Chapter One: Heavy Metal.
It's your one way ticket to midnight
Try not to let my powerful stallion voice or my enchanting Trottingham accent distract you from this tale. I'm your narrator for the foreseeable future and the story I am to tell is close to my core. Sit back and relax. Oh, and try not to cry too much, it throws off my narrative pacing.
Ponies. Ponies never change. Once upon a time in the magical land of Equestria, ponies and zebras waged war on a previously unimaginable scale, leading to the devastation of the entire world. And for what? Maybe they fought over resources, maybe they fought over eldrich power that fell from the sky, maybe it could even be blamed on simple specism. Whatever the reason, two hundred years ago your kind and their kind nearly succeeded on their goal, equine extinction on a global scale. Every pony and zebra did a bang up job of destroying the world. Good going, you imbeciles.
The land and her equines were blasted apart and much of what remained was poisoned, scarred, brutalized, and traumatized. Yet even in this wasteland, ponies and zebras remained.
However, I'm not here because you need a lesson in ancient history.
Over two years ago Little Pip, a suborn pony with a unique swearing problem, orchestrated the destruction of three the major villains plaguing the wasteland. Red Eye, the Great and Powerful Goddess, and the Enclave all fell due to the efforts of one diminutive pony and her friends. In addition, her actions lead to the founding Junction Town and the restoration of hope for those within the boundaries of Equestria. After her ascent, her allies even managed to utilize the Gardens of Equestria and purge the toxins from the ravaged country. But paradise is a fools delusion, and the surrounding wasteland has a voracious appetite.
My goodness, listen to me go on. I suppose I should get to the start of my story. Which begins sometime ago, in that little place called Junction Town. There a brutish stallion, with an idiotic name, nature, and cutie mark; made the decision that turned my paradise into an outpost of Tartarus.
* * *
Monkey 'Monk' Wrench was an idiot savant. A giant, hulking, idiot savant. In Junction Town he was one of the go to ponies when something mechanical catastrophically broke. Did one of the trains completely blow one of it's new shiny fission gem engines? Three days and a seven hundred and fifty six bit bill, allowing for price increases due to radiation hazards. Did your riot shotgun dissolve into so much rusty sand due to poor weapon maintenance? A one hundred bit pittance, because as Monk put it, 'round numbers are easy'.
Easy, simple, uncomplicated. This was how Monk lived. There were days where the only words spoken were exchanged pleasantries, bill discussions and conversations with his mother; the only mare in town who Monkey Wrench spoke with at length. They were refugees from the ill-fated friendship city, yet the repair pony never bothered to replace his deceased friends. And in the friendly and cooperative Junction City, where every creature with hooves or claws works together, not making any friends was actually a feat.
For a solid year, Monkey Wrench worked from before sun up and well after the sun went down This lasted until his wretched old harpy of a mother was fed up with her idiotic son, and kicked him out of his own home. I believe it was on a Saturday.
Ponies evacuated the street in droves, slamming their doors closed in a panic. Nervous eyes cautiously peeked out from behind barred windows. Sledge Spanner was angry and the violet mare whose mane had become grayed, with what one can only assume to be pure hatred for the world, screamed bloody murder at her son. “You are bucking useless! Gelded!” Her screeching voice echoed throughout the town, causing fillies and trauma victims to burst into tears. “Everypony in this slum should know that my son is a useless gelded stallion” She snorted and hocked out a greenish brown lump of tobacco and other assorted chemicals. “Stallion? I meant to say filly! A scarred simpering filly.”
The big 'filly' towered over his mother, his bright green eyes downcast as he studied the rocks in the gravel road. “Aw, momma you ain't gotta be like that” He responded, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Apparently I do!” She slammed a hoof into his cool gray colored hide. “How many friends have you made?”
“None mamma.”
The old hag slammed her hoof down on top of Monk's skull hard enough to crack softer brain pans. His messy brown mane showed no visible wounds. “How many mares have you met?”
“None mamma.”
Another hoof across the skull. “My husband does not rest at the bottom of a pond so his only son... our only son...” She couldn't finish her sentence and various emotions played across her ravaged face. Now, before you start feeling sympathy for this beast I feel that it is my duty to point out that harpies cannot cry. No, they can only absorb their emotions with their internal hate sponges. Taking a moment to crush the remains of her ponydom, she continued “I'm going to the bar. When I get back, Luna help you if you're there. Pack your bags, take your bits, and don't come back here until you've knocked some poor stupid mare up. And for the goddesses sake, make some friends.”
