Chapters Fallout: Equestria (Ghetto Abridged Version)
Introduction
Back up in tha day, up in tha magical land of Equestria...
…there came a era when tha idealz of thang gave way ta greed, selfishness, paranoia n' a jealous reapin of dwindlin space n' natural resources. Landz took up arms against they neighbors. Da end of tha ghetto occurred much as our crazy asses had predicted -- tha ghetto was plunged tha fuck into a abyss of balefire n' dark magic. Da details is trivial n' pointless. Da reasons, as always, purely our own. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da ghetto was nearly wiped clean of life. A pimped out cleansing; a magical spark struck by pony hooves quickly raged outta control. Megaspells drizzled from tha skies. Entire landz was swallowed up in flames n' fell beneath tha boilin oceans. Ponykind was almost extinguished, they spirits becomin part of tha ambient radiation dat blanketed tha lands. A on tha down-low darknizz fell across tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass...
…But it was not, as some had predicted, tha end of tha ghetto. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Instead, tha apocalypse was simply tha prologue fo' another bloody chapter up in pony history. In tha early days, thousandz was spared tha horrorz of tha holocaust by takin refuge up in enormous underground sheltas known as Cribs. But when they emerged, they had only tha hell of tha wastes ta greet em. All except dem up in Crib Two. For on dat fateful dizzle when spellfire drizzled from tha sky, tha giant steel door of Crib Two swung closed, n' never re-opened.
Fallout: Equestria
Fallout: Equestria (Ghetto Abridged Version)
Prologue: Of PipBucks n' Cutie Marks
Prologue: Of PipBucks n' Cutie Marks
If I’m goin ta rap bout tha adventure of mah thuglife -- explain how tha fuck I gots ta dis place wit these people, n' why I did what tha fuck I’m goin ta do next -- I should probably start by explainin a lil bit bout PipBucks.
What tha fuck iz a PipBuck, biatch? A PipBuck be a thugged-out device, worn on a gangbangin' foreleg just above tha hoof, issued ta every last muthafuckin pony up in a Stable when they become oldschool enough ta start work. A blendin of unicorn pony magic n' science, yo' PipBuck will keep a cold-ass lil constant measure of yo' game n' even muthafuckin help administa healin poultices n' other medicine, track n' organize every last muthafuckin thang up in yo' saddlepacks, assist up in repairs, n' keep all manner of notes n' maps available at a hooftap. Plus, it allows you ta dig tha Stable broadcast whenever you wanna as it can tune tha fuck into n' decrypt just bout any radio frequency. And that’s not all. A pony’s PipBuck generates a E.F.S. (Eyes-Forward Sparkle) dat will indicate direction n' muthafuckin help gauge whether tha ponies or creatures around yo ass is hostile. And, like most impressively, a PipBuck can magically aid you up in a gangbangin' fight fo' brief periodz of time all up in bust of tha S.A.T.S. (Stable-Tec Arcane Targetin Spell). Oh, n' a gangbangin' feature not ta be forgotten: it can keep track of tha location of tagged objects or people, includin tha wearerz of other PipBucks. So if a pony somehow gots lost -- don’t ask me how tha fuck you could git lost up in a Stable yo, but it do happen on occasion -- then anypony whoz ass knew tha lost pony’s tag could find dem instantly.
It can even be made ta glow like a lamp.
So yes, PipBucks straight-up is a testament ta unicorn pony arcane science. And yes, havin a PipBuck be a funky-ass big-ass advantage. So wit how tha fuck straight-up dope n' miraculous all dat just sounded, it’s hard ta impress upon ponies whoz ass never lived up in a Stable just how tha fuck ordinary, how tha fuck pedestrian, a PipBuck was up in tha eyez of tha ponies livin up in Stable Two. And why I was pissed tha fuck off ta have one as mah cutie mark.
Every pony up in Stable Two had a PipBuck fo' realz. All dat shiznit I mentioned, biatch? Most ponies don’t bust even half of dat shit. They just used it ta tune tha fuck into tha Stable broadcast -- listened ta tha dope, dope voice of Velvet Remedy up in tha evenings or tha sickest fuckin school rappin competitions durin tha day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Da Stable had two soccer leagues, one which allowed S.A.T.S. n' one which prohibited dat shit. Otherwise, most ponies paid they PipBucks almost no attention at all. Da Overmare thangs each pony they own PipBuck on tha dizzle of they Cutie Mark Jam -- probably a thugged-out dizzle or two afta you git tha mark on yo' flanks dat drops some lyrics ta everypony what tha fuck make you special, what tha fuck you’re destined ta be phat at. Once it shows, tha Overmare knows what tha fuck work ta assign you; you know yo' place up in tha Stable. So no, I was not thrilled dat what tha fuck made me special was suttin' dat everypony had, which was a shitload like bein holla'd at I wasn’t special at all. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sure, gettin a PipBuck as mah cutie mark could have meant I was destined ta become a phat PipBuck repair filly or somethang yo, but up in realitizzle it was like gettin a cold-ass lil cutie mark of a cold-ass lil cutie mark.
Didn’t muthafuckin help dat I was tha last pony ta git her cutie mark. Not surprisin up in retrospect. Kinda tough ta find what tha fuck you’re supposed ta be phat at when what tha fuck you’re supposed ta be phat at is suttin' you don’t git until you’ve found what tha fuck you’re supposed ta be phat at. So I tried every last muthafuckin thang. I even tried ta invent freshly smoked up things. As a unicorn pony mah dirty ass, mah innate magics allow me a level of fine manipulation dat earth ponies don’t enjoy. Any pony can hold a key up in they teeth n' open a lock yo, but rockin multiple tools up in a straight-up delicate operation, biatch? That requires precision levitation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. So I decided ta learn ta pick locks wit a funky-ass bobby pin n' screwdriver. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. And I was even gettin pretty phat at dat shit. Unfortunately, it didn’t git me mah cutie mark. It just gots me tha fuck into shit.
