Fallout: Equestria :Where Am I Now?

Chapters

Prologue: An Average Day
Chapter 1: Welcome To the Wasteland
Chapter 2: Some Assembly Required
Chapter 3: Drink Deep
Chapter 4: Till the Bottle Runs Out
Chapter 5: Underpassage

Prologue: An Average Day

“Things aren’t perfect, but its home.”

/.|-\_=-]_______________________________[-=-]

Waffles,

especially ones with blueberries in them, are delicious. I make them every Sunday morning just because that’s how it has always been. Also, my roommate loves them. I think she just says that just so I’ll give her more free waffles but she tells me they’re the best in all of Equestria.

The smell of the delicious hay batter combining with the perfectly ripe blueberries in the waffle iron was intoxicating. I couldn’t wait to take a bite out of the golden, fluffy, blueberry-y deliciousness that were these waffles. Taking a deep breath as I opened the iron, I beheld the magnificent sight before me. It was cooked to perfection. With a spatula in my prosthetic hand the waffle was flipped in the air, caught with the spatula and set on top of another finished waffle on a plate.

That plate had started to float across the room. I didn’t mind that she took them, because there was plenty more batter and berries where that came from. Over the kitchen’s center island it flew, enveloped in a green magical aura to the hungry unicorn casting the levitation spell. The mint colored pony pushed her teal mane highlighted with white away from her face with a hoof but it just snapped back to its original position

Lyra sat the plate in front of her, nearly salivating with a bottle of syrup in her hooves ready to saturate her food with mapley goodness. She dropped the closed bottle and cursed her lack of opposable fingers as it clattered to the checkered tile floor. I chuckled slightly at her clumsiness which earned me a scowl from her.

With the bottle set upright and the plate I was going to use anyways for a replacement waffle holder, more waffles were well on their way to perfection. The only thing that would make this any better would be double chocolate muffins.

They always made me remember about the day on the TARDIS with my friends. The Doctor, or just Doc as I called him and Ditzy Doo. Those guys were the best, but if it wasn’t for them I think I’d still have all my legs. I’d probably still be doing my old job in Cloudsdayle ever eighty years ago. Oh ponyfeathers, the waffles. Why did I have to upgrade the iron with the Doc’s sonic screwdriver? Who knew it would actually work?

Well that was close. Only a little bit of smoke and that was fanned out the window before it could set off the fire alarm. I really gotta stop daydreaming while I’m cooking.

After turning the waffle iron off so the loft wouldn’t catch on fire I went over to the table with the plate resting on top of my prosthetic. These weren’t the best waffles I’ve made, but flaws are what make life great.

Not wanting to take the time to get a fork I used the blade on my prosthetic to eat my food. Now Omni-limbs don’t normally come with knives, or fingers for that matter. But his was an old military Snakeoil Hoof model from the 1020’s. With a few extra features, mind you. It isn’t common to see old veterans have defanged versions of them from the war with Gryphus, the Griffon Kingdom to the northeast of Equestria.

You up for a little history lesson?

At first I didn’t believe the classified documents either, but apparently there was a bloody six year war between Equestria and them over territorial disputes. You know, Griffon talons are sharp, so you can guess what happened to a lot of the soldiers that went out there.

There was this corporation. Maybe you’ve heard of them? Flimflam Improvements, makers of everything from trains to foal carriages to firearms since 955 CR, they saw this as an opportunity. Behind the Princesses backs they began development on Project Icarus. One of the many under-the-table things FI has tried to keep hidden from the government. I had to leave the place I learned these things before I could gather any information on other projects they might have had.

At first they were pretty simple. Skeletal appendages provided at hospitals to get wounded soldiers back on their hooves and to their families. Then once their profits had taken off the new CEOs of Flimflam Improvements, Shim and Sham (not their actual names), left the city of New Ponyville to go to Canterlot and make their case with the Princesses about Project Icarus.

They were appalled. Weaponized prosthetics? Implants? Their hearts broke for those they sent out to get hurt or worse by the griffons but there were some things you should just not do.

‘The Day of the Red Talon’ is what they called it. A fleet of airships stationed in a base on the border between the two countries was attacked by griffon troops, decimating our vehicular air force. Equestrian casualties were enormous.

