Fallout Equestria: Blood of Steel

by Viewing_Glass

Rating: teen
Tags: Crossover, Dark, Adventure
Length: 4704

A closer look at the Steel Rangers, following the life of Acolyte Iron Sights

After coming across a record of a forgotten city on the southern coast of Equestria, Acolyte Iron Sights is sent as part of an expedition to catalogue both the technology and the hazards of the area. As this unicorn soon finds out, some things are best left buried…

*WARNING*: This story takes place 30 years before the opening of Stable 2 and the events of Fallout Equestria. Thus, the Wasteland might be a different place than you know…

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-11-30 04:30:17 UTC

Prologue

‘You can’t have an ending without a beginning…’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

17 years BG (Before Gardens)

Silence. Nearly silence, anyway. The fat snowflakes hit the streets of Stalliongrad interrupted only by the panting of the earth pony colt inside the Flam and Sons’ warehouse. His black coat and golden mane soaked in sweat, it couldn’t mar his cutie mark, a golden mirror. Steam drifted from his back, curling into the cold northern air. The golden glow of unicorn magic danced about the colt, doing the best to keep the weariness at bay…but even that had its limits. The colt had pushed himself to the breaking point, knowing that if he couldn’t pull the wagon to Garrison, his brother and the cargo would never get to safety.

They’d been lucky to find the warehouse to rest in. It had been thoroughly looted, of course, but it still held half-built auto-wagons and other such treasures from the Old World. The building didn’t have any raiders in it, which would have been surprising, had the rest of Stalliongrad not also survived the apocalypse relatively unscathed. Relatively was the key word; most of the city still had taken substantial damage from conventional bombing. Spared the devastating force of balefire bombs, these buildings were the perfect shelter for any pony brave, foolish, or desperate enough to stay above ground.

The colt shook his head as he started to catch his breath, his coat twitching and body shaking as the cold nipped at him. A blanket, bathed in the golden glow of a unicorn’s telekinesis, fell on the colt’s back, and it was all the colt could do not to scream bloody murder. He turned, ready to fight, and saw his bespectacled twin hopping out of the tarp-covered wagon.

“Viewing Glass! I almost killed you!” The earth pony hissed at the unicorn, doing his best to keep his voice down.

Viewing Glass gave a tired chuckle, his golden horn darkened by the stress and strain of the trip. His cutie mark, a magnifying glass, his horn and the glasses were the only way to tell the brothers apart. “Looking Glass, you need to stay warm. If you get sick, Pa will whip my flank like nothin’ else.” Viewing Glass spoke a soft southern accent, similar to their father’s.

“Heh, yeah he would.” The earth pony absentmindedly tugged at the blanket as he spoke, his northern accent a reminder of their mother. It didn’t take much tugging for the blanket to cover his cutie mark, an ornate mirror. “Shouldn’t you be resting? You nearly burnt yourself out getting us here.”

Viewing Glass shook his head, looking up at the ceiling of the warehouse. “Nah, ah’m fine. Pa woke me up, reminded us we didn’t want to be above ground after dark. The bloodwings are supposed to be bad up here,” he said before turning back to the wagon.. He looked back at the covered wagon a moment before solemnly speaking. “He wants to talk to you.”

Looking Glass’s eyes widened, the sky-blue reflection of his eyes in his brother’s glasses a reminder of their mother. “I thought…”

Viewing Glass closed his golden eyes, looking down at the ground. His voice was a whisper as he said, “Me too. Ah’m not sure if he’ll wake up again. His notes on that vine ain’t too clear.”

Both colts jumped as a voice, deep and rich, drawled from the darkness of the wagon. “ ‘Ain’t’ is not a word, Viewing Glass. Do we need to have that discussion again?” The southern voice from inside the wagon had just the faintest hint of amusement to it.

Viewing Glass pawed at the ground a bit, a slight blush spreading over his cheeks. “No Pa. Sorry ‘bout that.” Looking Glass grinned a bit, his eyes twinkling as his younger brother got in trouble.

