Fallout Equestria: Dogs of War

No one likes bringing me on scavenging missions. But when there’s no other choice and my card gets pulled, I get placed on door duty. The purpose of the position is to guard the team from the dangers of the wasteland, like they need any help with that. Our missions are either a slaughterhouse where no pony survives and we get supplies by the pound, or there’s nothing in our way and we get to paw through abandoned buildings in peace. Of course when there’s nobody living there, we don’t have to fight anything, but there’s also usually less stuff. There’s no reason to have a door guard, especially today. Yet here I am. I’m fairly certain that they made the position just for me. On active days, they don’t want me with the rest of the team because I hardly kill anything. It’s not impossible and it’s not like I haven’t done it, but damn if it isn’t hard. And when it’s quiet, I just get in the way. My idea of supplies isn’t quite the same as everyone else’s, I suppose. Finally, if some pony actually does come through the door, they get to laugh at me if I can’t kill them.

A good hour had passed since I’d last seen the others and boredom was starting to set in. I’d already gotten quite familiar with the layout of the room, the location of all the chest high walls, and the back of my hand. It was a rectangular room with an unnecessarily grand staircase that split apart at the first landing and rejoined once it reached the second floor. On the back wall, there were three doors. Two were placed on either end of the wall and the third directly underneath the staircase, just slightly out of view. The doors on each end went to the eastern and western wings (Or perhaps they were the northern and southern wings. I wasn’t really keeping track). The central door was locked and the team hadn’t returned to investigate it yet. Aside from those three, and a hallway at the top of the stairs, there were no other doors to be concerned about except the one I was guarding which was placed directly opposite to the staircase.

The floor had accumulated a thin layer of water from the rain pouring in through what remained of the roof two floors above. It dribbled onto the black marble surface under my feet. Every step I took created a ripple across its surface that lasted for a few seconds before settling back to a mirror sheen. The room appeared as a double of itself, just upside down. Every detail on my side transferred perfectly into the puddle, all the way down to the ornate yet unlit chandelier.

To pass the time, I pulled out my pistol and looked it over. This model was specifically intended to disintegrate. Many years ago, many more years than I knew, a scavenging team had found an energy weapons cache in what remained of the laboratories near our home. This had been from that collection. Like all of the interesting tech in the wasteland, it was pre-war and surprising that it simply existed at all, regardless of its state. That was not good enough, however. Just existing won’t kill something. While they were originally found in near-perfect condition, years of abuse had taken their toll on these weapons and the focusing crystals had gotten dull and sustained some serious burnout. In order to counteract this, I created a power compensation modification. It detected when power output was low and applied more power until it met the original specifications. This of course meant more power usage. Depending on how damaged the crystal had become, a ten shot canister might only fire five shots before it became depleted.

A full power blast would completely disintegrate a pony with a single mid-body shot. A lightly burned, fogged, or cracked gem would result in a pinhole burn straight through a body, but there would not be enough power to start a chain reaction. More and more damage to the crystal would cause less and less damage to your target. Those pinholes would become burns and eventually nothing at all. The worst crystal I’d ever seen would be lucky to blind anything if you pulled the trigger with it jammed into their eye socket. Given that information, it makes sense that Hunt Leader Rex would want to have every weapon in the arsenal modified with one of my power compensation units, no? Here’s where the problems occur… Once the unit is installed, one must keep their weapon clean. If dust is allowed to build up on the surface of the gem, and the static charge that builds up after each shot is quite good at attracting dust, the compensation unit will apply more power in an attempt to maintain maximum output. Normal accumulation is fine, but if it gets to be too much, POOF! The power compensation unit applies too much energy and fries the gemstone. If it takes a tumble in the mud and the trigger is pulled, get ready for a bang and shards of crystal to be embedded in just about anything nearby. That’s not a concern with an unmodified gun.

The pistol I held in front of me was in terrible condition and I hadn’t even pulled the trigger once in the past two weeks. You would think that the weapons maintenance guy would take care of his own weapon… But there just isn’t time in the day for that. I mean, look at me. It’s not like I’d be firing it any time soon, right? On top of all the other repair work I had lined up, I had just spent the last two days fixing Hunt Leader Rex’s gun.

When he had brought it to me, he said that he’d gotten into a fight just as he was sitting down to clean it. And then got stuck in a dust storm. Then got it crushed by three Mega-Ponies.

Right.

But I wasn’t about to question Rex’s tall tale. He’s slashed necks for much less than critiquing his stories. Whatever had happened, his pistol needed a new trigger, a new crystal, and for the focusing gem to be replaced which of course comes with a focusing arm realignment as well. Being the general’s prized gun, I spent the entire night popping out dents, buffing, and oiling it just to be sure my head would stay firmly attached for the foreseeable future.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly changed. No longer was my gun the most distracting thing in the room. Something was nearby. The room had been creaking continuously since we arrived. The building shifted slightly with each gust of wind and dribbles of water creeped down the walls and formed that thin reflective sheet on top of the marble floor.

There was a constant creaking noise produced by the wood paneling in the building. It is a noise one gets familiar with in the wasteland. The sound of moving water was also a familiar sound during a rainstorm. Water always seems to find holes in the ceiling and the floor above. It fell noisily into the pool below. Clunk! Slam! Crash!

