Chapter One: New Day
"I got a gallon of gasoline and a chest full of heart."
Bang.
Chnk.
Click.
Bang.
Chnk.
Click.
Two shots. Two raiders. Two nice, clean kills. The third jumped back, searching the surrounding area for his attacker. Unfortunately for him, he was two steps behind the one behind the attack. The minute he stepped back to find some cover, his head exploded into a crimson paste from a third shot, and he collapsed to the ground.
‘Huh. He really thought he had a chance.’
I sat back and admired my work. Three raiders lay dead maybe a hundred feet out. They had come a little too close to my little setup for my liking, so I did what needed to be done. They were bat shit insane anyway. Any help they could offer was lost when the bombs fell two hundred years ago. I was actually surprised with how well placed those three shots were. I knew I shouldn't be, as I had the assistance of S.A.T.S, a targeting spell built into a wrist mounted computer called a Pipbuck. I had scavenged it around two weeks back when I had taken shelter in an abandoned Stable several days ago with a escort target of mine-
“Filly, what the fuck was that?!”
Speak of the Devil.
I turned around to face a dark blue earth pony mare trotting angrily towards me. The look on her face told me that she would take my head clean off if it weren't for me being one of two things between her and the horrors of the Waste. “Calm down, Water Light. I just took down a few raiders that were getting too close to camp. Is there anything wrong with that?” I said,which was apparently the wrong answer. The glare coming from her magenta eyes were enough to melt through solid steel. Luckily, I had experience with Water Light’s temper over the past few days, and I stood my ground.
“Of course there is, you feather brain! Those shots could've been heard for miles! Any raider with half a brain stem left would follow the source of it. ‘It’ being Us.” She turned away from me, taking a long breath. Facing back towards me, she added, “What the hell happened to that suppressed rifle I gave you?”
“I lost it.” I didn't lose it.
“Lost it?”
“Yup.” Nope. It was in my saddle bags, hidden beneath the dozens of pounds of junk I had collected over the past week. I wasn't using it for one simple reason; I hated suppressors. Stealth in general. Took too long, and wasted time. Why take two minutes to silently kill a group of raiders when I can just take three of them down within seconds?
“Look,” she said through gritted teeth, placing her hoof on my chest with just a little bit too much force than necessary. “When we get to Appleloosa, you can go as trigger happy as you’d like. Shoot up anything you want. Hell, take on the Steel Rangers, the Enclave, and all the raiders in Manehatten simultaneously for all I care. But out here, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, where things wanting to kill us are rich and plenty, you need to keep it quiet.” She turned away from me a second time, exhaling a deep breath. “Look, just... give me back the damned rifle if you aren't gonna use it.”
“I told you. I lost it.”
“Horse shit, Filly. Even a foal can’t lose a two hundred cap rifle in ten minutes. Now give it to me.” I didn’t respond, and she turned to face me once again, murder in her eyes. “Now.” Chuckling to myself, I grabbed the worn rifle out of my saddlebag and tossed it to Water Light, who caught it easily in her mouth. She hung the sling around her neck and clicked the safety off, unnerving me slightly. “Alright. Now, I’m gonna head back to camp to pack up, then I’ll call for you.” She began her way back to our temporary campground, but stopped mid trot. “Just try to refrain from taking pot shots at passing raiders this time.” And with that, she was gone.
A minute later and I was once again nestled in my previous lookout, a collection of boulders that formed a perfect cubby hole just the size for me to fit in.
Now, sitting for hours on end in a single spot while staring out into the vast expanse of the Equestrian Wasteland is as boring as it sounds. But it was my job. In Appleloosa, I guarded the town on top of the walls surrounding it until I found a job on the side. On guard missions, such as this one, I walked a few miles a day, guarded my employer while they set up camp, slept, woke up, kept guard until the camp was all packed up, and repeat.
The only real thrill in this line of work was defending traveling caravans, though I had a slight paranoia with those. While that seems absolutely normal for anypony in the caravaneer business, with the threat of raiders, bandits, and anything else the Wasteland can pull out of it’s ass to fuck with anypony it can however it can, my reasons are a bit more personal. You see, just five or six years ago, my folks were guarding a caravan headed up to New Appleloosa when it was attacked by a group of bandits. This isn't all too uncommon (caravans are attacked quite frequently nowadays), but what I find odd is that there are no other attacks recorded within a twenty mile radius of the route my parents took. I discovered this after finding out a buddy of mine had a friend who knew a pony who kept track of these things.
I’m surprised that there are ponies who record anything these days, let alone frequency of caravan attacks.
So, ever since they died, I spent every ounce of free time I could spare trying to track those bandits down. There are too many dead ends to count, but I've managed to find one thing. A symbol I found on a piece of cloth near the attack site, a dove holding a grenade on it’s talons, originated from a pack of bandits that have never been recorded in the area of western Equestria. My best guess is that they're from Hoofington. One of the bandits that had been killed in the crossfire had an anti-material rifle, which my buddy's friend's pony had told me were fairly common in that region. Now, why they would want all the way out here just to attack one caravan beats me, but recently I’ve heard talk on the radio about some super badass pony called ‘Security’ who goes around Hoofington doing all things good, so if I could get in contact with him, maybe he can help me track down my bandits.
But that’s only a dream. It’s not like I could just fly over to Hoofington and meet Security face to face. I may be a pegasus, but I've always been a shit flier (Though my mother had told me over and over again that it would just take time, I had come up with the (quite foalish) theory that my earth pony blood had effected my genes or something, since my father was an earth buck. Don’t ask me, I’m not a smart pony). Not only that, but one look under the cloud layer and the Enclave would probably swoop down and take me out. They get such murder boners when they see Dashites, let alone pegasi roaming below the clouds.
It felt like an eternity, but I finally heard Water Light calling my name. Or rather, the name of the other pony who had taken the job of guarding her as well as mine. Stretching my forelegs and getting a satisfying crack from my neck, I got up from my perch and made my way over to the camp. Sure enough, Water Light was joined by a beige earth pony buck with a jet black mane styled into a mohawk and a cutie mark of a knife whom she had called 'Domingo'. His barding was little more than a red tank top, and I had guessed that it used to be white, assuming his pin point pupils weren't natural. There was a large scar traveling down the left side of his forehead, ending in the middle of his eyebrow. He had a battle saddle similar to mine, but instead of two scoped rifles, he had a beam weapon on the right holster and a flamethrower on the left. I couldn't help but notice singed fur around the nozzle of the flamethrower. Terrifying machines, those things are.
"Take you long enough, Water Light?" I asked jokingly, getting an unamused look from her. The beige buck kept to himself, not saying a word. Come to think of it, I have't heard him say one word this entire trip! It's beginning to freak me out. Plus, his eyes are always focused on something and I can never tell what.
"I'd like to see you try and pack up tents for three ponies by yourself," She said, folding up the final tent. Looking over to the freakishly silent buck, she motioned to the three rolled up tents. "You mind?" Without missing a beat, he walked over to the rolled up tents, stacked them in a pyramid, and tied them together using a piece of rope. He then used a bit of the extra rope to hook it to his battlesaddle and laid it across his back. Picking up her own saddlebags and putting it over her barding, she made sure her pistol was secured in its holster on her right forehoof. "Alright. Everypony ready?" Both me and the buck nodded simultaneously (thus adding to the freaky scale). Looking satisfied, she pulled a map out of her bags and scanned it for several moments, mumbling to herself.
Several seconds later, she put the map back in her bags. "Alright. It's a six mile trek east until Appleloosa. It'll take us about two or three hours, depending on our speed and any obstacles along the way. Filly, how are our rations holding up?" I looked in my left saddlebag (where Water Light had unofficially decided to store our food), and saw that we had two cans of beans, a Fancy Lad's snack cake, two and a half bottles of water, and a left over apple from breakfast.