I even, ta mah humiliation, went all up in tha C.A.T. (Cutie-mark Aptitude Test) up in tha hopes it would guide me ta what tha fuck made me special. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. But no. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah C.A.T. was utterly average, wit only marginally higher scores up in a cold-ass lil couple areas, indicatin dat I might be suited fo' work as a PipBuck Technician or a Stable Loyalty Inspector. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Two options, I should note, dat was even less impressive when you considered dat it was generally expected dat unicorn ponies would go tha fuck into either technical or administratizzle work. That is, except tha unicorn ponies whoz ass is natural artists, like Velvet Remedy. As I holla'd before, our inherent magic allows our asses tha sort of fine manipulation dat technical work demands. Likewise, tha Overmare n' her posse was always unicorn ponies. It be tha Overmare’s unicorn magic, afta all, dat creates tha false sunlight used ta grow our underground apple orchard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And while our applez might not look like dem dope red thangs up in tha oldschool books, they is what tha fuck keep our asses kickin it.
It was only cuz they let me try mah hooves at both positions dat I gained access ta a PipBuck before receivin mah own, otherwise I might never have gotten mah cutie mark.
Oh, hoes call me LittlePip. Go figure. I was given tha name cuz I was tha lil'est n' tha smallest, n' even mah mutha had tha phat sense not ta booty-call me "Pipsqueak." (Not dat I don’t ludd her yo, but when a gangbangin' filly’s cutie mark be a glass of hard apple cider...) Anyway, funky how tha fuck names like dat turn up sometimes.
Pleased ta hook up yo thugged-out ass. Here is mah story…
Fallout: Equestria (Ghetto Abridged Version)
Chapter One: Out of tha Stable
Chapter One : Out of tha Stable
"Because up in Stable Two, no pony eva entas n' no pony eva leaves."
Gay.
Da wallz of tha maintenizzle stalls was all a straight-up monotonous, dull grey. Da particular wall I was starin at had tha merit of bein a straight-up clean grey. PipBucks was notoriously hardy n' reliable, so bein tha Stable’s PipBuck Technician meant dat there was long periodz of not a god damn thang ta do. Bein tha PipBuck Technician’s apprentice meant dat I was assigned all tha mundane everyday chores while mah trainer took extended naps up in tha back room. Chores like cleanin tha walls.
"This wall needz a mural."
I let mah dirty ass fantasize, picturin tha Overmare agreein n' orderin Palette her muthafuckin ass ta turn our entire stall tha fuck into one of her brightly colorful masterpieces. Palette was tha top billin painter up in Stable Two, n' like every last muthafuckin scapped artist, dat made her a stable treasure. Life up in Stable Two inevitably fuckin started ta smoke at yo' spirit -- you was born up in tha Stable, you lived yo' whole thuglife up in tha Stable, you was goin ta die there, n' tha course of yo' thuglife was largely laid up fo' you ta peep by yo' Cutie Mark Party. So tha Overmare insisted dat a freshly smoked up cold lil' woo wop be added ta tha Stable broadcast’s repertoire each week, dat hood areas was brightly painted n' adored wit upliftin n' motivationizzle murals, dat regular partizzles was planned up in tha atrium… all up in a effort ta distract n' stave off depression.
Realitizzle came crashin back as I stared all up in tha eternally blank grey. Beautifyin maintenizzle areas was tragically low prioritizzle already, n' tha PipBuck Technician stall was one of tha least trafficked partz of maintenance. I felt mah ears droop as I started ta realize dat I’d be starin at dis same stupid-ass grey wall nearly every last muthafuckin dizzle fo' tha rest of mah life.
"Oh dear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Is it straight-up dat bad."
And there dat biiiiatch was. Velvet Remedy, tha dirty charcoal-coated unicorn wit streakz of color up in her white mane n' wit a voice as smooth as silk n' rich as finest chocolate, was standin up in tha doorway of mah stall. I felt immediately grateful dat I had finished tha cleanin n' simultaneously ashamed dat tha room was so beneath her muthafuckin ass.
I couldn’t believe dat biiiiatch was standin there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. I’d peeped her on tha stage above our asses at late parties; I’d listened ta her joints incessantly, recordin every last muthafuckin freshly smoked up one on mah PipBuck so dat I didn’t have ta wait ta hear it again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I’ll admit it now, I’d had a cold-ass lil crush on Velvet Remedy fo' years. Me n' at least three hundred other ponies. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah mutha used ta laugh at dat shit. "LittlePip," dat biiiiatch would say, chortlin wit her playas, "Velvet Remedy’s barn door don’t swin dat way." It took me a cold-ass lil couple muthafuckin years ta understand what tha fuck mah mutha had meant by dat shit. And took me nuff muthafuckin secondz ta process dat Velvet Remedy had just axed mah crazy ass something.
"W-wha-huh?"
Wonderful response, LittlePip. So elegant. I wanted ta dig mah way all up in tha concrete floor n' pull tha chunks over tha top of mah dirty ass.
Biatch smiled dopely. Biatch smiled at me biaaatch! And up in dat dunkadelic voice, "Yo ass looked so heartbroken when I came in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Is there anythang I can do?"
Velvet Remedy offered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! To muthafuckin help. Me.
I was shocked back ta mah senses. Velvet Remedy must have some reason ta be down here. Some PipBuck reason. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It wasn’t like dat biiiiatch would just go wanderin around maintenance, afta all. Lookin around, I realized dat I was tha only pony on duty. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah mackdaddy was, as usual, asleep up in his crib.
"Oh… no, it was n-nothing." I tried ta regain composure. "How tha fuck may I be of assistance?"
Velvet Remedy’s expression was both comhorny n' unconvinced yo, but she lifted a gangbangin' forehoof, raisin her PipBuck up ta mah gaze. A mo' elegant model than mine, wit her initials n' cutie mark (a dope bird wit wings outstretched n' beak opened up in song) embellishin it tastefully. "I don't give a fuck bout ta be a funky-ass bother yo, but it’s begun ta chafe. Could you replace tha padding?"
"Oh, straight-up!" I was already levitatin tha special keys used ta unlock a PipBuck from a pony’s foreleg (as a apprentice PipBuck Technician, I had all manner of special precision tools up in tha pocketz of mah utilitizzle barding). "I’ll have it done up in right quick!" Da PipBuck came off wit a cold-ass lil click.
Velvet Remedy chuckled hesitantly, lowerin her hoof. "Oh no, that’s all right. Take yo' time. I’m goin ta put some salve on dis leg back up in mah room n' rest up fo' tha afternoon."
That’s right son! Velvet Remedy was struttin all up in tha Stable Two Saloon tomorrow night son! I would have ta polish it up, make it worthy of bein worn above her hoof. If I dropped all night on it, I could give it a gangbangin' full tune-up, have it hustlin as smoothly as tha dizzle she gots it, n' still have it back ta her before tha show.
