Fallout Equestria: Burdens

Chapter 1 - Monotony

“The world is a cage, circumstance is the warden, and we’re the prisoners...”

“Have you had recent thoughts of suicide, or of harming yourself?”

“Hmm?” Not a word, just a sound.

The doctor’s stare cuts into me from behind his glasses. He sits there, waiting like he always is. What does he expect me to say? What do I expect myself to try to say? Anything, I bet, to have him tell my “mother.” I know she’ll always want to know. Thinking about her makes me recoil inside. The more I think about an answer for the question, or think about answering the question, makes my tongue feel bloated and numb. It makes me think about the kiss the nag gave me, and how horrible it stings my cheek. The bandages can’t hide it, and that’s what scares me the most.

The doctor catches my attention, again. “Trade Wind, are you feeling suicidal?”

It’s hard to breathe and not think about the question, again. Hearing that name, again– even if it’s from another pony, is not the best feeling in the world. Disgusting. The air in my lungs feels corrosive. Pressure builds in my gut just thinking about all of it. The way she looked at me; talked to me; struck the daylights out of me for not looking at her. I can’t look at those cold eyes without wanting to spit in them. Even just thinking about it makes the pain come back. Damn it all. Damn her, and damn this place she makes us all call home…

Seething, hurting, I rub my forehooves together and close my eyes. I fight off the incredible urge to doze off and put my attention to feeling the smooth gem and necklace gently pressed between the frogs. I feel every imperfect hump, every glassy smooth surface that makes it. The warmth it gives me— what I always thought a true mother’s hug felt like. My lips twitch, and my breathing– although still stiff, is much less hard. “Trade Wind, is there something you need to tell me?” The doctor calls me that name, again; asks the same questions, again.

The power of his stare makes me look away. “I… I don’t know.”

He breathes deeply again. My body tenses up to hear the clipboard slam on the nearby countertop. It doesn’t come, and my body goes cold from a lack of that needed outlet.

“Do you understand self-destruction, Sergeant?” he asks, “Do you know what it can mean?”

I stay silent. I’m sure it’s just rhetoric or a way to make me look like an idiot. I won’t entertain it.

“Self-destruction is what happens when we try, endlessly, to pick ourselves apart in order to understand the things that don’t make sense to us. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Why it’s important that you tell me and let me know. It’s what I’m here for.”

Maybe I do understand, but it won’t make me feel any better. It only hurts knowing what it is and being unable to move past it. I know that if I do, I won’t forgive myself for what can happen next. For my sake; for her sake. He gets up from his seat gently and uses the countertop to write something on the clipboard with the pen between his teeth. When he’s done, he looks back at me. “The most I can do for you right now is set a follow-up appointment and prescribe anti-depression medication. I’ll also put in a refill order for your sleeping pills.”

I just nod my head to the things he says while I slip off the examination table and shake off the numbness in my flanks and wings. I then bring the necklace to my lips before gently letting it back down onto my chest and under my uniform. “How much?” I ask, now that my mind is focused on the bandage hugging my left cheek.

He looks back at me. “Sergeant, we are not the Corporates. We’re a flock that looks out for each other.”

A simple ‘no charge needed’ would have sufficed, instead of that Enclave propaganda bullshit I can’t stomach.

There’s a definite sound of tearing paper. The doctor extends the slip of white paper out to me, with the world’s most illegible writing and signature. “Give this to the nurse at the front desk before you leave. She’ll give you what you need.” As I take it, he moves out the medical room door and out into the hallway. “Good luck out there, Sergeant.”

He vanishes into the hallway. I follow moments later, backtracking the way I came. As soon as I reach the entrance lobby, I just keep going until I’m out the door and in a much colder but more crowded hallway full of pegasi. I take one more look at the prescription slip, grumble, then discard it. I am tired of the sugar pills and tired of how they make me feel every morning. My attention turns to the hustle and bustle in the halls. Soldiers, Security, Cadets, and the like– all faceless and lifeless with painted smiles.

I merge with the crowd, and as soon as I do their gawking eyes fall off me like rain. Keeping my head down and my wings to myself like I always have, helps make me feel less noticeable. It’s a twisted feeling of freedom to disappear into the crowd. Among the masses, I feel much more safe with the thought that Diamond Dust’s eyes can’t track me clearly. This is as much peace as I can have when it’s not out there, beyond the bunker– the birdcage. I should feel good about that fact. The peace I feel inside changes, easing the momentum I’ve built up. It’s rising out of me, another familiar warmth reminding me of… something. I know this feeling, and I know it too well. My momentum finally comes to a halt, and I look for her from where I stand.