"We should be good unless one of gets sudden munchies."
"Good. Let's get going then." She started trotting towards the rising sun, me and Domingo not long after her. Though what little sunlight that could touch the ground have been blocked by the cloud cover, the air was particuarly humid, and I found myself breaking a sweat merely from walking. I looked over to my beige companion and, believe it or not, saw the smallest drop of sweat drip down from underneath his mane.
Knowing that this was going to be a long and ultimately silent trot, I pulled out my earbloom, a small speaker that fits in a pony's ear, and tuned my Pipbuck to DJ Pon-3's station. Not that I was looking for actual news, but more towards looking for something to listen to.
"Good mornin' fillies and gentlecots! Your host , DJ Pon-3 here, as always. Not a lot of news here for ya, I apologize, but I do have somethin'! You all remember Security, right? You know, the one who cleared up trading routes with Megamart and Manehatten? Well, I can tell you exactly who this is not going to be focused on! No, no, I have something different for you, kiddies, so put on your story time hats and listen up!
"I've seen a lot of shit going down in Hoofington as of late, but none match the sheer power of a new up-and-coming gang of bandits. They like calling themselves 'Dove and Grenade' and symbolize their group with just that. Now, what their name means, I couldn't tell you. The best guess I have is that their leader's name is Dove and he favors grenades or something. Anyway, these aren't your ordinary group of bandits. These bastards are organized. Like, really organized. Around four or five years ago, I saw them take out a caravan of two dozen ponies like they were no better than radroaches, and even then they remained under my radar until now.
"Apparently, they've been spotted as far as Ponyville and beyond, so just because you live nowhere near Hoofington, don't think you're safe from these fuckers. So keep an eye out for large groups of ponies wearing red and, Celestia forbid, if you do manage to find some, G.T.F to the O, as fast as you can.
"Now for an update on our favorite Wasteland hero, the Stable Dweller, who's been spotted in New Appleloosa for these past three days recuperating from a doozy of a shooting..." DJ Pon-3 continued on with his broadcast, but I was too stunned to try and follow it. Stopping dead in my tracks, I just stood there with my mouth agape.
DJ Pon-3 had managed to find the bandits for me... all these years of looking, and I've finally found them! After this contract, I could stock up on supplies - food, ammunition, medical supplies, everything! - then travel to Manehatten, where he broadcast his show from. I could ask him about everything he knows about this apparent 'Dove and Grenade' group, and then track down their leader and take him out! It was the perfect plan! Yes, getting there in one piece is a challenge in itself, but I think I could do it...
All this was happening so fast that it had take me a few seconds to process that Water Light had stopped and was now facing me. It had taken me even longer to realize that she had been talking to me.
"Hello? Equestria to Filly, come in, come in, over," She was waving her hoof in front of my eyes trying to get my attention.
"Uh, mwa... wha?" I fumbled. Smooth, Filly. Real smooth.
"I said could you pass me some water?" Shaking myself out of my stupor, I grabbed a bottle of water from my bags and tossed it to her. She twisted open the cap and drank barely enough to satisfy. Looking to me, she handed it back. "Need some? You look like you just saw death itself your skin is so pale. And that means something, considering your coat is already as white as the clouds!"
I took the bottle back with a shaky hoof. "N- no thanks... I'm fine..."
"Uh-huh, sure. And Luna was a changeling. What the hell's got you so spooked?"
"It's nothing. Just something I heard on DJ Pon-3's broadcast," Hearing that name, she scowled as if it were a curse.
"Why do you bother listening to that shithead? All he ever does is tell other ponies that their lives suck while he keeps his ass holed up in Tenpony!"
"So you'd rather listen to that burro Red Eye?" The beige pony said, much to the surprise of me and Water Light. He spoke in an accent I vaguely remember from a previous employer of mine.
"Well, no. His rants on a 'New Equestria' get older than time itself. But at least he isn't some snobbish pony with their nose so high that they pass through the cloud layer." The buck simply scoffed and continued trotting. With an annoyed look on her face, she quickened her pace to catch up with him. "Is that all you're gonna say?"
"Si."
"What the hell does that even mean?!"
"I think it means 'yes'," I suggested. She looked at me with bafflement.
"How the hell do you know that?" I simply shrugged, which just seemed to irritate her more, getting an amused smirk from the beige pony. I was about to slip my earbloom back in when I heard her mutter something under her breath.
"I hate stallions..."
* ** *** ** *
Hours had passed, and the sun was now far in the sky. At least, from what I could feel from the occasional break in the cloud layer. Our group has been silent for the most part, the only interruptions in the silence was either Water Light or Domingo asking for water.
I had continued listening to DJ Pon-3 hoping he would bring some more news about the ever-so mysterious 'Dove and Grenade', but all I got was updates on the latest raider camps and news on somepony he deemed 'The Stable Dweller' who was apparently from a Stable near Ponyville. It was of little interest to me until he said she had been in Appleloosa for the past week. Why somepony would wander all the way out here beats me, but maybe she could help me get to DJ Pon-3. If he was talking about her so much, then perhaps she knew him personally.
The silence was finally broken as Domingo trotted up to me. Looking into his eyes, I was silently praying to the Godesses that he wouldn't add my blood to his shirt.
"So, you're a pegasus, I see," he said, eyeing my wings. Alright, not out for murder. Yet... "Not too many of your kind around anymore, eh?" He looked up in the sky, waving his hoof toward the cloud layer. "Up there in the sky, flying like birds with their teeth on the pussy trigger. Burro's, all of 'em." He then turned to face me. "Tell me, hermano. What's like up there? Are there really entire fucking cities made of clouds?" He asked.
I didn't know where he was getting at, but I simply shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I wasn't born up there, but my mother had told me stories. Thunderhead, Neighvarro, all of them towering masses of clouds."
"Ah, so yer a ground-born pegasi, eh?" I nodded. "One of the few kinds of pegasi I can respect, the other being Dashites." He paused, staring at my cutie mark. "Speaking of which, what's up with your flank? Aren't Dashites supposed to have the same cutie marks branded onto them?"
I turned around so he could see my other side, showing off the dull mark of the Dashites. He nodded in acknowledgement, and continued trotting without a word.
When my cutie mark had appeared on my flank about ten years ago, my parents urged me to have it branded off for the Dashite symbol, a thunderbolt blasting out of a cloud. Being a colt at the time, I didn't realize the cultural value of the mark, and refused to get it. As I grew older, I kept thinking back to the symbol, so I asked my mother about it.
Long ago, she said, back before the war, there was a pegasus named Rainbow Dash. She was one of the seven most powerful ponies in Equestria as well among the most infamous in pegasi history and the first Dashite. On the day the bombs fell, she urged the pegasi council to help the surface, but it was to no avail. With Cloudsdale demolished, they weren't about to risk the lives of any more pegasi. When they refused her plea, she went down herself. Nopony knows exactly what happened to her after that. Some thought she was hunted down by griffin mercs while others believed she died of radiation poisoning. Though dead, she still affected the lives of dozens of pegasi, who decided that she was right after all.
Now with the history, I understood what it meant to bear the mark of the Dashites, and as much as it pained me to do so, I accepted to be branded on the condition that I kept one cutie mark. While I had respected the mark, I wasn't about to get rid of a cutie mark I had tried so hard to earn.
Our conversation was interrupted by another extended silence. I tried listening to DJ Pon-3's broadcast, but nothing really grabbed my attention. Wanting to continue our conversation, I began thinking of a topic.
