Fallout: Equestria - The Lessons We Learn

by Chapter 13

Chapters

Lesson: 1 - The Little Things
Lesson: 2 – There is Always Tomorrow [Preview]

Lesson: 1 - The Little Things

Author's Note

First attempt at Fo:E.

Be gentle.

Lesson: 1 - The Little Things

Fo:E - The Lessons We Learn

By: Chapter: 13.

Lesson: 1 - The Little Things

“It’s the little things that tends to go unnoticed… it’s the little things that tend to get you killed.”

When you are as old as I am, you learn to notice the little things. Now, most take this to mean noticing the little things that ponies miss—like some hidden salvage or pre-war treasure. Some take it as appreciating little things that happen everyday that most just take for granted. Few realize it’s true meaning: the little things in life are the most important. They are what keep you alive. Some of these ‘little things’ are more important than others; while knowing that the smell of static in the air means a thunderstorm, knowing the difference between the sound of a .308 round, or the low hum of a magical landmine, could help save your life.

My hooves trot against the cracked asphalt as I kept my strict pace. If I focus enough, I can hear the sound of them clop against the weather worn surface echo through the war-torn ruins that surround me. Other sounds filled my ears—ruins shifting, the soft hiss of the wind, and soft clicks upon asphalt that were not mine—but I ignored them all. For now. All in good time.

I currently traveled through the ruins northern Chicacolt. My old home. It’s not much. Not anymore, at least. Time took care of that: it slowly ate away at what remained of the old world, left only scrapes and scars. Once, it had been a notable city—a place of trade and business, leisure and else-wise. It was diverse, holding a little something for everyone, rich or poor. It still had that quality, in a way. Guess some things are hard to kill. Even with magical radiation. I shook my head with a soft smile.

My smile fades and my hooves stop. I spot a familiar landmark. It was the ruins of what was once a school. Like the rest of northern Chicacolt, the building was a mess. Only two out of the four floors are still standing. The paint was either chipped or non-existent. Not a single window still stood. Anything that was once wood had rotted away. The northern district had been the closest to the megaspell. It showed. Since the last time I had passed the school, a few things had changed—a few more walls had finally crumbled and the left double-door had finally fallen like it’s twin.

I shook my head, then continued my journey.

I had passed that school… well, I’m not sure how many times. A hundred, maybe? I’m not sure. I’d lost count many years ago. Every since the bombs dropped, and the world died, I wandered. First, out of fear. Then, out of necessity. And, now, out of routine. I walked the Path: a route around the wasteland that both began and ended in this city. Where I went in between, or for how long, was never the same, but I always returned to Chicacolt. Why? I couldn’t tell you. I guess, in a way, it was still my home.

I look up to the sky past the brim of my desperado hat and spot the small, fleeting bits of light that manages to penetrate the thick cloud blanket that lays over my head. It was daytime, though the concept had lost most of its meaning. Other than the fact that I had to be aware of different dangers between the two—day and night meant almost nothing. I never needed to sleep, my body had mutated beyond the need for such a thing. There were advantages to these mutations—never needing to stop and rest, always being able to be alert—but I would give it all up just for the chance to dream.

I shook my head and banished the thoughts from my mind. It was dangerous to get caught up in the past, or dwell on what once was. It was something I could never change. It was better to just accept and move on. It was easier that way.

My ear twitched as I heard the not as distant sound of a misplaced hoof-step. I slowed my pace slow, then I glance back. I see the scampering shadows of an entity that wish to remain unseen. I sigh, then shake my head. This was starting to get silly. I was being followed. I had first noticed them not long after I had entered the city limits, and they have been following me ever since. At first, I was waiting for them to make the first move, or get bored and just walk away. No need wasting bullets if I didn’t have too. But, it appeared that I wasn’t going to get as lucky, and I wanted to do this in a place of my choosing. I had stopped in a moderately open area: a main street, flanked on either side by the crisp remains of houses. Little cover for them, lots of movement for me. Not ideal, but as good a place as any.

I turned around to face the direction of my stalkers. I see some fleeting shadows disappear behind an upturned skywagon. I clear my throat—my rotten vocal cords garbled my once gruff voice. "Next time you try to tail somepony, to leave the twitchy one behind," I spoke aloud, just loud enough for my unwanted traveling companions to hear, but not enough to attract the attention of anything else.

I hear the sound of a hoof meeting head, followed soon after with a cry of pain. I try not to chuckle. As tenacious and brutal as Raiders can be, intelligence has never been on their list of strengths. I had honestly lost track of where they were a few miles back, but their predictable nature made it easy to discern. After all, there's always a twitchy Raider.

After a few more minutes of silence, two stallions jump out from behind an overturned skywagon, their hobbled together armor coated in blood and gore. The one to the right had a coat of a dirty green, his main too dirty and stained to discern a proper color. The other one was orange, his mane somehow still yellow, though barely. A rusty cleaver and spiked board held in each one's mouth respectively.

I committed their faces to memory, just in case. "Bounty or sport?"

The green one turns to face the other. "Rotty’s got a price on ‘is head?"

Well, that answers that question. I was always curious to see if anypony had put caps on my head. It's not like I went around giving ponies reasons to, mind you—but, the Wasteland doesn't always need one.

The other one Raider shrugged, his red-tinted eyes flickered from side-to-side. Looked like he was the twitchy one. "I-If he does, t-that just means that we have to keep his head in one piece!" His eyes flickered to me with murderous intent.

I gave them my most intimidating stare and kicked my duster aside to reveal my holstered .44 magnum strapped, at-the-ready, on my front hoof. "Tell me your names," I said, ready to draw at any minute—just in case one of them decided to be jumpy, which Raiders usually were.

Both Raiders looked at each other, then shrugged. The orange one spoke up first, showing that he was the dominant of the duo. “Well, rotty, t’name’s Skull Crusher, and t’s here’s Blood Bath.”

“Very well.” I nodded. “I will only warn both you stallions once, and advise you to back off.”

Once again, Blood Bath and Skull Crusher turn to face each other, this time laughing as they turned and began to advance towards me.

I shook my head. Why can't Raiders just give up?

The Skull Crusher lunges at me, his cleaver dangerously close to me as I take a step back, to dodge the dangerous swing. My instincts kick in, ingrained reflexes from years of practice. I lower my muzzle with incredible speed, bring up my right hoof to meet it halfway. My jaw clamps down on the gun’s bit, and I pull it out of its holster. My aim is automatic, the iron sights lining up with my target with almost no effort. My tongue twitches, the hairpin trigger firing. My vision went red, the Raider's head disappearing in a red and white cloud, blood, bone and brain flying everywhere. I watch through the red haze as the rest of the Raider’s body falls lifelessly onto the ground, skidding to a stop at my hooves. I waste no time and point my gun’s smoking barrel at the remaining Raider, who had stopped his charge upon seeing his friend’s head reduced to mere smoke.

"Leave now, boy," I mutter through the bit. "Don't made me do this again."

The stallion stood there in shock, probably trying to process what had just happened. Finally, he shook his head, switching back to reality. He reaches down to pick up the nailed board that had fallen from his slack-jaw, intent of trying to finish the job his friend could not. But, he doesn't get to it, though, his head exploding in a cloud of red spray and brain matter as his lifeless body joins his friend on the ground.

With a flick my head, the chamber of my .44 opens, ejecting the two spent shells. I reach into my ammo pouch that rested on my side and pulling out replacement rounds, reloaded the trusty revolver and returned it back to it's leather sheath on my front hoof.

I take a deep breath, wiped some of the grey-matter that had gotten on my duster off before turning to face the bodies of the recently departed. I made sure I could remember their faces when they were still attached to their body. I could practically see them standing in front of me when I closed my eyes. I shook away the thought, and went to work looting the corpses.

Blood Bath and Skull Crusher. Two more to the list.

I had managed to salvage a small amount of caps that the twitchy one had been carrying, along with a bit of scrap metal that I could salvage from their armor. I could’ve gotten more if I sold the armor outright, but I never liked selling Raider armor. Only one type of pony would actually buy it, and I didn’t want to aid the ponies who always tried to kill me. I thought it common sense, but I appear to be the only one to realize this.

Once I had picked the two clean, I wiped my bloody hooves clean on one of their barding, then turned away to continue my journey. I had been on my way towards a little trading town in the northern edge of Chicacolt before I had picked up the two unwelcome shadows, planning on restocking supplies once I had arrived: ammo, healing potions, and materials to repair my barding.

The sound of my hooves trotted against the cracked earth and the overwhelming silence returned, and I found my mind slowly drifting off into space as I resumed my journey. This was common for me: my body running on autopilot as I traversed the wastes. I had been around just about everywhere in the Chicacolt area, wandering around the vast city ever since the megaspells fell. I knew the city forwards and back: where the settlements were, the locations of common Raider dens, ambush points, areas of high radiation, and so on. I had also been able to watch the city evolve as time went on. I watched gangs rise and fall, ponies who called themselves ‘heroes’ try and ‘save’ the city from the blight of evil, moments of peace, moments of violence, and so on. All the while I had just watched, never participated.

My war ended a long time ago.