...Huh?

The wind must have taken hold of the front door and slammed it against the door jam. I did see it shift a bit, but not enough for anything substantial to pass through it. A light tinkling noise came from above my head. This was not a normal wasteland sound. The chandelier hanging smack dab in the middle of the room fell on my back, knocking me off balance.

Attempting to regain my footing, I was greeted with a harsh sensation that spread across my back. It was the somewhat familiar feeling of a barrage of bullets embedding themselves in my hide. I had dropped my pistol during the impact. I took the time to pick it up and briefly inspect it to ensure that it was indeed fit for battle in such a case that I were to need it. I then placed it back into my holster.

The door that I had been fronting, the one in front of me, the front door, had simply been a front. It had not opened, despite the sounds it had made earlier. I now suspected that it had been intentionally manipulated as a distraction. This manipulator had worked its way behind me. How it got there was a mystery as the scavenging teams were usually quite thorough. Turning towards the source of the high speed projectiles, the itchy lead-filled sensation moved to my left foreleg and I was able to spot what was causing such inconvenience.

Ripples led from the center door beneath the staircase, around the side of the handrail, and up to the foot of the stairs. Wet hoofsteps trailed their way up the stepped surface until they met with the source of the problem. It happened to be a submachine gun, glowing pink, floating next to an armored pony. This pony probably shared the same color as the aura they were using to hold up their weapon of choice. The armor and the grime made it too hard to tell for sure, though.

The machine gun was the immediate issue. After I had dealt with that, the pony could prove to be just as difficult of a task. What would this pony do to cause me trouble? Scream? Cry? Swear? All three? Would it be fast or would there be an intense struggle? And the blood! There was no getting around that. Relieving the blood from a being capable of civil conversation (well… normally capable) was always a bit too much for me. But I could only take so many bullets before it became a serious problem. The rapid discharge of bullets stopped for a moment and I knew that I’d have to make a move sooner rather than later. Instead of attacking, for some stupid reason I yelled out.

“STOP!”

The pony seemed quite startled and stopped backing up the stairs. They had hardly noticed that their weapon was no longer ejecting supersonic death. However, they regained their composure and ejected the magazine from their weapon and placed it into their saddlebags. As they pulled out a new canister I decided to take a slightly more drastic action. I pulled back, readying myself for a jump, paused, then leaped onto the stairs plunging one of my claws right through its thighs and into the stone stair beneath. The gun and the magazine, not quite yet connected to each other, dropped down the stairs into the puddle below. The terrified pony, now skewered-in-place, turned its gaze from the weapon that no longer floated next to it to the massive creature that had bested it in hoof to claw combat.

“I told you to stop.” I said in a much quieter voice than before, but still quite loud for the tiny horse attached to my claw. Their green eyes stared back into mine. Damn it. Now killing it is going to be so. Much. Harder.

“I. I didn’t… You can speak?”

“Yes. You clearly don’t know your history. We’ve been able to speak since before ponies like you put us to work during the war.”

“And yoo dooon’t streetch yoor wurds or sound, um, stupid.” The pony spewed trying to imitate one of the other pack members, and failing quite hilariously, I might add.

“Ha. Ha ha. Ah hah haha! Stupid? I’d say you’re stupid for thinking you could sneak around me. Up the stairs, in the opposite direction of the exit! And again for trying to shoot me at such close range. Also, we don’t sound like that.” From behind me, a light clattering noise arose. Knowing exactly what was going on, I let the pony speak.

“I... But. Why are you talking to me? You’re a… a hellhound!”

I let out a low snarl. “Diamond Dog, thank you very much.”

“Oh, please don’t kill me. Please. Celestia. Luna. If you can hear me...” The pony whimpered to itself.

“Luna? She isn’t here.” In only a moment, the pony had reloaded, started firing and had its horn cut clean off by my free claw. The gun plummeted down the stairs once again. This time a pointy spiral bone joined it in the puddle. Slicing the pony’s horn was a gut reaction that I had regretted taking, but it had let me delay the kill for at least a little while.

“FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.” The pony screeched as they collapsed into a pile on the floor. I forgot about the screeching. Swearing and screeching. This was not a creature who prided themselves in battle, but instead participated only through the necessity for survival. It was not noble to die for them, it was terrifying. It was something I could relate to, but with the addition of the fear that the pack might turn against their nearly useless member when they screwed something up one too many times. And killing a something that had become a someone was… Ugh.

“Oh, get over it. Other ponies get along just fine without horns, not that you’ll be alive long enough even try.” That wasn’t the right response. I suppose it would be like if I were to be declawed. Removing something that makes up a large part of who you are, something you use for everyday tasks and survival, is sure to cause a substantial amount of distress.

“Fuck this job. Why the FUCK did they send me here? I wasn’t FUCKING READY. Easy, MY ASS!! This isn’t worth all the FUCKING caps in the FUCKING world!”

“Please, that’s plenty of profanity for your particular predicament. Probably.” Oooh. Nice alliteration. I didn’t expect it to be quite that pleasant.