"So, uh... 'Domingo'. That's a pretty strange name." I said.
"Coming from an adult stallion named 'Filly'," he retorted.
"That's actually only a nickname my mother gave to me before she..." I stopped right there. Even though I had gotten accustomed to my folks being dead, they were still dead, and I had a hard time talking about them to anypony outside of my close circle of friends. Depression had already taken a month away from me, and I wasn't about to let it take a single second more.
"Relax, hermano. I get it. No need put salt on fresh wounds," he said with the first bit of compassion I've heard him use. "So I guess you're wondering about my name right about now, eh ese?" I nodded, and he continued. "Well, it's a word from my native tongue. You've hear me use it before, no? The name of the language escapes me, sadly, but 'domingo' would be Sunday in standard Equestrian tongue,"
"Well, Domingo," I said, stretching out my hoof. "Nice to officially meet you." He looked at me quizzically for whatever reason, but met my gesture with a hoof of his own.
"Likewise, Filly"
"Silver Wing." I corrected. "It's Silver Wing. If I'm making introductions, I might as well use my real name."
"Well, alright Silver Wing. Encantado de conocerte."
"Hey, will you two love birds keep it down back there and hurry the fuck up? We only have so much daylight left, and I'm not getting eaten by a radscorpion because my guards are too occupied with getting to know each other!" Water Light yelled from the front of front of us, gaining chuckles from the both of us.
* ** *** ** *
Appleloosa.
Back before the war, it used to be a small town of a close knit community of earth ponies who built it from the ground within the better part of a year. To the east, an apple orchard of hundreds of trees spanned across miles of flat land, providing the residence with a near infinite supply of apples and apple related products. A railroad system linked the town with Equestria proper, allowing it to export it's surplus of apples all over.
Now, following the dropping of the megaspells, it became one of the biggest slaver outposts in the Wasteland. Everyday, new slaves come in and old ones are shipped out. The train system had been altered too. Instead of running through to Ponyville, it would curve around towards New Appleloosa and then back here again. This lead to both towns leaning on each other for supplies.
The majority of Appleloosa worked in the slave trade. I, myself, tried to stray away from jobs that overlapped with slave work. Not that I thought it was wrong (I mean, if those ponies were any good, they would've been able to avoid the slavers. Survival of the fittest, and all), but I preferred doing things I knew what to do. Shoot pony W, X, and Y while guarding pony Z with assistance of pony V, somewhere along those lines.
When we got back to Appleloosa, Water Light payed both me and Domingo for our services, and we went our seperate ways. I went over to the general store to cash in my findings (keeping the Pipbuck for myself, of course. Who knows, maybe with a little tinkering I could unlock all of it's features other than S.A.T.S. and a lantern mode. If not, I'm sure it would be worth quite a bit to the right pony), then started for my house as fast as I could. Now that I had a name and location, I could possibly work on a way to get myself to Hoofington, or Manehatten at the least.
I finally arrived at my house, and I use that term very lightly. Realistically, it was more of a shack than anything else. From the outside, it looked like it had nothing but several sheets of metal palettes. And in all honesty, that's what it pretty much was. While the ponies who had built Appleloosa before the war had completed the town within a year of construction, the new occupants clearly didn't have the productivity or ingenuity needed for a quality house. Next to my home, a line of similar buildings ran down either side for several dozen feet.
Gripping the rusted doorknob of my house, I gave it a twist hard enough to break a solid block of wood. If I weren't so focused on my plans, I would've realized it was locked, but instead nearly broke my teeth in the process.
With a now sore mouth, I grabbed my house keys and inserted them into the door, twisting and being rewarded with a satisfied click. Opening the door, I was met with the familiar musky scent of rotting wood and dust of my home. Whoever had owned it previously had obviously not taken proper care of it, and it shown through the wood. The roof was sagging a bit, several areas patched up by cloth or scrap metal.
The house itself was a simple three room house. To the right of the doorway, a small hallway led to a closet-like space I used as a kitchen (and by kitchen, I mean a fridge and a microwave that doesn't work half the time). The opposite way opened up to a fairly large room, a stack of mattresses and clothing dominating the center of it. There was a small side room in the corner that was used for a bathroom.
Ultimately, this led to very little free space, but I used up what I could. In the corner parallel to the bathroom I had set up a nice little corner table, a series of family photos out on display. Several of them on the top shelf were of my folks with a young, paper white pegasus with a ruffled dark blue mane. Me. The final image showed me staring absolutely thrilled at my flank; the day I got my cutie mark, a fairly maintained handgun laying on the ground, it's magazine spent.
My cutie mark itself were two pistols mirrored to look like a butterfly of sorts. I had gotten it when I went out shooting with my father for the first time. He had brought me out about a mile from Appleloosa as to not disturb our neighbors. With him, he brought a few empty assorted bottles, eight nine millimeter rounds, and his favorite gun. He had set up the bottles in a row atop of an old fence, and had shown me how to operate the pistol. Once I had learned the difference from the safety and the magazine eject, he let me try my hoof at shooting. There were ten bottles placed on the fence, and I had eight bullets loaded. It was as if Celestia was with me that day, because with those eight shots, I was able to take out all ten bottles. Because of this, my father gave me my very first gun (much to the objections of my mother), which I had set on a stand placed behind the photographs. Though the insides have all but disintegrated, it still had sentimental value and I could never bring myself to getting rid of it.
Reminiscing over the memories of my parents reminded me why I had come home in the first place. I knelt down to the ground, pulling out a drawer in the bottom of the corner table, a notebook laying inside. Opening it up revealed stained page after stained page of tribal like designs, similar to Domingo's cutie mark. There were dragons, phoenixes, ponies, even just a bunch of squiggles and lines I thought looked cool.
While my official job was a freelancer guard, that doesn't mean I don't have any personal hobbies. All the images in the notebook had been designed by yours truly. When I get bored of staring into the bleak expanse of the Wasteland, I draw. When I'm depressed or troubled, I draw. When I want to draw, I draw. Then later, when I get home, I alter those drawings into the collection of curves they are now. Once I'm satisfied with one, I bring it over to a friend of mine here in Appleloosa and he turns it into a tattoo stencil, a technique of body art originating from ancient zebra culture. I'd be lying if I said I haven't gotten any of them myself. I take a lot of pride in my work, whether it be capping raiders, guarding ponies, or learning tattoo art. The ones I'm most proudest of is the mass of tentacle-like designs that engulfs most of my left foreleg and several 'gunnerflies' (a nickname I had come up for my cutie mark) flying up the side of my neck, seven vines of black following them. Though to most ponies it looked like I had let a foal go wild on my leg, I found a certain elegance in the curves, lines, and the various shapes that made up the tattoo.
But I wasn't here for any of that. As I went deeper and deeper into the book, the designs became more eccentric, transforming from animals to interpretative masses of blah. Finally, my search bore fruit, and I found several blank pages towards the end. I tore them out, careful as to not disturb the binding. When they were neatly torn from the book, I grabbed an old clipboard I had lying around, fastened one of the sheets to the board, and began turning my room upside down tying to find a pencil. A pencil, a pen, marker, a piece of charcoal, anything!
Luckily, I had found a pencil buried beneath the pounds of laundry stacked high on my bed. Seeing how the tip was absolutely blunt, I began using a machete that belonged to my mother to sharpen it. The blade had a quote engraved on it, reading 'When you believe, you're halfway there'. When my parents were killed, the only thing of them I had left of them was the machete. Since their deaths, I have added a few designs of my own to it, as well as named it 'Scava'. It was a combonation of my parents names, my mother Scarlet and my father Avalon.