Over the years I had evolved as well, both in appearance and in mind. My body rotted, but my mind stayed sharp. Years of practice and experience had trained both my reaction time, and instinct. I could spot danger before it happened, almost as if I could sense it. This was what allowed me to live for so long, survive the dangers of the Wasteland that I called home. I knew where it was safe, and I knew where it was dangerous. I avoided danger—steered clear of it the best I could. Some call it being a coward, but I call it being smart. I had already fought my war, ‘dying’ for my country, so I felt my service had already been fulfilled.

My appearance had also evolved over the years, constantly changing as I better adapted to the land around me. My barding consisted of an old, worn black duster, modified with armor plating sewn into the lining, with a matching black cowboy hat. My decayed skin was wrapped from muzzle to hoof in a thick layer of greyed bandages. My face was almost fully covered, only my muzzle and eyes free from their tight grasp, my glowing orange eyes peeking through my hidden appearance. The holster for my .44 was tightly latched to my right front hoof, my faithful gun resting in its grasp, while a sleeve for my combat knife lay on the left. Two more holsters were strapped respectively to my two hind hooves, my spare twin .44 revolvers in their grasp. On my back lay my saddlebags, the right side organized to hold everything I would need on a moment's notice; unspent ammo, reloading materials (primer, lead, and powder) and spent shells in their respective pockets, while healing potions, my journal, and other items I needed quick access to were organized in much the same fashion. The left side was much less organized, holding my salvaged and other bulk items I didn't care to keep easily accessible. Around my neck where the dog tags I had been given when I had served in the equestrian army; a solemn reminded of the like I once had.

Time passed relatively, hours feeling like mere minutes as I continued along my well established route. With no need for rest, and fatigue never making its presence known on my mutated body, travel had become a mindless experience for me. Although my mind wandered, my senses remained sharp. Never did I let my guard down, a crippling unease filling my body the moment I did.

My focus returned to reality, my conscious mind taking control as my unconscious receded. I look around and take in my surroundings, the sigh of northern Chicacolt coming into view. This had once been the residential district of the city, home to most of the natives of the city. Now, however, it was a ghost of its former glory. Long since abandoned apartment complexes, and toppled remains of buildings line the street. The once well maintained road now lay in ruins, cracked and ravaged by the damaging effects of time. Empty sky carriages and other forms of transportation lay sporadic along the road, remaining in the same position since the bombs had fallen.

And then, there was the bones.

Bodies were a common occurrence in the Wasteland. Charred remains of long since dead ponies killed from the original blast, or new one who had joined them in the hell that followed.

I stepped over the skeleton of a unicorn—it's gender and identity unknown.

It was always better to not think of them, to just ignore their existence. Pain and sorrow only followed when you focused on the dead. And Princess know there is already enough of that in the Wasteland…

I shook my head, banishing the thoughts from my mind as I returned my focus to the road. I snaked my way through the particularly dense area of fallen skywagons and cartridges, briefly looking them over for salvage. They were empty, just like last time I had passed them.

Once I made it free, the first signs of my destination came into view, the far off view of ‘The Hive’, coming into view. The hive was a trading hub made from connecting four adjacent residential complex set out in a square pattern. The complex had been established about seven years ago, and slowly grew to the economic giant it was now. If you needed anything, anything, you can find it here. It was called The Hive because it was like a little colony, almost completely self sufficient. In more ways than one, it was impressive.

I continued forwards, the distant shadow of the trading up growing as I got closer. Soon, I found myself staring up at the front gate, twin automatic turrets following my approach from their mounted positions. The entrance consists of a large, hoof made metal door connected between two of the closest towers. Above, walkways and platforms jotted from the sides of the quad buildings, some on their own while others adjoining. Even from outside I could hear the buzz of life from beyond the metal barrier, the same sound that had given the place it's name.

“Hey! You there!”

I looked up and focused on a blue unicorn stallion poking his head from behind the gate, a rifle held next to him in his magical grip.

“State your business, or get shot!”

It appears that they got a new gatekeeper. “Here to restock and trade,” I said plainly, trying my best to hide the gargle of my ghoulish voice.

The stallion seemed to regard me for a moment, his rifle still pointed directly at my head.

“Well… you seem harmless enough,” he began, putting the gun down. “Okay, you’re in. Just remember: you break the rules, you get shot.” And with that, the stallion’s head poked back behind the gate.

It was a few moments before I heard the rumble of the gate’s opening mechanism, the hobbled together system groaning as the large double doors swung open, allowing me entrance.

My hooves guided me past the threshold. Even after all the other times I had entered the hub, it still took my breath away every time I entered. The entire complex cut off from the outside by large metal walls built from building to building, leaving a ‘plus’ shaped area. This walled off space consisted of several shops and merchants set up around the commons, ponies from all parts either peddling or buying goods. In the center of all this stood a crudely put together honeycomb made from scrap, the official symbol for the hive. Looking up, I got a view of the many breakouts from the buildings that held more shapes above, as well as several rent-able areas and sleeping corners for the locals. Quite a feet of Wasteland engineering, I had to admit.

The layout of this area was a little different than the last time I had been here—some shops had moved, or closed, while others took their place. Because of this, I couldn't rely on memory for where I had to go to get my required supplies, instead having to search to find what I needed. I passed several shops as I trotted forwards, all food based. It amazed me how many different things you could do with the mutated remains of the Wasteland. Too bad I didn't need to eat.

I kept moving, passing several other stores of no interest until I found one I was looking for. I stopped in front of a shop that was actually inset into one of the four buildings, making it easily the largest in this layer. Above it was an actually well designed sign that read: ‘Point and Shoot’. Simple name, but served its purpose. Inside was a vast array of different types of weaponry; everything from beam rifles, to single shot repeaters sat on hooks hammered into the wall. I paid them no mind, as I already had the load-out I needed, and instead heading towards the caged off counter in the center of the store.

“Hello?” I called out into the seemingly empty cage, peaking into the interior.

“One moment~!” I heard a sing-song voice reply from somewhere beyond, and soon a light blue unicorn trotted into view from the back room connected to the cage. She trotted happily, her mouth in a content smile as she approached the small opening I guessed was for transactions. “Welcome to Point and Shoot! For all your pointing and shooting needs! I’m Kind Shot, what can I get you?” she asked, her voice filled with more mirth than you usually saw in a Wastelander.

“As much .44 rounds you got,” I spoke and I reached into my scrap bag and pulled out all the weapons I had managed to salvage and placed them on the counter, “and whatever I can get for these.”

The mare regarded the weapons closely, pulling them through the small hole with her magic. One by one, she checked each, all but completely disassembling them before moving onto the next.

“Hmm… Well, for two assault rifles, three 10mm pistols, one double barrel, and two landmines I can give you about…” She tapped a hoof to her chin. “Two hundred caps.”

I inwardly sighed, hoping for more. I wasn't much of a barterer, so I didn't question or try to haggle.

“And as for .44 rounds. Buddy, you have quite a taste in weaponry, my friend,” she began, trotting back to her back room and returning with a few ammo boxes in her magical aura. “Most expensive bullets I sell besides the 50 cal. But, to each their own.” She shrugged, putting them on the counter in front of me. “Subtracting what you get from your trade in… And at five caps a bullet… and one hundred and thirty bullets in total… you owe me four hundred and fifty caps!” she finished, an all to happy smile on her muzzle.

I practically flinched at the price. I had the caps for it, don't get me wrong, but I had expected it to be, well, cheaper. I reached into my bag and pulled out a few bags of caps. I tossed them through the opening and waited as she counted every single one of them. Once she was certain I paid correctly, she passed through the ammo.

“There ya’ go, another satisfied customer!” she spoke happily as I put away my new ammo. “And I don't mean to be rude, but… what’s up with the rags?”

I latched onto my saddlebag and turned to the mare. “Burn wound. Didn't quite heal right, so I just cover it up.” It was a lie, but not everypony was friendly to ghouls.

The mare winced. “Yikes. That explains the voice then.” She shook her head. “Anyways, that was all. Thank you, and come agai–Bullet, get down from there!”

I flinched as the mare’s tone suddenly changed, and turned to see who it was she was yelling at. My eyes instantly fell upon a small unicorn filly using one of the walls of guns as a makeshift ladder, currently hanging from a sniper rifle that hung from the ceiling.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to climb on those?” she asked annoyed, her horn lighting up as she lifted the child up and off of the rifle, who, in turn, wiggled like a cranky balloon as she was levitated back over.

“No, mom, let me go!” the filly squeaked, trying to free herself from her mother’s telekinetic grasp.

The mare just sighed as she opened the cage and pulled her daughter in. “It's dangerous and you could hurt yourself, plus it's bad for business!”

The filly let out a whine. “Fiiine!” she groaned, heading into the back room, grumbling to herself.

“Ugh… Kids.” She shook her head. “Anyways, sorry about that. Thanks for stopping by and feel free to stop by again!”

I nodded my thanks, internally questioning if leaving her daughter where she kept life ammunition was better then around unloaded guns. With a shake of my head, I turned to leave, but then stopped. “Actually, I have a quick question,” I began, turning back towards the mare. “Do you know where I can get barding repaired?”

The mare nodded, pointing a hoof upwards. “Two floors above me is a shop called ‘Wasteland Attire’ run by a mare called Quick Seme. She should be able to do any repairs you need.”

