Project Overlordby AcheronChaptersChapter 1 - Homeward BoundChapter 2 - The JunctionChapter 3 - How RivetingChapter 1 - Homeward BoundWhere should I start? From the beginning? Or should I start where it got really bad the first time? I doubt there was ever a time that I really stopped to think about everything, yet, here I am, laying on the ground and bleeding out. Not how I wanted to go, honestly. I would have rather died in my sleep than lost my life to some pesky fatal wounds. Oh, right. My journal. I guess since you're reading this, I must be some bleached skeleton out in the Bonelands. That's what everypony called the San Palomino desert, well, after the bombs fell. I wasn't alive then, but my parents, they said they came from a Stable, though they never wanted to talk about it. They told me of the bright flashes, whole towns vaporized in an instant, while other structures refused to fall. My right side is completely numb. I don't have long, I guess. “He's over here!” “Come on, Doc! Ya gotta patch him up!” Voices. I recognized them. Some poor bastards new to the Bonelands, I suppose. I can't move my body, so I'm just thinking my journal. Somepony's gotta have a healing potion or- “Come on! Don't you die, ya stubborn bastard!” Sharp. Very sharp, and it was being poured into my throat. I could feel broken bones slowly snapping back into place; not the most pleasant of feelings, but I was certain that death was a lot worse. I looked back at my side where I had been shot. While it hadn't been entirely enough to kill me outright, those young bastards who saved me, I owed them. Bright light. A beam shining in my eyes. The doctor's making sure I can see. I guess he thinks I'm okay. Let's try and move. Alright, foreleg, show me what you got. Perfect. Other legs, you're being shown up by the foreleg! Ah, that's more like it. The sun stung my eyes as I opened them, the bright light not something I had been expecting to see. My mouth was dry, grains of sand coating it, and partially full of blood. I spat on the ground, the bloody mud flying into the face of the dead bastard lying on the ground. I got a good look at the two that had saved my life. A unicorn filly, probably not much more than a teenager, yet she wore that patchwork armor like a badge of honor. Her blue mane was cropped short, with white highlights, while her coat was a muted green, like the old pictures of the sea I once saw. She had a small pistol levitated in her magic, an old piece that brought a smile to my broken lips. The other was a colt, an earth pony like me. He was grey, and had no armor, but his Cutie Mark was the most perfect picture of a wrench I could ever envision. “I guess, I oughta thank the foals who saved my life, huh? Thanks, buckaroos. Now git,” I snarled, secretly cursing myself as I wanted to see what they really wanted, “'fore I get an inklin' to tan your hides.” The colt smiled, stepping forward as he extended his hoof. “What's your name, old timer?” He asked, letting his hoof stay up. “... Schooner. I used to sail boats a long while ago,” I replied, wishing I wasn't in the mess I was in. They seemed inquisitive, except for the colt, who had abandoned the conversation to strip the dead Raiders around me of their earthly possessions. With a tug and a twist, he strapped pieces of armor to his body, wrapping it up in the bloodied leathers of the former ponies who had borne them before. With a flick of his hoof, he pulled a hood over his head, smiling at me. He tossed a pistol to me, watching me fumble as I caught it in my teeth. “Well, 'Schooner,' I guess you'd better come along, then. We could use a good shot like you.” How did the story begin? How did the story end? Before I am even able to tell you of the real beginning, let me tell you a few things first, well, about boats. The Equestrian Wasteland, and by extension, the Bonelands, they had no real safe way to traverse the waterways that were chock full of balefire radiation. That was my specialty, though. Boats were a long-running tradition of my family, and when I stripped some of the former military vehicles in and around the remains of a city in the Bonelands, there was an alloy there that I had found to be very resistant to the ambient radiation absorbed by the water. With enough metal, I was able to line the bottom of my most prized possession, the Akatoria, the boat with which I almost died. Small watercraft had used to be fairly popular before the whole 'destruction of the entire world' thing, as I have been told. The Akatoria, a rebuilt rowboat with a ramshackle sail attached to the top, was my pride and joy, the very boat that allowed many of the more illustrious Wasteland Wanderers to find their way across the single river that ran through the dead center of the Bonelands, near a small settlement known only as King's Fall. The boats we used to make there were legendary. Most were not designed for what the Akatoria did. I lost her the same day I lost my tail, and my left foreleg. Damn the Enclave, they had no right! No right to take from me the one thing that made me happy! The Enclave were a miserable bunch of bastards that I ran into on occasion. Their patrols in the Bonelands were few and far between, but they were packing some serious heat. Scrapyard Junction was the only place they refused to go near, the one place I could call home. It was far from water, sure, but that never meant I couldn't sail ever again. “Schooner! Equestria to Schooner! I think he's gone ca-tatar- uh, catatara- Doc, what's the word?” “Catatonic, Grey. The word is catatonic. He's standing up, but he's not focusing.” Right, they were still there. “Sorry, I meant no offence. I'm more used to being by myself. Been that way fer ten years.” I sighed as I finished, letting them huddle together and talk. So, Doc was the medic, the one who pretty much saved my life, and Grey was the young colt. I had traveled with worse. In the Bonelands, you always traveled with who you could, 'cept in times when the pony, or griffon in question, tried to melt you with one of those fancy arcane blaster things. As I mused, something moved in the background. With a silent curse, I shoved my way past, lining up the shot with the pistol I had been tossed. KA-KRACK went the pistol, and whatever it was exploded in a shower of gore and blood. I tossed the pistol to the ground, the barrel slightly melted from whatever had been in the chamber. “Whatever it was, it's dead now,” I muttered as I turned back to the group. “You best be watchin', since there's all sorts of nasty things that will hurt ya in the Bonelands.” “Okay, then, Schooner! We'll be-” “Not so fast, Grey. You don't know the rules of the Bonelands, do ya?” I could feel the glare of Doc on my back as Grey stopped to listen. I sighed as Doc shook his head. “Here we go 'gain.” “You broke the first rule of the Bonelands, Grey. Do not stop to help anypony. You stop to help, you're more than likely falling into a trap. You also broke the second rule as well.” Grey rolled his eyes, staring me dead as his face went from a smile to a frown. “What was the second rule?” “Do not remove a medical pony from their town. I don't even want to know where you found Vital Mercy, but ya shouldn't have had him come out here!” The two young ponies glanced at each other, while Doc sighed. “You going on 'bout the magick spouts again, Schooner? You and your brother Cooper seem ta think that magick just sprouts from the ground, and we unicorn doctors tap into 'em somehow. Bunch'a crazy bootlicks, that be what ye are.” Doc turned, slipping away into the drifting sand, letting Grey, his filly friend, and my old, groaning self stay behind. “Don' mind him, he's still a bit salty 'round the edges.” I chuckled as I walked – well, limped would be the proper term. Three legs and all makes for a poor walking speed. Sniffing around in the sand, I smiled as I found what I was looking for. Grabbing the edge of a ratty old tarp with my teeth, I yanked up and backwards, tossing the offending plastic fabric into the arriving wind, smiling at what it was covering. “Misty, come over here! Schooner, what... what is this?” I smiled as I ran my stump over the name etched into the hull. Catamaran-esque protrusions pushed out from either side, a single sail folded up on top. With a grunt, I gripped the rope hanging off the side, hauling myself up. “This, young ones, is Project Homeward. For the less-learned out there, well... You'll see soon enough. Grey, hoist that mast up, wouldya?” Grey set about the task I set before him while I sat on the deck of the Homeward, smiling as the two youngsters were about to get the ride of their lives. “Once again, Schooner, what is this?” “This, my young friend...” I trailed off as I stared out into the distance, a smile crossing my face. Their questions faded into the background as my body rehearsed motions practiced over many weeks, tying down rigging, prepping my special wheel for control, and chuckling as Misty and Grey watched me intently. The Homeward. I could still remember the sand in my mane, the wind in my face, and the stinging of the hot sun in the Bonelands. Every single grain burned as the vessel began to move, the wind catching the sail as I hauled up the rigging, turning the Homeward around. Grey's eyes widened as a realization dawned on him. “It's a sand boat!” “Actually, you could call it a sand skiff. Took some old designs, mashed 'em together, and Project Homeward was born. Feel that sand flying through the air? Before the war that ended everything, you could see these speeding across the ocean, near the edge of land, of course, but...” I trailed off once more, thinking about the sea, the ocean, and a simple dream. Grey held Misty down as the skiff bounced, leaping off a small sand dune to land atop another one. With a hoot and a holler, I laughed as they cowered in fear, the Homeward responding to every single twitch of my hoof. Grey finally got the gumption to stand up and walk slowly over to me, his eyes watching every muscle twitch as I played the boat like a beautifully tuned instrument. “So, what can you tell me about the actual Bonelands? No pony in the Wasteland seems to want to talk about it!” I sighed, tying the reins of the boat to the wheel “Grey, no pony wants to talk about it because no pony wants to come here. Yer the first new ponies in ten years. Granted, that'll have every raider and merc hot on yer flanks, but you got off easy, findin' me.” I laughed again, watching the sand drift and churn, as if I was on the sea herself. “But why is that?” “The balefire radiation that surrounds this Celestia-forsaken desert! The entire edge is so hot, that if you don't find a way through that ain't bathed in radiation, you'll boil into nothing!” I laughed again, stopping when Grey continued his questions. “Why don't you go near the edge?” I let my hoof off the wheel, staring at him with everything I could muster. “That's a question you just don't ask. Everypony in the Bonelands has lost someone to the Rad Wastes. We don't go there because there's nothing on the other side. Just 'nother wasteland.” I grabbed the reins once more, watching Misty cower down more as Grey shrugged, returning to her side. I could not bring myself to blame them. Considering how they huddled together, I surmised that they had lost parents, most likely to the Rad Wastes themselves. Of course, at that point, I could never have been certain. Looking over at them again, I noticed they had fallen asleep, their snores barely an audible whisper above the rushing wind pulling the skiff faster and faster as I pulled the reins tighter. “I guess you envy them, don't ya, Schooner? Their ability ta