“Yes mamma.” said the stallion, eloquently extrapolating on the deep seated hatred I'm sure burned within his strong heart.
The hell beast frowned. “Don't you take that tone with me young pony.” She then attempted to snap her sons neck, but was too exhausted from her psychotic episode. She muttered a curse which to an outsider might sound eerily close to I love you. Then she slithered away and died in a ditch. On fire.
Now normally in this point in the story the young hero would say goodbye to all of his friends, who would wish him well on his adventures. Throughout the tale they would be remembered fondly and would symbolize what he is fighting for. After the harrowing adventure was over the town would welcome him back with open forelegs, and tears in their eyes. This is not a normal story, it doesn't have a happy ending, and Monk left in the night without any wishing him off. And the next day, nopony really cared that he had left.
But before his tragic departure from this world, let me explain where it all went so horribly wrong. In the middle of Junction City, not terribly far from Absolutely Everything Else (Franchising is going to re-ruin this world) there is a 'quest' board, as it were. Some idiot gang who has taken the moniker of The Wasteland Crusaders ,came up with the idea of jotting down whatever the various Disk Jockeys of Equestria complain about. Quest board, what a wretched term. This messaging board had only one particular job that our hero was well suited for. This would have been great, if Monk had the capacity for reading.
There were two other ponies, both unicorns coincidentally, standing near the informative, yet unfortunately named, message system. One was a beautiful charcoal colored mare, with an illustrious white mane streaked with gold and red strands. She was smiling to herself as she crossed off something on the post apocalyptic version of a chain letter. Next to her, was an green colored stallion with a preserved cucumber adorning his flank who was browsing the board casually.
The first had an uncaged nightingale as her soul symbol and practically radiated kindness.
The second smelled faintly of alcohol and was covered in warts.
Finally, Monk made his decision. His stupid, stupid decision. Later, when I pressed him about this all he said was “She had a look like she was a mare on a mission, and I had a feelin' anywhere I followed her would be nothin' but trouble.”
“Excuse me sir I can't read none too good, can ya help me find a job that would take me to another town.” Monk asked the stallion that was casually eying the board.
The thuggish unicorn that was well known in certain criminal circles as Pickles smiled reveling a distressing lack of teeth. “Man they grow 'em big down here, hey Slaughter, check out this big freaking guy. A big freaking guy who needs to get out of town. We could use a guy like him, right Slaughter?
As the fittingly crimson coated Stallion started walking over, the mare's partner, a pegasus with a stylish hat, called out from the crowd drawing her away from the board and ending any chance of this story ending well.
Slaughter stood there with his wild pink mane flowing around his horn, smiled and regarded Monk casually, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. “Well shit, can't get further out of town than Baltimare. You can pull a cart right?”
***
We all know that the new goddess has no control over the various monsters that still infest Equestria. But, Pip does control the weather, and a sizable percent of the monsters are weakened by abundant sunlight and heat. Ten grueling days underneath the scorching summer sun, still caused poor sun baked Monk to question the goddess in question.
What? How do I know what Monk was thinking? Do you think I'm some hack, playing at guessing games and running all willy-nilly with the story? No, of course not, we share a bond on a deeply personal level. Stop laughing.
A shrill agitated voice snapped the cool gray earth pony out of his thoughts. “Hey Monk, get your flank moving! At the rate you're fucking plodding along there will be another fucking apocalypse before we fucking get there.” The verbose speaker was Smiley Sales who was a small miserable prick of a unicorn. He ran the disputably legit Smiley Sales Super Discount Store. He peddled used and, ahem, acquired goods all across Equestria, excelling at taking advantage of the desperate.
Monk didn't like this pony, but Smiley had a contract with Pickles and Slaughter. Monk turned his head toward the frothing salespony that was leaning out of the comfort of a covered wagon and gave a miserable impression of his mothers hate glare.
The diminutive pony's nostrils flared and a vein on his forehead started to visibly bulge and throb. “Boy what in the fucking depths of Tartarus do you think you're goddessdamned staring at? I don't need you, I have two other guards who fucking know their goddessdamn place in life. Keep fucking looking at me like that with your stupid fucking eyes and you won't make it to fucking Baltimare. Boys.”
