Fallout Equestria: Monster

The eyes burned like fire.

My surroundings didn’t matter. The people around me didn’t matter. They were just blurry shapes off to the side. Pinpricks in the haze of fear I felt from being locked into place by the stare. There was no escape from the orbs.

They gleamed with malice beyond understanding. A hate deep and intense that cut through my soul and made me feel like an ant huddled beneath the shoe of a giant. A creature not even worth the flesh he’s made out of. Under their gaze all my sins were laid bare to the world and I was left exactly as I was.

Exactly what it called me.

“Nothing but a monster.”

“WAKE UP!”

A pair of hooves connected with my side with all the force an extremely pissed off mare could muster. Which is a lot. She could probably have broken rock if she wanted. I found myself flying off my mattress and onto the cold and absolutely filthy concrete.

The second I touched stone I screamed. Like a little filly. And that was before I scrambled back against the wall like my hooves were on fire. Cold sweat clung to every inch of my body, my head had an epileptic dragon inside it, and my mouth was dry as this whole goddess forsaken planet.

Another nightmare. Lovely.

“What the hell?” I asked after a few minutes spent trying to get my breathing under control and groaning from the pair of dark bruises forming under my coat. She’d just stood there watching me squirm. Enjoying my pain. The bitch hit like a round of buckshot.

“You were whining in your sleep again.” Palm's eyes were dangerous. Like a crazed animal two seconds from removing my throat. Appropriate. “I. Hate. Whining.”

“You wouldn't happen to know the meaning of irony, would you?” I hauled myself up and arbitrarily brushed some dirt off my barding. Not that it really made a difference. I hadn't been clean since…

Had I ever been clean?

“Shut up.” She flipped her mane in that way people of ‘class’ do when they want to feel superior. “Some of us need our beauty sleep.” With a harrumph that barely even covered the amount of smugness that mare put off, she retreated to her own mattress and flopped down on it, curling up on the dirty fabric.

“And some of us need to be put in a beauty coma.” I honestly didn’t have a clue what some of the others saw in Palm. She was one of the most disgusting individuals I had ever had the misfortune to associate with. She was just as likely to bite your head off as she was to suck your dick. A coat which she claimed was the color of fine beach sand had more in common with trail dust at this point. And her mane was so filthy and matted that she had to style it in dreadlocks to keep people from noting how it stuck together like glue.

Not that I could really talk in either of those departments, but it’s still disgusting.

I allowed myself one depressed sigh before taking stock.

My ‘bed’ was a mess. Just a feather mattress covered in grime and a little blood from some events I’d rather not remember. Pale concrete comprised the room Palm and I shared with the others. They were already gone. The two of us had slept in because I had a late guard shift and Palm...well, everyone agreed that she was a lot nicer when she was asleep. It used to be a bathroom, but the toilets had stopped working ages ago. We had a rule around here; if you made a mess, you had to clean it up. With your mouth.

Needless to say, the trip outside was worth it.

I stretched out like a cat and trotted to the sink that wasn't a shattered mass of porcelain on the ground with the mirror that hadn't been turned into shards to shank an idiot who cheated at cards to take care of my hygiene for the day.

I checked my reflection to make sure my coat hadn't started falling out while I was sleeping. Nope, it was all there. Same brown fur that’d I’d had since I was born. At least I think I did. Might just be the dust had been so thickly ingrained into the hair that it changed colors. My mane and tail were just as dull, but the red color was less common at least. Like that stuff you find on match heads. Phosphorous I think it was called…

With that done, I made my way out of the room, though as quietly as someone with hard hooves can be on concrete. I didn't even want to think about what would happen if I woke the bitch again. Let her sleep for another few hours. Hell, as far as I cared, she could sleep for the rest of her life.

A little push with my nose was all it took to open the door. A perk of sleeping in a bathroom, I never had to fumble with a handle. Honestly, whoever designed the damn things must have forgotten that two thirds of the population has to rely on flat hooves. It's a pain in the ass.

