Fallout Equestria Omega's Trials

Omega’s Trials
Chapter 3

I hate being wrong; however, I am far more fond of being alive. As we ran through the rough terrain, somehow staying just out of reach of the bloodwings, I realized just how little headway we had made in 30 minutes. The terrain was hell. Just then, another of the giant bats swooped down at me and pinned me, rearing its head back and revealing a mouthful of sharp teeth. As its mouth closed around my Kevlar-covered neck, a knife landed firmly in its skull up to the hilt.

“That was close,” I gasped, rolling the thing off me and scrambling to my feet just in time to hit SATS, and send three rounds into the one diving toward Tick-Tock.

“Just thought an object lesson might be valuable for a pony who says ‘how bad can they really be?’” He chuckled as he side-stepped the falling corpse. “Two bits of advice. Never, ever say ‘how bad can it be?’… and RUN!”

We took off running through the twisting paths, never seeing more than three yards ahead in the total darkness. Occasionally, he’d stop and let one crash where it thought its meal was going to be. How he was doing this was what I guessed to be experience, or he was right about his talent with time. As much as it seemed a ridiculous ability for an earth pony to have, it was the only thing that made any sense for his…skill. I also realized that I hadn’t even seen his cutie mark yet.

“Hey, Tick-Tock. Mind if I ask you a question?” A red bar on my EFS went by before becoming stationary.

“Go ahead, I’m an open book.” He looked back toward me and slowed to a trot.

“What’s your cutie mark?”

“An emerald studded pocket watch,” he said nonchalantly.

“You mean like the one I saw you have out earlier?” I tilted my head. A pony with a pocket watch that had a cutie mark of a pocket watch?

“Yes, and no. That one is ruby studded.” He pulled out his shot gun, pointed it straight up, and fired. “Damn, I hate missing.”

“Where did you get it, your pocket watch?” This conversation wasn’t showing the signs of degenerating into insanity yet. I was determined to keep it that way.

“I was found with it.” He gave another short answer. Those were starting to wear on my nerves. In the short time I knew Tick-Tock, the only things I had learned about him was that he believed letting me shoot at him was therapeutic, he spoke several languages, and he was a nutcase.

“You don’t talk about yourself much.” My tone had signs of frustration, but mostly sarcasm.

“Not much I want to talk about.” He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your tone, just then. I finally got you to loosen up and stop taking yourself, and this place, so seriously.” He looked back and smiled widely. “If you accept it as one cruel joke after another, it makes it easier to deal with.”

“That settles it, you are definitely insane.” He laughed again. Was humor so uncommon in the wasteland that even insults were taken lightly?

“Tell me something the majority of the ponies that know me don’t already know.” He kept laughing, “It’s nice to see somepony agrees with them. By the way, we need to find shelter before the flock shows up, unless you want to find out how bad it can be.”

I was speechless, focusing on the first part of his statement. Was he really okay with being accepted as a lunatic? Or were there only three flavors wastelanders came in; scarred beyond belief like that unicorn Syph, bullies like Trench and Shanks, or completely insane like Tick-Tock?

My thoughts were interrupted by one hellish shriek, then more and more as my EFS filled with small red bars darting around. I really wish this thing had more than lateral view, would that design feature be too much to ask for? It’s not like I want the moon, but merely to track airborne targets.

“Tick-Tock, I agree with you, we need to find shelter immediately.” My EFS gradually filled with red.

“Glad you agree. Unfortunately, I’m not familiar with the ground here and I do not know where shelter could be.” He tilted his head back and whistled. “There sure are a lot of them.” The last part was mostly under his breath.

“Okay then do we have a plan B.”

“Run?” He shrugged.

“Where? If we just run, there’s no way we can make it through.” My panic was evident; Tick-Tock just looked up into the pitch-black sky in awe.

“Anywhere, really. It is harder to catch something if it’s moving.”

I was about to agree with him, but then I had a better idea. It involved running, but to a certain point instead of for our lives in general. He liked my idea better, and I love EFS and its ability to find new places.

I flung the heavy metal door of Protectopony Robotics open, giving Tick-Tock just enough time to get through before I slammed it closed in the face of a bloodwing. He stood up from the ground, dusted himself off, and straightened his hat.

