War. War never changes.
The diarchy of Equestria, previously the monarchy of Equestria, stands at its height, living in an eternal golden age. Guided by divinity, and content in its prosperity, its citizens often lead their lives pleasantly, with few cataclysms beyond the magnitude of a missed lunch with compatriots. It is a nation considered by many to be the definition of peace and harmony.
Meanwhile, from the ashes of atomic hellfire, a very different sort of nation rises. The United Mojave Republic, born in the blaze of battle, rose to power not under the influence of neighboring nations, nor by the illusory hand of its mysterious longtime owner, but instead by a simple courier, driven by both a desire for vengeance and a hope for peace. The UMR, however, is far from safe; danger lurks in every shadow, and very few citizens sleep without a gun in their hand and one eye open. Nevertheless, it moves towards a peace born of strength and survival.
Two nations, one long swaddled in harmony, the other still crawling out of endless chaos, are set on a collision course with one another; although neither one realizes it, things are about to change greatly, for better and for worse. But war…
War never changes.
~/~/~/~
“KLEIN!”
Doctor Klein, head researcher of the Big Mountain facility and former human being, rotated his chassis, pointing his optical receptors to the massive screen dominating the room. “How may I be of service, sir?” he boomed, feigning some sort of innocence.
The figure depicted on the screen was not a happy one, his arms crossed. Wild black hair sat over a mismatched set of eyes that bore into the brain-in-a-jar, a human green opposite a cybernetic red. “You people have just two damn jobs up there. You give me new tech, and you fix the stuff that’s broken. I’m willing to forgive the lack of the first one, but the last maintenance job I gave you left things completely nonfunctional!”
“I assure you, sir,” Klein began, treading carefully, “that we kept Dr. 0 as far away from your ‘Archimedes’ device as possible. There should be no problem with the instrument. Perhaps it is a result of those biologically imperfect claws of yours.”
In what seemed like an impossible event, the figure looked angrier. “My hands work damn fine, Klein. Besides, the piece of junk is in space; hard to mangle software coding that you beamed up there.”
Doctor 0 (pronounced “zero,” as he frequently insists on) floated into view. “Well, sir, if I may give input that doesn’t come from a loudmouthed hypocrite-“ he angled his receptors accusingly at Klein with this comment- “there should be a mild recalibration needed for the targeting device.”
The human stared for a moment “English, please.”
0 sighed. “Find the safety switch on the device you point with, and flick it on and off.”
With a roll of his eyes, the human produced said device, a small toy-like blaster of sorts, and fiddled with the side panel. Upon a small clik, Euclid’s C-Finder hummed with new life. At this, the Courier grinned, the scar along his cheek distorting as he did so.
“Excellent,” he chuckled. “I’ll be over shortly to discuss way to implement this little devil. I want a bigger stick to wave around, and this has the benefit of not leaving any nasty radiation.”
Klein chose then to interject. “We are going to discourage traveling via the Transportalponder when you have your targeting device on your person. The new coding may cause an adverse reaction to traveling through the void between time and space.”
At this, the Courier simply rolled his eyes. “I’m a big boy, Klein, and I’ve done far more dangerous things as nothing but favors to you. I’m going.”
Before either of the doctors could interject- indeed, before any of the other doctors had a chance to say hello- the human stepped out onto his balcony, pausing as though to admire the view from his penthouse apartment. With that done, he unholstered his Transportalponder, angled it at the sky, and pulled the trigger.
At that moment, the feed to the television screen was cut short.
“…All in favor of assigning blame to Doctor 0?”
The other doctors all chimed in the affirmative, with some variation of breathy coos, obnoxious shouting, and coding.
“I hate all of you.”
~/~/~/~
Princess Celestia would have given just about anything to get out of her throne room. While she loved her subjects dearly, and the Sun Court was a millennia-old tradition, any reverence she held for the court personally was lost the moment one of the aristocrats found something bothersome to complain about.
“-and quite frankly, the job they did in the hedge maze was absolutely horrendous!” Upper Crust exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. “The landscapers should refund any and all jobs they’ve done in the city of Canterlot and go live in Appleoosa or something, where it doesn’t matter that everything is ugly!”