sleep when the world's gone ta shit. Wish I could sleep like that.” I looked to my side, seeing the almost transparent form of my brother, Cooper, standing next to them. With a smile, I turned to him, chuckling as he looked at me, his face waving in and out with the sand on the wind. “I do, Cooper. Just like I miss me sailin'. Just like ya used ta miss your barrel-making. Just like we used ta miss each other when we'd be apart.” With that, the sand dissipated, my brother's outline disappearing as I turned to the Bonelands, watching as the shapes of other ponies galloped beside the Homeward, their ethereal sand-forms denoting every pony or zebra I had ever met, and watched die in front of my eyes. With a tear escaping my eye, I shook my head, dispelling the images as I tugged the rope one last time, bringing the distant shape of Scrapyard Junction into view, the gleaming chrome of the sand-blasted wall of old steel and heavy iron visible for a fair distance. “Don't forget where you come from, Schooner, and where those young ones come from.” The wind began to die down, the sails growing slack as the skiff stopped at the edge of an uncovered camp. There was the other part of the Bonelands. From time to time, 'settlers' from the major settlements would set out to find a new place to call home, or to attempt a foolhardy walk over the Rad Wastes. That camp was one of the many I had come across before, the skeletons a clear reminder of why the Bonelands were to be respected, and not seen as evil, or it would come for you. Tying the reins down, and loosing the sails off their moorings, I hopped down, making sure I dragged the line across the sails so they would not flutter off in any sudden winds. I stopped, however, when I saw the very nature of those tents. Anger boiled up inside as the symbol revealed itself, the very essence of the enemy I stared upon bringing the pain back to my stump leg. All five of the tents in the camp bore the accursed symbol of the Grand Pegasus Enclave, the government that had been defeated by the will of the Bonelands itself. There was one problem with the bodies that littered the ground. The corpses were Raiders, evidenced by their cobbled clothing, but they carried no weapons, had no tools. I stared up at the sky, watching for any shapes before I began to pull the tents down, covering up the dead ponies with sand, two questions repeating in my mind. Why had the Enclave returned, and who were they after? Author's Note UPDATE: Level Up! Schooner has earned the perk "Spirit Walker" Grey Hunter has earned the perk "Armorer" Note: Spirit Walker is a reference to how some people who can talk to spirits or departed souls, in some cultures, are called Spirit Walkers. There's a different name for it, but I can't remember. Anyways, first foray into Fallout Equestria, instead of doing A Red-Lined Stormcloud. I like being able to build my own story. As for timeline wise? This is well before the actual events of Fallout Equestria. Chapter 2 - The JunctionScrapyard Junction. Oh, how we of the Bonelands absolutely love and despise you all in the same breath. There was nothing you could do in that town and not have noticed. Everypony had eyes everywhere, not just for their own safety but for everypony else's as well. Though it had been a few years since I last laid eyes on that settlement, the reaction of the sentries was, shall we say, less than pleasant. “Sand Skiff sighted! Arming turrets!” There went my only option of talking. They were going to shred the Homeward, and me along- “Hold off, ya bleedin' idiots! That there be Schooner! He be back from his wanderin'!” I sighed, shifting slightly as I looked up at the stallion who had called off the sentries. His armor was quite dirty, caked blood in areas most likely from previous engagements, though his muscles were still strong, and he still had that determined jaw- well, I stopped there. Waving my hoof, I smiled as the Homeward slowed down, being drawn in by a pony team on the ground, a hook on the front dragging the skiff forwards. “Well met, Kipper. I see you're doing well.” Kipper, the young stallion, galloped up to me, nuzzling in close. I sighed, bringing my hoof around his shoulders. The guards stood by, staring around in case of any enemy attack. “Good ta see ya, Uncle. Valence has been askin' fer ya fer sort 'a month. Ya should'a come back sooner.” Kipper motioned to behind the other guards, pointing towards a row of graves. “I'm sorry, Kipper. Can't help it when I ain't here.” “It was one o' their bleedin' scoutin' parties. Ten years, aye? Ten, and they go an' come 'long back!” My blood boiled when my nephew mentioned, without saying anything, the ones who had taken my leg, and my boat, from me. The Enclave had been there, and they had tried once more to wipe out Scrapyard Junction. I was about to shout when a sound from behind brought me back to my passengers. “Ah, right. Kipper, these two be from the Wasteland-” “Wastelanders, here?! How be ya came here?!” I pulled Kipper away from them, tearing him off to the side for a little private chat. “They came from somewhere, Kipper. If'n it be a Stable, somewhere here in th' Bonelands, we'd have it made. Keep quiet and let me talk, 'kay?” Kipper nodded, acquiescing to my request as he stepped back, letting Grey and Misty stepped forward. Grey nodded his head at Kipper, who merely looked indignant as he stared off to the side. “All right, ya Bonelanders! These two be Grey Hunter, and- well, I don't think I got yer little filly's name, Grey.” “Missy Fall.” “Excuse me?” “M-my nam is Missy Fall.” Grey stepped between everypony there and her, glaring at the rest. “You've gone and upset her. Her name is Misty Falls. Anypony has a problem with her, you come to me, understand? 'Cause I will find out if somepony makes her cry. You don't want to make her cry.” I stepped back, taken somewhat by surprise by that side of Grey. While, yes, it was an improvement over his previous naivete, he had just painted a big fat target on his forehead. I mentally scratched down a tally for the rules of the Bonelands again. Rule of the Bonelands: If somepony sees what you have as valuable, you had better be able to protect it. I stepped in, putting my hoof on Grey's shoulder. “Look, we don't want ta stay out here after dark, Grey. Probably should find me old place and settle down for the night.” Walking away slowly, I let him and Misty catch up, staring out at the Junction. The settlement was one of the few that remained even with the constant barrage of sand and weather that was thrown at them. The static storms were probably the worst, massive bolts of lightning charged up in the sand storms that was released as soon as a small amount hit metal. I stared around until my eyes caught onto a small shop in the center, where a diminutive unicorn still cooked. “Merry, merry, who wants a cherry? How about- Schooner? By my blessed eyes, is that you? Come here for a kebab!” Grey looked like he wanted to vomit, while Misty appeared not to understand. I sighed, looking back at them. “Scrapyard Junction is built on top of a massive greenhouse. The solar dome built into it survived the nuclear explosions, but the radiation kicked the growth process of the plants into overdrive.” Another pony walked up, smiling as she sat down, taking a vegetable kebab from the shopkeeper. “Hello Miss Berrymay. Been a while, ain't it?” The mare in the shop smiled, placing another kebab in front of the other mare. “Hollyweather here kept on asking for you, Schooner, when you were coming back?” The mare at the counter looked up, her one good eye staring at me with its soft green colours. I had forgotten how beautiful Hollyweather was, and why I stayed away from her. Her smooth grey coat, the tail that made most stallions turn their heads- focus, Schooner! No thinking about the mares, you have more important things. “Berrymay, what's the word on our 'feathered friends?'” Almost all at once, everything went silent. Berrymay frowned, her horn lighting up as she levitated a shotgun out in front of me. Her expression told me everything. “Go away, Schooner.” “They killed a camp not four kilometers away.” “Schooner, you son of an ass-hat, I said-” “I meant 'have you seen any Enclave,' Berrymay. Don't think for a moment I have forgotten what they took from me while you stood by and smiled.” Grey had a pistol in his mouth, while Misty stood behind him, cowering in fear. I frowned, bringing out my own pistol, laying it on the table. Berrymay stared me down, though it would not do her any good. I had stared down Enclave soldiers and only lost an eye and a leg. “Schooner, we all know-” “They were there, Hollyweather. Innocent settlers were killed-” “'Innocent?' Those bastards were dead-on-hooves! Killers, murderers, they deserved-” “To be gunned down where they stood? For their corpses to be a camping area for an Enclave patrol? Tell me, Hollyweather, how is the good Colonel these day-” With that, Hollyweather launched herself at me, slamming me to the ground and kicking as much as she could at my barrel. A shout and I felt hooves dragging her and myself away separately. “Can ya at least keep it t'gether if'n before I toss ya in the jail, Schooner? Hollyweather never knew 'er hubby was Enclave, and Berrymay was at th' barrel o' one o' those arcane rifles the Enclave likes to spout about. You keep goin' like this, and I'll have ta put a bullet through ya to get the message through ta ya.” I clamped my mouth shut, staring straight ahead. I hated doing that to Hollyweather, but it was a sure-fire way to keep her away from me. I was the crazy old kook who hated everything to do with the Enclave, not some hero who would fight tooth and hoof for other ponies. Those kinds were only in stories and legends, not in the Bonelands. Kipper pointed me towards my home, sighing as he hoofed over the key. “Get yerself some shut-eye, ya hear, Schooner?” Looking away, I stepped away, leading Grey and Misty to a ramshackle building near the end of the platform we all stood on. Sighing, I slid the key into its slot, turning it until the lock clanked opened. With a hiss, the door slid open, leaving Grey and Misty to fawn over the technology that the Junction had been able to collect. The radio in the corner stood still, its silent visage a testament to the old tech that my fellow Bonelanders had scavenged. “Welcome to Casa de Schooner, lad and lass. O’er there is the bedroom, o’er here is where what ‘ittle food I gots is, and ‘ere is the sittin’ room. Since you both are fixin’ to probably be sleepin’ soon, yer best choice would be the bed in that there bedroom. I got some things ta take care of, but I’ll be quiet as a Bonescorp.” Bonescorps. Now there was something that was terrifying in its own personal beauty. A Bonescorp was an extremely mutated scorpion that had calcium collect in various portions of its body, giving it a sort of, well, a skeleton image all over. One tap o’ poison, and you would be lying on the ground, dead almost instantly. Metal armor was the best defense against them, seeing as their stinger was fittin’ only for stabbin’ through flesh. ‘Quiet as a Bonescorp,’ though, is the worst phrase a Bonelander can say. A Bonescorp was quieter ‘n a churchmouse, even clambering over metal shells and heavy vehicles. At least they were no Paraspewer, but those were just something ya did not talk about. Looking around my place, I realized that there were a few things missing. One, my old battle-saddle was missing, and it was usually strung above the doorway to the bedroom. The ammunition was nowhere to be found, and a lot of his food was missing. No honor among thieves, I reckoned. A soft