Fallout Equestria: The Badlands

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...