“Well that was fun; I say we should do it again some time.” He said, smiling. I stood in horror before exploding.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?! WE BARELY MADE IT THROUGH WITH OUR LIVES! HOW CAN YOUR RESPONSE BE ‘LET’S GO AGAIN!’?” I was thinking of shooting him. If that was his idea of fun, I didn’t want to be around for when he had a party.

“Omega, I was being sarcastic.” He answered with one eyebrow raised. “It means to-“

“I’m aware of what it means.” I hissed, exasperated at his stoic attitude, and his eyes that seemed to never make full eye contact. They always seemed to focus on the wall behind me, the exit sign, even my mouth, but NEVER on my eyes for a period longer than a second. “However, I fail to see this as the time or the place for the use of sarcasm. We are surrounded by what could possibly be an old factory with a security system that’s going to try to kill us, be full of zombies, or both.”

“And that’s why I’m sarcastic.” He seemed to find his answer as definitive proof that his insane logic was infallible. “By the way, take a healing potion before the injuries catch up with you and your adrenaline wears off.”

“Whatever.” I sat down and felt all the running I did today catch up with me, as well as my empty stomach. I looked at my pipbuck. With certain exceptions, the last thing I ate was an apple an hour before leaving. It had now been forty hours. I was hungry and I was tired. Scratch that, exhausted. I thought that what my mom threw at me before I left- three days of drills with no sleep- was rough. At least the floors were flat and the stairs even. Out here it was worse. Despite all my preparations, I was a weak stable pony. I drank the healing potion.

“You need to take a rest,” Tick-Tock said, noticing my stable pony weakness.

“No, I’m good.” If I kept telling myself that, maybe my body would believe it. Besides, I didn’t trust my insane companion not to kill me while I slept, and turn in the body of “Angelo’”.

“Okay, whatever fuels your boiler.” His back was turned so I’m guessing he didn’t see how tired I actually looked. My mom’s voice echoed in my head: ‘Do not trust some pony unless they give you reason to.’ He stood up. “I’m going to take a look around. Be back in thirty.”

While he was gone, I decided to take a quick stock of everything I had collected thus far; a shotgun, two 9mm pistols that I’d have to tear down and put together to get them to work right, my assault rifle from the house which I kept shying away from. It’s just that I had never used such a big gun before. The good thing was that I had plenty of ammo for all of them, because my 10mm ammo was looking thin- like, two-clips-left thin. I also took stock of what I’d lost. I had no food. I had eaten what I had scavenged from the fridge at the house before I went to Trainyard, and the slavers we killed didn’t have anything on them. Why did I keep thinking about that pony they were talking about? I shouldn’t… They made him out to sound like the worst thing the wasteland ever coughed up.

I steadily disassembled the guns, cleaned them, took the best parts, and put them back together just like my mother had taught me in the stable. I was glad she had hit me for making it difficult on her. The first thing I was going to do when I got back was apologize to her.

“Hey Omega!” Tick-Tock’s voice echoed through the halls unexpectedly, causing me to drop my newly reassembled 9mm. “Check this out.”

I scrambled to my feet, gun in mouth. Didn’t know if he was planning to attack me or not.

“What?” I asked in confusion, check what out? He trotted around the corner carrying two bottles of orange stuff. “What is that?”

“This is Sparkle Cola.” He was more focused on putting it in his bag than my confused expression.

“And what is Sparkle Cola?” I asked, bewildered, as he struggled to fit them in his bag.

“The greatest soda in the wasteland.” He said, taking off his saddle bags to find a better way to fit them in.

“And what’s soda?” I raised my eyebrow as he sighed and gave me the bottle. It had an adorable pale gold Pegasus with a pink mane on the bottle. She just struck me as almost too cute to exist.

“It’s better if you just drink it.” He pushed one of the bottles to me. “Yeah, sorry it’s warm, but still Sparkle Cola.” He bit the cap off, tilted his head back and started to sip the bottle.

I followed suit, after my brain called a conference and told me that he could’ve killed me numerous times by now, and poison would’ve wasted the drink he might need later on. I found it to have a delicious carroty taste, although a slight bit radioactive. I was sad to see it gone.

“See anything?” He asked, looking at me. I gave him a puzzled look. “On your EFS?”