knock at my front door brought my attention back to reality. Pressing a switch next to the door, I was surprised by a very quick kiss from Hollyweather, her one good eye smiling up at me as she entered the room. “It’s good to see you, Schooner, even if you keep bringing up that nasty Colonel,” Hollyweather whispered. I smiled, hugging her close as the door hissed shut. “It’s good ta see ya too, lass.” “So, those two kids. You say they’re from the Wasteland, on the other side of the Rad Wastes?” Damn. She had been paying attention. I nodded silently, shrugging as it all was the truth. The Wasteland. A funny place when you have lived in the Bonelands your entire life. Radio broadcasts occasionally make it through the radiation, but ‘cept in those rare circumstances, you would be ‘ard-pressed to get any signal. “Yeah. If’n they be tellin’ the truth, they be the first ones in ten years.” Hollyweather was flashing her eye at me, letting her short mane frame her face perfectly in the low light. Smiling, I nuzzled right up to her, making her sigh as she closed her eye. “Oh, celestial powers, I forgot how good that felt, Schooner.” Pulling away, I looked back, jerking my head towards the chess set on the small table in the sitting room. A couple of old cushions flanked that table, sweat and age showing clearly on the oft-patched fabric. “Up fer a game, lass?” =--------====|/0|====--------= The next morning was difficult, as Misty and Grey were not early risers like my old self. Berrymay was at her little shop, making something that smelled a sight better than the cushions Hollyweather and I had fallen asleep on. “Merry, merry, who wants a- oh, it’s you, Schooner. Kebab?” Anypony could say whatever they wanted, but Berrymay’s vegetable kebabs were the best thing to eat in the morning. Nopony knew how she did it, but her secret sauces were always amazing. It always helped that she was in charge o’ the subterranean greenhouse. “Make it a double, Berry. I’m fixin’ to get an earlier start ‘n normal.” Smiling, she tossed two onto a metal plate, sliding it in front of me. The smell was always amazing, but there was a vegetable I did not recognize immediately. Taking a quick bite, the taste was enough for me to let out a loud whoop. “Noticed the potato, eh, Schooner? First batch finished growing yesterday.” Being the old gruff of the town always made me feel slightly out of place, but it felt nice. Berry was almost the same age as I, her once blue coat faded to more o’ a sky blue. Her mane was greying in many areas, but you could tell she was a tough’n. “Yep. Nothin’ better than well-cooked tater. Ah, look who ‘cided to wake ‘emselves up!” Grey looked like he had barely slept a wink, and Misty was as fearful and timid as she was before. Berry placed two more plates out with a kebab each, the satisfying smells of each seeming to quell the irritation that Grey had on his face. I could’a sworn, with the look he was fixin’ ta give me, he could’a melted steel. Testing a bite, he seemed to find it palatable, and gobbled it down quickly. Misty seemed less timid, and slurped those veggies right off the skewer. “Hey, Schooner, you headin’ out later?” I could have felt Kipper’s gaze from across the Bonelands, if he was so inclined. It felt like he was trying to burn two holes through my spine, and kill me where I stood. “Yeah, Kipper. If’n ya don’t mind, I got a few things ta check out. Won’ need the Homeward fer a lot o’ it, so ya kin hang onto ‘er.” Kipper nodded, walking away as I finished eating my kebabs. Grey and Misty stood to the side, staring at me as I lay a few caps down on the counter. It was as if Grey was trying to read my mind, which would not make any sense to any of the ponies in Scrapyard Junction. “So, Grey, you’re planning on leaving soon?” His question brought me back out of my thoughts rather abruptly. “Yeah, Grey. Th’ Enclave was there, and them bodies t’werent’ more than a week’s worth of sand old. Th’ Enclave is coming back, and I’m fixin’ ta figure ou’ why.” A tapping on my side brought my attention to Hollyweather. I swear, that mare could out-sneak a Bonescorp, she was so quiet sometimes. “I’m coming along as well. I lost some friends in the last attack, and I want first strike against those bastards.” “Then ya should be gettin’ ready ta leave soon.” She nodded silently, before hoofing over a package to me. From its weight, I could only hazard a guess as to what it was. Tearing it open, I was pleased to find my battle-saddle inside, with the light rifle attached looking a lot cleaner than it had before. As I looked up to thank her, Hollyweather planted a light kiss on my cheek, smiling as she trotted away, her tail swaying to-and-fro- pay attention, Schooner. You have to focus! Turning to Grey and Misty, I cleared my throat, my plan already coming into motion in my head. “All right, Grey, Misty. King’s Fall is ‘bout the next place we want ta be checkin’ fer Enclave activity, if’n ya think ya kin handle what th’ Bonelands kin throw at yer young selves. Just remember, ‘quiet as a Bonescorp’ means watch ou’ fer them white scorpions, ‘less you fixin’ ta end up dead in th’ sand.” My point less-than-subtly made, I trotted over to the gate controls. My hoof hesitated, hovering over the button that would open the gate for us to leave. I could not tell ya what I was thinkin’, but I could tell ya that I was plumb scared. Bonescorps and Paraspewers are not to be trifled with, ‘specially the latter. Paraspewers are the unfortunate result of a cross-mutation mixing a parasprite and a radscorpion. If a Bonescorp is quiet as death, a Paraspewer is louder ‘n sin, and twice as ugly. They come in clouds, caustic and poisonous juices dripping from their mouths as they ‘spew’ corrosive juices at anything that moves. They scoop up the goo left behind, and out pops another one. Most Bonelanders do not have to worry about them, as they prefer to be near the Rad Wastes, but Paraspewers had a tendency to get out of hand and wipe out settlements. Unfortunately, most of the clean water was near the Rad Wastes. “Well, are we ready to go?” My thoughts returned to reality, Hollyweather, Grey Hunter, and Misty Falls standing behind me with concern growing on their faces, silly faces in the case of Misty. Sighing, I pushed that there button, opening that gate. I wish I had never seen what happened next. [[Author's Notes are currenty borked up]] UPDATE: Level Up! Grey Hunter has earned the perk 'Protector' Grey's resolve will get tested, and more will happen later, but for now, we're small potatoes in a big Wasteland. Also, potatoes are amazing, and when cooked properly, are the best thing since sliced bread. Chapter 3 - How RivetingIf I had known what had struck the entire settlement, I would have been able to warn them before they even were ‘attacked.’ Unfortunately, something hit the settlement. The only way I could have known for sure was that there was a plethora of guns pointed at myself, and my three pony crew. Hollyweather was backing up, holding Misty against her, while Grey stood beside me, holding a pistol in his mouth, ready to fire. “So, what now? We’ve got an entire settlement ready to gun us down. Why haven’t they-” I nudged Grey, shaking my head before motioning. “Look at their eyes. Glowin’ and all weird-like. It’s like if’n something took their minds from them.” As we backed up, we could hear movement behind us. Several Enclave soldiers had entered from the gate’s area, their characteristic black armor the last thing I wanted to see once more. Ducking down, I peered over the edge, trying to see if anypony there was recognizable. “Colonel Shadow, sir! The test has gone effectively, and the settlement has been rendered harmless. We can begin extraction of the greenhouse at any point in time.” The greenhouse? Those feathered bastards were going to take one of the few sources of food in the Bonelands? Not on my watch. However, Hollyweather held me down, pulling me backwards from the edge. Whispering, she kept glancing over to the Enclave soldiers, who were busy examining each ‘test subject,’ as they could be heard saying. “Look, Schooner, I know you have a beef with the Colonel, but we’ve got, what, a pistol and a badly-maintained battle-saddle? That’s suicide. We have to get out of here, and figure out what we’re going to do.” I could not argue with that point. When Hollyweather was right, she was right, and there was no arguin’ ‘bout it. I nodded, acknowledging her point. Grey sighed, sliding the pistol into a holster on his hoof. “All right, Holly, we be playin’ this yer way. Le’s get ou’ o’ ‘ere.” The fact that the Enclave had not noticed us moving away was a pure miracle, handed down by the celestial powers themselves. I had counted – to myself, of course – five Enclave soldiers, including the Colonel, and each was carrying one o’ them arcane blasters, the ones that could burn a hole straight through ya. What really set the scale was the transport that dropped from the sky, the Enclave symbol proudly emblazoned on the side. They loaded up every single member that was not us, from Kipper to Berrymay, and even little Valence. Each one of them responded to the orders they were given like, dare I say, drones, like machines. As we walked slowly away, I heard Misty start to cry. Her eyes flashed a sort of recognition, and it was the first time I noticed her flank. Somepony had burned away her Mark, replacing it with a crude lightning bolt and a ragged cloud. The mark looked less like a burn and more like a brand. Like the brand. Letting Misty and Hollyweather go further ahead, I pulled Grey back with me, and we walked. Silently, at first, but then the question would not let itself go, would not leave my head. “Grey, is Misty… a Dashite?” I could hear the clenching of Grey’s teeth as he struggled to contain himself. Whatever had happened really hit him hard. I sighed, walking further as he held his head down. His voice startled me, because it was low, serious, and somewhat intimidating. “Yeah, she is. Unfortunately, she was one of the lucky ones.” “Whaddya mean, ‘lucky ones?’” Apparently, that phrase was enough to poke Grey the wrong way, who looked up with pure anger in his eyes. “They experimented on her! Treated her like chattel, like a piece of garbage to be used and tossed away when no longer of use! She barely remembers from day-to-day, much less her own name. I have to remind her every morning of who she is. When the sight of the Enclave sets her off, she regresses, becoming more and more like a child. I can’t do anything about it, and I doubt she’ll survive much longer.” Pieces started clicking in my head. Grey was not just from the Wasteland, he was a runner, somepony who needed to get away lest they face the ‘almighty wrath’ of the Enclave. I felt for him, I really did. The Enclave loved their ‘experiments’ on those they considered ‘lesser’ ponies, and Hollyweather herself was no stranger to them, either. “Grey-” “They had no right! No right! They destroyed who she was, all for… this!” He motioned back to the settlement, where I nodded, gritting my teeth. The Enclave had really taken an entire settlement, without any violence, and I wanted to know how. =--------====|/0|====--------= Sometimes, the desert is a strange place, and the Bonelands was no exception to that rule. I reckoned we walked maybe three hours before Misty started screaming. Turning to her, I noticed a small amount of green goop slowly eating its way through her tail. My eyes widened, the rifle at the ready as I clamped my mouth on the trigger-bit. Grey already had his pistol out, wildly aiming around. Taking my mouth off of the bit for a second, I motioned to Grey, who