“Good. Looking Glass, get in here.” The southern voice hardened slightly in command as it was the older brother’s turn to look guilty. That voice spoke with a tone all too familiar, one that hinted at punishment involving a belt or cane.

Looking Glass started for the wagon, and Viewing Glass nodded at him. “Ah’ll keep an eye out.”

Looking Glass nodded and took hold of the blanket in his teeth, throwing it over his brother before hopping into the wagon. He pulled one of the flashlights out of his saddlebags, flicking it on, and it took all his self-control to keep the tears from flowing.

The beam of light fell on the white marble statue of the pegasus mare first. Thick bolts held the straps firmly in place, wrapped with a blanket to keep them from damaging the statue. It still couldn’t hide her flared wings, or her left foreleg lifted in surprise. Her eyes were open wide, and the detail on the statue was impressive. Looking Glass could make out the numerous scars over her legs and body, thin white lines, and her cutie mark displayed a gust of wind slicing through a piece of paper like a razor. Even the knotted scars over her ribs were so real, it looked like she would just start breathing again. Like this was all a joke she was playing.

The beam shifted, focusing on the body of a unicorn stallion lying next to her. His body glowed with a faint golden light, but that couldn’t help everything from his neck down. It was the same white marble as the pegasus mare, also bolted and strapped down to the floor of the wagon. From the neck up though, he was the spitting image of the colts. His eyes opened, and they glowed with a soft golden light. “Looking Glass…”

Looking Glass pulled on the head of the flashlight with a hoof, turning the flashlight into a lantern, and he set it down. “Dad, you shouldn’t be talking! You can beat that silly plant!” he shouted, taking a couple steps forward and stomping the floor of the wagon to emphasize his point.

His father chuckled and shook his head. He looked back at the colt in front of him for a moment before speaking again. “Ah’m sorry son. Ah’ll try. But ah need you to promise something.”

“Anything, but then you need to rest!”

“Promise me you’ll look after your brother while ah’m getting’ better.”

Looking Glass stepped back, and rolled his eyes before responding. “You know I already do that.”

“Promise me.” The stallion’s voice was hard, commanding.

It took Looking Glass a second, but then he nodded. “I p-promise.” The harsh tone was too much, and a couple tears splashed to the wooden floor of the cart.

“Good boy. Now, get us to Garrison and ah’ll keep my promise.” The stallion’s eyes closed, and the golden glow around his body brightened and began to pulse as he resumed fighting the poison once more. Even the stallion’s cutie mark, a slightly raised screw at the end of a gun barrel, was glowing.

Looking Glass took a moment to dry the tears and turn off the flashlight before he got out. His legs shook, but he kept the tears from pouring down his cheeks as he got into the harness for the wagon. “Get in, Viewing. We’ll make it to Garrison tonight.”

Viewing Glass got in the wagon without saying a word, and a few points on the tarp floated up, glimmering in golden light as he started to keep watch. A moment later, Looking Glass’s hooves began to glow with a golden light. The light hardened into spiked hooves that dug slightly into the stone floor of the warehouse, and Looking Glass could feel Viewing’s magic strengthening his legs.

It didn’t take long for the wagon, drawn by the crying Looking Glass, to start moving down the streets. He cried silently and slowly started to move faster, focusing on his breathing and his hoofsteps. Each step he took, he pulled a little faster, pushed a little harder, and soon he couldn’t cry anymore as he threw everything he had into moving that wagon as fast as he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paladin Iron Phalanx stood guard at the surface gate to Garrison, a town that had once been a Stalliongrad Metro station. Now, it was a place where the Stalliongrad Steel Rangers and their families could live what passed for peaceful lives in the wasteland. The dusk watch was usually calming, but the sounds of gunshots had been echoing through the city for hours, approaching the settlement quickly.

Paladin Phalanx brought up a foreleg and tapped a button on the casing of her armor to switch on her radio, setting it on the military frequency. "Possible hostiles approaching surface gate. Requesting backup." She set her hoof down after keying up Eyes-Forward Sparkle, her battle saddle loading grenades into her mounted launchers with a pair of solid thumps.