“Oh, fuck off and just kill me.” I knew very well at this point that that wasn’t a realistic outcome. We weren’t short on food at the moment, so letting the pony escape wasn’t a big deal. But I’d have to have something to show for the battle or I wouldn’t hear the end of it until my next failed door duty. At that moment, I noticed that the pony’s bags were oddly shaped. Normally, those bags are bulging at the seams with crap, but these had hard edges. Some sort of box. Large boxes aren’t the kind of thing you waste space on unless it’s important. I slipped a free claw underneath the strap and sliced it. The bags fell off onto the stairs and flung themselves open revealing some thin, square boxes with neat pony scribble labeling each one as well as a bottle of… chariot wax? As they tumbled down towards the marble floor, attempting to make friends with the submachine gun and the severed horn, one popped open and ejected a metal reel. As it rolled down the stairs and across the room, it left a brown trail of ribbon behind it.

“NOOO!” The pony yelled. It began to struggle, opening their wound, and blood started to trail down the steps.

“You need to leave. Because of the racket you are making, the rest of the pack will surely be back soon and they won’t just let you prance on out of here.” I was really hoping this pony was in the mood to take me up on the offer. What I had said wasn’t really the truth, but the pony certainly didn’t need to know that. If the others came back and found me with a mostly dead and bleeding out pony stuck to my claw, they would almost certainly make fun of me until I finished the job. If it ran away, I can say I tried and not have to deal with the embarrassment and anxiety.

“I need the tape!”

“Your choice.” I lifted my claw out from the flank of the pony. The pressure of standing on their hind leg was too much and they tumbled into the puddle at the bottom of the stairs. The upside down room distorted from the ripples and the pool turned a shade of red. They looked at the scattered boxes and the condition of their saddlebags. The pony opened the flap on the closer half of their saddlebags, pulled out a container, clumsily smashed it open, and chowed down on the orange pellets. Appearing to regain their strength, they stood up.

A loud noise came from one of the doors behind us and I could hear voices. The pony took no more time than necessary to assess the situation. They grabbed the strap on the portion of the saddlebag that they had just pulled their snack from. Realizing that they would not be able to take both halves they immediately left through the front door with one of two bags trailing at their side. With near perfect timing, the pack entered through one of the rear doors.

“We heard commotion! You good?” Smasher called out, leading the pack. Now within full view of the aftermath, he saw the severed horn, the submachine gun, half of a saddlebag and its contents, and a mirror copy of the room tinted a deep red.

“Hey! Spike did good!” I was unable to tell if he was serious or making fun of me for letting a pony go.

“Looks like you’ve got something to add to your pony collection,” Smasher pointed at the horn lying in the puddle of diluted blood. I shuddered at the idea of having a piece of a pony lying among the artifacts that I’d collected. It’s quite morbid keeping body parts around. Plus, I’ve got no idea if there is any residual magic contained in it. Some of the pack members collect them and put them into necklaces or use them as decoration. Sometimes they can absorb some of the energy from a magical field and become charged. If you got poked with one you would get a little shock, zap, or tingle based on the energy it’s been exposed to recently.

“Your loss. Hey! Maybe give it to Luna? She love pony horns!” He shouted out, having read the quite obvious expression on my face.

First of all, no. I know what you are thinking. Not that Luna. Diamond Dogs don’t know their own history let alone pony history. Luna’s parents named her after the dying breaths of some pony, some time shortly before her birth. Her brothers and sisters weren’t so lucky to get such nice names. As for gifting her the horn, she only collects Mega-Pony horns for her necklace. I’d make a fool of myself if I were to give it to her.

My mind strayed back to the pony who hadn’t entirely left the building. Why were they so interested in the reels?

“I’m quite curious about these reels. The pony seemed very invested in them” I asked the group, hoping that they might have some info on them that they found while searching the building.

“Eh, is pony crap,” Punch blurted out, reminding me how much Diamond Dogs really think about the world around them.

“I think there might be something important on them”

“Pony recordings are never good. You say so yourself.” Smasher weighed in.

“But… I’ve only seen a few of these. It’s usually microtapes and datasettes which were invented for the war. But this is pre-war.”

“Whatever. Got something for fix,” Smasher tossed an energy rifle like I had never seen before on the ground in front of me. As it hit the floor, the barrel bent, the casing cracked open and the focusing crystal popped out sliding to my feet. I couldn’t identify what color it was. It was mostly blue, but with hints of purple. And orange? Or yellow? It really didn’t seem to be any color in particular actually… And it was too big to be used in any of our existing weapons. I picked the weapon up carefully to see it up close. There appeared to be six more crystals inside, each clearly a distinct color from one another. They were placed perfectly inside a rotating armature that had long been unbalanced (or so I told myself as to not be upset by the treatment it had just endured).

“Get that fixed up. Gruff want it for energy weapons stash.” Added to the pool? To start with, I’m not even sure I could fix it. I’d never seen one like it. And then, if I could fix it, it probably isn’t in the same class as all of our weapons. I don’t know how or what it does different, but six or seven focusing crystals seems overkill for something that just burns or disintegrates. Regardless, I kept my muzzle shut. They wouldn’t care about those details, anyway.

“Now let’s get home.” Smasher slashed open the front door, completely ignoring the handle and his namesake. The scavenging crew passed through the portal and down the front stairs. As soon as they reached the end of the granite steps, they jumped up, dove down and burrowed deep into the ground, heading home.