Off to the right towards the main room, a deep, soothing voice spoke the goings on of the wasteland through a wall of static. I smiled, glad to know the radio was still working. Sure, most of it was about how people like me should be hunted down and slaughtered. If you ignored that, the music was good. Across from me was the stallion’s bathroom. I had been considering moving my bed there. Even with the overflow, it would still beat sleeping near Palm.

I turned left and walked down the hallway to the old emergency exit that had been demoted to backdoor. We’d disconnected the alarm ages ago. And by disconnected, I mean shot until it stopped making that damn noise. I shoved it open and stepped out into the not so crisp late morning air.

The scent of dry dirt and ancient garbage reached my nose. It was a familiar smell. Hell, it was probably the smell of home for me. Depressing or not, it didn't change the fact that after all these years I had developed a resistance to stink that kept me from chopping off my own nose. Past that, the land opened up into an expanse of browns and grays that made up the entirety of the world.

This was Till, or as anyone dumb enough or desperate enough to live here call it, a pile of worthless dust. Nothing here but us, some crumbling buildings, and the only thing of even remote importance.

The road out of this dump.

You know, I might be giving Till a bad rap. After all, it wasn't so bad. We were just north enough that it was freezing cold at night while still being far enough south that we barely got any rain. And don’t get me started on all the fabulous shops and places of residence that were picked clean years ago. Or the fact that the entire western section was overrun by radhogs.

Have I mentioned that I fucking hate Till?

I squinted in the dull sunlight that managed to filter through the eternal cloud cover to shine down upon this worthless pile of crap. My hooves crunched in the dirt as I made my way to the bathroom. That being a dumpster we'd moved to block the view from the door. I put my fore hooves on the wall, and let it out.

When I was finished giving the ground the only moisture it had seen all week, I made my way back inside. Hopefully, there was still some food left so I could scrape together breakfast. Or at least something that resembled breakfast. Pickings had been rather slim this month…

Food became the furthest thing from my mind when I stepped back inside. A song kicked up down the hall. The radio blasted it out full of static, but that wouldn't stop what was to come.

“Oh fuck, not again!” Ignoring my still bruised side, I broke into a sprint to reach the main room and stop this madness before it started

“Blue moon...you saw me standing alone…”

Sprinting had never been a talent of mine.

“Without a dream in my heart…”

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to run a little faster towards the mating cats experimenting with choking themselves.

“Without a love of my own…”

I dashed into a large open room littered with shelves in various stages of togetherness and covered with the low cost junk of a bygone age.

“Blue moon...you knew just what I was there for...”

My breaths came laced with swears as I ran, desperate to get there first.

“You heard me saying a prayer for...someone I really could ca-

BANG

The gunshot startled me enough that I tripped and slid into a nearby checkout line. Old tabloids, worn from two hundred years dust gathering and the odd skimming, fell on me like a pile of bricks. Along with the stand they were sitting on. And I just happened to be lying bruised side up. This day was starting out fantastic.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU ABOUT SINGING THAT DAMN SONG?”

“Well at least we won't be completely without entertainment,” I mumbled, pulling myself out of the mess. That I’d probably have to clean up. Why the hell Cork could never learn to embrace his namesake and just shut it was a mystery and a source of despair for everyone. Maybe we’d get lucky and the boss would finally just put a bullet through his throat.

“Uhh…you told me…I didn't…uhh…” All Cork’s panicked stammering was going to do was make the boss even madder. I figured that I should get over there in case he decided to shoot a pony this time. I owed it to them to at least watch. So I limped around the shelves to take a look.

A large, grey earth pony was snarling down at a meek tan unicorn while a dark, horned mare with a pleased look stood much closer to him than necessary. Rebar, Cork, and Grease respectively. All three were were in full barding. Nothing all that strange there, no point taking it off. Mine was simple brown leather with a few metal plates over the chest and shoulders. It used to have red paint on the shoulder, but the sun and dust had a lot of criticism for that.

“JUST LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!” Rebar gestured down to the radio lying on the floor. It was the exact same failing piece of metal I’d seen hundreds of times before. Well except for a few bullet holes. Those looked new. Battle saddled to his side was a smoking shotgun. Most likely the reason I wouldn't be hearing Sweetie Bell’s singing anytime soon.

Just. Fucking. Great.

