Fallout: Equestria - Choice Millionaire

The light bulb above flickered dimly. But in a beat, it found its courage and shined bright enough for me to at least see myself and the outline of the room. What a brilliant idea on the part of the architects to include a rib vault ceiling and install a tiny light bulb in the trough.

This place must have been a tavern. A wall to my left served as a filing cabinet for at least a hundred different variants of scotch and whiskey. The counter in front carried all the glasses… well what was left of them. They were all glass shards now, lining the top of the bar like barbed wire above a trench. Whatever shock wave came through here also turned most of the tabletops and chairs into splinter darts on the walls and floor.

Every top, that is, except the tabletop I was sitting at. Two glasses had been poured out, one for each half of the circular surface. The drink may have been scotch or whiskey—already hard enough to tell from a distance, but the horrid lighting made distinctions rather pointless. I could see it all inside this gear–shaped window adorning the wall to my right.

I was the one with my forelegs above the tabletop, making demonstrative gestures across the table for a deaf audience. Honestly, a few of my patrons needed a little theatrics to get the point in their thick heads. But these gestures were too abrupt and aggressive for clarification. Strange. I was not usually this animated. What was on my lips? ‘Earth… to Comet?’

I looked away from the mirror. To the left. Back to the tabletop, a glass of scotch in front of me. And to myself, a complete look–alike, across from me. I was looking into my own brown eyes. I think I flinched quite violently just then. Fortunately for myself, I did not have a gun in my mouth this time.

The doppelgänger clapped her hooves together. “Come on, Comet. I’ve been talking to you this whole time.”

I turned back to my double and cleared my throat. It was going through a drought at the moment. “Sorry, got distracted.”

She tried at a smile and pointed at her left ear. “Do you even use that ear?”

“What were we talking about again?” I asked with genuine confusion. My hoof circled the rim of my drink. There was no reason why, but I felt I needed this drink.

My other self brushed up the collar of the Stable jumpsuit she wore. “Setting up shop in a trade route town. A closed ecological system. A byzantine power game, in which each merchant extorts the other over the smallest facets of trade. How did you describe it again? ‘A place where new fry are torn up before—’” She grabbed my foreleg as I pulled up the glass of scotch. “—You don’t drink. Remember.”

I placed it down. The doppelgänger knew my character better than I did. If I had done that in front of Creed… Would he consider dishonesty a heinous enough crime to warrant death?

“Getting in? It can be done,” I muttered, falling back in my chair.

“You’re right.”

“…And it’s because the competitors are still people. Made to be manipulated.”

The banners of some local sports teams I could not recognize were hanging off the balcony above the entrance. A few holes had been cut through the tapestry, but otherwise it survived the collapse of civilization well. This tavern must have housed an entire town during those sporting events. Imagine that—a whole community shutting down to watch a few ponies kick around a ball or fly through some rings. A form of entertainment more passionate than sex, more addicting than gambling… I never saw what they loved about it.

I wanted to think back to the past. She would not let me end the conversation there, though. “You mean to imply that everyone is equally gullible. You’re kidding yourself. Surely, you wouldn’t say it’s just luck that gives an idiot all the keys in town.”

“An idiot can figure out how people think too… and feel. Having the local warlord in your pocket is no safeguard if you’re an open book.”

“Would that make you different then? An exception among all the town’s greedy speculators?”

“We must be simple enough for there to have been only one psychology. There’s not a science dedicated to your—my mind only.”

My other self sat there for a spell, thinking without showing she was doing so. Now that I thought about it, her expression had not changed since we started talking. Nor had her eyes looked away from mine. But it was surely no mirror act.

“So we’re all simple creatures,” she said, “yet you couldn’t recognize that someone by your side saw through your lie.”

“No—”

“Someone who couldn’t tell a convincing lie of her own to save her life.” She hit me with my own arrogant smile. “Maybe your theory is flawed to begin with.”

I wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Maybe it has less to do with people and more to do with the town itself,” she said, resting her forelegs on the tabletop and clasping her hooves together.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a tint of neon green. Something over there, to the right, was glowing. It was overpowering the output of that small light bulb, lighting up the bar like a megaspell crater, but she did not notice it. I wanted to check, but looking away from a conversation for the second time would be rude. Instead, I looked down at the table, concentrating on the wood pattern. It might take my mind off that green glow and a growing pinprick in my spine.

She continued, “A trade route town couldn’t possibly hold itself together under the weight of all that greed and ambition. There’d need to be something that keeps everyone in line.”

“So, what? You mean the laws and balance of power… that sort of thing?”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it than who’s in charge. What I’m talking about… it touches every interaction. Consider this: They think oligarchy is the natural state of civilization; and reciprocity is the natural state of relationships; and a monopoly is the natural state of business. It’s all malarkey, but in that kind of town, everyone and everything exist to make it seem otherwise.”