Pre-digitization audio recordings. Kept for so long. Wanted so badly as to prioritize them over life itself. What could they possibly be? I walked over to the half saddle bag and it’s spilled contents. As I picked them up, I read off the labels. The first few appeared to be historical and educational recordings on topics I had at least heard about in passing or from magazines and books.

Discord - This one must be about the legendary god of chaos I had read about.

Nightmare Night - The night where ponies paid penance to the then-evil monster-pony who would eventually become one of their two goddesses.

… In Equestria - Something generic about Equestria I presume.

The … Model - The Scientific Model? The Spike Model? (I wish) The middle word was scratched out.

The Gypsy … - There was a large ink spot covering the last word, but it made sense that Equestria had roaming groups of ponies.

The last one, the one that rolled it’s way across the room was completely blank. Not even a label to have had any text in the first place. Just a soggy cardboard box.

I put them back in the single saddlebag and threw it over my shoulder. I had a player back at my burrow for them. It’s not working at the moment, but where there are tapes, there's a tape player. Still curious, I went to the door that the pony came from. The crew had forgotten to check it out, so I figured that it wouldn’t hurt.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I was presented with rows and rows of shelving. All the shelves were pushed up against each other. There appeared to be large rotating handles on the front of each of the shelves. Most of the way down to the end, it opened up just wide enough for a pony. Not quite big enough for a dog like me, though. I saw other boxes like the ones in the saddle bag slung over my shoulder. Surely they weren’t as important as the ones I already held or the pony would have taken them instead.

Moving back to the first floor, it dawned on me that I should look at where the pony was going not where they came from. I traveled up the stairs, past the dribbles of blood and crested the second floor landing. At the top, an open hallway led to a few now-open rooms. Each room had been broken into earlier, so I didn’t have to worry about locked doors. It was just a bunch of offices. Nothing to see here. Except the last door. Always the last door. Inside was exactly what I had hoped for, and certainly what that pony was looking for considering the contents of the saddlebag.

Standing tall in front of me was the exact machine that I’d need to play these tapes. It was nearly identical to the one I had back home. Slapped across the front read the text “CADENZA.” An empty reel sat on the right of the machine and the left was just a spindle with a small round puck sitting on it which looked like it would fit inside of the reels the pony had left behind. It had already been modified to run off the spark battery of a terminal. I had one of those back at the den with just the right socket to fit the jury rigged cable. I carefully picked it up and started to lug it home. Although surprisingly heavy for its size it wasn’t difficult given how large I was compared to it. Not having handles made it very much a two-handed operation. Holding the strap of the saddlebag became nearly impossible at this point, so I tied it in a knot and slung it around my neck.

Unable to burrow while carrying such an awkward object, I walked back home through the streets. The walk home was quite uneventful with nothing coming to attack me. The few ponies I did see stood in fear, or amazement, before running off somewhere that I couldn’t see them. Seeing a hound carrying a large awkward object, for a pony that is, through the streets must have been an odd sight. It wasn’t the first time ponies had seen me carrying large objects through the wastes (my terminal didn’t get there on its own), but stopping and staring at a Diamond Dog usually gets ponies killed, so they don’t tend to do it very often. Adjusting my grip, I wondered how that pony planned on carrying something like this… Well that was a stupid thought. Magic. Damn pony magic. A flash of my claw swiping down and slicing off the horn of that poor pony did make me feel quite guilty. How on earth was that pony going to survive? It had spent its entire life learning how to live and defend itself in the wasteland with magic, and now that it didn’t have it… Like releasing a pet into the wild, it just can’t fend for itself. It’s not prepared for such a wild change from its previous life and is bound to get eaten or torn to shreds.

As I approached my small nook in the Burrows, something caught my nose and I came to a sudden lurching stop. I adjusted my grip, shuffling around the tape player that I held in my paws so that I could get a look at the offending object that I had almost nearly stepped into. Surprise surprise, somehound had left me a ‘present.’ Though this time it was different. They left a note. “Piece for your pony collection” was scrawled onto the thin shred of soiled paper. Thanks.

Balancing on one leg, I swiped the offending piece of shit down the ledge in front of my nook into the abyss below. I clipped a substantial chunk of granite and it followed off the edge. I watched for a moment as the refuse tumbled down through the low light of the crystals that adorned the chasm below. The sound of snickering floated out of one of the side tunnels that branched off from the main chasm, likely coming from who ever had left the shit at my doorstep.

Grumbling, I lumbered into my nook and placed the player on the floor that had not yet been covered in scrap and stone still peeked through. I placed the bag of tapes in the corner and set about cleaning out a space next to it's sister device that I had previously found and already spent so many hours trying to get working. The player I had just found was moved so that it could be reunited with its long lost sibling. From the label on the back, I could tell that they were both made in the same factory, but many years apart. One was made at least ten years before the war. The other was made after the war was well underway. That seemed very strange to me since nearly all of the technology had been updated to some form of digital data so that Stable-Tec could access and monitor all of the data that passed through Equestria. Or so I had heard from some unknown voices recorded onto microcassettes. Digital microcassettes, of course.

