The Wasteland was no place for a pony without a roof over their head. Not that Raggity Radneigh minded. He had his saddlebag and cardboard box, reinforced with scraps of tin and old tarps, nestled between two crumbling buildings in the ruins of Hollow Pines. It kept the worst of the acid rain off, and on cold nights, he had his friends, the radroaches.
Most ponies saw radroaches as pests, but not Radneigh. He understood them. They skittered around, always looking for scraps, just like him. They didn’t judge, didn’t sneer, didn’t tell him he was a waste of space. He’d even named a few: Click-Clack, Big Chomp, and Tiny Trot. Every day, they’d return to his little home, clicking their mandibles as he tossed them bits of old snack cakes or whatever edible trash he could scavenge.
One evening, as Radneigh was patching a hole in his box with duct tape, Big Chomp started chittering excitedly. The others followed, scurrying around in erratic circles. Something was coming. Radneigh pressed his ear to the wall and heard hoofsteps, heavy, metallic.
Steel Rangers, Radneigh ducked into his box and tried to stay still. The armored ponies weren’t known for kindness, and he had nothing worth taking. But the Rangers weren’t here for him.
They were here for something worse.
A guttural roar split the air, followed by the thunder of minigun fire. Radneigh peeked out to see a hulking mass of flesh and metal charging the Rangers, some twisted fusion of pony and machine, its eyes glowing a sickly green. An abomination.
“What the hell is that thing!” one Ranger shouted.
Radneigh didn’t know what that abomination was, but he knew one thing, he had to run.
Grabbing his box, he scrambled through the alleyways, his radroach friends skittering after him. The gunfire grew distant, but Radneigh knew the Wasteland was never safe for long.
He needed a new home.
Maybe an old sewer. Maybe an abandoned diner. Maybe… just maybe… he could find somewhere a little less cruel.
But no matter where he went, Radneigh knew one thing for sure, he’d always have his radroach friends. And they’d always have him.
Radneigh ran until his lungs burned, his cardboard box and saddlebag bouncing on his back with each step. The sounds of gunfire and monstrous roars faded behind him, but he didn’t stop. Not until he reached a sewer entrance.
It was a rusted grate, half-buried in rubble, barely big enough for a colt to squeeze through. He kicked at it, prying it loose with sheer desperation. Big Chomp and Click-Clack scurried through first, their tiny legs tapping against the concrete as they disappeared into the darkness.
Radneigh hesitated. The Hollow Pines sewers weren’t exactly known for their hospitality. Ghouls, mirelurks, Goddess’-knows-what-else lurked down there. But he couldn’t stay up here, not with those Steel Rangers and whatever horrifying cyber-thing they were fighting.
With a deep breath, he slipped inside, dragging his box behind him.
The tunnel was damp, reeking of decay and old filth, but Radneigh had smelled worse. His hooves splashed in the shallow muck as he followed his radroach companions deeper. They clicked and chittered, guiding him through the maze of tunnels. He wasn’t sure how they always knew where to go, but he trusted them.
After what felt like hours, he spotted a dry ledge along the wall, surrounded by heaps of old trash. To anypony else, it was a dump. To Radneigh, it was a mansion.
“This’ll do,” he muttered, setting down his box and smoothing out the tarp roof.
He rummaged through the trash piles, unearthing half-eaten snack cakes, a dented Sparkle-Cola bottle, and even an old toy, a plushie of some long-forgotten Wonderbolt. He placed it beside his box like a guardian.
Big Chomp crawled onto his back, his antennae twitching. Click-Clack disappeared into a crack in the wall, returning moments later with something glinting in his mandibles.
A key.
Radneigh frowned, taking the rusty key from his tiny friend. It had numbers etched into it, 47B.
What was it doing down here?
Before he could think any further, the tunnel trembled. A deep, metallic groan echoed through the sewers, followed by heavy, unsteady hoofsteps.
Something else was down here.
And it was looking for him.
The sewer trembled. The heavy, metallic hoofsteps sent ripples through the stagnant water, each step slow and deliberate. Radneigh crouched low, holding his breath. His radroach friends scurried into the cracks and crevices of the tunnel walls, their instincts telling them to hide.
Something was coming.
A low, mechanical whine filled the air, like rusty servos struggling to move. Then a wet, gurgling breath.
