Tales by Balefirelight (a Fallout: Equestria Group Collab)

Wind

by Tylertlat

The wind was heavy heavy with the approaching rain. Not the muggy damp feeling of after, but the dynamic, tense, something exciting is about to happen feeling of right before a big thunderstorm. Or maybe that's just me reading into it. That before the storm feeling only comes when a storm blows in Everfree-style because the pegasi are caught up doing something else. In a way, these storm were a herald of great event, “the Pegasi are all attending the Canterlot Games or the Best Young Flyer competition and can't make the weather all boring today”. Nowadays, the wind carried a different message. “Sorry, the pegasi can't make the weather boring today, they're too busy dying being the Ceaser wanted to prove he doesn't have a small, er, whatever-zebras-would-find-embarressing-to-have-too-small-of.”

I just know that the MAS or the MOA is working on way of “correcting” the weather issue, so I figure I'll just have to enjoy the tune and ignore the lyrics while it lasts. It's not like there was anything else to do during the night watch. See, as a fire-pony, I was protected from military service but found myself serving the MoM instead. I sat, as I did every week around this time, in what may have been a telephone booth by the highway, with a pair a binoculars and a pink band radio watching for bombs and bad-ponies. If the unimaginable should happen, I was to report it or help with the evacuation...

“CODE STRIPE CODE STRIPE” my radio screeched, awakening me from my pondering. “MULTIPLE MEGA-SPELL LAUNCHES DETECTED. SITUATION ECYLPYSE.” The message repeats as my heart-rate speed up, but not by much. There's no way world is about to end. Still, I follow my training and race off to set up inform the few midnight carriages that this highway has became one-way. It becomes a little more real half a minute later when the sirens go off in the city, more-so as group of police-ponies lead the first sleepy escapees in foot and by wagon down both sides of my assigned street. Then I hear something that makes my heart stop, my blood go cold despite the warm picking up around me. “CLOUDSDALE IS POSSIBLE HIT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL”. My heart picks back up with a gusto now, as I observe the traffic for any possible congestion. Not too much later, my world stops again when my radio shouts to all around me “CONFIRMED HIT ON CANTERLOT”. 'Why are they even telling us this?' I wonder, though I know the answer. The mood becomes deadly serious as those in range of any broadcasting device are now determined to leave the city, a determination that spreads and overwhelms any thoughts of bed or this being a drill. Or maybe it because of the morale boost moments later when “CANTERLOT UNHARMED. THE PRINCESSES PROTECT”  is welcomed with cheering.

The cheering never dies out. It is simply overwhelmed by a roar, as the wind turn suddenly very warm.