was starting to freak out. “Grey, if you panic, you’ll get us all killed! That’s Paraspewer bile, and that sort o’ stuff’ll eat right through anythin’.” Grey looked at me in confusion, until I bit down on my trigger, hard. The bullet whizzing past, his eyes went wide as he heard a squelch, and the sickly sound of whatever sound was similar to glass being eroded by caustic juices. “That was a Paraspewer. They pop when ya shoot ‘em, so don’ kill ‘em close to yerself, o’erwise you get splashed!” Hollyweather was busy trying to cut Misty’s tail so it did not end up engulfing her flank as well, while Grey and I were trying to keep any Paraspewers at bay. Fortunately, though, there had only been three or four. Luck being with us that time, I was glad we had not encountered a swarm. With the way a swarm worked, they could reduce a standing pre-War structure to goopy rubble in less than thirty minutes, a sight I would rather not have ever witnessed, but it had happened all the same. Grey was panting, Misty being quieted and comforted by Hollyweather. Her tail was a poor sight, being so short after the Paraspewer bile ate it right down to the bone. We did eventually continue on, but Misty’s nerves were shot, and she desperately needed somewhere to lie down. The only nearby structure for miles was an old battery manufacturing plant, simply called the Sparkleworks, where Spark batteries had been mass produced. I hated the idea, having once been through there myself, but with little other choice, I had to tell them. I will be perfectly honest, they were less than pleased. =--------====|/0|====--------= “The only structure around is an old Spark Battery plant?! Nothing else?!” I knew they would hate the idea, but I did not expect Grey to be so… vocal ‘bout it. No pony who was worth their salt would have even suggested it, but it was the only area around where we could stop and rest somewhat. Misty needed bandages on her tail’s stump, and Hollyweather needed to address some issues that Misty seemed to be having. I was happy to hear Hollyweather pipe up, meanin’ that I did not have to worry ‘bout explaining it to Grey. “The Sparkleworks are the most defensible area around, Grey. That building has withstood almost everything that the Enclave has thrown at it, and the ponies inside are nothing if not tenacious.” As soon as she mentioned the ponies inside, I stiffened up. The group inside that building were not ponies I would normally associate with, and we had come to blows on previous occasions. Unfortunately, our situation demanded that we get somewhere with shelter soon. “That there’s th’ only buildin’ fer kilometers around, Grey. While I don’ get along with Rangers, they be the best bet we-” “Rangers, as in Steel Rangers?!” I sighed, looking at the makeshift red flag at the top of the building. The symbol upon it stood proudly, a grey gear with a bolt-action rifle superimposed over top. Turning back, I shook my head, trying to figure out the best way to describe the group we were about to interact with. “They call ‘emselves Rivet Rangers, Grey. Their Rivet Rifles ain’t somethin’ ta take lightly. Makeshift as they are, they kill jus’ as quickly as any ol’ rifle.” A shudder went through my body as I remembered the first time I came face-to-face with a Rivet Rifle. Rivet Rifles were built and maintained by the Rivet Rangers, makeshift weapons using principles of magnetism to overcome the propellant issues of other rifles. Designed to fire a sliver of metal not much bigger than a ten millimeter bullet, they were near silent, except for the charging of the EM Coils contained around the barrel of the weapon. As it stood, they were the only weapon in the Bonelands that allowed the Rangers to keep their base, running Enclave off regardless of how many attacked that Rangers base. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t the unsung ‘ero himself!” Catching myself before I flipped up my own weapon, I looked at the barrel of the weapon pointed at my head, the tell-tale crackle of the electrical coils indicating the weapon was charged. Turning ‘round, I saw five more Rangers aiming their weapons around, before one lowered his weapon, coming close to Misty. Grey growled, even though he seemed to know he would not get to her in time before their weapons would discharge, ripping him apart. “Captain Kite, sir! We’ve got a Bile victim here! She needs immediate medical attention.” The growl of their leader as he leaped down, his wings snapping shut as he lifted his talons to inspect the stump of tail that belonged to Misty Falls. “Aw, hell. Get her inside! An’ you, Schooner, we’ll talk.” =--------====|/0|====--------= Captain Ian Kite, now there was a soldier. Being the sole griffon in the Bonelands, he had no choice but to be tough, and terrifying. Scars ran up and down his black-plumed body, his left eye a milky orb from a small amount of Paraspewer Bile. His office was a mess, pre-war papers all over and slightly charred, with his desk and the two chairs we sat on the only furniture in the entire room. “Your brown and scarred self ain’t welcome ‘round here, Schooner, or did you forget?” I sat in his office, the main factory control overlooking the floor where his Rangers assembled new Rivet Rifles and makeshift armor – leather armor with metal strips, mostly designed to contain shells shot at them. Kite was right, though. Last time I had met with the Rangers, I had killed three of his people, and left him with a damaged foreleg. He learned afterwards that I was not to be crossed. Kicking the chair back, I turned to look down on the manufacturing floor. Spark batteries were plugged into their respective parts of Rivet Rifles, battle-saddles being refitted for the new weapons. “I know, Kite. You know I wouldn’t be here withou’ a good reason, aye?” A grumble from Kite’s direction told me I was right. “Then what’s your reason, Schooner?” “They did something to the Junction.” The air stood still for a second as Kite sucked in a breath, his talons clacking on the desk as he did his best to maintain his composure. While it was unofficial, Kite’s Rivet Rangers were the defacto protectors of the Junction, and if somethin had happened to them, I was sure as Boneland Plum Juice was sour that he was pissed. He stood up from his own chair, walking over to the window that looked over the factory floor. “Schooner, my Rangers have been at this for ten years. Fifteen if you count the times we were workin’ together. If somethin’ happened to the Junction, then we’ll be hit soon.” I followed him over to the window, shaking my head. “Somethin’ hit them, if’n ya can listen fer a sec. Like a… ray o’ some kind. They loaded ‘em into transports, takin’ ‘em out o’ there and signallin’ to take the greenhouse. Somethin’ wasn’t right with ‘em all.” Kite gritted his teeth, staring down at the ground before he stomped back to his desk, throwing his chair against the wall. “Ancestors damn it all! If they could just take the Junction, then we’ve got no chance here!” Approaching him, I sighed, looking at him with all the energy I could muster. “We ‘ave to get ta King’s Fall, Kite. I know ya got a skiff ‘ere somewhere, so if’n ya can, we need to-” A blast of energy echoed inside the building, a chunk of rock falling from the wall as Enclave soldiers began to file in, only to be shredded by twenty Rivet Rifles discharging all at once. “Then we have to go now, Schooner. No two ways ‘bout it.” “I know, Kite.” Grabbing a nearby radio receiver, he lifted it up to his mouth, tapping a button on the side. “All Rangers, scatter! They might test something on us that allowed them to take the Junction. Operation Nightlight is a go!” The name of what we undertook was something that made no sense to me. It was bright daylight outside, hot in the desert’s way of wantin’ to melt you to pieces. “Kite, what is Nightlight?!” “Destruction of the Sparkleworks! My Rangers’ll get your friends out of here, but I have to activate the countdown! We’ve got an unexploded balefire bomb underneath this compound, rigged up to an electrical activation system!” His words chilled me right to the bone. A balefire bomb was the reason the world had ended the way it did. While life had not changed much in the Bonelands, besides the bad mutated bugs and things that ya did not want to fight, ever, balefire bombs had tainted the land. “Where did ya get a bomb?!” “Old Zebra convoy that passed through before the bombs fell! It was transportin’ it somewhere, but we don’t know where. We took it and now we’re about to use it!” I could hear him quickly clacking over a keypad, rhythmic beeping telling me that I wanted to be outside that building as quickly as possible. Noticing a door at the back of the office, I jumped through it, coming face-to-face with a rather tall balcony. Rangers filed out as quickly as they could, uncovering skiffs that I would never have noticed without knowin’ what Ranger skiffs looked like. “How’re we gonna get down-oh sweet Celestia, this is a bad idea!” Kite had grabbed me in his talons, holding me close as he dove off, his wings spreading and catching what little updraft he could, floating down to the Rangers below. Hollyweather held Misty while Grey cradled a Rivet Rifle battle-saddle, the trigger bit softly gripped in his teeth as he watched the remaining Enclave soldiers slowly crawl forward, their black battle armor a point o’ contention for anyone who had ever crossed ‘em. Of course, they did not get that far, as Rivet Rifles discharged again, tearing them apart. Grey shifted uncomfortable, my eyes drifting down to the Rivet Ranger armor he wore. “Rangers to your skiffs! We leave-” “You leave when I tell you to leave, groundwalker scum.” The gravelly voice of Colonel Autumn Shadow echoed in the rubble outside the Sparkleworks, a black… something floating overhead and aiming what appeared to be some kind of dish at the Rangers. I barely had time to react before Grey fired off his own weapon, splitting the dish directly in half and sending it careening away. “Kite, we have ta get out o’ here!” Thankfully, the Rangers did not need to be told twice, loading up everyone they could onto sand skiffs. The rumble of large fan motors filled the area, making me question how safe their skiffs were, considering they used old rotor engines to propel them forward. Jumping onto Kite’s personal skiff, we rocketed forward, Grey, Hollyweather, and Misty on another Ranger skiff holding on for dear life. Considering how fast the skiffs were going, it was unlikely- “Hold on, this is gonna be rough!” With a shudder, the ground behind us began to give way, a rumbling and shining indicating the bomb had exploded. Sand turned to glass right behind every skiff, some skiffs exploding as the glassing reached them. Grey and Misty held each other tightly, Hollyweather staring at the explosion with fear in her eyes. A final shudder shook through the ground as the glass began to collapse, a massive underground structure revealing itself from underneath the desert. I could feel the skiffs slowing down as Kite stared at the same sight I was gazing at. “T-That’s an Equestrian military depot, not a Spark battery plant!” Almost as if it had been willed to, the flag that had once stood proudly above the building pierced the sand beside his skiff, scaring Kite half to death. I would have probably screamed if I had not been scared to see an entire buried military facility staring me in the face. “Kite?” “Yeah, Schooner?” “Somethin’ tells me this is a whole lot bigger ‘n just somepony wantin’ a greenhouse.” Author's Note Update: Level Up! Schooner has earned the Perk 'Desert Ranger' Misty Falls has earned the Perk 'Experimental' Hollyweather has earned the Perk 'Trauma Center'
