Fallout Equestria: Without a Spark

I stared at the motionless form of Punch, blood and brains dripping from a messy hold in an eye socket. Fading memories started playing in my head. When we first met him, him giving out toys to fillies and colts. Him always trying to make us smile and laugh.

"You were a good pony, Punch." Then came the memories of him going into a rage and storming off. Learning through traders and the radio that he set mines under toys left on the side of the road. The filly in the warehouse just a couple days ago with her throat slit so he could write with her blood. "I just wished you would've stayed that way."

Getting out of Ponyville was just as easy as going in, but the empty buildings were starting to make my fur stand on end. This wasn't like being watched by living ponies. As if the ghosts of those who had died here were still around, waiting for visitors. Waiting for their loved ones to come home from the war. I could feel their eyes in every window and doorway, staring through me, following me as I left town.

A cold shiver ran up my spine. Ever since I was a colt, something never sat right with the empty settlements. Even Basket couldn't get me to stay more than a day in Manehatten. It was an unknown fear and terrified me. Now, it was a nasty feeling in my gut that refused to go away until I had put some distance between me and the cause.

That was one of the reasons I was worked as a caravan guard up north; open spaces and visits to inhabited buildings. The other reason was information. When we met another group, we usually decided to spend some time trading and swapping news. One bit I picked up a few months back was about the new boss of Old Appleloosa, a milky-eyed white unicorn with a dyed red mane. Sounded a lot like Snowflake, so I made note to look into it later. This was as close to Old Appleloosa as I'd been in a year, so after I caught a train from New Appleloosa, that was my next stop.

The journey back to New Appleloosa was relatively uneventful. Just long hours of walking, and nopony except DJ-P0N3 to keep me company. There was a certain joy in travel, I'll admit. Going somewhere just to go somewhere. In my younger years with Basket we'd wander around, looking for something we knew we'd never find. I knew what happiness was back then. I still found ways to enjoy myself from time to time, but I hadn't been happy since Basket left.

When I made camp for the night, I indulged in some overly-tough jerky and switched on my radio.

What's up, Wastelanders? Your favorite loud-mouthed pony here with the nightly broadcast.

I've been looking into this 'Grey' fella, y'know, try and get a backstory, do a feature on him or something to take up airtime. Nada. Nothin'. Not a single scrap of detail on this guy! I don't even know his name. I've just been calling him by the color of his coat. He shows up, saves a family, and splits for Ponyville. That's all I got. If you know anything, send word with a caravan to Tenpony Tower or drop by yourself. I'm pretty much stuck leanin' out the window with a giant pair of binoculars if not for you guys.

Now for some real news. Slavers have been expanding their operation lately, so watch your necks. Raider activity around New Appleloosa has gone down. A small group of colts and fillies has been seen making their way to Manehatten, give 'em a hand if you can, they sure could use it. And here in Manehatten, the screaming at night continues and yet another report of the ghost. Only this time it was flying. I know things can be weird out there, but try and keep your heads on straight. This is DJ-P0N3, signing off for the night.

"We're getting a new morning show on the air tomorrow, Basque and Oats! One stallion's your everyday Tenpony Tower father, and the other's a crotchety security guard. I've hired them to fill the morning slot so I can stay up late with ya and sleep in. I might have a face for radio but that doesn't mean I don't need my beauty sleep."

I lay in a little hole in the ground, looking up at the dark sky. The memories I had of Punch were starting to fade away. I didn't know how it would feel to finally kill him. Over the years I'd killed so many... I thought it'd be different, killing someone I knew so well. But... No. After the gun went off... I didn't feel much of anything. No more than when I killed the three raiders on my way into Ponyville. Or the seven raiders attacking that family. I did what needed to be done and was on my way.

The first time I killed somepony I was horrified. She was a raider who was going to do all sorts of horrible things to me and Basket. Basket blinded her, and I jabbed a knife into the raider's unprotected neck. I tasted her blood as it spurted out over me. The death wasn't clean; she kicked and thrashed, screamed and choked, until finally the life left her. Basket had to drag me out of there to avoid any more raiders. Since then, all the ones I've killed have blended together into one face, until they all look the same.