I dug through my piles of capacitors, motors, microdisks, and other assorted pieces of pony tech to find the screwdrivers that I would need for the project. Luckily, I had the proprietary Stable-Tec bits that the war-era machine I had just brought back required. The older one used a much more common screw type.

The new machine was quite the piece of craftsmanship. It was quite unwilling to give up its treasures without a fight. It appeared to be the same as the other player on the outside, but as I worked to open it up, it quickly revealed a few major differences. The rear plate was a single thin sheet instead of the multiple heavy gauge panels that the older machine used. The internals were much more condensed. My machine was absolutely crammed with multi-colored wires, neat rows of circuit boards, scattered capacitors and few banks of glass vacuum tubes. This new machine utilized only one circuit board which integrated the capacitors and reduced the need for so many wires. Despite being smaller, it was much more complex and seemed like it would be nearly impossible to repair even if I were able to find parts for it somehow. There were almost half the number of tubes. My receiving manual indicated that they each contained at least two, possibly three of the modules used in the old tubes. This was another mystery. A war time electronic device that still used vacuum tubes? Stable-Tec definitely didn’t have their hooves in the redesign of the player as anything that was electro-arcanic just simply wouldn’t fly.

Moving beyond the technical details, the most important part was that it had the same motors as mine. And that was what had failed. I’m pretty sure I had gotten everything else working correctly. After all this time, after all the new old stock parts I had found around the wasteland, I might finally be able to play some of my tapes. Hopefully it would be worth it. Not much else is. Just ponies talking to themselves.

After the transplant, I performed a quick test by plugging it into the terminal that sat nearby. Both players had the optional spark battery plug add-on that was “for the pony on-the-go!” Or so the advertisements told me. I don’t see how any pony but a unicorn would be able to move the unit on a regular basis or why they might want to. The player turned on and most of the functions seemed to work, at least adequately. Now it was time to see if it could play a tape! I scampered over to my bag, sifting through the reels I had picked up. They were a surprisingly hard commodity to come by in the wasteland. Microtapes and microdisks? Sure. I had stacks of them. Crystal storage? Tons. Oh, and they taste good too. Surprisingly sweet. Heck, I had even started to learn how to jerry rig them into limited use focusing crystals for the beam weapons. They don’t work very well, but that’s beyond the point. Actual honest to the goddesses reel-to-reel tape, though? Almost as rare as a peaceful day in the wastes.

Just as I located one of the stranger tapes, it was stored in a round metal container instead of the usual cardboard box, something nipped at the back of my neck and almost made me leap up into the air. Growling, I swiped at the assailant that had snuck up behind me. They leapt forward, grabbed the tin from my paw, and danced away from my grasp. I noticed the necklace of Mega-Pony horns around the perpetrator's neck and immediately knew who it was. “Luna,” I said with a half-hearted growl.

The small pale Diamond Dog practically yipped with laughter at my plight. “You still slow Spike,” she said now examining her ill-gotten gain. “So what pony junk this?” I tried to leap at her to grab the container from her grasp, but she sidestepped out of the way before I was even within a forelegs reach of her. “Is it like boom disks? Only bigger?”

“No Luna, it is not a ‘boom disk’. Those are called mines by the way,” I told her from where I had landed on the cavern floor.

She cocked her head to the side, “They are called Spikes’?”

“No,” I said picking myself up. “What you call pony boom disks, are actually called mines.”

She thought about that for a moment then shrugged as she batted aside my lunging paw. “If it no make boom, then is good for throwing? Make big dents in ponies?”

“No. Well, maybe. They are pretty hefty,” I admitted while checking to see if she had hurt my paw.

“If no blow up, and no dent pony, then why matter?” Luna asked, one ear flopped down in an adorable expression of confusion.

“It plays back sounds that were recorded on it by a someone, probably a pony.”

Luna looked at me, then back at the reel-to-reel container, her other ear flopping down as the other perked up. “Why matter?” she asked again.

I started to answer, my mouth open wide, and then realized that I didn’t have anything to say. Why did it matter? I mean it didn’t really matter what was on the reel. Hell, unless it was something important, like instructions on how to fix another piece of tech, or the location of some loot a pony had left behind in the area, I would just throw it back in the pile. I looked at the necklace of horns gently clattering around my oldest friend’s neck. “It’s sorta like hunting Mega-Ponies, I guess.”

Luna looked at me for a moment like she was about to say something, decided against it, and returned to examining the case. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to wrestle that tape away from her, so I resigned myself to digging through my pile of pony scraps to find another one. Luna had been playing this game for years, she snags one of my things, I jump around like a pup to trying to get it back, eventually I get tired she gets bored and we stop.

It didn’t take long for her to tire of the game once I had stopped my attempts to reclaim it, and soon she tossed the container to the side and went to go check on her favorite object in my nook, a petite painted ceramic pony figurine. It was a unicorn with a white body and purple hair, mounted to a base that read in pony script, ‘Be Unwavering’. Luna picked up the small figure, and used its horn to pick at the gap in her teeth as she made herself comfortable.

Leaving her to her own devices I finally found another reel-to-reel container buried under a mound of scrap Novasurge parts. I blew the dust off of the more standard cardboard container and carefully removed the contents. I gently put the reel on to the arm, and slowly picked out the strand of tape, and secured it onto the other reel. Just as I was about to press the play button, Luna suddenly shouted, “Oh, oh! Remember why I visit Spike!” I jolted at the sudden interruption and my claw casually slashed through the reel, cutting through most of the spooled tape.