The Princess of the Sun composed herself, then looked to address the mare. “While I understand your concerns about keeping up appearances, I‒”
There was a deafening sound as the throne room erupted with light. Those gathered gave out cries of alarm and fright; Celestia, on the other hand, glanced upwards. She detected a sudden pulse of conjuring magic, and observed as a strange figure fell from the source of the magic.
The being landed with a resounding crash, actually seeming to fracture the marble flooring before the steps to the throne. Almost immediately, the nobleponies and assorted commoners fled the room, while the Royal Guards surrounded the alien figure.
Celestia moved from her throne, making her way towards the creature. As the guards parted for her, she saw the crumpled, bipedal form that had caused such a ruckus. It wore a sort of belt around its waist, equipped with devices unknown to the Princess; what she did recognize, however, was the knife apparently strapped to the creature’s leg. Better safe than sorry, she rationalized.
“Have the creature treated and examined, and confiscate whatever it has with it. Place it in one of the nicer cells when you’re done, and alert me if it awakes.” The guards nodded, the unicorns working to float the large form out of the throne room.
As the guards exited the room, Celestia let out a sigh. Mysterious creatures falling from nowhere, she mused. I suppose it’s been about a century or so since such a thi‒
The princess was interrupted by the burst of green fire in her peripheral vision. She turned, instinctively taking hold of the scroll with her magic and opening the letter.
Dear Princess Celestia,
I write to inform you that there has been a large disturbance in the town of Ponyville; more specifically, the area outside Ponyville. Within and along the edge of the Everfree Forest, a large clearing has apparently appeared. There are massive walls surrounding the area, and towers of what appear to be steel, brick, and glass within the boundary. Please respond at your soonest convenience, and inform us as to your plan for this situation.
Your Faithful Student,
Twilight Sparkle
Well, Celestia thought to herself, drawing up her own pen and scroll, she certainly chose something to finally write a letter about. This may prove interesting…
~/~/~/~
Rover awoke to the sounds of battle; something different than usual, however, was the fact that there was a lot more screaming than usual.
And it was in the caves.
The Diamond Dog was up and out of his makeshift bed, green eyes darting. Exiting the barracks, he spied a small group of mutts fleeing down the cavernous hallway. With a growl, he gripped one of them by the collar. “What’s attacking?” he snarled. “Why do stupid mutts run?”
The mongrel’s eyes were wide with terror, even visible under its helmet. “Monsters from Everfree! Kill everything near them! Can’t fight!”
The larger dog growled, throwing the mutt down the path it came from. “You will fight! And you will like it! Now, where are Spot and Fido?”
“Dead,” the mutt whined, picking itself up as it looked about frantically, “all dead! Monsters got everything!”
Rover was growing angrier with every new piece of information. “Get it back, then! Kill monsters and get it b-”
A roar tore through the hallway, echoing on all sides. Both Diamond Dogs froze at the noise, the mongrel far more shaken than Rover. “Found us,” the mongrel whined. “Found us, want to kill us, want to eat-”
A blur tore in from the side, removing the mongrel from Rover’s view. He turned, just to see a towering reptilian form bury its massive claws into the mutt’s body. Its jaws tore a ragged chunk of flesh out of his throat, silencing any further cries. The monster turned to face Rover, blank eyes staring him down as it chewed on the raw flesh.
Rover backed away, cold terror flooding his veins and understanding threatening to paralyze his limbs. He found himself stopped, however, when he bumped into a large, scaly mass.
The Diamond Dog looked up, realized what horrid fate awaited him, and screamed. As with the other Dogs before him, it didn’t last long.
~/~/~/~
Author's Note
Yes, well. First of (hopefully) many. Gimme any questions and comments you've got.
The Courier found himself surrounded by darkness. This was no new experience for him, but something was off.
Whyyyyyyyy...
His blood ran cold. That voice belonged to someone long dead.
Whyyyy... why have you done this?
“Shut up,” Courier said calmy, trying to compose himself.
Centuries of preparation... so much good undone...
