Fallout Equestria: Tale of Two Bards

by Fernando_The_Manwhore

Rating: mature
Tags: Dark, Science Fiction, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 14979

Two pegasus brothers with a knack for the guitar attempt to defect from the Enclave. Trouble is, the Enclave doesn't want to part with them.

The Enclave don't like dashites, if you couldn't tell. So when two Pegasus brothers want to leave the city, They send their attack dogs to bring them back; dead, or alive, doesn't matter to them. The only good dashite is a dead one. With the help of a few tagalongs, these two might just outwit the largest military force in the equestrian wasteland.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2016-04-01 04:33:35 UTC

1 The Great Escape

 Fallout Equestria: Tale of Two Bards

By: Austin J. Kaylor & Jon L. Teeter

The Great Escape“And the only time he’s satisfied, is when he’s on the run”

I awoke to the light electric hum of the condensation collectors. The sun shined through my blinds hitting my muzzle and heating the warm heap of blankets on my bed that I had concealed myself in. I flopped out of bed, and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with my hoof. I checked the time on my pipbuck, and it read 6:32 am.

“Aw, son of a bitch.” I said to myself in annoyance. “I was supposed to meet stratocaster forty-seven minutes ago.”

I began to put on my leather barding when I heard the door open, close, and hoofsteps head toward my door. It opened, and through it emerged my younger brother, stratocaster, already dressed in his barding and carrying an ugly, old, dusty, foal-barf green saddlebag in his mouth which he placed on the cloud-cover when he saw me.

“Oh finally, you’re awake. I’m glad you could trouble yourself enough to leave your cesspool.” he spoke with a certain smugness in his voice. “Well while you were snoozing, I decided to grab the stuff from nickel and dime without you” If I wasn’t half asleep, I would’ve realized what he meant by stuff. he picked the bag back up, and started to traverse my terribly messy room. The cloud floor of my room was covered in a layer of bed-sheets, towels, and various articles of cutlery and dishware. He nearly reached me when he tripped over a bowl that was hidden under a coal-black towel like a land-mine.

“GAHHH-oof.” He hit the cloud hard, but as he fell, the bag he carried fell out of his mouth, tumbled onto the floor, and settled near my rickety work-station. Judging by the sound it made, it must’ve contained a few heavy, metallic objects, and some small, separately-contained objects.

“Nice one, dingleberry.” I said, slightly chuckling. stratocaster got up and flicked the back of my head with his wing.

“Shut up.” he said, moving carefully over to the bag, and unzipped it. I followed behind him, and peered into it. The contents of the bag made my jaw plummet. Inside of that old, green bag was two very old, but very well preserved, pre-war revolvers of different calibers. The first one was a buckingham kicker .357 magnum with an eye-catching, polished silver finish, and a flash suppressor. The handle of the gun was a beautiful cocobolo wood with burned edges. The second gun was a shell-shock .44 magnum with a very tactical looking, black-steel finish, and an extended, weighted barrel. The grip on that one was a smokey-ivory handle with mare-of-pearl inlets.

“Take your pick.” strat told me. He didn’t need to tell me twice, I had my eyes on my prize.

“Dibs on the .44” I said excitedly picking up my new gun. It was a lot heavier than I expected. It must’ve weighed at least six pounds. I checked the time on my pipbuck one last time, and it read 6:40am.

“Fuck,” I exclaimed. “We gotta move, morning watch starts in twenty minutes.” I tried to pop the cylinder out, but this task proved to be fruitless. “Now how in sam hell do I load this thing?” Nothing I tried seemed to work. I looked for the cylinder bolt to no avail. I looked for the cylinder switch, again with no luck.

"Give it to me." Strat instructed.

"Say please." I replied, smirking.

"Blow me." He said, taking the gun out of my hoof while I giggled. He gave me an 'are you seriously that dumb' look as he touched a plate at the top, causing the whole receiver to fall forwards upon its hinge. Flustered, I began to look for an excuse as to why I missed something so obvious. If my coat wasn't already red, my cheeks would be very rosy right now.

"I.. Uh.." I began. "I was gonna look for that next." I lied. I didn't even think about it being a breech loaded revolver. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Yeah, and I was gonna meet the princesses at 4:00 for tea." He stated sarcastically.

"Fine, fuck you then." I said, looking away. "I'm just gonna load my gun in peace." I stuck my tongue out at him jokingly. I proceeded to load six .44 magnum bullets into the cylinder, and popped it closed with a flick of my hoof.

"Let's just get out of here before the morning watch ruins the plan." Strat said in a frustrated tone. And with that, we left through the window, and glided to the streets.

***                        ***                        ***

   It took ten minutes to call in all the favors other ponies owed us. We were smugglers when we weren't performing on stage with our guitars, or working in the power facility. We smuggled contraband in the city through the condensation collection systems, and the sewers. We knew them like the backs of our hooves. However, there are a few tunnels which lead out of the city that are completely barred off. That's where the favors come in. We got ahold of a plasma cutter (and thankfully a mask too), and my own coyote saddlebags along with some extra provisions such as 50 bits, 4 days of rations for both strat and I, and some wicked-looking face wraps for extra stealth. (But mostly because they look cool). Strat and I reached the grate on the eastern perimeter wall, and I pulled the hoof-held plasma cutter out of my bag. It took a few tries to ignite the plasma because of it's age. 200 years hasn't done wonders for the thing. When it finally lit, I donned my mask, and stratocaster gave my the 'all clear' signal. I started cutting through the first bar, and was shocked when it was over as quick as it started. 'Wow' I thought to myself 'this thing cuts through metal like it was made of marmalade'. One down, 31 more to go, but at this rate, I'd be done in two minutes flat.

"Hey,epiphone?" Strat started. "What if someone catches us? You know as well as I, they don't take prisoners when they catch ponies escaping." 'Crap' .I thought. 'I did NOT want to have to think about that.'

"Well" I said, mask muffling my words as I spoke. "For now, let's hope for a clean getaway, but if worse comes to worse..." I kicked my bag over to where he stood guard. "Take one of the scopes out of there, and put it on your gun. We may have to fight our way out." Scopes were another one of the favors we called in. I had already taken the liberty of putting mine on when I got it. I only had a few bars left to cut. We were almost done when the shouting began.

“Two suspects attempting a breakout on the eastern wall, requesting immediate assistance!" A guard barked into his earpiece. The grate made a loud *CLANK* when it fell, and we bolted through the tunnel. My heart was pounding, pumping adrenaline to every muscle in my body. We ran faster than we ever had in our lives. My gun was in my mouth, fully loaded with six, .44 magnum cartridges of death. So much for a clean getaway. I turned my head, and bit down, activating the trigger mechanism, and firing wildly. The force of the rounds pushed the gun harder into my mouth. The sound of the shots echoed off the tunnel walls, and caused my ears to ring deafeningly. All I could hear was ringing, and a few muffled voices, but I couldn't make out the words. I wasn't sure if any of my shots hit, and I was too terrified to look. We reached the mouth of the damp tunnel, jumped, and began flapping our wings. Stratocaster and I sped through the air as fast as our bodies could take us. My pipbuck’s E.F.S started changing before my eyes as the device recognized that I was in the air. Along with the normal compass, there were different values showing my current elevation, pitch, and airspeed. Strat and I were traveling at relatively the same speed of 76 meters per second at roughly 4 kilometers. I checked the compass once more, and saw 3 red blips directly behind us gaining fast.

“We need more speed!” I yelled to my brother. He looked over to me and nodded. We dove, and began increasing speed as we decreased in elevation. 84 m/s, 89, 93. We kept increasing speed and dropping altitude, but when the security team realised we weren’t coming back willingly, they started opening fire. pink and red energy beams zipped by us at incredible speeds. If those beams hit us, we could’ve been disintegrated. Personally, I don’t think a pile of goo is a very fitting end. my mind began racing for ideas on how to get out of this.

“Split up!” I barked. “We’ll be harder targets! Get them off your tail by any means necessary!”