"All right son! I’ll have it back ta you by dis time tomorrow. Yo ass won’t be pissed tha fuck off. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time. I promise!"
Biatch smiled all up in mah grill again, n' all tha grey up in tha ghetto couldn’t darken mah day. It make me wanna hollar playa! "Thank yo thugged-out ass." And then dat dunkadelic hoe turned ta go. I watched as her cutie mark disrocked up around tha doorway. Then dat biiiiatch was gone.
*** *** ***
Da next day, I was whistlin one of Velvet Remedy’s joints as I strutted down tha halls towardz her room. Her PipBuck was hoverin along beside me up in a gangbangin' field of magical levitation, freshly padded wit tha dopest linin I could find, lookin shiny n' new. I was chillaxed from a long-ass night or work yo, but up in high spirits. Velvet Remedy was goin ta be so aiiight wit mah work!
Turnin tha corner, I was startled outta mah reverie by tha mass of ponies gathered outside Velvet Remedy’s room. Damn, I was goin ta have ta battle mah way all up in hoof-print seekers n' paparazzi. Levitatin tha PipBuck higher, I started ta shove mah way tha fuck into tha crowd.
"She’s gone!" "How tha fuck could she leave?" Da hushed voices n' panicked whinnies around mah crazy ass grew alarming. "Why would she abandon us?"
Gone, biatch? Velvet Remedy was… gone, biatch?
And then tha lyrics dat stopped mah crazy ass cold. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I didn’t be thinkin tha Stable door even could open!"
Biatch was gone outside?!?
"Don’t worry, everypony!" boomed tha voice of tha Overmare from somewhere up in tha crowd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I have tha tag of each n' every last muthafuckin pony up in tha Stable. I will personally bust up a rescue party. We’ll have our Velvet back by tha end of tha day. It make me wanna hollar playa! Worry not."
I felt I was drownin up in cold, wet cement. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah gaze slowly moved up towardz tha PipBuck floatin above mah dirty ass.
I lowered mah head, slowly tryin ta back outta tha crowd, curlin tha floatin PipBuck close. When tha Overmare brought up Velvet Remedy’s tag, it would lead everypony not ta Velvet but ta her PipBuck chillin up in tha maintenance…
With a thump, I backed tha fuck into somepony, startlin me enough dat tha levitation field evaporated up in a poof n' tha clean n' shiny PipBuck clattered ta tha floor.
Turning, I found mah dirty ass eye-to-eye wit tha Overmare.
Biatch didn’t speak, her gaze turnin ta tha PipBuck on tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Velvet Remedy’s initials n' cutie mark clearly visible.
"What. Is. This?" Da Overmare was rappin slowly, dangerously.
All eyes turned ta mah dirty ass. I could feel every last muthafuckin pair of eyes. No Mothafucka spoke. Da silence bore down like a lead blanket. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah grill went dry. I couldn’t find mah voice.
I didn’t need to. I could feel tha wave of loathing. Dozenz of Velvet Remedy fanponies, n' I was tha pony holdin tha reason why they idol was lost ta em.
Da Overmare’s voice was low n' surprisingly gentle. "Take it n' git all up in yo' room. Swiftly."
Biatch didn’t need ta tell me twice.
*** *** ***
I lay on mah bed dat evening, pokin at Velvet Remedy’s PipBuck as tha radio up in mah own played yet another re-iteration of tha fuck up of tha day. It make me wanna hollar playa!
I couldn’t believe dat shit. Velvet Remedy was gone. I couldn’t understand. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! How tha fuck could she leave, biatch? Why would she go, biatch?
Da door outta Stable Two was closed n' sealed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Only tha Overmare knew tha secrets ta openin it, assumin it even could open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Which, obviously, it could. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!
But why, biatch? No Mothafucka straight-up knew what tha fuck was outside, if there was anythang up there at all. Historical books suggested tha ghetto outside was blasted, lifeless n' poisonous. That was, at least, tha common n' logical assumption. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But a pimp rap somepony holla'd at at mah first (and only) slumber jam had given me wack nightmares n' still lurked up in tha shadowz of mah head: a tale of a pony whoz ass somehow gots tha Stable door open n' stepped outside… only ta smoke up dat there was no outside biaaatch! Just a pimped out nothingnizz dat whisked tha pony away, devourin her ass so dat dat biiiiatch was nothingnizz too.
Empirically, I knew dat wasn’t tha case yo, but tha menstrual image still hustled mah dirty ass.
Da two thangs I did understand was dat Velvet Remedy had gotten me ta remove her PipBuck so tha Overmare couldn’t track her wit it, n' dat I was screwed.
Bein tha smallest pony mah age, n' tha last ta git mah cutie mark, did not facilitate buildin thangs wit mah peer ponies. Muthafucka honestly didn’t muthafuckin help either. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Nor did wakin up beatboxin at mah first slumber party. So I was used ta bein ridin' solo. But I’d never had enemies before. I’d been beneath tha notice of other ponies yo, but I’d never had one don't give a fuck bout mah dirty ass.
I straight-up couldn’t blame dem either, even though it straight-up wasn’t fair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. They was upset n' hurt n' needed a scapegoat. Da shizzle hadn’t mentioned mah crazy ass by name, just "Velvet Remedy’s custom-decorated PipBuck was found up in tha possession of a PipBuck Technician pony" yo, but wit a whole two of us, it wasn’t hard fo' everypony ta figure out, even without tha scene outside her room earlier. Shiiit, dis aint no joke.
Da Overmare was bustin lyrics on tha radio. "Our thugged-out asses is all feelin dis loss. But I wanna remind everypony dat Velvet Remedy chose ta do this. Biatch chose ta leave her home. To abandon us, her family. Biatch betrayed mah trust n' da hoe betrayed yours, just as da hoe betrayed tha trust of tha pony whoz ass dat dunkadelic hoe tricked tha fuck into removin her PipBuck, ensurin we could not find her muthafuckin ass. I know nuff of yo ass is supa pissed or hurt. I urge you ta direct dat anger where it truly belongs…"
As thankful as I was fo' her lyrics, it wasn’t goin ta chizzle tha resentment dat I would grill every last muthafuckin day, even if every last muthafuckin pony kept it ta themselves. It hung up in tha air like oldschool smoke.