Chapter 1 - Homeward BoundWhere should I start? From the beginning? Or should I start where it got really bad the first time? I doubt there was ever a time that I really stopped to think about everything, yet, here I am, laying on the ground and bleeding out. Not how I wanted to go, honestly. I would have rather died in my sleep than lost my life to some pesky fatal wounds. Oh, right. My journal. I guess since you're reading this, I must be some bleached skeleton out in the Bonelands. That's what everypony called the San Palomino desert, well, after the bombs fell. I wasn't alive then, but my parents, they said they came from a Stable, though they never wanted to talk about it. They told me of the bright flashes, whole towns vaporized in an instant, while other structures refused to fall. My right side is completely numb. I don't have long, I guess. “He's over here!” “Come on, Doc! Ya gotta patch him up!” Voices. I recognized them. Some poor bastards new to the Bonelands, I suppose. I can't move my body, so I'm just thinking my journal. Somepony's gotta have a healing potion or- “Come on! Don't you die, ya stubborn bastard!” Sharp. Very sharp, and it was being poured into my throat. I could feel broken bones slowly snapping back into place; not the most pleasant of feelings, but I was certain that death was a lot worse. I looked back at my side where I had been shot. While it hadn't been entirely enough to kill me outright, those young bastards who saved me, I owed them. Bright light. A beam shining in my eyes. The doctor's making sure I can see. I guess he thinks I'm okay. Let's try and move. Alright, foreleg, show me what you got. Perfect. Other legs, you're being shown up by the foreleg! Ah, that's more like it. The sun stung my eyes as I opened them, the bright light not something I had been expecting to see. My mouth was dry, grains of sand coating it, and partially full of blood. I spat on the ground, the bloody mud flying into the face of the dead bastard lying on the ground. I got a good look at the two that had saved my life. A unicorn filly, probably not much more than a teenager, yet she wore that patchwork armor like a badge of honor. Her blue mane was cropped short, with white highlights, while her coat was a muted green, like the old pictures of the sea I once saw. She had a small pistol levitated in her magic, an old piece that brought a smile to my broken lips. The other was a colt, an earth pony like me. He was grey, and had no armor, but his Cutie Mark was the most perfect picture of a wrench I could ever envision. “I guess, I oughta thank the foals who saved my life, huh? Thanks, buckaroos. Now git,” I snarled, secretly cursing myself as I wanted to see what they really wanted, “'fore I get an inklin' to tan your hides.” The colt smiled, stepping forward as he extended his hoof. “What's your name, old timer?” He asked, letting his hoof stay up. “... Schooner. I used to sail boats a long while ago,” I replied, wishing I wasn't in the mess I was in. They seemed inquisitive, except for the colt, who had abandoned the conversation to strip the dead Raiders around me of their earthly possessions. With a tug and a twist, he strapped pieces of armor to his body, wrapping it up in the bloodied leathers of the former ponies who had borne them before. With a flick of his hoof, he pulled a hood over his head, smiling at me. He tossed a pistol to me, watching me fumble as I caught it in my teeth. “Well, 'Schooner,' I guess you'd better come along, then. We could use a good shot like you.” How did the story begin? How did the story end? Before I am even able to tell you of the real beginning, let me tell you a few things first, well, about boats. The Equestrian Wasteland, and by extension, the Bonelands, they had no real safe way to traverse the waterways that were chock full of balefire radiation. That was my specialty, though. Boats were a long-running tradition of my family, and when I stripped some of the former military vehicles in and around the remains of a city in the Bonelands, there was an alloy there that I had found to be very resistant to the ambient radiation absorbed by the water. With enough metal, I was able to line the bottom of my most prized possession, the Akatoria, the boat with which I almost died. Small watercraft had used to be fairly popular before the whole 'destruction of the entire world' thing, as I have been told. The Akatoria, a rebuilt rowboat with a ramshackle sail attached to the top, was my pride and joy, the very boat that allowed many of the more illustrious Wasteland Wanderers to find their way across the single river that ran through the dead center of the Bonelands, near a small settlement known only as King's Fall. The boats we used to make there were legendary. Most were not designed for what the Akatoria did. I lost her the same day I lost my tail, and my left foreleg. Damn the Enclave, they had no right! No right to take from me the one thing that made me happy! The Enclave were a miserable bunch of bastards that I ran into on occasion. Their patrols in the Bonelands were few and far between, but they were packing some serious heat. Scrapyard Junction was the only place they refused to go near, the one place I could call home. It was far from water, sure, but that never meant I couldn't sail ever again. “Schooner! Equestria to Schooner! I think he's gone ca-tatar- uh, catatara- Doc, what's the word?” “Catatonic, Grey. The word is catatonic. He's standing up, but he's not focusing.” Right, they were still there. “Sorry, I meant no offence. I'm more used to being by myself. Been that way fer ten years.” I sighed as I finished, letting them huddle together and talk. So, Doc was the medic, the one who pretty much saved my life, and Grey was the young colt. I had traveled with worse. In the Bonelands, you always traveled with who you could, 'cept in times when the pony, or griffon in question, tried to melt you with one of those fancy arcane blaster things. As I mused, something moved in the background. With a silent curse, I shoved my way past, lining up the shot with the pistol I had been tossed. KA-KRACK went the pistol, and whatever it was exploded in a shower of gore and blood. I tossed the pistol to the ground, the barrel slightly melted from whatever had been in the chamber. “Whatever it was, it's dead now,” I muttered as I turned back to the group. “You best be watchin', since there's all sorts of nasty things that will hurt ya in the Bonelands.” “Okay, then, Schooner! We'll be-” “Not so fast, Grey. You don't know the rules of the Bonelands, do ya?” I could feel the glare of Doc on my back as Grey stopped to listen. I sighed as Doc shook his head. “Here we go 'gain.” “You broke the first rule of the Bonelands, Grey. Do not stop to help anypony. You stop to help, you're more than likely falling into a trap. You also broke the second rule as well.” Grey rolled his eyes, staring me dead as his face went from a smile to a frown. “What was the second rule?” “Do not remove a medical pony from their town. I don't even want to know where you found Vital Mercy, but ya shouldn't have had him come out here!” The two young ponies glanced at each other, while Doc sighed. “You going on 'bout the magick spouts again, Schooner? You and your brother Cooper seem ta think that magick just sprouts from the ground, and we unicorn doctors tap into 'em somehow. Bunch'a crazy bootlicks, that be what ye are.” Doc turned, slipping away into the drifting sand, letting Grey, his filly friend, and my old, groaning self stay behind. “Don' mind him, he's still a bit salty 'round the edges.” I chuckled as I walked – well, limped would be the proper term. Three legs and all makes for a poor walking speed. Sniffing around in the sand, I smiled as I found what I was looking for. Grabbing the edge of a ratty old tarp with my teeth, I yanked up and backwards, tossing the offending plastic fabric into the arriving wind, smiling at what it was covering. “Misty, come over here! Schooner, what... what is this?” I smiled as I ran my stump over the name etched into the hull. Catamaran-esque protrusions pushed out from either side, a single sail folded up on top. With a grunt, I gripped the rope hanging off the side, hauling myself up. “This, young ones, is Project Homeward. For the less-learned out there, well... You'll see soon enough. Grey, hoist that mast up, wouldya?” Grey set about the task I set before him while I sat on the deck of the Homeward, smiling as the two youngsters were about to get the ride of their lives. “Once again, Schooner, what is this?” “This, my young friend...” I trailed off as I stared out into the distance, a smile crossing my face. Their questions faded into the background as my body rehearsed motions practiced over many weeks, tying down rigging, prepping my special wheel for control, and chuckling as Misty and Grey watched me intently. The Homeward. I could still remember the sand in my mane, the wind in my face, and the stinging of the hot sun in the Bonelands. Every single grain burned as the vessel began to move, the wind catching the sail as I hauled up the rigging, turning the Homeward around. Grey's eyes widened as a realization dawned on him. “It's a sand boat!” “Actually, you could call it a sand skiff. Took some old designs, mashed 'em together, and Project Homeward was born. Feel that sand flying through the air? Before the war that ended everything, you could see these speeding across the ocean, near the edge of land, of course, but...” I trailed off once more, thinking about the sea, the ocean, and a simple dream. Grey held Misty down as the skiff bounced, leaping off a small sand dune to land atop another one. With a hoot and a holler, I laughed as they cowered in fear, the Homeward responding to every single twitch of my hoof. Grey finally got the gumption to stand up and walk slowly over to me, his eyes watching every muscle twitch as I played the boat like a beautifully tuned instrument. “So, what can you tell me about the actual Bonelands? No pony in the Wasteland seems to want to talk about it!” I sighed, tying the reins of the boat to the wheel “Grey, no pony wants to talk about it because no pony wants to come here. Yer the first new ponies in ten years. Granted, that'll have every raider and merc hot on yer flanks, but you got off easy, findin' me.” I laughed again, watching the sand drift and churn, as if I was on the sea herself. “But why is that?” “The balefire radiation that surrounds this Celestia-forsaken desert! The entire edge is so hot, that if you don't find a way through that ain't bathed in radiation, you'll boil into nothing!” I laughed again, stopping when Grey continued his questions. “Why don't you go near the edge?” I let my hoof off the wheel, staring at him with everything I could muster. “That's a question you just don't ask. Everypony in the Bonelands has lost someone to the Rad Wastes. We don't go there because there's nothing on the other side. Just 'nother wasteland.” I grabbed the reins once more, watching Misty cower down more as Grey shrugged, returning to her side. I could not bring myself to blame them. Considering how they huddled together, I surmised that they had lost parents, most likely to the Rad Wastes themselves. Of course, at that point, I could never have been certain. Looking over at them again, I noticed they had fallen asleep, their snores barely an audible whisper above the rushing wind pulling the skiff faster and faster as I pulled the reins tighter. “I guess you envy them, don't ya, Schooner? Their ability ta sleep when the world's gone ta shit. Wish I could sleep