Chapters Fallout: Project Necessities
Author's Note
Hello, and welcome to what I hope will be an epic new adventure! Though I have borrowed the levelling up and quote ideas from Fallout: Equestria, everything else is completely original and any similarities are either incidental or resulting from the crossover material.
For reference before we begin, ANM stands for "After Nightmare Moon"—a substitute for AD, if you will.
So, please enjoy the tale!
Introduction
Introduction
Life gives everypony a second chance; it's called tomorrow.
From the very dawn of ponykind, blood has been shed in the name of many causes: territory, ideals, revenge. But, in between the decades of fighting, there came centuries of peace in which Equestria's sentient species cooperated and worked together for the good of each other.
However, the numerous kingdoms were long overdue for the renascence of war, and an opportunity began to present itself in the year 1001 ANM. With the invasion of Tirek, and the short but devastating battle that ensued, ponykind came to realise the sheer extent of magic that they wielded. And, in the name of progress, research began almost immediately in order to work out how it could be harvested.
The solution was soon discovered. Ponies lined up to have their magic extracted, proud to be part of something big; a momentous occasion in history. But replenishing one’s drained reserves took time and lots of energy—and farms suddenly found themselves under immense pressure to supply more food. In a bid to meet the demand, agriculture invested in expansive and sophisticated new systems. Thousands of acres of land were cleared in the effort, and many miles of mines were explored in the desperate search for the materials needed to make true of such an endeavour.
Nevertheless, despite the sudden industrialisation of the kingdom, Equestrians soon found themselves enjoying luxuries that the average pony had only dreamed of: domestic robots for every household, driverless carriages and those capable of flight. Life became extravagant, and ponies splashed out on every new technology available. Families once hindered by busy lifestyles and money worries thrived; it wasn't all that long before the population had doubled.
But such a lifestyle could not be maintained for long; resources quickly began to dwindle, and suitable space for housing and farms and water reserves began to run out. And it was with that realisation that ponies began to awaken from the dreams that they had been living to see the devastating effect that they had had on their world.
Peace became a distant memory. Within a matter of years, Equestria was in the midst of total war—and there was nothing anypony could do but cower and hope it would pass over soon.
Instead, bombs rained from the sky in torrents, sent from both sides. Millions of gallons of potent magic—polluted by the contaminated air—and nuclear material spilled across the land. And, in that one moment, the world as ponies knew it ended and a new, bloodier one began.
A fallout. An apocalypse. And it was not going to be an easy ride.
Because war… war never changes.
Fallout: Project Necessities
Prologue
The happiest ponies don't have the best of everything; they just make the best of what they've got.
The summer sun rose lazily into the cloudless sky that morning, its tendrils warm and comforting. Waves of light poured from it, painting everything that they landed upon in a palette of warm, bright colours.
And, for the six-thousand-and-somethingth time in my life, I did not see that. No, all that I saw as I awoke from my slumber was the bleak darkness born from the rocky walls that enshrouded our little village. The surrounding cliffs seemed quite literally endless, especially for a small mare like me. Depressing as it was, though—knowing that I would live my whole life in the village—things down here were at least passable when compared to the rumoured horrors that waited above.
Most of us had never been topside, it was safe to say. It was basically impossible; the insanely strong wind which filled the Abysmal Abyss was the reason that our village elders had survived the apocalypse. They didn't need fancy spells to protect them from the polluted, corrupted magic and nuclear radiation which was released when the bombs dropped; all they required were a few griffon escorts to carry them down the cliffs and a few pickaxes for everyone else. And, though it had been dark and damp at the bottom of the abyss, the magical dust was merely blown away. It was so close to the perfect escape that it was untrue—but then came the issue of getting out. To get past the wind one needed a griffon to haul them up, and then another to carry them back down. It was hardly the easiest of treks at the best of times; it was not hard to realise why only a select few ever got to go up topside, and only when it was vital.
"Klipspringer! You're late!"
The shrill cries of my mother echoed around my bedroom. As per usual the cold stone walls helped the sound to bounce around perfectly. If I had any ambitions of returning to sleep—and I did—there was no chance of them being achieved. It was almost as if my great-great-something-grandmother had hollowed out this room with that specific aim in mind; to make so much noise that sleeping for a slightly decent amount of time could not be possible. Honestly, I couldn't quite understand the logic behind that concept, but I swear it was the best I could come up with.
"Klipspringer! "
My mum had a habit of waking me up way too early. And the fact that huddling under my centuries old, more than a little stained duvet was one of the only ways to stay warm didn't help motivate me to get up. Outside was shaded, cold, loud; here, right now, was less so.
I groaned and rolled onto my side—the springs beneath me groaned and grumbled noisily—and then (quite literally) fell out of bed. It was a technique which I found to be successful, and the only one at that; the dull pain which occurred when I landed on my side was at least enough to shock me out of the in-between stage. I wasn't much of a morning mare, to say the least.
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, silently cursing everyone who lived here—I don't know why my tiredness was their fault but they were all as crazy as each other—before I began to stumble towards the chest at the foot of my bed. It wasn't particularly impressive, but nothing in the village was. There wasn't much time (or many resources) to spare to make things pretty down here; functionality was key.
That was more than proven by the heavy old coat that I pulled out of the box; it was a less than impressive fur, harvested from the village's farmed wolves. The things had been lurking at the very bottom of the abyss when the first griffons and ponies had arrived down here and were quickly captured. It was a favourable situation; their only major need was fresh water. They needed food, of course, but they were more than capable of catching most of their own; the giant roaches which made their way down the treacherous stone walls, descendents of bugs who survived the nucleo-magical fallout two centuries before, were a more than adequate meal.
Why wolves? Well, ignoring the fact that they were here from the start, it was simple; they didn't drain our resources. While sheep might've been a better choice in terms of safety, they certainly could not eat the roach meat that the wolves did—and would have hence killed us either way.
I could have contested that theory, though. At twelve—on my birthday, of all days—I wound up stuck inside of the wolf pen after a case of haywire foal magic. Not my magic, of course; I was an earth pony, and didn't need to use such an unpleasant force. It was one of those blasted unicorn kids. Either way, there I was, minding my own business and munching on a carrot—I remember that distinctly—when, all of a sudden, I felt this... lightheaded sensation. And then a moment later, after I had shaken off the confusion, I realised that I was sat at the other end of the wolf pen.
Needless to say, I screamed. I probably shouldn't have; the wolves may have never noticed me if I hadn't done so.
I learned two things that day: telling the enemy where you are is not a good idea, and I was actually pretty damn decent at running. And jumping. And generally avoiding big hairy things that were trying to eat me.
My cutie mark appeared that day; a hedge in the shape of a horseshoe through which an eagle flew. It had taken me a little while to understand it and it was my mother who finally told me what she thought that it meant; the steeplechase, an old pre-war sport. For a filly such as me who always loved a good run, it was fitting—though earning it in such circumstances seemed a little like overkill for a simple tattoo on my flank.
I smiled as I pulled the coat over my head, the old fur slightly stale in smell. I let my mind then wander as I began to stumble out of my room, heading towards the dim, nearly nonexistent light which filtered into the communal lounge every morning; though pitifully lit, it was at least somewhat brighter than my own.
I thought of my cute-ceñeara, as momentous an occasion now as it had ever been. As had always been the case, even before the bombs fell that blasted the world apart, the event was significant in confirming what you would do with your life; after the celebrations, you could officially be classed as a mare. A young mare, but a mare all the same—and that was a big step up from being "a weak little filly". And even if ponies still referred to you as such, you could at least know the truth.
Because you were a grown-up then.
I snorted a little and flicked my tail as I trotted. I then all but bumbled into the kitchen and snatched a bread roll from the table, beaming at my mother through the darkness as I slumped into my chair. She, however, merely scowled and lit her horn, spreading her dirty unicorn magic all over the room. I cringed at the sight and covered my eyes with a hiss. "Mother!" I cried and my teeth squeaked together. That drew a laugh from her, and she dimmed her horn slightly. I relented at that, but only somewhat.
"Your dad's been spending too much time with you," she teased, a smile now on her face as she sat down across from me. "All this magic phobia... Unicorn magic isn't evil, kiddo. You know that right?" I rolled my eyes and smirked at her, though I did not answer. The world had ended because polluted pony magic had been spilled across the lands—but unicorn magic always seemed the most dangerous. Whatever the case, my mother knew my opinion on the matter and did not press any further. Instead she said, "It's nice to see you happy, y'know. Every time I see you... You always seem so down, so depressed. Is something wrong, kiddo?"
I shook my head firmly, but I slowed a moment later and sighed. "It's nothing, Mum," I said, my mouth now full with a few mouthfuls of bread and honey. It wasn't particularly impressive stuff—without good supplies of yeast we had to make do with cavemare-style loaves which were far from flavoursome and more than a little tough—but the small drizzle of sweetness made it mostly palatable. "But I'm not a kid; I can take care of myself."
"Oh, of course not!" my mother cried, looking surprisingly guilty. "I just meant..." She trailed off and sighed as she looked at me with tear-filled eyes. It was hard to see her like this; I saw her so rarely as it was—she worked the night shift guarding the wolves—that wasting our time together like this was painful. And so I relented, placing my head in my hooves as I did so.
"I just can't imagine working down at the farm all of my life," I grumbled, looking at my fur coat. Caring for the village's small brood of hens was a full time job, and it certainly kept me busy, but between cleaning them out, finding them food, retrieving their eggs and moving them to new pens, which also meant I was required to build them a new shelter in each location from the limited supplies that we had, it was not the easiest job. It was no surprise that I hardly took much pleasure from it. “I just... I feel like I could be doing something more." I paused briefly and eyed my mother warily, testing the water. She said nothing. "I feel like, if I could just go up topside, I could do something good."
"Hmm?"
My mother's green eyes were slightly narrowed, now—unnervingly so. I swallowed loudly, slowly, before I carried on speaking. "You now how you used to tell me that story about the Minutemares? Protect the ponies at a minute's notice. That's how it went, right? Well, why couldn't it be true? Why couldn't I do something good for the wasteland like that?"
My mother raised a hoof and sighed. "Klipspringer... These dreams of yours; they're noble, really. And there is no reason that you couldn't make such a great impact on ponies' lives—" I beamed and my heart lightened. My mother's scowl quickly crushed that joy, though, "—but you can't go up into the wastes, Kiddo. You'll be killed; we all would. The ponies up there... They're savages, raised with killing lessons every other day. What's so wrong about being a Minutemare down here, helping the village how you can so that we can all live happily? At least you'll have a chance to make that change; the wastes surely don't need another corpse."
I cringed at my mother's words and swallowed the dense mouthful of bread that I had just taken. I winced as it went down, too big really to have swallowed—but no matter. "Sure," I mumbled, my eyes now focused on the wood of the old table; I then pushed myself away and stood up, walking briskly past her. When she began to call my name, I merely swished my pale green tail and did not turn back. Instead I said, "I don't want to be late." Before she could argue that point, I then wrapped the fur coat around me tighter and galloped from the kitchen and out into the abyss itself.
As one would imagine, the place was dark—very dark. And, as was the case every day, that bleakness came as an ever-so-unpleasant shock that took a few seconds for me to recover from; once my breath had unhitched itself from my throat, I took a deep breath and then began forwards on my journey once again.
The paths through the village were well lit, with torches bursting into flame as I walked past. It was an old enchantment which had been cast on the very first day of the village's creation, yet still the fire crackled brightly when somepony approached to light their way. While I may have been slightly off put by unicorn magic, I had to admit that I was at least slightly grateful for the additional light—though after walking the same route for a few years, now, I probably could have managed on the trickle of light that made it to the bottom of the abyss.
I glanced up to the sky, so very high above. As a filly, long before I realised how far away it was, I would dream of climbing up the cliffs and going topside. It was such a powerful wish, if only to touch one of the bright stars which twinkled at night. These days I knew better than that—but the thought was still a lovely one.
The soft but insistent clucking of birds pulled me from my musings, and I glanced down at the makeshift henhouse; a short breath slipped from my mouth. With arguably less enthusiasm than ever I then bent down slowly, slowly, and let my hoof touch the hook which kept the door shut. After a moment, I then flicked it open and braced myself.
Hens of all colours rushed out, squawking and pecking at each other as they did so. The things were less than pretty creatures. Though not so mutated by the magic as some animals that lived topside, they had all been hatched from scavenged eggs laid by wild birds. And those wild birds, it should be noted, had at least lost half of their feathers and more than some of their body mass when the bombs fell.
Meant they could put more energy into laying eggs, though, which was good. Or, at least, it was good if you could ignore the slightly imperfect nature of the eggs and cracked them into a pan with your eyes closed; red blotches all across the surface didn't make for an enticing meal. They were a filling treat, though, it had to be said, especially when the main diet of the village was tough bread, honey, and a few vegetables on a good day.
I sighed and began to trudge forwards once I was confident that the birds had all abandoned their makeshift shelter; I pulled off the scrap of wood which made up the roof and dumped it to the side, scarcely missing one hen—oops—which squawked loudly and shot away. I then hopped up onto my hind legs and peeked inside. My heart sunk even lower at the meagre harvest of three eggs; less than a twenty percent yield. For the twelfth day in a row.
I huffed as I reached into the house and pulled the precious, precious food from the dirt with my teeth, careful not to allow them to break. With the hens getting older now, everypony had known that it would be inevitable that they would begin to dry up soon—but it was unfortunate that they were going down now, only a week after one of the village griffons had headed out on a search and retrieval mission. He wouldn't be back with a good cockerel for a few weeks at least—travelling by hoof, or claw, was not particularly fast—but when he did, the girls could very well have stopped laying anyway.
Life was cruelly ironic like that.
After slowly, gently placing the eggs down in the box at the side of the pen, I took a few steps back and hopped the fence. As per usual, I landed without fault on the other side. I smiled at the execution—it came to something when the only real pleasure you could get from your job was from literally jumping away from it—and then trotted slightly more bouncily over to the rocky wall alongside the hen house. It was at that point, though, that my joy fell once again when my eyes landed upon the meal that I had prepared in advance for the birds yesterday.
A nice, chargrilled giant roach.
Ugh.
I cringed as I bent down and clasped a leg of the repulsive thing in my teeth; my heart thudded in my chest as I did so, completely disgusted. Dancing on the spot, I hissed and snorted and whined. I then yanked my head backwards and threw the carcass as far as I could, my eyes scrunched shut, and scrunched up my muzzle in disgust as I spat at the floor. I quickly proceeded to take a large guzzle of water from the canteen in my coat pocket; though slightly stale, it at least cleansed my mouth of the (probably imagined but still very real) taste.
When I squinted my eyes open, I had to at least laugh a little at the sight before me; the girls, being the omnivores that they were, went absolutely mad for the meat. It was hardly a treat; with the village farms only just producing enough food as it was, the hens only really got the irradiated scraps of vegetables that the patrols brought back for them. Whatever the case, though, they were always eager for their breakfast.
But I had more important things to do than watch chickens all day. Sadly. With a grumble and a groan I popped back into the pen, dragging myself over to the house and looking it over quickly. After a glance inside to check for any remaining eggs that may have missed my gaze earlier—there were none—I then turned and raised a rear leg. When I struck out, the flimsy shelter fell to the ground.
I've never claimed to be good at building.
I let my mind trail to thoughts of my foalhood as I hauled the wood over the fence, running amok through the village's cave system without a care in the world. We all had to do our bit, of course; every colt and filly was a drain on supplies and so it was expected that they at least help out with simple chores. But life back then... It had been good. That wasn't to say that my life now wasn't decent, of course, but it wasn't easy. I swear I would kill for a day to just relax. Do nothing.
I opened my lips slightly and closed my eyes, not needing to see to know where I was headed; the next chicken coop, where the girls were to be moved to today. Every day they had to be moved, and every day I took the exact same paths with the broken-down shelter draped over my back. And, as I always did, I parted my lips and began to whistle.
A few minutes passed in the quietness of my own company. I would whistle a tune as always, pause for a moment and then begin another. Once that was finished I would usually stop, find myself at my destination and dump the wood, before then trotting the journey back to carry the hens there, one at a time. And today was no different, I thought to myself as I meandered through the abyss.
With the exception of one thing. One tiny, insignificant thing.
My whistles were returned.
I froze and stiffened. My heart thudded in my chest like the pounding of a drum, heavy and low but ever so fast. My lips parted and I gasped; the whistling only got louder. I reeled backwards and slammed my body up against the rocky wall, my eyes the size of pinpricks. The whistles were louder now, and I shrunk back even more with my hoof slammed against my lips to prevent any noise from escaping. My legs trembled violently beneath me.
A whistle once more. A single, short note—and then a short laugh. And another, and another, and another. And then a pair of eyes, bright red against the relative darkness of the abyss, came out of nowhere.
I screamed and spun on the spot, springing from my position with a powerful leap as my hooves smashed against the rocky ground in some attempt to get away. They were not village ponies; village ponies did not sound that way. Village ponies did not laugh that way.