I distracted mah dirty ass wit tha errant PipBuck, takin note of a encrypted file. I had spotted it yesterday, figurin it was probably a unfinished freshly smoked up song. I didn’t wanna open it then, both outta respect fo' Velvet Remedy’s privacy n' a thugged-out dislike of spoilaz yo, but I guessed it didn’t matter anymore. Da cold lil' woo wop would never be played.
Openin a pouch on mah utilitizzle barding, I withdrew a access tool dat would allow me ta remove tha encryption safely n' doggystyle. It was a sound file. I played dat shit.
"Da override code fo' openin tha door ta Stable Two is… CMC3BFF."
I blasted up in surprise at what tha fuck I had heard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Swiftly, I turned off tha radio n' played it again.
I didn’t recognize tha voice. It was female, kinda dope, n' had a strange accent dat didn’t sound like mah playas up in tha Stable. But now I knew how tha fuck Velvet Remedy left.
I must have sat there fo' hours, contemplatin what tha fuck I should do. But finally, I made mah chizzle.
I was goin ta go outside afta her muthafuckin ass. I was goin ta brang her back.
*** *** ***
I stood there, starin all up in tha big-ass steel door dat sealed Stable Two away from tha horrors (or nothingness!) outside fo' realz. And all up in tha two guard ponies whoz ass blocked mah way. I had mah saddlebags packed wit applez n' necessities. Even a Big Book of Arcane Sciences fo' suttin' ta read. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I had two canteens around mah neck. I was locked n loaded ta go. But tha Overmare was makin shizzle there was no follow-up acts.
Insistence n' glowerin looks weren’t gettin me anywhere. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah horn was glowin yo, but they stood they ground, unimpressed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They weren’t goin ta let me anywhere near tha control panel.
"Yo, aren’t you tha filly whoz ass let our Velvet git lost outside anyway?" one of tha guardz inquired daringly, takin a funky-ass bullyin step forward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da other guard looked away up in disgust. I’m not shizzle if da thug was disgusted at me, or if he felt like tha Overmare seemed ta bout ponies wantin ta take it up on mah dirty ass. I was kinda hopin it was tha former, thankin bout what tha fuck I was bout ta do ta em.
THUD!
Da metal footlocker above dem dropped onto they heads, knockin both up cold. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Ghetto ponies -- they never peep dat levitatin-something-up-behind-you trick coming.
I was all up in tha controls, enterin tha passcode from Velvet Remedy’s PipBuck when tha Overmare’s voice boomed all up in nearby speakers.
"Stop! I order you ta stop dis instant!"
Yeah, dat wasn’t goin ta happen.
"Guardz muthafucka! I want every last muthafuckin guard pony at Stable Two door playa! Quit dat filly!"
Oh crap!
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah hooves flew up ta tha main switch fo' tha door, n' I prayed ta Celestia dat tha code worked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Then, wit all mah strength, I threw tha switch.
A bangin clangin filled tha air, followed by a hissin of screw n' a pimped out rumble dat shook tha room. As I watched, tha massive bolt dat held tha door from Stable Two shut slid back. A big-ass hinge-arm swung down, attachin itself ta tha door, n' wit a teeth-hurtin squeal, pulled tha massive steel door up n' away.
Randomly, I found mah dirty ass thankin up in mah mother’s voice "Stable Two’s barn door don’t swin dat way." Da door ta Stable Two wasn’t supposed ta swin at all. Even though I threw tha switch, I was stunned ta peep it muthafuckin open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.
"Yo ass don’t have ta do this… LittlePip, aint it?" Da Overmare’s voice kicked mah crazy ass outta mah stupor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I could hear tha hoovez of gallopin guardz drawin near. Shiiit, dis aint no joke.
I took a step towardz tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Don’t worry. I’ll brang her back."
"No you won’t son! If you leave here, you’ll never be let back in!"
For a moment, tha unfairnizz stung. Da Overmare was willin ta bust up a search jam ta brang Velvet Remedy back. But then, Velvet was special, n' I was… not.
Part of me wanted ta turn back right there, crawl back ta mah room n' mah dreary but safe life.
Drawin mah dirty ass up, I stepped up tha door.
*** *** ***
With a gangbangin' final hiss n' clang, tha steel door of Stable Two closed irrevocabilitizzle behind mah dirty ass.
I don’t know what tha fuck I sposed ta fuckin find just beyond tha door yo, but it certainly wasn’t dis long, dark hallway dat smelled of rottin timbers n' sepulcher air. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I was no longer up in tha Stable. But I wasn’t outside yet either. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I was up in limbo.
I turned on mah PipBuck’s light, n' recoiled wit a gasp all up in tha skeletonz of long-dead ponies which littered tha hall. Da outside of tha Stable door was marred from where ponies had slammed on it until they hooves cracked n' shattered, tryin ta git in.
Movin forward quickly, I discovered dat tha hallway opened tha fuck into a oldschool room wit stairs leadin up ta a horizontal door wit a shattered lock. Da entrizzle from tha outside ghetto tha fuck into Stable Two had been defly disguised as tha door ta a humble apple cellar. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. And by disguised, I meant dat tha thug whoz ass built it had been buildin a apple cellar.
Takin a thugged-out deep breath, I trotted up tha stairs, swung open tha cellar door, n' stepped outside.
Footnote: Level Up.
New Perk: Cherchez La Filly -- +10% damage ta tha same stupid-ass sex n' unique dialogue options wit certain ponies.
Fallout: Equestria (Ghetto Abridged Version)
Chapter Two: Equestrian Wasteland
Chapter Two : Equestrian Wasteland
"What ghetto do you live in, biatch? Out here up in tha real ghetto, blood flows, lil pony. Blood flows..."
Nothingness!
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah first nuff muthafuckin secondz outside was a heart-burstin eternitizzle of hoof-poundin terror playa! Da rap had been right son! All dat was outside was a pimped out black nothingness muthafucka! It surrounded me, suffocatin. If I had been able ta draw breath, I would have screamed.
And then mah eyes started ta adjust ta tha darkness. I fuckin started ta calm, gasping, feelin weak (and not just a lil foolish). In mah defense, I had never experienced night before. Not straight-up. Sure, I’d always turned off tha lights before curlin tha fuck into bed yo, but dat darknizz was small, confined ta mah lil room. And there was always tha glow from under tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da hall lightz of Stable Two was eternal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack.