The two brutes took up threatening poses on either side of Monk. Things only became more uncomfortable as they telekineticly leveled revolvers next to the repairpony's head and glowered much more menacingly than the humble gray earth pony could. Smiley smirked before adding “It would be a fucking shame if had to tell your whore mother that her little shit for brains had an unfortunate accident with some raiders.”
Monkey wrench was the second largest stallion here, and much bigger than Smiles and his two unicorn cronies. But Monk knew that the odds were stacked against him because you just can't out muscle a bullet. He stopped glaring at Smiles and picked up his pace.
Lilly, the unfortunately purple stallion with a flower on his flank, looked over and gave the repairpony a sad sympathetic look. Monk had talked to him only a few times over the trip, and learned little about him. He was a nice enough fellow who was fated to be a long term employee of Smiles. Even though slavery was illegal ever since the demise of the Equestrian wasteland, very little can stop a savvy business pony with contracts and hired killers. Not everyone was willing to let old practices die without a fight. What a wonderful world we live in, isn't it.
Lilly's look did not escape the notice of the guards. Slaughter cruelly chuckled. “Guess the stallion stuffer wants to comfort poor old little Wrench after the boss showed who wore the saddle in the-” Whatever he was going to say was cut off as the last pony in the caravan stepped up and bucked the thuggish pony so hard that he lifted off the ground and landed several feet away, sprawled out on the overgrown trial.
This mysterious stallion do well was covered head to tail in gleaming metal barding. This was not like the Applejack's Rangers power suits, this was like a suit of old barding that had been crafted centuries ago. Platinum in color, plain in design. “Enough. Be quiet and walk.” The voice echoed out of the metallic visor and thundered across the valley. No one dared to open their mouths.
During the trip, this armored monster of a pony effortlessly killed a manticore in hoof to claw combat. It only took the him two kicks before the beasts skull burst like an overripe fruit. It was unsettling to say the least. Knowing that there was a flesh and blood earth pony underneath all of that metal, too hot to touch in the summer sun, made it down right frighting. This wasn't some mindless automaton, this was a darkly colored pony with a platinum mane who only occasionally stopped to drink some water. Not even Smiles was stupid enough to mess with something like this creature.
The caravan was traveling down Llanberries pass, which as you know, is nestled in the hills several days to the northeast of the ruins of old Canterlot. Rocky hills which hid several places for potential ambushes, causing everyopony to be on edge. Or in the case of Monk, slightly less relaxed.
Pickles, nervously broke the silence several hours later. “So, just four days left on our trip, right Slaughter Mane.” Four days left out of fourteen. Besides the oppressive heat, the voyage fraught with thirst, monsters, and boredom when mouths were wet and the trail was unsoiled. Pickles had sounded a bit eager for this trip to be over no pony could blame him in the least. Well, except for his so called friend.
Slaughter Mare pointed a crimson hoof and laughed mockingly at his comrade “Trip this fucker says. Not job, or assignment, you have to call this a trip, Luna give me a milky moon shot listen to this limp hoof over here.”
“Hey, go buck yourself Slaughter, I'm tired of drinking this shitty smelling water”
A mocking grin changed into a grimace. “Yeah, this shit is just... shit.”
Everyone except for the stranger in the back cringed in aural pain as Smiley Sales' piercing voice shrieked from the depths of the covered wagon. “Fuck you, you fucking ingrates. Do you know how goddessdamned expensive a water talisman costs? Who cares if this tastes like Cerberus’s piss, kept you trotting, didn't it. Didn't it?” There were a few quiet grumblings but no one uttered a cross word. Smiley had the gist of it. Water had been pretty scarce on this trip and the slightly malfunctioning water talisman allowed the caravan to take water from where ever they could find it. Muddy streams, stagnate pools, even from plant mater and blood. The catch, and the reason Smiles was able to buy it on the cheap, was the water smelled of sewage though it had no taste.
Unfortunately, Smiley was riled up and kept ranting. “And I doubt that those pig fuckers up in Baltimare could afford one without a few enduring fucking flaws. You can't milk a rusty old cunt's teats and expect to get the Milk of Celestia.” The cruel Sales Pony exploded out of the back wagon, brandishing a bottle smelling of alcohol. His beady eyes glossing over his crew but not focusing on any one pony for long. “That's right you fucking fucks, you owe me.”
“Great.” Muttered Pickles. “The fucker is drunk, he'll be like this for hours.”
And he did.