I see her now, and she spots me too. That warmth snaps tight, yet a sinking feeling sets in. Something that was telling me to keep going and pretend I didn't just stop to notice her. I couldn’t. Whatever it is that gnaws at me in the back of my head, it sheds off me when she closes the distance between us. Her eyes radiate purplish-blue comfort, and the goggles atop her head glint softly. All I can do in the face of the warmth is lower my head, fold my ears back, and turn my bruised cheek away.

Her head is poking in through the side of my field of vision. Still waiting. Every time her eyes dart subtly to the patch on my cheek, a pang hits me in the chest. What should I tell her this time? I try to speak, but find a hoof gently put up to my lips. Wide-eyed, probably screaming, I bite my tongue to not make a scene. She takes a moment to look at all the passing faces in the crowd before walking a short way into the crowd and looking back at me. Her ears, gently nestled in her flight cap’s ear holes, flick the direction she’s hoping to go. When I don’t catch the hint fast enough she flicks her head subtly.

Concern is at the forefront of my mind as I follow her. What if the nag’s watching; her glare is fresh in my mind, glowing in the back of my eyelids when I blink. I wait for the chill to hit me, but it never does. The halls are less crowded in the residential wing, with not even a straddling neighbor in sight. It’s unsettling, to say the least. I follow the warm white mare to her door where she opens the door and steps in. I’m compelled, just to be sure, to look down the hall and stare at every corner I passed just now.

I step inside and the door closes on its own. I take in my surroundings—her home—and a powerful urge to lean on something just overtakes me. Instead, I’m met with an angel’s wings curling around me. I freeze, feeling all of her frame on me with her head under my chin. She’s so close, I can feel things in the back of my mind thaw with her warmth. Some of those things are best left as they are; it’s already too dangerous for both of us. I pull her into me slowly. “Ya found me.”

She breaks the hug and I feel a great weight in the back of my heart set in. She backs up a bit to get a better look at me, and I do my best to keep my bandaged cheek out of her sight. I can’t even look at her, afraid of what those eyes will have me do. She touches my cheek with her wing, their silken bristles glide across so calm and gentle. Soon as I feel them reaching the bandage, I jerk away. It has me thinking about what she’s trying to do and looking where she shouldn’t be. I can’t look at the hurt the reaction must’ve caused her, and I don’t need to.

There’s a silence slowly coming down between us, but it doesn’t have time to set. It breaks from the loud rumble in my stomach. The embarrassment hits harder in my gut than the rumble itself, mocking me. White feathers begin to tickle my nose and work up an itch. I look over to the source of the interruption and she’s not there. I look around and find her at one of the doorways. She beckons me with a tail-flick and a big smile.

I follow her to her kitchen, and a pleasant aroma greets me. These smells, I’ve met them before– a long time ago. A memory of pain, yet gracious comfort. It makes me look back to the living room, towards the couch just barely peeking around the edge of the doorframe. I keep my eyes on her while she stares at a tall pot atop a stove and as I take my seat she carefully uses her feather tips to pop the lid open and set it aside. Wafting white vapor comes up and out of it, strengthening the aroma I smelled before coming in. My ears twitch to the soothing sounds of bubbles popping away, forcing me to relax and sink into my chair; a faintly alien sensation at this point of my life.

Her hooves slowly lift off the ground with her steady wing beats, making the steam dance slowly with each waft dealt to it. Good thing there’s enough room for her wings to move about. She reaches into a drawer for a ladle and it goes into the pot where she stirs slowly, handle in her mouth. A minute later she lets some of the content drip onto the frog of her hoof and tastes it slowly. Her ears perk up, as does her expression. She gets two bowls from an overhead cupboard, sets them aside, and begins to ladle in portions of what she’s been making. She brings the bowls over in both hooves, her wings carrying her such a short way from the stove to the table. She gently places a bowl in front of me, and then takes her seat with her bowl.

I stare down at the bowl of cloudy liquid. No, it’s not exactly a liquid—it’s a bit thicker than a standard soup. There are earthy-colored bits floating about; leafy green and small orange or pale yellow pieces just bobbing near the surface. The steam that comes up from it and caresses my face taunts me with its warmth and dangerously alluring aroma. “I hope you like it,” she tells me softly.

I look up from the bowl. “What… is it?”

“Cream of Vegetable Soup,” she answers.