This was different. A def air, like unlike anythang within tha Stable, tickled mah coat n' chilled mah skin beneath. It bore smells dat was dank n' rotting, dusty n' alien. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I could hear tha soundz of night insects, creakin of wood n' a gangbangin' far-off sloshing... but I was struck mo' by what tha fuck I couldn’t hear -- tha constant low hum of tha Stable’s generators n' tha ever-present high whine of tha lights was gone -- so bangin up in they absence dat I first mistook tha outside as silent. I could feel dirt n' broken stone beneath mah hooves, so unlike tha smooth n' sterile floors I had trotted all mah life. And though I could not peep much or far, I could peep further than I had eva peeped before, n' there was no walls ta mark tha end of tha room. I was starin tha fuck into a horizontal abyss dat stretched up from me up in every last muthafuckin direction.
An entirely freshly smoked up panic fuckin started ta form within mah dirty ass. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah hind hairy-ass legs went up from under me n' I sat, stunned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I turned mah gaze ta tha ground, breathang deeply, thankin it not only fo' holdin me up yo, but bein a visual endpoint. Then I made tha mistake of lookin up tha fuck into tha sky, n' tha absolute endless up-nizz of it busted mah head spinnin n' mah stomach lurching. Great massez of cloudz rolled over most of tha sky; but there was gaps all up in which soft light poured n' all up in dem I could peep tha up went on all up in dis biatch. Insanely, I thought of tha cloudz as a pimped out net, made ta catch me if I fell from tha earth tha fuck into tha yawnin gulf above; but if I slipped all up in tha holes, I would just fall up all up in dis biatch.
I clenched mah eyes shut n' tried ta keep from vomiting.
Da fear n' queasinizz was intense but passing. Once mah facultizzles returned, I fuckin started ta notice dem thangs dat had escaped mah crazy ass up in mah initial panic. Da surroundin terrain was becomin evident. Da ghetto around mah crazy ass did not stretch up evenly; tha ground heaved n' rolled -- hills creepin towardz mountains. Da earth was punctured by tha upthrustin black fingerz of long-dead trees. Along distant hilltops, I could peep tha swaying, leaf-shrouded branchez of gameier woodz yo, but tha livin trees near Stable Two was few, scattered n' sickly.
Second, I noticed dat mah PipBuck was flashin wit a host of alerts. Da map-maker was already beginnin ta do its work on mah freshly smoked up n' unfamiliar surroundings, n' ta mah surprise had already pulled a label from tha ether: Sweet Applez Acres.
Turnin around ta git mah bearings, mah eyes was drawn ta tha large, hollowed husk of what tha fuck I assumed had once been a magnificent house. Now, it creaked n' swayed up in tha breeze as if threatenin ta collapse.
Lookin ta mah PipBuck again, I noticed dat it was pickin up nuff muthafuckin radio transmissions. Da radio broadcast from Stable Two was dark yo, but freshly smoked up stations had taken its place. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah ass leapt, fo' it was tha straight-up original gangsta indication dat there might be pony thuglife up here afta all. I nudge mah PipBuck ta start playin tha straight-up original gangsta station on tha list.
"...still sealed up. There is no way inside. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah son, he ate one of tha applez from dem damned apple trees up near tha Stable, n' now he’s terribly sick. Too sick ta move. We’ve holed up in tha cistern near tha oldschool memorial. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. We’re hustlin outta chicken n' medicinal supplies. Please, if anypony hears this, muthafuckin help us... Message repeats. Hello, biatch? Is there anypony up there, biatch? Please, we need muthafuckin help! I was brangin mah gang ta tha Stable up near Sweet Applez Acres when we was beat down by raiders. Only mah lil hustla n' I survived. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Our thugged-out asses juiced it up ta tha Stable yo, but it’s still sealed up. There is no way inside. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah son, he ate one of tha applez from dem damned apple trees up near tha Stable, n' now he’s terribly sick. Too sick ta move. We’ve holed up in tha cistern near tha oldschool memorial. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. We’re hustlin outta chicken n' medicinal supplies. Please, if anypony hears this, muthafuckin help us... Message repeats. Hello?..."
A voice was filled wit a terrible resignation, as if tha pony had already given up hope n' was just goin all up in tha motions. Shaken, I turned it off. I didn’t be thinkin I could bear ta hear it again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. That is when I noticed tha soft tickin from mah PipBuck. Peepin it over, I discovered dat its radiation detector -- a gangbangin' feature I had never known ta be used, had self-activated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time. Da thugged-out lil rainbow dial had always been planted firmly up in tha green. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It was still there yo, but edgin discreetly towardz tha yellow.
I couldn’t just stand here beside what tha fuck had long, long ago been tha door ta a simple apple cellar fo' tha rest of mah life. Well, I could yo, but it would be a relatively short n' miserable life. A realization was dawnin on me: wit all kindsa muthafuckin directions ta go, what tha fuck was tha likelihood dat I would chose tha path dat Velvet Remedy had followed, biatch? Even though she only had a gangbangin' few minutes head start, tha prospect of findin her was bleak.
But I had ta start somewhere. And tha dopest chizzle I had was ta git up high n' gots a look around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da ruins near me rose higher than any of tha nearby trees, n' tha sheered-off roof of its upper tower was probably tha dopest vantage point I could hope for. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I closed mah eyes, steadied mah dirty ass, n' went inside.
*** *** ***
What was left of tha Sweet Applez Acres buildin proved sturdier than it looked (or sounded). It was also almost barren, anythang of value dat had survived had been looted, leavin only scraps dat no muthafucka wanted but dat time itself seemed unable ta erase. Rusted shoes, boxez of soaps fo' cleanin dresses dat no longer existed, a pitchfork wit a shattered handle, a rake.
I fuckin started up tha stairs. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah eyes was alerted ta a gangbangin' feeble glow, tha soft chroniccolor of a poisoned apple, bathang tha room above. Da glow came from tha screen of a oldschool terminal, a thugged-out device of arcane science identical ta tha ones used all up in Stable Two. It seemed miraculous dat it still hit dat shizzle afta centuries on tha outside. When Stable-Tec built something, they built it ta last.