Stratocaster kept his downward attitude, but broke left while I went right. I noticed that two of the blips started towards me, leaving the other one to chase strat. Putting my revolver back into my mouth, I flipped onto my back and began shooting at the two armored attackers to my rear. I shot four times, two hitting the shoulders of the one on the right, one skimming the flank of the on on the left with but a single miss. They may have been armored with light metal suits, but the powerful .44 magnum rounds didn’t care. The bullets easily pierced the barding like butter, and embedded themselves into the flesh of my attackers. However, the guards didn’t even slow down when the bullets hit. ‘Shit!’ I thought to myself. ‘They must have auto-docs in their suits pumping them full of combat-drugs.’ I obviously needed a new plan. As my mind reached for anything that could help me, the guards decided to stop playing around and unloaded another volley of magical energy in my general direction. This time, instead of just whizzing by me, the beams exploded around me into colorful fireballs. ‘Flack rounds?! Are you kidding me?!’ I flipped back over, reloaded my cylinder with fresh rounds, and dropped my nose even more. My attitude, according to the HUD, showed I was going nearly vertically down. I finally pulled up at around 2,300 meters at 105 m/s, making my stomach do somersaults from the g-forces. My attackers were still on my tail despite my evasive maneuvers, continuously unloading magic flack at me. One lucky round blew up right behind me, burning the hell out of my back while more flames licked at the rest of my body. If I hadn’t been wearing my leather barding, I’d have been very bald at that point. I spotted stratocaster 100 meters to my left. It looked like the guard on his tail wasn’t giving him much slack. In fact, the stallion was going absolutely mental on him, taking insane turns, and shooting everything he had at him. Worst of all, it was actually working! Strat’s armor was cooked. The heat of the explosions had caused the leather to bubble and warp in places, and probably wasn’t too far from catching plum on fire. He drifted out of my view as I had to make a half-loop to avoid burns of my own. It was obvious that we were very outgunned, and mal-trained for this fight so I had to come up with something fast. ‘I need to maneuver behind them to get a shot.’ I thought to myself. I knew they weren’t going to go back empty handed, and with no way to disable them, I only had one choice. I eventually got a view of them during an immelman, so I slipped into S.A.T.S. for the first time in a while. Time seemed to slow down as the assisted aiming highlighted my targets. I cued up two shots; one in each of the guard's heads. Though I didn't have a very clear shot, I could see that both hit as time returned to normal. I knew they were dead when I saw the two little blips disappear. Their bodies went limp and began to fall. The powerful rounds left huge holes in the helmets where they punched through, leaking blood and brain matter. I passed the falling corpses and tried my best not to vomit when fresh warm blood spattered my face. Now that I was out of danger, I looked for my brother. I saw him still in a turning battle with that psychotic guard, but just as I started in his direction, he was hit directly in the wing with one of the blasts, disabling him. "FUUUUUCK!" I heard him scream as he lost control and began to plummet. Panic shot through me as I began to rocket towards him. I couldn't tell exactly what, but something made the remaining guard flee. Maybe he saw what I did to the other two. Maybe it was the fact that an enraged Pegasus covered in blood was flying towards him at break-neck speeds. Whatever it was, I didn't really care. My only concern was catching strat before he became a Pegasus pancake. I made a beeline for him and began traveling faster than ever. He was still trying to stay airborne, which did slow his descent, but he was in a flat-spin and dropping like an anvil. I flew at him like a bullet, constantly getting faster. I glanced at my velocity, and it was going nuts. The indicator on my hud read 137 m/s straight down, but that wasn’t what made me nervous; my rapidly dropping altitude took that responsibility. I only had two kilometers of sky left, and there was still a 700 meter gap between strat and I. ‘Catch him!’ was the only thing I could think. The phrase repeated over and over in my mind. My acceleration started slowing down at around 160 m/s as air-resistance caught up with me. Fatigue was also gaining on me fast. The muscles in my wings burned, my lungs ached, and my eyes watered. There was only 100 meters between us, so I got ready to grab him. “ Come on, come on. Closer.” I muttered. “I can’t lose you now!” I wrapped my fore-legs around him with about a kilometer of altitude to spare. “Gotcha!” I yelled with relief in my voice.

“Thanks for the save, but could you be so kind as to slow down before we slam into the ground?” He asked nervously. ‘Shit.’ I thought. ‘This is gonna be a close shave’. At half the speed of sound, slowing down isn’t exactly easy. I tried with all my might to raise my nose, but my old enemy, air resistance, kept me from flattening out. I could only raise a few degrees at a time before the friction created an enormous moisture cloud above me and stopped my ascent. this was a problem, seeing as how there was only 750 meters between me and the ground now and the denser air wasn’t making it easy. It was hopeless to try and raise my attitude like this, so I resorted to plan B. ‘I really hope this works’ I thought to myself. ‘Otherwise I’m gonna be in a lot of pain before I die.’ Desperately, I slapped my wings closed and used every ounce of strength to point my nose flat with strat dangling beneath me. I then shot my wings open, slowing my descent but not stopping it. Intense pain exploded throughout my body as my wings caught the air. The problem with this plan was that once again, air-resistance was not on my side. The sudden change in speed caused the g-forces to almost rip my wings off and break my spine. Despite my efforts, My HUD registered that we were still falling slowly. The pain only multiplied the longer I remained aloft whilst overburdened. I took one final look at our altitude and the quickly approaching ground before coming to the realization that we were royally fucked. I knew I couldn’t keep us airborne.

“We’re at 100 meters and dropping!” I yelled to Strat. “Brace for impact!” In response, he moved his hind legs tight against his body, and put his hooves over his head. When our altitude finally fell to 10 meters, I closed my wings and flipped onto my back in an attempt to shield Strat from the crash. My back hit the ground hard, dragging across the ground at high speeds. Excruciating pain flooded me from all over my body. The dry ground ripped up my back, the added weight from my brother crushed my ribs with the force of a runaway train. I kept my head raised despite the pain, avoiding a concussion or worse, unconsciousness. The back of my leather barding already had holes in it from the magical flak bombardment, so there was little separating my back from the ground. When we finally stopped sliding, my brother rolled off of me, and settled to my right, panting and coughing along with me. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally broke the  silence with laughter. I was laughing like an insane pony, and Strat joined in. We laughed and laughed, only cut off by the occasional cough or sputter.

“We fucking made it!” Strat said excitedly.

“I can’t believe we just pulled that off!” I responded. There was more relief in my voice than excitement. We probably would have been dancing up and down if we weren’t battered and exhausted, so we settled for a quick hoof-bump. Now that I could think clearly, an idea came to me with a grin. “Hey Stratocaster.” I said, pleased with myself.

“What?” He turned his head to see me. I could see his face was covered in dirt and soot.

“I finally thought of a name for my gun.”

“Oh did you now? Do tell.”

“What do you think of The Tyrant?” He chuckled a bit at that. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

“Man, why didn’t I think of that one?” His chuckling was replaced with heavy coughs. ‘I should probably start patching up our injuries.’ I thought. I attempted to get up with no avail. My legs were too banged up to stand, so I undid the buckle of my saddle-bags and removed them. Searching through my bag’s contents, I pulled out a red, dirty, soft-case that read “M.o.P. Field-Medic’s First-Aid Kit" 'That'll do nicely.' I set the case next to me and checked my pip-buck's "status" page. Warnings flashed on the screen, informing me of just how screwed I am. The first one was a warning about the third degree burns on my back that I was laying on. Another one told me that I had two cracked ribs. The most concerning part of the display wasn't the warnings, it was the broken lines that outlined the wings of the little Pegasus on the screen. Broken lines meant the limbs were crippled. 'Great' I thought. 'Guess we won't be flying for a while'. I moved the screen away from my face, and opened the red first aid kit. The case contained a few rolls of magical bandages, a pack of needles and sutures, some styptic pads, some gauze, medical tape, some healing potions, and a few combat drugs which I chose to ignore. I rolled a healing potion over to stratocaster and downed one myself. The potion had a bitter taste, probably because of how old it was. After I finished mine, I could feel my wounds being mended. My ribs stopped hurting, my back stopped burning, and my wings didn't feel like they were on fire. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to use my wings until I found a splint, and let them heal naturally. I looked at my brother, who also finished his potion, and he was looking much better.

I noticed that his wing, unlike mine, was fully healed. He was on his haunches looking at his pip-buck, and blindly fishing through his bag.

“Feeling better?” I asked, getting off of my back and onto my hooves.

“Aside from the shitty taste in my mouth, I think I’ll be ok.”

“Good.” I began relatching the buckle of my saddlebags. "Because we have a long hike to the town where our dead drop is."

Strat had a sparkle-cola in his mouth which he fished out of his saddlebags. He gave me a confused look and put the bottle down.

"Hike?" He asked with a raised brow. I turned broadside to him, giving him a view of my swollen, crippled wing muscles.

"My wings are fucked until I find a splint and let it heal for a few days."

"A few days?! Might as well be a few months! Or a few years!" He gave a snort in annoyance.

"That's just how it's gotta be. Sorry, but potions can't fix everything."

"Fine, fuck. How far to the town?" I checked my pip-buck's map, and found the marker for the town of Neighburg. I set it as my destination, and looked for the arrow on my Eyes Forward Sparkle. I scanned my surroundings as I looked. Everywhere I looked was flat wasteland. The dirt was a sickly grayish-brown with tall, black posts sticking out of it that may have been trees at some point. I finally found the arrow on my compass pointing almost due east.

"It's about three miles that way" I said, pointing in the direction of the town. “So we’d better start walking before sundown. I have no idea what’s down here and it’s only gonna get worse at night.” I began trotting towards the marker, and Strat followed behind. It was gonna be a long walk.

