FOE: Spirit of Progress (Excerpt)
Chapter 1: A Tale of Two Ponies
“I saw two souls meet that day, both born from shattered worlds. One was kind yet vengeful the other was cold but generous. Each represented a side of the once beautiful nation, tortured and twisted by the experience in the unforgiving wasteland. The two forged their own paths through whatever means they could and brought their own burdens and beliefs. Conflicting ideologies that had shaped the wasteland into something better and worse and though the wasteland was slowly recovering, through the action of the Stable Dweller, it was not prepared for cataclysm wrought when these two ponies clashed.
Chapter 1: A Tale of Two Ponies
Memory
I hate sleeping, because I know what’s waiting for me the moment I close my eyes. Everpony will tell you that the wasteland is a better place now ever since the sacrifice of Stable Dweller. But the wasteland has always been a source of horror and sorrows leaving scars both physical and emotional. Broken bones can be mended, open wounds can be sewn shut, but you cannot just forget memories. Happy or sad, sometimes you have to force them down only for them to rise back up, often time becoming more unbearable the last.
My name is Winter Morn. If the name Winter sounds familiar that’s because Red Eye had a dog named Winter. The joke at that time when I was still back in Filly was that my father was Winter and my mother…. You get the picture. This was a joke perpetrated by slavers, long ago, back when I was still a slave. I don’t want your pity. They’re all dead now. The ones who made the joke. I hope. Some of them were killed during the mass slave uprising at the last days of Fillydelphia. I killed the others. Not all of Red Eye’s cronies are dead. What remained of the Red Eye’s organization fled to the farthest reaches of Equestria.
I guess this was my primary motivation to join the Rangers when it was formed a few years later after the founding of the NCR. I wanted to ensure that those affiliated with Red Eye would be put six feet under before I kick the bucket. At least this was my wish. A goal that I had chased in the five years of service.
“Morn? You awake?” stirred from the cot beside me. He was a white unicorn like me with a muzzle flash for a cutie mark. He looked disheveled in his standard issue ranger barding.
“Yeah,” I said, I knew he was concerned. He noticed I was getting by with very little sleep.
“I know it’s not my place but we can’t have you endangering everyone with your insomnia...” I already knew where this conversation was headed. I got off my cot and made my way outside ignoring whatever worries my friend was pouring out from his mouth. The sun still hadn’t risen up.
“...General wants us to report at 600 hours in his office for a briefing. The unusual stuff.”
“Unusual stuff?” I finally decided to stop ignoring him.
“Dunno. We’ll find out when we get there. Briefing still hours from now. Get to sleep that’s an order.”
“I’ll try.” I lied and merely pretended to go back to bed and close my eyes and waited. It seemed like he wasn’t going to leave. He and I have a love-hate relationship. To be frank were not in love or anything. A more accurate description was that we were vitriolic best buds; something akin to a quarrelsome yet loyal pair of brother and sister.
As time stretched on eventually my exhaustion from my lack of sleep took hold and before I knew it I was plunged into deep slumber.
I hate sleeping. I’ve told you that right?
I dreamt of being back in that horrible place where the endless belching of smoke from factories had covered the sky in a thick impenetrable blanket of black. The pollution was so bad that time that I could even taste the air from where I was. The smog at the center of Filly was so bad that respiratory failure tended to be a significant cause of death aside from rad poisoning.
It was worse when it rained. The raindrops bit like a starving bloatsprite, upon direct contact with the skin. I sometimes recall factories grinding to halt as number of deaths reached four digits. Luckily it only happened twice or thrice in my unpleasant stay in Filly.
I hated Filly not only because of the slavers, but the place in general. When one looks up from anywhere in Filly all they can see are oppressive looming spires. Spires of old decayed and wrecked buildings jutting out of the ground like some spikes. Steel wire fences served as a daily grim reminder of what we were: beasts of burden, fit only to do the most menial and difficult of tasks and forever stuck repeating back breaking labor.
Suddenly, hot searing pain erupted from my back.
“Hey you! Scum, get back to work!” I pulled on my reins dragging the scrap laden carts back to the foundry, where they were smelted and forged into useful tools or building materials.
I looked back and realized that the one who had whipped me was long dead. I killed him. I took a piece of rebar and jammed it to his forehead during the uprising. I felt nothing but ecstasy when I did it. I wondered whether my sadism had manifested after or during my enslavement in Filly.
“Morn!”