The dirt blew up in clouds around me as I galloped; my hooves, not used to running as they had once been, screamed at the heavy blows. I did not have time to take care, and I leapt over stray logs and rocks and zipped around fallen boulders purely on instinct. My body scraped so close to the ground that I could almost feel the blood pouring from my side already, though the only cuts now were from the pebbles thrown up by my frantic hooves.
A bang resounded around the Abyss and I screamed, but that was only from the sound which sent shudders down my spine; worse was the agony which followed. Something small and metallic tore through the skin of my foreleg and, for just a moment, I stopped and watched it, perplexed. And then I fell, writhing. I was close to the village now, close to safety, and I could hear the chaos as my friends and family panicked—but the pain was everything.
"Klipspringer !"
My father's rough voice sounded somewhere, or was that all in my head? All I knew was the pain and the heat of the blood which now stained the feathers of my hoof; as I cradled my leg to my chest and climbed back up so as to stand, I knew it was over. I hobbled forwards slowly, screaming and crying and shouting. And all the while, blood poured from my hoof in torrents.
The bangs returned this time; louder, fiercer. From somewhere in front of me, a counter-attack commenced. But all I could do was limp the last few metres towards my mother and father and collapse in their hooves. I closed my eyes and whimpered and hoped this was all some bad, bad nightmare—but the real nightmare was still to come.
Our defences were pitiful; we never stood a chance. They stole everything: our food, our belongings, our families and friends. And, as I was dragged—literally—away from my home by a blood red aura of ghastly unicorn magic, I came to one single conclusion before I finally was allowed relief.
Life was never going to be so simple again.
Author's Note
Many thanks to Dagger of Winter , Word Worthy , AShadowOfCygnus , Azure Drache , LinktheLazy , RuinQueenofOblivion and Kalash93 for prereading and editing this chapter!
Fallout: Project Necessities
Chapter One—Foul Play
Today's struggles may seem hard, but they will help develop the strength needed to face tomorrow.
I regained and lost consciousness at least a few times before I woke up properly. When I did, my coming to was more than a little unpleasant; shouts and arguing filled the air, and profanities were flung about as if they were not so horrid. I shuddered with each forbidden one; it was such language, only a tiny spark, that had initially begun ponykind's long road to destruction and devastation. Of course, it wasn't a curse word which had been the ultimate trigger for the Yaks to release their new nuclear bomb on ponykind—and, by extension, Equestria retaliated with magic bombs not due to a swear, but because they were about to be slaughtered.
But everything had almost certainly begun with unpleasantries, years before the war when the businessponies of Equestria started encroaching onto the Yak lands. Farmers and pegasi melted the snow to provide more fertile land for crops or livestock, whilst mining companies claimed unexplored caverns for their own and exploited the resources there without restraint. Factories quickly sprung up around the mountains, the land there being the best place to hide such monstrosities from the ponies who already frowned upon the ones in their neighbourhoods.
It was by that logic that foul language was strictly forbidden in the village. Everypony knew what the words were, of course—they were told to one another in hushed whispers so as not to let anyone else hear—but they were never spoken in pleasant company. And it was fear that kept ponies in line in that way; rumours circulated around the village quickly, and given that none of the ponies who swore ever returned from their exile up topside...
Needless to say, it was jarring to hear the words used with so little regard as to the consequences. I knew better, of course—just saying something bad wouldn't make you explode—but the terror of tales that I'd heard (and believed) as a foal still had an impact on me now.
Though my vision was hazy, I rose into a sitting position slowly and rubbed a hoof across my forehead tenderly. I then glanced about myself quickly and took note of the fact that I was sat in the back of some sort of cart. All around me were the still bodies—Faust, don't let them be dead!—of my fellow villagers, many of whose fur was now stained red. It was no struggle to work out what the dye was.
I gagged and scrambled to lower my hoof from my head to my lips; the ponies who were pulling us along probably didn't need to know that I wasn't still out of it. Instead I swallowed deeply, lowered my trembling and bloodied hoof and then began to shuffle forwards to the driver's seat. When I got there, I sat taller ever so slowly and peeked my eyes over the top of the wooden sides. I was careful to keep my ears pinned so as to make as little of myself visible as possible.
It was then that I truly realised just how doomed I really was. Ponies of all shapes and sizes loitered around together, looking more like a pack of wolves than a family unit or friends. They chatted together in little groups, admittedly, but none of it was the friendliness I was used to seeing in the village. Indeed, the nicest phrase I picked up on was something like, "It was your fucking fault that cunt got away!" But though it made me cringe and cower a little, it was nothing in comparison to how they acted.
They were almost like young foals, fighting to outdo each other—if foals had massive blades and guns strapped to their bloodied sides. Every few seconds somepony brandished their knife, swiping through the air towards their companions—and any chance of me excusing it as being friendly teasing went out of the window when I saw one gruff stallion laugh as his partner's shoulder was sliced open. The blood dripped on the floor slowly; he seemed to take great pride in the fact that he had caused it. The injured then retaliated, naturally—but the fight did not end until both were lying on the floor and covered in blood.
And the carriage simply walked past them as if they were not there. Nopony cared; I was doubtful that anyone had so much as noticed.
Anypony except me, of course.
It was no wonder that only the strongest village ponies ever got to come up here, I realised with bitterness. The place seemed to be, so far at least, a complete hellhole. The landscape was nothing short of something from an old, pre-war horror novel, blown to pieces and then crudely stitched back together in a hideous manner with weeds and blood and, if my eyes served me well, little rotting chunks of flesh. It was enough to make my stomach reel—but, though I felt nauseous, I could not be sick. Perhaps it was a good thing; I was still content to remain hidden.
I sunk back down to my stomach and then began to crawl across to the main bulk of ponies. I eyed them warily and sniffed meaningfully a few times as I neared. But there was nothing. No unpleasant breaths of air, no slight rustling, no rising chests.
I whimpered and scrambled backwards, now breathing heavily myself as if to compensate for them. I placed my hoof on my chest, relieved to find that my heart was still thumping away. I was alive, and—no, no. I was far from well. In my frantic retreat, my injured hoof had begun to burn once more, and the pain, so much stronger than what I was used to, made my vision blur. It was a relief, in some ways; I couldn't see my friends' unseeing faces now.
And then the reality of the situation hit me.
Dead. They were all dead , never to see the dim light of day again. The villagers, who had worked so hard for so many years to create a tolerable place for the next generation to grow up, were silent. My mother and father—where were they? —couldn't help me anymore. They were gone, and I was left! Alone ! There would be no more scrambled egg on bread, piping hot in the morning; no more long discussions of my mother's dirty magic, and the odd side joke of throwing water over her horn the next time she used it. And—oh Celestia!—I wouldn't even be able to apologise...
My mother was dead, somewhere in that heap of bodies, and the last thing I'd ever said to her—her dying memory of me—was that "I didn't want to be late". No goodbyes. No "I love you"s. Not even so much as a smile. Her last, dying memory of me was nothing more than me dismissing her attempts to help.
I didn't need help. I didn't like help. But that didn't mean I wanted to be left all alone in whatever hellish place this could turn out to be.
I blubbered slightly and collapsed to my underbelly, whimpering at the searing pain which arose in my hoof as I moved. I glanced down at it quickly, tentatively, before my breath caught in my throat at the putrid state of the reddened, swollen wound which now leaked pus. I yanked my eyes away quickly, only more horrified for my inspection. I then sniffled as I whispered to the pile of bodies, "Mama, Papa..."
There was never a reply. Over and over again I breathed the words in a shaking voice, but there did not come a reply. No coo with a gentle hoof stroking my mane; no laugh at my foalishness. Only silence, or what could be considered as such out here. My little bubble was quiet, at least. The mob surrounding me, shouting at each other and grunting as they did Faust-knows-what? They were not so.
But then my little bubble popped when my uninjured hoof brushed over the wound, and the world suddenly became loud. Too loud. Everything was bright and overwhelming; it only made me yelp and cower more. But, for all of its horridness, the deafening bickering at least dulled out my complaints.
And then, from somewhere deep within the mass of bodies, a pair of large, bright pink eyes suddenly appeared, soaked with glistening tears. When I squinted and leaned closer, gasping for each little breath in between my own choked sobs, the pile then began to move a little.
With a dull grunt, a weary little colt pushed his way forwards. He scrunched up his muzzle as he struggled and wiped his eyes on his shoulders so that his chocolate-brown fur turned a shade close to black. It was a coat that I knew all too well, and not for good reasons. But while he may have come close to killing me when he teleported me accidentally into the wolf pen, right now he was just as scared as I was.
I smiled at him weakly through my tears and opened my hoof to call him over to me, but quickly recoiled when the rush of air against the wound sent electric jolts up my spine. My teeth squeaked as they ground together and my back hunched up; when the little colt recoiled slightly, I hastened to force myself to look less pained. He was cautious for a moment before he squirmed his way out from his macabre hiding spot; he then clambered most ungracefully over to me, falling over each unmoving body which got in his way.
And when he got to my side, his tears morphed into an all out wail. He screamed as he leapt upon my body, his hooves welded to my skin as he clung onto me as if I was the only thing he had left in this world.
Honestly, I probably was—especially when his cries silenced even the insanity of the maniacs around us, and in that one moment time seemed to still. To freeze. And then came a quiet and raspy, "What was that?"
I slammed my hoof into the little colt's muzzle quickly so as to cut off his cry, and I threw myself down. The pain which ravaged my body as I did so was torturous, but I didn't cry out; I couldn't allow myself to. In his blubbering state, the little colt also seemed to understand the potential danger of the situation he'd now gotten us in. He kept just as still as me, or as still as he could manage at least. Our breaths were held as we waited.
A touch of wind across my back was almost enough to make my nerve cave in, but I forced myself to stay still and gripped the colt's hoof under the dead bodies of our fellow villagers. He returned the squeeze almost immediately, but otherwise did not move either.
A wet and cracked hoof began to prod on my flank, nudging my cutie mark forcefully as if trying to peel it off—I so nearly shuddered at the thought, but instead I managed to just hold my breath and lie still—and I felt my resolve begin to break. Sweat beaded ever so slightly on my forehead, but when mixed with the blood from my hoof and my family, morbid as the thought was, it was less obvious. The tears which slowly leaked from the corners of my eyes, from both the burning pain of my hoof as the bodies around me bumped into it slightly and from the realisation of everything that I had just lost, were not so.
The cart jolted as the pony behind us grew bored of nuzzling around through the littered corpses and instead opted to clamber up here with us. The little colt by my side whimpered slightly, and I struggled not to join him. It was only the creaking of the cart that saved us, then.
When the pony began to roughly rummage around, searching for life, I realised with horror that I was quite literally a metre away from death. The pony, whoever he was, may as well have been the Grim Reaper; he held my life, and the colt's, in his hooves. If he discovered us, that was.
I couldn't hold my breath forever, but the colt's abilities were even lesser. His breathing was frantic and, as the air brushed past my ear, far from quiet; it was only my body, pressed mostly against his, that hid that fact. But I was only a pony, as well; I stole a few quick, short breaths and held them, feeling my lungs burn just as my hoof did after only a few seconds. My situation was only worsened when the pony then came to stop behind us, maybe having seen some sense of life.
It was over, I thought frantically as his breath fell across my back now. It was putrid, thick with the smell of rotting flesh and decay; had my muzzle not been shoved in between two other corpses which somewhat dulled the stench with their own, I would not have been able to prevent gagging. But even worse was what came next.
Something warm and wet landed between my shoulders, and the stench only increased before it began to trail its way down my back. Down to my flank it continued, and then it slowed; for a moment, I thought I'd been spared the distasteful action. What a fool I was. No, the pony was only preparing himself; he brushed his chin over my fur before he slammed his teeth together, the dull sound suddenly so awful. He then began to nip forcefully at my fur, and when I refused to let myself react to that he clamped his teeth down on my flesh harder. I couldn't help but squeak quietly then; he drew up immediately and snorted, a wicked grin presumably upon his face. But the cart squeaked as he did so and I heard him falter and lower himself down again.
And then he chuckled darkly and drew closer to me again, lifting my dock with his muzzle. Oh, Celestia, no. I kept still, tried not to let my body clench up. It was a test, that was all; no pony was so horrid as to do that .
Something warm and long and hard pressed against me, and I drew in a quick but quiet breath, my body tensing slightly. But whether the pony noticed that, I did not know; all I was aware of was his warm length, slowly prodding at me and—
"Cunt!"
The length drew back sharply, and the pony behind me grunted. He stammered a few times as he retreated quickly, and I noted with pleasure the dull thud as he fell from the back of the cart onto the dusty, dead earth below. He then, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, leapt to his hooves and yelled, "Ah was jus' checkin' 'em proper!"
There was a silence before a low "oh" resonated throughout the collected crowd. "You was checkin' 'em proper, you says?" the voice replied, and the pony on the floor nodded frantically. But he could not utter the words which were about to come out of his muzzle, for something small tore through the flesh of his neck just as it had done my hoof. He fell to the floor, screaming in a wet kind of way. All around, the murmurs quieted—before the speaker laughed. I knew it was him, because nopony else could surely be stupid enough to do so. "Dirty fuckin' bastard," he then cried, clapping his hooves together. "Doesn't 'e know that these 'ere ponies are a special order?"
A laugh, tentative at first, rang out through the crowd. A moment later, it was genuine. Both the little colt and I cowered where we lay, horrified.
"Move out, Pack," the pony yelled just before the sound of a whipcrack rung out through the air. And, a moment later, the dilapitated carriage began its rickety journey once again, and the crowd did not even seem bothered in the slightest that a pony had just died—oh, Luna, was he still alive?—before their very eyes. I wanted to think that they knew that pony had been a horrid piece of work; I wanted to believe that they were only unfazed by the horrors that they must have seen in their life. But while my brain desperately pleaded that that be the truth, both my heart and the little colt's—poor thing, he was only young—knew better.
"K-Klip?" he murmured after a few moments, his entire body trembling beneath mine as if spasming. When I slowly rolled off of him, my hoof screaming as I did so, he then looked up at me, and his lower lip quivered. It was sad, really; he knew my name—you knew everypony in such a small community—but after the incident with the wolves I had always refused to acknowledge him, or to take note of his. "We're gonna die, aren't we?"
It was a heartbreaking statement, so full of understanding that a young colt such as him should not know. And so, though it hurt to do so, I pushed myself up so that I was now sat on my haunches. I could not bear to sit any other way; the pain in my hoof, now truly reinvigorated, was too strong.
“Of course we’re not gonna,” I whispered quietly, smiling as confidently as I could. His pink eyes were proof that I had not helped give him the relief that I had wanted him to have. “Uh, what’s your name?”
The colt looked downwards slowly. “You don’t like me, do you?”
I was quiet before I shook my head quickly—perhaps a little too quickly. Maybe it was obvious that I was exaggerating the truth, but he didn’t question it further. Truthfully, he probably didn’t see any reason to do so; he thought he would be dead within the hour anyway. “Your name?” I prompted once again, avoiding the question.
“My name?” He looked up at me, and a small blush rose on his cheeks. He then said, in something of squeaked whisper, “I’m, y’know, Thorn. Yeah. Thorn Weaver.” He tried to smile through his tears, though it was a pitiful attempt; I scowled at him quickly.
“Thorn Weaver, huh,” I murmured, my head cocked. For some reason, the name itself sounded as un-village-like as possible, but I quickly brushed that thought aside as the tears began to well up in my eyes. The pain from doing so without thinking only made me whimper more before I whispered, my teeth gritted slightly, “You sure about that?”
The little colt nodded frantically, his pink eyes focused most intently on the wood of the driver’s seat. Yeah, right. He seemed to pick up on my distrust pretty quickly, though, and slouched when he realised his pitiful attempt at a lie had failed.
He was talking to a master, after all.
“That’s not my name,” he whispered, and he hunched his back slightly. He could not meet my eyes as he then continued with, “Please… You won't laugh, right?”
I looked around pointedly and sniffled. “Hardly the place for it,” I grumbled, my body quivering once more. I dared not let my eyes focus on anything but the colt; that didn't change reality, though. But either way, he seemed slightly reassured, at least.
“I don't think my Mama…” An audible but not quite loud whimper escaped his lips before he began again and said, “I think I was meant to be a filly. My name’s… I’m Weaver.”
“Just Weaver?”
A sigh came from the poor thing’s lips. “Rose Weaver,” he then admitted, finally, and he slouched next to me. I could feel his body trembling as he lay there. Cold. Frightened. Alone.
But he wasn't alone. Nevertheless, I felt myself getting ever so slightly frustrated at the fact that already, after only a few minutes of knowing him—and after I saved his life—he could still lie to me. We were almost as good as dead anyway; what difference did it make?
I didn't trust liars.
The name was unfortunate, though. And it was with that acceptance that I begrudgingly held out my hoof and wrapped it around his small frame.
"Come here, kiddo," I whispered, my heart thumping at the thought of my word choice. My mother—no! No, I wouldn't think about that. Not now. I instead tried to force a smile and murmured, when the colt faltered and didn't get up immediately, "C'mon Thorny. We're not gonna die on my watch."
