to make it easier for Yawn to try pushing it.

Nightfall wanted to see if I could hover him over the downed Ultra-Sentinel so he could get at the tailor-made anti-tank weaponry. Yawn pointed out that while he gets the matrix disruption grenades, how in the hay was any single pony going to reasonably be expected to make use of the solar plasma launcher? And besides there’s no way I could “just fly us” safely with the huge temperature differentials. That’s not even taking into account that we’d just end up cooking ourselves alive being that close to the still cooling, still partially molten area.

“ZEBRA SYMPATHIZERS: SURRENDER YOURSELVES AND BE ELIMINATED.”

“Oh, come on. Shouldn’t it be saying ‘OR be eliminated’?!” Nightfall asked exasperatedly.

“I’d always assumed,” Yawn commented, beard a'twitchin', “that these robots’ programming had just degraded over the decades and decades and decades of continual operation. Turns out they were ponicidal loony bins by design. Who knew?”

“APPROVED MINIMUM WAITING TIME HAS ELAPSED. REASSESSING…”

“FUCK your reassessing, dick hole!” I couldn’t believe it, but the Fallen Hero was dive-bombing the damn tank?! Where in the fuck did she reincarnate from?! “I’ll give YOU some love from above, you TIN CAN!”

She must have dodged that last blast somehow, but how did we all miss her when the smoke started clear-… oh, StealthBuck. But wait, if it was a StealthBuck, then why was the tank fooled, as well? Or maybe it was something else?

Either way, the crazy pony was dive-bombing at top speed from the very top edge of the ravine’s walls. As she yelled out that last word “CAN!”, she bit down and fired a half dozen bullets from her battle saddle’s massive gun, and a missile to boot.

“Oh crap, did she do it?” Yawn asked incredulously.

“Or did she at least do enough to draw its attention off of us, you know, so we can get the FUCK OUTTA HERE?” I added.

As it turns out, the answers were NO and YES. But that didn’t matter, because you wouldn’t believe what chose to rise up from the sands, right next to the suddenly dwarfed tankbot...

That same fucking sand shark was back for more. Again. The damn thing must have gone the long way around to catch up.

Now for those of you still sober enough to be keeping track: now we were fighting a giant ponicidal rampaging tank thing, while also fighting off a persistent mutant wyrm, WHILE ALSO trying to take down one of the most powerful of DJ P0N3’s wasteland heroes. The only good thing about the whole situation was that we were all facing the same problem. This would be one of those perfect times to tactically retreat, as I mentioned at the very beginning of the story.

ANNNNNNND this would actually be a great time for a bathroom break. And drink some dang water. This story is WAY too good to be wasted on the drunks. Actually, DJ, are you recording this? Or is this live? Oh, it’s live? Gotcha.

Well in that case: all you critters get your flanks up, go take a piss, and get yourself a nice sip of the wasteland’s finest irradiated water. Or, have you tried the sarsaparilla that’s still pretty popular down the old Equestrian 52? Good stuff.

***

Everypony good? GREAT! Not that I can hear you anyways. Now let’s get back to it, shall we? This is where things started to go way off the rails. This was the job that marked the beginning of some very big changes.

We were a little preoccupied at the time, though, to really notice.

There was a brief moment of pause as all parties collectively assessed the situation. Talk about a Yakyakistan standoff…

But, the world resumed in short order, as the tankbot and the sand shark decided to make this dance a duet. Or some sort of musical metaphor, um, simile thing. Oh, you get the idea. I didn’t exactly make the best grades in music or language arts at the Wastelander’s School for Gifted Pegasi, okay.

The wyrm roared. The tank did its ‘REASSESSING’ nonsense again. It was barely audible beneath the fury of the sand shark, having yet another invader in its territory. The tankbot launched one of its Awesome Warheads of Awesomeness straight up at the creature’s face. And the creature plunged downward, gaping maw wide open, swallowing the missile and tank whole.

The Fallen Hero adjusted her glide to land next to us, equally as shocked as we were.

“Given the choice, I kind of want the tank back. We at least stood a chance against it,” remarked Nightfall.

“Now what?” Yawn asked The Fallen Hero. Hey, I’m the party leader and the boss. Don’t ask her, the high value target, who happens to have an absolutely ludicrous bounty on her head, in case you forgot!!

She pulled out a syringe of something, and jabbed it into her flank. Because of course, that’s her solution. Her subsequent death glare reminded us of her fondness for socializing.

“I’m guessing you have a plan?” I asked her. “Because the only strategy I’ve ever known for these gigantic assholes is to retreat at full tilt.”

She pulled out her fancy revolver and started reloading it. Wait, when did she pick that back up?

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” asked Nighty of nopony in particular, finally pulling out one of his energy pistols.

Yawn simply grunted, as his eyes seemed to glaze over.

Something flipped in my brain. This was too much. “Nope, fuck this, I’m flying the hell outta here,” I declared loudly, as the wyrm started getting pretty intense sounding indigestion. I launched myself up and up, trying to get up and over this stupid Pass and back into my comfortable zone of the hellscape of The Badlands.

Now, there are a lot of things in my life that I’m not proud of, but this really took the cake. Abandoning them like that, betraying my companions, and leaving them all for dead to save myself. The possible outcomes still haunt me to this day. And unfortunately, my selfishness was not done yet.

I heard the crack of her revolver as her VATS-guided shot took another big chunk out of my right ear. I appreciate that she didn’t go for the kill shot, but the insult and challenge was clear.