The next morning was unusually cold. Extra coffee was my answer, but then again it was my answer to most things. The bitterness woke my brain up and got me on my way.

New Appleloosa's gates opened for me, creaking and groaning from the movement. Walking by Absolutely Everything, I could feel Ditzy's gaze as I passed. She was one of two ponies left in this world that I still gave a damn about, the only one of which I knew was still alive, but I kept going. She knew if I was back, I had done what I set out to. Ditzy asked me not to tell her anything, so I wouldn't.

As I moved through the town, ponies seemed to give me more space than usual. They'd duck down an alley, or cross to the other side of the path. Their eyes followed me after I had gone on by, their hushed whispers barely reaching my ears. I hurried my pace and reached the trainmaster's office, a red boxcar with no more than a desk and a few metal crates on the inside, and a window cut out on each wall.

A grey earth pony sat at the aluminum desk, sifting through paperwork and muttering to himself. He didn't notice me until I tapped on his papers, and even then just grunted to show he was listening.

"You headin' to Old Appleloosa?" I asked.

Without looking up, he replied, "Ah am. Need a ride?"

"Yep."

"Jest get in the caboose with the reserve team and shoot any raiders ya see. Ah got enough shit to go through here than to put in more paperwork for another passenger. We ain't responsible for ya dyin', gettin' shot, stabbed, blown up, yadda yadda the damn thing leaves in five minutes so get your ass on it."

I liked him.

The reserve team, all massive stallions, kept watch out of the windows and small tower on the caboose. A red unicorn called Grave was busy restringing his banjo, and a blue earth pony with a fiery orange mane was sleeping soundly beside me. He was dressed in a white shirt and a black overcoat. Tenpony Tower attire if I had to guess, seeing as it was as clean as something could get in the wasteland. He looked comically out-of-place contrasted to my own dirty leather barding and Grave's muddy duster.

The carriage lurched forward as the pulling team started the journey.

With a few last twangs, Grave finished his tuning. His magic began to pluck the strings, setting a slow and mournful rhythm. The music stirred something in me as I recognized the song. Basket, Snowflake, and I had heard this tune coming from an abandoned church in Hoofington. We went to see who was making the music, and found Doc sitting in the first row of pews, gently singing it to himself. Sometimes when we made camp, he'd use his horn to create the melody, and quietly sing while he worked. Despite hearing them for years, I'd long forgotten the words, but those melancholy notes still brought back memories.

The sleeping pony stirred about halfway through the song, yawning. Looking around, his eyes popped open when he saw me, and continued to stare up until the final strum.

"You're him, aren't you?" He asked, still staring. Grave rolled his eyes, muttering.

"I'm who?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

"Y'know, Grey! That pony DJ's been talkin' about. He wants an interview if he can get one, could I ask you a few questions?"

I had a feeling this pony was sNot like I had anything better to do. "Ask away."

"Let me just grab my recording module..."

After almost an hour of questions, Box, the blue pony, had seemingly run out of things to ask. Turns out he earned his keep in Tenpony Tower finding stories for DJP0N3. I wasn't sure all my answers were going to broadcast, though.

As the cloud cover started turning a sickly red, the train neared on Old Appleloosa. It pulled into the decrepit station, and the teams started offloading crates. Ramshackle wooden buildings lined the few streets, each with cages crammed between them. Grave and Box headed for the saloon, while I made for the sheriff's office just next door.

Armed slavers populated the town, walking the streets and keeping watch on the rooftops. The cages held the slaves, all wearing bomb collars. The air around the prisons reeked of filth, the ponies within almost identical to one another in their malnourished, mud-covered state. The only way to I could tell some were still alive was when their eyes followed me as I walked by. This kind of shit still pissed me off, but not as much as it used to. The Equestrian Wasteland has a habit of numbing you to the cruel and unfair. Still, if I found Snowflake here, I'd do more than just kill him.

Eyeing the guard posts, I guessed around two dozen slavers, most armed with rusty rifles on battle saddles or small pistols. They were all wearing thin leather armor, with what appeared to be metal plates sewn on with cloth flaps.

As I moved to the office, I thought about my options. In each of my revolvers I had a different ammunition type loaded. The two on my legs had full metal jacket and hollow-points, the pistol in my bag had lead nose. I'd have to switch them all to full metal jackets when I could, hollow-points might not make it through the slaver's makeshift armor. I needed to know who and what I shot would go down and stay there.

