Chapters Hell. That's the only word I can use to describe the apocalyptic wasteland that was once Equestria. From the noxious pink cloud in Canterlot to the highly irradiated lands of Splendid Valley, and all manner of ungodly, unfathomable evils in between, the wasteland is hell. It tears your soul into tiny pieces and blows them away with winds and rain, pulling you to become more horrible than you could possibly imagine. My name is Staff Sergeant Appledrop, and I've made these recordings, these...memory orbs, to show you just how bad it is...or was.
I was born in a Stable, giant underground communities, designed to shield and protect those who were lucky enough to get into one. That was the hope, at least. Hope, heh, there’s a word you won’t find in the wasteland all too often. Anyway, I’m getting off track. Stable 46, that was my home until I was 6. You’d think that getting your cutie mark was a cause for celebration, but on the day I got my cutie mark, I was banished. Banished from my home, separated from my friends and family, left to fend for myself in the irradiated shithole that was once Stalliongrad; Mightiest land in all of Equestria. Or so they thought. But even at age 6, with my knowledge of arcane sciences and dark magic, I could survive. Hell, I didn’t know it when they threw me out, told me I was too dangerous for the stable, but I could.
I feel I need to explain myself here, about the dark magic, and how I learnt about it. Zebras used to have spells, enchantments, which had the power to heal or to destroy. Nopony knows where they got this magic, these…curses; all they know is that the Zebras chose the latter outcome. About 100 years ago, giant nuclear missiles fell upon all of Equestria, plunging the land into its darkest hour, engulfing ponies, zebras, dragons and all manner of other creatures in Balefire flames of brightest green and deepest yellow. Sure, we had shields and protections, but how long can a shield withstand hundreds of apocalyptic, death bringing missiles? Almost all of Equestria was annihilated. That’s the story we’re told.
Now that I’ve been around the wasteland, been through what some of you people couldn’t withstand for a fraction of the amount of time I have, I know that was a lie. The zebras weren’t the only ones at fault. Our largest flaw, the biggest blemish on the wool sheet our teachers call pre-apocalyptic Equestria, is that the zebras were the only ones to launch death and destruction upon their enemy.
Sure, Equestria may not have wiped out their entire race in the space of an hour, but I’ll be damned if they didn’t try. ‘The ministry of Morale’, that’s what they called it. Ironic, considering the ponies who worked there were the worst of all lying, cheating, stealing scumbags. They spied on their own citizens remorselessly, tearing memories painfully and forcefully from a witnesses mind before handing them over to the Shattered Hoof prison facility. Yeah, some morals they have there.
The Ministry of Image. It may not seem like something you would consider necessary in Equestria. All of our brightly coloured, multi-talented earth ponies, pegasi and unicorns should cover that right? Look more closely. Seen any news about the MoM lately? Seen any mention of zebras that isn’t negative? Heard of the atrocities going on behind our backs? Didn’t think so. The MoI was the biggest liar the world has ever seen. And the worst part? It was commissioned by Princess Luna herself. Our very own ruler decided to turn us against the zebras in the worst kind of ways, plunging the land into hatred and ignorance.
But all that doesn’t matter now, all those despicable ponies are long dead, and they deserve it. All…except one. Legend has it that Fluttershy, Ministry mare of the Ministry of Peace, wandered into the Everfree Forest, turned into a tree. To be perfectly honest, with some of the fucked up stuff I’ve seen in the wastes, I wouldn’t be surprised.
But like I said, that doesn’t matter now. What matters now is that ponies are dying. They’re out there, they’re fighting, and they’re dying. All over the land. Some of them are innocent bystanders, slewn by the raiders and slavers who seem to thrive on blood, gore, and violence. Some of them travellers, merchants, caught somewhere they shouldn’t be, butchered alive by the vicious Hellhounds that roam freely throughout the world. Most of them are heroes, trying to do good by themselves and by others. Marching into battle, trying to save at least a scrap of themselves, but getting torn apart by the wasteland itself.