“Okay, you wanna go? Let me show you how to do a real dive bomb.” I air-braked, did a quick 180, then fell with my wings pinned to my sides. I plummeted back down towards her, quickly lining up my shot. Bit in mouth, I went to fire my zebra carbine.

Just then however, the pressure wave of a massive explosion plucked me right out of the air, crashing me on a ledge. I landed hard on one of my wings, and I felt the joints pop rapid-fire. *KRACK, POP, CLICK*My right wing was now more useless than a paperweight.

Hello, Mr. Consequences-of-my-own-actions. Have you had a chance to meet my companion, The-curse-on-my-right-half?

I attempted to untangle myself, while testing my wing’s range of motion. Straining to lift it without support hurt like a motherbucker, but after a strange clicking pop sound, I did manage it. The wing was REALLY stiff and sore, but seemed to still be working.

Satisfied, I turned to figure out what had just happened, but the only thing I could see was the sand shark, coiled up, with its mouth open wide for an attack. At least I think so, I thought to myself. It does look a little funny from here.

Wait.

NO.

How in the hoof?!

Lady Luck, you sweet and sour bitch. Why are you fucking me over YET AGAIN?!

That’s when the tankbot rolled its rainbow painted, armored ass out of the hole it had just so casually blown in the wyrm’s side. The exit it had created is what I’d first confused with the wyrm’s mouth. Because of course.

Is this better? Worse? I absolutely was not going to stick around and find out! Yeah, I’m fucking out of here. Holy Equestrian Princess Shit.

“REASSESSING…”

I pushed through the pain in my wing, and slowly climbed upward. Reaching the top of the cliff, I zoomed right past one of those damn spritebots, giving it a swipe with my front hoof. The sudden whirlwind of confusing thoughts and feelings was all hitting me at once. I tried and failed to buck another spritebot. This one spitting sparks and blaring some over-saturated polka music out of its front grille. I missed this one and spun a little in mid-air, before crash landing again. I screamed and yelled, as much in anger as in pain. I think my right wing was officially dislocated at the elbow. I couldn’t extend it anymore, painfully or otherwise

This, this right here. This was the moment the Wasteland finally got me.

Night’s voice seemed to pierce through the din to reach me, to in turn pierce my soul: “Parting?”
It was so sad, small, alone. But it was a dead pony’s voice. Better for one of us to have a guaranteed shot to live, right? Right?!

There was no answer. For once, that little voice in the back of my head was totally and completely silent.

New Challenge Perk: StealthBucked - Your years of training with scoped weapons - with a little extra bit of luck added in - have boosted your perception by 15% when actively scanning your surroundings,20% when through a mounted scope. As a passive benefit, it is now 25% easier to detect sneaking enemies, even if they are using a StealthBuck. Peek-a-boo! I see you!

Quest Note: Companion (The Fallen Hero) joined your party

Quest Note: Companion (The Fallen Hero) left your party

New Companion Perk: Am-scray! - You and your party get a 10% bonus to Perception, Agility, Endurance, and Luck. . . But only when actively fleeing an encounter. “Retreat, Hell! We're just attacking in another direction.” - US Marine General Oliver P. Smith

Quest Note: Companion (The Fallen Hero) joined your party

Quest Note: Companion (The Fallen Hero) left your party

Quest Note: Companion (The Fallen Hero) joined your party

Quest Note: You have left your party.

Quest Note: All bonuses acquired through Companion Perks have been removed from the party.

Quest Note: Quest failed.

LAST UPDATED: 10/15/2024

Author's Note

Notes from the Author:

This chapter is quite literally ten years in the making, although technically only worked on for a few weeks in 2014 and several more in 2024.

I decided to split off the last few parts of this chapter to the next chapter, to give more room to work with. It was very hard picking a clean cut-off point, so I ended up deciding to do the old cliche of a cliffhanger. I hate myself for having to resort to that, but I felt that there’s really no other way to interrupt a major sequence of high action events.

Oh, and any quotes that I use from outside the source material will generally have an attribution with it, where possible, or at least a note down here.

I am always open to constructive criticism and pointers. Send me an email to firenvygames (at) gmail (dot) com with something like “FoE: The Badlands” in the subject and I’ll be glad to hear you out.

-With love and bullets, FIReNVY

Chapter 3: The Light At the End

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Introduction

to The Badlands

Once upon a time, in the magical land of Equestria, there lived six best friends, under the rule of two benevolent and beautiful princesses. But a thousand years of peace did poorly to prepare the citizens of Equestria for the horrors of an ancient and long forgotten word: war. They rushed headlong into this “war” with their Zebra neighbors, ignoring how much and how fast they were changing. But, there was one thing that hadn’t changed in the slightest, not through all of those centuries of peace.

War. And war never changes.

The world ended in mutually assured destruction with a lucky few tucked away in their underground bunkers known as Stables, while the pegasi abandoned the rest of the world, sealing up the Equestrian skies forever. It’s been close to 200 years since megaspells of balefire (and much worse) fell across this world, blighting the near perfect lands into oblivion. Yet, strangely enough, there is one place that remains relatively untouched. The scars of its many battles and testing sites notwithstanding, the Badlands south of Princess Luna’s domain still live up to their name.

This world of harmony and friendship and magic has been completely obliterated, and hope is almost nowhere to be found. However, two things still cling to its surface.

Life. And Life will always find a way.

But then again, so will War...