Her eyes widened as a covered wagon, tarp flapping in its own wind, turned onto the street a few blocks away from Garrison. The wagon fishtailed through the turn, skidding across the ice and snow covered cobbles as the earth pony colt pulling it fought to keep the wagon under control. Phalanx noticed the colt’s hooves and legs radiated the same golden light as the shield spell covering the wagon.  The colt looked exhausted, but pulled the wagon as if the Nightmare herself chased him. He kept running, and the wagon straightened on its course, directly toward Phalanx and the entrance to Garrison. Her EFS tagged them as friendlies, and she relaxed tension on her firing bit. But she didn’t release it. The EFS was usually accurate, but she didn’t want to risk a false positive.

Four ponies followed close behind, pursuing the wagon. Two unicorns and two earth ponies, in suits of full combat armor and holding hunting rifles either in telekinesis or their mouths. The only identifying symbol was the white ‘47’ slapped on the front of the armor, and the red outline of the Paladin’s EFS.

"Luna-scorned 47s! First shooting at Steel Rangers, now chasing kids? No better than raiders!" she growled out as she bit down. Her grenade launchers launching once each, sending their payloads soaring toward the two furthest from the wagon. For a moment the grenades hung in the air before both shots landed with an explosion, turn the pursuing ponies into smoking pulp. The other two 47s, knocked over by the shock from the grenades, leapt to their hooves. Their eyes wide in recognition of what they were in range of they galloped away, even as the shield over the wagon flickered and vanished.

The colt harnessed to the wagon screamed, the golden light around his legs vanishing as he tried to slow the wagon. He slipped on the icy road, the momentum of the wagon pushing him into the street, and the screaming grew into a howl of pain. Another colt popped out from inside the wagon, horn smoking as he grabbed the hoofbrakes and wrenched them up, bracing himself against the wagon’s bench. Braking too suddenly, the wagon fishtailed and started to skid.

Paladin Phalanx raced forward to meet them, rearing up on her hind legs as the wagon slid towards her. Her forehooves slammed into the wagon as she braced her rear legs against the dirt. Five hundred pounds of power-armored pony met the wooden wagon with a crash of wood against metal, pushing the mare back on the ice a little way before it finally stopped. Her armor protested the abuse, flashing severe damage warnings at her before the repair talismans took over. She looked to see if everypony was okay. The unicorn colt leaned against the headboard but was still breathing.

The earth pony was another story completely. He wasn’t moving, and his blood seeped into the ice and snow of the street. "I need a medic team to the front gate, ASAP!" Phalanx screamed into her radio before reaching for the unicorn colt to assess his injuries. The colt winced and stirred as Phalanx’s steel-clad hoof touched him. He turned his head toward her. His horn was cracked and smoking, and his eyes were glazed over in pain as he looked up at her.

“M-mane Sc-cribe…Iron…S-sights…C-code Ap-ple L-luna Mac. R-requ..st san…ctu...ary.” As odd as his southern accent was this far north, his code was even odder. It was an old one from before the bombs, to identify Steel Rangers not in armor.

Paladin Phalanx flicked on the speakers in the Power Armor. “Zdrastvooyte little pony. You have the blood of Steel?”

The unicorn nodded. "Check... under..." Tears flowed down his cheeks as he choked up, unable to finish the sentence, pointing a shaky hoof at the tarp before slumping down again, unconscious.

Looking down at him, she gasped as she noticed the damage he'd suffered; two of his ribs were broken, gleaming in the late afternoon light as they stabbed through his black coat. The colt had covered them up while awake. Phalanx didn't speak a word as metal hooves sounded against stone and she pulled the tarp back on the wagon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The stallion in the back dropped his healing spell as the tarp snapped loose from the wagon and taken away. His eyes glanced up at the welcome sight of a Ranger's helmet, the markings on her armor identifying her as a Paladin. He could feel both his sons alive, but each in great pain from the journey and crash. He resisted the impulse to cast a healing spell on them, the risk of the plant’s poison leaking into them along with it was too great. All he could do was trust the Paladin before him.