That tore it. The Princesses reluctantly agreed with the corporation threatening to cast a shadow over the government. Volunteer test subjects more than willing to whatever it took to get back at the griffons underwent gruesome surgeries that would enable them to use the advanced technology in the new Omni-limbs. Artificial Intelligence cores implanted into a subject’s brain connected to an adaptable connection port allowed full control over whatever kind of prosthetic the mission required. The ponies that were willing to do this to themselves, myself included, weren’t the ponies they were before. Hell, I’m not sure if I could even call myself a pony anymore. I’m just grateful I didn’t have to take part in that Luna-Damned war.

You know why?

A lot of the cybernetically enhanced ponies, who were mainly given strength-boosting prosthetics that allowed them to wear much heavier gear and weapons, were in a lot of battles. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was a common diagnosis among Project Icarus’ volunteers. Therapy could only do so much. Eventually a lot of Project Icarus’ test subjects wound up behind bars, in padded rooms, or even dead by their own hooves. It’s part of the reason why nopony trusts me.

With Shim and Sham’s pockets lined with the blood money of their war-profiteering and the details of Project Icarus hidden from the public eye, Omni-limbs were now available in hospitals as safe, reliable replacement limbs for those who lose their due to accidents or deformities.

They never did make any prosthetic wings for pegasai like me, but even if they did I wouldn’t get them. I don’t think my goddaughter would be able to take it, you know?

Oh yeah, I got a kid to take care of. Her mom got killed and she left her to me in her will. I know I barely even knew Cass. Her name? Comet Jinx Dash. Little filly looked just like her grandmother, she did. All the way down to her rainbow mane and Cutie Mark, which baffled most of the scholars, doctors, and religious officials she had gone to. Cutie Marks were supposed to be unique to the pony they adorned. Take mine for instance. It’s a deep blue lightning bolt with a swirly, symmetrical line going through the middle that connects the poles and a line of darker star shapes spiraling outwards from the center. How many ponies could have that as their mark, huh?

Sure, genetics had a hoof in this kind of thing but the magical attributes of Cutie Marks were special. Some might be similar to another but no two are supposed to be exactly the same!

She hates it. Her whole life she’s been judged on her abilities simply because she looks like the great Wonderbolt Rainbow Dash, the only one that has ever been able to successfully pull off a Sonic Rainboom.

I could relate. You know, the whole being different thing. When I was born apparently my wings never grew in properly and ended up as featherless nubs extending from my spine. It also didn’t help that I didn’t get my Cutie Mark until I was almost fourteen years old. Young ponies can be so cruel.

A glass of tangy orange juice assisted in washing down my emotions as I finished my waffles. It was Lyra’s turn to put the dishes in the dishwasher and she complained like she usually did. Tried to make excuses such as her hooves were cramping up or that she was sick and couldn’t use her magic. Lyra really hated doing chores. Even really simple ones like this.

Heck, I crave the mediocrity of it all. Ever since I was born the past twenty-six years of my life have been nothing but insanity. I mean meeting Lyra involves cryogenics, warring DJs, undercover police ponies, Mare Muerte, and a Lightning cartel for Luna’s sake!

The narrow stairs of the loft to the second level bedrooms were always easier to go up two at a time. Working for those slimy bastards at FI as a courier paid well.

That reminds me, I needed a shower.

Post shower I dried my pure white mane with a towel in my good hoof as the complicated series of gears and locks spun into position, securing my leg to my body. You can get Omni-limbs wet but it’s advised that you don’t submerge the older ones in liquid for extended periods of time. Then I spotted a pair of blue jeans that I liked hanging in the main bedroom apartment on a plastic coat hanger. The hanger broke when the pants were tugged on in an attempt to retrieve them. I knew I should have gotten more wire ones.

The button on the front of your pants is a piece of cake. Buttoning the back of your pants around your tail was always a bit awkward, especially when you’re not a unicorn.

Used to be only prisoners wore these kinds of pants.

Either way, it took some looking but my brown jacket and a white shirt were found underneath one of the beds, completing the ensemble that hid my deformed, featherless wings and looked sexy to boot. My laptop was open on a desk with an explicit video involving female zebras and griffons that had been loaded up on the screen. Now I know I haven’t been using my computer lately. Damn it Lyra.

=-|\_._/|/-=

“I don’t think I remember you asking me if you could use my computer,” I scorned Lyra as I fixed my left sleeve over my prosthetic. It was the principle of the matter, “Just ask next time, and would you close it out when you’re done?”