like that.” I looked to my side, seeing the almost transparent form of my brother, Cooper, standing next to them. With a smile, I turned to him, chuckling as he looked at me, his face waving in and out with the sand on the wind. “I do, Cooper. Just like I miss me sailin'. Just like ya used ta miss your barrel-making. Just like we used ta miss each other when we'd be apart.” With that, the sand dissipated, my brother's outline disappearing as I turned to the Bonelands, watching as the shapes of other ponies galloped beside the Homeward, their ethereal sand-forms denoting every pony or zebra I had ever met, and watched die in front of my eyes. With a tear escaping my eye, I shook my head, dispelling the images as I tugged the rope one last time, bringing the distant shape of Scrapyard Junction into view, the gleaming chrome of the sand-blasted wall of old steel and heavy iron visible for a fair distance. “Don't forget where you come from, Schooner, and where those young ones come from.” The wind began to die down, the sails growing slack as the skiff stopped at the edge of an uncovered camp. There was the other part of the Bonelands. From time to time, 'settlers' from the major settlements would set out to find a new place to call home, or to attempt a foolhardy walk over the Rad Wastes. That camp was one of the many I had come across before, the skeletons a clear reminder of why the Bonelands were to be respected, and not seen as evil, or it would come for you. Tying the reins down, and loosing the sails off their moorings, I hopped down, making sure I dragged the line across the sails so they would not flutter off in any sudden winds. I stopped, however, when I saw the very nature of those tents. Anger boiled up inside as the symbol revealed itself, the very essence of the enemy I stared upon bringing the pain back to my stump leg. All five of the tents in the camp bore the accursed symbol of the Grand Pegasus Enclave, the government that had been defeated by the will of the Bonelands itself. There was one problem with the bodies that littered the ground. The corpses were Raiders, evidenced by their cobbled clothing, but they carried no weapons, had no tools. I stared up at the sky, watching for any shapes before I began to pull the tents down, covering up the dead ponies with sand, two questions repeating in my mind. Why had the Enclave returned, and who were they after? Author's Note UPDATE: Level Up! Schooner has earned the perk "Spirit Walker" Grey Hunter has earned the perk "Armorer" Note: Spirit Walker is a reference to how some people who can talk to spirits or departed souls, in some cultures, are called Spirit Walkers. There's a different name for it, but I can't remember. Anyways, first foray into Fallout Equestria, instead of doing A Red-Lined Stormcloud. I like being able to build my own story. As for timeline wise? This is well before the actual events of Fallout Equestria.
Chapter 2 - The JunctionScrapyard Junction. Oh, how we of the Bonelands absolutely love and despise you all in the same breath. There was nothing you could do in that town and not have noticed. Everypony had eyes everywhere, not just for their own safety but for everypony else's as well. Though it had been a few years since I last laid eyes on that settlement, the reaction of the sentries was, shall we say, less than pleasant. “Sand Skiff sighted! Arming turrets!” There went my only option of talking. They were going to shred the Homeward, and me along- “Hold off, ya bleedin' idiots! That there be Schooner! He be back from his wanderin'!” I sighed, shifting slightly as I looked up at the stallion who had called off the sentries. His armor was quite dirty, caked blood in areas most likely from previous engagements, though his muscles were still strong, and he still had that determined jaw- well, I stopped there. Waving my hoof, I smiled as the Homeward slowed down, being drawn in by a pony team on the ground, a hook on the front dragging the skiff forwards. “Well met, Kipper. I see you're doing well.” Kipper, the young stallion, galloped up to me, nuzzling in close. I sighed, bringing my hoof around his shoulders. The guards stood by, staring around in case of any enemy attack. “Good ta see ya, Uncle. Valence has been askin' fer ya fer sort 'a month. Ya should'a come back sooner.” Kipper motioned to behind the other guards, pointing towards a row of graves. “I'm sorry, Kipper. Can't help it when I ain't here.” “It was one o' their bleedin' scoutin' parties. Ten years, aye? Ten, and they go an' come 'long back!” My blood boiled when my nephew mentioned, without saying anything, the ones who had taken my leg, and my boat, from me. The Enclave had been there, and they had tried once more to wipe out Scrapyard Junction. I was about to shout when a sound from behind brought me back to my passengers. “Ah, right. Kipper, these two be from the Wasteland-” “Wastelanders, here?! How be ya came here?!” I pulled Kipper away from them, tearing him off to the side for a little private chat. “They came from somewhere, Kipper. If'n it be a Stable, somewhere here in th' Bonelands, we'd have it made. Keep quiet and let me talk, 'kay?” Kipper nodded, acquiescing to my request as he stepped back, letting Grey and Misty stepped forward. Grey nodded his head at Kipper, who merely looked indignant as he stared off to the side. “All right, ya Bonelanders! These two be Grey Hunter, and- well, I don't think I got yer little filly's name, Grey.” “Missy Fall.” “Excuse me?” “M-my nam is Missy Fall.” Grey stepped between everypony there and her, glaring at the rest. “You've gone and upset her. Her name is Misty Falls. Anypony has a problem with her, you come to me, understand? 'Cause I will find out if somepony makes her cry. You don't want to make her cry.” I stepped back, taken somewhat by surprise by that side of Grey. While, yes, it was an improvement over his previous naivete, he had just painted a big fat target on his forehead. I mentally scratched down a tally for the rules of the Bonelands again. Rule of the Bonelands: If somepony sees what you have as valuable, you had better be able to protect it. I stepped in, putting my hoof on Grey's shoulder. “Look, we don't want ta stay out here after dark, Grey. Probably should find me old place and settle down for the night.” Walking away slowly, I let him and Misty catch up, staring out at the Junction. The settlement was one of the few that remained even with the constant barrage of sand and weather that was thrown at them. The static storms were probably the worst, massive bolts of lightning charged up in the sand storms that was released as soon as a small amount hit metal. I stared around until my eyes caught onto a small shop in the center, where a diminutive unicorn still cooked. “Merry, merry, who wants a cherry? How about- Schooner? By my blessed eyes, is that you? Come here for a kebab!” Grey looked like he wanted to vomit, while Misty appeared not to understand. I sighed, looking back at them. “Scrapyard Junction is built on top of a massive greenhouse. The solar dome built into it survived the nuclear explosions, but the radiation kicked the growth process of the plants into overdrive.” Another pony walked up, smiling as she sat down, taking a vegetable kebab from the shopkeeper. “Hello Miss Berrymay. Been a while, ain't it?” The mare in the shop smiled, placing another kebab in front of the other mare. “Hollyweather here kept on asking for you, Schooner, when you were coming back?” The mare at the counter looked up, her one good eye staring at me with its soft green colours. I had forgotten how beautiful Hollyweather was, and why I stayed away from her. Her smooth grey coat, the tail that made most stallions turn their heads- focus, Schooner! No thinking about the mares, you have more important things. “Berrymay, what's the word on our 'feathered friends?'” Almost all at once, everything went silent. Berrymay frowned, her horn lighting up as she levitated a shotgun out in front of me. Her expression told me everything. “Go away, Schooner.” “They killed a camp not four kilometers away.” “Schooner, you son of an ass-hat, I said-” “I meant 'have you seen any Enclave,' Berrymay. Don't think for a moment I have forgotten what they took from me while you stood by and smiled.” Grey had a pistol in his mouth, while Misty stood behind him, cowering in fear. I frowned, bringing out my own pistol, laying it on the table. Berrymay stared me down, though it would not do her any good. I had stared down Enclave soldiers and only lost an eye and a leg. “Schooner, we all know-” “They were there, Hollyweather. Innocent settlers were killed-” “'Innocent?' Those bastards were dead-on-hooves! Killers, murderers, they deserved-” “To be gunned down where they stood? For their corpses to be a camping area for an Enclave patrol? Tell me, Hollyweather, how is the good Colonel these day-” With that, Hollyweather launched herself at me, slamming me to the ground and kicking as much as she could at my barrel. A shout and I felt hooves dragging her and myself away separately. “Can ya at least keep it t'gether if'n before I toss ya in the jail, Schooner? Hollyweather never knew 'er hubby was Enclave, and Berrymay was at th' barrel o' one o' those arcane rifles the Enclave likes to spout about. You keep goin' like this, and I'll have ta put a bullet through ya to get the message through ta ya.” I clamped my mouth shut, staring straight ahead. I hated doing that to Hollyweather, but it was a sure-fire way to keep her away from me. I was the crazy old kook who hated everything to do with the Enclave, not some hero who would fight tooth and hoof for other ponies. Those kinds were only in stories and legends, not in the Bonelands. Kipper pointed me towards my home, sighing as he hoofed over the key. “Get yerself some shut-eye, ya hear, Schooner?” Looking away, I stepped away, leading Grey and Misty to a ramshackle building near the end of the platform we all stood on. Sighing, I slid the key into its slot, turning it until the lock clanked opened. With a hiss, the door slid open, leaving Grey and Misty to fawn over the technology that the Junction had been able to collect. The radio in the corner stood still, its silent visage a testament to the old tech that my fellow Bonelanders had scavenged. “Welcome to Casa de Schooner, lad and lass. O’er there is the bedroom, o’er here is where what ‘ittle food I gots is, and ‘ere is the sittin’ room. Since you both are fixin’ to probably be sleepin’ soon, yer best choice would be the bed in that there bedroom. I got some things ta take care of, but I’ll be quiet as a Bonescorp.” Bonescorps. Now there was something that was terrifying in its own personal beauty. A Bonescorp was an extremely mutated scorpion that had calcium collect in various portions of its body, giving it a sort of, well, a skeleton image all over. One tap o’ poison, and you would be lying on the ground, dead almost instantly. Metal armor was the best defense against them, seeing as their stinger was fittin’ only for stabbin’ through flesh. ‘Quiet as a Bonescorp,’ though, is the worst phrase a Bonelander can say. A Bonescorp was quieter ‘n a churchmouse, even clambering over metal shells and heavy vehicles. At least they were no Paraspewer, but those were just something ya did not talk about. Looking around my place, I realized that there were a few things missing. One, my old battle-saddle was missing, and it was usually strung above the doorway to the bedroom. The ammunition was nowhere to be found, and a lot of his food was missing. No honor among thieves, I reckoned. A soft knock at my front door brought my attention back to