Cream of Vegetable…

The name entices me to look back down into the bowl of hot, thick broth. Hearing myself say it over and over again in my head makes it all the more alluring. Now I’m at the point where it’s starting to sound stupid. Why isn’t it called “Cream and Vegetable Soup”? “Vegetable Cream Soup”? Either way, saying that cream is of vegetables-- made by vegetables-- puts my head in an irritable twist.

I take the bowl in both my hooves and bring it right to my face slowly, so as to not let any of it spill. Looking at it closely, the colors are just so vibrant and pleasurable to see; greens, yellows, and oranges with a milky white backdrop. My tongue begs to see if it tastes as good as it smells.

I gently blow into the bowl, then take my first sip. Flavors upon flavors—old, familiar, new—all coat my tongue. Sweet, creamy, and savory; chunky yet smooth. I feel myself drowning in the ecstasy of flavorful food. Genuine, non-enriched goodness that puts the flavorless paste in the mess to shame.

It’s torture to put the bowl down to breathe. I feel eyes on me, again, and I turn to the mare. Her eyes are glittering; her chest fluffing up and out from the undone placket of her uniform. A familiar tingling sensation bubbles up from within me, and a sudden waft of heat crawls over my face. “What?”

Her wings visibly fluff up and flutter.

“Uh,” I look down at the bowl. Empty… nothing but a thin layer of soup at the bottom. My cheeks are starting to hurt, some, with realization dawning on me.

She laughs, “You like it so much you’re turning purple.”

The tension mounts, and I’m suddenly forgetting how to breathe. I pull my chin into my chest. I’m thrusting myself against the wall in my mind, trying to stop looking like a fool in front of her. I shouldn’t have to behave like this, but why am I? I feel a hoof slowly slide on my shoulder, and it’s like my immediate atmosphere just softens and gives way. I can breathe again; I feel warm again. I look at the hoof on my shoulder and follow it back up to her. “This has to be the most breathtaking meal I’ve had in a very long while.”

The warm glow in her eyes shines brighter than before, then she wraps a wing around my back. The amount of appreciation can be measured by the strength of the squeeze. Still, I feel something else is squeezing me on the inside; around my heart and I’m afraid to find out what it is. “Are these real vegetables,” I ask while feeling tempted to lick my bowl clean. She nods. “How?”

She pulls away, looking perplexed. “From the Corpos. I figured you already knew because General Dia-”

“I didn’t. I didn’t know. ”

The warm shine in her eyes starts to dull, a suffocating vacuum builds up in my chest. “Ward, what did she do?” She asks.

I take a deep breath, “These vegetables, the cream— everything that’s in here… Corporates drive hard bargains from what I’ve heard. How much did this cost ya?”

Her ears flick, “Huh?”

“The soup; what you used to make it. It’s delicious, but how did you get it from the Corpos?”

One of her ears folds into her cap, “I… bought them?”

I look over at her cupboards, the kitchen, the bowl, “You’ve been out.”

She shakes her head, head tilting just slightly, “Of course, you already know I’m a pilot. But Ward, this isn’t ab–”

“I bet the pay is pretty good,” I say while finishing off the bowl. I think it’s much warmer– hot. “How much do the Corpos pay you as a pilot, again?”

“Oh,” she exclaims, then thinks back. “I think the pay’s…pretty good. I’ve saved up for things like this, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get as good quality vegetables, or even cream, with what’s left over till my next deployment pay.”

“How long and how often?”

“I’m sorry?” She looks at me, surprised about something.

“I never knew…you’d be gone often.” She’s been gone, and I never noticed? I… I don’t know what to even be feeling right now. Hurt? Hurt at what? Myself? Why? Is Diamond Dust sending her away more frequently on purpose? Does that mean she knows, after all? The questions just keep mounting up, and my throat feels like it’s wanting to swell on me.

“It’s my job. I didn’t… why? I just wanted to know if something happened with you and the General, last briefing; if any of it has anything to do with why you’re hurt.” She tilts her head at me. She’s trying to look through me. The way her eyes move about fills me with dread.

“It’s just circumstance.”

“If something keeps happening almost the exact same way, is it even a circumstance anymore?” she asks.

“I’m always fine. That hasn’t changed,” I reaffirm.

Her eyes don’t look away from me. There’s something about them that just makes me want to shrink. They’re wondering, pleading. I can’t bear to keep looking into them, not one bit. Probing involves levels of risk, but curiosity will certainly get her killed. Doesn't she even know that? “Ward, I’m here.” She says, softly.

