Cade YYZ's Unfinished Tales

by fuck mcdickbutt

Rating: everyone
Tags: Adventure, Crossover, Dark, Comedy
Length: 3250

Unfinished shit. Vote for continuation.

This is a compilation of every story I have started and never got around to continuing.

If you like one, tell me to continue it. If enough ponies vote on one, I will continue it.

Thanks for reading!

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-07-14 12:44:03 UTC

Second Chances

SECOND CHANCES

“Order up!”

Pinkie Pie bounced her way over to the bar, working her calves with every jump. She placed the order of cupcakes and turnovers on the counter, the sweet, sweet aroma of fresh-baked sweetbread working its way up to her nose, tempting her to lean down and sniff them. She almost did, but, as Mr. and Mrs. Cake would say, it was slightly unsanitary to have one’s nose on someone else’s food. Something about AIDS?

As her latest customer left Sugarcube corner through the revolving door, Pinkie grabbed a sanitary wipe in her mouth and proceeded to wipe up the crumbs of food on the counter, sweeping them into the trash can on the far corner of the table. She also sucked up a fair bit of the lemony-tasting liquid in the wipe.

"Hey Dashie, c'mere. I need some super-awesome advice from a super-awesome pony!"

Rainbow Dash walked behind the bar through the saloon-style doors, half-floating on her wings. She was covered in black soot, and had a large amount of burnt crumbs sprinkling her, a byproduct of her new job at Sugarcube Corner. She may not have been the best cook, but she sure enjoyed burning things!

"Waddya need? I'm game!" Said the rainbow-coloured pony. She carried a tray of tarts on her neck, balancing it precariously between her powerful, compact athletes' shoulders.

              "Taste." Pinkie held out another sanitary wipe on her hoof, offering it to Dash. She had a surprisingly serious look on her face.

"Umm... Okay. You pay me... boss." She took a wipe, and eyed it with suspicion. She contemplated what she was about to do, and swallowed (?) her pride, and shoved the towlette in her muzzle. She chewed for a minute, squeezing out the juices onto her tongue, tasting the lemony flavor.

"So?"

"That... may just be the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted." She attempted to scrape the remaining lemony flavor off of her tongue with her hooves.

"Hmm... I thought so. Thanks!" Thanked Pinkie.

"Your welcome... I guess. What did you want it for anyways?"

"We'll..." Started Pinkie, "I've been needing some new ideas lately, since Mrs. and Mr. Cake, you know, passed on. I need some new flavors to keep the business booming, and my ideas have run dry. Like a drought. Hey, have you heard of the drought in Appleoosa lately?" Rambled Pinkie. Her head was bowed low, if in deep thought. Or maybe shame, if it were somepony else.

"All-righty then. You go. I'll close up shop. Its seven already!" Rainbow set down her tray, eyeing it to make sure no confectionary treats were M.I.A.. Pinkie tended to sneak some for the ride home sometimes.

Dash walked over to the wall and, with a press of her hoof, shut off the magic-powered luminescae that Zecora had made for them. With the lights off, Sugar cube corner seemed desolate and barren, devoid of life.

"Creepy." Mouthed Dash, wondering why she felt like someone was watching her.

Second Chances

Fallout Equestria: Counting Stars

Fallout: Equestria: Counting Stars

Introduction: Luminescence

"I could get rid of all these clouds in ten seconds flat!" -Rainbow Dash

Light.

Light kills all, sustains all. All living things crave light. From the smallest speck of diatomic fungi, all the way up to the largest buffalo of the western plains, light brings life, sustenance.

But light is also terrible.

However many benefits Light can bring to us, nothing as great and as powerful as Light comes without a price. Light sticks its nosy tendrils of white luminescence into all the dark places it finds, grabbing the darkness and kicking it out to the Stars know where. Light intrudes. Light is nosy.

Light burns. It scorches. Even as it sustains the green plants, it also shrivels them up and kills them, mutilates them. Corrupts them into mere, weeping shadows of their former selves, all as it keeps up the charade of happiness and luck that ponies seem to associate with it.

Shadows, however, protect. They providing shade from the ever-present Light. Shadows hide and conceal us from the angers of the world when necessary. As terrible as the world can be, Shadows give respite from it, while Light simply pushes us back into the cruelty of reality. Light, because of this, overcomes Shadow.

I prefer Shadow.