reality. Pressing a switch next to the door, I was surprised by a very quick kiss from Hollyweather, her one good eye smiling up at me as she entered the room. “It’s good to see you, Schooner, even if you keep bringing up that nasty Colonel,” Hollyweather whispered. I smiled, hugging her close as the door hissed shut. “It’s good ta see ya too, lass.” “So, those two kids. You say they’re from the Wasteland, on the other side of the Rad Wastes?” Damn. She had been paying attention. I nodded silently, shrugging as it all was the truth. The Wasteland. A funny place when you have lived in the Bonelands your entire life. Radio broadcasts occasionally make it through the radiation, but ‘cept in those rare circumstances, you would be ‘ard-pressed to get any signal. “Yeah. If’n they be tellin’ the truth, they be the first ones in ten years.” Hollyweather was flashing her eye at me, letting her short mane frame her face perfectly in the low light. Smiling, I nuzzled right up to her, making her sigh as she closed her eye. “Oh, celestial powers, I forgot how good that felt, Schooner.” Pulling away, I looked back, jerking my head towards the chess set on the small table in the sitting room. A couple of old cushions flanked that table, sweat and age showing clearly on the oft-patched fabric. “Up fer a game, lass?” =--------====|/0|====--------= The next morning was difficult, as Misty and Grey were not early risers like my old self. Berrymay was at her little shop, making something that smelled a sight better than the cushions Hollyweather and I had fallen asleep on. “Merry, merry, who wants a- oh, it’s you, Schooner. Kebab?” Anypony could say whatever they wanted, but Berrymay’s vegetable kebabs were the best thing to eat in the morning. Nopony knew how she did it, but her secret sauces were always amazing. It always helped that she was in charge o’ the subterranean greenhouse. “Make it a double, Berry. I’m fixin’ to get an earlier start ‘n normal.” Smiling, she tossed two onto a metal plate, sliding it in front of me. The smell was always amazing, but there was a vegetable I did not recognize immediately. Taking a quick bite, the taste was enough for me to let out a loud whoop. “Noticed the potato, eh, Schooner? First batch finished growing yesterday.” Being the old gruff of the town always made me feel slightly out of place, but it felt nice. Berry was almost the same age as I, her once blue coat faded to more o’ a sky blue. Her mane was greying in many areas, but you could tell she was a tough’n. “Yep. Nothin’ better than well-cooked tater. Ah, look who ‘cided to wake ‘emselves up!” Grey looked like he had barely slept a wink, and Misty was as fearful and timid as she was before. Berry placed two more plates out with a kebab each, the satisfying smells of each seeming to quell the irritation that Grey had on his face. I could’a sworn, with the look he was fixin’ ta give me, he could’a melted steel. Testing a bite, he seemed to find it palatable, and gobbled it down quickly. Misty seemed less timid, and slurped those veggies right off the skewer. “Hey, Schooner, you headin’ out later?” I could have felt Kipper’s gaze from across the Bonelands, if he was so inclined. It felt like he was trying to burn two holes through my spine, and kill me where I stood. “Yeah, Kipper. If’n ya don’t mind, I got a few things ta check out. Won’ need the Homeward fer a lot o’ it, so ya kin hang onto ‘er.” Kipper nodded, walking away as I finished eating my kebabs. Grey and Misty stood to the side, staring at me as I lay a few caps down on the counter. It was as if Grey was trying to read my mind, which would not make any sense to any of the ponies in Scrapyard Junction. “So, Grey, you’re planning on leaving soon?” His question brought me back out of my thoughts rather abruptly. “Yeah, Grey. Th’ Enclave was there, and them bodies t’werent’ more than a week’s worth of sand old. Th’ Enclave is coming back, and I’m fixin’ ta figure ou’ why.” A tapping on my side brought my attention to Hollyweather. I swear, that mare could out-sneak a Bonescorp, she was so quiet sometimes. “I’m coming along as well. I lost some friends in the last attack, and I want first strike against those bastards.” “Then ya should be gettin’ ready ta leave soon.” She nodded silently, before hoofing over a package to me. From its weight, I could only hazard a guess as to what it was. Tearing it open, I was pleased to find my battle-saddle inside, with the light rifle attached looking a lot cleaner than it had before. As I looked up to thank her, Hollyweather planted a light kiss on my cheek, smiling as she trotted away, her tail swaying to-and-fro- pay attention, Schooner. You have to focus! Turning to Grey and Misty, I cleared my throat, my plan already coming into motion in my head. “All right, Grey, Misty. King’s Fall is ‘bout the next place we want ta be checkin’ fer Enclave activity, if’n ya think ya kin handle what th’ Bonelands kin throw at yer young selves. Just remember, ‘quiet as a Bonescorp’ means watch ou’ fer them white scorpions, ‘less you fixin’ ta end up dead in th’ sand.” My point less-than-subtly made, I trotted over to the gate controls. My hoof hesitated, hovering over the button that would open the gate for us to leave. I could not tell ya what I was thinkin’, but I could tell ya that I was plumb scared. Bonescorps and Paraspewers are not to be trifled with, ‘specially the latter. Paraspewers are the unfortunate result of a cross-mutation mixing a parasprite and a radscorpion. If a Bonescorp is quiet as death, a Paraspewer is louder ‘n sin, and twice as ugly. They come in clouds, caustic and poisonous juices dripping from their mouths as they ‘spew’ corrosive juices at anything that moves. They scoop up the goo left behind, and out pops another one. Most Bonelanders do not have to worry about them, as they prefer to be near the Rad Wastes, but Paraspewers had a tendency to get out of hand and wipe out settlements. Unfortunately, most of the clean water was near the Rad Wastes. “Well, are we ready to go?” My thoughts returned to reality, Hollyweather, Grey Hunter, and Misty Falls standing behind me with concern growing on their faces, silly faces in the case of Misty. Sighing, I pushed that there button, opening that gate. I wish I had never seen what happened next. [[Author's Notes are currenty borked up]] UPDATE: Level Up! Grey Hunter has earned the perk 'Protector' Grey's resolve will get tested, and more will happen later, but for now, we're small potatoes in a big Wasteland. Also, potatoes are amazing, and when cooked properly, are the best thing since sliced bread.
Chapter 3 - How RivetingIf I had known what had struck the entire settlement, I would have been able to warn them before they even were ‘attacked.’ Unfortunately, something hit the settlement. The only way I could have known for sure was that there was a plethora of guns pointed at myself, and my three pony crew. Hollyweather was backing up, holding Misty against her, while Grey stood beside me, holding a pistol in his mouth, ready to fire. “So, what now? We’ve got an entire settlement ready to gun us down. Why haven’t they-” I nudged Grey, shaking my head before motioning. “Look at their eyes. Glowin’ and all weird-like. It’s like if’n something took their minds from them.” As we backed up, we could hear movement behind us. Several Enclave soldiers had entered from the gate’s area, their characteristic black armor the last thing I wanted to see once more. Ducking down, I peered over the edge, trying to see if anypony there was recognizable. “Colonel Shadow, sir! The test has gone effectively, and the settlement has been rendered harmless. We can begin extraction of the greenhouse at any point in time.” The greenhouse? Those feathered bastards were going to take one of the few sources of food in the Bonelands? Not on my watch. However, Hollyweather held me down, pulling me backwards from the edge. Whispering, she kept glancing over to the Enclave soldiers, who were busy examining each ‘test subject,’ as they could be heard saying. “Look, Schooner, I know you have a beef with the Colonel, but we’ve got, what, a pistol and a badly-maintained battle-saddle? That’s suicide. We have to get out of here, and figure out what we’re going to do.” I could not argue with that point. When Hollyweather was right, she was right, and there was no arguin’ ‘bout it. I nodded, acknowledging her point. Grey sighed, sliding the pistol into a holster on his hoof. “All right, Holly, we be playin’ this yer way. Le’s get ou’ o’ ‘ere.” The fact that the Enclave had not noticed us moving away was a pure miracle, handed down by the celestial powers themselves. I had counted – to myself, of course – five Enclave soldiers, including the Colonel, and each was carrying one o’ them arcane blasters, the ones that could burn a hole straight through ya. What really set the scale was the transport that dropped from the sky, the Enclave symbol proudly emblazoned on the side. They loaded up every single member that was not us, from Kipper to Berrymay, and even little Valence. Each one of them responded to the orders they were given like, dare I say, drones, like machines. As we walked slowly away, I heard Misty start to cry. Her eyes flashed a sort of recognition, and it was the first time I noticed her flank. Somepony had burned away her Mark, replacing it with a crude lightning bolt and a ragged cloud. The mark looked less like a burn and more like a brand. Like the brand. Letting Misty and Hollyweather go further ahead, I pulled Grey back with me, and we walked. Silently, at first, but then the question would not let itself go, would not leave my head. “Grey, is Misty… a Dashite?” I could hear the clenching of Grey’s teeth as he struggled to contain himself. Whatever had happened really hit him hard. I sighed, walking further as he held his head down. His voice startled me, because it was low, serious, and somewhat intimidating. “Yeah, she is. Unfortunately, she was one of the lucky ones.” “Whaddya mean, ‘lucky ones?’” Apparently, that phrase was enough to poke Grey the wrong way, who looked up with pure anger in his eyes. “They experimented on her! Treated her like chattel, like a piece of garbage to be used and tossed away when no longer of use! She barely remembers from day-to-day, much less her own name. I have to remind her every morning of who she is. When the sight of the Enclave sets her off, she regresses, becoming more and more like a child. I can’t do anything about it, and I doubt she’ll survive much longer.” Pieces started clicking in my head. Grey was not just from the Wasteland, he was a runner, somepony who needed to get away lest they face the ‘almighty wrath’ of the Enclave. I felt for him, I really did. The Enclave loved their ‘experiments’ on those they considered ‘lesser’ ponies, and Hollyweather herself was no stranger to them, either. “Grey-” “They had no right! No right! They destroyed who she was, all for… this!” He motioned back to the settlement, where I nodded, gritting my teeth. The Enclave had really taken an entire settlement, without any violence, and I wanted to know how. =--------====|/0|====--------= Sometimes, the desert is a strange place, and the Bonelands was no exception to that rule. I reckoned we walked maybe three hours before Misty started screaming. Turning to her, I noticed a small amount of green goop slowly eating its way through her tail. My eyes widened, the rifle at the ready as I clamped my mouth on the trigger-bit. Grey already had his pistol out, wildly aiming around. Taking my mouth off of the bit for a second, I motioned to Grey, who was starting to freak out. “Grey, if you panic, you’ll