“What did you have to go and do that for?” I yelled before I could stop myself. For a moment they seemed surprised. I was right there with them to be honest. “Other people used that you know!”

“Well look who’s finally up!” the boss growled, attempting to set everything in my general direction on fire with his mind. Something that required both a horn and a brain, neither of which he had.  “You finished wetting the bed?”

“Well what do you expect? He’s always been a bit of a wet match.” Grease laughed at her own joke and curled up closer to Rebar. She was pretty much a more sarcastic version of Palm and apparently a lot better in bed. Which meant she was the boss’s personal bitch and therefore higher on the food chain than the rest of us.

My name's Matchstick by the way. That's why that joke made me groan.

“Couldn’t you have just shot Cork instead? At least then we’d solve the problem permanently!” The little prick squeaked and backed up. Coward. Though me glaring at him probably didn't help. “Hell, I’ll do it right now.”

“Lay off,” he snarled, stepping between the two of us. “That pleasure is mine and I’ll take it when I please.” If I could say anything good about Rebar it's that he was an honest bastard. You always knew who he wanted to kill.

“I just really love that song…” Cork whimpered from his place on the floor.

“No one cares!” Palm stormed in, her mane a complete catastrophe and her eyes blazing with fury. I had to clench my jaw to avoid busting. Watching her try to be intimidating was like watching a radroach try to dance. Ridiculous on any scale and always good for a laugh. “It’s bad enough I have to sleep in the same room as the bed wetter…”

“Ouch. That one almost stung a little."

“But how am I supposed to get any sleep with you howling like a dog in heat whenever that ear vomit comes on?”

“Yeah! How dare you wake up Palm and inflict her on the world!” The smirk on Grease’s face was acidic enough to eat through barding. And I only got hit indirectly. Palm looked ready to bite her head off, but a growl from Rebar reminded us what this conversation was really about.

“I am not in the mood for another one of your bitch fests!” Both mares shrunk visibly. They may have hated each other to their very core, but they’d do anything to make sure Rebar didn't get mad at them. The fact that he saw some use in them was the only thing that gave them any leverage around here.

As for the rest of us…well, here was better than starving in the Wastes.

“You!” The boss pointed a hoof at Cork, causing him to squeak in a way that would either be cute or pathetic depending on who you asked. And since it was us, pathetic AND annoying. “If I hear one more NOTE out of you, I will tear your goddess damned throat out with my teeth! Clear?” He nodded so hard I was sure his head would break off. I don’t blame him. A glare from Rebar carried extra weight from the snapped bone on his flanks.

“Not like any of us is going to be doing any singing now anyways.” I walked up to the radio and nudged it with my hoof. It let out a burst of static before going silent. I wasn't a mechanic, but judging by the size of the hole, that didn't matter so much. The thing was dead as Canterlot.

“Big deal. Why would we even need a radio when I got this?” He proudly held up his right foreleg which was clothed in a brace of metal and glass.

That PipBuck…might as well have been a crown to the rest of us. The leader had the PipBuck. That’s how it’s been since we got it and that’s how it’s going to be after the wonderful day when Rebar gets a few extra breathing holes. Any of us would have gladly given him those holes. We knew it, he knew it, and he took every opportunity to dare us to try and take it.

Especially me. Birthrights were great for taunting.

But we wouldn't. He’d personally ripped the leg off of our last boss, a unicorn named Cold Clock, to get himself the position. And he always slept with one eye open. Zipper learned that the hard way when she took a dagger to his bed one night. I’d always hated her a bit less than the other two. She was the least bitchy of the three little whores. Even let me have a turn once.

“So what are the rest of us supposed to do then? Follow you around and hope you leave your radio on?”

“Fuck if I know. Figure it out yourselves. I got stuff to do.” That ‘stuff’ became apparent when he motioned for the two mares to follow him. Palm even seemed happier since she wouldn't have to sleep with the rest of us anymore. Grease looked down by contrast. As long as they were mad at eachother, I couldn't care less. “Oh, and Match? Be sure to clean up that mess.” The three of them walked behind a small counter in the back wall and towards the door that led to the storage room. It was more of a bedroom those days. They went inside without a word and left me alone with the shaking Cork.