Lyra was getting comfortable on the living room’s couch before she spent her weekend watching television. She nearly fell out when I said that “Oh! I- I uh… Heh. You saw that? Aw crap.”

“Relax, I mean we’re both adults here. But I kinda don’t need Comet seeing that stuff.”

“Come on, she’s fifteen. You really think she isn’t already looking at porn? What about you? Weren’t you a colt at one point in your life?”

It’s hard to be a kid with an absentee alcoholic as a father, a mother who’s too sick to work the two jobs she had to support us, and no way to get away from it all. But I found a way solve (Most) my problems. I stole, stole, and stole some more. Hey, I had a good reason, to pay for my mom’s heart medicine and then eventually a whole new heart. With no real skills and law preventing minors under the age of sixteen from working at the weather factory it was the only thing I could think of.

And damn was it fun.

I was good at it, really good. So good in fact, that’s how I got my Cutie Mark. It represents fluid, lightning-like movement that any good courier (or a thief) needs to do their job well. Anyways, I need to stop getting side-tracked so it’s back to the conversation.

“Hey, I’m pretty down with your- you know,” I decided to change the subject. “Oh, uh have you seen those crystals I’ve ordered?”.” It was forty-eight years ago when Ponyville burned to the ground. Nopony liked talking about it, especially survivors like Lyra. Cryogenic hibernation preserved her body during that time after she was mortally wounded in the days following the sacking of Ponyville until medical science had advanced enough to heal her. Which was about six months ago when I met her at the hospital. Ah what did I just say?

Lyra was flipping through the TV guide until she found the EMC channel to watch the ‘The Trotting Dead’ marathon. “Nope.”

Aw, I ordered these magical focus crystals over the internet from FI but that was over a week ago. They’re supposed to help you tap into your magical reserves so you’ll be able to cast spells but you need to have some kind of conduit like a unicorn’s horn. The Snakeoil might just be the right thing for the job.

“Damn. Just, you know, remember to exit it out next time. Is there any chance that you’re coming on my run with me?”

“No, no I’m not.”

I was looking for my I-Pony everywhere and it was under the couch, of all places. “Oh come on, why not?”

“It’s Sunday, I’ve been working all week, and I’m tired.”

“And I haven’t? Besides, you work at the concert hall and at the radio station with Vinyl! How stressful can music be compared to hauling ass all across the city all day long five days a week?”

“Hey, there’s some stress. You have no idea how annoying Vinyl can be. And that’s what I mean. You’re always running everywhere, why not rest for once?” She stretched like a cat would and smacked her lips.

“Comfy much?” An earbloom plugged into the I-Pony went into my ear, filling my head with corporate advertisements (more like borderline propaganda) on the radio. “I gotta find the Artist. You know that.”

“Seriously? Will you stop obsessing about that guy?”

I deadpanned towards Lyra and said with a grim determination, “No, I have to find him. I-- I just gotta okay?”

“You just can’t get over the fact that you can’t catch him. Can you?” I didn’t see Lyra smiling at me with that smug look on her face as I prepared to go out and scour the city for the Lone Artist. Nopony knows what the Artist looks like, so a picture of his face would be worth a fortune to the papers. We could all use the money, because we haven’t exactly been rolling dough lately.

Damn it where is my camera? Oh, on the coffee table. It’s so small I forget where the little red thing is sometimes. I still don’t know how digital cameras work, but frankly I don’t trust them or the corporation that makes them.

If it gets me that two thousand dollar picture, then I might reconsider. Now I couldn’t use the elevator next to the kitchen area because the four ‘geniuses’ from downstairs blew it up a couple months ago with some kind of bomb. I took a Dr. Hopper from a box in the refrigerator to go and popped the cap off with my thumb. Food gives power to the Omni-hoof using your blood sugar as fuel but sodas and things like that have effects that are more immediate.

*Mmm mmh! That there Snakeoil’s power levels are ninety percent. Have a kickass day Tellis. Or night, I’m not a fuckin clock.* Man I love Cinnamon Jack. That’s Applebloom’s daughter. Automobile Mechanic, tinkerer, alcohol enthusiast, and good friend. She couldn’t deactivate the voice the AI core in my brain transmits to alert me of changes to my prosthetic without turning the whole thing off. Instead she found a way to replace the creepy ass monotone lady’s voice with somepony else’s. She was nice enough to record her own. Better yet she didn’t have to cut me open to do it. It’s kept me from completely losing my mind.