“Shut your mouth,” the Courier snapped.
Foolish... You... think you can do better?
The haggard, corpselike face of Robert House faded into view in front of Courier. Your vanity will lead to your downfall.
“You’re dead, House,” Courier spat: “dead! I took a goddamn sledgehammer to your wrinkly mug! Vegas is my goddamn city, not yours! You get nothing outta me! Nothing!”
At this, House’s visage faltered, and the Courier made his move. He roared, lunging at the spectral form with his bare hands and swinging wildly at it. “You sat up in your tower getting serviced by robo-concubines while I crawled through the mud of my own grave! And now who’s running the show? Me! So go to hell!”
House began to fade, his form having been sundered by the Courier’s fury, but he left with the last say.
You are but a mortal man, Mister Aarden... and men do not belong in the realm of gods and kings.
~/~/~/~
At this, Mister Aarden, known to all as the Courier, awoke.
He scanned his surroundings, finding himself in a long, low holding cell of some kind. The construction was solid stone, the only way out being a barred metal door on the opposite side of the room. Unconsciously prodding the cot he was laying on, the Courier made a move to stand, stopping halfway up as his head pounded with all manner of unholy pain.
“Oh... Oh, I don’t think I’ll be doing much drinking for a while,” he muttered, running a hand through his wild nest of black hair. “A hangover like this is not something I want to deal with fre-quent...ly...”
Memories flashed into the Courier’s mind. The ARCHIMEDES II solar cannon was rendered nonfunctional somehow, he’d commissioned the Think Tank to fix it, he’d been on his way to said Think Tank...
Where the hell am I? he wondered idly, standing up with far more caution this time. He looked down at himself, realizing that he was absolutely naked save for his ever-present and ever-gaudy PimpBoy Three Billion. Aarden idly reflected on just how persistent the damn thing was in sticking with him; without the proper tools, the only way to remove the device from his person would be by severing his arm. Whoever had placed him in this room- and taken all of his gear- apparently didn’t have the incentive to take it.
The Courier was certain that had some sort of significance, but he could think about that later. Instead, he slowly made his way to the door, steadying himself against the metal bars.
“Hey...” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “Hey. Someone. Gimme my clothes back. This is cruel and unusual punishment; just because the U.S. government doesn’t exist anymore is no excuse for such barbarism.”
The Courier heard shouts from somewhere out of his field of vision, in a language he didn’t understand.
"The prisoner is awake! Alert the princess!"
"Aye, sir!"
“Hey,” Aarden continued, pressing on. “¿Hablas espanol? ¿Por favor?”
At this point, one of the Courier’s captors appeared before him, and his jaw subsequently dropped. “¿Qué... the hell?”
It looked like one of those horse things from way back when. The Courier had only ever seen such things in that book about the Mongols- indeed, it was the only part of the book he actually remembered at this point- but he didn’t remember them looking so... short. Or brightly colored.
The wings and armor were also very different than what he’d expect.
"You are here under the custody of Princess Celestia, one of the great rulers of Equestria. Identify yourself."
“I have no idea what you’re saying,” the Courier began, “but might I say that you have ridiculously big eyes. Like, gigantic. They’re almost kind of endearing, like you’re some kind of baby animal or something.”
The horse-thing turned. "Sir, it appears capable of language; however, it is not communicating in Equestrian."
“Is that your girlfriend?” Aarden asked, actually feeling rather okay with events as of now. “I don’t know who she is, but I don’t think she’s your type, exactly."
A second horse-thingy, this one with a horn on its head instead of wings, appeared. It began speaking in something that sounded completely different from the first one.
“Oh my God, Bird-Horse! I didn’t expect you to have a weakness for the foreign types. And that horn... I don’t even want to know what you two lovebirds get up to.”
"It doesn’t sound like Zebrican, either. Perhaps Rostrun..."
"Sir, with all due respect, it doesn’t sound at all like a gryphon."
The horn-horse, regardless of its compatriot, proceeded to make a series of sounds one would expect from a very large and angry bird.
For this, the Courier had little to say. “...Wow, just when I thought things couldn’t get weirder.”
