Fallout Equestria: Last Days

***

Ember Flare slammed her hoof down on the table.

"What do you mean they said 'close off the skies?'"

The pegasai mare's eyes blazed with anger, her yellow wings flaring out on either side of her. A few strands of her short, orange mane had fallen over one of her eyes, but she didn't acknowledge them. Her white construction helmet rocked to a stop on the floor a few hooves away, a dent in the wall where she'd thrown it a moment earlier.

In front of her, the meek, gray figure of her assistant—Morning Breeze—winced, her long blue mane obscuring her face as she averted her eyes. She was dressed in the same white work shirt that her superior was—the standard uniform of all the workers at the Fillydelphia Regional Weather Factory.

"Um...they...um...that—"

Ember Flare growled, slamming her hoof down a second time on the cloudcraft table. It bent inwards slightly, wisps of mist rising up from the impact.

"Do they have any idea what would happen to the surface if we did that? Of what's going on down there right now? It's hell down there, Breeze! Ponies are dying left and right! Do they know how many already died in the blast?"

The gray pegasus winced in front of her, drawing her wings in tighter.

"I...um...well...they said—"

Flare shook her head.

"Fuck that, Breeze. I'm not condemning those ponies down there to die."

"...but...the orders—"

"Those cloudfuckers can threaten us all they want, Breeze. This is my factory. If they want us to close up shop and abandon everypony still on the surface, they can pry the keys to this place from my hooves and do it themselves."

"...but—"

Ember Flare cursed, cutting the quieter mare off as she slammed her hoof down on the table again.

Propping her forelegs up onto the surface, she held her forehead in her hooves, furrowing her brow.

How could it have come to this? The fucking apocalypse? This was insane. Cloudsdale, Manehatten, Filly—it was gone. All of it. Instantly. Even Canterlot had fallen. The pegasai command structure was in chaos. The orders had been coming in non stop.

Her workers had been working around the clock to send rainclouds down to quell the flaming streets in the city below, but the radiation from the blast had fucked up half their equipment. The fires were breaking out faster than they could handle them. Smoke was blotting out the sky. Fallout had already penetrated the lower levels of the cloud layer. It wouldn't be long before the clouds reached saturation and it started to fall back on the ponies still left below.

"Fuck!"

Flare ground her head into her hooves.

She still hadn't heard back from Amethyst. Below. At the city's edge.

Her message had gone through—somehow—after the blast, but the other mare hadn't picked up.

"Hello, you've reached the office of Short Sell, Vice President of Operations for Ironshod Firearms, Fillydelphia Branch.

We are unable to take your call at this moment. Please leave a message with your name and contact information and we'll see that we get back to you as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day!"

Flare winced.

Though she'd have usually smiled at the recording of her marefriend's voice, this time it had only managed to make her stomach sink further.

She could still see the silhouette of the Ironshod corporate building from her office—still standing, just outside the blast radius—but it was dark. She'd seen one figure jump from the top floor an hour ago, tumbling head over hoof toward the pavement, but other than that, there had been no signs of movement.

Flare shook her head.

She could still be alive. There was a chance. Despite her pleasant smile and cheerful demeanor, Amethyst was the toughest pony Flare knew. Tougher than she was, even. Something she never would have admitted to before.

Flare didn't know all of it—Amethyst's past, her former job, her current one—but she knew the unicorn wasn't your run-of-the-mill secretary. She was too perfect at everything. Always seemed to know more than she should. Though she hid it well, her eyes were always on the move. Studying. Watching. On the lookout.

When they'd started spending time together, the purple unicorn had made it very clear she couldn't tell Flare everything. That being with her meant that there'd have to be some secrets. To be honest, Flare herself couldn't even be sure "Amethyst Maripone" was her real name.

But for Flare, it didn't matter.

Everything about Amethyst was mesmerizing. Breathtaking.

The way she moved. Laughed. Talked.

Her confidence. Her smile. The knowing, playful glint in her eye.

It made Flare's legs weak. Made her heart pound. Brought a blush to her cheeks. Filled her with the sorts of feelings she'd always rolled her eyes at when other mares gossiped about their love lives.

Secret agent. Spy. Assassin. Flare didn't care who Amethyst was. What she could or couldn't tell her. She just wanted to stay beside the unicorn—with her—for as long as she could. She'd never met anypony like her.

Flare opened her eyes, staring down at the table.

Paperwork was scattered across the desk, flung about in the midst of her earlier frustration.

She could see authorization forms. Emergency checklists. Crude, hoof-written calculations estimating the impact of the blast on pressure differentials and the resulting wind patterns.

She shook her head.

No. As long as there was a chance Amethyst was still alive, she wouldn't do it. Closing off the clouds was a death sentence to those below. The fallout alone would kill any survivors in days if they didn't attempt to regulate it.

The yellow pegasus raised a hoof toward her assistant. This wasn't the time to give in.

"Morning Breeze, send a message back. Tell them we can't afford to close things off right now, not in the state things are in. We'll continue to provide assistance until somepony from the outside can—"

Click.

Flare glanced up at the sound, her eyes widening as she saw Morning Breeze staring back at her, a small, plastic-looking pistol gripped in the gray mare's wings. There were tears in the mare's eyes, her shoulders shaking. Her wingtips were wrapped around the trigger.

Flare could feel her mouth go dry. She tried to speak, suddenly finding it difficult.

"Breeze. What are you—"

Flare could see the quiet pegasus immediately flinch, tears starting to roll down her face in full as her voice cracked.

"I'm sorry! They—they said—if we refused orders, that they would—that everypony here would be—and our families—"

Flare's eyes widened again. She could see the gray mare's wing's shaking, her grip on the trigger tensing. Her tears were falling to the floor now, sinking into it as the cloudcraft tiling absorbed the moisture.

Flare's eyes slowly shifted from the mare, to her desk, to the plumes of smoke rising from Fillydelphia out the window at her side.

Despite the sound of sirens and alarms in the distance, everything seemed to go quiet for a moment. To slow. She could hear her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Bump-bump. Bump-bump.

Amethyst.

Flare's eyes slowly turned to meet those of her assistant once more.

She tried to speak again, her voice hoarse.

"Breeze. Wait. Please...I...we—"

The gray pegasus in front of her flinched again, a faint sob escaping her lips as she met Flare's gaze.

"...I'm sorry."

There was a flash of red light, and then darkness.

***