Fallout: Equestria; Tempest

        Why is it, I must ask, that trams never arrive on time?

        Even if you managed to leave early, you will always be late. It's like some force that doesn't want you to get where you want to go. I don't understand it. I can't hope to understand it. I just know that it's never on time, and that the tram's the only way I've got.

        Steel sliding doors with long-since faded warning signs creaked open on awkwardly warped rails. A far too large crowd of ponies pushed out the door, there being only one. The ground outside was wet and slippery, water dripping from the above ledges. The city had been pelted by a storm lately, whether it had been last night or the one before. Tall, sharply wired railing ran along the walkway, the room extending on either side into flickering warm light. Guards, all either unicorns or griffons (as far as aerial defense went, griffons were as fast as pegasi, and significantly stronger), stood sharply, not sparing us glances as we trampled down rickety stairs to the lobby.

        Hoofston wasn't what anyone would typically consider a leisurely city. It was large, loud, with the semi-occasional riot and quick military dispatch to shoot them down. There’s the protesters, who march in the alleys with signs that usually read something along the lines of ‘THIS CITY WAS GREAT’ or ‘WE KILLED THESE STREETS.’ Nopony pays them any attention most of the time, though there’ve been fights and petitions demanding they be removed. Officials have never bothered taking the time to respond.

        If you want at least some peace and quiet, you stay well away from politics.

        Or find a hotel. That usually works too.

        If you’re a lower citizen of Hoofston, you’re better off finding a hotel more than anything. Every one of them, everywhere, is built and funded completely by the government. At least, in Hoofston they are.

        About four ponies, each one as grimy as was probably possible, forced themselves into BedBusted, a place I’d read was very much aptly named. One that was kept around more for the sake of filling space and not having to pay for a new building. Cheaper, and a better deal. If you’re stupid. Fortunately, I seemed to be.

There wasn’t really anything along the lines of a ‘desk,’ which one might at least assume they’d have for check-ins and ‘outs, The windows were the most effective light source, overpowering the dim lights and radiation fueled lanterns that were considered the replacements.

Whoopty-freakin-doo, the first night was free. And I got to stay in room 1408.

Great...

It honestly could’ve been worse. The room wasn’t in particularly bad condition; it was just bland. Tan carpet, transparent (slightly moldy) curtains; there were no windows though, which I didn’t quite understand. And a single-sized bed with grey sheets. I wasn’t sure I liked the beds. I think a sort of pale blue would work better for them. The room wasn’t unbearable. Boring and uncomfortably cramped, but not anything to really complain about, apart from the heater seeming to be broken. I should probably ask about getting that fixed; it’s really cold.

I wasn’t sure if I should’ve been sleeping or exploring the city. I was tired. I had also just spent sixty hours on a small, sweaty, crowded, questionably-lit tram.

I also valued my life. I decided on waiting ‘till day to walk.

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        The room’s phone rang. The alarm clock was also beeping. I hadn’t even realized it had gone off. Had I set that last night?

        I picked up the phone and propped myself on an arm (Could these beds be any stiffer?) and

answered.

        “Hello?” I asked.

        No response.

        “Hello?” again, this time a little more impatiently.

        “What? Oh, right.” a clearly bored mare answered. “Yeah, room 243... or maybe it was 343. Anyway, they called last night and asked for you. You’re 1408, right?”

        “Yes.” I said, briefly.

        “Well one of em’s is looking for you. I don’t know what for, but-”

        “Wait, did you say they called last night?” it seemed a bit strange they hadn’t called me till now.

        There was a pause, then a “Well... um...” and then she hung up.

First night was free I reasoned. I was closer to 343, and considering the hotel didn’t have a single damn elevator, it would be a pain to have to climb back up a flight of stairs.

        My brain said I was just lazy. My legs said I was being efficient. I said this place needed a better way up and down.

        The stairs didn’t have a railing, something I hadn’t noticed on the way up. Even now, most places had guardrails. I figured I should ask about that. Not falling was easy enough, though. The staircase was rather wide, which I suppose made up for it. Still, I was liking this hotel less and less with virtually every step I took.

        The building got less and less moldy the further I went down. Yet another thing I seemed to have missed on the way up. It was hard to imagine Hoofston in daylight. It looked so fitting in the night. It wasn’t like I was able to see it from inside, since the hotel had no windows. It felt like solitary confinement, but with better furniture.

        Room 343’s door was a little more decorative than the others. Each corner of the door had a six pointed star. They were very crudely carved, only lightly scratching the paint. An interesting design. I knocked on the door only once, and it opened limply, unlatched. As a matter of fact, the door didn’t even have a latch. The lights in the room were all on. I stayed outside, instead calling to see if anypony was inside. No voice responded. I thought about going down to 243, but I reasoned that I could check in here first.

        Just in case.

        The bed was made. Maybe there really was nopony renting the room? Nopony woke up and decided to make their bed in the style hotels do. Even this poor example of a place to stay for a night or two actually did it right... to an extent.

SLAM. That was the door.... Behind me was a very serious mare. She was brown-on-red, with a straight one-sided mane and matted tail. She didn’t quite look in the mood to talk about the weather.

        “You’re late,” were her only two words. I searched her up and down for some expression to explain something.

        “Can’t say it was my fault.” Her glowering became increasingly apparent.

        “Look, I’m not a fan of you being here. I’d much more prefer you be alive when you leave this city, not in a body bag.” I didn’t follow. I kept searching her face and body until she continued. “Most of the Selections are biased to the point where they’re not even about chance.” She came closer, until she was standing muzzle-to-muzzle in my face, scowling. “And frankly, you won’t be high on the list of survivors.” Still, there was absolutely no emotion other than her virulence. She walked around me, myself turning with her, until my back was to the door.

        “And what are the Selections?” I asked, briefly getting silence before she pushed me back into the door.

        “Don’t stay, and you won’t have to worry about them when they come. You’ll have to get out before midnight tomorrow. That’s when everything shuts down. And I mean everything.” With a shove, she finally knocked me into the hallway. The door closed, even if it couldn’t latch.

        I detached myself from the wall and stood before the door. The four six-pointed stars looked just a little less crudely carved.

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        So the hotel had an elevator... It ran from the second floor to the twelfth, skipped fourteen, and went on from fifteen. Of course it did.

        I was still disturbed with what had just happened, though right now only mildly concerned by what she had actually said. She had, blatantly, told me to come to her hotel room, trapped me inside, yelled about how she didn’t want me here, then forced me out.

        That had been an interesting wake-up call.

        I didn’t go back to my room. I went down to the lobby and out. It was brighter than last night. What time was it? I had forgotten. Half of the more industrial section of the city was still closed, so it was probably around five or six. Still, Hoofston wasn’t as bright in the day as quite a long list of other places.

        The back of my head was lingering on the... conversation. What what is she had said? The  Choosings, the Selections? Yeah, Selections. She said I wanted to avoid them if I didn’t want to die. Should I believe her? Were the Selections like a lottery, and the mare had wanted me gone to increase her odds? No, this wasn’t exactly a charitable time or place, and there was the mention of the list of “survivors,” which sounded rather ominous. Was she making it up? It was certainly clear I was wanted gone.

        I returned the musings to the back of my thoughts. I found that I had already started walking, my hooves of their own accord.