Radneigh clutched the 47B key, its metal cold against his hoof. He didn’t know why, but something about it made his gut twist. Whatever was stomping toward him wasn’t just some random wasteland horror. It was tied to that key. To the thing the Rangers had been fighting.
And it was getting closer.
Click-Clack let out a frantic chitter from the wall, as if trying to warn him. Radneigh pressed himself into the trash pile, covering himself with old rags and broken bits of tarp. He had survived in the Wasteland by being quiet, by being invisible. He just had to stay still.
Then a voice cut through the darkness.
“Found… you…”
Radneigh’s blood turned to ice. The voice was garbled, distorted, like a speaker submerged in sludge. It was wrong. Too deep. Too slow.
A red glow flickered in the tunnel ahead. A single, bloodshot eye, its iris replaced with a pulsing mechanical lens, scanned the darkness. The thing stepped forward, its body a horrific fusion of pony and machine. Flesh stapled to steel, wires snaking beneath rotting skin. Its jaw hung loose, twitching as it tried to form words.
“Return… experiment… key…”
Radneigh felt his breath hitch. It wanted the key.
He slowly, carefully, tucked the key into his saddlebag, pressing himself deeper into the trash pile. Maybe it would leave. Maybe it would think he was just another pile of junk.
But then Big Chomp moved.
The radroach, ever loyal, scuttled forward, letting out a defensive hiss.
The thing’s eye snapped toward the movement. Its neck twisted with a sickening crack. Then, faster than anything that size should have been able to move, it lunged.
Radneigh barely stifled a scream as the thing crushed Big Chomp beneath its hoof with a wet squelch.
Click-Clack and Tiny Trot chittered in terror, vanishing into the tunnels. Radneigh’s breath came in quick, panicked gasps.
The thing turned, scanning the area.
“More… hiding…”
Radneigh’s heart hammered in his chest. It knew he was here.
And it wasn’t leaving.
Radneigh felt like he was drowning in his own heartbeat. The thing in the tunnel stood motionless, its grotesque mechanical eye scanning the darkness. Its metal hoof dripped with the remains of Big Chomp.
“Come… out…”
Its voice slithered through the air, slow and garbled, each syllable oozing with something wrong.
Radneigh stayed perfectly still, buried under layers of filth and scrap. He had survived this long by being unseen, by blending into the trash.
But then…
Click.
His hoof had shifted. A single, tiny bottle cap rolled off the pile.
The thing’s head snapped toward the sound.
“THERE!”
It lunged.
Radneigh’s instincts took over. He bolted from the pile, his hooves splashing through filthy water as he yanked his box onto his back. The creature shrieked, metal grinding against stone as it twisted to follow.
Then… BOOM!
A massive, rusted pipe burst as the thing slammed into it, sending a geyser of steaming water into the air. Radneigh didn’t stop to look. He ran.
The tunnels twisted and turned in every direction, but he knew them well. He had spent years scavenging their depths, dodging ghouls and mirelurks. He just had to…
“CLOSER.”
The thing was gaining. Its hooves smashed into the ground, each step sending tremors through the walls. It didn’t slow down for obstacles, it just plowed through them.
Radneigh’s lungs burned. His box flapped wildly on his back. He had to think.
Ahead, the tunnel split. Left led deeper into the sewers, a bad idea. Right led toward an old maintenance ladder.
Radneigh veered right.
He leaped onto the rusted rungs, scrambling upward as fast as his hooves would allow. Below, the thing skidded to a halt, its single glowing eye locking onto him.
For a moment, he thought he’d made it.
Then the thing jumped.
Its rotten metal limbs clamped onto the ladder, bending the metal with a shriek.
Radneigh barely had time to react before it swung at him. A massive, rusted limb smashed into his side, sending him flying.
Pain exploded through his ribs as he hit the ground hard, his box skidding away. His vision blurred. His ears rang.
Footsteps. Closer. Closer.
“No… more… hiding…”
Radneigh coughed, tasting copper. His body screamed at him to move, but he could barely breathe. The thing loomed over him now, its grotesque, stitched-together face twitching in something almost like a smile.
It raised its hoof…
A shrill, piercing chitter echoed through the tunnel.
Then another. And another.
From the cracks in the walls, from the pipes above, from the deepest shadows of the sewer, came a swarm.
Click-Clack. Tiny Trot. And hundreds of other radroaches.
They poured onto the monster like a living tide.