“Umm…I…” I shut him up with a look. One of the ones that comes with an implied gun. If I had a real one he would have pissed himself. “I’ll just…yeah…” The spineless stallion slinked out of the room in the most spineless and pathetic manner possible by pony. How no one had killed him yet…

“As if there wasn’t enough shit to deal with this morning.” I scooped the radio up in one hoof and hobbled to the other end of the market we’d converted into our base of operations, continuing with a years long effort of grinding my teeth into nubs. Converted in this context means 'braced the door and stuck some metal on the walls in case people shot it'. Though considering the size and it's inclusion of a coffee shop, a bakery, and a butcher, it was far better off as a fort than some of the other places we’d used. Like that old sewer we used once. So many assholes lost to cholera...

A short walk to said coffee shop put me back on track to getting breakfast. I hopped the counter, being mindful of the old shattered glass, and left the busted radio on the island. A couple of the cupboards used to hold sweets and fresh baked breads but were now filled with a disappointingly low amount of dry goods. I did however find a half-eaten box of Sugar Bombs tucked behind a stack of cram. How it could be half-finished when the cereal was one of the few things left with a sweet taste was anyone's guess.

Unless it was poisoned, but my gang mates weren't that subtle. They’d just shoot me.

I pulled the box from its hiding place and tipped it back; letting the tiny balls of nearly two hundred year old wheat and sugar fall into my mouth. ‘Wheat’ being used in the broadest sense. They’d have had to do something to it to make sure it had nearly the same taste after so long. At least…I heard they tasted the same from this ghoul I used to know, but I really wouldn’t trust a tongue that started rotting over a hundred and ninety years before.

“You found it huh? X is gonna be pissed.” In walked a unicorn whose mane was pure white and had a coat just a shade closer to blue. Brittle. One of only two ponies in our gang that…liked might be too strong of a word. Tolerated? Was apathetic towards? I didn't want to shoot in the face on a regular basis?

I liked him better than the boss. That’s the most accurate description of my feelings towards him I can come up with.

“X should find a better hiding place.” Another mouthful disappeared down my throat. I could already see the look on her face when she found out I swiped her cereal. It was the Bombs that much sweeter. “So, we may need to call a mechanic.” I motioned towards the radio, still splintered from buckshot.

“Hmm…” The busted electronic was picked up in an icy blue glow and held before his face. Despite his name, Brittle was a genius at repair. So much so that his mark was a light bulb. A broken one. With blood coating the sharp edges. “Alright, I see what the problem is. And I’m gonna take this slow so you can understand.” He gave me a look that was so serious it could make a charging Hellhound sit on command. “This thing’s broke as hell.” He idly chucked it over his shoulder.

“I already knew that, jackass.” I sat down and kept eating the cereal, enjoying the feeling of being pissed. It was better than being bored. “Chances of us finding a new one?”

“Slim to none.” He pulled a can of cram out with magic and flopped down next to me. We ate in silence for a while before he spoke again. “So, I think I heard someone skulking around this morning.”

“Oh?” We got unwanted guests from time to time. Idiots who heard Pon-3 talking on the radio and decided they wanted to help the world. I would say they were now helping the grass grow, but nothing grows in Till anymore. Also, I set their bodies on fire. Delicious when blackened and your stomach had been empty for a week.

I like fire. The charred skull on my ass said as much.

“Yeah. And from the sound of it…” He leaned in close, like he had some big secret. I copied him, curiosity overcoming apathy for once. “It’s a little filly who had the piss scared out of him.” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. I decided they'd look good on fire.

“Fuck you.” I grabbed my cereal and moved to the opposite corner. I was turning into a laughing stock and there wasn't much I could do about it.

 “Sounds like they’re getting worse, huh?” he asked without missing a beat. “I mean, seems like every other day now you get replaced by a foal who just stepped on his first radroach.”

“Hey, it's not like I'm controling this!” Showing weakness was bad for your health and since I woke up screaming three times a week…I was just really lucky that Cork was so meek.