                “Mane Scribe Iron Sights, of the Hoofston Rangers,” he said. The Paladin came to attention almost as a reflex, and Iron Sights smiled. “Protect my sons, and don’t let the unicorns use ANY magic on me.” The Paladin nodded, accepting the order. Iron Sights nodded as well, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the statue next to him. He enveloped himself in his magic, and fell away into the darkness of those early days. The days when he had first been assigned to investigate what had been the southernmost port of Equestria, the days before he had become Mane Scribe.

The city of Hoofston.

Chapter 1: Sheltered Beginnings

Chapter 1: Sheltered Beginnings

‘Steel Rangers aren’t born! They’re produced in pods, sent out to kill us all and take our stuff!’

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

30 years BG

        “Hey everypony, it’s time to wakey-wakey so you can PAR-TAY!” The voice of Ministry Mare Pie seemed to be unusually upbeat and cheerful for 5 AM. The little mechanical mare, painted bright pink, continued to dance about on the nightstand beside the bed. Her endless chatting and shouting about all the things she’d be doing today was almost loud enough to wake the dead. From under the covers reached a single pony leg, jet-black, with fetlock neatly trimmed. The hoof at the end of the leg groped for the mechanical mare, trying to grab her so it could hit her fluffy pink mane and earn the owner five more minutes of sleep.

        The alarm clock seemed to have other ideas. From somewhere deep within her mane, the mare pulled a large hammer and swung it down. Her aim was precise, smashing the offending leg right where the foreleg met the hoof. That point is an incredibly sensitive point on any pony, and the colt leapt out of bed, whimpering in pain. He glared at the mechanical mare as she whistled innocently, hammer ‘hidden’ behind her back. The golden glow of his telekinesis lifted the mare to eye level, where one hoof tapped her fluffy mane. Her mane and tail fell flat, and she glared at the colt. “Absolutely no fun,” she muttered, before becoming small and statuesque.

        The colt, his black coat in need of a thorough brushing and his golden mane sticking up like he’d just received a massive shock, looked upon the little pink menace. He glared down at the miniature mare, his eyes the same color as his mane. The clock remained stationary, an inanimate object once more. “It’s just a clock, Iron. Don’t smash it.” The colt, almost a stallion now, left his bed and had to bite his lip as he tried putting weight on his injured hoof. “No matter how nice it would feel,” he growled, taking a closer look at his injury. It was starting to swell a bit; the clock’s aim had always been good.

He lifted his hoof to his horn, letting the golden glow of his magic wash over the injury, reducing the swelling and relieving the pain.  “That’s better,” the unicorn sighed, allowing all his weight to rest on his hooves. He turned, his golden horn glowing as he telekinetically made his bed, careful to make it neat enough and the covers tight enough that he could bounce a pre-war bit from the bed back into his hoof.

        Iron continued with his morning routine, showering and taking care of other toiletries over the next half-hour.  By the end of the routine, he’d wrangled both coat and mane into the image of a proper military pony. His cutie mark, the barrel of a gun with a screw raised up on it, reflected the light neatly along with the rest of his coat. He walked to the hooflocker at the end of his bed, opened it up, and pulled out the robes of a scribe. Except a ten-gallon cowpony hat, he’d emptied the locker. The unicorn left the hat inside and closed the hooflocker.

        He left his room, locked the door behind him, and headed down the hall to the right. He opened the door at the end of the hall and walked into one of the central sections of the cement bunker. A banner hung from each support column, displaying on a golden background ponies in power armor rearing at an invisible foe. Between the ponies, each banner bore a sword on top of a shield on top of a scroll. The sword’s hilt resembled an apple stem, and the shield an apple: the emblem of the Steel Rangers. The same emblem stamped on each piece of equipment the Rangers used.  At the base of each column and facing the entrance to the bunker sat a 10mm turret, the lights glowing as it scanned for new targets. The colt was on the ground floor, and above him was the steel grating that acted as the second floor of this bunker. The unicorn headed up the nearby stairs and down another hall, walking through the primary bunker of the Steel Ranger base and into the medical quarters where he was stationed this morning.