The little colt—I would call him Thorn, if only to keep him happy—nodded slowly and then shifted around so that he was cuddled up against my chest. His brown coat was slightly matted with blood, though I couldn't tell if it was his own or from hiding under the pile of bodies. Whatever the case, his eyes slipped shut, and he let out a breath, his muzzle buried into my fur. I smiled and left him for a brief moment, then shifted his body about with my uninjured hoof to make him look less alive. He momentarily fidgeted, but quickly calmed and kept still. After a pained glance about at the land which now seemed to be my home, I then whimpered and lay down with my hoof under my head and the injured one thrown out to the side, safe from being touched. And then I simply lay there, not even able to sleep even if I had wanted to.
Level One
Author's Note
Many thanks to Dagger of Winter , AShadowOfCygnus , RuinQueenofOblivion and Word Worthy for prereading and editing this chapter!
Thanks also go to you, the reader, for taking an interest in this tale; if you would like to get involved in the story in some way, please leave a comment, a favourite, and especially a thumb up! I am also always looking for people to join the prereading and editing team; if you're interested, PM me. Any and all pre-release comments are valued!
Fallout: Project Necessities
Chapter Two — New Rules It’s easy to tell someone to be strong, but to be strong when you are broken is not.
At some point, the heavens had opened. I wasn't quite sure when the drizzle had started, honestly. Truth be told, my head was aching so much already from the terrified thoughts which zipped about with abandon that any other depressing realisations had only added to my panic. Nothing was clear in my mind right now and I certainly couldn't pinpoint any one particular distress. All I knew was that there was nothing at all good about the situation I was in. In a word, everything looked hopeless.
If I had been rational enough to think about it properly, perhaps I would have realised that in truth, there were a few positives. Relatively speaking, of course. Thorn was still alive, even if he was another pony to watch out for, and my injuries could have been a lot worse. On which note, we had not been caught out yet, either. Though I found it hard to accept and appreciate at that moment, it was genuinely a lucky escape.
As I said, everything was relative.
We travelled for a long time, though the hours quickly merged together. All I knew was that I was cold and hungry and in pain. Thorn, too, seemed to be coping miserably; with each cold droplet of water that exploded on his back he seemed to whimper even louder. By the time the carriage had pulled to a stop, in fact, he was completely nestled underneath my body for protection.
My head shot up into the air and my ears flicked about rapidly. We had stopped. Through the entirety of the icy downpour we had not once faltered in our progress. What could be so important that we would stop now?
I elbowed Thorn quickly and he squirmed out from underneath me, but thankfully did not grumble. Before I could explain anything, though, a voice—the pony who I had heard earlier on, if it was even the same day still—rung out over the roar of the rain.
“Listen up, Pack! This ‘ere package is our biggest deal o’ the month. There's a shitload o’ caps in it for us lot, so don't any o’ ya play with the goods, if ya get my gist.” A laugh rung out, but I couldn't quite understand the pony’s words. Or, at least, not at first.
And then I realised.
Caps, stupid though it was, had replaced hard currency out here. I never knew why , but it had been mentioned more than once by the explorers of the village; as it would turn out, my scepticism was for nought. These ponies truly had a package to exchange for caps.
And what other reason was there for them to be hauling around a cart full of dead bodies?
I stifled a whimper and instead drew Thorn closer, my injured hoof absently stroking his rusty mane. It hurt to do so, but I couldn't quite interpret that pain right now. All I knew was one thing; we were supposed to be dead. We were meant to be dinner .
“Now these here fancy guests don't know what sorta food they’re eatin’,” the pony continued, his voice gravelly, “and we sure ain't gonna lose us a paying customer by snitchin on ‘em. Not if they’s got the caps for us, eh. ‘Cos we're good ponies, ain't we!”
There was a pause before the crowd of psychos replied, “We’re good a’ what we do, boss!” After the cry, a quiet applause travelled through the masses, lasting a good few seconds before the initial speaker coughed and it fell away.
“Damn right we are!” he replied, chortling. “So, time’s ‘bout four PM on ma Eyrecolt, lads—” I frowned, the name ringing a bell somewhere in my mind, but I couldn’t quite place it. “—and ya know the drill. One charge a pony, an’ no fightin’ over them light ‘uns. Ya can kill each other when the job’s done, an’ do Ah need ta remind ya cunts what happens if somepony blows the cover?”
A low murmur sounded through the crowd. I could only assume it was one of understanding, but couldn’t really tell for sure. It didn't sound good, though.
I was right.
After a brief pause during which I so desperately hoped the words were just a joke, hoofsteps began to sound. They were not, however, continuing the journey onwards as before and the carriage was not yet moving; the familiar pain which came as my hoof was bashed when the wheels hit a snag did not come. Which meant one thing alone.
They were coming—and I had no time to run.
“Klip!” Thorn whispered quietly, but his voice shook in terror. I could feel him trembling beneath me; shaking myself, all I could do was tell him to keep quiet and stiff.
I couldn't tell him that I would protect him; I had no doubt that I could not.
I almost whimpered as I felt the first body be pulled from beneath me, but I did not know whose it was. All I could tell was that it was a pony’s; none of the village griffons were on this carriage. It was probably for the best, though I would not live long enough to find out the truth of the matter.
All around me, psychotic mares and stallions tugged at corpses in a mannerism not so different to how the hens would have torn apart the giant roaches that they were fed. A bitter thought struck me then, one that I could not unthink. This was karma.
Continually my fellow villagers’ bloodied bodies were thoughtlessly flung from the cart, heaved out of the way without so much as a pause or a falter. Each pony struggled to grab the lightest load, fighting so frequently that I feared for myself more than once. Every now and then, I would see out of the corner of my unmoving eyes—to close them would've seemed like too peaceful a death, compared with the horror of my peers’ demise—a stray head be thrown about recklessly. It was a nauseating, macabre game of football.
And then a jaw clamped down around my rear hoof and I gasped and stiffened. The pony who had grabbed me seemed most pleased by my response; he laughed horridly as he heaved my from the cart and then used every ounce of his strength to hurl my body like one would a javelin. Through the air I flew, but I was not weightless; the sheer terror of the situation pushed down on me like a sack of bricks, and it was not helped when Thorn’s small body was hurled towards me afterwards. He landed a few metres further from me, in the end, with an awful thud. It made me cry out just to up hear it—but then my body registered how beat up I was, and I could not contain the scream then.
I wailed as I tenderly inched towards Thorn and nudged him gently; he only cried out in pain when I did so and turned his head to me slowly, shaking and groaning. His face, poor foal, made me gasp and gag once more; the side which had landed heavily on the rocky ground was torn to shreds in places, half covered in blood and small flaps of torn skin. His bright pink eye was no longer so sweet; now, it was only a menacing shade of red, though it was so often clenched shut. The occasional time he tried to open it up, he only yelped and shut it once more.
“Ha !”
An explosive shout sounded somewhere behind us and, though I could hardly contain my screams, I dragged my broken body over to Thorn’s side. I wrapped my hoof around him quickly—that pain was frankly pitiful in comparison—and pulled him close.
His blood coated my hoof immediately. It was enough to make my stomach gurgle and groan and, almost right away, I gagged slightly—but forced myself to sit tall despite this when a large stallion drew closer. He was by no means nervous about coming close to the psychopaths he presumably called his allies. Rather, he carried himself with a sloppy air of authority. His chest, covered by what looked like pieces of welded-together scraps of metal that were held together by half rusted wire, was puffed out with pride and determination; his eyes shone with vicious glee.
“Well, Pack,” he began before he paused to send a smile my way. His yellowed teeth were bared in a grin, of sorts; I cowered a little and clutched Thorn to my side tighter. “Ah think we’ve got us a pretty penny with what we’ve got already. Who ‘ere’s up for a little… bonus , hmm?”
A cheer rang out through the crowd immediately and my eyes widened, but I couldn't do anything. Even if I'd been able to, though, I wouldn't have managed; instead, my body, still clutching onto Thorn, was grasped in an electric and unstable sort of magical aura which bit at my sides and made me yelp. But worse was the pain which came when we were roughly thrown from pony to pony, each bucking at our bodies with a pleasured laugh so as to keep our propulsion. And then, finally, we landed with a small crash back in the old carriage. Blood beaded on our skin from the hardened hooves which had struck so carelessly; the bruises which had sprung up almost immediately, deep purple but rapidly turning black, burned even worse.
“Somepony watch ‘em!” the stallion yelled with glee as he heaved a body onto his back. I knew that black mane well: it was my neighbour, my best friend. But I couldn't be in any more pain right now; that realisation, countered with the bile in my throat and the convulsing world before me and the pain so severe that my body couldn't even stand up to the brush of a breeze against it, was nothing.
And I couldn't even think of his name.
Thorn had passed out by now, at least. He was allowed relief—but I had already used that get-out-of-jail-free card, it would seem. Fate… Fate was cruel like that. No, not cruel. No, it was downright evil.
I don't know how long I had been there until the delivery was taken care of. Some part of my mind knew what was going on; my heart screamed out at me to fight, to help, to save the ponies from one last, final indignity. But I could no longer think, I could no longer see, I could no longer feel; there was nothing but the high pitched wail of a whistle, ringing endlessly in my bloodied ears, and pain.
Pain was everything.
But, as the time laboured by, the pain began to dull. I kept still and moved only to let the cool, unnatural air into my lungs, even if to do so meant searing pain. That was a secondary concern by now, though; I was alive, at least.
If anything, I owed my life to my dead village comrades, and ought to honour that precious gift by keeping Thorn safe—if I could. I tried not to think of anypony in particular as my mind slowly, slowly began as to function properly once again. They were simply a group, a name. They're were the villagers—they did not get any individuality.
Because to have given them that would inevitably just break me.
If I was to survive out here, I needed to know what I would actually be up against. I’d heard tales, of course—claims of vicious beasts, of giant mutants and of bloodthirsty ferals—but didn't know what, exactly, the truth was. Surely those tales had just been that: make believe.
Because while overgrown roaches were certainly feasible, giant trout seemed a bit far fetched. Why, I didn't know. They just seemed… unbelievable.
Focusing solely on the need to survive, and hence the need to learn more about this strange new world, I flicked my bloodied ears slowly until I found a conversation nearby to single out. I then put all of my effort into blocking out the surrounding gossip and chatter, much of it quite disturbing, and listened intently to what was being said.
“What?” one whispered in disbelief. Her feminine voice carried not-so-subtle hints of viciousness, a tone that made me shudder
“I know! I read a book, I swear! Like, a good few pages at least!” The second speaker paused for a moment before he finished with, sounding even more impressed with himself than he had done before, “It had words an’ everything, I tell you!”
The mare presumably gasped at this point. She then whispered, “Geez. Never knew you had it in you! What was it ‘bout?”
“Ah, it was a funny thing. There was this guy called ’Zeus’, but I didn't get much further. I mean, it was probably some cunt tryin’ to rip off Boss, right?”
The mare snorted. “Too right. Who wouldnt want to be our— Oh!” The mare squeaked and was quiet for a moment before she cried out, though I couldn't be certain I’d heard correctly, “Boss Zay-Oos the Slanderer!”
Though humour seemed to be akin to pain right now—to smile made my bruised cheek curse and complain—I was only just able to contain my snorts. What had she said? Zay-Oos the Slanderer?
Needless to say, any notions I may have had arguing that these ponies were slightly sane went out of the window right then and there. They were nothing more than sloppily-armed, sadistic idiots.
I shuffled slowly to the side of the carriage. I had to bite back numerous whimpers and wails as I did so, of course, but it gave me a good look at the so-called boss of this less than civilised herd.
“Hey, now, Blades,” he said with a chortle as he thumped her with a heavy hoof. “Ya know Ah ain't here ta kill ya. Ya’d be on the ground already if ah was.”
The mare laughed nervously. “Sorry, Boss. It's habit, don't you know.” She grinned a little more, showing her putrid yellow teeth off. “We was just sayin’ ‘bout how you’ve got yourself some fans, eh?”
The boss stood taller and pricked his ears forwards. His tongue licked his lips as if hungry.
I sure hoped he wasn't.
“Fans, huh? Why d’ya say tha’?”
“Well, Hoofnail here was reading a book and—”
The boss stiffened and looked down at the smaller, less armoured stallion. His eyes were wide and his mouth opened and closed a few times before he then said, “Ya read a book? With actual words ‘n’ all?”
The smaller male stood taller and said, “Yep! Didn't get far, though, ‘cos I saw that it was just a rip off of you, Boss. Some dumb fucker tryin’ to pass off their character as somepony completely different, but they were obviously based on you! I mean, their name was Zeus and everything!”
Zay-Oos the Slanderer stood taller and grinned. Were those fangs in his mouth? “Wicked. Think that calls for a lil’ celebration an’ all, don't ya? We’s makin’ our name out ‘ere, after all!” He paused and began to stroke his chin gently, his eyes then turning towards me after a moment’s hesitation. When they met with mine, they flashed a bright yellow.
I yelped and fell down from the edge of the carriage, scarpering back to Thorn’s side with quiet whimpers and whines, each movement sending jolts up my spine—but, to my genuine surprise, no attack came. Not yet. Thank the stars; I didn’t need any more pain.
It took a while, but eventually I managed to push the pain away once again. If I only kept still, the fates seemed to take pity on me. And it was as such that my previous determination to find out more disintegrated and I opted instead to simply lie there. It was cold, and it was mind-numbingly boring. With my wolf fur coat confiscated, the chill went right down to my bones. But, despite that, at least it didn’t hurt. Not so much, anyway.
At some point in the next few hours—the sun had begun to set, I noticed with dismay—Thorn had awoken from his not-quite-restful sleep. He, just like me, was in a shoddy state of repair. His wounds no longer bled, thankfully, and he could now at least open his injured eye properly. Not that it made me feel any better, though; nopony had bothered us since being attacked, but looking into his bloodshot pink eyes was undeniably unsettling, to say the least.
We talked in hushed voices for a little while, though mostly he listened as I told him about my role in the village. There was nothing else to really discuss, other than our current situation—and that was horrid enough as it was without working ourselves up even more.
And so I told him of the day I’d ended up in the wolf pen, and admittedly felt slightly smug at his apologeticness immediately after. I explained my role in the village, tending to the hens, and filled him in on every little detail I had ever picked up on them: how Myrtle would sometimes refrain from eating with the others so that she could be fed by hoof; how little Fannie, bless her, would rub against your leg every time you entered the coop; how big Mama Wanda always seemed to pick on the other girls but would run away squawking if a pony came near. And, last but certainly not least—and easily the most painful of all—I spoke of my family.
He listened quietly, lapping up everything I said with enthusiasm. Perhaps it was sheer boredom that drove him to listen so intentively, but I would argue that he was genuinely curious. The way his good eye lit up at the mention of the birds was heart melting; his sorrow at my grief was so genuine.
And then he told me of his family. He spoke of his father, who had never seemed able to make time for him and instead spent every minute with his younger sister. And then he went on to discuss his mother with me, beginning to tear up as soon as he spoke the word. But he persisted, whispering to me tales of her kindness, her love.
And then we both broke down in blubbering messes, laying at the back of the carriage and sobbing. Thorn trembled in my hooves yet again; I could hardly control myself enough to reassure him.
After hours of uncomfortable journeying across the ravaged and destroyed landscape which made up a small section of topside Equestria, the moment when the carriage finally pulled to a halt was a relief. I let out a breath, still sobbing slightly, and let my eyes slip shut; my body relaxed, free from the jolting which had come with each stone the rickety cart had passed over. But, when I opened them once again to look about me, I felt my relief fall away into yet more despair.
We were now position at the entrance gates to some sort of town, though I used the word cautiously. The buildings were half-dilapidated and looked as if they had been blown together by the wind, as opposed to actually built. Some were in a better state of repair than others; even the best were missing a wall or a window, with others completely lacking a roof or sides at all. By extension, they weren’t even brick and mortar, or wood, or even mud. They were, almost literally, sheets of metal piled on top of eachother.
With the icy tongue of the wind that licked at the tips of my ears so that I had to cower behind the wooden sides of the carriage for protection, it was miraculous that any still stood. But, to give credit where it was due, I only saw one that had fallen over.
The state of repair could, perhaps, be excused. After all, production of metal sheets would certainly not be operational any more—or so I presumed, at least—and resources were surely finite. Ponies had to make do with what little they had. Even in the village, that had been the case, let alone out in the wastelands where most everything had been blown to pieces when the nuclear bombs had fallen.
Something that could not be excused, however, was the quality of the place itself. In a word, it was filthy. Repulsive, even. Grime was everywhere and the village seriously needed a good tidying. Random clumps of bright green fungus that seemed to fluoresce slightly in the dim light sprouted from every nook and cranny available, as if trying to take over in its own little way. The odd corpse or pile of bones, half-gnawed and with little bits of flesh still clinging on at the end, could be found close to the shack doors—or the ones that had doors, at least. A few mutated dogs ran about desperately, lashing out at each other with razor sharp teeth protruding from their half-melted faces.
Off-brown puddles littered the blood-splattered, lightly gritted streets; it seemed that even the rain was not pure enough to wash away the horrors which came to pass here. From what I’d already seen of these ponies, it wasn’t hard to believe such things occurred on a daily basis.