Course that also meant that the second Rebar finally killed him I would become the weakest link…

“Can’t seem to control your bladder either.” He muttered it, but we both knew I heard it. In a second I’d turned around and planted both my back hooves into his muzzle. He fell back against the wall, staring at me with a dazed look on his face. True to his name, Brittle couldn't take a hit.

“The fuck-”

“Don’t,” I warned, trying to access the heat vision I just knew was buried inside me. He wisely held any further comments and picked himself up. “I don’t want to hear it.” He sat right back down and kept looking. I ignored him and finished my cereal. It wasn't going to help anything if we started a shouting match. There’d already been a catastrophe today and another one would push us that much closer to inevitably killing each other.

“They're really starting to get to you aren't they?” he said after a while. “You've been angry a lot lately.” He stood and moved a few steps closer. I decided to let him. “Actually, I can’t really remember a time these past couple months where you weren't completely pissed.”

“There’s a lot to be angry at.” I looked at the now empty box of cereal in my hooves. A smiling colt looked at me while a mushroom cloud went off in the background. I snarled and bashed the pony’s face in, wishing it was Palm, or Grease, or Cork, or Rebar. Hell, I’d settle for X or Brittle at the moment. “What the fuck am I doing here?”

“Right now, stomping on a picture.” You know, I suppose I should be glad I can’t kill people with my eyes. I’d have ended up the last living pony on the planet at this rate. “Uhh…I guess you’re here for the same reasons I am…nowhere else to go…only way to survive…”

“Yeah I know and it pisses me off!” I advance on him, and I must have looked ready to kill with the way he backed against the wall. “You know how long I've been doing this shit? Twenty-seven years! That's my whole fucking life!” I had been through weeks of nightmares and watching that fuck Rebar live large while I was stuck sleeping in a disgusted bathroom on a mattress that had the stains of at least three murders and ten rapes on it. “Hell, I’m worse off than when I started! Gang of seven ponies…”

“Eight if you count Skinny.”

“Oh, who cares about that coward?” He could rot atop that hill of his! Hell, he already was. “Gang of seven ponies, not even in charge of it, a week’s worth of food left, nightmares I can’t remember…by Celestia, could I sound anymore pathetic!” I turned away from him. I wasn't really talking to Brittle anyway. Just screaming for the sake of screaming. “Do you know where I’ll be in five years? Either dead or in the exact same place I am now! Only possible improvement I see happening is a change in leadership and even that will end up shit!” I looked at the radio, still lying in near pieces on the counter. “And now, because our ‘glorious leader’ can’t help but shoot off at every opportunity, I can't even hear people sing about how much better things used to be!”

I picked it up and chucked it against the wall. A few chips of metal flew off, but it otherwise remained in one piece. That was the last straw. I didn't want mild damage, I wanted smashed into a thousand pieces! With a snarl I began to stomp, trying to get the results I craved. I don't know whether it was seconds or minutes, but when I was done I had a pile of metal and plastic chips. Brittle watched the whole thing wide eyed.

“Wow…okay…is it really that bad?” I turned to look at him. Not angry or anything, I'd burned a good chunk out of me. Enough to go back to apathy or depression.

“You have any idea what gang some of us used to run under? Trust me, it was paradise compared to this.” I let myself flop to the ground, lost in memories of how things were.

“Well, I heard Charcoal ran things alright…”

Charcoal, self-proclaimed Ash Queen of the Wastes. Lead one of the most powerful gangs in the area. Had an entire army at her beck and call. Under her, we’d held several towns hostage and had a princesses's ransom of tithes coming our way.  It was like running the entire world.

Then she had the misfortune to catch a bad case of bullet to the head which left her title and PipBuck open to her lieutenants. Said ass hats then proceeded to start a war that reduced what used to be one of the most powerful forces in western Equestria to small, severed groups, scratching the bottom of the barrel to stay alive.

What can I say? Mom never liked things easy.

“Yeah, they were. A whole lot better than they are now.” I sat back down, still bitter about the whole situation. I didn't really have any right to be. I hadn't exactly been living large before. Gang smelled of shit no matter how high up the dung pile you were, but I’d lived better than bowing to some jackass wall of meat who spent more time fucking skanks than working towards survival.