By far the best recording in there is, “Oooh wee doggy! I ain’t seen a Zap-head shake more than you probably are right now. One-oh-five percent, Goddess-damn!”

I told Lyra to lock up behind me as I headed out the door into the hall to hunt me down an Artist. The key ring that held my vehicle keys had a key to this apartment but it was severely damaged by one of Adamant’s (Twilight’s adopted daughter) acid experiments. It’s a long story.

I was already a little winded by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs. I hate my neighbors.

“Argonis!” A green earth pony stallion called out to me. Please bear with me. This guy’s taken a little too many crazy pills and it’s, well, a little bit hard to understand what he’s saying.

“Hey how are you Cherry?”

He smiled as he said, “Things have pretty lookings, my dear Tellis Argonis. What are you down here for? Aren’t you supposed to be getting my magazines?”

The video game magazines Cherry mentioned were lying on the desk in front of him. I wasn’t going to even acknowledge that they were there or he’s just going to keep me here all day talking about them. “Trying to find the Artist, what else? Any progress on that elevator?”

Cherry’s red eyes darted from side to side as his landlord instincts kicked in and he threw together a lie. “Any progress on that rent, I ask you? And yes, yeah. Yeah. I’m right on it. You just be sure that I’m going to fix it right up. Yeah be on it.”

Uh huh. Just like I’m sure that you’re going to ever make any sense. “Later I’ll get some scratch together, we’ll score some hooch and then we’ll talk some more, okay? And rent isn’t due until the Eighth.”

“Oh. Hold on, what’s hooch?”

I go outside into the stony metropolis that is New Ponyville. I live in one of the older parts of town. It was built before the population boom. More hoofmade, a lot more masons and a lot less machines you know? It looked way more natural than other districts and that’s just the way I liked it. In my book cobblestone beats asphalt any day.

The tall building I just exited was slightly younger than the surrounding structures in this part of town. Its straight lines contrasted with the more natural flow of the other buildings. Part of me of wanted to live in one of these houses close to the ground, with their tile roofs and cobblestone exterior walls. Hay had been deemed an obsolete roofing and insulation material a long time ago. With the war that went on and everypony making babies immediately afterwards, it became illogical to build houses with it.

Looking for the Lone Artist mainly consisted of wandering aimlessly around the city using my lackluster tracking skills to follow fresh tags. I have found that the Artist goes out only at night except for Sundays. Lately he’s been painting his intricate murals in the territories of the local gangs. I could probably pass off as one of the Improved but they might know me as the guy that sent one of their recruiters to the hospital. Eh, he was an asshole anyways.

The Improved gang’s members have prosthetics, a lot of prosthetics. They aren’t veterans from the war, oh no. They’re kids that augment themselves with various toys provided by ‘anonymous donors’ as an initiation rite so they can terrorize the city. The New Ponyville Authority pays handsomely for any Improved that you bring in, which means that’s another reason ponies don’t trust me. One dumbass actually knocked me out when Comet made me take her to the arcade to meet up with her friend Hankinson Demarcus Pie and tried to take me into the Authority. I decided to be the bigger pony and not sue him.

I wasn’t actually going to run all the way to Improved territory, so over to the Yellow Tail Building’s parking lot. Most vehicles worked the same way as they did fifty years ago. There were two styles, mechanical and magical. I had a mechanical one because like I said before I’m not a unicorn.

Instead of the old coal fired engines, clean burning liquid fuel created from gemstones (don’t ask me how) called Flimfuel or Flamgas was used in low-flow steam piston engines. A peg key went into the ignition drive. The old girl and I had a lot in common. We’re both from a different time and we’re both missing more than a couple parts, but we’re reliable. Most of the time. My gear assembly is much, much less complicated than hers, though.

=-|\_._/|/-=

You can take the trees away, but it’s still the Everfree. It took me about half an hour to reach it at the edge of Improved territory and it bagan to snow. I hid my car in an alley next to a dumpster. Not like anypony’s going to steal the Autobuggy but still.

The best place to probably look for the Artist would be in the back alleys and in the places these punks normally hang out. A pink unicorn colt with an ill-fitting hindhoof was lying on some steps across the street next to another alley with a small glass pipe in his hooves. Lightning.