I glanced up, seeing a plate of cooked cod in front of my doppelgänger. One look was enough to bring to mind the taste of yesterday’s only meal. I—well the other pony who was me—dug in with fork and knife as though it were her first meal in years.

Between bites, she spieled, “It never occurs to them—that their base assumptions—are wrong—and if they did realize it—it’d be impossible for the town to continue existing.” The plate was cleared within seconds. “You hardly need to know how everyone thinks, when you know how to use the lies that keep the whole town together.”

She raised an eyebrow when she noticed the thought on my face. “Creed Brook,” she started, wings twitching erratically, “somehow found you in that utility shed in the middle of the night, isn’t that right?”

The utility shed. The sound of distant artillery and the climactic battle to decide the fate of the town upon a hill. That night, Creed found Bittersweet and me, as we were starving after the day’s events. Living up to his benevolent repute, he saved our lives with canned cod. But how did he find us?

“Shouldn’t have been difficult for him. Being ex-Enclave helps,” my other self whispered. She craned her head down to the table, hiding her mouth with her folded forelegs. “The Grand Pegasus Enclave perfected the art of tracking and eliminating wastelanders who… threatened… their gilded cage in the sky.”

Where was this bitterness coming from?

“Is that all you remember from last night?” she asked in a scratched and muffled voice. It was a higher pitch than what I sounded like too.

“I just—” I began, sitting up. The green glow had disappeared, but I could see things a little better. “The matter isn’t even relevant anymore. It won’t be necessary for me to start from nothing in a town that doesn’t want me there. I can ride off my good reputation. I’m a hero after all, and nobody could live with cold–shouldering a hero.”

She shrugged and closed her eyes. “Well, you’re not wrong. At least, in a town where they see a hero. But you won’t live off of good will alone.”

“Are you giving me a proposition?”

“How about a lead?” she drew from my lips. Her blue eyes opened. “An Old World treasure I kept out of the hands of the Enclave.”

My ears perked up. I leaned forward to take the hint. Now I was nearly out of my chair.

“Now you’re listening,” she laughed. Using her foreleg as a support, she met me halfway across the table. We were leaning close enough for me to see the individual strands of light cyan in her mane. “It’s a component of a massive Ministry of Morale project. Well, really, it was the loving effort of the air force. The whole operation was too hard to even conceptualize for most of the bureaucracy, so they just provided the funding.

“But for reasons I neglected to explain, the project was never fully implemented when the stripes sent us all to hell.” She clicked her tongue. “The last piece was never brought out of Stable 42, and there wasn’t anyone left with the authority to make use of it. A shame really, because this piece… would’ve immediately restored our slice of Equestria even after the end… give or take a century.”

I gaped at her. “So this treasure can purify the wasteland of radiation and taint!”

She had a flat look in response. Then she said, “Don’t be stupid. Nothing like that exists.”

I needed to know the value. “Well, what does it do then?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged.

She needed to stop dancing around my questions. “Can you tell me where you hid it?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

I pulled back and fell into my chair.

She did likewise and cocked her head slightly. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

I looked at her full profile. Her coat was light gold. She was wearing a military aviation jacket with a fur–lined collar. Her cutie mark was a trio of raindrops mid–fall. She gave me a toothy smile, as though she were posing for a photograph.

“I fell asleep listening to the holotape, didn’t I?” I held my head up with a foreleg.

“You were so tired. You and Bittersweet practically passed out after the meal.”

“Lieutenant Raindrops, 8th Air Engineer Corps.”

“Comet Scotia,” Raindrops began, “antiquities merchant and con mare… or have you been going by someone else’s name nowadays?”

“It’s been working,” I shot back.

“Well, that’s evident. I mean, you’ve managed to get even further from Baltimare than when you first donned the jumpsuit.” Raindrops awarded me with a couple of hollow claps.

I glared at her. “Is this all you’re going to be doing in my dreams from this point on? Mocking me?”

Raindrops quickly checked an invisible watch on her wrist. She was even voicing the ticks out loud under her breath.

“No, I’ve said everything.” She hopped off her seat and trotted for the tavern’s entrance. The bar dimmed as she stepped away. At the door, Raindrops said, “Use a day to rest, Comet. Your hair’s looking a little more grey than usual.”

With her purpose fulfilled, Raindrops left. She was only needed for the information on that Old World treasure. And to think, there was still a Ministry project waiting to be discovered! I just had to hope that the Enclave had not already snatched it.

Nova

Current reputation
Southern Wasteland: Liked
Red Eye’s Slavers: Hated
Gawd’s Talons: Hunted
Megacorps: Vilified

Perks
Putting on the Mask – You have taken up the identity of “The Stable Dweller.” The Southern Wasteland remains unfazed. Others are more likely to hand you errands… I mean quests.