“Maybe I should have joined up during her time.” He laughed a little and got this look on his face like he was being nostalgic. The poser. “I mean, the Ashers owned this whole area right?”

“For the most part, yeah. Anyone who said otherwise usually ended up in pieces.”

“Man. I can see why you're pissed. I'd do anything to get that back.”

"Yeah..." Go back to the times before. When I was only slightly more safe from all the targets on my back. When there was enough to eat, but I actually had to worry about poison. When I was actually expected to do more than shoot what I was told.

Being the boss's brat was a lot like being one of her lieutenants. Except you lacked the training, strength, charm, whit, emotional stability, or anything required to be one. When she told them to do something they did it as fast as they possibly could and if they fucked up they felt it. The same was with me. Even if my jobs were less important, they were no less difficult if only because I had no resources to rely on that I couldn't scrape together myself.

And as far as loving relationships went…a small scar under my left eye gave a pretty clear indication of how things were.

And that’s just the shit with Charcoal. I could go on for hours about the ass hats who made up my peers, the incompetent bastards who gave me orders, or the fact that with all the ponies we got, from all walks of life, not ONE was a decent cook! And the assassination attempts, I mean COME ON! How could they not realize that people only got as high as they did through THOSE EXACT METHODS! Of course they'd be watching out for them!

And THAT was the glory days for me.

As you can imagine, my thoughts on the future were pretty bleak.

If someone asked me if I’d trade the past and the present, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. But if someone asked me what I wanted the future to be like, the only answer that would come to mind was 'nothing worse'.

If I could make the future like the past, would I? Constantly worrying about the people around me, wondering when they’ll decide to slit my throat. Having to go out and get shot at every couple of days just to show off my strength. Always having to worry about food, water, or ammunition. Could I really be happy with that?

And if not that, then what else would there be? I could try to start my own gang. I knew all the basics of leading one. And there were always ponies with no place to go who would join up. But…I wasn't exactly the most physically intimidating pony. It’d be hard to keep a group of vicious psychopaths in line. Every single one of them would be looking for a chance to take my spot. I’d be dead within a week.

Be like Skinny? Go out and find some abandoned shack to squat in? Make a deal with a local gang for protection so I could live out my days picking through old buildings? It sounded…boring…and incredibly difficult.

I could go slaver…if I could find a group that would take anyone…which wasn't a lot. They’d see me as likely to kill the slaves before they could sell them. Dead merchandise didn't turn a profit. They’d probably shoot me on principle.

As far as I could see, this was the most I could expect out of life. Attacking anyone who came through my town to grab whatever they had so I could prolong my life. Do this day in, day out until someone got off a lucky shot that left me drying up in the dust.

There wasn't really any point in thinking about it. Nothing I could do to change it so why bother going over the facts? It was all just a straight shot to a shallow-

“MATCH!”

I jumped, ears ringing from close proximity screaming. Brittle had apparently gotten tired of sitting in silence.

“You alright?” He actually sounded concerned. I was almost touched. “You dropped off the face of the earth for a bit there.”

“I did?” I shook my head, clearing a small bit of the fog that had taken over my brain. “How long?”

“A couple minutes. Looked like your dog was being cooked in front of you.” It's a very specific look. One the both of us had seen multiple times. “Pining for days gone by?"

“You could say that.” No point bringing it up. Talking about it with someone else would just make the both of us fall into depression. “Sweet Celestia do I need a drink...or a smoke."

“Like that’s going to happen. You know Rebar always takes the good stuff.” There was the slightest hint of a growl in his tone. Alcohol was a precious resource out here and four out of seven of us were going on a three month dry spell.

“Yeah. Besides, we haven’t had any prey for over a month…”

“GREEN FLAG!” A mare with a coat to match the flag and a black mane burst through the front door at full gallop. She tore past the two of us without a hint of acknowledgement and sprinted right to the center of the market, atop a short platform one of the smarter bosses had built for anouncements. “Skinny tossed up a green flag on the cliff! There’s a caravan coming!”