        Before the war, the medical quarters had been a mess hall for the Rangers. Most of the ‘beds’ were currently old tables from the mess. The colt remembered when he had first been assigned to medical and, instead of helping patients, been delegated to mixing concrete for the new tunnels, with the ingredients kept in bags on those same tables. They’d been moved out of medical, of course, and the colt released a sigh as he remembered mixing the sand, clay, rock dust and water for the others to pour over the scrap metal reinforcement.

        Behind the main desk in the medical quarters stood a unicorn with a blue coat, her pink mane tinged with grey. Her cutie mark, a golden caduceus, might cause a Wastelander to perform a double-take. On the other hoof, a group of fortified bunkers in the Appleloosian mountains that housed Steel Rangers would cause most Wastelanders to double-take...before running.

        The mare looked at the colt before her, and shook her head. “Tried to hit the snooze button again, Acolyte?”

        The unicorn looked up in shock at the mare, and then back down at his hoof. While his spell had temporarily relieved both the pain and swelling, the spot where the clock had injured him had started to swell up again. The spell was keeping the pain away, but wouldn’t for much longer. “Yeah. Ah’d thought that bit of tech would’ve worn down after 200 years,” he said. His voice was deep, and the southern accent was soft. He took a few moments more to fix his hoof properly with both magic and medical knowledge, and soon stood tall in front of his mentor.

        The mare chuckled, her voice a rich soprano. “Something made by Ministry Mare Pie breaking down? The clouds will part before that happens, Iron Sights.” She rustled through the files on her desk, and she attached a piece of paper on a clipboard. “I have a few things I need you to do today, but it isn’t much. You should still have time to take the Amanuensis.”

        His eyes widening, Iron Sights remembered what made this day unique. The Amanuensis was the test every Scribe took when they reached the age of 16. Its purpose was to help an acolyte determine which of the three orders they should focus on, whether it was Sword, Shield, or Scroll.

        The aged mare looked down at the acolyte with pity. “You forgot about it, didn’t you?”

        Iron Sights shook his head and grinned. “Nope! Ah-ah was testin’ yah! And yah passed with flyin’ colors!”  He tried to keep the grin up as the mare stared at him. It didn’t take long for Iron Sights’ smile to break under the glare, and he lowered his face toward the ground. “Yeah, I forgot” he mumbled toward the ground, just barely loud enough for anypony to hear.

        The mare sighed, shaking her head. “Well, at least you can’t fail the test. Have you thought about what group you want to join?”

        Iron Sights took the clipboard, examining the list of things to do on it. “Not really. Ah mean, with my cutie mark and my skill in medicine and medical magic; that means Ah could go to either Sword or Scroll. What do you think Miz Pill?”

        The mare smacked her forehead with a hoof and stood for a moment, before setting the hoof down. “Iron Sights, quit thinking like a robot” Pill said. “I didn’t ask where you would be good fit, I asked where you wanted to be.” She glared at him for a moment, then closed her eyes. “Besides, call me Bitter. You’re not my student anymore.”

        Iron Sights silently headed over to one of the cabinets and started to check the inventory. Not much changed for the bunkers in the mountains, but checking the inventory was still something that needed to be done. The Rad-Away and the Rad-X were low again, but with the number of scribes going to and from the bunkers, he’d expected that. A new shipment would come in tomorrow, and things would be back to normal. “Ah think ah’d like to go to Scroll” he said, finally.

        Bitter looked up from her paperwork. “What?”

        Iron Sights moved over, using the key to unlock the cabinet with Med-X. Useful stuff, but the addiction was so subtle that a pony wouldn’t realize they were hooked until they had a serious problem. Medical kept the stuff under lock and key, for just reason. “Ah’d like to become a Scribe of the Scroll” he repeated.

        Bitter Pill lowered the paperwork to the desk, letting her telekinesis vanish. She looked at the colt in front of her. “Why?”