Oh yes, the wasteland is alive. By some definition it’s alive. Whether it be the radiation which kills most, but heals few, or the constant rain, hammering down on your very being. The wasteland is your enemy and it is very much alive. But I’m rambling. Let’s get on to my first important memory, my banishment…
Bright white light flashed into my vision as I opened my eyes. I was used to this by now, but it was still annoying. Life in a stable was less than monotonous, it was downright deathly, but it was safe. Grudgingly I flopped out of bed and headed to the bathroom to clean myself. After a quick shower, I was feeling fresh and clean. I looked into the mirror and patted down my mane. One of the many rules for Stable 46, was that every pony must appear presentable and in a professional manner at all times. I don’t know why this was a rule, I thought that most ponies would look better if they weren’t so worried about how good they looked, but it was our overmare’s decision in the end, and she wanted us to be all finicky with our appearance.
I headed to the cafeteria for a quick breakfast of off-yellow dandelion sandwiches and the worst tasting milk in the universe. Every stable had some form of a farm in it. It could range from an apple orchard to a full blown livestock farm, the idea of this was to have a sustainable future for all ponykind, although most stables just ended up eating what was on their farm. And we were no exception.
I cleaned up after breakfast, putting plate and cutlery back in their drawers, and headed down to the recreation hall for my weekly swimming lesson, as per my norm. What was not normal, was the body I found in the water. My swimming instructor, Mr Waves, had been bashed over the head and dumped in the pool, probably left to rot. In ran to the security wing as fast as my legs could take me. Busting through the door, I shouted at the head officer.
This heralded an immediate reaction from all ponies present in the room. Some panicked, some screamed, some just stared in shock. But the one pony who did anything different from the rest of the ponies, was the chief security officer, Blazing Guns. He calmly got up from his desk, looked me in the eye, and asked me to take him to the scene of the crime. Not wanting to piss off such a huge pony, I complied immediately; running straight through the stable and into the recreation hall.
Almost too calmly, Blazing looked around the massive hall, taking in every piece of his surroundings that he could before getting a pole to retrieve the body from the water.
We cut off the end of the pole with the blood on it and shipped it off to the security wing. After fetching a new pole and getting the body out of the water, we closer inspected the point of impact.
“Looks like a blunt force trauma, so the pole was definitely used. What I don’t get is why anypony would want to whack him over the head with it. Appledrop, do you know why anyone would want to do this?”
“I have no idea” I replied, “but I think we should check the camera footage, they should give us a good look at who did done do’d it!”
“Good thinking Appledrop, but first let’s take a look around and see if we can find any other evidence.”
We looked for a solid three hours, and not a single other piece of evidence was found.
“Appledrop, come with me.”
This could not be good. I followed him into one of the stable’s interview rooms, usually used for job prospecting, now used as an interrogation chamber. Blazing Guns sat down at the table across from me, and motioned for me to sit down.
“Appledrop, what do you remember of last night?” he asked. I had to wonder why he would ask this, but I also had to answer, and right now, answering was more important.
“Well, I had a dinner of black bean rolls and apple juice, then I went back to my dorm, brushed my teeth and went to bed. Why?”
“Right now Appledrop, you are our prime suspect. The video showed you and Mr Waves together in the recreation hall together, and only you came out. Are you absolutely sure you went straight to your dorm after dinner?”
This was a shocking revelation to me. As far as I knew I had gone straight to bed. Unless…no, that couldn’t be it--could it?
“I…I’m sure I did. I know I went straight home, how could I not remember what I did last night?”
This was bad, this was very bad. Not only was it my 6th birthday, but I was under arrest for murdering possibly my favourite pony in the whole stable! I had a gut feeling that this was going to be the worst birthday ever.
3 days after I was taken into custody for the murder of Mr Waves, I finally decided to speak up about my secret hobby.
“Um, Blazing Guns?” I asked timidly, “I have something to tell you…”
“What is it Appledrop?”
I could tell Blazing was irritated, possibly even angry with me for the apparent murder, but I had to speak up.
“I have a confession…I like the arcane arts. I even have a secret little space to practise, I think..I think it may have something to do with why I can’t remember what happened”
“Really? Where is this place? Take me there. Now.”
I led Blazing through hallways and corridors, passages and paths, until eventually we came across a rocky outcrop of the stable, a room which was not finished, but was now full of books about the arcane sciences, dark magics and even a miniature megaspell chamber in the centre.