I sighed and went digging for another reel case. “What is it Luna?” I asked trying desperately to keep the the ire out of my voice, as I sorted through the small mountain of scrap.

Luna scampered up to me, and shoved a laser pistol under my snout. “Need you to fix gun. No shoot anymore.” Of course she did. “This one my favorite, makes good holes in ponies, usually keeps body from poofing. If body go poof, then no horn.”

I carefully took the gun from her, gave it a once over, and sure enough one of the capacitors had blown. It was the fifth one in as many weeks. I knew she was one of our best hunters, but with the way that she went through laser pistols you’d think Luna was single-pawedly wiping out the entire pony race. “Sure, I should have a pistol or two I can salvage the part from.”

Her tail started wagging almost as soon as the words had left my muzzle. Before I realized what was going on, Luna closed the gap between us and gave me a small lick on the cheek. “I pay you back, Rover and others found new gem vein. I get you best sapphires. You the best Spike!” And with that she scampered out of my nook and down into the depths of the Burrows.

I stood there for a minute, brain sizzling and sparking like two high voltage wires just having just barely been separated. After carefully extracting myself from the years of daydreams that had just come true, I picked up the cardboard container, slid the reel out, and began to adjust it on the Cadenza. I tried hard to keep my thoughts on the task at claw, but my mind kept wandering back to Luna, and how I could rebuild her gun. The capacitor array would need a complete overhaul... And then there was the barrel… I could probably salvage one from the Mark II Novasurge rifle Rex had all but destroyed when he threw it at me a few months back.

I had wandered so far down that cavern of thought that by the time I realized it, I had sliced through the first few layers of leader tape attempting to pick it out from the reel so I could thread it. The layers seemed to be stuck together so I decided to give up on it before I did any more damage.

With a sigh, it was tossed it into the overflowing “fix me” pile. I gave a quick look around the room, and remembered that I still hadn’t picked up the tape that Luna had used in her game of ‘Keep The Pony Junk Away From Spike’. I grabbed the unmarked box from Luna’s little game of keep away and proceeded to thread it through the parts of the tape deck. This tape wasn’t stuck like the previous tape and I was able to finesse my claws into just the right places to avoid inadvertently cutting it to bits. I moved the takeup reel to get rid of the slack and carefully flicked the little metal power lever. After a satisfying *ka-chunk* the entire contraption came to life. The meters lit up and some of the buttons started to glow. Taking a look through the vents in the side revealed small dots of warm light from the heater filaments in each of the tubes. The play button stood out as the largest button on the unit and I gave it a delicate push with the tip of my claw. The machine made a small clicking sound for a second as a solenoid released the brakes and engaged the motor circuitry, resulting in the reels finally spinning. The leader tape passed by silently, moving into the light hiss of a blank tape. A click indicated the start of a recording and the sound of a pony talking lazily started to drift out of the tiny speakers nestled into the deck.

“This recording is a partypooper-class document, anypony who has been caught listening to this tape without the correct clearance will be charged for treason against the Diarchy of Equestria,” I chuckled at that line. Not a whole lot that they could do now that both of their silly pony princesses had been blown to smithereens. I let the tape continue to play as I went digging through one of my piles of parts, seeing if I had a relatively intact capacitor array that might still be salvageable.

The pony continued to drone on in a rather dull monotone, going on about permissions this, and working ponies that. I finally found a capacitor array that was in surprisingly good condition, the canister was both free of dents and the ancient writing still crisp and readable. I hooked it into one of the machines lying on its side in the back of the room. A wave form appeared on its screen for each cell contained in the array and the green indicator lit up showing it that the magical energy conduits properly dispersed the energy to the various cells. It would have been nice to have some music instead of this stuffy old pony on the recording, but I had worked rather hard to get this prize, and I wanted to bask in it for a little while longer. “This document has been created to cover the specifications of Project Joke Blue for the Ministry of Wartime Technology,” that was the last line of the tape that I heard before The Dome appeared.

It was there in a flash, a dark yet luminescent green wall that cut off the front half of my nook from the back half. I gave a small yip as it appeared. It cut me off from the pile of tools that I had been reaching for. After my initial surprise I began to examine the shimmering wall of magical force. It seemed to be the same color as the shield domes that the green Mega-Ponies made, but when I tried to pierce it with my claws I found that I was unable to tear into it. Had I been able to, I’m not sure that I’d be around to tell you this tale.

A minute later, the other side of the dome filled with a sickly green light that nearly blinded me. I howled in pain, as even the momentary glimpse that I had caught before I fully turned away from the blazing green glow was strong enough to make me feel as though my eyes had been burned from their sockets. Not seconds later, a thunderous noise filled the air. A noise so loud one could hardly call it a noise anymore. The noise was instead a compressed wall of force that shook me straight to the bone, even after passing through the impenetrable shield before me.

It felt like this force of nature would only go on, its intensity building until I would be consumed by it. Then as quickly as it came, it disappeared, leaving me sprawled on the floor of my nook, paws covering my ears. I could barely hear my own desperate whining over the ringing in my ears.