***                        ***                        ***

        *BANG* *POP POP POP* Gunshots impacted the ground around the building (or what was left of the building) we were hiding in. As soon as we entered the town, we were ambushed by a group of ponies clad in rugged metal barding, and wielding rusted weapons. The group consisted of three earth-ponies and a unicorn. Two of the earth-ponies had small-caliber pistols in their mouths, the unicorn wielded a powerful pre-war bolt-action rifle, and the last earth-pony  had a 12-gauge shotgun. When the shotgun-pony fired, the shot made many tiny impacts, telling me that he was firing birdshot and judging by the smell of black-powder, he must’ve loaded the shells himself. Strat and I both had our weapons drawn behind cover.

“We need to get rid of the one with the rifle.” I said. “I’ll draw their fire, you need to move over to the other side, and take her out.” He looked hesitant. “You think you can do it?”

“Y-yeah, no problem.” He sighed and made his way over to our left flank. When he was in position, I raised up to the broken window of the building, and fired wildly at our attackers. Four shots in, and Stratocaster still hadn’t taken the shot. When the cylinder was empty, I ducked back down to reload and saw that strat hadn’t moved from his spot. ‘Why didn’t you fire?’ I mouthed to him. He didn’t respond. Instead, he signalled for me to draw their fire again.

 I put 6 fresh rounds into the cylinder, and closed the breach. Taking one more deep breath, I popped back up and continued firing. I noticed that one of the pistol-ponies had moved closer, so I liberated him of knees with two shots of The Tyrant. Three more shots blew from the insanely powered revolver, each one gradually making my ears ring louder and causing the gun to slam against my teeth like a ton of bricks. The rifle pony who had decided against taking cover was greeted with a lung shot from Stratocaster’s revolver, but not before getting a lucky shot through the weakened wall which key-holed straight into my right flank. I cried out in pain as I fell to the floor of the building, leaking blood out of the oblong-shaped hole in my leg. Who knew getting shot with a high-powered rifle would hurt so much? I distinctly heard three more shots from Strat’s revolver followed by a loud thump.‘Celestia please don’t let that have been Stratocaster.’ I thought to myself. I leaned over to check on him but he was nowhere to be found. Gunshots continued to pelt my location, gradually chipping away at the wall separating me from the blood-thirsty, psychopathic ponies. I slowly got up on my three good hooves to try and find my brother. When I finally managed to get my head above the wall, I was tackled back to the ground by the very pony I was looking for.

"Hit the deck!" He yelled, grabbing me by the head, pinning me down. Before I could even yelp, there was an intense explosion from behind the wall. Flames spilled over the top of our cover, cooking us like we were in an outdoor oven. I could feel the blood cake onto my coat. When the flames passed there was silence. Stratocaster released my head, and we looked at each other. "I think that did it" Strat said, getting up.

"What did you do? You had me worried for a minute." I told him.

"After I shot the unicorn, I bolted for the corpse of a scavenger. I took the grenade off his belt, and tossed it. You were still drawing their fire, so they didn't even notice me." He said proudly.

"Yeah, about that." I pointed to the bullet wound in my right flank which thanks to the fire, was now partially cauterized.

"Oh shit!" He exclaimed, eyes widening. "Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine. I think." I pulled up my pipbuck, and once again checked my status. As I enters the status screen, a warning appeared.*Foreign object present* flashed on my screen with an arrow pointing to the flank of the little Pegasus on screen.

"Aww fuck me sideways." I put my hoof down.

"What is it?" Stratocaster asked.

"Since the bullet keyholed through the wall, it didn't have enough speed to go straight through. It's stuck, and unfortunately healing potions can't push something that big out of my body. It’ll just heal around it." I frowned.

"So what're we gonna do then?"

"Not we, you." I layed back on my stomach.

"Me? What can I do?" He looked confused.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a unicorn otherwise I'd pull the bullet out magically. Normally, I'd use a pair of tweezers to extract it, but seeing as how I'm not even flexible enough to give myself a blowie, I need your help." Strat was trying with all his might to keep himself from bursting out with laughter, but failing. My cheeks grew flushed as I realized what I just asked. "I meant with the bullet, fuckass!" I said with annoyance. Finally he couldn't take it anymore. he dropped to the floor and laughed so hard I thought he was gonna bust a lung. "Alright alright, don't give yourself a hernia. It's not like I'm in need of surgery or anything." It took another twenty seconds for him to calm down enough to get up. He gave a few more chuckles and wiped a tear out of his eye with a hoof, smearing blood on his face and turning his yellow coat, black. A few seconds later, he realized he had just painted his face with my blood which was pooling on the floor.

"Eeeeew gross." He whined, shaking his hooves. "It's still warm too." It was my turn to laugh. I gave a few hearty chuckles which became progressively weaker. Until now, I hadn't noticed the lack of feeling in my right hind-leg. Breathing was another thing that became tiring. Strat saw that I was beginning to lose consciousness. "Epiphone? Epiphone, what do I do?" He asked nervously.

"T-take off m-my saddlebags." I said weakly. I had lost too much blood. He moved me onto my left side, and clicked the buckle on my belly, releasing my bags. "Grab t-the med-kit." He fished out the red box, and opened it. He took out the tweezers and a healing potion, and placed the next to me.

"Now what?" I almost couldn't answer. "Epiphone stay with me, what do I do now?" He sounded scared now.

"O-open the wound, and extract the bu-" I couldn't finish the word, I was too tired.

"The bullet?" He asked. I nodded in response. He took the tweezers in his teeth, and re-opened the partially-cauterized wound. The scab hadn't done any good since the wound was so massive. I found it amazing that even though he was digging around in the wound, I couldn't feel a thing. After a bit of digging, he got ahold of the main core of the bullet, and pulled it out. He held it up for a moment before placing it on the ground. "Got it!" He said excitedly. "Quick, drink the potion!" He pushed the bottle over to my face with his muzzle. I tried to grasp the bottle in my maw, but my vision started to fade. "What're you waitin for? The wound's still bleeding!" I dropped my head, and closed my eyes as I began drifting into unconsciousness. "No no no! Stay with me!" It was no use. My vision went black, and I was out like a light. 'Hello unconsciousness, I'm epiphone. you don't mind me staying here for a while do you? Great, thanks.'

***                         ***                       ***

When I regained consciousness, I was staring up at the gray clouds in the sky. I could hear thunder in the distance. 'The condensation reserves must be getting full' I thought to myself. 'Though I don't remember there being a rainstorm scheduled today.' Just then, a more important matter came to mind. "I'm alive! I knew he could do it!" I said happily. I then realized that Stratocaster wasn't anywhere to be found. Looking around, I noticed that I wasn't where I thought I was. I knew that once you've seen one bombed-out building, you've seen them all, but this one was different. Upon further inspection, I saw that what I thought was a gray cloud-cover was just an off-gray ceiling. The next thing I noticed was that I wasn't on the ground, but on a table with an I.V. In my forehoof administering a mixture of blood, and healing potion. "How the hell did I get here?" I asked to the empty room. Just then, a unicorn nurse walked into the room. She was actually pretty good-looking for a wastelander. Her coat was an almost neon-blue, complimenting her silver-green eyes and bright-yellow mane. She was incredibly short, her head being able to just pass the doorknob. The white scrubs she wore were surprisingly clean compared to everything else. It would be an understatement to describe her as a sight for sore eyes. I propped myself up with my hooves to get her attention.

"Oh, you're up." She said sounding pissed. 'Great epiphone, the first good piece of flank you found in this wasteland is already mad at you.' I thought to myself. I shook my head at the thought. 'Gahh, focus! This isn't the time to think about getting laid. You need to focus on finding Stratocaster.'

"What's your name?" I asked. 'Smooth move numb nuts. That didn't make you sound like an asshole at all.'

"What's it to you?" She sounded even more pissed this time.

"S-sorry it's just... Never mind. Have you seen my brother?"

"Why should I tell you, Enclave?" Now she seemed extremely mad. ‘Enclave? Me? What makes her think I’m-’ Feeling my wings, I was hit with the realization. 'Oh, right. That.' By the look she gave me, I thought she was getting ready to attack. Hell, she probably would have if an orange unicorn buck in a white lab-coat hadn’t trotted in. He was a taller, older buck whose black mane and tail had patches of gray in them.

“Splint!” He said sternly with a disappointed look in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that this is a place of healing. You know as well as I that we treat patients without bias.” The mare lowered her head in submission, but it was obvious she was still angry.

“But dad, he’s-” The buck cut her off.

“I don’t care what you think he is, as long as he’s here, he’s my patient, now go wait outside.”

“But- ugh, fine. Treat the ones who would kill us without a second thought, see if I care.” She gave me one more angry glare before running out of the room and down the hall.

The unicorn buck sighed and walked over to the table I was laying on.

"What was that all about?" I asked, sitting up onto my haunches.

"Please excuse my daughter, she's been hostile to the enclave ever since they killed a number of people who were close to her." He paused for a moment, his gaze meeting the floor with a look of tenderness.

"Her mother was one of those who died."

"I'm sorry for your loss, but I'm not part of the enclave. I'm a dashite." He looked back up at me, his expression changing to surprise.