Curiositizzle lured mah crazy ass ta it, n' mah wonder was quickly replaced wit understanding. It was no coincidence dat dis particular terminal was live, fo' on it was a gangbangin' fresh message:
To any pony whoz ass has left Stable Two up in search of me:
Please, go home. I be bustin what tha fuck I have ta do. Da Overmare understands, even if dat thugged-out biiiatch can never agree, n' I hope one dizzle yo big-ass booty is ghon to. I aint gonna be back. Do not look fo' mah dirty ass. Do not endanger yo ass further fo' mah sake. Please forgive mah dirty ass.
Velvet Remedy
I searched tha terminal fo' mo' yo, but all tha other lyrics was ancient n' corrupted save fo' one. And dat one had a rather unique encryption, suttin' I had heard of but never peeped before -- a funky-ass binary encryption such dat up in order ta decrypt it, I would first have ta downlizzle tha message tha fuck into mah PipBuck from both tha terminal which had been used ta bust it n' tha one upon which it was received. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!
Havin not a god damn thang mo' betta ta do wit tha vast amountz of storage mah PipBuck was capable of, I downlizzleed dat shit. In reality, I knew dat tha chances dat I would eva come across tha companion terminal, much less dat it would be functional, was overwhelmingly against mah dirty ass. Nor did I have any reason ta believe a message centuries oldschool would be of any significance.
Mo' blinginly, I now had ta grill dat outside was mah freshly smoked up home. Even if I found Velvet Remedy, it was unlikely dat dat biiiiatch would accompany me back. I’ll admit, I had been subtly entertainin a gangbangin' fantasy where tha Overmare would be so delighted wit Velvet’s return dat dat biiiiatch would embrace our asses both back tha fuck into tha herd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Maybe even throw me a party. Now, I was forced ta admit how tha fuck foalish dat vision was.
Thinkin upon dis made mah head fill wit black clouds. But as I reached tha top of tha ruins n' looked up over tha wasteland, a funky-ass bright light, feeble as it was, flickered up in dat darkness... just as tha light from tha campfire, not half a hour’s trot distant, poked a orange hole up in tha night.
*** *** ***
As I approached tha circle of firelight, I knew suttin' was off. Somethang bout tha way tha dusty beige unicorn was layin on his crazy-ass mat of straw, hairy-ass legs curled up under his muthafuckin ass. Some tensenizz up in his body language. But it wasn’t until I stepped hoof tha fuck into tha light n' gots a phat look -- a warm "Hello" dyin on mah lips -- dat I saw da thug was gagged, n' caught tha glint of tha flames against a gangbangin' few expose links up in tha chains bindin his hooves.
"Well lookee here biaaatch! Walked up all sick n' pleasant, didn’t she?" A big-ass earth pony emerged from tha shadowz of a nearby rock. His hooves clacked metallically against tha rocky ground, shod up in wackly spiked ponyshoes. Two mo' ponies slid outta hidin on opposite sides -- one another earth pony holdin a shovel whose blade had been lethally sharpened, tha other a unicorn whose glowin horn levitated towardz me a short instrument of wood n' metal wit two barrels. Each pony wore bardin made from thick hide. Much like night, I had never peeped a gangbangin' firearm before, save fo' pictures up in books. But dem books was mo' than explicit enough fo' me ta recognize tha mortal threat.
Da bound unicorn on tha mat shook his head wit a fucked up yet derisive look n' fuckin started tryin tha scrape tha gag away wit a gangbangin' forehoof, no longer makin effort ta keep tha chains secret. Da three ponies menacin me spared his ass only tha occasionizzle glance.
"Might as well have trussed her muthafuckin ass up fo' us," tha gun-wieldin unicorn snickered. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Then, addressin me, "Yo ass wouldn’t mind, would yo slick ass?"
Laughter. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "And another unicorn too. She’ll fetch a pimpin' price, dis one."
Fetch a price fo' what, biatch? And from whom?
Da one holdin tha shovel-spear up in his crazy-ass grill mumbled suttin' incomprehensible. Then, apparently decidin tha glock was sufficient deterrent, spat up his weapon n' re-iterated, "By tha Go... I mean, peep her playa! I be thinkin she’s taken a funky-ass bath!"
I was suddenly n' bizarrely aware of how tha fuck filthy all four of tha ponies were, n' how tha fuck foul they smelled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I managed ta cover a gag wit a sneeze.
"What’s goin on?" I axed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Of tha emotions battlin fo' supremacy up in mah head, confusion had clawed its way ta victory.
Da captizzle unicorn finally succeeded up in pullin tha filthy gag free. "They’re slavers, you idiot."
*** *** ***
Monterey Jack, tha dirty beige unicorn wit dour expression n' a cold-ass lil cutie mark dat looked like cheese, followed behind mah crazy ass as we trudged alongside our captors, struttin a funky-ass broken path dat once was a road. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah hairy-ass legs was up in chains, makin struttin hard as fuck n' anythang mo' speedy than a trot impossible. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah PipBuck had stymied tha slavers efforts ta bind mah forelegs, eventually forcin dem ta chain me above tha knees. Had tha one wit tha shovel-spear not been holdin its point dangerously against mah throat, tha other two would have gotten a gangbangin' few hooves ta tender places fo' they efforts. As it was, they made short work of mah dirty ass.
I was not gagged yo, but Monterey had convinced mah crazy ass early dat unnecessary chatter from tha slaves-to-be wannaly result up in tha loss of mah tongue. Not dat I had much ta say ta these brutes anyway aside from mah repertoire of colorful metaphors. I didn’t expect they would answer mah thangs, even if mah tongue should survive tha asking, n' they was bein chatty enough wit each other ta suffice.
"Hate thef fart," grumbled tha earth pony all up in tha spear clenched up in his cold-ass teeth.
"Well then, if you would just learn ta swim, we could take tha long way, couldn’t we?" suggested tha unicorn wit poisoned dopeness.
"Hate fuffen sweffey." By his smell, decidedly mo' pungent than tha others, I guessed he just hated gin n juice up in general.
"How tha fuck bout you stop complainin n' I’ll let you sample one of tha slaves before we git ta tha forest." Their leader, tha earth pony named Cracker wit tha spiked Nikes n' a cold-ass lil cutie mark dat looked suspiciously like a whip (or maybe a snake?), turned back towardz Monterey n' I wit a gangbangin' filthy smile.
I looked away. They laughed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!