I’m not entirely sure how long I stayed crumpled on the floor like that. It wasn’t long enough though, because once I built up enough courage to try to open my eyes and survey just what had happened, I found my vision blurry, spotty, and painful. I immediately squeezed my eyes closed once more, waiting until the stinging sensation subsided.

After a small eternity, the stinging had lessened to a degree that I felt that I might try to glimpse out at the world again. I slowly cracked my eyelids open, staring down at the granite underneath my body. It looked bizarre to me, like the stone floor had been bleached by the massive blast.

Soon the last traces of spottiness cleared from my vision, and I could look around my cavern, taking note that it wasn’t just the floor that had been bleached by the blast. When I looked back towards where the strange shield wall had appeared I gasped, looking out not at the Burrow’s chasms that I had spent a good portion of my life tunneling and living in, but at the edge of a crater. The walls of my cavern hadn’t been bleached by the blast, I had just never seen them in the foggy light of the surface before.

I stood at the edge of my nook, paws now by my sides, the ringing in my ears barely even registering in my thoughts. “Where is my home?” I muttered under my breath, unable to hear my own voice or comprehend the scale of what had just taken place. As I looked around I saw the blast hadn’t completely obliterated my world. Large mounds of glowing green rubble had gathered just a few feet below my nook. The rubble formed small hills and valleys where our great network of tunnels had once been.

Every now and again I would catch a glimpse of movement in the ruins. Occasionally followed by a Diamond Dog poking their head out just taking in the destruction in the wake of the explosion. Their expressions were all the same masks of fury, shock, and disbelief. After observing for a few moments, they would tunnel their way back down below the rubble.

Time passed and I watched my fellow Diamond Dogs continue to appear from the debris, stare out upon what had become of our world, and then disappear like gophers. Eventually one of those strange gophers escaped from their mound, and scrambled across the broken world towards me. They were wildly barking something that I couldn’t make out, the ringing in my ears was still too overpowering. I soon realized that it was Luna who was rushing towards me. A small knot in my gut that I hadn’t noticed unwound itself in relief.

In the blink of an eye she stood towering over me, barking madly the entire time, though it sounded like she was trying to talk to me through a cavern wall. I looked her over, her coat was mussed and dusty. I could see tears in the corners of her eyes threatening to spill over onto her cheeks. It was only when she began to pull me to my feet that I realized that some time ago my legs had given out from under me. I slowly rose onto my hind legs, though they now felt as if they had been replaced with that filling from those pony pastries.

“Pony… bomb… tunnels… trapped… help...,” every now and again I could make out one of the words Luna was barking at me. Eventually I figured out that she needed me to come and help her save several of the Diamond Dogs that had been wounded in the aftermath of the blast. I let her pull me away from my small horde of junk, and towards the rubble of our former home.

Over the course of the next few hours I was helping to dig my fellow Diamond Dogs out of the rubble of our former home while my conscious mind dug itself out from under the weight of what had happened to us. More than a few of the corpses we found were still smoldering, others were crushed beyond recognition.

Everytime I unearthed another body I could feel a little part of my brain threatening to just shut me down, to have me curl up in a ball and start crying. It was kept in check by one of a diamond dogs’ most primal urges, to dig. Everytime I stumbled upon somedog who was trapped or injured or dead, I’d call out to my fellow diggers and then recommence digging through the remains.

It was as though I had set my mind on automatic. Thirsty? Keep digging. Hungry? Keep digging. Terrified of stumbling upon the corpse my mother, father, or any one of my litter mates and completely losing what little composure I had managed to claw back from my state of shock? Just. Keep. Digging.

I didn’t stop until Smasher came and found me. He took the lead down into what remained of the tunnels and I followed, mind still frazzled and wanting to feel the grit of the dirt against my claws. He brought me down to the freshly dug gem vein where our den mates had gathered, or at least those who had survived the blast.

I mechanically made my way through the assembled crowd of Diamond Dogs, taking in the sight of my fellow den mates, many of whom were wounded or tending to the badly injured. It wasn’t until I practically bumped into them that I realized where my paws had taken me, right to where my mother and the rest of my family had gathered. It took her a second to realize who it was practically standing on her tail, but when it clicked for her she swept me up in a near bone crushing hug. She began howling about something, how she had lost me, they couldn’t find me, how worried they were that I might have been caught in the blast. It was tough to make it out over the persistent ringing in my ears.

My litter mates were another story entirely. The few that had survived looked over at me for a second and then went back to nursing each others wounds. Even if I wasn’t in such a rattled state, I wouldn’t have expected much more from them on that count. Most of my litter mates had gone out of their way to avoid me for years, a little thing like our entire world being shattered wasn’t going to change that.

While mum continued to fuss over me, I noticed my sire was standing right behind her, his expression the usual inscrutable mask. The way he was acting, you might have thought that massive balefire explosions were nothing more than a minor nuisance interrupting his digging. I stared at him for a moment over mum’s shoulder, and he returned the stare without a word.

It wasn’t long before a sort of eerie silence fell over the pack, the only sound was the whimperings of the wounded and a few sobs from the grieving. My mother loosened her grip enough that I could pull away from her and look for what had caused everydog to grow quiet. It was then that I saw Rex making his way through the crowd, holding something that I couldn’t make out in his paws. The dogs that caught sight of it flattened their ears against their head and a few even began to whimper.