The brown deck boards of the office creaked when I walked onto them. The green unicorn at the door moved to block it. "Who are you?"

"An old friend of the boss."

"Mhmm." He used magic to adjust his battle-saddle straps. "Hey Boss, this guy says he knows you!"

A coldly familiar voice responded. "That so? What's he look like?"

He turned to yell through a slot in the door. "Grey with a brown mane. Looks like he got a stick so far up his ass his tongue got splinters. Got two revolvers strapped to his forelegs." He glanced at me again. "Startin' to creep me out the way he's starin'."

"What's his name?"

The guard turned his full attention back to me. "What's your name?"

"Judge."

The pony turned back around. "He says his name's Judge!"

"Let him in!"

"You can go in." The guard opened the door, and closed it behind me. Inside, Snowflake was sitting behind an old wooden desk, busying himself pulling food and alcohol from a drawer.

"Don't worry, it's for me. I know how you are with booze. How have you been? Haven't seen you in years. Have a seat, you're making me nervous. Grab a snack or something. I'd offer you a drink, but all I got is wine."

I took my seat on the opposite side of the desk. "I can't believe you're the boss of this place."

"Somehow I knew that'd be the first thing you'd mention," he sighed. "How many of these turds did we kill over the years?"

"I lost track."

"Exactly. No matter how many we killed, they kept coming back. I thought it would be better to try and control them, to make life easier for the slaves."

"You call what's going on out there easier?" I asked venomously.

"No. I tried and I failed. I haven't made life easier for a single pony, aside from myself. This 'Boss' shit is an act. And if I tried to leave, these fucks would probably slap a bomb collar on me. Slavers who quit before their work is done usually end up as slaves. You know I'm no good in a fight. So I lock myself in here and try to drink myself to death." The pony downed half a bottle of wine in one long chug. "Usually just vomit and pass out like the idiot I am."

He made his mistake and was paying for it. Doubt started creeping in on my mind, and the urge to put several bullets into his chest was starting to vanish. "You know I came here to kill you."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "Figured you'd finally snap and try something when you learned about this. I'll put this real simple. Get me, the guards will get you. They may not be smart, but they can shoot straight enough."

"That a threat?"

"It's a warning. If I had the guts I would've pulled the trigger on myself a year ago. I'd rather it be you than this Red-Eye punk. If I 'stop being useful in a management position', his goons put it, I'll 'be useful in a working position'. Slaver or slave once you work for Red-Eye. That's how it works. Either you're screwing or being screwed." He took another long swallow of wine. "All those slaves outside are for him. My guess is they'll all be dead within the year."

"Welcome to the Wasteland," I said bluntly.

"Yep. You know what, Judge? I think it's time I did something stupid. Hang on." He turned and regurgitated the alcohol he had drank into a drawer of his desk. I looked on in indifference, seeing as I had done the same more times than I want to share. "I want to be sober for this." He opened another drawer and took out a semi-automatic pistol.

"What are you thinkin'?"

"You leave. They'll try to slap a collar on you when you're just beyond the walls. Before they can, I'll shoot the guard outside my door, and whoever else I see. They'll turn to me, and you get away free. It'll be the only good thing I've done for somepony in a year."

"Why?"

"I want to die with a bit of dignity. Not as some drunkard found in a puddle of his own filth when they wonder where he's been for the past week. Just... Let me help one last pony before I die." He looked at me, and I could see in his pale eyes he was pouring his heart out.

"You're goin' to kill yourself anyways, aren't you?"

"No!" Tears were starting to tumble down his cheeks. "Dammit Judge, I'm a coward. You were right. I left our friends and I changed. I'll never be that pony again." The tears continued to streak down his face, but he kept his eyes deadlocked with mine. "I can't shoot myself. I've tried and I just can't. This is the only way I'll be able to end it on my terms. Please. Let me help you."

Old feelings were started to come back to me. I had come here to kill him outright, but seeing Snow like this made me pity him. As he pointed out, if I shot him, the guards would get me. And I still had to Wire and Doc to take care of, and Basket to find. "If that's really what you want... Okay."