Fallout: Equestria - Determination

Hoowee. What's the cliché?

So close, yet so far away?

That was me and my mission right there.

Glass was in Cockopolis and I was just wondering if my brothers in wings could hook him up with prosthetics. The problem was that coolant. It wouldn't work without a steady electron signal. His limbs would respond in a delayed fashion. Because, you know, the microthermal environment would slow everything. Even the lighting quick electrons.

Pretty neat, huh?

But I wasn't having fun, yet. I finished complaining to one of the school teachers but all that cat did was tell me he had no handouts. What kind of response was that? Why would I want handouts if I was rambling about my situation. I decided to let him do his own thing and trotted away.

The day felt arid, almost empty because of how arid. I thoughy a quick drink of purified water would help, but the thirst would always be there. No matter how many bottles I'd drink in my lifetime, or how little I did, I'd always need water. I was alive just like everypony else.

I came to terms with how I felt about the wasteland. I knew I wasn't anything special by myself. On my own, I was just a colt with a labcoat and some bad jokes. Knowledge on temporal quantam anomolies and non-linears didn't do a thing. It just helped your understanding of the world around you.

And that was what I did, cool cats.

I watched the world go by one second at a time. I played by the rules, but most days, I had to play the rules, too. The first order was a side of circuitry. Then, a few vacuum tubes. The liquid nitrogen, copper sulfate and other chemicals would be handled by Pip's R&D team.

Figures that when I went to go buy some, my usual junk vendor was all out.

Grasshopper had that look about her. Her cheeks were all flushed and stubborn and I was all too eager to calm her down. I strayed away from the main road and met her in the sand, tossing her a bag of chilled grapes. I could taste the sand as it struck my coat and wrecked my wicked Rainbow Dash wig. The best thing about feeding that poor kitty was the glimmer in her eyes.

"Hey, cutie. Something wrong?" I asked, lighting smokes for us.

"Y-yeah, it's just awful... I-I was accepting a shipment of circuits and steel when these two griffons held me up. I tried to run but they... they..."

I went to hold her and kept her from spilling over. No mare should live through that. I stayed silent and let the wind do the talking. I told her it was okay, cats. I told her she was strong and she'd already made it. That's when Hopper started sniffling, burying her face into my shoulder. I knew her pain.

"I just... I feel so... wrong. They were so rough. I can't believe they just- I can't believe they made me play basketball with them."

What.

"What?"

"Yeah they... they made me play so much streetball. They were dirty, too. Elbowing and sometimes they travelled- i-it was horrible."

The next few minutes were extremely awkward, but we managed. I agreed to return the shipment by dealing with the mercenaries myself. Most of the hoof distance was painful. Loose shoe leather was probably the worst part. Some punks with good boots ambushed me along the way. Or, they tried, anyway. We met down by an old apartment conplex called Hotel Curiosity.

Most of the building lacked functioning windows. But, hey, wooden boards worked too right. Speaking of boards, I spotted a gross bag of meat strung up by the roof of the building. Didn't really know what it meant, since cannibalism was popular by then. I figured it was raiders, but I could've been wrong. Alicorns could eat meat.

Scouting the building was easy. Most of it was walled by this jank chainlink fencing. A massive portion of it was rusted and torn off the posts. I couldn't imagine why a hotel needed a fence. Or why the inside of the lobby was turned into bleachers. Before I could snoop around, I realized half the building was blown to bits. All there was besides the lobby was a cement basketball court.

The stench of B.O, gunpowder and chicken coop rammed my nostrils. Gross. Extremely gross, man. Soon as I entered the court, two griffons swooped down from the sides and landed in the center. They kept quiet at shooting distance and pulled out a righteous weapon: a single, pristine basketball.

The taller griffon had an afro that took up most of his head. Probably a wig. Far as I remembered, griffons didn't grow hair. He wore these wicked sunglasses and dribbled the ball between his legs, looping it back and forth like a pendulum.

"Looks like we caught a pony cruisin' all alone. You ready to get dunked, son?"

He and his friend had a giggle. But I wasn't any ghostie. And they were in for a world of hurt. Soon as I saw the short one chuckle, I knew he was the beta. Typical follower cat to the big cheese. He wore a torn jersey with the letters B.B stitched over the original letters. I wondered why they needed combat armor to wear jerseys, but, hey... style, right?

"Rustle's right, cheese ball. We're gonna smoke you right outta da court."

I lowered my stance and slipped on my leather hoof boots. I knew right then and there they'd only respond to one thing: slam. They weren't armed. And they weren't actually that dangerous. So I couldn't just shoot them and take the shipment orders back.

"Let's just get to the point." I said, lacing up my hikers.

"It's a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing. Flowers are blooming. And on days like these, cats like you should be slamming in Hell."

We went half court and started their ball. I sprung away, shifting left and right to block the advance. They used every trick in the book. Twirling dribbles. Sliding the ball back and forth along their legs. These were some righteous mothers. And I couldn't beat them at their own game. I nearly toppled when Rustle shoved me backwards and went to shoot.

I remembered my old man's advice.

B.E.E.F.

Balance. Eyes. Elbow. Follow-through.

I tripped him at the hindlegs, yanking him back. I caught the ball at a blindspot and juked from around his ribs to dribble it forward. The other dog tried to skip out my play by bashing my ribs. I employed an elbow block, stuck it to his shin with a hoof kick and shifted my weight, taking the shot when I ceased motion. I followed the old man and his drills every morning, guiding with my right, shooting with my legs all at once and putting my hoof in the cookie jar.

I scored the ball with a righteous bank shot. It curved back and slid against the rim before circling the hoop and falling in. I stretched my forelegs wide out. They sat down on the stone, watching me strut my stuff. The amount of swag I just rocked them with sent shivers down their spines. I knew because neither Rustle or his goon Two Dog could look me in the eye.

"We havin' fun yet?" I called, dribbling between my legs and dancing twenties' all over the court.

They tried for half an hour straight. Couldn't even touch me. I saw their pittsburgh jacks and punks from a mile away. Everytime their shoulders slid up or to the side, a punch was coming. Everytime their head went lower than usual, it was a jack.

Wasn't long before I caught them with their pants down, juked them halfway from away to home and leapt up with the ball. I grit my teeth in a hard, macho grin, so alive, so unsung as I hung in the cosmos. Rustle tried to run jump and catch me, but I spread my legs far out, put my hooves on the ball and dunked.

19-02