[page break here]

My name is Lanthe of Glyphmark. Chances are, you haven't heard of me. Some of my recent acts have been slightly... less than heroic. My name has probably been wiped out from every archive in Equestria. But no matter how gruesome and wretched I may have become through the course of my travels, no matter how many horrible acts I may commit, one thing helps me to endure, even as the Stars themselves somehow manage to conspire against me and my companions as we speak.

I. Will. Be. Remembered.

I have no fear of Death, or even of the oppression of my people. My only fear, by now, is the fact that I will most likely face the fate of all the other ponies and zebras that have trod the same path before me. That I will crumble to dust, unloved, a mere footnote in the history books, if even that.

Yet, I still must keep to the Shadows, for if I do not, they will find me. They will erase me, bludgeon me off the face of Equestria until no memories of me are left. The Stars are relentless.

How, you ask, did I manage to get some of the most powerful forces in the known universe out for my head?

I will tell you the story of how I got here, up until this point, as I hide like a coward in these Shadows that have come to be my best friends. But for now, I must keep to them, for the safety of myself and that of my beloved companions, my only reason to live other than to carve my legacy.

For now, my children. For now.

Cutie Mark Academy

Violo Scratch zipped past the guards at the gate of his mothers mansion, whooping with joy as he did so. His custom ZM-37 minibike worked perfectly! The iron-wrought fence engraved "Scratch" was within sight.

Flashing his signature fierce, yet casual smile at the open-mouthed guards, the indigo unicorn colt took his right hoof off the control bar for a second, taking it over with his magic as the bike's custom-made engine purred with delight. He shifted into second gear as he zoomed past old Scootaloo's house, rustling the autumn leaves in the perfectly groomed front lawn of the middle-aged Pegasus.

"Shit, man, I'm gonna catch some flak for that later!" He yelled over the roaring engine of the vehicle.

Violo Scratch was fourteen, and not bad-looking, considering the fact that he was stuck smack-dab in the middle of adolescence. His coat, a deep indigo, shined like a polished sword, despite the fact that most colt's coats ended up dull and drab during puberty. However, it was barely noticeable on him. The only sign that he was a teenager were his slightly long legs, which were only just lengthy enough to press down on the pedals of his new ride.

"Man, you know Scoots isn't gonna rat you out. He fuckin' loves you!" Replied Little Macintosh, sitting on the backseat of the bike. Lil' Mac's large stature and weight were reminiscent of his dad, Big Mac, while the only traits he inherited from his mom, Rainbow Dash, were his fire-colored locks of hair, which he spiked up with mane-gel.

"True that."

They continued to speed down the fiery , autumn street, watching for any sign of pursuers. Octavia, Violo's mom, had been known to throw little hissy-fits when her son "ran away". She had even called the police once.

Lil' Mac piped up. "This had better turn out better than last time. Remember, we had to go the entire trip with the Fuzz up our asses!"

It was true. The last time they had taken the bike for a spin, the police had been on their tails the entire time. Violo's other mom, Vinyl, had to disassemble their bike afterwards.

They pulled up to the "stop" sign at the end of the street, right at Sugarcube Corner.

"Let's stop. This bike's doing a number on my junk." Said Violo. And it was true. The way the seat was positioned, this was quite obviously meant for mares.

Violo put his hoof back onto the control bar, and put his magic into slowly depressing the brake.

The bike glided to a halt without a sound. Perfect.

page break

Dead Mare Walking

"M.P.G!!! Hit the dirt!!!" Screamed Corporal Lyra, straining her lungs. She promptly flattened herself to the floor of the shallow trench.

Lance Corporal Bonbon ducked under the trench as a Magically Propelled Grenade (or more infamously known as an M.P.G.) round whizzed overhead, lightly brushing against her multicolored mane. However, the trigger did not depress, so it sped past her, detonating roughly 20 hooves behind her. The detonation noticeably shook the ground, and it rained dirt and mud all over her.

"Close one there." She muttered under her breath, prone.

Lance Corporal Bonbon stood at only three and a half hooves tall, making her easily the shortest pony in the platoon. Her feminine mane and candy cutie mark helped conceal the fact that underneath her well-groomed coat hid a monster of rage.

And these guys were pissing her off.

She took a deep breath, and popped her head over the top of the foxhole for a quick look behind her.