When the pencil was in decent condition, I grabbed the clipboard of paper and sat down a the edge of my bed. If I was going to Manehatten, I would need to stock up. And to do that, I needed to make sure I had enough caps to pay for everything. I never was good at math, but I knew enough about multiplication and addition to add up costs.
Alright, so if a magazine of bullets for my rifle cost twenty caps each, I could buy a maximum of ten mags at the cost of less Radaway and Rad-X. But I had suspected that I wouldn't need too much so long as I watched where I was going. Now for medical supplies. Medicinal skills were never really my forte, so I skipped getting anything like bandages, instead deciding to buy fifteen healing potions. Chems were out of the question. I had never taken one in my lifetime, and I sure as hell am not about to go getting myself addicted now. Food and water were the last order of business I had left on my imaginary check list. If I ration, I may be able to reach Manehatten with maybe thirty or forty pounds of food and around twenty liters of water. All added up, the cost amounted to around six thousand caps.
With all this now down on paper, I double, triple and quadruple checked the list I had formed in my head. I had ammunition, medical supplies, and food. Feeling satisfied, I took the paper off of the clipboard, placing the spares on my corner table. Folding up the shopping list, I put it in my saddlebags, exchanging it for all the caps I had to my name. I dumped them in a pile on the floor in front of me, making sure none of them hid themselves beneath any clothes. Then, I began the dull job of counting every cap in the pile.
A few minutes later, the pile was beginning to thin. Alright... five thousand, two hundred, seventy eight... five thousand, two hundred, seventy nine... Aw, hell! With the final cap counted, it totaled nearly eight hundred caps shy of my goal. In a fit of anger, I bucked the wall besides me, punching a hoof sized hole through to the outside.
Alright, Filly. Calm down. Now, how would I be able to raise a quick eight hundred caps within the next few days?
The answer came so fast, I facehoofed myself for not thinking of it sooner. The bounty board in the middle of town always had work to be done. If I was lucky, I would be able to find a couple jobs that would pay what I needed.
This time without saddlebags or battle saddle, I once again exited my house into the bustling junction of Appleloosa. Wow, I must've been in there for longer than I thought. When I had entered my house, it was still around noon time, but now the Wasteland skies had darkened into evening, and the guard ponies had begun leaving their posts for the next shift.
The town was arranged in a neat "I" shape, the most active buildings located in the center, my favorite being the saloon. Even though the saloon was usually the most occupied location at any time, tonight it was particularly busy. Every time I peeked over there, another pony was joining the growing crowd inside. I considered taking a look, but decided against it when I saw that massive rain clouds had rolled in over the Wasteland. I really didn't want to get caught in the rain, so I started on my way. My destination, the bounty board, was on the northern most point of the "I', right in front of the sheriff's office and was on the opposite end of the town where the slave pens and my house were. I never had any need to go there so, despite living in a slaver town, I've never actually seen the pens in my life. I have on occasion, though, heard subtle sobs coming from over there. While I still believed that slaving was a perfectly legitimate job, it still depressed me every time I heard a foal had been tossed in the pens. The best I could do was block it out and ignore it.
I stretched my wings until I heard a satisfying pop, and took to the skies, my stomach expectantly lurching. I don't know if it was my Earth Pony blood or what, but I could never get used to transitioning from ground to air. As said before, I had awful flight skills, but I was still able to fly short distances if needed. Luckily, Appleloosa was only around three hundred feet north point to south point, and I only had to fly around half that. I had flown there and back multiple times, so I knew my wings could handle it.
Within a minute, I was at the building with a faded wooden sign reading "Sheriff's Office" hanging above the porch. The building was a symmetrical structure at least three times the size of my own house and a million times nicer. I couldn't see much of the inside, but I didn't need to. To the right of the door way stood a large bulletin board, several sheets of paper tacked on to it. Trotting over to it, I began reading over them.
'Kill so-and-so, fifty caps...' Nah, not worth it for the caps. 'Kill Radhogs clustering around New Appleloosa trade route, five hundred caps...' Scratch that one too. Though the pay was decent, I wasn't about to go all the way north to New Appleloosa to cap Radhogs. 'Caravan Escort, traveling to New Appleloosa. PRECIOUS CARGO. Two thousand cap reward...' Oh, hello! Why in Equestria somepony would pay that much for a measly caravan trip beats me, but the caps were well worth the effort. I was about to tear it down when I saw an additional note written on the bottom of the paper. "DO NOT TAKE. Sign your name below on the following lines. TWO AVAILABLE SLOTS. Meet at southwest exit on Wednesday at 3:00 AM sharp.' Sure enough, below were a pair of parallel lines, one of them already filled in with the name...
... Domingo.
Whether this was fate or chance, it still felt odd that Domingo would have applied for the job hours ahead of me. I don't know if he knew I'd sign up or not, but something just felt wrong about this. Though we had a decently pleasant conversation earlier today, I couldn't shake the look of his eyes from my mind. At every second, they were constant pinpricks of icy blue with the smallest indication of pupils.
But, no matter how much this coincidence ran me wrong, I still had no choice but to accept. Where else was I supposed to get that kind of money? It's not like there are any kinds of banks up for robbing these days. With reluctance, I took the pencil hanging to the board by a rope and wrote my name on the second line. Before I turned to return home, I grabbed the Radhog bounty. Since I'm headed up in that direction anyway, I might as well make a few extra caps.
I stretched out my wings for the short flight home, but was stopped by a sight that took my breath away. Out of the saloon walked a charcoal unicorn with a paper white mane striped with yellow and crimson streaks. What caught me was a beauty I thought impossible to exist in the Wasteland. Her coat was absolutely flawless, not a speck of dirt of grime anywhere on her body. Not only that, but she had a certain swagger in her walk that just screamed that she was not bornfrom something of this world. I had failed to notice that the saloon had grown considerably calm as soon as she walked out onto the dirt road.
She looked over to me, and I could've sworn my heart skipped a beat when our eyes met. Hers were a much lighter shade of blue than my own, but were just as intense, if not more. When she began trotting towards me, I could've dropped dead right there.
"Ah, good evening sir," she said with a voice fit for a goddess. Quickly, I attempted recomposed myself, but was instantly fumbling when I had realized how close she had gotten. I've never noticed this before, but pretty mares always seemed to fuck me up by just being there. Probably because the only mare I've really ever met was Water Light. Damn, that was a good one. I've got to remember to write that down sometime.
`It took me some effort, but I was finally stable on my hooves. At least I think I am. Knowing my luck, though, it probably looked like I was doing yoga in front of the mare. "Uh, evening ma'am." I said as formally as I could, though that wasn't much. "Kind of late for a stroll, ain't it?" She chuckled, making my heart flutter more than my wings ever could. Or maybe that was just me having a heart attack.
"I just needed a little break from the crowd. Most of them seem to want me to get in their beds rather than their stage." She said with disgust. I wouldn't blame her. Appleloosa doesn't exactly gather the most pleasant populace in the Wastes. Save for like, ten ponies, most of the town are horny drug addicts, murderous psychopaths, and ponies too poor to live anywhere else.
"Eh," I shrugged. "You get used to it." For whatever reason, she seemed to brighten up at this. Regardless of the why, it still made me feel good inside. Better than I've been in days, I noticed. Between the long silences of watching the barren wastes and Water Light's tantrums, I never found any solace once during the escort.
"You know, you're quite well mannered for a slaver," she complimented out of nowhere. "Not once have you tried even flirting with me." Was it just me, or did her voice have a hint of disappointment in it?
"It's just the way my folks raised me, I guess." I said, shrugging.
"Well, they sound like very nice ponies." she said.