It’s terrible what’s happening to today’s youth. Just look at him, couldn’t be older than sixteen, getting hooked on drugs, destroying his body for no good reason, becoming an amputee just because a bunch of other loons say that he’s got to do it to join their little club. The kid’s probably getting electrified to deal with the pain his leg’s causing him. Why do they do this to themselves?

The wind had picked up preventing me from being able to hear the clopping of any nearby hooves, but that worked both ways.

Stick to the shadows, move quickly, find the damn Artist, and get my payday. Not an easy thing to do. There were three of them coming out of the back of a building, passing a square bottle of amber liquid around and taking drinks from it. Some kids that should have the sense than to be outside in weather like this without any clothes should know better. Though I doubt that after seeing their various prosthetic limbs, some were very recent. And bloody. Thank the goddesses they weren’t trying to install advanced models like the Snakeoil. Something tells me these kids aren’t exactly brain surgeons.

I hid behind some scaffolding that was never removed after the construction in this area was completed so I wouldn’t be seen by them. Wait a second, who’s that over there? Is it- can it be? Holy crap it’s the Lone Artist. I couldn’t make out any kind of features on him because he was wearing black socks on all his hooves, black lazypants, a black hoodie, a black bag on his back, black ski goggles, and a black bandana over the mouth. He was in the middle of painting a robotic foal wearing a diaper and bawling its beady little optical receptors out over by the far wall. That’s actually pretty funny. He was spotted by the Improved kids, who were drunk and looking for something to take their surgery-related pain out on. There wasn’t anywhere for the Artist to go, he really picked a bad spot to tag.

“You think you can ju-just… I… Get em’!” Looks like somepony can’t hold her booze.

They were on him before he could escape and proceeded to stomp the crap out of him. Oh shit! This isn’t good. I need to put a stop to this, and with the gracefulness as that of a ballet dancer in space.

My hoof got stuck in a bucket. Said bucket had a rope tied to it. Said rope lead up several floors of the scaffolding and was underneath a pile of boards. The resulting racket pulled the gang members’ attention away from their current victim and over to me.

“What the fuck? Who the hell are you?” a yellow unicorn filly rudely asked as she pointed a steely hoof towards me, bloody bandages going halfway up her leg. It looked like an early Grifter’s Swift model. I swear, as Celestia as my witness, I’m going to find whoever’s doing this to these kids and end them.

I got up and shook the bucket away from my good hoof. “Now is that any way to talk to somepony young lady?”

She was not amused. “Kill her.”

Aw, come on. I don’t look that much like a mare! Did I? I’ve had the occasional stallion make passing remarks about what I could do to them with my prosthetic, and then I showed them what I could do with my prosthetic. By punching them. Repeatedly. In the face. You’ve at least gotta buy me dinner first.

A steel hoof slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I really need to stop getting distracted. My response to that was grabbing his little face and standing on my hind legs. They obviously want to be treated like adults, right? Let’s give ‘em the full treatment, eh?

=-|\_._/|/-=

I was carrying the Artist on my back to my car after punching the drunken little snots out. Well I couldn’t just leave him there, plus I think I can get a way better picture in my car without all this snow.

He had a really small build and was lighter than you would expect. Hmm. I’ll ask him in a minute, just got to get out of the snow for now. Metal hooves do a hell of a lot of damage, even from kids.

I opened the passenger door and put the Lone Artist inside my car with a pained groan from him.

“You okay kid? They sure did a number on you.”

“Shut up Tellis. You know me I can- I can take it,” The artist panted out as his head hung low

Wait, how’d he know my name? and that voice… it can’t be. I pulled the Artist’s hood back to reveal a shortcut pink mane highlighted with black stripes. The artist moved her ski goggles and bandana down with the leg she wasn’t holding on her side with, looked up to me, and there she was with those big green eyes. Molly, Fluttershy’s ‘granddaughter’. Nopony actually knows if this is true, since there’s no birth records for anypony named Molise Shy in Manehattan and Fluttershy’s only daughter disappeared a long time ago. I haven’t really seen much of the little introvert lately. I really should visit her more often.

“So uh, you’re the Artist, huh?” Smooth moves Tellis.

“Well obviously, what do you think all this is about?” she asked me and coughed before tugging on the bag strapped to her back.

I started to go around to the driver side of the car and said to Molly, “Alright, I get it. I like your whole getup there. It’s clever. Y’know, with the all black and the baggy clothes to hide the tail and wings and junk?”