The M.P.G. had taken out a large support beam of their platoon's command centre. The large concrete hexagonal structure was done for, crumbling to bits from the last blast of hurled high explosive. The large pieces of broken cement had buried themselves in the mud. Maybe they would make good barriccades later...

The Lance Corporal swore under her breath, the likes of which would have made even the most foul-mouthed drill sergeant gape in disgust. That was the last command post she'd had under her jurisdiction ever since the previous attacks. The platoon now had no cover whatsoever, save for the poorly dug trenches cutting into the hillside. She poked her blue head further above the trench, and looked around.

Her ponies, nowhere to be seen, had fallen back to the line of trenches about ten hooves behind her, leaving her and Corporal Lyra the only ponies in the front line trenches. Dirt and lead rained all over, the former blasting away from the impacts of the latter. They were pinned down by suppressing fire from the opposing force. Heavy machine guns poured on the heat, their loud torrent of gunshots making the fire works of the Grand Galloping Gala seem like m80 firecrackers. All around them, explosions rang out from where the enemy was lobbing around explosives like there was no tomorrow. The opposing force, or OpFor, was in a line of dense vegetation about twenty hooves in front of them. In between them was only a small no-pony's land filled with lead and spent cartridges.

In other words, they were fucked.

"Celestia's blazing bits, is there any end to their ammo?!?" Cried Bonbon.

"I don't think so!" Replied Lyra, her second-in-command.

As if to drive the point home, a salvo of Ibex sniper fire from the west whizzed over her head, making telltale snaps as the .50 rounds broke the sound barrier. Bonbon ducked into the foxhole once again, cursing her lack of weaponry. Some well-placed .357's could put those posers right back in their place.

Smiling at the thought, Bonbon pressed herself further into the mud at the bottom of her foxhole, soiling her mane as she did so. Contrary to girly steryotypes, she loved getting dirty. "Extra camoflauge", she called it.

Lyra, prone next to her into the mud, was careful not to soil her mane. She spoke:

"Boss, that's a fucking fifty! We're gonna have to make a run for it at one point.!"

"Sure. Get out that radio. We need cover fire." The thought of what she was going to do next made her smile even wider.

Lyra fiddled with the boom-box sized radio for a second, and spoke into it, contacting the communications branch of the E.P.F..

"This is Misfit Actual, command squad. We need ChopperOzone and Ozone on the line, over."

(page break)

F.M.G. Lyroy "Chopper" Jerkins was having a bad day. A very bad day. But then again, people shooting at you before you even got a chance to take a crap tends to do that.

The sturdy gray Earth Pony ducked behind a barricade, about halfway between the trenches and the OpFor's position. They were in Nopony's Land, full of craters and shells.

Right where he belonged.

A machinegun bullet, fired from the side, pinged off his helmet, snapping his neck to the left.

"Man, the sides are getting pretty hot!" He exclaimed to his partner, Ozone. His thick Germane accent masked most of the emotion in his voice.

The purple gunslinger unicorn, in a prone position, gave no reply. All of his energy was focused on sniping, with one lens of his shades pulled up to accommodate the scope to her custom-built .50 sniper rifle, held using both her hooves and her magic.

"You're boring." Stated Chopper over the sounds of perpetual gunfire. "Loosen up." Chopper had always been a bit blunt with words, as his Equestrian was pretty limited.

As he said this, the stallion yanked out a large drum magazine from his saddlebags with his teeth and slammed it into the slot in his custom-extended l86 Squad Assault Weapon. The bullpup rifle made a click as Chopper pulled the bolt into an open-bolt position.

He activated his tactical mic, which was attached to his ear by a piece of duct tape. After this long in the E.P.S., a guy learned a few tricks.

"Rookie, how's it all up there?"

The garbled reply came through, breaking up a bit.

"Tangos, mostly to your eleven and two. Orders to take em' out." Replied Troy."And don't call me rookie!"

"Got it."

Pushing the straight-pull bolt to a closed position with his left hoof, Chopper extended his tactical bipod, and placed the Squad Assault Weapom on the lip of the trench with his head still under, preparing to fire.

"Three... Two... One."

On one, Chopper stuck up his head, aimed through the iron sights at the bushes at eleven and two, clicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger with his tongue.

In less than a second of firing, seventeen .288 F.M. jacketed armor-piercing rounds with c-90 explosive cores flew into the bushes at the two designated directions. Shaking from the incredible teeth-jarring recoil, he took up the bipod and ducked back under the barricade.