“OH!” I face-hoofed and quickly looked around, doing a complete 360. No red lights. “Nope, everything’s clear.”

“Okie Doke, want to help me scavenge this place?” He looked around, “Seems to be fairly untouched.”

We walked through the empty halls of the factory, and occasionally I’d give him the signal to freeze as a radroach would skitter by. Aside from that, there was no noise. We’d find a room, search it over, get a few caps and leave. I was the first to break the silence.

“Who was Angelo’?” I asked, quivering at the thought of what they had to go through.

“Angelo’ Death.” Tick-Tock stopped. Was what that pony had done universally terrifying? “Hell’s Pegasus.”

“Wow that was cryptic.” I mumbled, “Who was he?”

“He was once one of the best ponies in the Hub, if not the whole wasteland, the Wasteland’s Angel, if you were in trouble he’d be there to help.” He smiled towards the ceiling, “He worked for dirt cheap and always did the right thing to help people, not just ponies, griffins, goats, minotaurs, you name it. Even a gang tried to mimic him. At least they did before he broke.”

“What happened?”

“The wasteland is hard on heroes; it does its best to break them, corrupt them and destroy them. So one day, the Angel of the Wasteland fell.” He trudged forward, opening a box. “Nopony knows why, but for three years, he went on a bloody rampage killing and torturing hundreds single-hoofedly. Nopony knows for sure how many he killed, but it’s safe to say over a thousand. Everypony who tried to stop him failed even other angels. Then one day, three years ago, he stopped. Nopony knows what happened, where he went, anything… One day, Angelo’ Death just vanished.”

“What do you think hap-“

“Omega, Angelo’ crossed some major lines and did some horrible, horrible things to a lot of ponies, not just raiders or gangs. He burnt down towns that supported them, butchered any pony that sheltered them, killed the caravans that supplied them. He went from greatest hero, to the most horrible monster from the pits of Tarterus.” He sighed, and then kept walking. He said nothing else as we searched on through the building. “Cerberus should’ve dragged him into that pit, kicking and screaming.”

Time went by slowly as we searched every room on the first floor. Tick-Tock hadn’t said another word since I asked him about Angelo’. I hadn’t tried to make him talk. Angelo’ took something from him, something irreplaceable, and it still hurt him all these years later. I accidently knocked over an empty soda bottle. It fell to the ground and shattered. A single shard of the ancient glass bottle went flying into the air, hitting the lens of a wall camera, which started to turn towards us.

“Alarms in 3..2..”Tick-Tock froze and started to count down. Reaching into his coat, he grabbed his gun. I was left wondering what he was about to do. “…1.” All hell broke loose.

Alarms went off and turrets descended from the ceiling and began to open fire. Tick-Tock ducked behind one of the desks, and I dove into one in the adjacent cubicle, dropping my gun. I guessed now was as good a time as ever, and pulled out the assault rifle as I poked my head around the corner. There were two turrets in the hall, one on each end. Tick-Tock was pumping shot gun slugs into one of them, so I turned to face the one that popped up behind us. I activated SATS. Why was he counting down again?

“Tick-Tock, we have at least four more of those protectopony things coming this way.” I reloaded the assault rifle that I was starting to develop a real fondness for. So far we had destroyed three of them, but they just kept coming.

“That makes eight.” He reloaded his shot gun, a grin on his face. “Wanna make this fun and keep score?”

“WHAT?!” How did he know just what to say to freak me out? “WHY?!”

“Winner buys the loser a cold Sparkle Cola when we get to Switch.” He grinned, pumping his shotgun.

“Okay fine.” I agreed reluctantly, although I did really like Sparkle Cola, and wanted to find out what a cold one tasted like.

“Tally-Ho!” He ran down the hallway, pumping an alternation of buckshot and slugs into the robots. I sat dumbfounded for just a few seconds, until I reminded myself there was a cold beverage on the line.

I heard him, was he laughing. I dropped one of them that had turned their back to me and slid into SATS for the one that turned around. The assault rifle fired three round bursts in SATS, much to my liking. I got to watch in slow motion as each bullet left the gun and tore into the robot’s head. Two, three counting the one from earlier, four if we include turrets. That Sparkle Cola was going to be mine.