“I know.” With everything she does for me, not a minute goes by with how hard it must be for her, too. I think about how many times I must’ve told her those two exact words; how many times I must’ve blown her off and put distance between the two of us. I couldn’t say anything. It’s just like with the doctor. I can’t say anything, no matter how much I want to. It’s like the air is threatening to choke me if I keep trying to say just one small thing. Without looking, I hear her chair skid along the floor. My first thought: she’s finally had enough with my bullshit. It hurts, but it’s necessary.

It hurts, but…

Wings wrap around from behind my seat and pull me into a soft, familiar, down-feather pillow. Her feathers hold onto me, her fur supports me, and her head just rests on mine. I should be hurrying to shoo her away. I should just move and break the gesture… I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.

“I’m here, Ward. I’ll always be here, ” she tells me so softly, yet so sure in her delivery.

I can feel her squeezing me a little harder. Comfort. Love. This is what it is, isn’t it? I know I’ve felt it before, but it always feels so new to me– like a breath of fresh air. I can’t stop myself from bringing my hooves up and holding onto the wings that still envelop me, and the mare who won’t stop looking out for me. Thinking about it is enough to make me want to look back on it all– from when we first met to where we are now.

I say you’re my friend, but it’s more complicated than that.

I just close my eyes and let her just hold onto me. It lets me hear and feel her heartbeat behind my head– nestled in that chest fluff of hers. The reassurance she gives me– I wish it could be like this more often. I wouldn’t mind giving her everything if it weren't for how things are now...

“Avie…”

* * * * * *

Tick…

...tick…

...tick…

I hear you. I can’t see you, but I know you’re there; always consistent, always loud, always counting. You also found me, how long has it been? What are you counting down for this time? I don’t have the urge to get up and relieve myself. Everything’s clamped shut, and nothing wants to make an exit. It’s almost time, anyway.

Tick…

...tick…

...tick…

I still can’t sleep, not that I haven’t tried. She noticed after a while and asked about my meds. I said nothing and she didn’t try to prod, instead, she offered to let me rest my head in her room. I opted to stay in the other room, or at least the couch, but she wouldn’t let it happen. The bed’s comfortable, better than my barrack bed in every conceivable way. The sheets are soft and warm, just like her. They have her scent, too.

Tick…

...tick…

...tick…

I don’t know how much time has passed. I lost track of the ‘tick-tick-ticking’ as things settled down and it allbecame white noise.

Tick…

...tick…

...tick…

I toss and turn, doing what I can with little movement to not agitate my growing stomach ache. The creamy soup and the apples churn inside with discomfort. I need to keep tossing and turning, flipping onto my belly and onto my back. I can’t let it rest; it will challenge me with a slow and uneasy press against the lining of my stomach. Not even Avie’s reassuring feathers can ease it this time.

Tick…

...tick…

...tick…

I know you want that, but I don’t know whether or not you remind me for my own safety— as well as hers. You’re with that nag and revel in the lingering pain that comes with the end of things; with the end of this good thing. Is this your plan? To remind me of the inevitable? To pester me about the deadline for all of this to end?

Tick…

...tick…

...tick…

Cruel as ever. I never asked for anything, but just this once I’d like for this to last just a bit longer.

Tick…

...tick…

...tick…

Please–

“Ward. Equus to Staff Sergeant Ward. Requesting a sitrep of Cloud-Cuckoo-Land. Come back.” A different sound, now. A stallion’s voice clears away the fog; a voice that I have, since training, learned to acknowledge when the clouds begin to roll over the horizon. Looking up at him I see the same featureless blur of a face staring back down at me. Vaguely familiar, still, but he’s the same as the rest– whether in dress uniform, or in combat gear like he is now. “Finish securing your gear, Ward. We have a job to do, and an expecting General. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her out of all pegasi.”

With that, he leaves me be as the others follow him out of the locker room, and his final thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. So much time’s gone by, and the last thing that was on my mind was Avie’s comfort. How long was it since I left? Since we left? Couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours, for sure. Trying to map the events out makes my eyelids heavier than I normally know them to be.

I don’t think it matters anymore. What does is realizing that it’s almost 1800 hours from the Pre-War clock hanging above the door frame the Captain left out of. Wasn’t hard to spot it with the cloud mural backdrop painted into the walls all around the room. I finish securing my last boot, get to my hooves and grab the rest of my gear to meet the rest of the team. I trail the Captain’s last traveled route out into the bunker’s hangar— The Nest; the gasping lungs of the Enclave’s might.