"Good hits, Chopper. Good hits. Two confirmed kills."

Chopper responded. "Thanks. I'll...

Chhhhhk!!!

"Sorry, I got another contact, Troy."

Chopper switched to channel thirteen on his mic, blinking twice at the tiny display on his retina. Having a microchip as a cutie mark had it's benefits.

"What."

"Chopper, this is Misfit Actual. Can you give us some cover fire?"

Chopper replied as a few pot-shots flew over his barricade. Ozone, lining up a perfect headshot, prepared to shoot at an Ibex officer. His first shot of the day.

"Negatory, we're out on the northern front. Nonpony's land. Nowhere's near you. Try Troy's un-HOT DAMN THAT'S LOUD!

"What?" Replied Troy.

"Sorry, Ozone just took the shot. Over n'out."

He put away his radio, and pulled out his LMG from the flor of the trench the sound of an Ibex charge from the north. He replaced the magazine. This was going to be a long, long day.

pb

"Targets to your two and eleven." Said Troy into his tacmic. He watched from his vantage point, concealed by a ghillie suit on a grassy hill, as Chopper shot at the designated bushes where he had spotted Ibex troops. Troy pulled out his binoculars, and watched as two telltale puffs of red smoke floated from the bushes that he designated. With a grim satisfaction, he reported:

"Good hits, Chopper. Good hits. Two confirmed kills."

He paused for a moment, waiting for a negative reply. Nome came.

His job was done here. Ripping off his ghillie suit, he stood up, his custom under-camoflauge suit becoming useless as his silohuette became visible against the horizon.

Ripping out a tac-3 smoke grenade from his saddlebags, he pulled the pin and yelled:

"Popping purple smoke!

A magical white aura surrounded the grenade, which he promptly lobbed between himself and the OpFor. He ducked back down into his tall grass.

A few rounds whizzed over his head, but not enough to tell him that the entire enemy force had seen him.

"C'mon, c'mon...."

The purple smoke's timer reached ten, and the grenade began pouring out purple obscuring smoke, hiding them from the forces in the dense jungle cover. The wind was in their favor.

"MOVE! NOW!" Cried Seargent Troy, in a strong Trottingham accent.. The rest of his squad, two female Earth ponies, shed their respective ghillie suits and stood up, the black-painted barrels of their scout rifles clenched in their mouths giving off no gleam to reveal their position. They were, after all, a First Recon squad.

"Thirty hooves, east! He shouted, directing his squad. He pointed his left hoof, showing the direction in which they were to run.

The squad set out over the nopony's land at a brisk trot. If they ran, it would give away their position.

As they navigated their way over the nopony's land between the hill and the trenches where the rest of the unit resided, the cover of the purple smoke started to drift upward, alerting a few hostiles to their position. A machinegun began to fire upon them, and the depleted uranium bullets fell around their hooves, splashing them with mud.

Troy looked ahead, and signaled to Frost and Blackjack to move faster. The purple smoke was beginning to fade, almost as fast as it had started.

"Dive for it!" Yelled Troy to his squad. He dove into the trenches, skidding on the mud, and scraping himself on the hot spent shell casings that adorned the trench floor. He looked up.

A large, mint-green pony stood over him. Hatred burned in his heart.

"Fancy seeing you here." Said Corperal Lyra. She stood over him, dominating him with her stallion-like height.

"Likewise. Where's the Lance Corperal?" Asked Troy, his eyes shifting to the left. This mock politeness would be no longer. Soon..

"What, scared?"

"That has nothing to do with my question. I need to see the Lance NOW.

Lyra turned around, looking down the narrow trench. "She should be right over-"

She was interrupted by the cold feeling of a barrel against her neck.

"Take me to her." Instructed Troy, cocking the pistol with his magic.

pb

Dear Readers:

Thanks for sitting through the prologue. I know things hapened a little fast, but this chapter was only supposed to introduce the main characters (Bonbon, Lyra, Troy, Ozone, and Chopper) and leave a cliffhanger, so it isnt exactly a real chapter.

Oh, the next chapter is a kind of "Six months earlier" kind of thing.

Dont worry, Dash comes soon.

PS first person to spot the shameless pop culture reference gets a virtual hug from fluttershy herself...