I choked back my sobs at the sight and gripped Thorn even more tightly as the ponies clamoured around us. He still trembled beneath me, poor soul, but the words that left his mouth next surprised me so much that, for a moment, I felt as if there was still some good left in the world.
“Klip?” he began, looking up at me from below. His bloodied eye was covered now by his mane. I was relieved by that, to say the least. “Klip, I’m scared. But… but I think we need to work together, or we’re both gonna…” He couldn’t finish that sentence and instead shook his head. When the ponies around us came in closer, hooves stomping against the hardened ground, he then said with a whimper, “I’ll be your friend, if you want?”
I froze. And then, as the psychotic ponies began to silence and make way for their leader, I nodded slowly and coiled my painful hooves around him protectively. I then pushed him behind me, shielding him with my body as I asked, in a voice that betrayed almost all of my fear, “What do you ponies want with us?”
A few cackled loudly, whilst others merely grinned. Their leader, now stood at the front of the group, then nodded towards us and stomped his hoof loudly.
A few clambered up onto the carriage immediately and slunk forwards, maniacal snickers escaping from their mouths. Already backed up against the back, I could not get away; even to run would have been impossible. If I had been uninjured it still would have been a stupid plan. There were just too many on all sides to escape.
I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, a drumroll of terror. I struck out blindly with my rear legs, slicing through the air in a panic. But none of my blows landed true. None but one—which was promptly captured between a heavy pair of teeth.
I screamed and thrashed about immediately. But there had never been any hope of my succeeding in escaping the jaws which now clamped my hoof; the grip was so firm that my leg had started to show little droplets of blood. And so, even though I fought with all of my might, I soon found each of my weakened legs clasped between rotting, yellowed teeth.
I cried and bucked my hips frantically, though I only managed to make my capturers stumble. I cracked my tail repeatedly, the sound making my own body shudder, but it was to no avail. I was still dragged from the carriage head first, the wood biting repeatedly at my body, and behind me followed Thorn. He was heaved along roughly by a black magical aura which clasped his tail; each time he was purposefully thrown against the carriage wall, I could only yell and cry and, through the heavy floods of tears, promise him that I would keep him alive through this.
But, not at all to my surprise, I don’t think he could find the strength to believe my traumatised and desperate cries in the slightest.
Level Up!
Author's Note
Many thanks to Dagger of Winter , Word Worthy , kalash93 and AShadowOfCygnus for prereading and editing this chapter!
Fallout: Project Necessities
Chapter Three: A Question of Morals
Chapter Three — A Question of Morals To be deceitful is a sin, but it cannot be classified as such if done only for the good of those in need.
In the village, we had been mostly sheltered from the vicious winds which howled above. At the bottom of the Abysmal Abyss, hundreds of metres below sea level, the air was in fact rather still. With the west-facing entrance to the abyss blocked off long before even the Great War by a massive rock slide, very little of anything was capable of getting in.
I frowned at the thought, watching my guards with narrowed eyes all the while. How had the ponies gotten into the village? How had they found us, to begin with?
I let out a breath and hung my head, letting it then fall down onto my hooves. One of the stallions flicked an ear at this and, fittingly, cracked his tail loudly at me. Chained tightly as I was, I could hardly move to avoid his attack; the sheer force made me yelp, but he only chuckled darkly.
Our prison was bleak, to say the least. Unlike the village, where the wind had been scarce and gentle, it blew through every nook and cranny in this place and stole every ounce of body heat I may have had. With Thorn tied tightly to the opposite wall to me—he, at least, was lucky that his chain collar didn’t cut into his throat as mine did—we could not even cuddle up to conserve what little warmth we had.
But we didn’t have to worry about that for long, I realised bitterly, for the guards had parted and in their place the boss pony, still covered with his salvaged armour, stood tall. His eyes, it transpired on closer inspection, had not merely flashed yellow earlier; they were, in fact, entirely coloured. Tattooed to look even more evil than before.
“Well, ‘ello there you two,” he snarled, stepping closer. I could smell his breath almost instantly, but fought to sit tall—or as tall as my chains allowed—anyway. “How’s ya likin’ our little bit o’ Equestria, eh?”
I did not say a word. Zay-Oos merely grunted.
“Eh, be tha’ way. You’ll be screamin’ soon enough, little pony, so Ah spose there’s no point for ya to be wastin’ ya breath now.” He laughed and then stepped closer, clucking his tongue when I snapped my teeth together in an attempt to bite his fore leg. He then leaned closer—he really did have fangs—and reached behind me with his horn lit up. A moment later, my chains fell free and I sighed, only to have the breath forced from my lungs a moment later when he forcibly yanked the ‘leash’ into the air. I gasped and reared up, struggling to find some air and to release the binds. After a few agonisingly long seconds, he then loosened it just enough so that I could breath once again—but only barely.
“Oh, ya look so alluring when ya’s gaggin’ like tha’,” he grunted, his muzzle opened in an enthusiastic grin. He then leaned closer once again and nuzzled my side gently before he bit down hard, making blood bead on my skin and me cry out in pain. He only laughed more. Behind him, through pain-blurred vision, I could see the two guards standing stiffly; an unwanted glance to just underneath their belly made me balk and whimper, suddenly barely able to stand tall as I had done before. “Wha’s wrong, little pony?” Zay-Oos whispered now, his breath purely noxious. “Ya’d better be gettin’ used ta tha’ sorta thing round ‘ere. A good mare must do ‘er job an’ all, don’t ya think?”
I blubbered quietly and Zay-Oos’ grin only widened. He then dragged me roughly to his side, snagging Thorn’s collar with his magic and jerking him over as well. He then stepped outside, heaving us along behind him despite our injuries. I yelped and winced with each step and limped quite evidently; that didn’t stop the horrid ponies from hauling rocks and pebbles in our direction, no sympathy from any of them. Shouts followed us as we reluctantly followed Zay-Oos, but I fought not to listen to them. It was the most defiant thing I could manage right now.
The psycho town’s streets were far from nice. The roughly scattered grit bit at my unshod hooves—there hadn’t been any point in wearing horseshoes back in my village—and where the tracks weren’t covered the mud was so claggy that, walking on my injured hooves as I was, it was almost impassable. Not getting an infection… That seemed an impossibility at this point.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next, though. As Zay-Oos dragged us further, both Thorn and I struggling behind him like weary pack mules, we soon found ourselves at the entrance to some new shack. It was larger than the others and, oddly, it looked much more secure and sturdy as well. The metal walls were reinforced with wooden planks and there was hardly a single hole at all. The roof was held down very tightly and the individual sheets had been stretched and welded together to make one thick, leak-proof barrier. The door itself, though only another sheet of tin, was held in place by a massive rock. It took a good, strong buck from an earth pony guard to move it enough to open the door, its hinges rusted but at least still functional.
And then we went inside, and any hopes I may have so foolishly harboured that these ponies were just putting on an intimidating show, that they would accept us and give us some nice house out in this hellhole of a land, went up in flames.
The immense, overpowering smell was the first thing that hit me when I stepped hoof unwillingly into the room. The thick, metallic stench of blood and the sour, acrid stink of old sweat were the first things that reached my muzzle, making me gag and fight to scarper backwards. But my efforts were to no avail, of course; Zay-Oos only snorted and tightened his grip on my chains. Then, with a strong jerk, he threw me forwards into the middle of the room. It was at that moment that one more thing reached my burned nostrils: the caustic, ammoniated smell of concentrated urine and a putrid combination of barely-sweet, fishy and outright foul—not a healthy smell at all—that I knew could only be one thing.
I really didn’t want to think on it.
But that was not such an easy thing to ignore. Thorn, at my side now, shook on his short legs; I could hardly stand straight either. So much so that, when heavy hooves struck our flanks, we were both sent careening into the nearby wall with such a lack of control that the impact should have pulled the flimsy shack apart. But its strength was sadly proven at that moment, a fact which made Zay-Oos chuckle.
“She’s a good’un, eh?” he grunted before he stepped closer. Once more he grabbed our chains with his magic and hoisted them behind our heads; I gasped for breath, choked, until he snagged the link on a rusting barb and finally let us breathe once more.
Was he so intent on killing us?
“Ya stay there, ya cunts,” he hissed in our ears, his sharpened hooves slashing at my cheek. It was enough, just about, to draw blood. His unnerving yellow eyes then began to shine, but that glee only made me squirm and scamper as far back as I could. He did not try to stop me, though; rather, he snapped his head around and let his eyes land on the opposite corner of the room. For a moment, I was perplexed—and then a whimper and a sniffle sounded when the stallion’s vomit-coloured aura wrapped around a jet black clump of tail. A small mare, whose light purple fur was completely discoloured by splashes of off-white spunk and old blood—oh, Celestia —then lay there trembling, her massive gold eyes the size of pinpricks as she watched Zay-Oos lick his fangs slowly, slowly. He then stepped closer to her, smirking; her screams and pleas echoed loudly around the room, and he hadn't even done anything yet.
That poor mare… I whimpered at the sight. It was horrid in itself, of course, seeing a defenceless mare like this, but even worse was her resemblance to Ochre, to my best friend.
My mind flashed back to her lifeless corpse, hauled away to be butchered by one of these ponies. It was enough to make me gag alone—but when Zay-Oos’ plans for the mare became even clearer, I found myself shaking and crying in my own corner.
I wasn't even as beaten up as that poor mare, let alone anything else.
But I could not look away. I wanted to do so desperately, I really did, but the guards had caught onto my attempts. It had not even taken much to force me to watch the horrific scene which was playing out before me; a magical aura tugged at my ear painfully, and the gun pressed to my temple was enough to ensure my adherence.
It was awful. The poor mare’s screams did not cease once. Rather, they only increased in volume as time heaved itself by. Pulled to her feet, she wobbled visibly where she stood; her frantically darting eyes and heaving chest only became more apparent when the boss shoved a spike, freshly sharpened, under her stomach. He then walked to her front, his eyes narrowed as he leaned in a bit at her ear. It was not an affectionate nip; it was an all out attack, powerful enough to leave deep holes there which oozed blood almost instantly. But the mare could not scream any louder or cry any more profusely if she had tried.
And then, the poor thing, Zay-Oos stumbled carefully to her back end. He laughed—laughed —as he leapt upon her, but I was at least spared that grisly detail. But I could hear everything; her screams, laced with his enthusiastic, less-than-hesitant grunts.
And then I realised, which so much disgust, that the guard who was blocking my view was getting excited himself. His magic fell from my ear and he grumbled his distress, eyeing that poor mare up hungrily through the darkness. His colleague, too, seemed to have similar ideas (if his open, drooling mouth was anything to go by).
There was no doubting why I was here. I watched in terror as the door opened and another mare—just as well used as the one before us—was kicked back into the pen; the two guards leapt upon her immediately, but she did not complain. Instead she merely stood there and took it, looking more like a corpse than a living pony.
My mind was made up at that moment. The Villagers had given their lives for us, in a sense; I couldn't waste that immense sacrifice now. And so, with constant attention to the much distracted stallions, I slowly began to fiddle with the chains. Noise was not such an issue; over the crying and the screams and the grunts, a little clinking would not be heard. I only had to be careful to move slowly enough so as not to arouse suspicion—and that paid off when, just as I finished pulling on the embedded hooks which kept Thorn and I chained to the ground, the boss slipped off of his terrified prey in a quivering mess of pleasure.
There wasn't time to wait. The guards looked as if they would not be distracted much longer, but worse was the issue of Zay-Oos and his magic right now. And so, as quietly as I could, I shuffled slightly closer to Thorn’s side and beckoned for him to get onto my back. He did so reluctantly, trembling and whimpering with tear tracks staining not just his cheeks but the entirety of his little muzzle. But that could be sorted in a minute; for now, we just needed out. And so, after handing the ends of both chains to Thorn to hold out of the way, I clenched my muscles, took a deep breath in and leapt to my hooves.
The pain was immense, a tidal wave of nearly mind-numbing distress. But adrenaline was my fuel for now, and I was out of the door before Zay-Oos had a chance to rise to his evil hooves.
For a moment, everything was quiet. The ponies milling about outside did not notice the chains which were now held in Thorn’s little hooves; our bloodied bodies only helped us to blend in. But then Zay-Oos stepped out of the hut and yelled at his ponies to catch us.
The response was immediate. The ponies turned on us immediately; roars filled the air and the same small, metallic projectiles from before whizzed past us as we fled. Thorn, cowering on my back and gripping on for dear life, was able to deflect a few with his magic to fling them back at their masters. One hit its mark true; one of our attackers was promptly sent crashing to the ground, suddenly without a leg. He didn’t last long after that, but my terror wouldn’t allow me to slow or stop.
I sidestepped some sort of explosive balls as they landed, hurled by the ponies who charged after me. I leapt over debris and the odd skull which lay on the ground, and each jump made my body cry out. I was not used to carrying this much weight. But, heavy or not, this was my forte.
With every few steps I gained a fraction of distance on my pursuers. My injuries kept me back, stopped me from sprinting as I would otherwise have done—but I was still faster, slightly, and agile enough to avoid at least most of the attacks. The ponies behind me fought amongst each other over who would take me out, and those who didn’t bicker had no co-operation. It was the advantage I needed.
It felt like I had been running for hours, but it had probably been nothing more than a few minutes. The rough, burned ground tore my already injured hooves to shreds; my blood splattered against the dusty floor now and then. But I was so nearly there, so close to being free from that horrid place that hadn’t even shown me yet just how cold it could be…
I had lost them, but I couldn’t stop my gallop now. I just ran and ran, each extra metre a smidgen further from the psychotic ponies who were pursuing me and Thorn. I did not falter. I did not even stop to consider the searing stitch which now scorched my side.
Not at first, at least. But then, when my legs at last caved and I fell exhausted and panting to the ground, I found that my path had come to an abrupt end. On either side of us an untamed river fell in cascades, crashing against the rocky, bare banks. My heart palpitated at the roars.
Even worse, though, was the towering statue that stood before me. At its base were scrawled the words, “National Treasure, Wartime Hero”. But it was not such a blessing for me; it had long since crumbled across the pathway, shattering any hopes I may have had of escaping.
A massive mare, sculpted with outside care from marble, stood in a rearing pose, her wings outstretched wide and her mane and tail flying about her muscular frame. Her cutie mark, much like her other more subtle features, had sadly been eroded over the past two centuries by the destructive nucleo-magical rain which had poured from the sky. All that could be made out now were the gentle curves of what I could only presume were a fluffy white cloud. It was the likes of which I had only ever seen in my imagination, and in the village’s much loved collection of pre-war books. Oh, how closely they had been guarded. But, whatever the case, the statue had certainly seen better days; her heavy feathers had fallen around her along with large hunks of her broken off body. The path was impassable. I had run us straight into this trap. And they were coming.
I was quiet for a moment and then shakily rose up into a standing position. I trotted frantically on the spot and ran from one side of the path to the other in a frantic, desperate search for an escape. I scrambled at the side of the boulders but my hooves found no purchase and I fell back down every time that I tried to escape.
Thorn was left cowering on the floor behind me. His horn sparked wildly and his repulsive, immature unicorn magic spilled from him uncontrollably. The specks spasmed as they were thrown about in the wind. But his attempts to escape were in vain and every time that he fought to lift his body he could only get a few metres up, or otherwise merely flickered when he tried to teleport himself away.
Neither of us could get out of this pen. And they were coming.
Pebbles shook slightly on the ground and I whimpered, striking at the marble with desperate hooves. Thorn quickly ran to my side and hid beneath me; his little tail was wrapped tightly around his body, but I could do nothing to help him. I had no weapons, I had no armour, I had no shelter. I had nothing but my beaten up body.
But we had company. They were no longer coming. We had been caught.
“Thorn!” I cried, leaping down from the debris so as to jump in front of him. I then pushed him back with my hoof and flattened my ears in some attempt to appear threatening. I snorted loudly and pawed at the dirt, each action only making me tremble more. But I had to appear strong, for it was all I had right now. “Thorn, keep b-behind me!”
And then a form appeared, bounding towards us at a frantic rate. But it was not the psychotic ponies who I had been expecting…
It was much, much worse.
The beast was massive, its colossal body lumbering through the water as if it was standing in a mere puddle. It was an almost entirely hairless thing, with only a thin covering of spine-like black and white strands across the very top of its hideous body and around its head. The rest of its frame was composed of thick, off-brown leather that was marred with scars and slashes, and almost every inch of it was disfigured by huge, bulbous deformities. Its very skin, in fact, had the appearance of being half melted onto the creature’s skeleton and muscle, as if it had been dipped in a vat of lava and then pulled back out to execute its revenge on the wicked world which it had awoken to.
The thing was easily thrice my height, and greater still should it stand upright on its powerful, heavily muscled rear legs. But even if it had been smaller it would have sent shudders down my spine and would have broken any nerve I may have gathered; those two pure black eyes, and the white variant which had mutated unnaturally in between, were accentuated by the bold, bloody red of the dry skin around them, torn merely by its blinking. They bore deep into my heart and soul and I was unable to stand under their unmissing watch. My legs buckled beneath me and I fell to my knees, and as I did so my gaze came to rest upon the daggers which protruded from the creature’s monstrous paws, each one digging deep into the earth when they struck.