I nodded my thanks, once again turning and heading out for the shop. A few turns later and I was heading up a set of staircases to the second layer of the hive. Here there were more formal and permanent shops that had been made in converted apartments. They varied from restaurants to specialty shops. Finally, after trotting over one of the bridges connecting the current tower to the next, I made it to Wasteland Apparel. The shop was relatively large, taking up two apartments connected when a wall had been taken down. Everything from prewar dresses to combat armor were displayed on mannequins displayed all around the shop’s interior. I trotted past a few of them, just browsing until I found the owner.

The owner was an extremely tall unicorn mare with a white coat and a dark red mane. She trotted around her store, mingling with her customers. She eventually spotted me and gasped, galloping over to me and stopping.

“Oh, my! You poor dear,” she began, her words filled with drama. “You are an absolute fashion nightmare with those bandages! Here to find something to help cover them up, I hope?”

I shook my head. “No, just need a patch job,” I said, pointing to my duster. “The plaiting needs replacing and there are a few holes I would like closed if you could.”

The mare let out a sigh of disappointment. “Ugh, fine!” she began with an emphasized sigh. “That’ll be fifty caps for the patch job and another hundred for the replacement metal.”

My eye twitched.

“Ooor, you could buy some lovely new armor for half the price that would look much better–”

I took off my duster and placed it at her hooves, fishing out the required amount of caps and throwing them on top.

She lets out a sigh, picking up the duster and caps in her magic. “Find… It’ll be ready in about an hour. You can wait in the seating area if you want.”

I nodded as she took my armor away, trotting over to a corner with a few pre-war cushioned chairs. I trotted over and sat in one, placing my saddle bag beside me as I used the time to rest my bandages. I felt naked without my duster, the armored garb had become more of a second skin then just clothing.

With a soft sigh, I leaned back and waited, counting the cracks in the ceiling.

An hour passed by like nothing, floating like a rapidly increasing tide. I eventually got my newly repaired armor and thanked the mare, who had once again tried to convince me to choose something else rather than continue to use my duster. I declined, again, and headed out before she tried again.

The next couple of hours had been spent going from stall to stall, re-supplying all the supplies I would need. I was a wanderer in all aspects of the word. Through the years I had traveled from here to there, no distinction in mind, and no purpose. To be honest, the only thing that kept me going was my fear of stopping. I knew what happened to ghouls who lost their purpose; they went feral. Their minds decayed like their skin, becoming practical zombies whose only purpose was to kill and feed. I feared this happening to me, but I also feared dying. So, I nearly wandered from place to place, restocking what I needed before moving on.

Once my saddlebags were full with what I would need for the next several months, I wandered around the entire complex. I didn't buy anything I didn't need, as I hated wasting caps, but still found simple joy in just looking at what the Wastelanders had managed to create.

It was dark when I had finally toured the entirety of the complex from top to bottom. Shops were closed, and the locals headed off to their respective homes located at the top of the four towers. Not having the need for sleep, but also not wanting to head out during the night, I ended up sitting with my back against the Hive statue in the middle of the bottom later, my eyes closed as I waited for the time to pass by, and for the day to arrive.

About a few hours after The Hive had turned in for the night, I opened my eyes as I felt an uneasy feeling starts to build. I raised my head, my glowing eyes scanning the area. I was alone, as far as I could tell. The closest soul I could spot was a guard resting peacefully at his position above the front gate, rifle gripped tightly in his hooves.

What was it?

Through years of experience and trotting this Wasteland, I had managed to gain a sort of sixth sense for sniffing out danger. It wasn't anything magical, more of my mind just got used to the small signs that something bad was gonna happen.

And I was getting one of those feelings.

Sadly, this sixth sense didn't exactly tell me what it was that was wrong, more of that something was going to go wrong. It was my job as the conscience mind to figure that out.

I rose to my hooves, my ears perking up. I could hear something, something distant. It was almost like a faint, high pitched whistle, one that grew louder and louder.

When I finally recognized what that sound was, I was too late to react. Pressing my hooves into my ears, I embraced myself.

Boom!

I felt the concussion wave slam into me as I was thrown backwards and slammed into the statue. My head spun. I gritted my teeth through the growing pain that originated from my spot of impact. I opened my eyes, the world spun in a blur of color and sound. I looked down to the blurry outline of my holstered weapon. I bent down to grab it, missed three times, then grabbed the bit and held tightly in my maw. I drew the weapon and pointed it out straight. There is more than just one blur—many blobs of pony shaped mass flood my vision. I aim towards one, then another—my mind reeling as I try to figure out what to shoot. I hear a muffled scream, and spot a blur running straight at me. I click the trigger with my tongue—the blur haunts its advance as it falls to the ground.

I close my eyes and tried to focus myself. When I open them, my vision is much clearer, but part of me wished it didn't.

Raiders.

I almost lost my grip on my weapon as my jaw all but dropped. Floods of blood covered, frenzied Raiders flood in from the now melted point where the gate had once been. Ponies who I had seen shopping the day before, or making stalls were now fighting for their lives. Hot chunks of lead fly in all directions, and I duck just in time to avoid one colliding with my skull.

I breathe a sigh of relief, but my breath is forced out of me as something slams into my side, sending shock-waves of pain reverberating up my spine. I cough, spitting up black icor. This is enough to final jump start my brain, allowing me to finally act.

I scramble to my hooves, picking up my dropped revolver, and bolt forwards. I fire off two shots, one striking an approaching rider right in the neck, the other connecting directly into the shoulder of another, ripping the limb from its place.

One plus two is three.

I dive out of the way as another Raider wielding a cleaver swings his deadly blade at my head, his momentum causing him to stagger. I take this opportunity and buck with all my might at his head, sending him down for a second time. My hind hooves barely touch the ground as they rebound off the ground, spinning me to face the Raider. I send one shot off at his head, the bullet splitting it in two.

Three plus one is four.

The air is filled with the sound of combat; screams of pain, rage, and blood-lust mold together in a discorded choir. Bullets, beams of magic, and sharpened weaponry fly through the air, each aimed with the intent to kill. My agile hooves and years of experience allow me to glide through the battlefield, dodging the deadly debris with practiced ease. My tongue clicks and two more time my revolver goes out, a blood stained Raider falling before it could strike the final blow on a fallen local, his body falling limp as the blood of his victims in joined with that of his own.

Four plus two is six.

I holster my revolver, kicking out my left spare and snatching it in my maw. My movements had lead me to the far corner of the mini war-zone, pushing me again the farthest wall from the remains of what had once been the gate. I fire off two bullets at incoming attackers, one barely hitting one while the other misses. My intent wasn't to kill, just distract so I could dive for cover behind a nearby stall.

Zero plus two is two.

I take a ragged breath as I am momentarily free from the fight, taking the chance to survey the damage I had sustained. On my right side, just behind my saddlebags, I saw a torn hole in the recently mended fabric, the metal plate beneath dented from the impact of the bullet. I send a silent prayer to the princesses that I had commissioned my armor replaced, as if I hadn't I most likely would have a large hole in my side.

My attention returns to the situation at hoof as I feel someone vault over the cover I was using. My head turns and my revolver lines up perfectly between the eyes of a pony I had recognized from earlier when I was wandering around The Hive. Blood soaked her once pink fur; how much of it was hers I couldn’t be sure. Her eyes go wide, the fear of death showing through her terror filled eyes—a pleading fear that would only show when one knew they were going to die.

And she did.

I watch helplessly as a stray bullet from the fight pierced straight through the wooden stall and travels cleanly through her head. A red spray puffs out as I watch the life drain from her eyes, and then she was gone.

I didn't have time to mourn, nor react. I through myself to the ground as more bullets followed, slicing up my cover as if it had been nothing. Splinters of wood and bits of metal rained down on me as I pressed myself as far as I could into the ground. I felt several bullets ping off of my hind metal plating, with at least one or two managing to miss and dig straight into my hide. I hissed, holding back a scream of pain as I felt them tear into my skin, embedding themselves underneath.

I had to move.

My current cover had become useless, and as soon as the spray had stopped I hopped up and began to dash away. My flank burned from hot metal still inside of my flesh, but somehow still functional adrenaline and my will to survive pushed past the pain as I strafed forwards. I fired three shots, one I know hitting true in a Raiders flank, while I lost track of the direction of the other two.

Two plus three is five.

I dodged the strikes of several frenzied Raiders, one managing a few hits on me as his nailed board made contact with my skin. Pain flares up again, and I send my final bullet into his hind hoof, causing him to fall, weapon rolling from his reach.

Five plus one is six.

I toss my spent revolver into my saddlebag and reach down with my mouth for my combat knife, removing it from its sheath and plunging it into the neck of the wounded Raider. Blood squirts front the wound and covers my bandage-covered face as death slowly overtakes him. I remove the knife and scramble forwards for the nearest cover, spotting the gun store I had bought from earlier. I jump on practiced hooves and I bounded over to the shop, sliding to a halt when I reached the interior. The war continued to rage outside, and I had to press myself against the closest wall to avoid incoming fire. My body hurts, my entire right side throbbing from puncture wounds and the bullets still inside of my skin. I carefully reached down and returned my knife to its place, immediately grabbing my remaining revolver from its holster.

My chest heaves, bringing useless oxygen into lungs that no longer require it. I poke my head out, surveying the carnage so far. Piles of dead and pools of blood fill the once busy bottom layer of the hive. Raiders with Chem fueled rage strike down the defending towns ponies, while they strike back with all they could. The majority of the corpses I could see lacked hobble together armor and weapons of torture and rage, signaling that the invading force was winning. I poked my head back behind cover, closing my eyes as I tried to hold back processing the situation at hoof.