Plasma cutters saw through metal, arc welders zap their blinding blue light, rivet guns scream and boom all around. The Enclave engineers still move about like they always do; shouting at one another, making their tools wear out, and tirelessly sacrificing sweat, time, fur, and blood to keep our fleet running. Four Vertibucks (previously five), two Raptors, a single Sky Tank, and a slew of bombing chariots. Antiquated, dated, rotting metal birds, surviving by cannibalizing their own along with the occasional pegasus. The cost of rushing to meet the demands of a dying system seems to be measured in the inexperienced youth if it isn’t by the blood their predecessors “gave” to the Enclave. To think that I put my life in the care of these machines, in our designate Vertibuck. It sits there, getting touched up by a small team of engineers; one talking with the Captain while the others run what I assume are diagnostics of the rotors.

A push rides up on my left, sharply pulling my attention away from the Vertibuck and to Avie. I jump and swear under my breath. She giggles. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

I ease up by brushing nonexistent dust off myself. “Ya just snuck up on me. Don’t do that.”

“Still worked up?” The question gets my mind going.

“There’s a lot to be worried about. It shouldn’t be news.”

“I don’t think it’s considered news if you’re not willing to talk about it,” Avie says.

She tilts her head, one ear folding into her flight cap. Why do I get the feeling she’s doing that on purpose? I glance over myself, even over Avie. Something didn’t feel right. “Feels weird… without the normal send-off from Ace, doesn’t it?“

I groan, “What spotlight is the “Sky Jock” chasing now?”

She snorts softly, shaking her head in surprise, “He’s been deployed… so I don’t think he’ll be back any time soon.”

“I’d say good riddance, but without him things seem—“

“Quiet? Missing him already?” Avie interjects.

The idea of me missing that stallion brings frustration. “I guess.”

“You… guess?” She sounds more surprised than she did a few seconds ago.

I sigh and keep my mouth shut on the subject. I would’ve preferred to see that asshole than Diamond Dust. I shake my head, confused about it alI. My mind quickly changes gears, and I look to Avie’s. Novel compared to mine, a black suit with ballistic padding around her flanks and shoulders with a matching wing harness system. It looks tighter, lighter, fresher, far beyond the antique fatigues that get tossed around as standard issue nowadays. Then my eyes shift to the only thing about her kit that doesn’t make sense with how our method of travel will be.

Those goggles, that matching leather head kit, really do dust off some old memories of mine. The longer I stare at them, the more the reflecting light seems to shimmer like a flame. Then came the white noise, crackling; the cold air, stinging and smokey.

“It’s been a while since ya rode one of those Vertibucks,” I wonder out loud, the glimpses of the past still fresh in my mind. “Ya think you’ll be alright pilotin’ that thing after a while?”

Her ears twitch as she looks out to the Vertibuck. The Captain is trying to call her over– both of us over. I figure whatever it is they were discussing is done, that and the routine diagnostic of the Vertibuck. Avie takes a couple of steps ahead of me before looking back, “It’s like flying with your wings detached from the body. It’s muscle memory for me, through and through.” She touches the leather of her flight cap, her eyes wander some place for a bit, “I have faith in the Techies. I’m sure that after… that day, a lot has changed.”

It doesn’t change the fact that whatever happened, happened. We lost a good pegasus that day; I almost lost somepony, too, as a result. It can happen again, even if you’re dead certain everything’s been triple-checked and quadruple polished…

“Yeah,” I say, following her to the Vertibuck proper. “I’m just forgetting who I’m talking to.”

That got her smile going, but it wavers a bit. “I wish it weren’t just about moments like these.”

My pace slows down a bit as those words reach me. That sinking feeling finds its way to me and my ears droop just slightly. It pains me to think back to all those short years, back to that room, to the graduation… to the cupcake. Every subsequent thought is widening that hole in my stomach, painfully urging me for relief. It’s still something I know I can’t afford, and all I can do is soldier on like I’ve always had to do to the best of my own abilities.

One hoof into the Vertibuck, one more glance over my shoulder. I see the nag on the observatory floor of the hangar– no, I can feel her cold gaze on me. The thought only urges me to pull myself faster into the Vertibuck. The claxons sound. The cabin door closes as diagnostics are exchanged between The Captain and Avie, both at the controls. The dark sky breaks, an orange glow creeps in from above.

Slow lift.

Pivot.

Out of the nest in a motorized cage.