"A dashite eh? I thought as much." Now I was confused.

"What tipped you off?" His horn began to glow with a green aura and The Tyrant emerged from below the table along with my saddlebags and barding, all of which he rested at my hooves.

“Well, there’s your equipment for starters,” He said, levitating the tyrant once again. “Enclave soldiers usually don’t use powder-based weapons, certainly not one as powerful as a .44 magnum.” My mind wandered, searching for an instance of a soldier wielding such a powerful weapon. ‘There was a general who used a Big-Colt .44 magnum rifle,’ I thought. He was right, however, there had never been an enclave soldier to use a high-powered pistol.

“Then there’s your armor.” He levitated my leather barding above my head.

“What about it?” he turned it to reveal the broadside of the armor was almost completely gone. It was covered in scorch-marks and burns.

“No Enclave soldier would be caught dead in this. First of all, it’s leather; Soldiers wear metal barding or power barding. Second of all, It’s completely ruined. They would rather die than return in this.”

He knew a lot about the Enclave, somehow, which was fortunate for us. If his daughter wanted us dead, who knows how many others shared her feeling.

“Finally,” He spoke. “There’s your cutie-marks.” He pointed to the guitar-shaped mark on my flank with a hoof. "That's not a soldier's mark, boy," he said sternly.

"No, I suppose not," I replied, feeling the dry fur on my flank. The mark was of a brown acoustic guitar, emanating waves of sound.

"Well I suppose that makes you a musician."

"Yes sir, I am," I said nervously.

"Good!" He exclaimed. "That means you can start paying the bill." I frowned.

"What." I said stoically.

"Why, a colt with your talent must make caps by the hundreds!" He placed my belongings on the floor, and levitated a clipboard to my face. On the clipboard was my "bill" with a number that nearly made me faint. At the bottom of the paper read "300 caps".

"I just got to this shit-hole! What makes you think I have that kind of money?" Another question came to mind. "Wait, what do you mean by caps?"

"Bottle caps of course! It's the currency of the wasteland," he said merrily.

"So you’re telling me that all the bits I brought on this trip are..."

"Completely useless? Yes, so you'd better get earning." He levitated me out of the bed along with all my things.

"Woah! What're you doing?" He placed me on my hooves at the door, dropping my things next to me. He then opened the door. I stuck The Tyrant in my holster, and my barding into my bag, and started buckling them onto my waist. It was pointless to put my barding on, seeing as how it was basically destroyed. Looking through the door as my eyes adjusted to the brighter, almost blinding light, I saw what looked like a street lined with ragged buildings. I felt a force against my rump, herding me outside. Once I was, I turned around to see that crazy doctor with a smirk across his muzzle.

“Now, don’t come back till you have my payment,” he said with a chilling cheeriness in his voice.

“Wait!” I yelled, but it seemed I was too late as he closed the door with his magic. I sat down, dumbfounded from the rollercoaster of emotions that I just witnessed. recollecting my thoughts, I closed my gaping mouth, realising that my original question was still without an answer. ‘Seriously,’ I thought. ‘Where’s strat run off to?’ New questions emerged, such as ‘What am I gonna do about my barding?’ and ‘How am I supposed to get the caps to pay off Doctor Dick-face?’ I looked up at the closed door in front of me. “Dr. Styptic medical clinic” read a sign at the top of the door. “I still think Doctor Dick-face is a more fitting title,” I said aloud to myself.

I got up, and began taking in my surroundings. The closest building to me had a wooden sign with “General Goods” carved into it. Further down the road, among the shabby buildings of the shanty town emerged a neon sign that read “Horseshoe’s Booze Pub.” Smiling, I trotted my way over to the building. ‘Well, I know how I’m getting the caps,’ I thought. ‘A bar’s gotta have a stage, right?’ As I approached the entrance, I could hear chanting followed by cheers and laughter. Pushing open the saloon-style doors, I saw groups of bucks standing in a circle around a table. As to who they were cheering for, I had no idea as the crowd obstructed my view. I approached the bartender, an earth-pony buck, who was cleaning tankards and mugs with a rag and his hooves. “What’s going on over there?” I asked him. He glanced up at me, pausing his scrubbing.

“Hoof wrestling,” he replied coldly, spitting into a brass spittoon.

“Who’s competing?” I took a seat at the bar, inspecting the various bottles of alcohol behind him. I wondered how a bottle of whiskey could last 200 years in a bottle.

“Hell if I know, now are you gonna buy something or waste my time?” As tempted as I was, I couldn’t risk getting hammered right now when I had no clue where Strat was. Getting up, I made my way over to the action. Pushing through the crowd, I finally saw who the competitors were. On the left, was a golden unicorn buck who was losing badly. His hoof slammed against the table causing the entire crowd to go crazy. Out of shame and fatigue, he rammed his head onto the table while his opponent stood up triumphantly. It was Strat. “What...” I muttered to myself, my jaw almost unhinging as I stood agape. Stratocaster raised a shot-glass full of a Brownish liquid into the air before downing it.

“Strat!” I yelled. He noticed me, smiled and waved. His cheeks were a lot rosier than normal.

“Hey- *hic* bro! fancy seeing you here.” He was drunk.

He stumbled over to me and tripped at my hooves landing flat on the ground.

“What the hell are you drinking?” He got up sluggishly, smiling.

“Real pirate rum!” He said, swaying in place. He raised a hoof to his head. “Arrr.”

I clopped my hoof to my face in annoyance.

“You’d better start sobering up soon,” I said bluntly. “We’ve got a debt to pay.” Another thought came to mind as I spoke. “How’d you pay for the rum?”

“*hic* Beat the champ in a hoof wrestle, get a free bottle.” He began to giggle. “Beat him three times now, so I’m set for a week. Or at least *Hic* a few days.”

“Right,” I Said, elongating the word. “Back to the debt we owe.”

“Yeah? To whom do we owe this debt, and how much?”

“300 caps to that ‘Dr. Styptic.”

“Holy fuck!” strat exclaimed in a moment of clarity. “What’d he treat you with? Celestia’s bathwater? He’s gotta know that we don’t have that kind of money.”

“Yeah, he does but he wants it anyway. “Did you salvage anything from the raiders?” He pondered the question for a while before answering.

“A shitty 12-gauge, an old, but still useful 30-06, a few caps, and some bits of armor. The rest was totally destroyed in the blast.”

“It’ll get us some chump-change, but nowhere near the target goal.” Strat smiled.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said mischievously. “There’s going to be a musician’s competition tomorrow at high noon in this pub. The winning group receives 500 caps.” A smile broke out across my face as well. This was great news.

“Then that’s how we’re getting it. first, you’ll need to sober up.”

“Ohh, suddenly I don’t feel so good.” The alcohol in his system began to take over again. He reached over and grabbed a shot glass of tequila, and downed it. A few seconds later he collapsed onto the floor and passed out.

“You’re hopeless,” I said softly, nickering. I bent over, put stratocaster on my back, and left the pub. “Now I Just need to find our dead-drop. Trotting to where I was shot, I noticed the corpses of the raiders had been dragged away. ‘They must’ve been cleaned up by the townsfolk.’ Continuing onward, I set my sights on something I wasn’t quite expecting. I knew our stuff was to be delivered to this location by an enclave smuggler, but from my understanding he was supposed to drop it off in a hidden crate. Instead, the entire transport bus sat on the side of the road lifeless. After laying Strat down on the saturated ground, I moved over to the bus, drawing my weapon and nudging the ajar door open with my muzzle. Peering into the darkness, all seemed quiet, but as my eyes adjusted to it, the horrendous sight before me was revealed. The wooden floor was covered in a layer of blood about 1” deep, the source of which being a freshly slaughtered pegasus who was pinned to the wall with a sharpened steel pipe through his chest. The smell was what finally did it. I turned away, and began vomiting. Enclave rations never taste as good coming up as they do going down, and even then they’re terrible. After the contents of my stomach were emptied onto the ground, I wiped my mouth and turned back towards the bus. With another look, I confirmed that the smuggler was dismembered, missing his right hind-leg, and eviscerated.  His intestines hung out of a gash running down his belly. The horror before me confirmed my suspicions. It seemed that the ponies that did this were the infamous raiders I heard about from the soldiers during my time in the Enclave. I’ve been told they’re ruthless, but this is so much worse than anything I could’ve imagined. Holstering The Tyrant, I approached the dead smuggler and removed the pipe from his shoulder, throwing it behind me. I carefully grabbed the collar of his blue uniform with my teeth and tugged his corpse out of the bus. I placed him on the ruined sidewalk and returned to the bus, trying not to think of the gallons of blood I was sloshing around. Pushing open the front door, I let out a majority of the blood, but the wooden floor was still soaked in it. I took inventory of the remaining items on the shelves of the transport bus. The raiders seemed to miss the hidden items, and only took the shitty decoy weapons on display. In the various stashes, I found various calibers of rifle ammunition, a box of 12-gauge shells with number 7 shot in them. On the other side, I made a good find. Under the left seat was a .30 caliber rifle. A .30 cal was a pretty weak round, but it could do some damage through a 20 inch barrel. I stuck it in my pack as a present for Strat. I still couldn’t find our stuff, and I was on the verge of giving up when I saw something on the floor. I almost missed it. A small handle protruded out of the floor. I bent down, grabbed it, and lifted upwards opening a hidden hatch in the floor. In the hatch was three war-era ammunition boxes and two guitar-shaped cases. A smile crept across my face. Ignoring the boxes, I opened the cases. The first one contained a shiny brown acoustic guitar with streaks of red blended into the wood. This one was mine. The other case contained Strat’s black electric guitar with flames lining the face of the guitar. I bent down, took the neck of my guitar in my maw and sat down, placing the instrument in position on the knee of my right hind-leg. I used my left hoof to make a C-chord, and my right to strum. A very pleasing hum emanated from the instrument. I was delighted to hear it in tune. I began playing a low-to-high melody, arpeggio-picking each chord as I went. I placed the guitar back in it’s case, and latched it shut. Exiting the bus and looking towards the sky, I noticed how dim it was. According to my pipbuck, it was 6:34 in the afternoon.