It was close, now. I could see the additional, fused limbs which had mutated from its uncovered underbelly, dragging along the ground and hurling dirt and rocks forwards from between its forelegs. I yelped and cowered, covering my head with my hooves and shielding Thorn with my tail and back. But it was no good; it was over, I realised as the sharp rocks struck my neck with such force that I outright screamed.
But then my cries were drowned out by a momentary roar and a few short, sharp bleeps. And, as I squinted my eyes open and tried to make sense of what was going on through the tears, I watched the earth before me burst into tiny fragments of dust and dirt as the beast was thrown high into the air. The explosion was massive, surely heard for miles around, or at least the way my ears screamed in pain made it seem that way.
The beast was thrown high into the air before it landed with a muffled boom in the small crater which had resulted below. One of its legs had been blown clean off and now lay in a pool of blood to my side, but the beast hardly seemed weakened. Despite the torrents of blood which poured from its mangled fore stump and its dislodged jaw, it only seemed angry and ever more dangerous.
“Get back!” I yelled as it approached, my voice quavering and unsteady and, quite frankly, pathetic. But Thorn was crying and screaming now in his terror, and I couldn’t let him down without trying. And so I stumbled to my hooves and threw myself forwards towards the beast, wailing myself as I spun around on my torn up fore hooves and struck out at its lowered head with as much foolish force and momentum as I could muster.
And then it bellowed in rage and pain and swiped its remaining fore paw at me, its hot blood soaking my pale fur as the blunt edges of its claws connected and sent me rocketing towards the riverbank. Every bone roared when I landed, my body surely broken from such an impact, but I had to fight through the pain. The rush of the tremendous volume of water bit at my rear hooves and I fumbled to climb away from the edge, picturing myself being swept down a river filled with massive, spear-like rocks on all sides. The sting of the splashes alone was brutal, but I had to keep going… I had to fight, for Thorn, because otherwise we would both die out here and nopony would be left to honour the Villagers’ sacrifice.
But the beast… It was not attacking anymore. Or, rather, it was not attacking me at least.
I was destroyed, and with each metre that I inched my body screamed in pain. My entire world was now one big blur, an endless downpour of agony and terror that coursed through every inch of my skin and bone and flesh. It was foolish to keep going, reckless; to simply lay still under the now cloud-filled sky would have been so much safer, so much easier, if only I didn’t have the need to know what was going on.
I watched without being able to tear my gaze away, but the sight was a horrific one. The psychotic pegasus pony was alone, the only one to have caught up so far, and wielded the strange contraption held to his side by a strap with reckless abandon. Each time that his tattered feathers clamped down on it, shining metallic projectiles shot from the tip of the pipe towards the beast, tearing through flesh as if not there. But the monstrosity hardly faltered in its own attacks, despite the pond of blood which now gathered below it. In fact, it did not even begin to hesitate until the pony fell, laughing maniacally on the ground whilst the creature used a razor blade of a claw to slice open his chest to spill his blood and guts across the floor.
And then it finally turned on me with a mouthful of fresh, hot intestines hanging out of its broken maw—and galloped forwards. But I could do nothing to stop its attack except scream as it hooked my tail in its paw and threw me across the ground roughly, sending spasms of pain through my body which made my vision flash black and made my ears hear nothing but the rush of blood through them and the thumping of my heart.
Fate was cruel once again, though. I did not pass out; was not allowed to, in fact. But no killing blow came, no release from this torture. There was only a sudden crash, and a painful shock to my already battered body, and then silence.
I had to move. I had to run, to escape, but all I could manage was to stumble to my hooves, take one step and then promptly fall back down on my muzzle. I took a few deep breaths, almost gasping for air, before I then tried once again. This time, however, it was easier—namely due to the small colt who stood underneath me, helping to elevate me against the beast’s downed corpse.
For a few minutes, we did nothing but stand there quietly. I could not move on my own; I could hardly even keep my eyes open as it was. As the time dragged by, though, my body slowly began to settle down. The pain eased slightly. My ears slowly tuned back in to the odd sounds of the topside world whilst my vision began to recover, to become sharper. I lay down when Thorn began to grumble quietly, though he did not say anything directly to me; after I had done so, I found myself capable of at least keeping my head up, without the searing pain which had come before.
We didn’t have time to get too settled, however, as the sounds of excited hubbub began to reach our flicking, torn ears. We both whimpered and shrunk down, praying that the beast’s corpse would hide us from view—but the psychotic ponies were not entirely stupid. The moment their eyes landed upon their fallen comrade they rushed forwards with shouts and yells whilst they threatened, in no uncertain terms, to tear apart the beast that did this—but when they noticed its already downed body, they fell quiet instead. When they trotted around the beast’s side, however, and noticed Thorn and me—especially me, what with my yellow coat now completely drenched with the creature’s blood—they quietened.
Murmurs passed through the crowd, but they did not make true on their threats. Rather they merely stood in a circle around us, staring at us as if we something poisoned, something deadly—which seemed cruelly ironic coming from the maniacs before us. But then the crowds parted quickly a few minutes later and the boss pony stepped through, his yellow eyes flashing. The fur of his underbelly was crusted over from his pleasures earlier on, I realised sickeningly.
“Ya...” he hissed, his eyes darting between the beast and his comrade and me. “Wha’d ya do, cunt?”
I gulped, my ears falling back so that they almost blended in with the back of my neck. A low chortle went out among the crowds, an evil sort of sound that sent shivers down my aching spine—but also sparked an idea in my mind. A risky, stupid idea that should only even be considered by a mare on the edge of losing it all.
Judging by the way Zay-Oos was licking his lips once more, that seemed to fit this predicament pretty well.
And so I straightened my legs slowly, the pain coursing through my body immediately, and wobbled into a standing position. I then gritted my teeth, careful not to let them squeak in pain, and hissed, “You think I would be standing if this—” I gestured across my body with my injured hoof, “—was my blood?” I huffed and glared at the crowd. That, at least, was not forced. “You ponies are utter imbeciles .”
The crowd stepped back almost simultaneously; the psychotic ponies eyed me warily as they did so. Only Zay-Oos remained where he was, tapping the metal of his armour uncertainly with the tip of his hoof. All the while, Thorn whimpered where he lay, tugging at my fur. It took all of my strength not to reassure him, but I knew what had to be done. I had begun this thing; it was all or nothing now.
“Quit your whining, Welp!” I shouted, loud enough for all the ponies surrounding us to hear. I then lowered my head to his level and gave him a momentary smile, brief enough for him—and him alone—to see. I then pushed him away (with much difficulty) and snapped to the surrounding ponies, my vision now somewhat blurred as the pain increased once again, “So, anyone wanna take me on? My hooves are absolutely aching for something else to hit after pounding that… thing to death!” I paused. “And your worthless pal for getting in my way.”
There was silence. It seemed to be a theme, I noted with dismay as I then collapsed back down to my stomach, unable to stand any longer. The calm before the storm, as some would say. But, amazingly, Zay-Oos did not order his cronies to attack this time. Instead, after a few seconds of frowning and rubbing his chin, he then relaxed and wrapped his magical aura around my body.
Thorn and I were both lifted roughly into the air. He then dumped us each down on one of his ponies’ backs, chortling as he said, “This ‘ere mare’s got more raider in ‘er than she lets on, Pack. Move out; there ain’t gon’ be no killin’ today.” A loud grumble met the boss’ words, but he only laughed more. “As our new comrade ‘ere said, quit yer whinin’ and get them fat asses movin’! We got us an initiation to watch!”
Level Up!
Author's Note
Many thanks to Dagger of Winter , Word Worthy , kalash93 and AShadowOfCygnus for prereading and editing this chapter! Also thanks to ProjectRabbid and Madame Hellspawn for general comments.
Fallout: Project Necessities
Chapter Four: Impressions
Chapter Four — Impressions
They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer, but doing so will only leave everyone hurt.
When Zay-Oos the Slanderer had announced that there was to be an initiation to watch, I hadn't known what to expect. Frankly, I had not exactly paid that much attention to his words; my body was screaming in agony now, though at least being carried had alleviated some of that pain. The psychotic mares and stallions below me, though, weren’t taking care to be gentle. They seemed to revel in each squeak that came out of my mouth, just as they had done to their own comrades.
But, my pain-ladened mind reasoned, I was one of them now. Willing or not, this was my new path. A life carved on nothing but a whim alone, a massive risk, but one which at least gave me and Thorn some hope of survival—if I could pass this so-called initiation, at least. I guessed it would not be pretty. I did not want to think of the consequences if I failed.
At some point, I felt my body be dumped to the ground amidst a chorus of excited, half-insane cheers and whoops. Through blurred vision I watched, horrified and writhing against the chipped and cracked hooves that held me, as a massive syringe neared my face. At its tip a savage needle glinted in the light. It was easily longer than my muzzle and was roughly plunged into the bloodied, already blackened flesh of my bruised shoulder. I screamed, but the pain was not really so bad as I had imagined. When half of the syringe’s contents had been released into my hammered muscle, the needle was then torn out. Drops of bright, almost fluorescent green liquid fell from the end before it was then mercilessly forced back into my body, into my flank this time.
But, it quickly transpired, it was not such a horrific act as I had thought. As the ponies holding me stepped back to jab the meagre remnants of the liquid into Thorn’s battered body, I watched in pure awe as my flesh quite literally pieced itself together. The cuts which had littered my body disappeared almost immediately, and the bruising faded quite rapidly. Even the pus-filled, putrid hole just above my hoof began to fix itself, the muscle and skin stretching so as to cover the wound until all that was left was a large patch of white scar tissue. Against the red of my stained yellow coat, it was quite visible. But I did not worry about that now, for my pain was suddenly so much lesser. My body ached and groaned and I winced when I stood, but I could do so without falling immediately back to the ground. And that was good enough for now.
The crowd’s cheer became more joyous when I stood tall. Hooves clapped together loudly as Thorn was thrown down at my red hooves. The ponies then fell quiet and stood fidgeting as they waited for someone to move, to speak. It was a small filly who was then pushed forwards to my side, a rusting metal bucket carried around her neck. The wire dug into her skin, ripping it mercilessly slowly.
She trembled where she stood. Her eyes darted about wildly, from me to the crowd and then back again. She then raised a shaking hoof, pulled out a rag from the bucket and moved it closer to me slowly, warily. I did not move. She didn’t need to be put off any more than she already was, the poor thing.
Each gentle stroke of the water felt like heaven now. I sighed as it washed away the dirt and blood from my fur, a puddle of grime gathering below my aching hooves. A sigh escaped my lips, and I let my body relax a little; my eyes slipped shut for a moment before I came to my senses and then opened them once again. But the psychotic ponies weren’t paying me much attention now. No, their gaze was now focused on Zay-Oos, talking at the other end of whatever clearing we were in. He was standing atop a podium of sorts, with every pony around listening to him intently as if he were their god. I paid no attention to trying to hear his words and instead just pulled Thorn closer to my side, asking the little filly to help him too. She obliged almost instantly with a squeak and a fumbled response. I opened my mouth to tell her to calm down, my heart sinking at the sight of her. I would have calmed her, too, had a thought not struck me quite clearly.
These ponies were ruthless, but if I wanted to keep Thorn and myself safe I had to become one of them. I had to join their ranks and do so seamlessly, or they would abuse us just as they had this little filly and the mare from before. It was as such that I jerked my fore leg up quickly—once the filly was far enough from me to not be hit—and narrowed my eyes. I flared my nostrils once and made my ears fall back.
As expected, the filly whimpered a little before she slunk to my side, rag shaking in her little hoof when she resumed washing me down. I glanced back at her and forced my best snarl, but turned away quickly to let her finish her job. I had done enough, I hoped, to warn her to be wary. But, should she begin to doubt me, I wasn’t sure there would be anything I could do to keep my true nature a secret.
I was one of the psychopaths now. But that didn’t have to mean that I was just as insane as they were.
Right?
For a few minutes, the filly continued her work dutifully. She washed my blood-caked fur without complaint, barring the odd yelp she would make if I moved a little too quickly or sighed too loudly. When she did finish, she then returned the rag to the less-than-clean water and looked me over once more, a frown on her muzzle. When I snorted very, very slightly, she then stiffened and spun away. She shot to one of the psychopaths’ side, then trembling as she waited quietly for acknowledgement.
I didn’t know what happened to her after that. Almost immediately, she was engulfed by the crowds, and her occasional cries of pain as she was dragged off sent shudders down my spine. My heart burned with each one, but I could not help her. I was weak. I knew nothing about surviving out here in these lands so much more barbaric than I had imagined. I had to keep myself and Thorn safe in any way I could.
“Oi, Cunt!”
I gasped and stiffened. My hoof coiled protectively around Thorn and dragged him closer to me, my nostrils flared genuinely now. I looked about, my ears now pinned. It took a few moments for me to take note of the pony who had spoken, who now chuckled to himself. He was a short thing, his ears no higher than my muzzle, with a mane of dull blue and a light brown coat. His eyes, such a light grey that they almost seemed white, shone with demented joy. His teeth were rotted and yellowed and a vile smell brushed over my muzzle when he spoke next, nearly making me gag.
“The boss says you’re the newbie, right?” I nodded once, unwilling to open my mouth. To do so would let that poison into my lungs. He seemed satisfied with that, though. “What’s your name? We never got it, but the boss stuck you with me and mine, so I s’pose we’d better get to know you.”
I took a cautious step backwards and raised my muzzle higher into the air where it was less concentrated with the stench of the short pony’s breath. I then turned my head as far back as I could and bit out, with as much disdain as my unease could allow, “Klipspringer.”
“Bit of attitude, huh. That’s more like it. But, what did you say? Klipspringer?” The stallion snorted. “What a shit name.”
I snorted and returned my gaze to him. Once the foul smell had dissipated slightly, I then took a breath and said, “Klip. My name’s Klip. And if you want to find out what I got that name for, keep on mocking me.”
The stallion was taken aback for a moment and raised an eyebrow, his head cocked. “Well, well, Klip ,” he said with a crack of his tail that sent shudders down my spine, “You’re in my gang now anyway. And the boss wants us to take a job for your initiation, so you’d best be ready.”
I looked down at myself, from the partly healed wounds to the still slightly reddened fur. “Do I look like I’m ready?”
The stallion snorted and held out a cracked hoof. I noted with horror the massive scar which ran across it. “That’s as good a fix as a mare like you’s gonna get, got it?” He eyed me slowly, reaching closer. I took his hoof slowly and shook once, genuinely surprised when he didn’t take that moment to attack me. “Good. So, there’s the weapons stash over there,”—he pointed towards one of the better looking shacks with a sneer—”and you’ll find yourself some armour there too. You’re gonna need it, promise, ‘cos we’ve got a fun day ahead of us.”
I swallowed deeply. “Fun?”
The stallion grinned. “Oh, the best,” he said, then turning away from me. “We’ll be waiting for you over by the cliff where the boss is now. If you get lost, just ask one of these cunts here for Swatter, yeah?” He paused and flicked his head back towards me, looking down at Thorn. “Oh, and you can leave your slave in the tent with the other ones.”
I snorted and let my head fall, almost immediately pawing slowly at the ground. I caught myself before I could let my new character slip, though, and then stood taller. “He’s coming with us,” I said, my voice suddenly low. Swatter grinned, looking more impressed than intimidated. But I carried on anyway. “I’m not letting some other… psycho use my slave.”
Swatter nodded once. “Good call,” he said, then standing where he was for only a second before trotting away with a bounce in his step. A few of the gathered psychos bit at his side as he passed. As if on reflex he then struck out at each one with a heavy-hoofed buck, only serving to anger even more of them. I hunched up by back and grabbed Thorn by the scruff of his neck before I then shot off towards the better-kept shack Swatter had told me to visit. There was no need to get involved in a petty brawl at this point; I wasn’t even properly healed, though at least I could walk.
The shack was dark and damp when I entered. The air fell heavily around me, an impenetrable coating against my dampened fur that made each movement stiff and troublesome. The sheer level of dishonesty , if one could assume such, that surrounded these goods… It was overwhelming. Nevertheless, though I felt guilt begin to trickle through me as I did so, I began to rummage around in the rusted and bloodstained pile of metal. Out of it, I managed to piece together a feeble set of armour which consisted of only a stiffened leather chestpiece and a spiked cage, of sorts, to rest on top of it. After a few more moments I then managed to pull out two small metal plates, but they were hardly big enough to cover my shoulders. Without heat to weld them, they were useless… but, I realised, maybe that was not actually the case. In fact, they could at least be passable as protection for someone of smaller stature. And it was as such that, with the help of some sort of sticky material that very nearly glued my muzzle to my forehoof as I used it, I was able to make a pitiful, but hopefully functional, set of body armour for Thorn as well.