I rolled around the corner, and found myself facing another turret. SATS quickly took care of it. Five. I swapped out my assault rifle for the shot gun to better conserve ammo; the rifle would drink bullets all day. The shot gun had four shots until it needed to reload. SATS hadn’t recharged yet but the robots didn’t care. More and more kept showing up on my EFS, ten at the last count. I emptied the shot gun into the robots as they rounded the corner, downing one, damaging the head and legs of another. I grabbed my 9mm and finished it off with three rounds. My score was at seven.
Tick-Tock’s shotgun had stopped firing, and he had swapped out for his smg battle saddle. I had swapped back to my shotgun since it was what I had the most ammo for, and was now at twelve. I had burns all over my body from when these things had hit me, which was starting to become more common. There were more of them, my EFS steadily getting more and more red dots. Where the hell were these things coming from?
My side was lit up by three of the robots that rolled down the hall on their treads, I went into SATS, and prayed I’d only have to use the minimum amount of ammo to drop them. All but one of the robots went down, fifteen; I finished the survivor with an apple-buck down a flight of stairs. It then dawned on me how stable-like this building was.
I dove behind a desk as five of them crowded around the door trying to get in. Whoever built these things gave them horrible spatial awareness, and I was quite happy about that. I unloaded my shotgun into the doorway, watching as three dropped before I ducked to reload. Eighteen.
“Hey Omega, what are you at?” Tick-Tock’s voice was barely audible over the gun and magical energy fire. Of course it didn’t help that he wasn’t shouting.
“EIGHTEEN!” I shouted, sliding into SATS and firing two shots into the robot in the doorway. “NINETEEN!”
“TWENTY-TWO!” He shouted back, laughing insanely. It was obvious that if I wanted to win that Sparkle Cola, I’d have to step up my game a bi--My brain called a conference with my logic and conscienceness to debate the fact that I was risking my life for a beverage, and enjoying it. The shock didn’t weaken my resolve. I wanted that soda.

Made a quick check with my pipbuck, five heading towards me. I rolled out from behind the table and sent a small stream of bullets from my 10mm into the doorway. Twenty.

I was back to my shotgun. On number twenty-one and twenty-two, it broke, much to my horror. I had to use it to club twenty-three. My assault rifle was out of bullets on twenty-four, but bludgeoning robots was one of the last things I wanted to do. I had one clip left for my 10mm, and five rounds for my 9--Make that no rounds for the 9mm-- Twenty-five. The lower I got into the building, the more mechanical sounds I heard, and the thicker in number these things got. I had started sneaking around them instead of shooting, using my big-ass knife as a can opener. I was saving my ammo for something more important. I was going to kill that psycho. He was still keeping score too. Thirty-seven.

I rounded the corner and found the source of the mechanical sound and the robots. From the catwalk I was standing on, I saw three sets of assembly lines putting together robots. They’d start with the tracked hooves, the line would start then stop for another set of clawed limbs to attach the legs below the knee, and then it would start and stop again until the finished robot rolled off the assembly line. The whole thing was kind of mesmerizing.

I was brought out of my daze when a series of red flashes peppered the catwalk. More than six, less than ten red beams of magical light danced around me, none actually hitting me. I reached for my gun, then remembering just how little ammo I had left and decided to run. I bolted to the door at the end of the catwalk and took out the magical beam turret that guarded the office. There was a desk that said ‘Supervisor’ in bold letters across the name plate, some file cabinets and not much else. Well, besides the skeleton sitting at the desk. Cause of death… Missing the top part of his skull. A gun lay on the ground next to him, and behind him what looked like a crown studded with topaz, diamonds, and sapphires. I picked it up and stuffed it in my bags. My pipbuck identified it as recollector.

I shoved mummified pony out of the way and began to hack the computer, something my mom taught me to do in case I was ever locked out of the main system at the stable. Of course, I now knew the real reason she made me learn all those skills. Medical, hacking… She told me she and my father had to do it frequently. Which reminded me, I still needed to find a sledgehammer. He had to be alive or I was going to have my sledgehammer converse with his killer. And guns, she taught me all about guns. Even though I showed talent with blades, she said I’d need to know how to use one.