'Yeah..." I said, trailing off. "They were..." Oh no, Filly. Now is not the time to get depressed! The mare must've caught on, because she looked like she regretted ever mentioning my parents.
"Sorry, but I've really got to get back to my show, mister...." she said apologetically, extending the last word.
"Silver Wing. It's Silver Wing." I said in response.
"Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr. Silver Wing," she held out a hoof to me. "My name is Velvet Remedy."
I met her hoof with mine and smiled. "Likewise, Velvet Remedy." Something about her just seemed... nice. Good. Just the sense of touching her impossibly clean hoof sent good vibes through my body. "You have a nice night."
"Oh, I'll try to." she chuckled, breaking our hoofshake. "Bye bye, now." She said, turning to retreat back into the saloon. As she entered, I caught a glimpse of her cutie mark; a golden bird with several music notes flowing from it's... mouth? Beak? I didn't know, and personally, it was unimportant.
Once again unfolding my wings, I took to the skies. As I saw my house on the farside of town, I remembered I still had one stop left before I could return home. Making sure I had my pouch of caps still hanging around my neck, I veered left towards a large building with a faded sign reading "Appleloosa Salt Block." It was a standard building, complete with a dimly lit front porch. A single lantern hung from the gutter, giving the building an ominous glow.
I swiftly soared down to the porch and landed softly on my hooves, my caps jingling as I hit the ground. Opening the door, I entered a musky room lit by several lanterns and candles. In the rear of the room stood a broken glass counter with several weapons in dire need of repair. Behind it loomed what was quite literally a wall of guns. Every inch was covered from roof to floor with firearms of different sizes and rarity. Pistols, assault rifles, machine guns, the whole nine yards. One caught my eye, though; a sleek, semi pump action shotgun. Twelve gauge buckshot, a sixteen shell magazine, and a whole lot of stopping power. I've had my eye on this particular gun for weeks now. Every glimpse of it sent pleasurable chills down my spine. The main body of the gun was made in shining steel, stylistic patterns - not unlike those in my sketchbook - engraved in the metal. The owner of the store, ironically named Buck Shot, had let me fire it a few times, and I have never placed a finer weapon between my teeth in my entire life.
Speaking of Buck Shot, I found the red earth pony napping on a chair between the counter and the wall of guns. He was among the small group of ponies I had befriended in the town, mostly due to the fact that nopony else were really the 'talk-y' sort. With a few rings of a bell on the counter top, he was awake.
"Ah, good evenin' Silvey," he said groggily. Though his eyes were cracked open, I doubted he was really 'up' yet. "Ya see anythin' that tickles yer fancy?" He lazily lifted his hooves up, proudly showcasing his weaponry.
"Actually, Buck, I was looking to buy Old Faith." I responded, a hint of cockiness showing through. Instantly, a devious grin grew on his face as he rubbed his hooves in anticipation.
"Y'all are serious, right mate?" He asked. I nodded, and he continued. "Well then, let's get y'all bloody armed now!" He ended with a cackle, reaching up for the shotgun I had mentioned earlier. While shooting it, me and Buck had came up with the name 'Old Faith.' Whether it was us or the Apple Whiskey talking, the name stuck.
He trotted up to the counter and gently laid Old Faith on the counter. "That'll be twelve hundred, Silvey. Fiftey per mag and twenty few a repair kit." he proclaimed, the grin still plastered on his face.
I frowned sarcastically. "Aw, twelve hundred? How about a friend's discount and we'll call it ten hundred caps?" If there was one thing we loved doing, it was bartering with each other. Hell, when we were kids, we used to trade paper clips and scrap metal as if they were gems.
"Tsk tsk, Silvey. No c'n do. I've gotta run a profit here. How 'bout... thirteen hundred, and I give you five free mags and ten fer the repair kit. How's that fer ya, you lazy git?" He rebutted, chuckling. He reached down under the counter and pulled out a yellow box filled with
"It still seems a bit much..." I trailed off, holding my hoof to my chin, much to the annoyance of Buck Shot. "... but I'll take it." Chuckling, he brought out a box from underneath the counter and opened it, revealing a back foam imprint of Old Faith. As if it were a newborn foal, he placed it perfectly in the box and put the box of shells in an empty area ofthe box big enough to hold it as well as several drum fed magazines. As he was doing that, I dumped out my caps and counted the tedious job of counting them. Thankfully, I had gotten faster over the years, and now was able to count to twelve hundred within a minute.
"So, Silvey, where ya headed so soon after getting back. I mean, really. No hello, no flowers, not even a bloody card." Buck Shot said as he grabbed my caps and placed them in a bag.
"Well I came here now, didn't I?"I said, getting a chuckle from him. "I'm escorting a caravan up to New Appleloosa, then I'm headed for Manehatten, and hopefully Hoofington after that." he stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me.
"Manehatten... Hoofington?"He asked with awe. "Now what could possibly posses you t' do such a thing? It's a mighty trek from here to there to there." I was reluctant on telling him everything,it being a somewhat personal ordeal, but he was a childhood friend.I couldn't hide anything from him.
"Well, I'm looking to speak with DJ Pon-3 about a group of bandits I've been tracking down since... well, you know." he nodded in acknowledgement. "If my plan is correct, he can help me make contact with somepony in Hoofington who can then help me get to the bandits and kill their leader." he stood there processing everything I just said (which I realized wasn't a lot, but the impact must be tenfold of the size).
"Aye... y'all must've put some effort into this plan of yers, huh?" he finally asked.
"Day and night."
"Well, in that case," he said, once again disappearing under the counter. Oh Celestia, no. Please don't let him... "I'm coming with you." he said, slamming his saddlebags onto the counter. On the side, his rifle cutie mark was sewn on.
Fuck.
"No, Buck. I'm sorry, but you can'y come with me." I knew that whatever I say, Buck Shot would just make an excuse, but I had to try to persuade him in one way or another. But, knowing how stubborn he can be sometimes, that may prove a challenge in itself.
"An' why the hell not?" he questioned, stuffing several thousand caps worth of ammunition in his bags.
"Well... Uh..." My mind was running a blank. I tried desperately to think off something, but not one thing would come to me. "... you have the, uh, store to maintain!"
"The store?" he scoffed, pulling a long rifle from the wall and inserting a dual drum beta magazine into the receiver. "Silvey, I've been waiting years fer an excuse to leave this bodged up building. I haven't spent a real week outside in I don't know how long! I'm comin' with you, whether you like it or not." oh, how I so wanted to buck him upside the head right about now.
I walked behind the counter until I was next to Buck Shot. I put my hooves on his shoulders, making him stop in place. He looked at me with grey, bloodshot eyes full of energy. "Look, Buck. I respect you wanting to help out a friend, but this is something I've got to do on my own. I started it by myself, and that's sure as hell as I expect to finish it." He broke contact with my eyes, looking down to the floor, "Don't let this make you think I consider you any less of a friend. In fact, you're more a friend to me than anypony else has ever been. The fact that you're willing to risk your life for an old buddy of yours shows true loyalty. But it must be me who see's this through to the end. No pony else. Do you understand?" He remained silent for a moment, reflecting on what I had said.
Finally, he pushed my hooves off of his shoulders and sat on his haunches. "Well shit, Silvey. Y'all sure you can do something like this on yer own?" he asked. "I've heard stories of ponies biting off more than they can chew. Most of them end having the pony wind up dead or as a raider's sex slave." Alright, I did not need that image in my mind right now.
"Yeah, I'll be careful. What am I but?"
"Well, let's see here... loud, reckless, stubborn..." he listed, clopping his hooves with each word.
"Yeah, you can stop talking about yourself anytime now," I said, getting a heartily laugh from him.
