Fallout Equestria: Last Days

***

Cobalt Meadow's eyes opened to the sight of empty darkness and the sound of distant screams.

Morning.

Again.

Not that it mattered anymore.

The brown buck lifted his head, shifted to the edge of the mattress beneath him, and promptly vomited.

The liquid trickling from his mouth was almost transparent—thin, watery—his throat catching as the dry heaves quickly took over.

His chest hurt. Ached. He couldn’t breathe. But the convulsions wouldn’t stop.

He could feel his vision blur, his sense of balance thrown off.

He fell to the floor.

Clang. Splurch.

The dented pail he’d set beside the bed tipped over from the impact—the bile inside spilling out onto the floor at his hooves. He continued to heave regardless, the mess he’d made in the process lost on him.

His memories flashed back to his life two weeks prior.

A third floor apartment in a high rise in Mareford. A new position at Four Stars as a customer service rep. A steady paycheck for the first time since he’d graduated—more bits than he knew what to do with.

He’d made the move a month ago. From Baltimare. His parents hadn’t wanted him to go.

He wondered if they were still alive.

With one last heave—a strand of spittle dribbling across his parched lips—the convulsions subsided, the buck inhaling sharply. His lungs twitched at the sudden influx of air. He found himself coughing—once, twice—his struggle for breath immediately resuming.

“Fucking...fuck...”

He could feel the corners of his eyes grow hot with frustration. Feel the wet tears running down his cheeks. After another minute, the hacking subsided, his vision watery. He could see specks of red on the floor in front of him.

“Mom...Dad...”

Rat-tat. Rat-tat-tat. Rat-tat.

He could hear distant gunshots. Outside. In quick succession. A chorus of cries and shrieks followed suit.

Pained. Panicked. Old. Young. Mares. Stallions.

At this distance, he was almost numb to it. The sounds of violence in the background were almost constant. The rioting. The looting. The roars and bellows of feral, radiation-scarred ponies that had come running in droves from the city center.

Wanton violence. Anarchy. Chaos.

He’d heard ponies saying it had been worse across the bridge. Far worse.

From the screams he’d heard the first week—the hellish columns of flame he'd seen rising into the sky—he believed it. The sight of the still-smoldering hole in the Manehatten skyline was harrowing. Overwhelming. Enough to make him sick all over again.

Ministry vertibucks—those left after the the skies had been closed off—were a constant presence. Rockets from below would occasionally arc upwards in their direction, sending them spiraling into the streets below in balls of flame.

The tinny voices of ministry power troops accompanied the explosions from time to time. Sometimes telling citizens to vacate. Other times laying down fire on roving gangs of looters. Or stampeding mobs of panicked ponies. Sometimes both.

Another slew of automatic fire rang out. This one closer.

Cobalt could hear a number of feral growls and screams, a raspy voice breaking over both.

“No! Wait! I’m not like them! Nothing is wrong with me! Help! I need—”

Another spray of gunfire drowned the voice out.

Cobalt grabbed at his temples with his hooves, his eyes going wide. His chest ached. He’d begun to hyperventilate.

More gunfire. More piercing screams. The breaking of glass close by. Across the street.

Cobalt closed his eyes, hooves digging deeper into the sides of his head. The bruises and burn marks on his hide scraped painfully against the floor.

He’d locked himself in the back room of the laundromat when the bombs fell. He’d bucked the owner in the head when the older stallion had tried to force him out.

He could still remember the sound the unicorn’s skull had made when it hit the wall.

The closed room hadn’t kept him safe from the fallout, though. The building was made of brick, but drafty. Leaking air in some places.

He hadn't realized that when he bucked the door handle shut. There were bloody hoofprints on the metal door frame where he’d attempted to free himself since.

He'd eaten all the food in the first week. The water was gone now, too. What rain he’d been able to collect from the small window above the bed was flecked with gray ash. It almost burned to drink.

He’d been vomiting daily since resorting to it. His throat tasted like iron from the repeated exposure.

The sounds of gunfire ceased, the cries and shouts fading into the background. Cobalt could hear the tinny echo of a distant radio broadcast, a crackling, patriotic tune echoing across the city streets.

The soldiers passing through had managed to gain access to the Ministry of Morale’s “Population Party Speakers”—those that were still functioning, at least.

“Citizens of Equestria. This is Major Violet Breeze of the Ministry of Wartime Technology. Do not be alarmed. Do not despair. Though things may look bleak, there is hope for Equestria, yet.”

Cobalt let out another whimper as the sound of gunfire resumed again—laser fire joining it this time. Distorted. Unyielding.

Tzzkt! Tzzkt! Tzzkt-tzzkt!

The sound of explosives rocked the side of the building a moment later—rockets, grenades—the floor beneath him shaking as a commemorative plate fell from the shelf above him and onto the floor.

Katssh!

The buck could feel the ceramic shards spray over him, one embedding itself into his hide and drawing blood.

He let out another sick sounding cry—a wail—burying his head into the floor. His eyes were wide. He could barely breathe. His hooves were clamped over his ears, desperately trying to drown out the sounds. Dark splotches had formed at the edge of his vision.

Mom. Dad. Why had he ever come here? Why had he ever left them? Why had this happened? Why?

Why!?

Carrying on despite the buck’s tears and the screams around him, the voice continued, its words calm and even amid the rising panic in the streets.

"Do not worry, my little ponies. The situation is under control. Ministry personnel are coming to assist you as we speak.”

Batoom! Katssh! Tkzzt!

“Remember, Equestrians. We are a nation of hope. And where there is hope, there is friendship—"

“Stop! No! Please!”

"—And where there is friendship—”

“Daddy!?”

"Sunny!"

Tzzkt! Tzzkt! Tzzkt-tzzkt!

“—there is peace.”

***