Prologue
How has the world dissolved into this? All the great achievements of civilisation fallen. Fallen into the world that is present today. Step out onto the surface and see the darkened skies, the constant cold chilling one to the bone. See the ruins of the once great metropolises now laying in the shadow of their former glory; crumbling, colourless, and devoid of the life that once was so prominent here. See the once verdant fields of grasses waving in the wind now barren and irradiated. The rivers flow slowly, glowing ever so slightly green as the radiation tainted it, even decades after the bombs dropped, ending life as we know it. Or so it seemed.
With the horrors of the new world now above like flying demons that had talons of steel that would swoop at any living flesh and blood and herds of terrible mutant beasts that trampled all in their path, underground is where they settled, in the abandoned metros under the cities. Years of challenging work and labour restored these safe havens to a liveable condition with expansive lobbies of trade where almost anything imaginable could be bought and commerce and long halls that held thousands of residents. The population grew steadily along with the expansion of the metro. This is the world young Thundershot found himself born into, specifically into Harmony Station; one of the largest settlements in the metro. He grew up as any normal foal would at that time; learning, playing, and most importantly, surviving.
When Thundershot was of fourteen years of age, both his parents were brutally slaughtered as a result in serving in the militia guarding the metros. Large sections of the underground were unclaimed, and where the mutants would nest. They rarely set foot in the more populated areas, but this time they seemed desperate. Desperate to escape something. They were driven by paranoia, ripping and tearing through the defences, not stopping even if they lost a limb. The remaining militia found the dead ripped apart and tossed aside on the rail; a horrifying sight.
That day, news of the attack spread like wildfire through the station, striking fear into the hearts of those who led peaceful lives and those who were battle hardened soldiers alike. Extra patrols were assigned during the course of the day, and more powerful weapons were handed out like candy to the militia. Every entrance to Harmony Station was then guarded with a reinforced blockade, flamethrowers, and other heavy weapons. This utterly dissolved the morale of the public, causing riots to break out in the commercial areas and once friendly neighbours to be hostile towards one another. Hell had come to Harmony Station’s doorstep.
Technical engineers quickly patched the existing telegraph wires in the underground, desperately calling for reinforcements and supplies from the other settlements. Since more of the workforce was then relocated to the militia, and arms production, production of food faltered drastically. No other settlements responded. Being stranded on a high point in the metro inside a mountain where there were large caves of impenetrable crystal meant that the tunnels being dug to Harmony Station were long winding treacherous paths. Large caverns that were bridged across held the nesting grounds for mutants and other horrors that lurked in the eternal darkness.
Food was growing scarce and then naïve young fifteen-year-old Thundershot decided to join the militia. As a recruit, he was automatically granted a firearm of resemblance of the AK-47, but was magazine loaded from the side. Produced in the metro, it was forged utilising low quality materials and construction, and jammed frequently. Although there were major performance issues, the sheer amount of firepower and damage these weapons were able to inflict made them popular choices, second to the AK variants built before the war that were of much higher quality.
Thundershot spent his days from then on guarding the southernmost tunnel to Harmony Station, where the previous assault occurred. Hundreds of soldiers were relocated to that sector, manning the flamethrowers and guard posts twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The situation at Harmony Station was going downhill fast. The productivity of the workers was dropping at an alarming rate, and the quality of the manufactured goods were also deteriorating. There was always a line to the blacksmith and armoury, with soldiers holding their newly acquired weapons that were broken or even torn to shreds by their own bullet. The hospital was full of patients who had their weapons up blow in their faces.
There was only one way to fix all of this, Thundershot decided. After two months of constant paranoia, hunger and thirst, he would go to the nearest settlement to seek help. This was no easy task though. The unclaimed sections of the metro were dangerous places that only the bravest of souls dared to conquer. Scraping up all his saved military grade ammunition, he strutted to the marketplace and bought weapons, armour, food, and other necessities. What he acquired wasn’t much, but it was more than he owned his entire depressing life. He later made an entry into his diary before he left the safety of his home station, saying:
March 17, 2033
After two months of living like rats, our stomachs panging with constant hunger, scraping by with meagre amounts of food, I have decided to brave the metro. I bought myself some necessities to enable me to survive (well, at least barely scrape by) in the tunnels with my life’s savings including the compensation I received for the death of my parents. I’m setting off to Friendship Station, a settlement around eight kilometres away down south in the plains under the mountain. I’ll slip off during my shift as patrol down the tunnel. I’ve had enough of management or anypony else not doing anything to remedy this situation. Don’t they realise that we could all die? At the very least, I’m not ready to betray and dishonour my parents by failing this mission.
Thundershot
Author's Note
I want to say a special thank you to user RainBohDah on discord for helping me as stand in editor for the prologue of the story. Without his contributions, the paragraphs would be littered with grammar and punctuation mistakes.