When the pack’s chief hunter got to the center of the gathering, he came to a stop. The crowd pulled away from him, giving him room. He held aloft something large, round, and fleshy. I couldn’t quite make out what it was, my eyes still not completely recovered from their momentary glimpse of the balefire blast. I only caught that the object was very light, almost pale in color. When Rex dropped the object, everydog near him stepped away from it.

Rex pointed to the object on the floor and as the other dogs around him began to whimper he shouted, “This is what pony has done to us!” A few dogs howled in response. “Alpha Rover, dead!” My ears perked up at that. I pulled away from my family and started to make my way towards the front of the crowd, which was rather easy to do given my stature.

When I got there, what I saw made my stomach drop. It was indeed the head of our Alpha, Rover, lying on the floor his eyes glassy and fur matted with dry blood. Rex continued as I stared down at our now former leader’s head. “Every time pony fights pony, we Diamond Dogs are hurt, killed, changed. But do pony care? No! Pony just walk on top of dogs, like dirt!” There were a few growls and murmurs throughout the crowd that agreed with Rex. “It time that dogs fight pony! Dogs war with pony! Kill ponies and Rex as leader!” That comment split the pack. There were growls, a few scattered cheers, and even a howl that seemed to agree with Rex. However, there were also murmurs passing around a particular phrase.

Alpha Brawl. Alpha Brawl! Alpha Brawl! The murmur turned into an overwhelming chant.

From the throng of dogs, another stepped forward. Smasher. “If Rex want to be Alpha, he must call for Brawl like all before him.”

Rex turned and growled at his fellow hunter. “Now is not time for dog fight dog! Now is time for dog fight pony!”

Smasher shook his head vigorously. “If new Alpha is Alpha because they use words, then they shame all Alphas before them. Brawl is true dog way.”

I could see Rex snarl at Smasher, but he didn’t try to deny that what he said was true. The murmuring in the crowd also seemed to agree with Smasher, and soon others stepped forward: Cooper, Duke, and Buster, each a fairly well respected fighter in their own right. Across the way I could see Luna, her hackles beginning to rise. If anydog could win in an open brawl it was her, but tradition is tradition and so she would be forced to sit this fight out.

Once everydog was sure that no more combatants would take to the field The Howl began. At first it was only the oldest of our pack that started The Howl. Soon others around them joined in, myself included. The Howl went on, echoing through what little of our home had survived, and then all at once it stopped and the fight began.

Buster and Duke rushed at Rex, claws extended. Rex just stood there on his hind legs, until at the last second when Buster’s claws had just about reached is face. In a movement that was too fast for my eyes to catch, Rex had grabbed and twisted Buster’s extended foreleg behind his back, causing him to let out a surprised yelp of pain. Duke didn’t have time to adjust to the fact that Rex had caught his partner, before Rex used Buster as a bludgeon to knock Duke off his paws.

Over on the other half of the circle Smasher had entangled himself with Cooper, the two now rolling on the cavern floor each having covered the other in fresh gouches with their claws. The two nipped and lunged and covered one another in their blood as they both tried to pin the other.

The crowd was deathly silent during all of this, letting the cacophony of the struggle ring out over the unfinished tunnel. I was a pup when Rover fought in the last Alpha Brawl, and I remember that the crowds had howled and yelped and cheered throughout it. It felt wrong somehow for this clash to take place in such a melancholy atmosphere.

It wasn’t long before Rex had dispatched both Buster and Duke, the two now lay in a heap on the edge of the arena, with deep gouges up and down their bodies. While Rex fought his battle, Smasher had pinned Cooper and slashed him across the chest, causing him to let out a great howl of pain and lie still.

At that moment the two hunters turned to face one another, both bending down on all fours and circled the ring. Ears perked up all around the ring as the tension grew palpable. No one was quite sure who would make the first move. In a blur of motion, Smasher was the first to move, leaping at Rex, his fangs and talons extended. Before he could make contact with Rex, the hunter leader clawed his way into the dirt, disappearing in a cloud of dust. Smasher landed out of his leap, practically diving into the dirt. His claws tore the ground away so quickly it almost appeared as if he simply melted into the ground.

The crowd stood as still as stone, ears turning this way and that, listening for the two combatants under the ground. Then the earth trembled and both Rex and Smasher emerged from the center of the arena, slashing and clawing at each other wildly as they ascended from the ground. Blood, flesh, and fur flew as the two hunters tried to tear each other apart.

Smasher lunged in with his maw, aiming for his fellow hunter’s neck. Rex was a hair faster than him, tilting his head into the bite so the only thing Smasher could tear at was his skull. While his opponent tried to work through his surprise, Rex dug his claws into Smasher’s sides. The younger dog tried to howl in pain, but it was muffled by the mouthful of his opponent’s hide. Rex twisted his paws and yanked them upwards. Smasher went limp in his grasp.

Rex pulled his claws out and let Smasher fall to the floor, and turned to the crowd, forpaws raised high. Everydog joined together in a Howl, though pain permeated several of the voices.

Rex then addressed his pack. “Now we hunt pony.”