Fallout Equestria: Sundown

Chapter 1: Introductions!

Hello! Since you’re going to be tagging along with my mind, I’ll give you a tip. The funny sideways

scribbles are what I’m thinking, (Usually) and the normal boring scribbles are the usual stuff!

Awesome. Not a bad beginning, if I do say so… myself. Right. This is going to take some getting used to,

even for me.

Right then! Onwards to the story and everything, since that’s what books are for… At least I hope so.

Now, if you’re listening to this without some kind of Audio thinga-ma-what’s-it, then this will probably

sound like a whole bunch of squeaky nonsense! That’s because I’m a Batpony.

OOooooOOoooo, Batpony.

Yeah. Not hiding in a cave somewhere, being secluded and sleeping with my 4th cousin. Hurray for

Genetics and radiation in the wastelands, right?

Now you’re probably thinking, “Hey Sundown, I thought that couldn’t happen because only Batponies

make Batponies. That’s their whole issue, right?”

And to you I would say, “Sure! Why not! But then I wouldn’t have a story of me being a Batpony, now

would I? That would be really boring, because then I’d just be some other regular wasteland trotter that

goes around killing raiders and saving the day, like every other pony out there.”

And then you’d say a thing, and I’d say a thing, then I’d realize we’re having a conversation inside of my

head when you’re not actually here, and then I’d just get worried about if I’m supposed to be shy and

awkward around you.

Nopony wants a story like that! Unless they do, which in that case, that isn’t this story!

This is a story about a regular freak of accidental familial genetics and mutation from radiation and other

words with more than a few syllables. So, as my uncle would say, “Start from the beginning, and when

you come to the end, stop!”

We begin my story of being a Batpony… In a cave! Yeah, Cliché I know but at least most of us know what

a cave is like. Except this cave was super fancy! In that it wasn’t all that fancy, but it was my cave, and I

felt it was. Nyeh. That’s me sticking my tongue out at you, since you can’t see my expression through an

audio tape, or a book, or whatever this thing is now.

Anyway! This cave was pretty dry, (as far as caves go) and had a slightly used mattress (Blood stained,

springs poking out of the fabric, and I assure you that is definitely not my urine stain. Honestly.) A

completely intact end table with four whole legs and a little drawer. (‘Intact’ is relative. I used a lamp as

a leg repair for the thing, after using it to bash a raider’s head in. I’ll explain later.) The floor was pretty

much a bunch of rock, with some cloth strewn about to resemble a carpet. Rock gets boring to walk on

after a while.

The best part of this whole ‘Fancy cave’ deal was that it wasn’t even my cave! I was sort of borrowing it

for the night while the real owner decided his blood and brains were desperately needed as wall

decoration over in the corner, on an equally decorated sofa he had somehow managed to drag in here.

I’m sure he’ll be fine, I gave him a healing potion to hold on to at least. Besides, cave acoustics don’t

really work when you can hear a bobby pin drop at two hundred and fifty feet in a rainstorm.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Uhg. This place is about a four on the scale of ‘Not really dangerous, but really annoying anyway’ scale of

bad places to sleep for the day. At least I don’t have to worry about more than the usual since the sky felt

like vomiting its humid love all over the ground for a few hours. I could just find something to use as

earplugs, but then I wouldn’t be able to hear that raider stumbling around outside of the cave entrance.

Wait, what?

Realizing that it probably wasn’t a good idea to lay on the mattress in the middle of the cave in broad

(Cloud covered) daylight, I decided to slink to the side of the walls where there was noticeably less

daylight trying to get me killed with its whole ‘Spotlight the Batpony’ business it seems so fond of.

“Well, awesome. Mr. Raider hasn’t seen me in the cave yet, so I should be good.” I had whispered to

myself, sneaking further along the wall to creep up on the oblivious raider looking at Decorum over in

the corner. I think he was trying to take the healing potion from the late Interior Decorator.