It screamed. A sound of metal grinding, circuits sparking, and a deep, distorted rage. It thrashed, stomping wildly, crushing dozens of radroaches beneath its weight. But there were too many.
Radneigh forced himself up, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side. His box lay nearby. His key lay nearby.
He grabbed both and ran.
The thing shrieked behind him, buried under the writhing swarm. Radneigh didn’t look back.
He didn’t stop running.
Not until he saw light.
A sewer grate. Rusted, barely hanging on. Without thinking, he threw himself at it, crashing through, tumbling onto cracked pavement. Cold night air filled his burning lungs.
He was outside.
He turned just in time to see the thing charging at the grate, just as it collapsed under its weight. The monster plunged back into the darkness below.
Silence.
Radneigh sat there, panting, trembling, heart hammering like a war drum.
Then, soft clicking.
Click-Clack and Tiny Trot emerged from the hole. Click-Clack’s shell was cracked but still alive.
Radneigh let out a shaky breath and scooped both the radroaches up.
“Yeah, buddies,” he whispered. “That was way too close.”
He didn’t know why the thing wanted the key. Or what it had been before it became… that.
But he wasn’t sticking around to find out.
Radneigh adjusted his box on his saddlebag, cradled Click-Clack and Tiny Trot, and limped into the wasteland.
Time to find a new home.
Radneigh limped into the wasteland, his battered cardboard box strapped securely to his back. Click-Clack clung to his shoulder, his antennae twitching, while Tiny Trot scuttled along beside him, clicking his mandibles in quiet determination.
They had survived.
But survival wasn’t the same as safety.
The wasteland stretched before them, an endless sprawl of cracked roads and skeletal buildings under a sky choked with gray clouds. Hollow Pines' ruins loomed behind them, a tomb of rust and regret. Radneigh didn’t know where he was going, only that he had to keep moving.
His ribs ached with every step, but he couldn’t stop. That thing in the sewer wasn’t dead. He knew it. Even buried under a mountain of radroaches, it had screamed, not died.
And he still had the key.
He pulled it from his ragged saddlebag and turned it over in his hooves. 47B.
What did it open? Why had the cyber-thing wanted it so badly? Was it connected to the Steel Rangers?
Radneigh shuddered and shoved it back into his saddlebag. Some doors weren’t meant to be unlocked.
By sundown, Radneigh had found shelter, an old diner, its neon sign long dead. The roof had caved in on one side, but the walls still held. It was good enough.
He set his box down in a booth, curling up inside it. Tiny Trot found a spot under the table, while Click-Clack perched near a cracked jukebox.
The wind howled outside. Distant gunfire echoed across the ruins. Somewhere far away, a mutated beast let out a hungry roar.
Radneigh shivered and pulled his box tighter around himself. He had lived like this for years, always moving, always hiding. He should be used to it.
But tonight felt different.
Tonight, something was watching.
He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t hear it. But he felt it. A presence lingering just beyond the shattered windows.
He held his breath.
In the dark, a single red light flickered.
A mechanical whir. A distorted whisper.
“…key…”
Radneigh squeezed his eyes shut.
And didn’t sleep at all.
Radneigh didn’t wait for morning.
The second he saw that red light flicker in the dark, he was moving.
He grabbed his box, threw Click-Clack onto his shoulder, whistled for Tiny Trot, and bolted out the back of the diner. His hooves pounded against the cracked pavement, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
Behind him, the thing moved.
It didn’t run like a pony. It lurched, like its legs weren’t made for speed, but for crushing. It didn’t need to sprint, it just needed to keep coming.
And it always did.
“KEY… RETURN…”
Radneigh nearly tripped. The voice was closer now, slithering through the ruined streets like a curse.
Click-Clack let out a frantic chitter. Tiny Trot scuttled ahead, clicking his mandibles as if urging Radneigh to hurry.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
He took a sharp turn down an alley, leaping over a rusted trash bin. The smell of rot and old oil filled the air. The ground was slick with something foul. His hooves skidded, but he kept going.
A chain-link fence loomed ahead.
Radneigh didn’t slow down. He leaped, scrambling up the metal links, ignoring the way they cut into his hooves. Click-Clack scuttled onto his mane, while Tiny Trot simply climbed over it like the little genius he was.
Radneigh threw himself over the top.
And landed in a heap of old bones.