‘I’d better wake strat.’ I thought to myself. He’d been asleep for about two hours after collapsing in his drunken stupor. I Trotted over to where strat lay flat on his back, and gave him a few light kicks. “Wake up, shit-head.” I said loudly. He gave a few murmurs before rolling onto his side. An idea crept its way into my head. Carefully unholstering his revolver, I checked it’s load. It had a full cylinder. I pointed the weapon into the the air and bit down, letting the trigger mechanism pop a round off. The weapon boomed, making strat jump to his hooves, eyes wide and at full attention. Instinctively, he reached for his weapon as he got up to find his holster empty. I began laughing madly at the scene before me, The grip of the gun muffling my chuckles.

“You fucking dick,” He said in annoyance. I wiped a tear from my eye as I calmed down. Strat swiped the gun out of my mouth, returning it to it’s holster.

“I hope you’re sober, because we’ve got work to do.” I gestured for him to enter the bus. He cringed when he saw the pegasus’ body I had deposited behind the bus. His eyes eventually fell on the open hatch and to our hidden guitar cases. He smiled as he opened the case with his name engraved in it. Picking up the guitar, he checked it’s tuning, but unlike me, he checked with a scale rather than a chord. When he reached the top of the scale, instead of stopping, he quickly descended it to the middle, juggling the notes around before letting the final note ring. I recognized this as his signature “metalized” scale. He was much better at hard rock styles and techniques than me. Putting the guitar back, he turned towards me.

“So we’re competing at the pub tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “In the meantime, how about some supper?” His ears perked up at “supper”.

“Great! I’m starving!” He reached into his bag and retrieved two brown, plastic boxes marked as M.o.P field rations. My stomach growled, reminding me that I was hungry as well. Neither of us had eaten a thing all day, what with all the getting shot at. I tore open the box, breaking the freshness spell that each ration was lined with. Inside were some vacuum-sealed bags of sliced apples, a sack of instant-oats, a small bladder of water and utensils for said oats, and some delicious-looking flowers; all preserved by the enchantment. Strat and I entered the bus for shelter. The pool of blood had almost vanished from the bus aside from a few dried-up stains and, thanks to the how cold it’s been as of lately and the new circulation of air inside, the horrible smell was nearly gone. Besides, it didn’t look like anypony was going to use it for awhile. We munched down our rations over some idle conversation.  After supper, we began practicing our routine for the competition. We decided to play a hometown ditty that strat metalized called “The pegasus”. I would start the song acoustically, and strat would come in with his magic distortion-pad in the second verse. Together, the two sounds came together in a high-low harmony. We were back in business. After cleaning up, we picked our spots on the floor, and slept.

Footnote: Level up x2.

New perk: Gun nut- +5 small guns. +5 repair.

New perk: Swift learner- +10% XP whenever XP is earned.

2 Fiddle Firestorm

Fiddle Firestorm

“If you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold, but if you lose the devil gets your soul”

After waking up at a quarter till seven, Stratocaster and I spent every minute before 11:00 practicing our performance. We had mastered The Pegasus, but realizing that there were going to be multiple rounds, we also chose a few other songs that had sea-shanty tones like The Shadow Ship and Drunken Wrath. When 11:30 finally came, nervous couldn’t begin to describe how I was feeling. We made it to the pub before the show started and were greeted by an enormous crowd Standing just in front of the double doors. Voices resonated through the crowd.

“Did you hear?” One voice said. “I think the fiddler is supposed to play tonight.”

“Oh man!” Another one replied. “She’s gonna wipe the floor with the rest of these amateurs!” Weaving our way through the congested mass of ponies, a humongous earth-pony bouncer stood at the entrance blocking anypony from slipping in preemptively. We watched as he pounded another earth buck who was trying to sneak in behind him essentially into vapor with a single massive hind-kick. The pony was rendered into a broken, twitching pile. Spotting us, the bouncer widened his stance in defence.  I gulped in fear of the enormous meat-wall before me.

“Uh,” was all I could mutter. Strat and I were visibly quivering. I almost wanted to flee. He bent down to my level to speak to me as I stood, awaiting a deep booming voice.

“You wouldn’t happen to be signing in for the musical competition would you?” He asked in a calm, mellow voice. You’ve gotta be kidding me. There’s no way that came from this walking-tank of a pony. I stopped quivering.

“Uh, yeah?” Stratocaster answered, just as confused as I was.

“Oh, then in that case, right this way.” He used one of his front-hooves to gently push open one of the saloon-doors, and gestured for us to enter. Strat and I looked at each other, stunned. Shaking off this strange encounter, we proceeded.

Entering the pub, everything looked pretty much the same except for the stage. The curtains were drawn, hiding the whole backstage area and making the elevated platform seem a lot narrower. There was also an orange earth mare holding a clipboard in her mouth. Compared to the rest of the inhabitants, this mare looked surprisingly clean. Next to her hung a sign which read “Sign-up”. We trotted over to where she sat.

“Two more for the music competition,” I said confidently.

“Great!” she replied. “Do you know how these things usually play out?” Welp, so much for confidence. All of it went right out the window as I realized that I had no idea how musical competitions work. I just assumed it was like a performance. You go up, play some songs, get your money, and piss off back to your normal life. I searched for the right words to say that could keep me from looking like a novice.

“Umm,” I started, mentally slapping myself in the face. “N-not exactly, no.” Smooth one epiphone. I wished I could hide my face, as to conceal the gradient of red my face was creating. She smiled and turned a few pages from her clip-board.

“That’s ok, it’s quite simple actually,” She said, recognizing my embarrassment. “First off, since this is only a semi-formal competition, there is only one series. A series is made up of three separate tiers.” She moved her arms to signify the bottom tier. “They’re the firsts, semi-finals, and the finals.” This was beginning to make a bit more sense. “Every team,” she continued “is put into a bowl and withdrawn at random to decide who battles who. These battles are called heats.  Whoever wins their heat is sent into the next tier to compete with another team who won their heat, and this happens until they reach the finals where the winner will be decided.” I found I was getting most of what she was saying, but I was still confused about something.

“Wait,” I said. “If the competition only goes for three rounds, then how can there be so many teams?”

“Good question.” she showed me a sectioned bracket-chart. There were three sections with titles indicating which tier they belonged to. It looked to be a standard bracket-chart except for the semi-finals section. The section itself was more shaded than the others, and the borders  separating them were dashed lines rather than solid ones. I could only imagine what that could mean, but instead of making myself look even more naive, I kept my mouth shut and listened.

“When we announce these competitions, we never know how many competitors we’ll get, so the rounds have to be able to accommodate everyone.” She pointed to the semi-finals section of the chart. “See how this tier is different from the others?” I nodded in response. “That’s because this tier can be as big or as small as we want it. More competitors means longer semi-finals.” It was beginning to make more sense. “Any questions?” She asked with a sort of sweetness.

“That’s all I need for now, thanks,” I replied with a strengthened confidence.

“Great! Now I just need the name of your team here.” She flipped back a few pages with her hoof to reveal a long list of team names. I glanced through them out of curiosity. Most of the names were plain and uninteresting, but I did get a giggle out of a particular heavy-metal band named “Horse Force”. After a second or two of skimming through about twenty names that were just twenty ways of saying “Look at me, I'm different and therefore interesting,” the last name finally caught my eye. “The Fiddler” was written coldly in the 23rd spot. The signature was unmistakably written by a unicorn. I remembered what the ponies in the crowd had said about her. From what I understood, she was a force to be reckoned with. However, I wasn't going to let it deter me. I still needed the money, and celestia dammit, I was gonna get it.

Turning my attention back to signing our own team name, I took the pen in my mouth and began scribbling on the first blank line. When I finished, Stratiphone was written proudly on the 24th spot. It was the name my brother and I had chosen when we first started our musical career. The name wasn’t very creative or unique, being simply the contraction of our names, but it stuck.