A pebble rolled towards my leg. Apparently someone had thrown it. I looked to my left to see more slaves and then to my right to see an alleyway and a young pony shorter than I was standing in the shadows.
I quickly detached myself from the cart rushed in the utmost urgency and as stealthily as I could. Luckily no one took notice of the abandoned cart for now.
“Leaf? I’ve told you not to look for me. Go back. Won’t the other foals be looking for you as well.” I was both horrified and overjoyed when I saw her.
“Sis, I got you a few things,” the filly then began producing a few objects from her knapsack: a few bottles of potion and sarsaparilla, loaf of bread wrapped around a ragged looking cloth and finally a pistol with a few mags.
I have to be honest, a part of me wanted to scream out loud then and there lamenting the fact that my sis was going to get in to trouble if somepony found out what she was doing and where she was going during her break time from her lessons. I hated to admit the fact that I was somewhat proud that she had somehow inherited some survival instinct during our nomad days; she was a kleptomaniac just like I was back them. Who could fault me or her? in the wasteland you do what you could to survive.
“Whats this?” I said pocketing the pistol. “Who’d you steal it from?
“It’s actually mine sis. I got a better one… actually made a better one,” she beamed with pride as she pulled out a shiny looking master crafted pistol from her holster. It was for all intent and purposes custom made, black matte-finish, and oak wood grip emblazoned with a falling leaf at the center. Engraved in the muzzle were the words “Last Memory”. I noticed that for a pistol it fired rather large rounds. Rifle rounds.
I was about to open my mouth to thank and/or reprimand my sister until I noticed a shadow behind us. I looked back to see a well dressed earth grey pony a suit and tie who met my gaze with the his own, his dark brown eyes ,ever scrutinizing, boring to my soul.
I woke up and found myself face to face with a rather scrappy and unhinged looking pony that had styled his hair in to a mohawk. In his jaws he held an axe he was going to chop me with. I was lucky he was in a shock for a second as he gave me ample time to react. I smashed my hoof in his have driving him to ground and then pulled Last Memory from my pillow. I shot him in the face before he could stand.
I hadn’t realize the outpost’s sirens blaring until after I shot him. Outpost Gamma was under attack.
My partner, Snap Fire, was nowhere to be seen. I had no doubt he would be at the thick of the fight gunning down raiders by the dozen.
Unfortunately my tent was located in further from where the actual fight was taking place meaning I had to shoot my way in. I was about to trot when I saw green bolt of energy head towards me. I rolled, but it wasn’t enough as a stray blob of plasma grazed me in the chest.
I almost blacked out as the super heated plasma melted a part of my barding and scorched my skin. I fired a few shots from my battle rifle the source of the attack. The first bullet missed embeding itself in a trunk of a long dead tree, while the other struck something eliciting a meaty thud as a body fell to the floor.
I poked my head out of cover only to greeted with ruby beams glancing over my head. Energy weapons and raiders were a rare combination in the Equestrian wasteland. Sure there were raiders that owned energy weapons but an entire group of raiders outfitted with energy weapons was rare if not unheard of. Energy weapons were expensive to maintain and their ammunition was hard to find.
I noticed shadows moving behind me from tent to tent. Upon closer they were raiders equipped with nothing but improvised axes which consisted of a round sharpened steel sign acting as a blade and an iron pip as a handle. I knew these raiders were trying to outflank me.
Things were not looking great on my end as I had death by laser disintegration at my front or become pony chop from behind. Needles to say I had to act fast.
I thought of something as I had glanced a dead pony and propped her up behind cover. I grabbed a frag and pulled a string of my own hair. Then I set the trap, while firing from time to time to give them the impression that I was completely unaware of what was actually happening. When my hair was tied to to the pin of the ‘nade and set, I fired a few more shots and then crept away.
I was long gone when the satisfactory sound of a ‘boom’ punctuated the air.
I tried my best not to draw anymore attention to myself as I made my way towards makeshift hut that served as command. I had noticed that the fighting has more or less died down, but was unsure as to who had won the fight.
When I had finally neared command I had noticed the quiet. I decided to peer through the windows instead of walking through the entrance. I kept noises to a minimum as to decrease chances of detection.
“Where….orb and the documents...fucker…..gonna cut you open….” was all I heard. I saw the General tied to a post, face bleeding from numerous small cuts. He was going to bleed to death if he doesn't receive medical attention.
Author's Note
This is an excerpt. If you notice any mistakes, plot holes or inconsistencies, immediately comment on it. I'm looking for an editor. Let me know if your interested.