“Huh? Who’s that squeakin’?!” the art critic bellowed at the top of his insane lungs. Or at least he

would have if he was actually yelling. I suppose to any normal wasteland pony it would sound normal

speaking volume, but my ears were just that blessed by Luna, Goddess of listening to mice fart. Also the

night, which I’m actually quite enamored.

Please don’t eat me, Moon Goddess.

At this point, I had begun my attempts to fuse myself into the wall to get away from the very loud and

angry person that was in the cave entry way. I figured he was a raider from the fact that his armor was a

hodge-podge of metal, spikes, skulls and entrails that would make a butcher blush. That, and his pinprick

sized pupils looked like he'd had one too many hits of Dash to go with his Stampede. Speaking of

Stampede, that's immediately what he did the second he spotted me being a spaz on the wall.

"HEY! YOU GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW. I'M GONNA GET ME A MUTANT TROPHY FOR MY

COLLECTION WITH YOU!" He in fact did scream at the top of his insane lungs. At this point, a battleship

performing its own rendition of the 1812 Overture would've been more graceful to my ears at this

distance, and I hurriedly flapped my leathery bat wings up and away from the loud raider to the back of

the cave, where I and my dark grey coat would blend in better.

Oh yeah that’s right! You have no idea what I look like. Should've probably said that sooner. I have a

dark grey coat of fur for my body, similarly dark grey and black wings, and dark grey hair with a stripe of

deep orange going down the middle. I tend to leave my messy hair off to one side to be easier to deal

with. My eyes, like my namesake, have the same coloration as the setting sun. Or so I'm told that’s the

color of the setting sun. I've never been able to confirm that, what with all the clouds being ever present

in the wasteland.

Anyway, back to me being chased by a very loud and bloodthirsty raider!

Since he was being so obnoxiously loud and painful to my eardrums, I decided to return the favor and

sing the song of my people. It's called a Sonic Screech, and has a tendency to liquefy organs from the

soundwaves playing havoc with cell membranes. Or something. That’s how sonic stuff works, right?

What do you mean I should know this? Just because I'm a bat doesn’t make me a bat expert! Are you a...

'You' expert? Thought not!

Right. Now that we've got that sorted out, my screech pretty much consists of me putting on my war

face and giving my best "AAAAAAHHHH!" in the general direction of whatever scares me. Yes I brush my

fangs, don't even ask.

Thankfully, this raider was within screaming distance from me frantically flying away from him, and he

caught a whole face full of my singing talent. Dropping to the floor and screaming even louder than he

was yelling, I decided that he needed the bed in the cave more than I did, took my potion and my things,

and made a hasty withdrawal for quieter pastures.

Unfortunately for me, raiders don’t usually travel alone, and I flew outside to be greeted by a whole

bunch of rusted barrels of death (More from the tetanus than the bullet, I’d think.) and equally

degraded raiders with more drugs in their system than a pharmacist can shake a Pestle at. Yes I use

metaphors a lot for describing things. It’s easier and somepony might actually learn something if they do

some research trying to figure out what my metaphors reference in the first place. Besides, it lets you

use your imagination!

"Get that mutant Pegasus and break its fancy wings!"

"Shoulda stayed up in the clouds, chicken!"

"I’m gonna fry you alive, bird!"

Oh, well. With that completely reasonable and sound argument I should throw down my arms and

submit to your fine hospitality, yes?

Nope!

At that point I banked right and followed the terrain down from the cave's entrance, doing my best to

dodge stray fire from the makeshift weaponry the raiders had gotten their hooves on. I gave them a

good few earfuls of my opinion and managed to escape with a few scrapes from going too close to the

rocks, and more than a few grazes from bullets zipping past.

About an hour after the raiders had gotten tired and given up their chase, I noticed that the sun had

finally gone down and I could begin my day. Yes I work at night. I like to switch the places of what things

are called. When I’m awake, it’s Day, when I’m asleep, its night. Even if when I’m awake is Night, and

when I’m asleep it's Day. Hey, it works for me and I don’t really expect anypony else to follow my

schedule.