I needed to focus on survival, and only that.

A Raider carrying a bloodied sledgehammer slides into the shop, stopping mere feet away from me. His weapon drips with the essence of his most recent victims, and his eyes hold the promise to add mine to the mix. I ride my revolver, but once again it wasn't me who caused the death of the pony within my sides. His side explodes with a piling of shotgun pellets, his unarmed side flying open from the force of the impact. Blood and skin peel from his skin as he falls dead, his eyes still staring at me with the same murderous intent.

I turn to the source of the blast, spotting the shopkeeper I had purchased from earlier quickly reload her combat shotgun with practiced ease, a practical constant stream of shells floating from her ammo bag into the weapon. She pulls back the lever and re-pointed her gun at the entrance, but her eyes turn to me. Her hooves raise up as she motions for me to come to her, to which I immediately react on. I dive forwards, leaping over the counter and through a newly opened hole to the caged off area behind. I roll out of my landing and back onto my hooves, sliding to press my back against the back of the counter.

I enjoy a moment of peace, taking in as much of the momentary feeling of safety as I could. My head swivels as I turn to the light blue mare, watching as her weapon held in her magical glow fires round after round into the combat area beyond. It lowers only when it clicks empty, reloaded almost instantly by the stream of shotgun ammo she also guides with her magic.

“You! You have any idea of how this happened?!” she asks in a panicked array of words, her voice missing it’s mirth and joy from earlier.

I go to speak, but cough up some more black icor before my mouth would cooperate. “Balefire egg,” I begin with my scratchy voice. “Blew the gate and they just swarmed in.”

The mare’s eyes go cold, her weapon pausing as horror spreads across her features. “How the fuck did Raiders get a Balefire Egg launcher?!” she screamed, her fire continuing. “I can't even get my hooves on one; how can a group of chemmed up freaks get one?”

I shook my head. “No idea. You know where they came from?”

We both flinch as we hear an explosion go off somewhere close to the entrance to the shop, most likely a grenade or mine from the sound of it.

“They look like the gang that hangs out in the subway tunnels not far from here,” she begins, putting down her shotgun and picking up a landmine with her magic. “We’ve known about them for years, but they'd never manage to even get passed the main guns before, let alone mount any kind of assault like this.”

This was troubling. Raiders were bad, but they were stupid and loosely organized, losing most of their effectiveness as a hole. But, get them working together, and even a small den can become an almost unstoppable wave of drug fueled psychopaths.

The mare tossed the mind over the counter, then primed three more and threw them as well. “This is bad, really bad,” she began picking back up her shotgun and resuming her spray. “We’ve never prepared for anything making it past the gate… I mean, nothing ever had!” She shuddered. “We’re going to die…”

I wanted to argue, to voice hope, but I knew deep down there wasn’t any. I had been in some tight spots before, times when survival seemed impossible, but even they seemed tame compared to what what happening now. I looked to the mare, her eyes showing her hidden fear as she fired the hot lead over the counter. She was brave, I could see it. She feared death, but she still faced it with a fist full of iron, and fight in her heart. I shook my head, smacking myself back to reality. Now wasn’t the time to give up, nor falter. No, now was the time to fight like hell!

Revolver clenched in my teeth, I poked my head over the counter. The fight beyond came into view, and I focused on the closest Raiders I could spot. Two puffs of smoke, and two more fell.

Zero plus two is two.

I ducked back behind cover, covering my head as a wave of bullet sent waves of shrapnel over my head as they impacted the wall behind me. It was too much, too much to try and focus on at once. This was a blitz attack, a Raider special. What they lack in brains they make up for with volume and brawn. If I had to guess, there were about a hundred or so towns ponies when this had begun, with at least double that pouring in from the opening. Now, there was probably only twenty or so of us remaining, facing a force of at least a hundred. I continued to poke my head over the counter and fire, sending bullets flying into the closet Raider.

Two plus three is five.

Five plus one is six.

Reload.

Zero plus four is four.

Four plus two is six.

Reload.

My cycle continued, sending out bursts of bullets out before retreating behind the slowly shrinking cover. The mare at my side did the same, her shotgun throwing an almost constant stream of lead forwards. I poked my head out again, this time to survey the damage. I could see towns ponies barricading themselves inside of their shops, sending out burst attack just as we did. Raider of all sizes either charged with their melee weapons, or fired from during a frontal assault. They didn’t hide, nor seek cover. They charged, hoping to get our blood on their hooves.

It was a horror show.

Taking my eyes off the Raiders only allowed me to look at the growing dead. Bodies littered the streets; ponies I had passed the day before now lifeless husks on the ground. I had seen death, I was used to death, but it still never made it any better.

I felt a tug as I was pulled back behind cover, shrapnel from one of the mines impacting all around the back wall. I took a moment to come back to reality and slowly rose to an upright position. I hissed, reminded of my shredded hide as more pain crawled up my spine. “Thanks for that,” I begin as I raise my head to properly thank the mare. “Can’t believe I forgot about the… mines.”

I went silent. No words escaping my lips as my eyes make contact with the mare who had pulled me into her safe haven.

“I feel… cold,” Kind Shot mutters, her shotgun falling from her magical grasp. She looks down, the bleeding hole in her chest filling her vision. “Why am I so… cold.”

She slumps, her body going limp. I dive forwards and catch the mare, holding her as he eyes struggle to stay open. Blood slowly drips from her mouth as she chokes up breath, her eyes never leaving mine. I laid her down and press my hooves into the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

“I never thought dying would be so… cold.”

No, you’re not dying. I reached into my bag and pulled out a healing potion, dripping the potion directly onto the wound. It slowly heals, knitting together before my eyes. But, to my horror, it’s not fast enough to keep the river of blood from constantly leaking out.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

I hated death. It was a haunting finality that seemed to plague the Wasteland as a whole. Death was natural, but I had yet to see a natural death since the bombs fell. Killing was one thing; it was easy to disconnect yourself from the deed and justify your actions. But, holding someone as the life drains from their eyes… well, that was something else. My hooves only did so much to slow the bleeding, and even after three potions I saw no improvement.

She died.

Her eyes glazed over, and the spark that lives inside all living things disappeared. Gently, I laid the mare down, closing her eyes and crossing her hooves across her chest. She looked peaceful, almost as if she was sleeping.

The room shook again, more wooden and metal chunks rained down on me. Another mine had exploded, leaving only one left between me and the Raiders. This was just supposed to be a routine restock, grab what I needed and get out. But, I guess my luck that had lasted 183 years had finally ended.

I pulled out all three of my revolvers, quickly reloading them and laying them on the ground in front of me. Three revolvers. Six rounds each. Eighteen bullets before I had to reload.

I wanted to take eighteen of them down with me.

Grabbing the first one in my mouth, listened to the battle outside. I could hear the screams from the towns ponies; some coming from layer above me, and others from outside. With one last moment of hesitation, I jumped up from behind the cover, and my mind went into full instinct mode…

Five clicks of the tongue, five screams of pain. In rapid succession, five bullets fired from my revolver; two hitting home in Raider’s heads, killing them instantly; two digging themselves in the armor chests of two others; and one bouncing harmlessly off one’s heavily armored hide. This gets their attention: a large mass of blood covered Raiders rushes the shop, their weapons ready for my blood.

Five plus one makes six.

My final bullet fired from my gun, and I take cover. An explosion rings out as my bullet sets it off, a mess of blood and limbs flying in all directions. I drop my empty revolver and pick up a fresh one, hopping back up on the counter. I fire three shots, all missing a Raider strafing in front of the store, his almost foaming mouth makes be believe he’s high on jet. I curse myself, aiming for his center mass. Two more bullets, one making contact with his hide and causing him to fall. I fire the last one, half his head exploding in a plume of white.

Then, I was tackled.

While focusing on the last Raider, I had let my guard down, using all my focus to hit his snakelike path. I collided with the back wall, the stallion slamming me back. I try to recover, but he was faster. My eyes met his blood red ones, murder held deep within. His coat is red, weather from blood or natural I wasn't sure. He wore thick leather barding, spikes shards of metal driven into the material. Although, his front and back hooves were bare, I noted. The stallion lashed forwards, hooves connecting with my skull and sending me flying to the ground. I roll to my hooves, pulling out my knife from its place on my hoof. I react as fast as I can, diving forwards and slashing, making contact with his right hoof as he tries to defend himself. I expected him to fall, stunned by the huge gash in his flesh, but he doesn't even flinch. My eyes go wide, realizing that he was probably pumped full of some crazy Chem-cocktail, Buffout and Medex definitely included in the mix.

“Think you’re hot shit, bandage?!” the crazed stallion chants, his eye twitching. “I'm gonna see how much blood I can mop up with those when I kill you!” He reaches down and picks up a hatchet (most likely dropped when he rammed me) and still seems to smile around it’s grip. “Time to die!”

I dive out of the way as he gives his weapon a mighty swing, the deadly blade whizzing past my head. He turns and goes for another, but I’m more prepared this time and duck, lunging forwards and sticking my knife right into his neck. “Not this time…” I muttered, removing the blade as the Raider drops to the ground, choking and coughing on his own blood.

Bang!