I was almost locked out, when a blasting noise started at the door and broke my concentration. I backed out and tried again. This time, I was interrupted by Tick-Tock screaming for me. Great, just what I needed, an illiterate wastelander distracting me. Bet he was just trying to tell me his kill count. I had to back out again.

The computer beeped at my third attempt to hack it and all the data opened; some letters, a request for replacement parts, complaints about the security system acting funny (which me and the psycho discovered), and another tid-bit about a computer glitch. Then I found it. The selection seemed to glow as I highlighted it: ‘Assembly Line On/Off’. I hit it and noticed something in the hooves of the dead pony, a small orb that seemed to glow as I grabbed it in my mouth; my pipbuck identified it as ‘Golden Delicious’ Farewell’. Then I saw something sitting under the desk; a small button with a remote control, and next to it, a note.
“Golden, you had been saying you were having problems with the security system and robots so I had this made up. One push of this button turns off all the robots and turrets in your factory. I just hope you don’t need to use it.
Also, have you signed AJ’s get well card? It would really mean a lot to her.
Sincerely,
Apple Strudely”

I smiled and pushed the button on the remote just as the old wood door burst into flames from the heat of the robots’ attack, then silence. I leaned out the doorway and saw them all either leaning or collapsing. Tick-Tock burst through the doorway, his coat and hat burnt from the few places he had been hit. He then looked at the factory floor, closed one eye and held a hoof out, moving it every few seconds.

“Final score for me… thirty-nine. For you…a lot.” He looked at me and smiled. “Drinks are on me when we get to Switch Yard.” He started to walk down the catwalk’s stairs to the factory floor, and headed to the assembly line. “Cool, you found a recollector.” He paused for a moment at my puzzled look. “You put a memory orb in the top, and it plays the memory for non-unicorns.”

“Is that it? I just turned off a factory full of hostile robots.” I asked, dropping the crown from my mouth, in disbelief of his apathy towards life-threatening danger.

“That was the wager, loser buys the winner a cold Sparkle Cola.” He walked to the crate containing the heads of the robots.

“No, I mean you have nothing else to say, nothing involving if I’m alright? Or if I need a healing potion, or how I turned off the robots? You’re just going to go back to staring off into space?”

“I thought you’d tell me if you were injured, and I saw the light from the computer in the office, so I assumed that you hacked it and found the turn off assembly line, and robots button, icon, thingy.” He gave me a hard look that threatened to rip my head off. “I do pay attention. Most the time when I’m staring off like that, it’s because I’m thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” I shouted. I was pissed. What could a simple Wastelander have on their mind, especially one as prone to mood swings as this one? I made sure my gun was loaded and the safety off before I went to the factory floor to confront him. “What could an insane, illiterate, alcoholic wastelander have to think about?”

“Stuff.” He dug out the head of one of the robots and pried off the hatch in the back with his knife. I swear the blade on that knife shrunk.

“What, how you’re going to try and get me killed?!” I was so tired of his vague half answers. “If anypony has stuff to think about, it’s me. I have a mother and marefriend to get back to in my stable.”

“What’s stopping you?” He asked in a calm tone, pulling out a small canister from the head of the robot. “Hopefully, I remember how to do this right. Haven’t had an energy weapon in a long time.” He was chuckling, like I wasn’t saying anything serious to him.

“In order to become Overstallion, I have to survive in the wasteland for three months.” His head perked up. “Since I’ve been outside I’ve been framed for murder, nearly gunned down, shot at by robots and turrets, and nearly carried off by giant bats!”

“Stable ponies,” He chuckled, with the canister in his mouth. “You know what we call that?”

“I don’t fucking know. What do you call it?!” I was about to start pulling out my mane. What was with this stallion? No matter how much I insulted him, nothing got to him.

“Tuesday.” That was it, I charged him. I wasn’t going to shoot him, as I might need that gun for more important stuff, and I was just determined to beat the shit out of him.

He effortlessly dodged my charge. I reared back for an applebuck, but my right forehoof slipped in some oil and I fell, knocking one of the leaning robots on top of me.

“Three months?” He looked down at me, trapped underneath the robot with pitying eyes, and pushed the robot off of me.
(Level Up) Mad computer skillz-plus five to science