“This is my secret place, my lab. This is where I come when I have free time, to study the arcane arts…”
“No, what is this!?” He said, this time motioning towards my own private megaspell chamber. I knew it was a bad idea to have one, but I didn’t know just how bad an idea it was.
“It’s my…um…megaspell chamber?” I said, practically shaking in my boots, if I had boots.
“Your WHAT!? Do you have any idea what these things are capable of!? Do you know why we’re down here instead of up on the surface, surrounded by fields of green grass and apple orchards? It’s because of these!”
“It’s not a bad megaspell! It’s a good one! It’s supposed to help ponies! It’s designed to make ponies stronger and smarter!”
“Okay, so what could this have to do with the murder of Mr Waves? Are there any side effects? Repercussions? Why would this make such a huge difference in who’s guilty?”
“There is one side effect, the book said it could give the pony it was used on a different personality, but there was such a small chance I didn’t think it would be such a huge deal! I must’ve gotten another personality! A different me! I think that me is the one who killed Mr Waves, not me!”
“Appledrop, if that is the case, I’m afraid we’re going to have to involve the overmare. Having a megaspell chamber is a serious offense in itself, let alone using it. And on yourself? What were you thinking? It could’ve backfired! And it did!”
By now I was adamant that there must’ve been some other pony in the rec hall with us, but I couldn’t see the security footage, and even if I could I wouldn’t know what to make of it. It looked like I was the guilty one, but I was seriously hoping that I wasn’t.
I suppose you can sort of guess where it went from there. Overmare exiled me for fear of a murderous rampage, I was kicked out on my flank with nothing to survive with and told good luck. Let me tell you now, that fucked me up good. Have you ever felt so alone that you just give up and curl into a ball and cry? Well that was me at that moment, a little foal curled up in the middle of Stalliongrad crying his eyes out.
That plan was working pretty well, too. I was hiding behind this trashed and rusted cart, watching a small platoon of iron clad ponies march by with perfect form and precise movements. Until I was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and yanked out of my spot.
Now they say admittance to a problem is one of the first steps to emedying that problem, but that only helps if you're not being forced to admit a problem under threat of...who knows what.
Over the next few years I was trained in several forms of marshal arts, including taekwondoo, karaote and crab magaw. I was taught the history of the Steel Rangers, of the war and of the "Goddess Sisters" who watched over the light and dark domains. I learned stories of "The Sky God" who sacrifised herself to save the equestrian wastes, and I was told of a mare who went by the alias of 'Hired Gun', who was known as the Guardian of Dise. I was trained to proficiency in the use of power armor and tactical assault weaponry, and how to survive in the wastes. Over the years, Commander Erwin stopped being so much of an intimidating soldier and more of a mother, encouraging my training and berating me for insolence.
And here we are today, my first official deployment. Dear sweet Jesus was I nervous then...
Author's Note
SURPRISE UPDATE!
Sorry for the change in writing style, and the time it took to update, but all in all I think this chapter's pretty good. Now I just have to remember to update the damn thing more than yearly...
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!
"Appledrop, take the right flank! Dark Skies! You take the left! let's get these minotaur fuckers before they get us!"
Here's a fun fact about minotaurs, they don't exactly like when you use cheap tactics to escape their death circles, especially if they lose 80% of their forces when you do. The leader was a little bit mad. I could tell this fact from the 75mm cannon not 5 inches from my muzzle. Luckily, when you have 3 soldiers and they have one soldier, there are people there to shoot them for you. Not so luckily, we happened to have ditched our guns in the mad rush for cover and so only had knives in our available arsenal.
A bonus to having a suit of power armor? When you put the helmet on you have a night vision function, so we promptly re-wielded our helmets and ran to the outer of the circle, after all these minotaurs had guns, didn't they? Well, yes, but there was one crucial factor that we didn't account for, one vital point. The key ingredient to our would've-been success; They didn't use battle saddles, because they had hands.
Author's Note
WHO ARE THESE MYSTERIOUS CHAPS? WHY ARE THEY BRITISH? NOPONY KNOWS...*mysteriouspinkie.gif*