Though I couldn’t help but feel proud for what I had created, I kept going in my search. Unsurprisingly, Thorn didn’t look all that impressed with my very makeshift attempt at protecting him, but I didn’t dwell on that and instead began to root through the pile once again. There was so much junk here: alarm clocks, some with missing hands; old microscopes with smashed up glass; rusted old boards with mazes of mostly intact wiring that made my head hurt to just look at them. A small, half torn foal’s book was also left abandoned in the pile which, as far as I could tell from the blurred state of the writing, was entitled “You’re SPECIAL”. Though it was a cute little thing and enough to keep Thorn distracted for a few minutes, there didn’t appear to be much else that could be considered to be useful. Hence, I began to take a few small, slow steps backwards, wondering where else I might find something, anything, that could pass as a half useful weapon. I needed more than just armour; I knew that at least. After seeing firsthoof what I had already, there was no doubt that I was more than a little unsuited to this environment. I was a foreigner, of sorts, in a land that wanted me dead. I needed protection.
That realisation wasn’t a new one, but it struck terror into my very soul and made me leap back towards the pile. To go outside with those ponies all around, with no way of properly protecting myself… It was a terror enough to make me dive back to the pile, scrabbling around quickly for a knife, or an axe, or—
I froze when my mouth clamped down around something long and pipelike. When I drew back, I yelped and dropped it immediately. It was an odd contraption, slightly damaged in places but otherwise looking in half good shape. At the end of its length, out of a large dark hole, a few long and brutal spikes had been added. It made me shudder as I lifted it from the floor, careful not to hit anything with it or the stiff length of wire which was joined to it; when I had it up to head height, I then began to fiddle with a strip of stiff material that came out of its half-rusted side. The second my hoof touched it, the leather-like flap tightened so quickly that it made me yelp and shoot away.
It was a few long moments before my frantically beating heart calmed slightly and I could pick it up again. When I did so I eyed the flap of material warily. Its function I could not fathom—or, I couldn't do so alone. It wasn't long before Thorn began to giggle, looking amazingly happy for our situation.
“It’s for your back, you know!” he said with a laugh before he hopped up and took it in his magic. Instantly, I scowled and tried to step back, only to find my path blocked; with my muzzle crumpled, I stood still as he floated the weapon closer and placed it down against my fur. The feel of the magical aura made me cringe and hiss slightly, but I otherwise didn’t react. Or, I should say, I didn’t react to Thorn’s magic specifically; I was much more disturbed by the way the leather strap had tightened almost immediately as if trying to weld itself onto my skin. When I tried to pry it away it eased off almost immediately—but when I gave a few small bucks and rears it didn’t so much as slip.
Unicorn magic, again. Why was that blasted race always trying to prove their superiority, to use the term loosely? What did they know about true strength? Intelligence and independence; fearlessness and friendship; charisma and care. They were truly what gave a mare authority and power, not the level of magic that they could wield alone.
“How do you know that?” I snapped, and the little colt yelped almost immediately, his eyes suddenly watery. Instantly I realised my mistake and let my ears fall before I hastened to stutter, “Hey, hey, I didn't mean it that way!” Thorn glanced up cautiously and frowned. I couldn’t help but sigh when I continued, “I just don't like magic. As in, I loathe magic.”
“I’m sorry…”
Oh, shoot! I grumbled and placed my head in my hooves, shaking it frantically. “Don't worry about it,” I eventually managed to force out, though the fact that I had just given him permission, albeit indirectly, to use his magic made a most unpleasant taste form in my mouth. “I’m…” I gulped and then said, with my teeth gritted, “I’m just overreacting.”
Thorn nodded slowly but shrunk back a little further. Poor thing; it wasn't his fault that an innate part of who he was as a pony was so despicable. He didn't know better. But, though a part of me felt oh-so-eager to lecture him about the many reasons why his magic shouldn't be used, I tried to push it from my mind. I hoped he would be able to realise that himself, without my intervention. With that possibility in mind, I instead began to fiddle again with the strap which now clung to my side ever so tightly, fighting the urge to grimace.
“You didn’t answer me, though,” I continued whilst I tapped my hoof on the floor lightly. I then raised an eyebrow and waited without a word, a fake smile plastered upon my mostly healed face. After a few moments of trepidation he then reluctantly gave in, but his voice was shaky at best.
“Oh, one of the explorers used to use these sort of things. Someone in the griffon team. I...I used to watch some of their meetings.” He blushed and smiled, but then looked back down at his hooves. “The strap holds the thing in place ‘cos, y’know, griffons and pegasi and earth ponies can’t hold them all that easily in their mouths. Then there’s that big wire that goes right up to your muzzle, and when you bite your teeth together it’ll send a shock down the wire and makes the thing fire.”
“You don’t say,” I whispered, rubbing my cheek against the small wire. It was cool against my skin and made me shudder. I then shook my head and returned my attention to the hoard beside me, suddenly finding a new enthusiasm for the task at hoof. Of course, it wasn’t actually hard; that bit was to come later on. Whatever the case, with a picture of what I was now after in my mind, it wasn’t nearly so tricky to find a smaller variant for Thorn. It looker weaker than the one I had found for myself; the hollow pipe at the end was under half the length and a lot less impressive, based solely on the bands which held it together.
That was alright, though. The thing, whatever it was called, looked as if it would hold together, and it was with that hope in mind that I placed it down behind his shoulders. The strap—I couldn't find one for him to hold with his magic, but it was not as if I was particularly bothered by that—clamped down around his withers. There was no wire on this particular build. There was a small lever on the bottom, though. After a few attempts at wrapping his magic around the trigger, the first of which seemed to miss the mark, he then grinned and stood up taller, ears suddenly pricked. I managed to hide my grimace that time, taking a few deep breaths before I returned my attention to him and trotted to his side.
“You ready, kiddo?” I asked, trying to smile—but then my mind flashed back to mother and my eyes widened and my body slumped. My heart thudded heavily in my chest and my nostrils flared as it suddenly became hard to breathe. It was only the small hoof on my shoulder that snapped me from my thoughts.
“Klip?” Thorn whispered, looking up at me with shining eyes. “Are you alright?”
I stood taller and nodded. I couldn't show weakness; I was not a feeble mare. I could look after myself. I didn't need other ponies.
I hadn't exactly been making true of that claim these last few days though, had I?
“‘Course,” I bit back, though Thorn didn't pick up on the bitterness in my voice. That was probably for the best. “Let’s go.”
Thorn didn't say anything but nodded, looking suddenly too eager for the situation. He was a colt who'd gotten a new toy. It didn’t matter that this toy was a destructive tool capable of sheer annihilation—though somehow, I got the feeling that he wouldn’t be in this mood for long.
Leaving the shack put an immediate damper on the mood, unsurprisingly. Even after the time we had spent in there—it had surely been at least quarter of an hour, but maybe it had been longer—the psychotic ponies were still bickering, even if some of their number had thankfully dispersed to fight elsewhere. It was a struggle to manoeuvre around the sheer number left but, if nothing else, I managed to draw only a little attention to myself. One thing that didn’t go unnoticed, though, was my momentary unsteadiness when I heard the words, “I’m sure one of those damn slaves’ll be a good enough ride. Or we’ll cut his dick off, right mares?” But, given that only one heavy hoof struck out at me as I passed, I probably got off that one lightly.
It was hard to keep track of Thorn amidst the mob, but we managed to make it past at least mostly uninjured. Aware that I had probably taken my sweet time by now, I threw him up onto my back and ascended into a gentle trot, my eyes kept peeled for Swatter. He would be with a group, if what he’d said earlier was any indication; that assumption was proven to be correct when I rounded the corner of Zay-Oos’ podium to find a small band of ponies waiting most impatiently. They snorted and ground their teeth together as I approached. One I was especially careful to stand clear of; the way she brushed the side of her weapon with a feather was especially unsettling.
Swatter stepped forwards from the middle. Out of all of them—us—he was easily the best equipped, though that didn’t mean much when Thorn’s weapon was held together with bands.
“What’s that thing doing here, Cunt?” he snapped, nodding at Thorn quickly. I took a step back momentarily before I stiffened and caught myself, standing taller.
“He’s my slave,” I countered with a small crack of my tail. “There’s no way I’m leaving my slave here. I’d lose him, thank you very much.”
The pegasus mare stepped forwards, closer to me, but I held my ground. She then opened her wing and began to trail her dusty feathers over our bodies; a moment later, she snagged the weapon from Thorn’s back and threw it behind her. The other four ponies leapt on it like wolves over a scrap of giant roach meat.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she hissed, slapping my cheek with a feather. Somehow, it stung almost instantly. “You don’t give a slave a fucking gun!”
I yelped and let my ears fall before I raised my hoof to nurse my stinging cheek. At the ponies’ displeased scowls, I quickly reconsidered that and let it fall down. Then, though it made me feel so guilty to do so, I let my rear legs bend so that Thorn was sent tumbling from my back. I spun on him, rear leg raised should the psychos get too near, and forced an explosive snort. When he whimpered—oh, Celestia, that was a genuine one—I then grabbed his mane in my teeth and shakily dragged him back around.
“He’s not staying here,” I repeated. Could these ponies hear the drumming of my heart? “And unless you wanna fight over it, that’s how it’s gonna be.”
Oh, no.
The pegasus smirked. “Sounds like a plan to me,” she snapped back, her wings then flapping as she slowly began to walk a circle around us. I watched her warily, wishing I actually had some clue as to how the weapon on my side worked. Just as she began to toy with the small lever on the bottom of hers, though, Swatter jumped in front and let his hoof connect with her neck.
“For fuck’s sake, Poison!” he shouted, “Get your bloody feather away from that trigger! If you try’n kill every damn newbie we get, Zay-Oos’ll just kill us instead. We’ve got a job to do, and unless you’re planning on dying on it, then just quit it already! Or I’ll kill you myself and make things a whole lot easier.”
Poison huffed and let her head fall, taking a reluctant step back. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, her bright purple eyes suddenly losing their colour and becoming cold. She then turned to me and said, through gritted teeth, “Keep that cunt of yours close, or believe me when I say I’ll butcher him.”
Though quite evidently wary of me again, Thorn whimpered and hid behind my leg all the same. I tried not to react, other than to send a scowl his way. It was the harshest I could manage.
“Well, we’re wasting time,” I said, my voice colder than I liked. How my mother would have hated—no! No, Klip. Don’t think on that.
Swatter nodded once. “Even the newbie gets it better than you, Poison,” he said with a chortle, then turned to the rest of his group. In order he pointed at each and said, “We’re all gonna have to get along nicely, or I swear Zay-Oos will kill us. I don’t trust that scum. So please, for once just save the killing for when we’re actually on the job?”
Killing . Of course. What other sort of job would these ponies take?
The group grumbled, but that was supposedly good enough for Swatter. He nodded once and banged his hoof down on the ground, before he then looked to me and grinned with a large, yellowed smile. “You haven’t got any bullets, you foal,” he said, eyes alight with humour. I whimpered and my ears fell as my lips parted ever so slightly; to my surprise, though, Swatter didn’t prepare to punish me. Instead, he took a quick look down at my weapon and then nodded, yelling back to his cronies, “Wrangler! Point three-o-eight, go!”
A large unicorn stallion with dark green fur jumped to attention and threw his hoof into the saddlebag which rested across his back. After only a few moments he then brought it back out. The small box which he had held was sent flying through the air towards Swatter, who then caught it between his teeth with well practiced ease. When he came closer to me, I held my breath and took them from him quickly.
“These are bullets, got it?” he said with a quick gesture. Once again I noted the hideous white scar which stuck out painfully obviously against his light brown fur. “So, pull back this bit here—” He tapped the top of my weapon quickly, though seemed careful enough at least not to handle it too hard, “—and then put the magazine in there.” He laughed as I let my ears fall further and scrunched up my muzzle. “This little box here,” he explained, much to his comrades’ amusement. They laughed loudly, and he did not even attempt to stop them so much as join in with them.
The psychotic laughing seemed to be a habit out here.
“So, put the little box in the hole at the top, yeah,” he said, his words drawn out and slow. I huffed but did not retaliate any more than that; I couldn’t afford to miss any tips. “Then ya close it again and press this little button at the top. Go on, try it.”
I hesitated but obliged at Swatter’s scowl, doing as he said until a small red dot flickered in front of my eyes, a few metres away. I paused, then glancing to him for some instruction; he grinned and whispered quietly in my ear, “Bite.”
When I did so, the weapon retaliated with an explosive cry, and one of the flawlessly formed bullets burst from the tip. It screamed and wailed as it shot mercilessly through the air, heading right towards Poison. She yelped and immediately tried to shoot away. It clipped her wing as she did so, but she was otherwise unharmed—and, all of a sudden, seemingly less loathing of me. In fact, she was actually grinning at me now.
They were psychopaths, the lot of them. But I was too stunned, lying on the ground with a suddenly stinging rump from the shock of it all, to really notice.
“Nice one,” Swatter said as he thumped his hoof down on my back and almost knocked me muzzle-first into the dirt. He then reached down and heaved me up to my hooves before he touched the button on the top of the gun surprisingly gently. “Your shot’s shit, but you hit Poison so I’m not gon’ complain too much.”
The pegasus gritted her teeth and trotted closer. “You won’t be saying that tonight though, will ya?” She snapped her teeth against his neck so that a few droplets of blood beaded there, then turned away and folded her wings to her side. “But for a crap shot, Cunt, that was pretty good. Now ya just need to hope for that luck out in the field.”
I laughed slowly, nodding with a stolen peek down to the gun. I rose my hoof slowly and touched it ever so tenderly, brushing along its length as if with a feather. When I reached the small button on its back I faltered before I pressed down on it, watching the little red dot that appeared with amazement. It moved as I did, and even my breathing made it rise and fall. But, when I closed one eye and relaxed my body and held my breath, it froze in place.
I looked down at Thorn, smiling slightly. He only frowned, though, and pointed forwards—and it was then that I realised Swatter and Poison and Wrangler and the other three ponies who I was yet to learn the names of had all gone. By now, they were a at least one hundred metres away, maybe more.
“Oh, Faust,” I whispered, then bending my neck down low before I gestured for Thorn to climb up. He did so reluctantly at my quick, frustrated snort. I then shot off, my eyes not leaving the rest of the group even once. I didn’t need to lose them again.
Level Up!
Author's Note
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Fallout: Project Necessities
PebblesPerhaps our greatest enemy is panic itself .
The wind up topside was nothing like the occasional breeze that we would get back in the village.
It was a harsh, monstrous thing. It roared each time I touched a hoof against the snow-blanketed ground and encased my body in a miniature cyclone of icy air. But the cold bite that came with it, though unpleasant, was nothing in comparison to the way that it wailed; with every few minutes that passed, the rush made my ears ring with the shrillest of screams. It sent shudders down my spine and forced my fur to stand on end.
My teeth ground together so as to add their squeaks to the cacophony, a terrifying chorus that my irrational mind labelled as my massacred family’s screams. But then again, it all seemed so real; every few minutes I faltered slightly in mid stride, the otherwise immaculate irradiated snow scuffed up by my movements, at the sound of a cry. Almost instinctively I would begin to shift my gun about, almost desperate to press that little button so that the red laser dot would appear. My eyes would dart about, faster than could probably be noticed, and then I would take a breath. I would hold it, then release it. Slowly, calmly.
It was all just my imagination, my sleep deprived mind working overtime to make my life suck.
But if that was the case—if it was all just in my head—then why did the others react as well to the noises, if with more glee than me?
“Stop it, Klip,” I hissed to myself as I flicked my forehoof with my tail. I didn't let myself question why I was now talking to myself. It was perfectly normal. “Eyes on the prize, silly mare. Eyes on the prize.”
I glanced behind me to check on Thorn, currently draped over my back like a sack of wheat. He had fallen asleep some hours ago, the surprisingly gentle amble enough to push him into the wonderful realm of flowers and fairies. His nostrils flared ever so slightly with each peaceful breath; his tiny snores, only audible to me over the howling thanks to my close proximity, were really the only sign he was alive.
I let the half hearted smile rise onto my cheeks, though I knew the foal was more of a hindrance than a help. With a quick flick of the ears and a deep, assessing death through my nostrils I then started forwards, forcing myself into a slow trot so that I caught up with Swatter and Poison at the front of the group. The others scowled at me as I passed; after many an identical greeting on this short trek, I hardly had to think before stretching my neck higher in the air and thinning my eyes. I curved my smile slightly more and then turned my head slowly towards them. I opened my mouth slightly and let my tongue run along my teeth. A forced but undeniably dastardly gleam erupted into life in my eyes…
The half-rotted branch hit me on then forehead before I even knew I was heading for it, and then it struck me again from its momentum when I jumped back. With a shrill yelp, my heart missed a beat as I stumbled away. My hooves acted of their own accord then. I reared up and whipped around through the topside air, poisoned snow flung all around. My forehoof then slammed itself down onto the button at the top of my gun. The red laser burst into life in front of me, and my eyes snapped to where it formed whilst I prepared to fire the trigger. I opened my jaw wide to bite.
And then I caught myself.
The half-furless, heavily muscled earth pony before me—Tremors was his name—was frozen in shock. It only took him a moment, though, before he leapt into action and hoisted the battle axe at his side to his front, then brandishing it between his teeth. With a guttural growl he leapt forwards, head thrown back to hurl it at me. I let out a loud, high pitched squeak and reared up; Thorn, now half awake, was flung from my back so as to land with an agonised scream a few metres away. There was a loud snap at that.