get us all killed! That’s Paraspewer bile, and that sort o’ stuff’ll eat right through anythin’.” Grey looked at me in confusion, until I bit down on my trigger, hard. The bullet whizzing past, his eyes went wide as he heard a squelch, and the sickly sound of whatever sound was similar to glass being eroded by caustic juices. “That was a Paraspewer. They pop when ya shoot ‘em, so don’ kill ‘em close to yerself, o’erwise you get splashed!” Hollyweather was busy trying to cut Misty’s tail so it did not end up engulfing her flank as well, while Grey and I were trying to keep any Paraspewers at bay. Fortunately, though, there had only been three or four. Luck being with us that time, I was glad we had not encountered a swarm. With the way a swarm worked, they could reduce a standing pre-War structure to goopy rubble in less than thirty minutes, a sight I would rather not have ever witnessed, but it had happened all the same. Grey was panting, Misty being quieted and comforted by Hollyweather. Her tail was a poor sight, being so short after the Paraspewer bile ate it right down to the bone. We did eventually continue on, but Misty’s nerves were shot, and she desperately needed somewhere to lie down. The only nearby structure for miles was an old battery manufacturing plant, simply called the Sparkleworks, where Spark batteries had been mass produced. I hated the idea, having once been through there myself, but with little other choice, I had to tell them. I will be perfectly honest, they were less than pleased. =--------====|/0|====--------= “The only structure around is an old Spark Battery plant?! Nothing else?!” I knew they would hate the idea, but I did not expect Grey to be so… vocal ‘bout it. No pony who was worth their salt would have even suggested it, but it was the only area around where we could stop and rest somewhat. Misty needed bandages on her tail’s stump, and Hollyweather needed to address some issues that Misty seemed to be having. I was happy to hear Hollyweather pipe up, meanin’ that I did not have to worry ‘bout explaining it to Grey. “The Sparkleworks are the most defensible area around, Grey. That building has withstood almost everything that the Enclave has thrown at it, and the ponies inside are nothing if not tenacious.” As soon as she mentioned the ponies inside, I stiffened up. The group inside that building were not ponies I would normally associate with, and we had come to blows on previous occasions. Unfortunately, our situation demanded that we get somewhere with shelter soon. “That there’s th’ only buildin’ fer kilometers around, Grey. While I don’ get along with Rangers, they be the best bet we-” “Rangers, as in Steel Rangers?!” I sighed, looking at the makeshift red flag at the top of the building. The symbol upon it stood proudly, a grey gear with a bolt-action rifle superimposed over top. Turning back, I shook my head, trying to figure out the best way to describe the group we were about to interact with. “They call ‘emselves Rivet Rangers, Grey. Their Rivet Rifles ain’t somethin’ ta take lightly. Makeshift as they are, they kill jus’ as quickly as any ol’ rifle.” A shudder went through my body as I remembered the first time I came face-to-face with a Rivet Rifle. Rivet Rifles were built and maintained by the Rivet Rangers, makeshift weapons using principles of magnetism to overcome the propellant issues of other rifles. Designed to fire a sliver of metal not much bigger than a ten millimeter bullet, they were near silent, except for the charging of the EM Coils contained around the barrel of the weapon. As it stood, they were the only weapon in the Bonelands that allowed the Rangers to keep their base, running Enclave off regardless of how many attacked that Rangers base. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t the unsung ‘ero himself!” Catching myself before I flipped up my own weapon, I looked at the barrel of the weapon pointed at my head, the tell-tale crackle of the electrical coils indicating the weapon was charged. Turning ‘round, I saw five more Rangers aiming their weapons around, before one lowered his weapon, coming close to Misty. Grey growled, even though he seemed to know he would not get to her in time before their weapons would discharge, ripping him apart. “Captain Kite, sir! We’ve got a Bile victim here! She needs immediate medical attention.” The growl of their leader as he leaped down, his wings snapping shut as he lifted his talons to inspect the stump of tail that belonged to Misty Falls. “Aw, hell. Get her inside! An’ you, Schooner, we’ll talk.” =--------====|/0|====--------= Captain Ian Kite, now there was a soldier. Being the sole griffon in the Bonelands, he had no choice but to be tough, and terrifying. Scars ran up and down his black-plumed body, his left eye a milky orb from a small amount of Paraspewer Bile. His office was a mess, pre-war papers all over and slightly charred, with his desk and the two chairs we sat on the only furniture in the entire room. “Your brown and scarred self ain’t welcome ‘round here, Schooner, or did you forget?” I sat in his office, the main factory control overlooking the floor where his Rangers assembled new Rivet Rifles and makeshift armor – leather armor with metal strips, mostly designed to contain shells shot at them. Kite was right, though. Last time I had met with the Rangers, I had killed three of his people, and left him with a damaged foreleg. He learned afterwards that I was not to be crossed. Kicking the chair back, I turned to look down on the manufacturing floor. Spark batteries were plugged into their respective parts of Rivet Rifles, battle-saddles being refitted for the new weapons. “I know, Kite. You know I wouldn’t be here withou’ a good reason, aye?” A grumble from Kite’s direction told me I was right. “Then what’s your reason, Schooner?” “They did something to the Junction.” The air stood still for a second as Kite sucked in a breath, his talons clacking on the desk as he did his best to maintain his composure. While it was unofficial, Kite’s Rivet Rangers were the defacto protectors of the Junction, and if somethin had happened to them, I was sure as Boneland Plum Juice was sour that he was pissed. He stood up from his own chair, walking over to the window that looked over the factory floor. “Schooner, my Rangers have been at this for ten years. Fifteen if you count the times we were workin’ together. If somethin’ happened to the Junction, then we’ll be hit soon.” I followed him over to the window, shaking my head. “Somethin’ hit them, if’n ya can listen fer a sec. Like a… ray o’ some kind. They loaded ‘em into transports, takin’ ‘em out o’ there and signallin’ to take the greenhouse. Somethin’ wasn’t right with ‘em all.” Kite gritted his teeth, staring down at the ground before he stomped back to his desk, throwing his chair against the wall. “Ancestors damn it all! If they could just take the Junction, then we’ve got no chance here!” Approaching him, I sighed, looking at him with all the energy I could muster. “We ‘ave to get ta King’s Fall, Kite. I know ya got a skiff ‘ere somewhere, so if’n ya can, we need to-” A blast of energy echoed inside the building, a chunk of rock falling from the wall as Enclave soldiers began to file in, only to be shredded by twenty Rivet Rifles discharging all at once. “Then we have to go now, Schooner. No two ways ‘bout it.” “I know, Kite.” Grabbing a nearby radio receiver, he lifted it up to his mouth, tapping a button on the side. “All Rangers, scatter! They might test something on us that allowed them to take the Junction. Operation Nightlight is a go!” The name of what we undertook was something that made no sense to me. It was bright daylight outside, hot in the desert’s way of wantin’ to melt you to pieces. “Kite, what is Nightlight?!” “Destruction of the Sparkleworks! My Rangers’ll get your friends out of here, but I have to activate the countdown! We’ve got an unexploded balefire bomb underneath this compound, rigged up to an electrical activation system!” His words chilled me right to the bone. A balefire bomb was the reason the world had ended the way it did. While life had not changed much in the Bonelands, besides the bad mutated bugs and things that ya did not want to fight, ever, balefire bombs had tainted the land. “Where did ya get a bomb?!” “Old Zebra convoy that passed through before the bombs fell! It was transportin’ it somewhere, but we don’t know where. We took it and now we’re about to use it!” I could hear him quickly clacking over a keypad, rhythmic beeping telling me that I wanted to be outside that building as quickly as possible. Noticing a door at the back of the office, I jumped through it, coming face-to-face with a rather tall balcony. Rangers filed out as quickly as they could, uncovering skiffs that I would never have noticed without knowin’ what Ranger skiffs looked like. “How’re we gonna get down-oh sweet Celestia, this is a bad idea!” Kite had grabbed me in his talons, holding me close as he dove off, his wings spreading and catching what little updraft he could, floating down to the Rangers below. Hollyweather held Misty while Grey cradled a Rivet Rifle battle-saddle, the trigger bit softly gripped in his teeth as he watched the remaining Enclave soldiers slowly crawl forward, their black battle armor a point o’ contention for anyone who had ever crossed ‘em. Of course, they did not get that far, as Rivet Rifles discharged again, tearing them apart. Grey shifted uncomfortable, my eyes drifting down to the Rivet Ranger armor he wore. “Rangers to your skiffs! We leave-” “You leave when I tell you to leave, groundwalker scum.” The gravelly voice of Colonel Autumn Shadow echoed in the rubble outside the Sparkleworks, a black… something floating overhead and aiming what appeared to be some kind of dish at the Rangers. I barely had time to react before Grey fired off his own weapon, splitting the dish directly in half and sending it careening away. “Kite, we have ta get out o’ here!” Thankfully, the Rangers did not need to be told twice, loading up everyone they could onto sand skiffs. The rumble of large fan motors filled the area, making me question how safe their skiffs were, considering they used old rotor engines to propel them forward. Jumping onto Kite’s personal skiff, we rocketed forward, Grey, Hollyweather, and Misty on another Ranger skiff holding on for dear life. Considering how fast the skiffs were going, it was unlikely- “Hold on, this is gonna be rough!” With a shudder, the ground behind us began to give way, a rumbling and shining indicating the bomb had exploded. Sand turned to glass right behind every skiff, some skiffs exploding as the glassing reached them. Grey and Misty held each other tightly, Hollyweather staring at the explosion with fear in her eyes. A final shudder shook through the ground as the glass began to collapse, a massive underground structure revealing itself from underneath the desert. I could feel the skiffs slowing down as Kite stared at the same sight I was gazing at. “T-That’s an Equestrian military depot, not a Spark battery plant!” Almost as if it had been willed to, the flag that had once stood proudly above the building pierced the sand beside his skiff, scaring Kite half to death. I would have probably screamed if I had not been scared to see an entire buried military facility staring me in the face. “Kite?” “Yeah, Schooner?” “Somethin’ tells me this is a whole lot bigger ‘n just somepony wantin’ a greenhouse.” Author's Note Update: Level Up! Schooner has earned the Perk 'Desert Ranger' Misty Falls has earned the Perk 'Experimental' Hollyweather has earned the Perk 'Trauma Center'