“What now?” I asked, putting the pen down. She took the clipboard and confirmed that I had filled all of the necessary information.

“Ponies are going to start flooding through those doors in about twenty minutes. You can use that time to go backstage and run through your performance.” I nodded and started for the stairs, Stratocaster following closely behind.

Pushing the curtains aside, I spotted what had to be around 30 or 40 ponies. Some were setting up equipment, others were tuning instruments, dressing into costumes, and rehearsing their parts. The entire room was a cacophony of vocal and instrumental oscillations. Among the chaos, however, was a single distinguishable tune. It was a violinist. I searched for the source of the music. It was different from the rest of the musicians. While most ponies were playing hard, loud, and low, this music was soft, and sweet; almost melancholy in tone.

After wading through a sea of musicians, I finally found the source. A young unicorn mare with a coat as blue as cobalt and a mane greener than balefire sat in the back of the crowd, levitating her violin next to her and playing a sweet-sounding melody with a smile. She was actually very pretty despite her location. She lifted her instrument to inspect the face, turning its back towards me. There, right in the middle of the instrument, something was engraved. I had to strain to look, but I could clearly see it spelled “The Fiddler” with a design that could only have been carved by a master. For the second time tonight, I have been left completely awestruck. I had a hard time believing that someone this young could be the feared champion I've heard so much about.

Returning her instrument to her chin, she changed songs. Unlike the previous song, which was slow and peaceful, this one was fast and aggressive. It was a battle song in by the tone of it. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite put a hoof on it. Before I could think too hard about it, I was interrupted by an announcer.

“The heats have been announced!” Called a female voice. “You can find your opponents on the board!” Turning my head, I spotted a cork board with names pinned to it connected by strings. Strat and I trotted to it, and began searching.

After a few minutes of searching the enormous chart, I found our name connected to a group called Harmonics in heat J. I could hear the indistinct chatter of the crowd funneling into the pub. “Five minutes till showtime!” The voice called again. Strat and I looked at each other briefly before setting down our cases, and unpacking our instruments. After checking my tuning for the billionth time, I was satisfied. I moved on to attempting to remember which songs we were playing. Assuming we made it to the finals, I told stratocaster that we needed to add two more songs to our list for the extended semi-finals. After a bit of discussion, we decided on A change of scenery and Times Change. They were two rock songs we used to play for fun back home. Their speed made them perfect songs to impress a bunch of small-town hicks despite their simplicity. “The competition has begun! Quiet backstage please!” The announcer said. “Those in heat A please make your ways onstage!” I watched as two groups of ponies trotted onstage.

The first group, a quartet, was dressed in fancy suits. Their instruments, a bass cello, a piano, and two mics, were already onstage. They appeared to be a jazz band. They performed quite well. Their opponents, however were a country music trio with big, bushy beards, and overalls whos banjo and guitar playing sounded like a musical trainwreck, and who's singing made me want to shove sharp objects into my ears. I'll leave you to figure out who made the semifinals.

Heats B through I were quite varied. There were duos, trios and quartets alike playing classical, rock, metal, blues, and some unknown genre that I can only describe as “gothic”. Then it was our turn in heat J. We were the first group to go up. During the other heats, Strat and I donned some sharp, white dress clothes and hats to add contrast to our normal coat colors. We strolled onstage with smiles looking calm and collected on the outside, while underneath we were nervous wrecks. We sat down with our instruments. “Tonight, we have two new faces with us. Our first two pegasi in years.” The announcer said, addressing us. “Please welcome Stratiphone playing Times Change.” As the stomping subsided, we began playing. I started quickly strumming minor chords. Stratocaster came in with loud power chords that harmonized with my own chords. I got ready as the lyrics approached.

“When you think you’re up on top, someone’s always right above you.” Strat came in with the next line.

“If you're busy lookin’ down, someone’s likely gonna  shove you.” It was my turn to sing.

“You could be the king sittin’ up in your castle.”

“Believe me they’ll take your place without a hassle-” we both came in for the chorus.

“Because times change. Even when you’re not a-lookin’. Times change~.”

Looking around, the majority of the audience seemed uninterested. A few of them however, those who actually listen to this music, smiled and nodded to the beat. They knew what was coming next. When the chorus subsided, the hook snuck it’s way in. The hook in question was a completely instrumental part one and a half times faster than the rest of the song. Because Strat was the lead guitarist, his part was 100% tremolo, while mine was pure double stops. The sudden change in speed got the attention of the crowd, causing some of them to even lean in.

When the hook came back to the verse, the saloon doors of the bar opened, and two armored gryphons entered.

Weird. How did they get past the bouncer?

They took their place in the very back, behind the audience.

After the song ended, we received a round of applause from the audience, and made our way backstage. I kept my eye on the two newcomers. They didn’t look like they were here for the music. They seemed way too stoic for that. No, they were here for something else.

Assuming we won the heat, which mind you wasn’t a huge assumption, I wouldn’t be performing till next round, so I left my brother backstage, and took my place near the gryphons. The Fiddler pushed the curtain aside, and stepped onstage, violin levitating next to her.

“Target in sight.” I heard one of them say quietly into an ear-bloom. I couldn’t hear what the voice on the other end was saying, but it couldn’t have been good.

Did I just wander into an assassination?

I knew I shouldn’t get involved, but dammit, I couldn’t just sit here and let this happen! I watched as the closest assassin began rummaging through his bag. After some fumbling around, he retrieved a briefcase, placing it carefully on the floor. Quietly opening it, the contents were revealed. From what I could tell, it was a long-barreled rifle, broken down into two pieces, the receiver and the barrel, allowing it to be carried in a much more compact case.

I made a decision. I couldn’t just let her die. It wouldn’t be right to leave, knowing I

could’ve done something.

Unholstering The Tyrant very carefully with my teeth, I positioned the weapon behind the assassin’s head while he was busy assembling the gun. Just then, I heard the door kicked in followed by hoof-steps. The Fiddler was already performing, so the audience barely noticed. The assassins turned to look, forcing me to drop my gun to keep my cover intact.

 It was the old, yellow buck whom strat had beaten at hoof-wrestling the previous night, being followed by two middle-aged bucks. They looked pissed.

“There he is!” The old-yellow buck said, barely audible over the violin’s echo. He was pointing to where my brother, who must’ve followed me after I left, was standing, oblivious to what was happening. They approached him threateningly.

Shit. This was not good. The gryphon was nearly finished assembling the gun. It seemed I had another decision to make. Save the pony that is the only thing standing between me and 500 caps, and let my only family member die, or let an innocent civilian of the wasteland die to protect my own. What am I supposed to do? Think, think, think! after pondering it for a split second longer, I took my gun in my hooves, and made my move.

“Excuse me,” I said calmly to the gryphon, lightly tapping his shoulder. He turned to me, and was greeted with a bone-shattering blow from the back of The Tyrant to his beak. I could feel the pop of his dislocated jaw through the barrel. He went down without any further action. The gun he was holding fell next to him, fully assembled. I turned behind me to warn my brother of the menacing attackers closing in.

“Stratocaster!” I yelled as loud as I could muster. He turned, noticing the Bucks that approached, weapons now drawn. His eyes nearly popped from his skull as he scrambled for his .357. He took a wider stance, gun in mouth, and wings spread. Just then, the other gryphon, who I failed to notice retrieving her fallen companion’s rifle, bashed the butt of the weapon against the back of my head.

What did I think she was going to do? Stand there with her talons up her ass?

Dazed, I fell to the floor concussed, but not unconscious. My vision was blurry, and my head was pounding. The force of the blow had made it impossible to tell what was happening, but judging by the that there wasn’t a hole in my head the size of an apple, the gryphon was most likely taking aim for her primary target. I could vaguely make out her shape through the haze. Taking The Tyrant in my muzzle once again, I attempted to take aim, however my blurred vision made it impossible to safely take the shot. I couldn’t risk killing a member of the crowd. I slipped into SATS, time slowing down, highlighting my target. I cued a single shot to her head. I held my breath in anticipation as time resumed to normal. The Tyrant boomed, probably grabbing everypony’s attention. I wasn’t 100% sure that it hit, but the figure that I hoped with all my heart was the gryphon was now gone. There was another shot. My hearing was too fucked to make out the caliber, but from what I could tell, it came from where I saw Strat last. I hoped like hell that strat was the one who fired that shot. My vision came back to me, revealing the rest of the scene. Stratocaster was slumped over on a wall, battered and injured, but not from a bullet. His gun was also nowhere to be seen. I also noticed that there was one less red pip on my EFS. Ponies were scattering in every direction, panicked from the shots.

Who the hell fired that shot?