"Rostrun seems to have failed as well, sir."
"So it has." A new voice interrupted, and a new horse appeared. It was taller than the other ones, with both wings and horn, an assortment of jewelry, and an ethereal mane that was waving in some unknown wind. "Perhaps a translation spell is in order."
The other two horse things bowed, replying with a synchronized "Yes, Your Majesty."
The Courier, on the other hand, continued talking. “Ah, yes, finally: a womanly touch. It’s in the way you carry yourself; you’re a lady who knows she’s in charge, and won’t deal with any of the crap some testosterone-fueled moron feels like throwing at you.” At the rate he was talking, the Courier noticed neither the glowing horn nor the Pimp-Boy’s Geiger counter activating. “And might I add that I find such a thing very attractive in a woman. It’s a shame about the language- and species-barrier, because I would totally go to town otherwise.”
The taller horse smiled politely. “I must admit, it’s refreshing to hear someone flatter me with such sincerity,” she began carefully, just a hint of mirth honeying her words. “It’s not everyday somebody speaks to royalty in such a manner.”
The Courier froze. “...I’m just going to ask for my clothes back. If you don’t mind, Miss Talking Horse Lady.”
“Your things are being inspected by a team of scientists and security specialists before we even consider giving them back to you,” the horse replied. “And my name is Princess Celestia.”
~/~/~/~
After further discussion, it was agreed that the Courier’s pants would be prioritized, and shortly enough they were delivered to his cell. He donned them quickly, not especially caring about the guard pony standing in the doorway.
Aarden glanced at the pony. “So, uh, I hit on your queen then?” No response. “You understand me at all, or is it just that Celestia chick?” No response. “I’m going to stop now.”
The Courier finished putting his jeans on, then presented his clothed form to the guard. “Please tell your Princess that I’m done.”
The guard turned, shouting something at one of its compatriots, who headed off in the direction Her Majesty had departed. Soon enough, Celestia returned, her face much more composed. He noticed her glancing at his cybernetic eye, but brushed it off.
“You must forgive me,” she began. “As one of the sovereigns of this nation, I must hold myself to a stricter code of conduct. My... previous manner was unbefitting of a princess.”
Courier shrugged. “Hey, I’ve got a nation. Doesn’t stop me from talking dirty with talking horses.”
“The proper term is ponies,” Celestia replied, “...and you claim to be the leader of your own nation?”
At this, the human straightened. “I currently act as president of the United Mojave Republic,” he declared, just a hint of solemnity in his voice. “Having been among its founders and, indeed, creating the circumstances that allowed its ascension, I was basically the first and only choice for the position. I have since granted myself the additional titles of ‘The Chosen One Times Ten’ and ‘Savior of Everybody Ever,’ which absolutely nobody bothered to dispute.”
Celestia blinked at this. “President?” she asked. The idea wasn’t unheard of, but applied to a government...
“We cribbed our system of government from some pre-War history books,” Courier replied. “The people elect members of a legislature, and then they pick a guy to basically implement the laws. There’re some courts in there too, but not as much input there. But really, the Republic owed me pretty much everything after the war, so I got the best seat in the house.”
“What war is this?” the princess asked, eyes narrowed slightly.
Courier thought for a moment. “Well... there are two wars we could be referring to here. Do you mean the one referred to in the history holos, or the one that I was a part of?”
“...The latter,” Celestia decided. The other one could wait, whatever a holo was.
“That would be the Second War of the Hoover Dam, otherwise known as the War of Mojaven Independence, in which the imperialist band of murderous slavers and rapists were ground to dust and slaughtered like the monsters they were, and the imperialist band of corrupt politicians and warmongers were politely told to get off our land.”
Rapists? Warmongers? What sort of world... Celestia took a fraction of a second to compose herself. “And you fought against both of these... bands, as it were? What circumstances led to this war?”
The Courier sighed. “You know what? There’s a lot to explain, and I mean a lot. Judging by the fact that I’m standing in a dungeon, under the custody of a princess, in a land filled with talking h- with ponies... I’m going to say that I’ll have a lot of questions soon enough.”