He barely had time to scream before he scrambled up, hooves crunching on ancient remains.
Then…
BOOM.
The fence exploded behind him.
Radneigh ducked as shrapnel rained down, metal shrieking against concrete. He turned, eyes wide…
The thing stood in the wreckage, its single red eye burning through the dust. Its body was torn, its cybernetic limbs sparking, but it didn’t care.
It never cared.
“YOU… CANNOT… RUN…”
Radneigh wanted to scream. His whole life had been running. It was the only thing he was good at.
But this?
This wasn’t running.
This was drowning in quicksand.
The thing stepped forward. The bones beneath its hooves snapped like twigs. The ground trembled.
Radneigh’s mind raced. He needed a way out. Somewhere to hide. Somewhere it couldn’t follow.
His eyes darted around, then locked onto a storm drain at the far end of the alley. A small opening, barely big enough for a pony.
But Radneigh?
Radneigh wasn’t just any pony.
He was Raggity Radneigh.
The stallion who lived in a box.
The stallion who could fit anywhere.
He bolted.
The thing lunged. A rusted limb swung through the air, missing him by inches. Sparks flew. Metal tore through the brick wall beside him.
Radneigh hit the ground and slid.
Mud. Bones. Trash. It didn’t matter. He dived into the drain, the opening barely wider than his shoulders.
Behind him…
CRASH.
The thing slammed into the entrance. Its massive, twisted frame couldn’t fit. Its hoof clawed at the edge, scraping concrete.
But it was too big.
For the first time, Radneigh saw it stop.
It stood there, red light flickering, metal chest rising and falling in a sick, mechanical rhythm. Its eye locked onto him, burning into his skull.
Then…
It laughed.
A horrible, glitching sound, like a radio signal warping in and out of existence.
“RUN… ALL YOU WANT… RADNEIGH…”
“I’LL… CATCH YOU… EVENTUALLY…”
Radneigh shivered.
He didn’t ask how it knew his name. He didn’t want to know.
He just turned and disappeared into the drain.
Back into the dark.
Back into nowhere.
Radneigh didn’t stop moving until his hooves ached, his breath came in ragged gasps, and the sewer tunnels stretched endlessly in every direction.
He collapsed against a rusted pipe, pressing a hoof to his ribs. Everything hurt.
Click-Clack skittered onto his shoulder, his antennae twitching against Radneigh’s cheek. Tiny Trot huddled next to him, letting out soft, concerned chitters.
Radneigh swallowed hard and pulled the key from his saddlebag.
47B.
That thing, whatever it was, had nearly killed him over it. He had spent his entire life running, hiding in filth, scraping by on scraps.
But if he didn’t figure out why this key mattered, it would never stop.
That thing would never stop.
Radneigh clenched his jaw.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Time to find out what the hell this thing unlocks.”
Radneigh knew about old-world codes. Buildings, doors, storage lockers, they all used numbers. If this key had 47B on it, that meant it was for something specific.
He just had to find it.
Click-Clack and Tiny Trot followed as he climbed through the tunnels, emerging onto the surface once more. The wasteland stretched before him, endless and empty. The wind howled through crumbling buildings.
Hollow Pines was filled with numerous ruins, but Radneigh had a hunch.
Old Ministry buildings.
They had codes. They had secrets.
And most importantly?
They had locks.
By nightfall, Radneigh found himself staring at a half-buried bunker.
The metal sign above the entrance was rusted, but still readable:
MINISTRY OF ARCANE SCIENCE – HOLLOW PINES BRANCH
His heart pounded.
The key burned in his hooves.
Click-Clack let out a nervous chitter. Tiny Trot scuttled in a circle, on edge.
Radneigh swallowed and stepped forward.
The bunker’s door was sealed tight, a thick steel hatch with a rusted terminal beside it.
And just below the terminal?
A keyhole.
Radneigh’s breath hitched.
This was it.
47B.
He slid the key in.
Turned it.
Click.
The bunker door rumbled.
Metal scraped against metal as ancient locks disengaged. The terminal flickered to life, its screen glowing with green light.
A voice crackled through the speakers.
“Access granted. Welcome back, Dr. Petal.”
The bunker’s air was thick with dust and secrets. Radneigh stepped forward, his hooves echoing through the dimly lit halls. Flickering emergency lights bathed the place in an eerie glow.