Cold… it did feel cold. My hooves fell out from under my as I fell. When I hit the ground, I looked down to see black ichor dripping from a new hole in my barding, set just perfectly between my front and rear plates. I groan, trying to get back up, but I find my strength fleeting. My eyelids begin to get heavier, a foreign, long since forgotten tiredness washed over my body.

Tired… so tired.

I close my eyes, a smile crossing my muzzle as I allow my old friend sleep wash over my tired mind. My mind goes fuzzy, and thought begin to blur, and soon, everything is black.

Pain. More pain then I had felt in a long time washed over me like a flood from a broken dam. I groaned, a tight, twisting pain radiated from my side every time I tried to move, while my entire right side and chest constantly throbbed with pain inducing heartbeat. My dry and decayed throat let out another raspy groan as I opened my eyes, a wall of red filling the entirety of my vision. My head pounded, the world around me spinning the longer I held open my eyes. I tried to rise to my hooves, but stopped as the sharp pain in my side only grew the more effort I put in. Eventually, I stopped trying altogether, instead closing my eyes and letting my mind settle.

After longer then I would have wanted, the world settled and my mind returned to its normal functionality. My eyes opened, and I craned my neck up to see what was causing the throbbing pain in my side. It wasn’t hard to spot, the combat knife sticking out of my hide hard to miss. Knowing it had to come out, I didn’t procrastinate and leaned my head back and grabbed the blade’s handle in my maw, biting down hard as I yanked it out. Black fluid slowly trickled from the newly created hole, while all of my willpower was spent trying not to scream. The pain was ridiculous, but it eventually faded to manageable levels as time went on.

I laid on the ground for what could have been anywhere between a minute to an hour, staring up at the shredded remains of the ceiling that had once been the shop’s roof. I remember the fight, I remember the death, that much hadn’t been lost to me. The only reason, I guessed that I was still alive had been that the Raiders had mistaken me for a normal pony, simply stabbing a knife into my side to make sure I was dead. That may work with normal ponies, but definitely not with ghouls.

The pain eventually faded to manageable levels, and I attempted to get up. It took me a few times, but eventually I was able to make it to my hooves. Once I was sure I could walk without falling, I lifted my head and took a look around.

Blood.

This was what Raiders left in their wake; blood and dismembered corpses. The front of the shop alone was filled with the bodies of all of the Raiders me and Kind Shot had taken down, while the sight beyond was much more gruesome. It looked like they had some ‘fun’ before they eventually had moved on, as corpses of both dead Raiders and locals of The Hive were arranged in horrible positions. Body parts and entrails were hung all around the area like sick party decorations, while blood literally covered the entire ground. I shuddered at the sight; at the massacre.

I removed my eyes from the rest of the carnage, busying my mind by giving myself a good look over. It was evident by both the pain and slow drip of black fluid that I would need a good radiation bath soon, if I wanted to live. To my surprise, most of my stuff was still where it should have been. By luck, I had been forgotten or passed over by the Raiders, as the rest of the place was void of the guns and ammo that had once stocked the shelves and hangers. It took some digging through the few bodies that laid around me, but I eventually also found all three of my revolvers, and ironically discovered that I had been stabbed with my own knife.

I didn’t know how long I had been out, and I knew that, in my current state, I would be lucky if I could even take down a radroach. I perked my ears up to make sure that I was alone, listening for any signs of life.

Silence.

I let out a sigh, the silence being good because it meant I was free from Raiders, but also horrible because it meant that they were all dead. A once thriving community of traders was now reduced to a pile of blood and bodies. I didn’t know how this could happen, nor did I even want to think about it. I could feel the blood that had soaked into my bandage-covered hide, and it made me feel sick, dirty… wrong.

Kind Shot.

The mare that had died in my hooves popped into my mind. I looked around me and let out a sigh of relief when I spotted her body unmolested, still in the same position it had been in when I had laid her down for the first time.

Tap… Tap.

My ears perked up. A sound, so soft that I would have missed it if I wasn’t paying attention, whispered softly into the silent air of the dead city. My head turned, facing where I believed the sound had originated. I would have been paranoid, or it could just have been nothing, but from experience I have learned never to brush off anything. More than once I almost died as a result of not paying attention to the creaking of wood, a stir in the temperature, or just a gut feeling. Slowly, I reached down and picked up my revolver from its holster, pointing the deadly weapon forwards.

Tap… Tap.

I heard the sound again, this time getting proper bearings on its location. From what I could tell, it was coming from the back room. I trotted forwards, my hind right leg limping with each step.

Tap… Tap.

I entered the back room. Boxes of recently looted ammo crates and gun lockers littered the floor of the storeroom, the care and organization of the recently departed mare had put into the room destroyed.

Tap… Tap.

Now, I had a location. I stood in front of an unopened gunlocker, this one being the only one in the entire room that had been locked. Recent scratch and jab marks on the locker’s bolt revealed that the Raiders had attempted to open it, but seemed to have failed. Or… maybe they had been the one’s to lock it?

Tap… Tap.

The bottom of the locker shook, rattling softly. I quietly re-holstered my revolver, then reached back and opened my saddlebags. After some rummaging, I pulled out a screwdriver and a few bobby pins. Arranging them with practiced ease, I stepped up to the locker and used a hoof to angle the lock so I could get to the tumblers.

Tap… Tap.

With the skill of a thousand locks picked, I heard the soft ‘click’ as the lock opened. I quickly put back my still usable pin and screwdriver, leaning down and grabbing my revolver. I didn’t know what I was going to find, and, at this point, I actually believed I should just leave it alone. But, my gut told me this was what I needed to do, and I never argued with my gut.

I pointed my .44 at the locker, my hoof resting on the lock. I mentally prepared myself, stealing my focus. In one fluid motion, I kicked off the unlocked lock and threw open the door, my gun pointed directly at the inside.

My eyes focused on the locker’s sole occupant: a twitching, blood covered Raider. I looked him over, studying his appearance. He was adorned with the normal spike-style one would expect on a raider, though this one seemed to have taken one heavy beating. Blood pooled at the bottom of the locker, and with how much there was, I didn't think this Raider had much time left. The monster of a pony cowered at my sight, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“N-no! Don't k-kill me!” he pleaded, covering his head. “T’ others locked me in ‘ere ‘cause they t’ought it’d be funny.”

I stared down the petty excuse for a Raider. I wanted to kill him, take out my anger at the massacre that they had committed at this sorry excuse for a Raider. But, before I pulled the trigger, a thought popped into mind.

“Where’d you get the Bailfire Egg launcher?” I asked, figuring that I should get some information out of him first.

He shuddered, and let out a wet cough. “Th’ gang found’d it when we looted some stable nearby.”

Stable? Now, that was something new. I knew the locations of several stables in the Chicacolt area, but to my knowledge, all of them were still closed.

“Where is it?” I asked, poking the stallion with the barrel of my gun.

“I-it’s in th’ old metro station! Somewhere near tunnel… Nine, or somethin’!” he began, before stopping when he entered another coughing fit.

Stable in the old Metro? Well, can’t say that surprises me, to be honest. Probably one of the control or specialty stables Stable-Tec was so famous for. I shook my head and returned my focus to the task at hoof. “What else can you tell me about this stable?”

“A-all I know is that ol’ Green Hooves found the location at som’ ministry hub an’ ‘ad us storm the place!”

“Are there any survivors?”

The stallion nodded. “Ye’. Stable dwellers don’ know how ta figure fer shit, but the’ don’ give up eitha.”

I nodded. This meant that there still could be some ponies down there. “Anything else?”

The stallion shook his head.

I let out a sigh and click my tongue, hearing the roar of my weapons as the Raiders head was reduced to nothing but blood and gore. A pang of guilt hits me at the act, but only a small one. I gave him the gift of a quick death, much more than he would have given me.

I pop open the chamber, and reached into my bag for a replacement round. While I mindlessly reload the single spent round, I ponder over the information given. These Raiders had gotten the armament to actually perpetuate this attack from that stable, and Princesses know what else was down there.

And the dwellers.

My mind went to a dark place when I thought about that. These weren't normal Wastelanders, no, these were poor, ignorant ponies who had been assaulted by the worse this hell-trotted land had produced. What had transpired was something I could only imagine with horror and disgust. I knew what Raiders were capable with; the inside of that time seeped prison would be nothing short of a blood bath.

I clicked the cylinder back into its place, and then slipped my gun back into its home in its holster.

Part of me wanted to forget this information; be happy that I survived and just leave, letting the horror that was today behind me and return back to my mindless journey. But, another part of me, one I had tried to crush for a long, long time told me to head to that Stable. I wasn't a hero, that I knew for sure. I wasn't some super pony who could bust in and save the day; cleansing the wasteland of evil. No, I was just a coward of a ghoul—one fled from danger, and fought only for myself. I hadn't been able to save this town, surviving only from pure luck.

Heroes died, and cowards survived.

I shook my head, banishing my thoughts of heroism. I trotted forwards and out of the back room, my hooves on autopilot. But, I stopped when I reached the corpse of a single mare. She was still in her peaceful, sleeping position I laid her down in the day before. It was strange to look down at the corpse of a pony you knew in life. I tended to distance myself from the ponies around me, and she had been no different. But, in life, she had been different then almost all that I have ever met in the wasteland.

She had smiled.

She hadn't been mean, or rude, or even angry at the world around her. No, she had been a single ray of hope; a sliver of happiness that had managed to escape the grasp of the wasteland.