"Alright, get out of my shop, ya twit." he said, still chuckling. As I left for the door with my new gun in tow, he stopped me. "And don't forget to send a card my way!"
Now back on the eerily lit porch, I began my trot towards my house. It was a mere block from my house to Buck's shop, and my wings were tired, so I chose the ground route. I closed my eyes slightly while retaining a steady pace, letting my mind wander astray. All the things that happened today swirled around an an uninterpreted mass of random images. Water Light, the bounty board, DJ's broadcast...
Domingo.
I stopped dead in my tracks as I imagined the beige buck's face in my mind. And, to tell the truth, was quite frightening. He was wearing that wicked grin he was oh so infamous of, and his eyes seemed even smaller than they were earlier today. I just couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, and that it would involve Domingo.
* ** *** ** *
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
'Wow, already? I've just barely closed my eyes...'
Apparently, I had been out later than I thought, because what seemed like an hour after I finally got to bed, my Pipbuck alarm went off, meaning that it was 2:30 AM. Luckily, the date the caravan headed for New Appleloosa was the day after I found the job notice. Unluckily, that day was today, as well.
I was not looking forward to going to New Appleloosa with Domingo. While he seemed friendly, there was just something about him that unnerved me (and not just those freaky ass eyes of his). The unnatural red of his tank top just reminded me too much of blood (hell, for all I knew, it probably was blood), and the lethal and merciless weapons hooked up to his battle saddle sent chills down my spine. As therapeutic and 'enjoyable' it was killing raiders, nopony deserved a death that wouldn't leave a body.
Within ten minutes, I had all my things togetherand freshened up (at least what the Wasteland counted as fresh). My twin rifle battle saddle was fully loaded and freshly polished, my mother's old machete strapped onto my left leg, my new pump-action shotgun hung on a harness across my back, and my bags were loaded with food, water, medicinal supplies, and enough ammunition to take on a squad of Steel Rangers. Er... make that one Steel Ranger... with a large pistol... and no armor... or combat training.
OKAY, maybe enough ammo to maybe take on a raider camp or two. Maybe...
Alright, time to stop arguing with myself and meet up with the caravan. Opening the door, I was met with the familiar darkness I had met not too long ago. A single beam of white moonlight struck down on Appleloosa, coming from alone gap in the clouds. I prayed that was Luna saying things were going to go alright and not her welcoming me to the afterlife in advance.
Instead of flying, I chose to walk to the meet up instead, not that I was lazy but because it was literally right in front of my house. No, really. Two houses down, I could see a brahmin hooked up to a wagon with two pony silhouettes standing next to it. One had the unmistakable mohawk that Domingo had sported the last time I saw him.
As I got closer, I saw the details of each silhouette. The one I had assumed was Domingo turned out correct. He was still wearing the same shirt too.The other pony I had seen was a grey unicorn buck with frizzled strands of hair laying over his eyes, a Red Racer cap covering his head. He was wearing what looked like beaten leather armor with every piece of junk he could find on it. I saw silverware, road signs...wait a minute, is he really using used medical bandages as a balaclava?! It seemed like he had everything on his person besides for the kitchen sink.
The comically dressed pony noticed me approaching and waved me over, pulling down his homemade mask with a hoof. Domingo had seen him, turning to face me, a wicked grin forming as our eyes met.
"Oi! Yew the 'un they be callin' Silva Weng?" he said with the most bizarre accent I've ever heard. I could barely tell if he was speaking Equestrian, Griffonian, or some ancient zebra dialect.
"That would be me. You can just call me Filly, though." My gaze moved from him to Domingo, who already had his eyes on my. "Hello, Domingo. Nice to see you again."I said, straining to get them out as he continuedstaring at me.
"Ah, Hola hermano. Never thought I would see your face again so soon." He stared off into the hole in the clouds, a full moon visible. A grid of white was already forming around the gap. I had been told by my mother that this was Enclave pegasi sealing up the sky. "This night is, what my people would call, muy bonito. It is not common to have such a view of the night sky, eh hermano?." He asked, turning back to me.
"Yeah..." I gulped, scratching the back of my mane.
"Yew lads know each o'er?" The unicorn had asked. I nodded, seeing Domingo's constant gaze in the very edge of my vision. "Gud. Den we c'n cut the welco'ing short. Ey'm Scrapwork. Ey run dis caravan oop ta New Apple'oosa unce a mont. Dis mont, 'owever, Ey 'ave some... 'specialty ca'go' dat needs deliv'rin. " I opened my mouth to ask something, but Scrapwork shushed me. "An' no, yew may not 'ave a peek at it. Orders fr'm the clie't."
"That wasn't what I was going to ask," I replied harshly, more to the fact that his voice was giving me a headache than him cutting me off. "I meant to ask why you've only hired two guards for this trip. I mean, if this delivery is so important, then why not hire a whole pack of guards?"
"Be'ause, laddie, 'aving tew many g'ads will attract mo' attention den o'ly a couple. Now," he said, his voice gaining more authority. "Les' get dis show on the rood, boyos! We've a long jerny 'head o' us! Gidd'yup, Bessie!" He yipped, lightly bucking the brahmin, causing it to slowly heave forward. I followed, Domingo keeping behind me (much to mypersonal objections). Already what felt like an hour had passed and looking back, I saw we were barely a hundred feet away from Appleloosa.
This was going to be a long day.
* ** *** ** *
Along day I predicted, and a long day it was.
With Scrapwork mumbling incoherent phrases I'm pretty sure a pony drunk on several bottles of Wild Pegasus couldn't pronounce and the constant feeling of Domingo staring me down from behind, I was surprised I didn't go crazy by the time we stopped for lunch.
We had settled down at the side of a bridge, the rotting carcasses of several Radhogs infecting the air with it's unholy stench. If the Godesses could smell it, I'm sure one would banish it to the moon while the other locks it up within the deepest, darkest pit of Tartarus. 'Looks like I can forget about that five hundred caps..." I thought to myself, taking a bite out of an apple. In the distance, I could see the faint mass of New Appleloosa, several columns of smoke floating into the sky.
I have never been inside the walls of New Appleloosa, mostly because I had nothing that required me to. Anything they had, we probably had back in Appleloosa. Well, besides for a slave pen. While the two towns were closely connected with one another, only the latter had taken up the slave trade.
Our eating was interuppted by Domingo directing his attention towards a hill about a hundred feet our from our current set up. "I'll be right back, amigos. I think I saw somethin' over that ridge..." He trailed off, prepping his battlesaddle for combat. I stood up as well, switching my rifles safeties off. I began following him when he motioned me to sit down. "No, no, no, hermano. I can handle this. Finish up your comida quickly." He then turned to Scrapwork, who was chugging down a bottle of whiskey. "Scrapwork, get the Brahmin ready to move. I don't know if it's anything, but you can never be too careful, eh?" Finishing off the bottle with a glorious (and quite odorous) belch, he got to his wobbly hooves.
"Aye, laddie... Ey'll 'ave 'er up fas'er den yew c'n sey 'armandew', er wha'eva th' 'ell yer always sayin..." He clumsily trotted over to the napping Brahmin, tugging on it's reins. Domingo then disappeared over the hill within a minute. I wasn't about to let my eyes off of the hill, but after waiting a minute for Scrapwok to get a hold of the reins, I was forced to assist him.
When the brahmin was finally on the road, I pushed the wagon in position so it could be latched onto the it's saddle. When they were in place and locked, I looked back over to the hill.
I saw the silhouette of a pony, but it wasn't Domingo. No, this pony was a unicorn, and with a big gun. I mean, a really, really big gun. Like, so big that it's sheer awesomeness is enough to grace Princess Celestia. The only problem?