Ah Skinny, our skinless spotter. We had a deal with him. He warned us of incoming travelers, we didn't tear him limb from limb and use his skull for target practice. Also, he got a quarter of the take to make sure he didn't die (or finish dying, I’m not sure which it is) up in that shack of his. He had three flags he put up. Green for an easy target, yellow for a challenge, and red which meant GET IN YOUR HOLES AND HIDE! DEATH IS COMING!

We’d only seen the last one once for a caravan of Steel Rangers that rolled through here once. What they were doing in Till was something I didn't know or  care about.

“You serious?” Brittle called out as we trotted up to the mare. It wasn't hard to hear the excitement in his voice.

“Of course I’m serious! You think I’d joke about something like this?” The gleam in X’s eye was manic. But also a little childish. I think it was one of the reasons she was the other member of our little company that didn't drive me up a wall constantly.

And yes, she has a name other than X. But she also has a large X shaped scar across her face and on both flanks so that’s what we call her. Still didn't know whether they were the product of torture, self-inflicted, or just a crazy accident.

“About fucking time!” I all but cheered. Just what I needed to get me out of this slump. The chance to shoot something. Hell, maybe Rebar would die in the fighting!

“I’ll go get the boss! Saddle up boys, we gotta move!” She back flipped off the platform and ran over to where Rebar had his quarters. Brittle and I turned towards the butcher that we’d converted into an armory of sorts. I would say it was ironic that the contents of that room were still being used to turn things into meat, but I doubt the pony that set things up that way even knew the word irony existed.

“Alright, if X was on morning patrol than she probably saw it from the road. If that’s the case, we should have three hours to set up before they get here,” Brittle continued muttering to himself. I knew all of this already of course. We’d been in the same spot for over a year. More than enough time to learn the times.

Brittle barged through the side door into the shop while I jumped up and slid across the counter. Why? Cause it was awesome! That’s why! I looked up to see…ten guns, four battle saddles and a couple boxes of explosives.

We weren’t that big a gang after all.

I took the saddle on the far right and started slipping it on, working the straps with efficiency that only came from an entire lifetime of using firearms. If I had a horn like Brittle’s I could have just loaded an assault rifle and been done in two seconds, but you got to work with what you’re given. When I finished getting the thing on (I hope whoever designed a strap based device to be worked by earth ponies died in a balefire blast) I pulled an old hunting rifle off the wall and slipped it in. It's condition was alright at best 'find duct tape' at worst, but I was a decent enough shot with it. I wasn't a sniper or anything, but I could blast the head off a radroach at an acceptable range. I grabbed enough ammo to shoot fifty and put it in my saddle’s auto loader.

I also took some grenades, a couple potions, and a few caps. Don’t know why, but no matter what gang they originated from, people like us always seemed to go into battle with money on them. Like it was some kind of reward for whoever was good enough to kill them.

Was it stupid? Yes, but that didn't stop up from doing it.

Cork showed up at one point and started loading his pack with mines and grenades. You know, I never really noticed before, but explosives experts always seemed a little too…twitchy for my liking. Must be nerve racking working that close to something that would turn you into a pile of red mush.

“So you shits had enough sense to saddle up without me telling you, huh? Good.” Rebar walked up, flanked by his whores. My teeth clamped down on the firing bit, not enough to shoot, but enough to let me know how much my subconscious wanted to blow the fucker’s brains out. His shotgun, the most maintained thing in this shithole, was already saddled up. He almost never took it off. X was hanging in the background, her barely working sniper still slung across her back from patrol. She walked over to join me and the other two. “The four of you get out there and start prepping the ambush while we get ready. And don’t fuck it up! We’ve gone long enough without a decent hit!”

I wanted to talk back, deny his authority in some way, but the prospect of food, guns, and ‘company’ rendered me incapable of doing anything but nodding and running towards the door.

This was what I lived for after all. And it's what I'd be doing till the day I died.

Probably.

New game:

Name: Matchstick

Species: Earth Pony

Sex: Male

Coloration: Brown coat, red mane/tail

S.P.E.C.I.A.L.:

Strength: 4

Perception: 8

Endurance: 5

Charisma: 2

Intelligence: 7

Agility: 6

Luck: 3