Through they disgustin dialogue, I could hear a liquid sound ahead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Not like a funky-ass burblin gin n juice fountain but closer ta a sloughin muck. And... suttin' else. A distant sound, gettin closer. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Noize, biatch? Yes, beatz. Drop dis like itz hot! Slightly tinny yet... triumphant, biatch? Regal, biatch? I couldn’t put mah hoof on exactly what tha fuck feelin tha noize was tryin ta inspire yo, but it was brightly out-of-place.
Cracker took note of mah expression n' smirked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Yo ass look like you’ve never heard dat before. What, did you live yo' thuglife up in a Stable, biatch? If you’re hopin fo' tha cavalry, dat ain’t it filly. That’s just one of dem sprite-bots."
Da noize cut up wit a sharp twang.
Da unicorn slaver, Sawed-Off, trotted ahead a funky-ass bit, peerin down tha path ahead. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Turnin back ta tha rest of us, da perved-out muthafucka smirked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Think one of tha radigators gots it?"
Cracker suggested it flew tha fuck into somepony’s booby trap. Da other earth pony suggested a grillful of spear-mangled mumbling. Da unicorn turned forward again n' again n' again n' tha glow from his horn illuminizzled tha machine -- a metal bizzle bout tha size of a gangbangin' foal’s head floatin on four silently flappin wings - hoverin silently right up in front of his wild lil' face. No arcane science this, I could tell; it was pure earth pony engineering.
"FUCK!" Sawed-Off leapt back a gangbangin' full pony’s length up in surprise. Then swung his shotgun ta bear n' fired it all up in tha sprite-bot. Da sound was like a metal plate fallin from tha ceiling, n' it echoed all up in tha night-darkened hills. Sparks specked tha metal bizzle as it was peppered wit scattershot. It let up a electric whine n' darted tha fuck into tha darkness.
Da unicorn almost took off afta it yo, but Cracker’s voice cut tha distizzle between them, "That’s enough, Sawed-Off. Save yo' ammo."
"Dammit, I don't give a fuck bout when they pull dat stealthy shit. It’s a gangbangin' flyin fuckin radio; it’s not supposed ta sneak up on ponies."
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah ears was burnin from tha free flow of crude profanitizzle yo, but I didn’t mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was mullin over what tha fuck I had just seen.
"Idiot," muttered Monterey Jack under his breath. "They heard dat all tha way up in Ponyville..."
Unlike mah fellow slave, I was pleased ta have witnessed tha unicorn firin off his weapon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Because now I knew how tha fuck it worked.
"...What kind of damned fool," Monterey grumbled, "announces his thugged-out lil' presence dis close ta raider territory."
*** *** ***
A river slithered across our path, its watas slippin n' oozin along its banks, half-stagnant. Da gin n juice lapped n' sucked all up in tha supportz of a funky-ass bridge, makin tha wet soundz I had been hearing. Beyond tha bridge lurked tha shattered remainz of a pre-war town.
Da bridge was a maze of barricades. Dark shadowz of ponies moved bout dat shit. Briefly I may have made tha mistake of hopin fo' rescue; but mah eyes was drawn ta tha spiked polez dat lined tha bridge, n' tha still rottin headz of decapitated ponies dat adorned two of em.
I smoked bile. Da sight was horrific.
"Cager, stay here," Cracker holla'd, finally puttin a name ta tha spear-wieldin slaver pony. "Sawed-Off, let’s go hear what tha fuck tha toll is dis time."
Monterey Jack lowered his head n' looked balefully towardz tha bridge. I moved closer ta him, followin his wild lil' fuckin example, n' hopin dat I had positioned mah dirty ass so Cager couldn’t peep tha faint glow from mah horn as I slipped mah screwdriver n' a funky-ass bobby pin from mah stable utilitizzle barding. Like all of tha slavers’ shit, tha manaclez on mah hairy-ass legs was crude n' of low quality. As Cracker n' Sawed-Off broke off some disrespec wit tha bridge ponies, I focused on pickin tha straight-up original gangsta lock. I was rewarded wit a soft click as it sprung open, releasin mah PipBuck foreleg. Da manacle fell ta tha ground wit a lil thump.
"Hhu!" Cagey’s ears had blasted up, n' now he moved around ta peep mah dirty ass. Swiftly, I cut tha magic, droppin tha screwdriver n' bobby pin tha fuck into tha dirt, n' hoped dat up in tha darknizz tha slaver couldn’t peep tha chizzle up in mah chains.
"Wuf hoo uf foo?" Cagey growled dangerously. Da nasty sharp edge of tha shovel hovered inches from mah eyes.
BLAM!
Cagey turned abruptly, tha spear-shovel slashin close enough ta mah grill dat I shrieked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da gunshot was from tha bridge. It didn’t sound like Sawed-Off’s shotgun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But tha second blasted did.
It took Cagey a funky-ass breath ta recognize dat crossin tha bridge had become a funky-ass bloody affair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Glowerin back at us, his thugged-out lil' posture threatening, da perved-out muthafucka started ta say... something. I suspect da thug was warnin our asses ta stay put yo, but I’ll never know, nahmeean, biatch? His head blew up like a muthafucka, showerin me wit gore.
I stood there, eyes wide, bobbin wit shock. Blood, warm n' sticky, ran down mah forehead n' tha fuck into mah left eye, oozed tha fuck into mah coat n' mane.
In tha growin list of thangs I’d not peeped before dis night, tha dirtnap of another pony ranked all up in tha top. I blinked, feelin tha blood on mah eyelid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Cagey was dead hommie biaaatch! And I had Cagey all over me!!
Da urge ta throw mah dirty ass tha fuck into tha river was overwhelming. But I wouldn’t git ta it like dis y'all. Pushed by suttin' mo' than determination now, mah horn once again n' again n' again glowed n' I n' fuckin started ta unlock tha rest of mah manacles.
I spared a glizzle towardz tha bridge, seein Sawed-Off hunkerin down beside one of tha barricades as he magically pulled his shotgun open, stuffin up in mo' ammo. Two shots, I realized. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! One all up in tha sprite-bot, one just now, nahmeean, biatch? Two shots, n' then reload. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Closin tha weapon, he levitated it up above tha barricade n' blasted blindly tha fuck into tha violent milieu, sprayin a already wounded raider pony wit scattershot. Da pony staggered n' fell.