Darting my eyes, I finally located the source of the shot. The very same pony who’s life I just saved had jumped to my brother’s rescue, levitating both Stratocaster’s gun, and a .45 caliber handgun of an unknown design. She had a dangerous look about her. Her facial expression alone appeared to be one of anger, however her stance was defensive, not offensive. Peering to her opposers, I noticed the old, yellow buck dead on the floor, deep red blood leaking from both sides of his neck through a single wound-channel. The two that remained held a knife and a wooden board. They looked at each other for a second, presumably realizing that one unicorn with two large caliber pistols far outgunned them.

“Fuck this!” one of them yelled. They both dropped their weapons, and fled through the front door. Several moments passed before everypony figured out that they were safe, the immediate danger having been exterminated. The whole building was filled with whispers, as the crowd tried to piece together what had happened. It was only when the announcer entered the stage that the silence was broken.

“Um, sorry folks. due to unforeseen consequences, the show has to be cut short. Thanks for coming.” The announcer disappeared behind the curtain once again. I was still on my back, my head still throbbing where my skull had been bashed. I felt the damaged area with my hoof. I could feel the blood in my blue and blonde mane. Yep, definitely concussed.

“You ok?” Said a very feminine voice. Turning my head, I found “The Fiddler” standing over me with a hoof extended. Grabbing it, she helped me to my hooves.

“I think i’m ok,” I lied. My head nearly exploded as I got up. I took a good look at her. She was even more beautiful up close. Somehow, her cobalt-blue coat seemed even bluer than backstage. Her eyes, I noticed, were a deep magenta, and her mane was a very well-kempt braid with a slight fluff in the front. Her tail however, was a different story. It was small, but very fluffy. Not to say that it was a mess, quite the opposite actually, it was very clean. She had to have somehow bathed recently.

“Are you sure? You’re spacing out big-time,” I heard her say, snapping me back to reality as I realized that I was staring. I shook my head, causing pain to explode throughout my brain.

“Y-yeah,” I replied, embarrassed. “Just a bit concussed.” My flushed cheeks thankfully went unnoticed in the darkness.

“Here, this should help.” She levitated a healing potion from her bag, placing it in front of me. I thanked her before gulping it down graciously, feeling the healing magic mending my cracked skull. She smiled at me.

“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do for saving my life.” I gave a half-smile back to her. I saved her life, but had to end two others to do it. I still wasn’t used to killing. “So, I don’t believe I caught your name.” She stated. She actually wants to know my name? I would’ve thought she’d just thank me and be on her way, but this is downright friendly! Maybe the wasteland isn’t so hostile after all.

“The name’s Epiphone.” I searched for my brother. I spotted him looting the corpse of the old buck who assaulted him. “That there’s my brother, Stratocaster. Thanks, by the way, for jumping in when you did. I should’ve known three-to-one in close quarters would end badly.” She peered at strat with a smile.

“Your brother, huh?” She looked a bit longer. I became curious, but decided not to pry.

“Yep, my only flesh and blood.” I said matter-of-factly. after a few moments longer of her watching him, I cleared my throat, snapping her back to attention. Now who’s spacing out?

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Arpeggio.” She closed her eyes, and put a hoof to her chest. For a random stranger in the wasteland, she’s very polite. “Sorry, it’s just that, you’re the first pegasi I’ve ever seen. I’ve always dreamt of flight since I was a filly.” That struck me as strange. I had never considered the fact that very few ponies in the wasteland had ever seen a pegasus, and what effect that might have.

“Well, In the spirit of good impressions, why don’t we buy you a drink?” I said, extending the hypothetical hoof of friendship. She gave a light chuckle.

“Jackpot!” Strat yelled from behind me. He sat on his haunches next to the dead gryphon, inspecting the large rifle the assassin had been using. “Check out this kick-ass rifle!” I went in for a closer look, taking it in my own hooves.

The rifle was gorgeous. It had a 22” octagonal barrel, a polished brass receiver, a hickory stock and grip, and true repeater-style sights. The lever was a bit of an ass to open with my hooves, but it gave way, ejecting a round from the hole on the side. There was no mistaking the round, I knew it anywhere, but I had never seen one in person. It was a 45-70, a true monster of a round.

“That’s an enormous caliber for an assassination. Whoever sent them really wanted you dead.” I said to Arpeggio, who was more concerned about the bodies.

“Talons,” She said stoically. “Not good.” She looked very worried.

“Talons? You mean the assassins?” She started chuckling cynically. I was getting very concerned. “Did I say something wrong?” She ceased her chuckling.

“First of all, they’re mercs, not assassins. Second of all, if you don’t know about the talons, consider yourself lucky. They’re an organization of mercenaries, loyal not to a leader, but their contract. If you’ve got the talons on your ass, you’re already dead. They’re tough as nails, and extremely good at killing. To my knowledge, they’ve never left a contract unfinished.”

“Damn.” Strat said. “Who the hell want’s you dead that badly?”

“Long story. All I can say is, if the talon’s are in on it, I’m dead.” She hung her head in despair. I sympathized with her. After all, we were being hunted as well.

“Looks like we’re in the same boat.” I told her.

“Whoever wants you dead, is nowhere near as bad as the Talons.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” She seemed intrigued.

“Try me” I put a smug look on my face.

“Ever heard of The Enclave?”

“Not that I can recall.” Wow, that was unexpected.

“Sweet horn-fucking celestia! What rock have you been living under? They’re the reason it’s never sunny. It’s because The Enclave closed the sky over 200 years ago!”

“Oh, is that what they’re called? I guess you could say I’ve been living in isolation for most of my life. Well, all of it really.” What does she mean ‘living in isolation.’?

“Anyways, they’re the biggest military power in the wasteland. They’re basically the government of the clouds where the pegasi are forced to live. They really don’t like it when pegasi escape. Any pegasus who has an opposing idea to the Enclave is branded a Dashite and executed.”

“And you two left because….”

“To put a long story short, we were lucky enough to escape before we were branded, and are now being hunted by the Enclave like dogs. It’s like hide and seek, except when we’re found, we die.”

“Shit. I guess we are in the same boat, huh?” She levitated a strange looking glass bottle labelled Sparkle Cola, popped the cap off, and took a hearty swig. Just then, an idea creeped its way into my head.

“Hey, here’s a crazy idea.” I said, gaining Arpeggio’s attention.

“I like crazy ideas. That’s why I get myself into trouble all the time.”

“How about you travel with us?” She nearly choked on her cola.

“T-travel? With you and your b-brother?” She stammered nervously.

“You heard that correctly. With my brother and I.” Arpeggio rubbed the back of her head with a hoof, stunned at the offer. “Something wrong with that?”

“No, it’s just; I’ve lived alone for so long. I don’t exactly have many friends.” There was obviously something else, but I ignored it for the time being.

“Well, you’ve made two of them today, so you’re on a roll so far.” Her cheeks became flushed. I could tell something was up, but I was just focusing on getting her on board. I could ask her everything else later. “So, how about it? You want to come along?”

“Well, seeing as how the Talon’s know where I am now, it looks like I have no choice.”

“Great! Welcome aboard! You can take that 45-70 as a welcoming present.” Arpeggio smiled brightly. That had to be the most adorable smile I’ve ever seen.

“Wait, what?” Strat asked. “This gun’s probably worth several thousand caps. Why not sell it?” While this was a good idea, it had one major flaw.

“Because earth ponies and pegasi can’t fire it. Using a lever action with hooves is near impossible, and the recoil of these enormous rounds would rip your jaw in half. Even firing it from a battle-saddle would knock you on your ass. No, this weapon was made for digits, or magic.”

“Well hell, that sucks.” I offered the weapon to our new companion, and she took it thankfully. “Still, what’re we gonna do about that debt?” He asked, bringing up a good point. Shit. I hadn’t thought of that. Even from all the looting, we were still 210 caps shy of the debt. Selling all the scrap weapons, we might be able to shrink that number down to 130, but that was still 130 more than we had.

“You two are in debt?” Arpeggio chimed in.

“Yeah, to some crazy doctor. He healed me after a firefight when we first got into town.” Arpeggio’s face formed a mischievous smile.

“Dr. Styptic. How much do you owe?” Her grin was almost ominous.

“Um, 300 caps.” Strat said nervously.

“Well, as my first contribution to the group, I’ll cover the medical bill. Come on, let’s pay the good doctor a visit.” She started towards the door with a ladylike stride. Strat and I followed her, looking at each other in confusion. I found it unlikely that someone who lives in isolation happens to have a spare 300 caps. Exiting the double doors, It was bright outside. My PipBuck showed that it was a quarter till 2. Glancing to the left, I noticed a large mass in the alleyway between the pub and the adjacent building. With further inspection, I realized that it was the bouncer that had guarded the entrance of the pub during the competition. He lied dead on his side, throat cut deep. There was no evidence of a struggle. If the Talons were responsible for this, I count myself extremely lucky that I caught them by surprise. They were obviously more dangerous than I gave them credit for.