The key goes in the ignition and Molly pulls on the handle on her door to close it. Soothing heat from the vents blast at us and I ask my young friend if she needed to go to the hospital.

She shook her head and said, “No. I- I just need to get some rest. I don’t trust those Flimflam bastards.”

You and me both sister. Normally I would have at least jokingly scolded the yellow pegasus for using foul language but give her a break. Some little assholes just wailed on her for bringing genuine humor into their lives.

And totally dissing them, but that’s beside the point.

“You mind if I crash at your place?”

“Uh, okay? I guess?” Who was I to argue? I mean she wasn’t coughing up blood, was she? Besides, Comet never gets to see Molly as much as she would like to these days. Also, conversations between her and Lyra get pretty raunchy, and did I mention entertaining? Molly’s almost three years younger than Comet but she’s really mature for her age.

“Ah, thanks. I kinda got in a little argument with Granny and she’s pretty steamed. I can’t really go to the old place right now, you know?”

Huh. I’m sure that isn’t a lie.

=-|\_._/|/-=

We get home just as Stick puts a knife into a walker’s brain and Barrel shoots a crossbow bolt into another, which was around one in the afternoon. Molly had put clothes into the paint stained bag she had on her back and set it beside the door next to the coat rack full of hats.

“Why do you keep bringing her around? I don’t want that criminal in my house. Didn’t she light your car on fire oh I don’t know, twice?” Oh yeah, I forgot. Lyra has some kind of recent beef with Molly that even she herself doesn’t understand fully. I think it involved something about money, turnips, and science fiction memorabilia. I know, I’m as lost as you are.

Either way, whenever I bring Molly over Lyra tries (and usually fails) to give me enough reasons to kick her out of the Yellow Tail building. My normal quota is twenty or so.

She fell short at eleven, so Molly stays! “Besides, I’m a criminal and you don’t hate me”

“She doesn’t pay half the bills.”

“Oh, point taken. So yeah, me casa es su casa and all that. Help yourself to the fridge if you want and lemme find something for the pain.”

Lyra wanted to know more, now. “Pain?”

“Alright, you know those kids over in the Everfree, the Icarus wannabes?” She’s read the pictures I’ve taken of the documents.

“Yeah? What about them?”

“I was in their territory and-“

“Why the hell were you there?”

I held up a metal hand. “Just let me finish, okay? I was looking for the Artist there and well… I found him.”

It took a couple seconds for Lyra to understand what I meant. “Wait, do you mean…?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy crap. Where is your camera? Where is it?” A green glow enveloped her horn.

“Hey, hey! I’m not- That isn’t my camera!” She let go immediately. It totally was. I just had to say something to prevent her from damaging Molly’s secret identity any further than it has been already. Plus it’s funny watching her blush.

I went to the bathroom to get that plastic box filled with random first aid garbage and saw Molly lying on the couch next to Lyra, who was in a seated position while she had her forelegs crossed. She was grumpy. Molly let out a pained groan which made it a little harder for Lyra to enjoy her Trotting Dead marathon.

“Okay, I have some over the counter crap here. Antihistamines, no, don’t need that, aspirin? Naw. Oh here it is, Motrin. I hope this helps.”

She took one look at the bottle and said with a groan, “Oh, I hate pills.”

“Chew it up then you big baby.”

“Who you calling a baby, dodo?” Oh that stung something awful. That’s just what the kids back in Cloudsdale called me.

I tossed her the bottle. “Just take a pill and watch zombie ponies. I’m going upstairs, call me when it’s almost eight.” Comet had school tomorrow. She tried dropping out before when… yeah. Making her go through school is what her mom would have wanted.

When I reached my laptop, a different site with equally graphic content was loaded up on the screen. Oh for fuck’s sake. Eh, might as well.

That was… rather enjoyable. Hehehe.

I checked my emails, cleared out some spam, took care of Ponybook notifications, poked around on Equestria Daily. Hmm, looks like Princess Luna’s gone a little crazy, again.

That site with the magic crystal things had an alert on the product. It had been recalled! Aw COME ON. It was some stupid crap about ‘public safety’ and ‘missing ponies’. I was so caught up in the fact they were recalled and I wasn’t getting a refund that I didn’t read the rest. I didn’t care anymore, it’s not like it mattered now. I was never, ever going to be able to get the chance to feel what it’s like to be a unicorn. To wield all that raw power at the tips of my hooves, who wouldn’t want that?