Well, for a while, that is.

Now, she was dead; that spark that I had seen the previous day gone just like the life in her eyes. It was dead, she was dead… everything was dead.

Except me.

Tap… Tap.

Oh, goddesses, you’ve got to be kidding me!

I shook my head and cursed to myself. They had locked another raider in her? I thought. Part of me wanted to just leave her there, let him rot in his own tomb. But, a part of me was curious: a dangerous thing to have in the Equestrian wasteland. I bit my rotten lip, then let out an annoyed sigh and turned around once again.

I searched the room and looked for the source of the noise. I waited for a bit, but didn’t hear anything. Was it just my imagination? I thought to myself. I was a paranoid pony by nature, so this was possible.

Tap… Tap.

Nope, that’s definitely real. Having paid attention this time, I was able to locate the source of the sound. It was coming from besides the lockers I had found the raiders in, besides a few boxes of ammo crates. To my surprise, it looked like the crates and been hastily moves recently, as if someone was trying to hide something. I cocked my head, then trotted forward. I made quick work of the crates and moved them to the side. They were all light, and I suspected that most, if not all, of them were empty. Behind them was a thin, metal panel that was up flush against the wall. If I wasn’t looking for it, I would have totally missed it.

Tap… Tap.

My hooves moved at lightning speed. I pulled the revolver from its holster and held it to my mouth. The sound had come from the other side of the metal panel. Part of me wanted to leave it, get away as fast as possible, but something told me that I needed to check it out. Against my better judgement, I listened to this voice. Again. Slowly, and carefully, I moved my hoof to the panel. With a fluid motion, I threw the panel to the side and pointed my gun to what lay behind.

“N-no! Don’t kill me!”

My gun fell from my mouth, my eyes looking onwards in a sad horror at a light blue unicorn filly with a white mane, her head pressed tightly in her front and back hooves as she softly rocked back and forth. I had seen this filly before, she had been the one who had been playing on the guns in the front of the store. She had been… Kind Shot’s kid.

Oh… Celestia.

I didn’t know what to do. I started at the cowering filly, her cries of fear and pleas for mercy bringing only sadness to my ears. I was not good with children, nor was I even good with grown-up ponies. Even before the bombs fell I had been a social outcast, from what I could remember. I looked at my appearance, down at the bandage covered ghoul soaked in blood. I wasn’t the right pony for this, but it wasn’t like there were more ponies who could take my place.

Shit…

I knelt down, making myself as small and unthreatening as I could. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said in the softest voice I could manage.

The filly took a cautious look up, taking one look at me before cowering even more.

I flinched. “No, don’t be afraid, little one.” What was her name? I had heard her mother yell it that first time… Bullet? Yes! Bullet! “Bullet, was it?”

The filly stopped shaking, her head slowly turning to face me. Tears stained her eyes, fear still lingering on her features. “H-how do you know my name?” she asked.

“Yesterday I bought some stuff from your mother, and I heard her say your name.”

“Momma?”

No… no! Damn it!

“Do you know where Momma is?”

That was not the question I wanted to hear. To be honest, it was the last thing I wanted to talk about with the terrified child. But, I guess my face must have given it away, as she simply lowered her head.

“She’s dead… isn’t she?”

I managed a nod. A sad, single nod.

“Oh…”

I could see that she had already suspected this, and may have already come to terms if that had been a reality, but still I could see a profound sadness wash across her features.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.

It was an honest question, but one I didn’t know the answer to myself. I couldn’t just leave her here, but I also didn’t trust myself to travel with a filly her age. She wasn’t a baby, but she still wasn’t old enough to go it on her own. Leaving her here was definitely not going to be an option; only the coldest of ponies would leave a child alone surrounded by the corps of her friends and family. The Wasteland had hardened me over the many years I had traveled it, but I would still rather die than let myself sink to that level.

“You could… you could come with me?” I offered.

The little filly looked at the ground, seemingly rethinking her options, then softly nodded.

I let out a soft sigh, reaching down and putting my revolver back in its holster. I then leaned down and offered my neck to the filly, who slowly climbed up and sat herself on my back. Pain shot up from my scars and wounds sustained from the hell that had been today, but I pushed it all back. I had once felt this kids pain, back when I had everything taken from me in a cloud of magical radiation. It was an empty, hollow feeling, almost as if part of you died with everyone else.

I trotted forwards, stopping just before I was about to exit the storage room. “Close your eyes,” I spoke. “What lies ahead is something you shouldn’t have to see.”

I turned my head back and waited until I saw her put a hoof over her eyes. I didn’t know if she would follow my request, but I really hoped she did.

I trotted out of the storage room and into the ruined store, quickly passing the corps of my new charge’s mother. As fast as I could without dropping the child, I trotted forwards. Over bodies and through blood. Past the cold corpses and mutilated bodies of ponies I had seen alive just yesterday. Past carnage and death, I trotted forwards. I could see the sky fading to a dark orange, signaling the approaching night. Part of me wanted to salvage what I could from the now ghost town, knowing that the Raiders would have left a considerable amount of loot behind, but I also didn’t want to keep the kid here any longer than absolutely necessary.

My hooves guided me past the melted gates to the once thriving trading hub that had been The Hive, now only a somber reminded of how horrible the Wasteland was. I keep trotting until the towers were just a small speck on the horizon, and only then did I tell the kid she could remove her hoof from her eyes. Weather or not she obeyed me was something I would never learn, but part of me knew she must have at one point.

“Where are we going?” I heard her ask, to which I wasn’t sure of the answer. It was getting late, and with a child under my charged and my still less the perfect condition, I really didn’t want to be out at night. Chicacolt may have been filled with dangers during the day, but the real demons came out at night.

I thought for a moment, then remembered a close by apartment building that I had used more than once as a rest stop. “A place not far from here to rest for the night,” I said, motioning with my head in the direction. “It’s safe, I promise.”

She didn’t respond, instead curling up into a ball on my back. I doubted she would ever feel safe again, and I actually feared how she would react when the shock wore off, and the reality kicked in.

After about ten minutes of walk later, I stopped in front of an old apartment building. Once, it had been home to over fifty families of the middle class. Now, however, it was barely standing. Half of the entire building had caved in from the initial blast, while the other half suffered greatly from the hands of time. I lowered my head and allowed the filly to slide down from my back, and motioned for her to stay close. To my relief, she actually obeyed. I was comforted by this fact, as she no longer looked like she wanted to bolt at the sight of me.

I limped forwards, pulling out my revolver and holding it at the ready. I pushed past the main doors to the lobby, my eyes scanning the area inside. Besides the skeletons of long since dead ponies, I didn’t see any signs of danger. I kept my gun at the ready, though. Just in case.

The little filly followed closely by my side as we trotted into the lobby and up a flight of stairs just next to the reception desk that was located in the middle, the skeleton of what I would guess the secretary still slumped over her desk. We climbed up three flights of stairs, then onto the third floor. I motioned for the filly to remain behind me as I systematically went through and checked each and every one of the rooms, making sure they were vacant of any hostile life. Sometimes I wish I had been graced with a pipbuck, a pre-war wrist mounted marvel of prewar engineering. It had all sorts of features that would make my life so much better, but finding one was almost impossible. Only stables were graced with such tech, and, as far as I knew, none of the stables that were located in the Chicacolt area had opened yet.

Once I was sure that the floor was secure, I picked the room with the most impact furniture. The room I chose was what a small, two room apartment. It had a small kitchen, the contents of which scavenged years before, a couch, a chair, one bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom was useless, as the ceiling had given away, so I used it to store the two skeletons I could find. The kid had been around enough death today, so I figured it was best not to add more.

I dusted off the couch, patting it down and getting rid of as much of the built up dust and debris that I could. Once I was satisfied, I taped on the surface and motioned for the filly to take it. “You can sleep here tonight,” I said, my words more forceful than I would have liked. The filly complied, hopping up onto the old piece of furniture, curling up into a little ball and tucking her head into her hooves. I watched her from my position in the kitchen, a sad expression filling my features.

Poor kid. I thought, shaking my head. The Wasteland had its share of orphans, more than I would like to think about. Most either died or got captured and forced into slavery. There were a select few that had managed to survive on their own, but that number was still painfully low. I shrugged off my saddle bags and placed them on the dust covered kitchen counter, followed by my hat and duster. I then unbuckled all three of my holsters and my knife and added them to the growing pile. I waited until I believed the kid was asleep before I began to remove the blood covered bandage that I had wrapped around my skin, wincing when I had to remove the ones that had been where I had been shot, stabbed, or other. Soon, a pile of blood soaked bandage lay on the floor, and I could feel the cool night air wash over my true boy for the first time in a while. Silver patches of fur dotted around my body, where it had decayed was just rotten flesh. My mane and tail, which had somehow to still remain almost completely intact. My flank still shown my cutie-mark, the one thing that didn’t seem to decay like the rest of my body. My cutie-mark was of a spray painted dark horizon with a single beam of silver light peeking past. I had been a graffiti before the war, if you believe it or not. I had been recruited by the ministry of image as a propaganda artist, spray painting images of hope wherever I could. It was a peaceful job, at first. But, as the war continued, I lost my inspiration and was soon fired. After that, I joined with the Equestrian army, and the rest is history.