That massive, super awesome gun was pointed at me.
With a deafening boom, a cloud of smoke rushed out of the rear of the gun, a small spear-like object flying towards me.
On instinct, I dove down on the ground behind the Brahmin, and my world turned into a glorious blaze of fire. The Brahmin that was once my cover had been engulfed by the flames, which then instantly headed for me. Before I could react, the tips of the flames began licking my body, singeing fur and burning skin, setting my entire body ablaze in a wave of agonizing pain.
As fast as the inferno came, it dispersed into the air, leaving behind traces of flames and burnt dirt. The brahmin was now in great meaty chunks that looked more like a massive steak than an animal. A hunk of smoking, hoof-shaped meat landed in front of me, splattering my face with blood. I began to panic I started thinking that it was mine and realized I couldn't feel any part of my body. My fear subsided when I saw what little coat left untouched was grey, not white.
Only then, I could start feeling again. And, to be honest, I'd much rather prefer feeling numb all over. As my nerves came back to me, I felt my entire body being stabbed by a thousand bloatsprite stingers. I let out a scream, unable to control myself. Every inch of my body felt like it had been dumped into boiling water and left to soak. When I regained what little strength I could muster, I looked down at my hooves. Both were still attached (thank Celestia), but what I saw made my stomach lurch more than flying ever could.
Instead of being greeted by paper white fur, my hooves were blackened and crusted, and what wasn't burnt was lacerated with shrapnel and streaming more and more blood by the minute. Both of them were bent in ways I had previously thought to be impossible and saw with a heaving feeling that a fork had impaled my right hoof, going through meat, bone, and enamel alike.
I laid there for what seemed like an eternity, my vision slowly creeping towards darkness. So, this was how I was going to die... Heh, pretty funny, once you think about it. Here I was, just minutes ago enjoying an apple, then the next lying on the ground, nothing more than a hunk of burnt, dying meat. I don't even know who it was that killed me, but I didn't care. All I needed was to... to get some sleep... Why the hell am I.... So.... so tired all of a sudden...
Seconds before I blacked out, I could've sworn I saw my parents trotting towards me.
* ** *** ** *
I felt a hoof slap my face and someone shaking my body. "C'mon, hermano, wake up. Filly? C'mon, Filly, wake the fuck up. Filly, this isn't funny, now wake. The fuck. UP!" The voice said, a violent shake following the last word. "Diesel! Get some water! Get-... get the water, the batteries, EVERYTHING!" The voice yelled, cracking with each word. A few minutes later, I felt a stream of cold... something flow down my face. It felt heavenly on what little skin I could feel with. "C'mon, Filly, you need to wake the fuck up right now, or I am going to be a very pissed pony for the next few hours!" It was only until now that I realized I hadn't been breathing.
I had also noticed that I didn't very much care. All I wanted was a nap, and this asshole wouldn't leave me alone! A few seconds passed, and I felt two object touch the sides of my forehead, followed my a shock that jostled my whole body. It repeated two more times, and on the third, my vision instantly returned to me. I was lying face up on the ground, a very familiar looking beige pony backed by a second charcoal unicorn wearing a torn up red T-shirt with leather barding. The former greeted me with a warm, yet unnerving smile. On the ground lay a black box, two wires leading out of it, each ending with a metal ball.
"Ah, good. Thought we lost you there, hermano," Domingo said, grinning with child-like joy. "Sorry Diesel had to blow you up. It appears that some employees can't follow simple fucking INSTRUCTIONS!" His voice escalated with each word, seeming to extremely unnerve the unicorn. Then, without skipping a beat, he pulled out a knife from a belt wrapping around his chest and flung it towards the charcoal unicorn's neck. It impacted right in the center of his esophagus, and he collapsed to the ground clutching his throat in a futile attempt to save himself, blood spraying out of his neck and coating Domingo's face with crimson. He watched with a wicked grin as Diesel quickly bled out, and within several seconds he was dead.
I had failed to realize it until now, but Domingo now had a black armband, a familiar logo of a red bird on it...
Dove And Grenade! Domingo was a member or the bandits that killed my parents four years ago. All this time, and he was right under my nose!
And now they were going to kill... me.
I wasn't the only one who had taken notice of the armband. Domingo giggled with maniacal glee. "Yes, so you've finally found out. I'm apart of your missing bandit clan. The Dove and Grenade. I suppose you also heard we operate out of Hoofington from DJ Pon-3, eh?"
"H... how-" I managed to rasp out before Domingo put his hoof over my mouth.
"We have eyes and ears everywhere, hermano. There ain't a thing that goes down between here and The Hoof that we aren't involved in. Every raider camp. Every outpost, town, city, and region isn't without it's fair share of us. In fact, I bet half of the slavers in Appleloosa are associated with us in one way or another."
"B... but w-why?... Why d-do all this..." The effort it took to form each word was straining, and the pain from my throat was unbearable. I wish he would just finish me off already like he did the unicorn...
"It's simply business, amigo. We need special cargo, like our friend Scrapwork had, so we place an anonymous order and ambush the caravan." He leaned back, grabbed a small paper box from his bags, and pulled out a cigarette, lightning it with a stray flame still burning a piece of brahmin.
"W-why go through the trouble ordering i-it when y-you can just have it d-delivered." While the pain wasn't getting any better, I had gotten used to the stinging in my throat when I talked. Domingo simply chuckled and took along drag of his cigarette, exhaling it out of his nostrils.
"Well, firstly, transporting the cargo we need doesn't come cheap. Secondly, what fun is that?" He said those last words with a maniacal grin that sent chills down my spine (or at least what was left of it). "Speaking of fun, it appears that you are missing out. What, have I failed to entertain you? Is this not fun for you? Because, to tell you the truth, it's not fun to me anymore." He said, sighing. "Maybe I should just kill you like your parents. They were no fun either." He stood up and, with a high pitched voice, said, "'Oh, please, Mister bandit! Please don't kill us! We have a son!' Puntas, the both of 'em-" he was interrupted by my sudden coughing fit, sprays of blood flying out with each hack. Domingo remained silent until a splatter of blood nailed him in his eye. The blood seeped into it, then began dripping down towards his tear duct.
"Excuse me, Filly, but do you have any fuckin' idea how rude that was?" He asked as if being insulted, wiping his eye with a hoof. "Celestia, it'll take a week to get that out of there! Fuck, man!" After several minutes, he stopped, now looking at me with his crazed glare. "Maybe..." he began, standing up to get something from his bags. "Maybe I should just end this here and now?" He said, pulling an old, rusted dagger from the saddlebags. Unlike most combat knives, this one was shaped more like a machete, yet still maintaining the width and grace of a blade. What caught my attention, though, was a stylized snake running up the edge of the blade, making it look like something out of a zebra storybook.
With graceful speed, he had the blade rested upon the side of my neck, applying just enough pressure to puncture my skin and make blood trickle down my burnt neck. I simply sighed and closed my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
Only that it wasn't happening.
Opening my eyes once again, I saw Domingo staring at me with disappointed (yet still crazed) eyes. "Aww, no resistance, hermano? Well, that just makes killing you no fun..." he pulled the knife away from my neck, and I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding. He sat down on his haunches, nibbling on the tip of the dagger. He eyed it, and lit up as if a light bulb had appeared over his head. "You know, I skinned your parent's cutie marks with this knife..." He trailed off, pausing for what I assumed to be dramatic affect. "... alive. In fact, I think I have them mounted over my fireplace back home..."
Alright, that was it.