After a while I got over it and the hours flew by like they were mere minutes. Molly had snuck up behind me as the Lone Artist in the dark room.

“Yo.”

“Huwha- AH!!” I fell out of my damned chair. “Holy nutballs! What the hell Molly?”

She moved the ski goggles away from her eyes so she could see better and said, “It’s eight, I wanna go with you to see Comet.”

“You know I’m bringing her back right?”

“Yeah, and I’m going with you.”

I could see that if I started this argument that Molly would eventually win so I just gave in. “Fine, you can come with me. Just try not to light anything on fire.”

“Aw, and I brought the Mollies along for no reason.” She put a lot of sarcasm into that but I really hope that she wasn’t serious about having Molotov Cocktails.

=-|\_._/|/-=

Molly was talking with Comet on her phone as we drove towards Kostume Kastle, where Hank lived and worked with his mother Lemon. A network of highways and bridges connected the various sections of the industrious city birthed from the ashes of a small town. That’s why the corporation chose a mechanized phoenix as the city’s crest. Other than Flimflam Improvements in red and white you see the crest everywhere you go, except in the oldest parts of town.

Molly had packed her stuff back into her bag and tossed it in the backseat near that spot with the duct tape. She scratched at a clavicle with a hoof while holding a phone to her head with the other and nearly shouted over the radio, “Hey, we’re on our way. Who do you think it is dumbass? Yes, that’s exactly who I am. Guess whose leg I twisted, ripped off, and beat them with it until they took me to see you? Yeah, I know school sucks but the courts say I gotta go or else I won’t be able to live at my Grammy’s. Well that’s relevant because if I get kicked out of my house, I’ll move into yours, and then you’re going to see a lot more of me. I mean a LOT.” The filly laughed evilly into the phone.

She has a point. Molly’s pretty cool but she’s the kind of filly you wouldn’t want living in your place for any extended period of time. I don’t want to go into the details. The only pony around that seems to have enough patience to deal with Molly’s shenanigans was Fluttershy with me as a close second. Lyra’s still pissed with her about that science fiction memorabilia, though.

Molly pulled her phone away from her head and asked me, “What’s up with this truck in front of us?”

A cargo truck was moving very erratically in front of us, and a bit of smoke was coming from the tires. That wasn’t g- holy crap. A tire blew out on the truck, and the sudden jolt downwards smashed the latch off the handle and the small bounce back up released the handle. A stack of wooden crates glowing with pink light fell from a palate and smashed open on the road. Bright, shiny talismans scattered everywhere and in the path of my car. I couldn’t slow down fast enough and I ran over a few dozen of the talismans, popping them underneath the weight of my car. Something very strange was happening, seeing as how a bluish-purple aura enveloped my car and locked it in its current state of acceleration.

Molly was speechless.

I had lost complete control of my vehicle and the aura surrounding my car was completely blocking our vision, but it felt like my car was on train tracks somehow. What happened to the road? I couldn’t see anything through all this light. We’re probably just going to smash right through some wall on the highway and fall to our deaths. Now wouldn’t that be ironic, two pegasai falling to their doom? I wonder if our funerals will be nice.

The bright light finally subsided to reveal… something. What is that? Oh, a wall.

CRRRAASSHHH!!!

Thank Celestia for airbags, am I right? There was something wet and sticky on my forehead and running down my mouth. My vision was blurry and I couldn’t see anything with this airbag in my face! When I moved the obstruction from my face I could see Molly hanging limp in her seat, wearing her seatbelt. Oh thank the Goddesses, she was breathing but I don’t think her left wing is supposed to bend like that. I unbuckled my seatbelt and nearly fell over on Molly. Her neck didn’t look broken, it shouldn’t have been. Her airbag had done its job, right? Right?

I unbuckled Molly’s seatbelt and let the unconscious filly fall over onto me. I was starting to see darkness creeping up on my vision now. I needed to get help immediately. Screw not trusting the hospital, Molly needed one bad.

The door nearly fell off when I opened it and fell to the ground with Molly landing on top of me. Tried standing up, didn’t work. I looked up and could barely make out some kind of grey building in front of me. Every blink was an effort not to go out.

Blink.

I started to scoot to who knows where with Molly’s unconscious body in my forelegs.

Blink.

Fell over onto my face, busted my lip with my teeth, filling my mouth with blood.

Blink.