I let out a sad sigh as I looked away from the mark, internally scowling at the mocking symbol of ‘hope’ stuck to my flank.

I stuck my muzzle into my bag and pulled out the materials I needed: irradiated water, a needle and thread, a single healing potion, replacement bandage I would wrap myself with once I was done, and finally my knife. I first grabbed the knife in my mouth, taking a few unneeded breaths before finally tilting my head back and digging it into my flank. I held back a scream, biting down hard on the handle. I heard a soft ‘plink’ as the first bullet popped out of my rotten skin. I took a moment to recover, then dove the knife back in as I went to work on removing the next two. Finally, after what felt like an hour, three black coated bullets lay on the floor. I held back a scream, as I didn’t want to either wake the kid or let every Raider (or worse) know my current location. After taking a few minutes to recover, got out the needle and thread and began to sew together the larger gashes. It hurt, yes, but not even half as bad as the knife had. Once each of them had been sewn shut, I opened the irradiated water bottle and poured it all over my wounds. I let out a content sigh as waves of soothing cool washed over the areas that had until now one radiated pain. The radiation, though small, was enough for the wounds to start to heal. Radiation healed us ghouls, and it brought with it a wave of pleasure every time we basked in its warm glow. I also used the water as a makeshift bath, washing off as much blood as I could. Once that was gone, I then poured the healing potion over the wounds as well. It’s magic wasn’t even half as strong as it was to normal ponies, but it still worked.

Finally, after all of this was done, I picked up a roll of bandage and rewrapped myself. I first started with my back hooves, then worked my way to my chest, and then my front hooves, and finally my head and muzzle. It had taken years of practiced to be able to do this without a mirror; the routine now becoming more like second nature rather than a conscience action. Once this was done, and I was now completely covered, I reattached my three revolvers and knife, first wiping the blade clean on the pile of used bandage. With myself now rewrapped, I felt a lot safer. As I had said before, ponies didn’t trust ghouls. Most thought we would go feral at any moment, while others just didn’t seem to want to acknowledge that there was difference. Because of this, I had to cover my decaying body, hiding who I truly was beneath layers of bandage. It was easier to lie and say the bandages were from a large burn wound, smoke damage resulting in my croaked voice. It worked, most of the time, and those who actually figured it out didn’t seem to care.

I packed up my supplies in my saddlebags and laid it across by back along with my duster and hat and proceed over to the remaining armchair that was next to the couch. I placed down my duster and hat on the floor and hopped up on the chair with my saddlebags. I sifted through them and began to take restock of what supplies I had remaining, and also guesstimating how much I would need for my new companion. Apparently a pipbuck had its own sorting spell that did this for you, but I didn’t have one so, like the rest of the Wasteland, I had to rely on memory and constant checks to know what I had, and what I needed. This was also the reason why the right side was so carefully organized, as many of the things I stored in there I would need in a moment’s notice. It wasn’t a flawless system, but years of tweaking and perfecting had gotten it to work as close to perfect as I could get.

After taking inventory, I placed the bag on the floor besides me. I sat for a little bit, letting time roll by, but soon got bored and rose from my seat, trotting over to a nearby window. Through it I looked at the dark cloud layer above, sighing at the fact that I hadn’t seen either the sun or night sky in a long, long time. I used to love looking at the night sky, observing the beauty of the stars, but that all ended when the pegasi abandoned us to create their own safe haven. I hated pegasi for this. Not for abandoning us, but for taking away the nightly beauty that was the stars.

I shook my head, pushing away old hate and returning to the chair. Again, I sat there for a while, ears perked up at attention as I watched the only door. My eyes wandered to the sleeping filly, and frowned when I noticed that she was shaking. Whether it was from the cold or nightmares, I wasn’t sure. After observing this for far too long, I quietly hopped off my chair and picked up my duster in my muzzle. Gently, and careful of the metal plating, I slowly covered the sleeping child with it. She stirred, but eventually snuggled into it. Once it was in place, I trotted back over to my chair and sat down, this time content for my usual wait for sunrise.

Today had been horrible. I had witnessed mass death, been shot and nearly killed, had my favorite trading hub destroyed, and was now in charge of an orphaned filly because I was unable to save her mom. A part of me felt that it was my fault she died, that she had been shot when she had pushed me out of the way of the explosion. It was a fear that I could never know the answer to, and one that would join the memories that haunted my mind. This was the one thing that I liked about not being able to sleep: you never got nightmares, and the princesses know that there is plenty of nightmare material trapped inside my brain.

Another thought struck my mind.

I was stuck two directions I could go, two different paths that would lead me towards two different outcomes. One, I could forget about what had happened to ‘The Hive’ and continue on as if it had never happened. Or two, I could travel towards the stable and… what, take on an entire Raider nest by myself? With a kid I was wounded and barely had any information about what I would walk into.

I let out a soft sigh and shook my head. What do I care? Why does the fate of a bunch of stable ponies, who are probably already dead, bother me so much? I shouldn't have cared. I should be able to ignore it like everything else since the world ended!

I took a deep inhale of breath, then let it out slowly.

All in all, today had just been another lesson—another teaching that the Wasteland gives it’s unappreciative students: Your luck will always run out.

Lesson: 2 – There is Always Tomorrow [Preview]

Author's Note

Bleh. Here are words.

Lesson: 2 – There is Always Tomorrow [Preview]

Fo:E - The Lessons We Learn

By: Chapter: 13.

Lesson: 2 – There is always tomorrow

“They say, ‘Time heals all wounds.’ But, what about scars?”

Dawn came. Fleeting light peeked its way through the cloud layer and pierced the darkness of the night. I watched as a single ray of light shone through the broken window, slowly growing as the sun rose higher in the sky. I waited until the beam had made its way about halfway up the wall before I rose to my hooves, stretching my freshly wrapped body. It would take a little bit before the bandages would conform to my body, to which I would have to deal with the slight discomfort they supplied. My body still hurt, my right side still on fire from, but it was manageable now. I took a test trot around the old apartment, happy that I could now trott with minimum pain.

I stopped my trot and turned to where my charge. The little filly had slept calmly through the night, which was something I hadn't suspected from a child who had recently lost so much. She awoke with a cute little yawn, curling herself tighter into my duster I had laid across her small shivering form. I found the sight adorable, to be honest, and couldn't help but crack a smile.

From what I could see, I had to options: adopt her as my own, or wander and find her a proper home. Part of me wanted to do the latter, or rid myself of the excess burden of a child. But, a larger part of me felt like I owed the filly’s mother.

After all, she had saved me.

I shook my head: time for this particular train of thought could wait. I had to first make sense of the present. I made my way over and collected the rest of my stuff. Slowly, I removed my duster from the child. She stirred, but didn’t awake. I slipped on the recently repaired garment. I looked over the duster and frowned. It was stained a bit with a combination of what was now my blood, and that of others. I shook my head, then attached my saddlebags tightly at my sides. I made my way over to my chair and picked up my hat from the armrest. I have it a once-over, it didn’t seem to have any new stains, then placed it snuggly on my head.

All geared up, I turned once again to my charge. She was curled up in the corner, a peaceful smile on her face. Her chest rose and fell. It was now that I finally got a good look at the kid. She was a small, unicorn filly. Her coat was a dark blue, while her mane was a deep platnum. She didn’t have a cutie-mark yet, which was actually a surprise--ever since the bombs fell, most kids tended to grow up quick.

What am I gonna do with her? I asked myself, again.

It was an honest question, one that I honestly didn’t know the answer too. After mulling it over for a bit, adopting her seemed to be out. I had a hard enough time taking care of myself. Adding a clueless kid to the mix wouldn’t end well. It was one more thing I needed to look out for, one more thing that I needed to worry about. One more thing that could get me killed. Like it or not, she was a liability. If I was heartless, I would leave before she woke up. Thankfully, for her, I wasn’t. That left the only option of finding someone to take care of her. I had heard of a few orphanages that were still operational. With the abundance of abandoned and orphaned children in the wasteland, some ponies with hearts bigger than their brains had decided to take care of these lost few. It would take me some time to find one of these places, and even more to make sure that it wasn’t actually a front for a slavery ring. It was a sad reality that I had seen too many times before--little fillies and colts in chains, being carted off like stacks of meat. It made me mad, but I tried to ignore them as much as I could. I was just one pony, nothing special--I wasn’t in a position to fight a war against this disgusting practice.

I shook my head. I was beginning to get off topic. First things first, I needed to wake the kid. It was only fair that I, at least, discussed this with her. She may have been young, but she deserved to have a say in her future.

I trotted over to the filly and have her a few shakes with my hoof. She muttered something, but didn’t wake. I grumbled, then shook her harder. She finally cracked an eye open, blinked a few times, then looked up at me. Her silver eyes met mine, and she screamed. The filly crawled away from me and into a nearby corner. She shook. It seems like she was beginning to process what had happened yesterday.

Shit.

I tried to think of my next move. Should I think of her as a frightened animal? Might work. I'm not the type of pony one would call, 'good with kids,' or even like the damn little brats. Children were a liability. And, even before the megaspells, I didn't like them. Always sticky. I shook my head of that train of thought.

I stood there for a while, trying to think of a plan of attack. I eventually decided to play the long game. I laid down, hissed at the pain in my wounded flank, then waited.

She cowered, I waited.