I took in a sharp breath and heaved and let my hoof fly to my muzzle; as I did so, I saw the crimson glint of the evening sun against the sharpened blade of the axe. I fell to my underbelly, tensed. And then I screamed, my body thrashing instinctively as it smashed into my head, just behind my ears.
There wasn't any pain, though. A quick, painless death; thank Faust.
“Get the fuck up, Cunt!”
Well, that wasn't the welcome to heaven I had expected. I squinted my clenched eyes open, letting the bright sunset’s light flood them. I flared my nostrils and dared to breathe again; when I raised my head, I could see Poison flying just slightly off the ground, her face displaying a vicious scowl.
“What are ya waitin’ for?” she snapped, blowing a gust of breeze my way which momentarily caught me off guard and made me splutter. She snorted. “I didn't blow that fuckin’ axe off course so ya could get a catnap now!”
I didn't answer immediately, but when she let out another snort I nodded quickly and rose to my hooves. Standing was hard; my legs shook as if I was carrying a massive weight.
“Are ya gonna leave Lil’ Cunt or what?” Poison then inquired, prodding at my nose, but I scrunched it up and took a quick step back. My tail swished in indignation. It took all my strength not to cower under her glare, mind you. “If you've come to ya senses yet I’ll… dispose of ‘im for ya.”
“Give a mare some credit. I've only been out here a day; I’m not so on-the-ball as you lot.” My words were loud and snappish, though Poison didn't seem as appeased as I had hoped. So, with a deep breath in, I took a step back and lightly kicked Thorn’s side with my unshod hoof.
My heart palpitated at his loud squeak, but I carried on and hooked the same leg under his belly. With a grunt I then bucked, so as to toss him ever so slightly up into the air. I caught the foal on my back most unceremoniously, having to hide my grimace with a wicked grin and a snap of the teeth at his cheek. He whimpered and whined; it was a struggle to ignore those glistening tears in his eyes.
Oh, Faust. Don't let anything be broken.
I shook my head and snorted before I glanced about the group. Poison, now standing impatiently on the ground, wore a foalish frown on her face. Tremors, meanwhile, had picked up his battle axe and was smashing a small rock against its blade, making small sparks fly from the impact. He wouldn't meet my eyes. That was fine; the way his were so dark was unnerving.
Swatter clapped his hooves together and we all snapped to attention. “This ‘as gotta be the most fucked up, shitty trip ever,” he snarled as he stomped towards me. I didn't have the guts to hold my ground against that dastardly look, so I took a few wary steps back. His smirk was not pleasant.
His horn erupted into life then. The magic coursed from it in sporadic waves, making me grind my teeth together and fight not to chastise him for it. He then threw his head around and encased the smallest, quietest psycho in his aura, heaving his head up so as to also lift the stallion. He screamed and thrashed inside the magic, his cries chilling as he was smashed against the ground. Once, twice, he was struck against the dirt; by the third attempt, the blows had done their job and he was dead.
“Fucking weakling,” Swatter added. He then turned back to me. “Quit fucking up, and maybe you'll be promoted to ‘shit shot’ instead. Carry on an’ I’ll be gettin’ rid of another waste of space on this party, ya got me Cunt?”
I didn't look at the dead stallion any longer. I couldn't. I then nodded numbly with my tail dropped and my ears fallen, well aware of how weak I looked right now, but not quite able to fight through it. After a deep breath in, though, I pushed the thoughts of what I'd just witnessed slightly from my mind and stood taller. I tried to prick my ears up and carry my tail high and proud as an Arabian would; it, of course, didn't fool my company in the slightest.
“Well, are we waiting for something then?” I asked in an amazingly calm voice and without a single stutter either. Despite my attempts to look confident, though, I could feel Poison’s and Swatter’s loathing scowls burning a hole in the back of my neck, just above my shoulders. It was enough to make my fur stand on end. I winced. “Hadn't we better get going?”
Swatter slunk around to my side with a snarl, eyes narrowed at me. “Grow a pair,” he hissed with a small buck at my belly. The strike sent a jolt of pain through me, enough to make me wince.
“Sure, whatever,” I said through gritted teeth. The words came out ever so slightly higher in pitch than they should've been. After a hastily weighed up decision, I then cracked my tail back at him, revelling in the sound of it hitting his flank. He seemed to calm at that.
These psychos were weird.
I slowed my pace so that I could walk alongside Tremors, fiddling with the little red laser on my stored away gun as I did so. Was it bad to admit that I enjoyed seeing the big stallion so cautious?
But then, in the next moment, I realised that I hadn't really been seeing well in the dim daylight. The sudden emergence of a bright green glow—from the torrents of water which crashed besides our party into a large, semi frozen lake—shed macabre light upon everything it touched, and I could only watch in awe as our destination approached. Irradiated spray soaked my fur as I trod cautiously on through already caustic powder, biting at my skin so as to make my whole body tingle and twitch. I could feel the fur trying to fall out already.
The entrance to a massive cave, chipped out from the sheer rock wall painstakingly by pre-war ponyfolk, engulfed our ragtag little party in its dark, impenetrable shadow. The cold swept over my fur, already dampened from sweat and spray. I rose a hoof to my mouth to cover it from the wintry temperatures. Nevertheless the chill still crept into my spine and I hissed, walking a little faster. So cold.
Icy.
Freezing.
Tiny droplets of water dribbled out from cracks in the rocky ceiling, almost entirely covered in a pulsating blanket of green plant life the likes of which I had never seen. Tendrils hung down limply, waving gently in the nonexistent breeze. The unnervingly delicate touch of those offshoots against my fur made me skip a few steps ahead at a time. The rest of my party, however, seemed unfazed. They merely batted the caressing growths out of the way with a hoof swipe, a sharp bite or the slash of a blade. They didn't even think twice; my legs, on the other hoof, were so shaky that I felt like running.
But, alone out here, both Thorny and I would surely die. So in the end, all there was was death—but at least this option came with some companionship. Even if it was a very poor attempt.
For perhaps the first time in my life, I came to realise that being a unicorn would have been most helpful down here. I squinted my eyes and strained to see more than an inch in front of my muzzle, the light from Swatter’s horn not strong or stable enough to penetrate this darkness. He was good at that cursed levitation over light spells, it seemed, just as I specialised more in running and athletics than pure strength. Perhaps we were more similar than I’d previously thought; we were both awkward examples of our respective races.
No. No, I wasn't even remotely like him. I wouldn't bludgeon a pony slowly to death under the weight of their own body against the frozen ground.
I wouldn't.
I shook my head and took a few more tentative steps forwards, feeling my way through the tunnels on my sense of touch alone. The sharp pebbles made me dance somewhat as I moved, prancing to avoid them as best as I could. The steady dripping of caustic water droplets against my back, burning away strand after strand of fur, kept me on the very tips of my hooves too. I sidestepped whenever I could to avoid that extra, tiny round of torture. Because by Celestia, did those particular splashes burn!
Swatter’s light dimmed ever more as we continued on, and the other unicorn stallion whose name I had yet to learn seemed unwilling to lend a hoof. Part of me was comforted as the glow of his horn faded; a part of me that I had never known existed—a part which was willing to overlook the horrid nature of magic—simultaneously woke itself up and began to send waves of adrenaline through me so that my entire body twitched and spasmed with every few steps. I gasped quietly for air, falling back slightly from the rest of the group so that they wouldn't hear my weakness. But they were less impacted than I; Swatter and Poison were already murmuring in quick, elated voices about something my panicked mind wouldn't comprehend, whilst Tremors and the other seemed to have a grunted conversation.
The blackness enshrouded me as Swatter’s light fizzled fully out with a small hiss. Nothingness engulfed me from all sides, wrapping around my every inch of skin and constricting my body. My mouth fell open but no air was to be found. I desperately scrabbled at my throat with a hoof, gasping. The heavy wall of darkness filled my throat and covered my nostrils and I could not breathe. My chest heaved, but I could take no air in.
My fore legs gave way then and I fell with a muted cry towards the ground. My muzzle smashed into the frozen rock and I screamed, but that was nothing compared to the terror that flooded my veins next. My heart threatened to tear from my chest with each beat when a pony’s skull, complete with scraps of flesh and fur, rolled to my cheek. Despite the weight that was Thorny on my back I leapt to my hooves and shot forwards blindly in a pure panic. My hooves slammed against the ground as I fled in utter horror. I didn't even know where I was going, or where anyone else was—and then I slammed into a hard, fleshy mass.
Though I was not a big mare, my momentum had been enough. Tremors yelled as he was flung from his hooves and away from me, his massive frame smashing the smaller unicorn into the wall. I did not see him, but I heard the instantaneous scream which died out but a second later. His body crumpled to the ground at the side, a big black heap.
The cave rumbled and dust fell slowly, settling in my mane and tail and on my back. I shook but it did not come out; a brief second later, the rumbles turned into a full blown growl with the arrival of falling pebbles.
A beep sounded.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Swatter cried, and though I could not see him I heard his hooves scratch against the ground as he tried to flee. But it was too late; the roof collapsed, spilling skeletons and half rotted corpses and bones from the ceiling.
Putrid flesh, slimy and foul, slapped across my muzzle. I screamed. Thick, coagulated lumps of blood clung to my fur like mosquitos. All around me cleaver-like shards of still oozing bones severed the skin of my legs and belly. My blood splattered against the ground beneath my hooves. Hot and thick. Flakes of long dried skin hung in the air around me like bats, swooping in to nick my ears and back. I reeled. Loose pebbles were flung from under my frantic hooves, cascading from nearby walls and smashing right back into me. I could only do one thing: I bolted.
Rocks plummeted from the roof of the cave, smashing into the ground I trod so heavily that the dirt erupted in a cloud of dust at the contact. But despite my panic, my legs moved as if they knew exactly what they were doing; this was what I was made to do. I swerved as the blurs sped past my eyes and vaulted the boulders that ploughed into my path. Thorn shrieked and squealed but had just enough composure to grasp the smaller projectiles with his filthy magic. I ground my teeth. I could've sworn one shattered.
“Klip!” Thorn cried at that moment, grabbing my ear in his magic and trying to tug me to the right. But I was going too fast to move, too lost in the moment and the thrill of this deadly excuse for a steeplechase.
And then I felt it. Something cold and wet and yet incredibly light chafed across my cheek, leaving a harsh icy bite in its wake. I was snapped from my exhilarated world and back into reality and I screamed; as Thorn flung the boulder (which had come so dangerously close to my eye) away with his magic I let my fore hooves land heavily on the rock below, flat. I swung my body round in midair. My rear legs then slammed down with an almighty crack and my fore hooves were flung slightly from the floor by my body’s momentum. But panic wouldn't let me stop and, in that split second, I comforted myself even more so that I had turned a sharp ninety degrees in one step.
The power in my legs was great; I had a proper earth pony build, after all. The muscles in my rear legs threw me from my spot and I screamed in pain at their unnatural alignment to my stomach. And then I turned my head ever so slightly, realising my mistake at the last minute. My chest, heavily muscled, slammed into the rocky wall of the cave and then continued on through. All around me boulders, piled up to the roof of the cave, fell in a wave of agonising weight.
Thorn leapt from my back and scrambled about as the rock swept him away; I kicked and clawed and writhed until my body was fully buried and stuck. And then, once the rocks had finally calmed down, I bit down on the small stone beneath my teeth and began to awkwardly crawl out from my would-be tomb.
My rear legs pushed frantically and without coordination to get me out of there. I flailed and flopped so as to find something solid to push up against. I couldn't do anything else. My fore legs were no use. The left was mangled and contorted. The flesh was pulverised. A hole at the shoulder shot out erratic spurts of thick blood.
I cried and shouted for Thorn. I fell down the rest of the rocky hill in my desperation, my stumbling about not enough to keep me up. The pain surged then with each rush of wind. And when I landed on the ground, I shook and trembled as I wobbled to my legs. I gagged. My vision swam and pitched in and out of blackness. But though I couldn't see him, I knew Thorn was there with me. All I could hear were his hysterical, cut off gasps and useless attempts at words.
Because pony legs weren't meant to bend up at the knee.
Level up!
New perk: Rubber Horseshoes Level One
You've taken a lot of hits, and yet somehow you're still alive and fully conscious. Your skin is now tougher after each healed wound. Damage resistance is permanently up by one.
Fallout: Project Necessities
Chapter Six: Abominations
AbominationsStrength is overrated. At the end of it all, survival's a game of chance.
“Thorn!”
The sound that came from my mouth was hardly recognisable as my own. It took all of my willpower not to heave at the sight of his leg, my own positively in perfect repair in comparison. He only sat there, shaking visibly and whimpering with eyes the size of saucers.
“M-my leg!” he managed to blubber out, gasping for breath frantically. His chest rose and fell so quickly that it was almost a blur. Sweat had suddenly coated his fur, leaving him looking soaked.
“H-hey, it'll be alright!” I said, quickly hopping to his side. I ground my teeth at the pain which erupted from my own injuries, but didn't complain any more than that. What right did I have? “We’ll just find some of that… healing stuff, right?”
Thorn shook his head frantically. “That's never gonna fix th-this!” he wailed, sitting on his haunches awkwardly whilst gesturing to the broken limb. The movement made him yelp and he hunched his back. His teeth squeaked. “I’m gonna die! It's over! Something's g-gonna eat me for sure!”
He was right, of course. But I couldn’t leave him there to die.
“Don’t be silly,” I soothed. “If that was true nopony’d survive out here, right? All the little foals would be dead by now, yeah?”
Thorn glanced at me. Fresh tears rolled down his cheeks. New ones welled up in his eyes to replace them.
“Look, up you go,” I urged. I tried not to focus on the bent limb.
Thorn blubbered but nodded slowly, shifting his three mostly-uninjured hooves to below his body. He pushed upwards with a small gasp. He trembled visibly as he heaved himself up onto his legs, his chest suddenly rising and falling frantically at the exertion. As he panted, a hopeless gaze met my own, dull and glistening. When I couldn’t find any words to reassure him, to promise him that he was going to be fine, he glanced down at his deformed leg and took a sharp breath in. Again.
I rose a hoof and pressed it quickly to his mouth. “Hey, hey, don’t you dare,” I said, my tone suddenly a little sharper. Thorn’s eyes widened at the snap and he stumbled awkwardly away from me. I ground my teeth.
Cool it, Klip.
“Look,” I said, glancing around us for anything that might help him. I picked up a half-rotted skull hesitantly, bile rising in my throat. This had been a pony once. “I’m sorry. But we… we need to move. I’m not gonna die in some shitty, dark tunnel, ‘kay?”
I couldn’t really decide whether Thorn smiled or scowled at that, but he nodded. That was enough. He then stood taller—his ears reached just below my chin—and took a few slow, quavery breaths. His magic then cautiously wrapped around his leg, just at the top. With a jerk of his head upwards he took the weight of the useless limb in his horn, hissing at the exertion.
“O-okay,” he whispered, trying not to whimper. That had to be respected, at least. “I’ll… I’ll just follow, if that’s okay?”
I took a slow step away from him before then beginning to cautiously make my way forwards. Pebbles and rocks and skulls with cavities for eyes littered the uneven floor. The trek would be tough for him. “Sure,” I said. My voice sounded terse, I noticed. Ignoring that, I beckoned with a hoof and squinted my eyes, starting on my journey.
The caves were far from silent. Wind whistled through continuously, slipping in from the cracks in the walls. A soft scurrying sounded every few minutes, accompanied by a quiet tap-tap-tap. Bone against bone? It was all I could think of. All of a sudden I felt sick.
“K-Klip?”
I yelped, cracking my tail like a whip behind me before I spun around. In mid-air, my hoof slammed down almost instinctively against the targeting laser on my gun. The red spot fell right at the base of Thorn’s horn, hanging there in limbo. I froze for a few moments. When my eyes widened, I took a step back and quickly threw my hoof to my side, staring at him silently. Not even a breath passed my lips.
He shouldn't scare ponies like that. I didn't know much, but that… That was obvious.
Foolish foal.
I shook my head before I brushed the hair from between my eyes. “What?” I asked. My tone was harsher than it probably should have been. Thorn winced.
“Sorry,” he quipped. “It's just… Can you hear that?”
I froze. My eyes widened and my ears flicked quickly. But there was nothing to be heard other than that incessant tap-tap-tap.
“No,” I said. I hesitated before finishing, “It’s probably just—”
But I never finished that thought. Instead, a loud screech flooded my head, sending me reeling. Thorn hissed and leapt to my side. His injured leg smashed against my cutie mark and drew a scream from his mouth; I hastened to pull him close to me, burying his muzzle into the fluff of my chest so as to muffle his cries. He trembled in my grip. I tried my best to rock him slightly, my head bent back at an awkward angle to avoid the caustic licks against my chin of his magical aura.
“H-hey, it's alright,” I stammered. My hooves quivered as I held him. “Just the wind!”
The sharp scraping sounded once again. It tore apart my eardrums and sent shudder upon shudder down my spine as I focused my eyes on the opposite wall unfalteringly. Pebbles tumbled down determinedly, snapping at my hooves as they rolled to a stop. And then more came, and more and more in showers of dust. I couldn't move, paralysed by fear. My legs stiffened, useless.