Eventually, the salespony ran out of air and passed out, the remains of his slightly less then lethal alcohol spilling out into the grass, defoliating the spot for eons to come. Everypony, including the well barded one, visibly relaxed. Slaughter and Pickles pulled cotton out of their ears. Then they removed the cotton from Lilly and Monk's ear, completing there one and only act of kindness.
Slaughter Mane spoke softly into Monks ear “This is the last fucking job I'm taking from this guy. About the gun to the head thing, look, just had to put on a good show. Caps still don't fucking grow on trees.” He gave Monk a long, thoughtful look before continuing. “You're a big fucking pony. Hell you might have fallen out of an alicorn's cunt for all I know. Me and Pickle could use a big fucking beef wall like you to discourage caravan raiders. And of course, helping us collect higher wages should the need arise, if you get my drift.”
Monkey Wrench gave Slaughter Mane a brief glance. “Nope. Gotta find some friends and a mare to marry. Momma told me to.” Wrench smiled ever so slightly, “And I make it a personal point o' mine to never associate with ponies who point guns at me.”
Slaughter Mane stopped in his tracks and ran a hoof through his bright pink mane in shock. Monkey Wrenches cutie mark passed by, a brightly colored fur covered wrench with a tail coming from the handle. Regaining his composure he smirked and opened his mouth to say something. But before the insult left his tongue there was a sharp whisper in his ear. “That pony could crush you like the worm that you are.” Slaughter quietly returned to his position, intimidated by the metal ponies sudden threat. The big pony, on the other hoof, trotted to the front of the caravan, where Smiley's drunken ranting had become subdued.
A small meek voice could barely be heard from in front of the covered wagon. “Thank you for earlier Sir” said Lilly, who wasn't quite meeting his hero's gaze.
However, there was no response from the metal clad pony - oh enough of this, the big metal pony's name is Butch, it's a stupid name and I'm not going to play it out like some mystical enigma any longer.
Getting no response, Lilly hung his head dejectedly and trotted forward.
“Lilly, we ain't talked much on this trip but I want ta ask ya about the flower on yer flank.” Monk said, looking at his fellow earth pony evenly.
Lilly winced and nervously replied “What about my cutie, er, talent mark.”
“Means yer good with plantin' things right?”
“Well... yes.”
“If yer in Baltimare long 'nuff think ya can get me some o' them dandelions? Thems good eatin'.” Monk replied, his atrocious accent barely hiding the growls of his stomach. “A fellow can can get mighty tired o' eatin' gator jerky.”
The shy pony relaxed slightly. “I thought the NCR banned the sale and production of alligator meat because it sometimes contained trace amounts of ponies?”
“Yeah, I reckon they did. Supposed to meet the neighbors, not eat the neighbors. Still had a bunch of it saved up though, lasts a while and keeps ya fed on trips. Didn't plan on takin' any trips. But there ya go.” Committing conversational seppuku, the repair pony loudly sucked on his teeth to fill the silence.
“So, are you not worried about accidental cannibalism?” Lilly's silky forest green mane fell in front of his eyes and he daintily brushed it back with a hoof. No, I do not know how he managed to keep trotting while doing such a feat.
Silence echoed throughout the valley while Monk pondered the question. Finally, he said “Guess if I'm eatin' a pony, better hope she ain't caught somethin.” He grinned at the feminine pony.
Long lashed eyes blinked at Monk for several moments, then Lilly giggled. “You're a gross you know that?”
A minute later Butch held up a hoof and said “Hold, remain here.” Holding up a hoof he pointed a large rock in the field. The right side was covered in blood, and there was a pair of legs barely visible through the grass. Butch stomped towards the blood stained rock.
Pickles' eyes nervously darted around the field and muttering curses under his breath, his revolver hovering above his head. Lilly was practically shivering in his horseshoes, eyes shut tightly. Even Slaughter Mane appeared nervous and had his revolver at the ready. However Smiley and Monk remained unfazed as the prior was passed out, and the later just didn't spook easy. That fine line between stupidity and bravery being what it is and all.
Reaching the rock the metal pony stopped, slowly he turned around and then stared at the caravan. He then said “Take the Purple one and the idiot drunk in the wagon. Kill the rest.”
Thirteen ponies started to pop up from camouflaged hiding spots like prairie dogs, ugly drug addled, violently insane prairie dogs. Four of them were armed with neglected pistols, the rest were armed with various sorts of up close weapons. “Time to play!” Yelled a filth covered pink mare, a broken jaw bone displayed on her flank. Then the fun, and shooting, began.