So! Let’s get down to what I usually wear, since I totally forgot to even describe myself to you. Oh and

yeah, I'm a Mare, just to be completely blunt and straightforward so there’s no confusion. My clothing

usually consists of a leather tunic that I’ve painted black so I can blend in better, and a head covering for

the same purpose. I use some goggles to try and hide my eyes for when I’m in town, and my wings can

be hidden in the tunic so I don’t get attacked for being a "Pegasus" even though I doubt anypony even

knows what a Batpony is anymore. More often than not I get mistaken for a Mutant or a Pegasus

anyway, and it’s not like I can explain my position when all they hear is frequent squeaks coming from

me with funny expressions. I don’t talk to ponies much for this reason.

"Hey, You there!"

Oh crap, I've been caught thinking!

Looking up, I notice what looks like a Caravan wandering past with a very upset and roughed up guard

leveling a shotgun at my face. How did I not even notice him sneaking up on me? I must've been really

zoned out from those raiders or-

"Are you listening?"

Eep!

"Squeak?" Yes?

"Oh great." the guard groaned through the mouthpiece holding his shotgun. He shot a glance at me

promising all kinds of pain if I did so much as squeak again, and looked towards what I assume was his

employer.

"Who's the Mare?" The caravan boss called to his guard.

"Won’t say! Only squeaked at me. I think she's scared, boss!" He chuckled, and had me stand up and

shoved me toward his leader.

"Scared eh? What do you got to be scared about, little missy? Big bad wasteland got you down?"

Looking quickly to my sides, I noticed more Caravan guards that were quickly looking like not caravan

guards and more like Slavers.

"Well come on, mare. Lemme hear that voice of yours." the guard with a voice as soothing as a unicorn

scraping their horn on a chalkboard.

"Squeak, Squi skree ski skriiskurr squiike." Hi. I'd like a Mocha Latte.

"What the hell kinda voice is that? You get mutated or somethin'?"

"Ssk Skqu." Oh Yes.

Whether or not he'd ever understand a word I said wasn’t even a concern. I already figured out a long

time ago that nopony could understand me, so I smart arsed my way through almost every social

interaction just to amuse myself and calm my nerves from the fact that I’d been caught by slavers who

probably wanted to do more to me than have a somewhat pleasant conversation. I understood what he

was saying just fine, and I can speak just fine as well. There’s just the whole issue of my vocal range

being so high that I can find people in the dark with it. Does make it pretty fun to play hide and seek

though.

"Well that’s just great, boss. We got us a mute. How's one of those Fillydelphia bosses gonna order

around a slave what can’t speak? Won't know if she's being disrespectful or not, and I definitely don’t

want to hear that thing squeaking the whole way back. I say we just leave her and deal with some

other ponies." the slaver guard actually reasoned to his leader.

"Yeah we could, but wouldn’t it be fun to use her as a squeaky toy? Think of all the stress relief we

could do with her!" the Boss less reasonably suggested.

"Yeah but boss, wouldn’t that get annoying real fast? She can’t even scream I bet, let alone beg us to

stop. She’s already hurting my ears just standing here looking at us... Hey! Stop looking at us like

that!" The guard threatened by waving his shotgun around in my face.

I responded by looking at the "Boss" and setting off a storm of squeaks, pretty much agreeing with the

guard's points and recommending they get a raise, but they probably only heard a litany of squeaks that

sounded like an orgy of rats in heat.

"AUGH BY THE GODDESSES, FINE!" The boss said while falling to the ground and covering his ears with

his hooves, telling the guard to get the caravan moving while I continued my well-reasoned plans for

decorating my dream home should I ever find a freestanding structure with a reasonable mortgage rate

in a relatively raider-less neighborhood.

"Get out of here, freak!" the distraught guard menaced, I assume to save his hard bought shotgun shells

more than anything.

Happily obliging them, I galloped in the opposite direction of my unknown slaver 'friends' before coming

to a slow trot while making a mental note to be more observant in the future.

Right as I stepped on a skeleton.

Loudly.

Ow. My poor ears.