And then I saw it. A single, massive claw, easily as big as Thorn, scratching away at the wall. It was chipped and bloodied but still unrealistically sharp. It glinted in the feeble light from Thorn’s horn. With each scratch it drew closer to us, more and more of it being revealed as whatever beast this was began to shove its way through. A long, grey tongue flicked out wildly, barely missing my ear. The ground below smoked slightly as the saliva dropped onto it.
“Klip!” Thorn whispered. His voice was high pitched and so, so fast. He squeaked quietly when the claw momentarily hooked his tail. “It’s gonna eat us!”
The beast faltered in its frantic digging before its momentum returned. A strangled and drawn out squawk shattered our eardrums as what must have been the thing’s beak opened wide. The sheer power of it made the wall crumble like sand. Acrid saliva shot from it, coating our filthy fur. For a moment, I stopped breathing; my entire body screamed with pain, but I couldn't hear a thing except for a high pitched whistling.
A few moments passed, torturously slowly. I pranced on the spot, every inch of my skin on fire! And then, from behind me, I heard Thorn’s gasps. It was a feeble, shaky sound; when I squinted my eyes open to look back, I saw him trembling and panting where he stood. And then my hearing returned properly, and the cacophony that was the beast hammering its way through the wall sounded once more.
“Shit!” I hissed, reality dawning on me. How had I forgotten? I shook my body quickly in an attempt to rid myself of the acidic spray and hastily grabbed Thorn’s ear between my teeth. I tasted blood. That didn't matter right now. With a grunt I heaved him in front of me, then hammering into his rump so as to knock him into a gallop. He almost fell onto his muzzle, what with his injured leg still levitated.
There wasn't time to worry about that.
“Go! Go!” I yelled, ramming his tail once more. With a whinny of distress he lurched, careening forwards. But the beast was progressing quickly now, each slam of its heavy body against the wall cracking and loosening the rocks more and more.
With a resounding boom, it fell through. But I didn't stop to look. It would be the last thing I’d see if I did.
“Move it!” I snapped, nipping at Thorn’s unmarked rump gently. He squealed and shot forwards slightly faster. But it wasn't enough.
There was a moment, a fleeting instance, when I didn’t know what to do. And then an acceptance dawned on me, and I understood something I had somehow missed before; this was the Wasteland. Beasts and horrendous abominations were the norm out here. And god-damn, if I wanted to live longer than two more minutes, I had to learn to fight.
“Don’t stop!” I yelled. I threw on the brakes.
The uneven floor shredded my hooves as I skidded to a stop. A small trail of blood was left in my wake. I didn’t falter. With a few stolen gasps I then spun around and threw myself at the approaching beast with a cry of fury. It was then, in the abhorration’s momentary shock, that I got my first proper look at it.
It was massive ! The hind legs alone were easily the same size as me! It crawled forwards slowly with exaggerated movements. Its shrivelled forelegs dragged across the rock so that its overgrown, sickle-like claws sliced the rock below. Its tiny, beady eyes—the brightest of whites—focused on me, or so I assumed. But the lack of a pupil made it hard to tell.
The beast threw its mare-sized maw open, the cracked and scarred beak lined with thousands of tiny, backwards facing hooks. Each one dripped a faintly-glowing goo. The roar which subsequently followed almost knocked me off of my hooves. But I simply screamed and—trying not to think about it too much—I galloped straight towards the thing. And then I leaped into the air, twisting around so that I struck its flaring nostrils with my bloodied hoof.
It squawked and reeled. Immediately after, it rose up onto its hind legs and flared out its massive, almost featherless wings. It flapped them wildly; the dull feathers smashed into me, strong enough to send me careening into the crumbled wall.
I landed with a thud and a scream. Pebbles rained down on me as I quickly rolled back onto my belly and jumped onto my hooves. A huge laceration now decorated my shoulder, but I didn’t feel it yet. I would soon. Instead, I shook my head and shot off a few steps backwards; with a gulp, I then leapt behind a pile of boulders and slammed my hoof onto the targeting laser for my gun. It flared into life immediately. Without a wasted breath, as the beast roared and hissed and slammed massive piles of rock aside as if they were made of feathers, I jumped out.
I hardly even waited for the laser to land before I bit down firmly. The shock of the gunshot sent me reeling onto my back. Shudders coursed through my body. But as I glanced upwards to see what damage I had done to my attacker, a horrific sight met my eyes; the bullet merely bounced off of its chest, heading straight for me! I screamed and tried to scramble backwards, but it had too much momentum! It embedded itself directly into the flesh of my rump. The skin was absolutely tattered, frayed like string! The deep red flesh below peeked out, and that was when I felt it. The cold air bit at the exposed nerve endings.
I hurled, my vision swimming. And then that sickle of a claw hooked under my hind legs and threw me into the air. The beast played with me, letting me land with a sickening thud on my side before it bent down. It snapped its beak at me and snagged my skin; it rolled me across the floor, slamming its puny fore legs down against my wounds as it did so. I wailed and fought to get onto my back, in a position to shoot again, but I simply couldn’t.
This was it!
I bucked out awkwardly with my rear legs, but I made no contact. I snapped at the beast’s impenetrable skin with my teeth and struck out with my forelegs, but the thing didn’t even seem to notice. And then it grew bored, and let me get up—and then it threw me up into the air once more, its jaws opened to swallow me whole.
Something cold and wet and weightless ensnared my body. I howled, waiting for those tiny daggers to hook my flesh—but only felt the horrid thud of my body against the cold rock once more. That pain was nothing in comparison.
Shit ! This had been a really shit plan!
I scrambled to my hooves, lamely bucking a few rocks at the beast’s beak. One landed in its open mouth and almost immediately rolled down into its throat. It coughed and sputtered, wheezing momentarily; without a second thought, I ran.
The pain coursed through my body, adrenaline not enough to dull it now. But as I all but slammed into Thorn, who stood waiting terrified just around the next corner of the semi-caved in tunnel, I realised that neither of us could afford to worry about trivial things such as this sheer, unbearable agony that coursed unrelentingly through my veins. It was as if a bucketful of acid had been mixed in with my blood; each step that I took was hell . By the half-strangled whimpers that came from Thorn, he fared little better.
And yet we both still ran. And gallop we did. Because the beast was hot on our tail, still smashing its way through the walls around us with thunderous roars.
The wasteland wasn’t merciful enough to take pity when my vision began to blur and my world began to spin. Was the debris flying now?
A part of me really couldn’t have cared less now. The pain was excruciating and completely endless; any chances of survival I may have possessed had long since diminished. I was a dead mare running. My legs throbbed; my heart burned; my vision began to fade to black at the edges. My skills abandoned me. I stumbled and clumsily scrabbled forwards. My hooves fumbled over footing. My legs wobbled threateningly with each step.
But, if I was going down, I would not be fucking bird chow!
But then, when neither of us could run any more, salvation came. It was a tiny hole. It was so small that I would have missed it had Thorn not fallen. But it was enough.
With a hiss of pain, my bruised and shutting down body protesting at the fact that it was still doing this whole “living” thing, I rammed him through with my muzzle. He screamed. I ignored it and skidded through after him on my underbelly. The extra pain made me yelp—but I didn’t even feel any worse. Because I couldn’t possibly feel any worse than I did now, hauling my broken body across these goddamned rocks.
And then I let myself lie. I got into a comfortable position, which basically meant I stopped. There was no comfort anymore. There would never be comfort. There was never any hope. We were blissfully ignorant of the dangers of this hell hole.
And then it got worse. As my vision finally gave in, and Thorn’s feeble horn light extinguished itself in a puff of magic, I saw it.
Just a few lengths from where we lay, another beast lay twitching.
Level Up!
New Perk: Bird Brained Level One
You made some stupid choices, huh? But at least you won't do it again. Intelligence is temporarily raised by one when talking to a fellow fool.
Author's Note
So sorry for the unacceptable delay, but I hope this chapter makes up for it! As always, please be sure to leave a favourite and a thumb up if you're enjoying it, and if there are any errors in the story or if you have any ideas/questions/general comments, please ask!
Fallout: Project Necessities
ClawsI know you're tired, little one. Just keep fighting.
A sharp breath of air, stale and crackling with radiation, flooded my lungs. Water trickled around my hooves, making a horrible sizzling sound as it did. The smell was somewhat akin to that of a hayburger slowly chargrilling above crackling flames—except with the horrible, metallic note of blood and a side of endless, heart-pounding pain.
But both Thorn and I kept quiet, holding our breaths as best we could. Our wide eyes flitted desperately around the barely illuminated room—but we soon realised there were only two means of escape from here.
One was back the way we had come, through the tiny hole which was now blocked by the beast’s shrivelled but deadly forearms, claws and all. And the other?
Well, the other was blocked by the sleeping devil before us.
The monstrosity flared its nostrils and snorted, its beak idly tapping the rock. Its claws twitched every now and then, scratching small holes into the stone. Its wings—this one had almost a full set of colourless, dry feathers—beat sporadically as air rumbled through its chest. Its tattered plumage bristled occasionally, sweeping up clouds of dust.
I took a deep breath in, letting the stale air slip into my lungs. I exhaled shakily, moving my hoof slowly as I released it.
“O-kay,” I whispered. My voice was barely louder than the sound of breathing. I rose my hoof hesitantly. I kept my eyes focused on the beast’s head, watching its every move. “If we get around this thing—” The creature snorted in its sleep, momentarily spasming. “—then we can hide in that space back there. Right?”
Thorn rose onto the tips of his hooves, stretching his neck out as he tried to look over the abhorration’s body. He then hunched his back and clamped his tail, hissing somewhat. A few small sparks shot from his horn, pattering on the rock below like droplets of rain. I cringed and took a small step away from him—but quickly swallowed that distaste when my hoof landed a little too close to the first creature’s claws. I leapt back to his side, thanking the merciful gods for my grace. Any other heavy-hoofed earth pony would have caused a miniature rock fall.
“Watch it,” I murmured before slowly nudging his flank. Lamely he fell forwards before hobbling a few tentative steps around the beast’s body. The crudely carved walls scratched at our ears and sides, but we didn’t flinch away; to do so would have sent us closer to the monstrosity’s deadly claws. But, for now, we were fine. The beast slumbered on lightly, snorting in its sleep but not awakening.
And then my sure-footed confidence failed me. My hoof landed directly on top of a fragment of rock, ripping a scream from my throat as I fell to the side. My fore legs entwined with Thorn’s rear legs, dragging him down with me so that we both landed heavily on the beast’s side. It was on its feat with a howled cry immediately, knocking us directly into the wall. I crumpled on the ground, and Thorn fell in a small pile beside me. He whimpered and scrambled to roll onto his stomach, his horn sparking again as the beast turned to us.
This one was even bigger.
“Klip!” Thorn yelled as the beast lunged, its beak open in a massive scream. It smashed into the rock an inch from his head, turning the stone to mere dust. It only took a moment for it to recover, striking again with renewed anger. It snagged at my mane and tore a chunk out; with a cry I jumped to my hooves and slammed into Thorn, knocking him onwards in a gallop of sorts as the beast turned to attack. Our hooves tore up the rock as the beast reared up, shrivelled foreclaw poised to deliver a still lethal blow—and then it froze, coughing. A tiny pebble had flown into its throat, making it grasp at its neck desperately whilst heaving. And then it attacked again, its aim true and set to catch me...
And then I felt that familiar, horrible feeling of magic encasing my body. I tried to thrash, but could only flick my eyes about. And when they landed on Thorn, I saw with wide eyes as his magic encased the both of us and we slowly, slowly turned invisible before my eyes.
We literally vanished.
The beast snorted and squawked, throwing its hideous head about in sudden confusion. It bumbled dangerously around its small cavern, calling out almost woefully. It bucked at the walls with its rear legs heavily, pebbles raining down from above.
This was our chance. With a small, uneasy smile I fumbled forwards, falling over the monster’s tail in my excitement to flee. I ducked flailing limbs and sidestepped swinging limbs, carelessly bumbling towards that tiny cavern. It would be worth it. I felt sure it would be worth it.
I all but fell into the hollowed-out wall when I reached it, unceremoniously heaving Thorn in too when he overshot. But we could not yet rest, for the beast was still in hot pursuit. It scrabbled after us with its sickle-like claws, cleanly slicing through the air. It dug desperately through—through! —the rock, throwing pebbles everywhere as it snuffled and snapped and snarled at us.
“Go, go,” I urged, trying to keep my voice somewhat calm. We weren’t in immediate danger, I tried to reason with myself, but my body didn’t believe it. My steps were quick and erratic and my heart thudded dangerously loud in my chest. Thud, thud, thud, thud . It was an endless drumroll of terror.
“Klip!” Thorn whispered, suddenly not moving. “Klip, this is the end of the tunnel!”
I hissed and nodded slowly, turning around so that I could back up next to him. The beast was a way off, but its digging was getting more erratic and it was showing no signs of tiring. It opened its beak in a scream and its black tongue shot out, feeling around the cavern. Its saliva coated the walls, burning them away slowly so that the tunnel widened slightly. And then the beast crept forwards even more and gave another shrill cry; it threw out its tongue again—and this time, it could reach us.
I yelled and thrashed as the black tongue wove around my forelegs, jerking me quickly from my hooves. The mutant’s saliva burned at my skin, filling the tunnel with the smell of cooking meat. I hurled, my meagre stomach contents spewed across the cave walls. My vision, already poor, swam; I collapsed onto my rump, my rear legs suddenly incapable of going on, and wriggled feebly as I was dragged closer to that massive, open beak. I fought as much as I could, but my body was in searing pain and practically rendered useless; I could barely manage a twitch of the legs.
It was Thorn that came to my rescue. I watched blearily as the foal tumbled towards me, rearing up at my side before losing his footing. He fell heavily atop the creature’s tongue; though not exactly the heavy stomp he had surely been aiming for, it worked. The creature squawked and let go immediately, retreating from the cave entrance with a whine and a whimper.
I relaxed automatically, my tensed body slumping next to Thorn as we both heaved for breath. It was quiet in the little tunnel now, save for the occasional dripping of water from the tunnel’s roof. But I hardly heard much; everything was hazy and numb.
“C-C’mon,” I mumbled, uselessly trying to raise myself up onto my hooves. I quickly abandoned that endeavour, instead just settling for crawling forwards like a newborn foal. Thorn beamed at me and quickly put his head under my belly, using all his strength to raise me up to my hooves. It was an exceptionally impressive endeavour and he was ever so patient as I stood there, trembling. When I finally was able to stand unassisted, I tentatively ruffled his mane and said, “Thanks, kid.”
He looked overjoyed.
Wearily we both stumbled to the end of the tunnel, then collapsing again there. Wonderful though it was to be away from the beast, it was still of little relief to us in the end; after all, we were now trapped without food or drinking water. We’d still die in a matter of days, beast or no.
I groaned and hung my head, then banging it gently against the wall in my frustration. As I did so, though, I noticed something; my ears pricked up and I sat taller. I rose a hoof cautiously, not wanting to let my hopes get too high, and tapped the brick wall.
Hollow. It was hollow!
A massive grin spread across my face, and without a moment to spare I stood, shook myself off and took a few steps backwards. With a deep breath in, I then made an awkward attempt at a rear—the tunnel roof was simply too low—and charged. A metre before the wall, I turned my head away, closed my eyes and leapt with my hooves outstretched.
And, amazingly, the wall cracked beneath my weight. Giddily I stumbled towards the crack and spun on the spot; after a moment to catch my breath, I gave a massive, wobbly buck. The rock wall splintered slightly more, creaking under its own weight. Thorn, too, rushed to join in, if carelessly with all his weight held on only one leg.
At the next buck, a few small rocks fell away. Eagerly we both scrabbled at the edges of the hole with our hooves, fighting to make it wide enough to fit through. With his horn Thorn then shone a little light around the room that we now found ourselves in.
It was amazing, by which I initially only meant that there were none of those monstrosities lurking here. After a moment, though, I realised that such was actually true. Gemstones on the room’s walls had now begun to glow faintly so that Thorn could release his magic, and in that light it was easy to see the wonderful state this room was still in. Fungus now grew around the edges of the walls and it was dusty and—if the way our fur stood on end was any indication—far from radiation free. But it was a pre-war facility, and to top it all, it was well furnished. With bean bags, of all things!
There had only been one bean bag in the village. It had, rightfully so, been reserved for the elders.
I let out a sigh and let my body collapse again now, flopping onto the bean bag. It stank of mold and decay but oh, was it still so inviting! So soft, molding exactly to my shape. Thorn, too, let one engulf his tiny frame. It was sheer bliss.
We did not sleep. But oh, was it nice just to lay there.
Level Up!
New Perk: Sleepless Level One
It’s tough to go without sleep, especially in the wastes, but it’s a fact of life and you’re starting to get used to it now. Endurance temporarily up by one when fatigued!
Author's Note
This is so late, I'm sorry, but I will try to do better. If you really want to see this updated, though, please consider becoming my first patron on Patreon? Earning an income from my work would definitely help me justify writing horsewords more, for I'm really struggling right now.
Many thanks (as always) to Word Worthy for his wonderful editing skills!
Love you all,
Aeluna