“Raiders!” Yelled Lilly, then he started to gallop, dragging the cart and the unconscious Smiley wildly through the plains. Monk didn't see how far he got as he struggled to unhook himself from his cart once the shooting started.
Pickles frantic shoots found no targets and he was gunned down in a hail of bullets. Two in the chest, one in the gut, and one in the head. Blood and brain matter splattered on the ground in front of Monkey Wrench.
“No! Pickles!” Yelled Slaughter Mane. He was a much better shot under duress than his former comrade and his shots found a target. One of the gun ponies went down from two shots to the skull.
Monk met eyes with a pony wielding a nailed baseball bat, then he charged.
A brief reminder for those not familiar with sir Neightons second law of motion: The acceleration of a body is parallel and directly proportional to the net force and inversely proportional to the mass. In other words force equals mass times acceleration. So when the massive pony collided with the malnourished raider at a full tilt, the raider flew backwards and landed several feet away, his skull breaking open as it collided with a jagged rock. He never got back up.
The raiders without guns turned their attention towards the repairpony, murder in their eyes and melee weapons in their muzzles. He caught a glimpse of Slaughter taking a potshot while he was diving behind the remaining cart. His shot found a gunpony's neck and she died a gurgling, wheezing death. Slaughter took some bullets of his own however, one in the foreleg, and one in his cutie mark. A straight razor covered in blood for those wondering. The intense pain caused him to scream out, but managed to hold onto his weapon.
Monk meanwhile was charging a pair of ponies. One was wielding a rusty serrated knife, the other a stick with a nail through it. These two jumped out of the way, gave chase, and attacked Monk as he turned around to face them. A deep slash opened up the flesh on monks left shoulder, staining his gray fur with crimson. The stick raider hit monk so hard on the jaw the weapon broke, nail stuck firmly through his mouth, imbedded deep within his gums.
Everypony who met Monk assumed he was a gentle giant type.
They were wrong, Monk was a time bomb.
As Monk shattered the leg of the raider pony he grinned. It was lopsided due to the nail pinning his bottom lip. His teeth wet with blood and spit.
Monk stamped a hole in him with his hoof viscera and gore painted his coat.
He started laughing.
Both Slaughter and another raider went down. The raider was sent swiftly to the after life with a head shot. Unfortunately Slaughter was crying and wailing about poor life choices before his own final trip. A bullet to the stomach is a terrible way to go.
Monk didn't care. He was having the time of his life. Every single raider bore the face of the Enclave. A chain to the flank wouldn't stop him from avenging is best friend, Big Reel. A sledgehammer across the spine wouldn't stop him from killing those who murdered his girl, Shiny Bobbles. And no force in Equestria would stop him from taking revenge against those who had killed his father.
Except in the real world, one pony cannot take on monsters like the raiders without friends. And minutes later, there were still seven raiders left standing over Monk, who was broken and bleeding on the hot, moist earth. His world was the smell of blood, the taste of blood, and the sea of blood that he was laying in. He became dimly aware that somewhere Lilly and Smiley Sales screaming.
Butch leaned down into his vision, metal helmet hiding his features. “Two years ago all of Equestria was like this. Brutal and Beautiful. If you wanted to kill a pony, fuck a pony, own a pony; all you needed was strength.”
“Get to killin' me then, got ponies to see when I die.” Even though his vision and strength were failing him, Monk still tried to look the villain in the eye.
“No. You have an admirable strength and endurance.” Butch laughed, his laugh sounding hollow, completely devoid of joy. “I would very much like to kill you myself one day. Hopefully, you survive your wounds.”
Monk coughed up more blood, somehow, and said “You are... a jerk.”
A hoof across the temple made everything go black.
Footnote:
Starting Traits: Heavy Hooved: Your Unarmed attacks are 20% more punishing! However you lack finesse (and style darling), so you hardly ever Crit.
Learned me the Unpossible: Well, you can't read... but since you don't know what you can't do, you have few limits on what you can! The only limit on your perks is your level.
Level Gained!
Perk added, Momma's boy. Hiding behind your momma's skirt for your entire has given you a similar skill set. +5 to Repair, Unarmed Attacks, ridicule.
Authors Notes, this is my first fanfiction and I would love critisim, it's time to be cruel! I can take it! I want you to verbally beat me until you're blue in the face!
However, if there was something that you liked, let me know! I'd love to have some positive criticism as well :)