I was burnt, broken, and half dead, but I still gathered enough strength to lift my hooves up and wrap them around his neck. For a few moments, I had thought it was working when his face began turning from beige to red. His hooves pushed up against mine, trying to scrape them away, but it was futile. I had a firm grip around his throat. But slowly, he started giggling, escalating the longer I strangled him. Finally, the laughter became deafening, and he tore my hooves away from his neck as he began rolling on the ground, tears streaming out of his eyes.
"AHAHAHA! There we go! That's what I wanted to see! You actually thought you had a chance, hermano!" He continued his laughing until it slowed down to a few giggles. "Ah, you're funny, amigo. Fuckin' hysterical. And for that, I'm going to have a little fun with you and spare you.." He looked at me, wiping tears away with a hoof. A mare dressed in black, steel armor with red highlights approached from the side, carrying some metal object in a torn saddle bag. She had an impressive minigun built into her suit that would make a Steel Ranger green with envy.
"Dom, you cannot be seriou-" she was interrupted by an enraged Domingo pouncing on her, punching her head until her helmet popped off, revealing a pale yellow mare with streaks of read and pink in her mane. "Dom, what the fuck are you doi-" was all she was able to get out before being put into a chokehold.
"NOPONY. QUESTIONS. MY. AUTHORITY. BITCH!" He screamed, each word headbutting the mare. Her limbs went limp by the second. On the final impact, I heard a sickening crunch, and I didn't know if it was the mare's head or Domingo's. I was guessing both. "Now shut the FUCK UP! And wait until I am fucking finished speaking. Please." He stood up from the mare's corpse, breathing heavily. Looking over at me, he once again crouched down besides me. A stream of blood was flowing down his face from his forehead, dripping into his eyes.
"I'm sorry you had to see that, hermano. Sometimes you're assigned incompetent fucks who do nothing but bitch." He paused, pacing back towards the dead mare. "Is that right, Rosebud? Huh, you FUCK?!" With a final headbutt, he returned to me. "Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I'm going to let you live." He dug around his saddlebags for a minute until he pulled out a syringe of clear liquid. It was simply labeled 'Fun'. "But, there's a twist to it, because I just fucking love plot twists. In here, I have a special brew of Med-X, a little something we 'Hoofites' call Hydra, and restorative zebra herbs, but I've added a little something extra and have been dying to try it out on somepony with promise, namely you." Without hesitation, he stuck it into my neck and forced the liquid into my bloodstream. Instantly I became woozy, and my view of Domingo became gradually more fuzzy each time I inhaled. "While it should heal most of your current wounds, not including that hideous face of yours of course, I've added a poison unique to Hoofington. It won't kill you instantly. No, that is just no fun at all. If you are as strong as any of my previous 'volunteers', it should take a month to begin showing it's signs. Find me, and you get the cure. Simple as that." He leaned back, crossing his arms and smirking. "How's that for a game?"
I tried my hardest to speak, but whatever Domingo had put in that syringe was fading me out fast. He once again leaned in towards my face, placing his hoof gently over my lips.
"Shh, don't talk, Filly. We wouldn't want you dying from exertion, eh? Now, Hush now, quiet now, it's time to lay your sleepy head..." He began singing, cradling my head like a mother with her foal. It frightened me how such an angelic sound could come out of something so horrifying. I was on the verge of passing out, but Domingo's voice kept me just barely conscious. "Hush now, quiet now, it's time to go to bed...
"Goodnight, Filly. Sweet dreams... amigo..." He put his hoof over my eyes, pushing down my eyelids. I tried to resist, but I had become too drowsy to do anything more than breathe.
And not once did he break from his maniacal grin as I slipped into the darkness.
(* ** *** ** *)
Footnote: Level up!
New Perk: Hit The Deck!
Your extensive familiarity with Explosives allow you to ignore a portion of their damage. Your Damage Threshold is increased by 25 against any and all Explosives—even your own!
Strength: 7
Perception: 6
Endurance: 5
Charisma: 7
Intelligence: 4
Agility: 6
Luck: 4
Author's Note
Oh look. Another Fallout Equestria sidefic. How original of me. I might as well have named this 'My Little Fallout: Wasteland Is Magic' and have started the chapter with a 'War never changes' monologue.
Here's something I've been wanting to make ever since I first read the original Fallout Equestria by Kkatman, and I've finally been able to start it. The universe she's created is just so massive and incredible, and the fact that it has made it's own sub-fandom just amazes me. I just hope I'm not completely butchering it with my horrid writing ._.
Also, for those of you wondering, yes, Domingo is based (*cough*copied*cough*) off of Vaas Montenegro from Far Cry 3. Vaas is such a beautifully designed character that I just couldn't NOT have a character like him in a fic of mine. That being said, this will NOT be a MLP/ FoE/ Far Cry crossover, just a Fallout Equestria sidefic. I just wanted to have a Vaas-like character in my story. As I get further into the story, I'm going to try and stray away from using direct quotes from the game and begin writing 100% original dialogue for Domingo. But I'm no Michael Mando, so I have NO idea how that will turn out. Double also, even though my description of Filly's cutie mark is the same as a logo in Far Cry 3, I did not get the idea from it. I had thought up this idea several month before the game was released. I was literally sitting back in my chair playing Far Cry 3, enjoying an ice cold Dr. Pepper, waiting for it to load when I saw the logo pop up on screen. I nearly fell back in my chair, thinking to myself, "Dear mother of god, that's Filly's cutie mark!" then proceeded to have a fangasm, all the while choking on my Dr. Pepper. Yeah, that was a fun time.
Did I mention this is mostly un-edited? ._.
EEYUP. Dumb move on my part. I guess I'll be editing as I go along, and when I get a good few chapters in, I'll go back and rewrite a couple of scenes, sooo... yeah. If you guys even somewhat enjoyed this, make sure to like and/ or fave it (I... I mean, if you want to, that is...) and if you see any mistakes I've made, grammatical, canonical, or otherwise, please feel free to tell me in the comments (the second half of this chapter was written when between the hours of 11:00 PM and 6:00 AM, so I may have overlooked a few things...). Also, keep an eye out for any time I switch Filly's name with a 'Windy Hooves.' I had originally planned on naming Filly that, but chose a new name since I'm already using that name in another story of mine. As for updates, I'm thinking of releasing a new chapter every couple of weeks. This one alone took nearly a month, but that's because the hardest part to writing is usually finding a good place to start.
Also, I'm looking for an artist who is willing to create some cover art for this story. I'm able to do it myself, but I'm awful at drawing ponies freehand (or should I say free"hoof"? Hurr hurr hurr...) and suck even more at digital art. If anyone would like to make a cover for this, either PM me here on Fimfiction or email me at wtaylor1107@gmail.com for the details.
Now for some acknowledgements;
The title and subtitle both belong to Hollywood Undead from their newest album Notes From The Underground, now available on iTunes! (useless promoting FTW...)
The title of the story was inspired by the song Roads Untraveled by Linkin Park, off of their most recent album Living Things. I don't know if I'll incorporate any lyrics aside for subtitles. but I guess we'll see as I go along.
Thank you Kkatman for creating the Fallout Equestria universe (also, she's gained a LOT of respect from me while I wrote this. Writing with things planned a dozen chapters ahead is a challenge in itself, let alone from scratch).
Thanks to Somber for creating the hell-hole that is Hoofington and the city that has rotted Domingo's sanity.
Thank you to all the authors of Fallout Equestria sidefics for inspiring me to do my own.
And thank you to Hollywood Undead and the Treasure Planet soundtrack for being in my music library on a loop when I had those five hour writing sessions.
And most of all, thank everypony who leaves a like, favorite, and/ or comment! It's all greatly appreciated and I love you all in the most heterosexual way possible (or homosexual way. Whatever floats your boat).
Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!