“I... understand,” said Celestia. “How would you wish for this to proceed?”
“Well...” The Courier chose to walk back towards his cot, looking around at his snug abode. “I wouldn’t mind dropping all of this, getting my ass back home, and drinking until I manage to forget this ever happened, but I’m getting the sense that I’m making a fruitless demand.”
“Your appearance was an oddity,” Celestia admitted, ignoring most of the phrasing in the alien’s demands. “You magically teleported into my very throne room, apparently unconscious when you hit the ground. Our medical team treated you to the best of our ability, and we swore the few who’ve seen you to secrecy until we knew your... nature for certain.”
The Courier turned back to the princess. “Your team didn’t do bad,” he admitted, “although it probably wasn’t all them. But that’s not important. Did I hear you mention the word ‘magic?’”
“Well... yes. The thaumaturgical pulse that was emitted when you appeared was comparable to a highly powerful conjuration spell. Why?”
The Courier sat on his cot. “Oh, no reason. Just coming to grips with the fact that wherever I am now has magical talking ponies. The stuff of tribals and stage illusionists is, in fact, a quantifiable part of reality, with big words attached to it and everything. Next you’ll be telling me that sun on your flank means you control the sun.”
Celestia said nothing, and the human only slumped forward, head held in his hands.
“Does your world not have any control of your sun?”
“No!” the Courier shouted. “Where I’m from, the sun is an immense sphere of fiery gases around which all the planets rotate. This...” It was the Courier’s turn to compose himself. “I am trying to come to terms with the fact that I’ve apparently left my home dimension.”
“Do you know how you came to be here?” Celestia asked.
“I have a vague idea,” the Courier replied, closing his eyes in thought. “I was using my Transportalponder. It’s this device that travels between two set locations, though, and it’s not exactly packing a lot of power. But something was different... My C-Finder.”
“Your what?”
“It’s one of the things I had with me; basically acts as a targeting system for a solar-powered satellite. It’d been updated, and my science people mentioned something about an adverse reaction... The one time they actually caution me against something, and I ignore it. And look where it gets me.” The human rubbed his temples.
“There were devices we found on your person. Their purposes were... hard to distinguish. One seemed to have been damaged- it was leaking thaumaturgical fallout.”
The Courier was alert in an instant. “Damaged? Fallout? Are you telling me my stuff is leaking goddamn radiation?”
The alicorn looked mildly perturbed. “Gods weren’t involved, and you could describe the thaumaturgical fallout as radiation.”
The human hunched forward, expression darkening. “...Was the broken device a green-and-red thing with fins and a lightning bolt, or a black thing with a cylinder with a lot of crackling blue energy?”
Celestia thought for a moment. “It was... not crackling when we found it. The cylinder was apparently damaged, as well.”
The Courier’s eyes were practically ablaze, crimson and jade boring into the wall opposite him as he seemed to contemplate the gravity of his situation. Celestia cautiously took a step towards him. “I understand if you feel some manner of grief,” she said slowly, her expression a sympathetic one. “If we can do anything to help you, we will do what is within the boundaries of reason.”
Courier didn’t bother looking towards the princess. “I’ll need time alone. Time to think.”
Celestia nodded at this, and slowly backed out of the room, the door closing as she exited.
Once he knew the Princess was gone, the Courier stood. He walked across the room in two strides, cocked his arm back, and slammed a fist into the wall he’d been staring at for so long. The stone fractured under his strength, even as a dull pain lanced up the Courier’s arm. He punched again, and again, cursing and damning all that he could think of. When he finally stopped, there was a small dent in the wall, and his hand was rendered red and raw. Something might have been broken; he noted this, and filed it away to bring up never.
Cursing one last time, the human lay back down on the cot, waiting for his implants to begin working their healing magic- he snorted at the word now- and neglecting to notice the guard still standing watch outside his cell.
~/~/~/~
Author's Note
It should be noted that this Courier keeps his original PipBoy 3000 at home, on his trophy shelf. He considers the upgraded model “more consistent” and refuses to elaborate beyond that to those who ask.
Anyways, part two. Grand little thing, isn't it? More to come.