After a while, she stopped shaking. I observed her look around cautiously. She seemed to get a feel of the environment. Her eyes paused at a nearby window. Second story, kid. You'll break a leg if you don't got some trick with that horn, I thought to myself. She seemed to come to the same conclusion as me, as she turned toward the door. Could probably make a run for it. Might make it past me, but what if there are others? Wouldn't risk it, if I were you.

This continues for a while. The kids eyes shot from place to place. Sometimes, her eyes would give me a judging stare. I always replied to her with a raised eyebrow. I tried to be as little of a threat as possible. If that was possible. I can imagine a strange, bandaged pony isn't exactly a welcoming sight. The fact my eyes glowed with an unnatural orange light probably didn't help.

I briefly though of trying to talk to the kid, but decided against it. It was up to her to make a decision. Run, or communicate. If she trusts me, this would be a lot easier.

More time passed, and the kid finally made a decision: diplomacy.

"W-who are you?" she said meekly.

"A pony," I replied dryly.

Her nose scrunched up. "I know that! I meant, what is your name!"

"Silver Lining."

She paused and thought something over. At least, that's what I assumed.

"Why did you take me?" the kid spoke up.

"Uh…" I baked.

"My mom said not to trust strangers, so you better tell the truth!"

I snorted. "And how would you know I'd I was?"

Her face got red. "I'll just know, okay?!"

"Sure." I rolled my eyes. "To answer your question: I owe your mother a debt."

The kid's eyes went wide.

"She saved me," I mutter. "She could have tried to save herself, but she didn't—she chose to save me. She's a fool, a damn fool… but, she's a hero. My life wasn't worth it, kid. You're mom was twice the pony I could ever be."

There was silence, for a bit. At some point, my eyes had gone from the filly to the rotten floorboards at my feet. I couldn't meet her eyes. What I said was true: she was a better pony then me. But, she was a fool. You don't live long in this world being an altruistic. You needed to be tough, self-centered, and a coward to survive. Is was all that in spades. Doesn't make me a good pony: only a survivor. I was content with that. Well, most of the time. My mind shot to a few other points in time where I had gone against my nature and tried to be a hero.

In the end, none of them had made me a better pony…

A noise snapped me out of my mental tirade. Apparently, the filly had gotten up and trotted over to me. I felt her hoof on mind. I didn't dare look up.

"If she saved you, that means she saw something in you that made you worth it."

I didn't respond to that. I didn't have any words.

"Momma always said that there were good ponies out there. I think she thought you were one of them."

I chuckled. It wasn't of mirth, but of disgust. Your mother was a terrible judge of character. I thought, but didn't dare speak the words aloud.

I felt a tug on my hoof. I finally looked up and met the filly's eyes. They were sad, but hopeful. I couldn't help but smile at that.

"You're gonna take care of me, right?"

I took in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. Not taking my eyes off the filly, I cracked a smile. "Do I have a choice?"

"No," she giggled.

I shook my head and chuckled myself.

"Alright, then," I began, then rose to my hooves. The filly took a step back, but didn't run away. For some reason, she seemed to trust me, now. I didn't know why, but she did. "Let's get going."

With that, I trotted over to the door. Bullet followed in my step. She gave us a little birth; not staying too far behind, but still put some distance between us. She trusted me, but was still cautious.

Smart.

We made our way over to the door. I nudged it open with a hoof, held it for the kid, then preceded to trot down the hall and down the stairs. We soon made our way to the lobby and exited the barely functioning door. Opening it with a hoof, I was greeted by the faintest bit of sunshine, and the two of us trotter into the cool morning air.

Chicacolt. Once a bustling, busy city before the war, was now a ghost of its former glory. I stepped onto the cracked asphalt, filly in tow. My eyes continued to scan from side to side, as we stepped out of the relative safety of the apartment complex. The city was filled with dangers; Raiders, the occasional Alicorn, gangs, and mutated creatures. Despite them, however, life still thrived in the city. The Hive would be a substantial loss to the city's economy, but it would recover. Many more trading hubs and small ‘towns’ could be found sprawled around the city, and they would make up for the loss in time.

Life went on. It always did.

I wasn’t sure of my next destination, as I didn’t have one. To be honest, I rarely ever had a destination. I was a wanderer, and that was what I did. From town to town, I traveled. I never really did anything. I didn’t like to fight, I didn’t like to stay, I didn’t even like being around other ponies. They only made me nervous, and even after all these years I could never be sure who I could trust. I was a lonely life, but it was still life, and not death.

Well, I suppose that had chanced now.

I turned to look at the filly trotting in my step. Her eyes looked around with innocent curiosity and mild awe. If I had to guess, the kid had spent her entire life in the Hive. At least, enough for the general wasteland to cause her excitement. It wouldn't last long, though. It never did. I'd seen other ponies view the wastes as a fascinating place of wonder and excitement—adventure and glory around every corner.

That usually ended with a bullet in their nieve heads.

It was then the thought that I hadn't actually asked the kid what she wanted to popped into my head. I shot a quick curse out under my breath. I had told the kid that I was gonna take care of her. What that meant, I didn't yet know. My mind wandered to an orphanage I had once passed by near the south end of the city. It was an option. If anything, it was a direction. I directed our course toward that side of the city. I wasn't sure if the place was still around, as it had been a few years, but it was a start.

The street that we were currently on was originally a transition from the residential area to the business area. The buildings around us began to grow higher and higher—their piques almost too tall to view. I had to be careful trotting through this area—we, I mentally corrected—as it was known to house snipers that hid in the ruined skyscrapers, waiting to pick of an unsuspecting prey and steal their belongings. I was always constantly on alert, but now my focus was mainly at my charge.

As we walked, I kept looking back toward the filly. She seemed to pick up my unease and stuck closer to me than before. When I stopped, so did she. When I got low, so did she. It was good that she didn't wander.

Another ten minutes or so of trotting went by without incident—the only thing that I had spotted was a scampering rad-roach. It wasn’t uncommon to travel this long without seeing anypony, as most tended to travel in larger groups, or simply remain in their settlements. It was safer, as there was power in numbers.

My paced slowed as a staticy sound began to fill my ears: a familiar buzz that I had heard countless times before. The filly picked up on this too. Unlike me, her body became uneasy. I debated on explaining it to her, but figured it would be better if I showed her rather then told.

I continued on and searched for it source until I eventually found it: a single radio sat in the broken front window of an old electronics store. It’s power had somehow not run out, yet. I trotted inside and up to the radio. I flipped the dial and tried to find a station. The kid watched with mind fascination. I liked the radio, as it brought music and news from the ponies who had somehow managed to keep it running even after the bombs fell.

Eventually, the static cleared and a familiar voice filled my ears.

“Hello, Wasteland! This is DJ PON-3, and how are y’all doing in this fine hell-hole we call home?”

The voice was masculine and official. Soothing, almost.

“Well, children, I hope it’s better than me. I just got news from Chicacolt that a group of Raiders just tore through and, well, raided the tradecenter called, ‘The Hive’. As of now, there has been no confirmed survivors, but I have a feeling that at least one of the town’s ponies managed to get out alive.”

I sunk my head, knowing firsthand that his optimism was poorly focused. There had been no survivors, as raiders didn’t like taking ponies alive. They would sweep through like a swarm of locusts, destroying everything in their way before moving on.

“Now, I don’t know where exactly these raiders are set up camp, but reports from the area show a rise in activity near the Metro system, so until somepony can deal with them, I suggest steering far, far away from that area.

“Anyways, that’s all I have for you right now. Stay safe out there.”

The DJ’s voice stopped, replaced soon after with music I had heard countless times before.

"It's just us?"

I blink, then look down to the filly that had made her way to my side. Her eyes were downcast. I bit my lip.

"So it would seem, kid."

She remained quiet at that, not moving or saying anything. Music played, the world around us was quiet. I tried to think of something, anything, to cheer her up. Nothing came to mind.

"Come on," I spoke up. "We need to keep walking."

The kid nodded, then rose to her hooves. I trotted ahead of her, and she followed. Part of me wanted to say something to my charge who followed. Cheer her up. Again, nothing came to mind. I wish I was a better pony—maybe then I could say something that would make light of all of this shit. My eyes glanced back. I chewed my cheek.

"Y'know, kid, the thing is—"

Bang!

"—Fuck!"

My body was thrown to the side, pain erupting from my side. I heard a scream, I think it was the kid. My mind reeled from shock. I let out a few more curses, then rolled to my hooves. My body was on fire, but I tried to focus. I heard gunfire, screaming, and the sounds of battle. My eyes were a little fuzzy, but I made out a few shapes in the near distance. On autopilot, I pulled out my .44 from its holster. The first thing my mind told me to do was run, but another though quickly filled my head.

"Kid, run!" I screamed out. I had lost track of her, and my vision was still a little fuzzy. It took me a sec to regain my bearing enough to see strait. When I did, I spotted the kid. She was standing, wide eyed, in the middle of the street. I knew that stare she had—it meant she would be useless. "Fuck!"

I threw my gun into my open pouch on my side, not wanting to waste time putting it in its proper holster, and ran over to her. I grabbed her by the nape of the neck in my jaws, then started to run. Bullets flew around me. My eyes scanned for cover, and I spotted it soon enough. I dove with the kid still in my jaws into a building that was missing most of its front face. I hid behind some rubble, then dropped the kid. I reached into my pouch and retrieved my pistol.