Approaching the door of the clinic, Arpeggio’s confidence seemed unwavered. What was her plan? She might have looked wealthy, but she really was just another wastelander. She opened the door magically, and we stepped inside. Instantly, I saw the doctor’s daughter who looked almost happy when she saw Arpeggio. That happiness faded when she noticed my brother and I behind her.

“Arpeggio?” She asked with a mixture of cheer and confusion.

“Splint!” Arpeggio responded excitedly. The two mares embraced each other happily. “It’s so good to see you again! It’s been way too long!” They both giggled. Wait, they know each other? I thought Arpeggio didn’t have friends. I was very confused.

“It’s great to see you too. What’re you doing with-” Splint gestured towards us and mouthed the word ‘them’. Arpeggio looked back and gave an ‘I got this’ smile.

“I’ll explain later. Is your dad around?” She scanned the room.

“Hang on. DAD! WE HAVE COMPANY!” She yelled, her voice booming through the little building. Doctor Styptic entered through a door in the back of the clinic, looking very tired, but his face lit up as he spotted Arpeggio.

“Arpeggio!” He said ecstatically, trotting forward and rustling her hair. “What a wonderful surprise! What brings you through here? Are you hurt?” He sounded very fatherly, almost reminiscent of our own.

“No, no.” Arpeggio replied, politely escaping his grasp. “I’m here for something else.” She nodded her head to where my brother and I were silently waiting.

“Oh, it’s you two again. What’re you doing wandering around with them? No offense.”

“None taken,” Strat and I said in unison.

“You see,” She continued. “I was here for the annual musicians competition, like always, when it was cut short after I was almost killed by two talons.” She said it almost matter-of-factly. The doctor’s eyes looked as if they would pop out of their sockets and roll away.

“Talons!? What did you do this time?” He seemed genuinely concerned about her.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out with the help of these two.” She once again nodded to us. The doctor glared at us confused.

“What do they have to do with this?” He placed a hoof on her shoulder.

“Well, Epiphone here is the one who stopped them. He saved my life, Styptic.” Splint was the shocked on this time.

“You were saved by this Enclave!?”

She’s still harking on about this? Celestia, she sounds like a broken record.

“For the last time, we’re not enclave. We’re Dashites!” She paid us no mind.

“Yeah,” Arpeggio continued. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.” Splint looked down, seemingly embarrassed. “Now, it’s come to my attention that you’re trying to scam them blind.” The doctor’s face went through multiple shades of red, and began looking around.

I knew 300 caps was an outrageous price for such a simple procedure.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” He asked, attempting to play it off. Arpeggio looked doubtfully at him. The doctor was visibly sweating. I was loving this.

“Really Styptic, 300 caps for a bullet extraction and blood infusion?”

“That’s reasonable!” He was acting defensively now.

“Is that so? Because I happen to know a certain NER ranger who didn’t pay half that for the exact same procedure.” Arpeggio had him cornered.

“Well, I-” He searched for the right words to bullshit his way out of this, but Arpeggio cut him off.

“Tell you what, we’re friends. Lower the price to 60 caps and call it a favor.” Everyone in the room was dumbfounded. Who knew such a loner was this good at bartering? She levitated a pouch from her bag, counted 60 caps, and placed them in front of Doctor Styptic, returning the pouch to her bag proudly.

“Anything else?” He asked dreadfully. I pondered the offer.

“We could use medical supplies.” I spoke up after an eternity of silence. He seemed hesitant, but after some bartering, I bought three healing potions, and some magical bandages at a reasonable price. Splint approached with hesitation.

“I suppose I should thank you for saving my best friend’s life.” Her gaze remained on the floor. She was very short compared to me, forcing me to look down to speak to her.

“It’s not necessary. Anypony could have done it. It just happened to be me.” She still kept her eyes locked to the tiled floor.

“You’re wrong. It may be different where you come from, but down here, nopony does anything for anypony. They would’ve let her die, but you didn’t. Thank you.” I couldn’t believe it. How could anypony be that selfish? “I guess not all enclave are so bad.”

“Lemme tell you a story. Ever wonder why we became dashites?” She nodded. “Well, far into the clouds lives the huge society of pegasus. We have food to eat, places to sleep, and a military to defend us, so why, you may ask, would anypony want to leave? Well, I’ll tell you why. When stratocaster and I were little, we lived with our dad, who raised us since our mom left. We loved dad so much. He was our world. I remember we used to fight over who loved dad more.” She giggled at that. Arpeggio stood a few feet away. I didn’t mind, she needed to hear this too. “We never got to see him much, though, since he was in the military. He always brought back cool things from the surface, though. Once, he brought back an old pair of binoculars. We used the hell out of those things to see the surface through holes in the cloud cover. One day, we were using them with him to see the ground, when we saw the most amazing thing. It was a convoy of carts filled with ponies all playing instruments. There were guitarists, and trumpets, and even banjos. We were too far to hear, but we could imagine it all. It was a perfect day. Or at least it would’ve been. A patrolling guard saw what we were doing, and reported it. Our dad was taken right from our house. With no other relatives, Strat and I were put through the enclave training school, and when we were old enough, we dropped out and began planning our escape. Our family was destroyed by the enclave, and we hate them for it.” I had her full attention now. She looked absolutely appalled at what she heard.

“I-I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She no longer resented me, I could see it.

“Don’t be. Just remember one thing. A dashite always has a reason.” I Trotted to my brother who was focused on his PipBuck. “Hey, bud.” I said, taking a seat next to him.

“Epiphone, you have to see this.” He ejected a tape from his Pipbuck, and passed it to me. It was unmarked which made me nervous. I opened my Pipbuck’s tapedeck and popped it in. A new file was placed in my Pipbuck which I found and opened after a bit of searching. It was named simply as ‘Briefing’ and contained a physical description of Arpeggio as well as the time and location of the competition we just left. The file also contained a set of coordinates that, after finding them on my map, pointed to a location 10 miles east of Neighburg.

“Strat, what is this?” I asked him, feeling chilled. I had a vague idea.

“I found it on one of the Talons. It’s a contract for an assassination.” That’s what I was afraid of. We weren’t going to find any answers here.

“We should get a move-on. Two Talons are dead, won’t be long before they send someone to find ‘em.”

“But where will we go? There’s a price on our heads now. Everywhere we go, we have meal-ticket written all over us.” He sounded as if he’d given up.

“Well, we’ve got one lead. I bet the key to getting this bounty off our backs lies at these coordinates.” I held up my forehoof to show him the map. “Right here, see?”

“We’re actually going there? You don’t even know what’s over there!”

“Well there’s only one way to find out.” I donned my saddlebags, and headed for the door. Both Stratocaster and Arpeggio followed. Arpeggio opened the door magically, and I thanked Dr. Styptic before stepping through. The sun had rose a bit since we entered the building. I started in the direction of the general store. I still had some loot to sell from the raiders and the talons. I sold the two shitty pistols from the raiders and a decent, but under-powered pistol I found on the talon’s body for a combined total of 75 caps. It was a little less than what I had hoped for, but better than nothing. With all the caps Arpeggio had saved me, I bought a box of 12-gauge shells, a box of .308, some 45-70 rounds (Which unsurprisingly, were quite expensive), and a shotgun barrel that didn’t have more grooves worn into it than Sapphire Shore’s music.

After restocking our munitions, we picked up our instruments from the bar, and began planning our next steps.

“So” I spoke first. “We can't stick around here long. The talons are bound to come looking for their boys, and it's only a matter of time before they put the pieces together.”

“Right” stratocaster replied, “and it won't be long before the enclave track us down either, so we need to get where we’re going fast.” My mind began racing to figure out how to do that.

“Guys? I don't know if you've noticed, but I can't fly, so unless you feel like carrying me for 10 miles, it's gonna be about a three hour walk.” Said arpeggio who had been sitting quietly with a short tumbler of whiskey.

Seeing as how I could barely keep airborne while laden with my brother, flying 10 miles with a non-Pegasus would be impossible. Just then, an idea came to mind.

“Guys, I've got it. Follow me.” I started out the door of the bar, strat and arpeggio following behind confused. We walked a couple of blocks till we reached the abandoned bus. “Here’s our ride.” I watched their facial expressions change from confusion to disgust and back to confusion.

“You mean, we’re going…. In that?” Arpeggio said shuddering. Granted, it still had pock-marks and blood stains everywhere.

“Hate to break it to you bro, but that thing is FUBAR.” Strat chimed in.

“Ah, see that's where you're wrong. You're forgetting, who spent an entire year in the Enclave basic training engineering program?” I said proudly.

“You did what now?” Arpeggio asked. “I thought you weren't associated with them?”

“We’re not. You see, it was a punishment for pissing off an officer. It was either that or prison, and a 14 year-old colt wouldn't last long there, so I chose the former over the latter.”

“Harsh.” Her gaze returned to the hunk of beautiful junk before her.

“Anyways, I bet I could get this puppy airborne before dark.” I checked the time, which read about a quarter past 1:00. ‘Plenty of time’ I thought to myself.

Level up! New perk: Intense Training. +1 Perception.