        Med-X appropriately counted, Iron Sights started to count the other drugs. These were also restricted, but specifically for the use by Paladins in combat. Buck and Dash were the most common drugs used by the Paladins, but there were also a small supply of other addictive drugs. The only one that was conspicuously absent was Party-Time Mint-Als. They were deemed as being ‘Too Risky’ by the orders of the Mane Scribe, and were to be destroyed when found. “Well, if ah became a part of Sword’s group, ah’d get stuck doin’ maintenance, or havin’ to go out and assist the Paladins in the field” he said. “Same with Shield. Lotsa combat, but ah can’t reckon ah’d be really helpin’ ponies by bein’ with either group.”

        Bitter rubbed a hoof against her chin. “You’d be training Steel Rangers, especially Paladins, in both Shield and Sword. You can’t have a more noble cause than that.”

        Iron Sights made a couple marks on his clipboard, locked the cabinet and moved to counting healing potions. “Yeah, Ah know. But the Rangers are commanded to protect the Citizens of Equestria” he said. “We’ve taken that to mean that we need to make sure they don’t kill each other with the real dangerous tech out there, but we don’t go and help ‘em either. Ah wouldn’t be able to help anypony if ah was stuck learnin’ how to fix a minigun, or workin’ in a lab tryin’ to reinvent Power Armor.” Iron Sights lifted a potion, checking the consistency and color. Still that rich purple, but it looked a bit thinner than normal. It took a couple seconds of swishing the potion in the bottle before color and consistency returned to normal. He placed the bottle back on the shelf and shook his head. Must havegotten distracted in all this talking, potions are good forever.

        “Ah’m not sayin’ we shouldn’t grab balefire eggs and other nasty bits of equipment” he went on. “We should, for no other reason than to keep it out of the hooves of raiders. But can’t we extend a helpin’ hoof to the settlements?” Iron Sights set the potion back on the shelf and started to count bandages, separating the magical from the mundane.

The mare gave a dry chuckle. “We could, but you know the rule. The Rangers can’t protect the Wasteland…”

        “…until the Ponies are willin’ to be protected.”  The colt made a few more marks on the paper as he finished the first rule every young Ranger was taught. “Still don’t make it right though” he said as he moved on to checking the miscellaneous supplies. Medical bags that had everything necessary needed to fix a limb that had taken too much punishment, leg braces, sterilized needles and thread, and other useful tools in case somepony needed surgery.

        The mare wandered back to her desk, opening a drawer and pulling out a form. Her tail started pulling out a bottle of ink and an old quill while she cleared a spot on the desk. She licked the tip of the quill before she dipped the quill in the ink and started writing. “So, you’re sure you want to be in Scroll? You’ll have to study under Glass Eye.”

        Iron Sights shuddered as he thought of the Mane Scribe. “Yeah. Ah won’t mind” Iron said. “He may be a Ghoul, which is as weird as a bloodwing goin’ vegetarian, but Glass Eye is still a Ranger, and a damn fine one. Ah reckon ah could learn from him.” Iron Sights checked the last box on the list as Bitter Pill signed her name on the form. “Well, Ah’m all finished here. Might as well head over and take the Amanuensis.”

        Bitter Pill looked up from her form, taking the check list from the clipboard and putting the form in its place. “That won’t be necessary, Acolyte of the Scroll. You can start your training with Glass Eye after lunch.” She floated the clipboard back to Iron Sights, who looked back at the mare, flabbergasted.

“Huh? But the test…” The colt was cut off by the mare.

“The test is an oral examination. What? You thought you were in a Stable?” She gave a wicked grin at her former student. “I thought you would’ve caught on, but I guess I managed to distract you enough. Take that form up to the Mane Scribe after lunch. You are excused till then, Acolyte.”

Iron Sights floated the clipboard over, looking from the clipboard back to the mare who had gone back to her work. He walked out of the medical quarters and to his room in a state of shock.

Iron Sights didn’t notice Bitter Pill watching him leave. She shook her head, floating a bottle of Wild Pegasus from the bottom drawer of the desk. The cork left the bottle with a quiet ‘ploop’  as she lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a pull. She swallowed and winced. “Hopefully Glass Eye can get rid of that altruism.” She took another pull, and sighed. “The Wasteland enjoys breaking kids like him.”

Note: Character Established.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Many thanks to Dimestream and Wirepony for editing, and Kkat for giving us the world to play with.