Click-Clack chittered nervously on his shoulder, while Tiny Trot scurried ahead, his little legs tapping against the cold metal floor.
Radneigh took a deep breath. He had spent his whole life running. But not anymore.
He had the key. He had come this far.
Now, it was time to learn the truth.
The bunker wasn’t abandoned.
Terminals still hummed. Screens flickered with old data. Radneigh passed rows of storage lockers, each marked with a different number. Some were empty, others held rusted weapons or strange mechanical parts.
Then he saw it.
Locker 47B.
It sat at the far end of the room, untouched for centuries.
Radneigh swallowed hard.
Click-Clack twitched his antennae. Tiny Trot clicked his mandibles.
Radneigh inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
He slowly pulled the door open...
And inside, sitting on a small velvet cushion, was a tiny, golden music box.
Radneigh blinked.
“…What?”
He expected weapons. Secrets. A megaspell prototype. Something big.
But a music box?
Confused, he lifted it carefully and flipped it open.
A soft, delicate tune began to play, a lullaby, sweet and familiar. The kind of song a mother would sing to her foal.
As the melody drifted through the air, something changed.
A distant, metallic howl echoed through the bunker.
Radneigh’s ears flattened.
The thing had found him.
Radneigh turned just in time to see the monster tear through the bunker’s entrance.
It was bigger than before, its metal plating scorched from its last battle. Wires and tubes dangled from its frame like entrails.
But its eye, that single, burning red eye, still glowed with hate.
“KEY… MUST… BE… RETURNED…”
Radneigh gritted his teeth.
“No.” He clenched the music box tighter. “I think this was never yours to begin with.”
The monster lunged.
Radneigh dove aside as its rusted claws tore through the air, barely missing him. Sparks flew as it crashed into the storage lockers, sending debris flying.
Tiny Trot leaped onto its back, biting into exposed wires. Click-Clack scuttled over its head, jamming his tiny legs into its mechanical eye.
The monster screeched and thrashed, trying to shake them off.
Radneigh saw his chance.
He grabbed a fallen metal pipe, gripping it tight in his hooves.
And then…
He swung.
The pipe slammed into the monster’s eye with a deafening crack.
The red light flickered.
Radneigh swung again, harder.
Another crack. Sparks burst from its head.
The monster staggered.
Radneigh roared and brought the pipe down one last time.
With a final, shrieking whine, the red light died.
The monster collapsed.
Sparks danced from its ruined frame. Metal twitched. Gears whined.
Then, finally…
It was silent.
Radneigh panted, dropping the pipe. His hooves shook. He had done it.
It was over.
Click-Clack scuttled down his shoulder, unharmed. Tiny Trot clicked happily, victorious.
Radneigh chuckled weakly. “We actually won.”
He looked down at the music box, still playing its soft, harmonic tune.
And that’s when he saw it.
A name carved into the underside of the lid.
“Property of Daisy Petals. Happy birthday, my little flower.”
Radneigh felt his chest tighten.
This key… this bunker… none of it was about war…
It was just a forgotten gift.
Something somepony had once hidden away, meant to be found by somepony they loved.
And in all the chaos, all the destruction…
Radneigh had been the one to find it.
Radneigh walked into the wasteland with the music box tucked safely in his saddlebag.
For the first time, he wasn’t running.
The monster was gone. The nightmares were over.
For once, he could just… live.
He found a quiet hill overlooking the ruins, where the sky stretched wide and the air felt free. He set his cardboard box down, crawled inside, and let out a slow breath.
Click-Clack curled up beside him. Tiny Trot nestled close.
The music box played one last soft, beautiful note.
Radneigh closed his eyes.
And for the first time in his life…
He slept peacefully.
The End.
Footnote: Item Acquired- Daisy Petals Music Box- The soft, sweet melody of the music box is more than just a tune, it’s a reminder of a simpler, more peaceful time before the world fell apart. When wound up and played, the gentle lullaby has a calming effect, easing the weary mind and providing strength to those who listen. It may not be much, but in the heart of the wasteland, sometimes a little comfort is all you need.
New Perk added: Symphony of the Silent: Once per day: Whenever you activate a music box (or a similar item) in your inventory, you gain a +2 boost to your Luck for 3 hours and a small regeneration of health over time (2 HP per second for 10 seconds). Nearby allies within 10 meters are also affected, gaining an additional 5% of their health restored over the same duration.