Unfortunately fo' Sawed-Off, tha raider behind his ass had a thugged-out different kind of shotgun, one dat was fasta n' not limited ta two shots, dat fired slugs which tore pimped out holez up in tha unicorn slaver’s body tha moment he looked up ta peep tha thangs up in dis biatch of his wild lil' fuckin effort.
I turned away, cringin from tha nightmare playin up before mah dirty ass. I focused on tha locks.
*** *** ***
I had freed mah dirty ass n' was beginnin ta free Monterey when two raider ponies trotted off tha bridge towardz us, steppin over tha battle-mutilated corpsez of Cracker, Sawed-Off n' tha raidaz they had taken down wit em. One of dem approachin was tha unicorn raider wieldin tha devastatin combat shotgun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da other, a earth pony wit a sledgehammer up in its teeth. Da unicorn was laughing. Not tha mean laugh of Cracker yo, but a cold-ass lil crazed laugh dat busted chills down tha back of mah neck.
"Looks like we gots ourselves some prizes!"
Da earth pony chortled behind tha sledgehammer as tha unicorn looked our asses over appraisingly. Da two was somehow even filthier than tha slavers. Da unicorn bore jagged scars across her grill n' flanks, one of dem tearin all up in her cutie mark, nuff muthafuckin freshly bleeding. Da earth pony was hairless n' painfully burned over much of her left side. Both wore bardin dat looked ragged n' cobbled together.
"help us?" I suggested weakly.
"Oh, I’ll muthafuckin help mah dirty ass ta you, all right!" Da unicorn reared up n' gave me a kick, her hoof strikin hard tha fuck into mah side. Pain blew up like a muthafucka n' I dropped, gasping. Rearin up again, da hoe brought her full weight down on mah dirty ass. I howled.
Near me, Monterey let up a wet grunt of pain as tha earth pony gave his ass a taste of her sledgehammer. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Leavin me up in a cold-ass lil bustin up like a biatch huddle, tha unicorn also turned her attention ta tha still-chained Monterey. In moments it became clear they intended ta beat n' bludgeon his ass until da thug was another lifeless corpse. And probably not stop then. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.
"Hold his fuckin leg out. I’m gonna blast his hooves off!" Da unicorn raider floated tha combat shotgun a gangbangin' foot from Monterey’s splayed left hindleg, tha only one I had freed from its manacle.
Ignorin tha pain, I leapt up, closin tha distizzle n' spinnin as I gave a gangbangin' fierce back-kick. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah hooves connected wit tha shotgun, bustin it flying. It clattered onto tha bridge beyond. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A moment later, I was levitatin tha shovel-spear all up in tha two raider ponies whoz ass stood facin me wit gleeful expressions. Two against one, n' both of dem was experienced fighters. Da one wit tha sledgehammer stepped closer, as if eager ta peep if hammer beat knife.
Monterey was on her up in a instant, throwin his wild lil' forelegs over her head, pullin tha chain between dem across her neck. Da sledgehammer fell from her grill as tha raider pony choked.
Da unicorn turned, surprised by tha sudden chizzle up in odds. I could have beat down her then yo, but threatenin a pony is much different than muthafuckin attackin one. I wasn’t shizzle I had it up in me ta slash at another pony, ta draw her blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! To maim, or possibly kill.
Da unicorn kicked up tha fallen sledgehammer n' turned ta grill me wit it, cappin' up in her eyes. And suddenly, I found it easy as fuck ta thrust tha shovel-spear forward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was no longer strugglin wit followin all up in on a threat; dis was survival. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Self-preservation is instinctual; it clears away tha moral hesitations. And while I did not have tha fightin game of mah opponent, I did have a advantage all mah own. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. S.A.T.S.
Aided by tha targetin spell of mah PipBuck, I busted tha spear slashin across her knees, hobblin her muthafuckin ass. A second slash, dis time across her face, relieved her of her weapon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da third would be a cappin' blow...
...except I wasn’t locked n loaded ta do dat shit. Not yet. Instead, I swung tha spear around, crackin her across tha head wit its handle, hard enough ta splinter tha wood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Da unicorn raider fell at mah feet, unconscious.
I looked up. Monterey was standing, chest heaving, over tha body of tha earth pony raider, tha thuglife choked outta her muthafuckin ass. Dude was starin all up in mah grill on tha fuckin' down-lowly. Then finally raised a gangbangin' forehoof, only fo' tha chain ta clank tight before dat schmoooove muthafucka had it mo' than a gangbangin' few inches off tha ground.
"Oh!" Droppin tha shovel-spear, I turned on tha light of mah PipBuck n' searched bout fo' mah screwdriver. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I had lost tha bobby pin; there was no chizzle of findin it up in tha dirt at night. But I had more.
Once we was both free, Monterey limped slowly over ta tha bridge. A moment later, he returned, his horn glowin a gentle beige. Sawed-Off’s shotgun followed his muthafuckin ass. Before I could react, he aimed it all up in tha head of tha unconscious unicorn raider n' fired. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka!
Her blood fuckin started ta seep across tha ground towardz mah hooves. I watched up in stunned silence as tha pimpin' muthafucka turned n' fuckin started proddin all up in tha bodies, tuggin shit from em.
Finally, I found mah voice. "What is you bustin?"
Dude looked all up in mah grill as if I was fuckin wack. "Peepin ta peep if they have anythang valuable on em. With luck, chicken n' you know I be eatin up dat shizzle all muthafuckin day, biatch." I nodded, watchin his ass move ta tha bodies at dis end of tha bridge. Lootin tha bodiez of tha dead felt wrong; but a cold-ass lil cold, rationizzle part of me murmured dat it was a qualm I would have ta git over up in order ta survive. And imagine how tha fuck embarrassed I'd be if I starved ta dirtnap up here cuz I'd been too shy ta check a thugged-out dead ponyz bag fo' a pouch of oats or a cold-ass lil can of oldschool applesauce, biatch? I moved a funky-ass bit further down tha bridge.
I looked over tha body of a thugged-out dead raider pony, his wild lil' grill bloody n' torn from Cracker’s ponyshoes. I started ta go all up in tha pocketz of his bardin yo, but mah stomach rebelled, n' I flung mah dirty ass ta tha railing, heavin mah lunch tha fuck into tha foul river below. A big-ass break up in tha cloudz brought a soft n' silvery light ta every last muthafuckin thang, n' I could peep mah reflection up in tha water, still covered wit Cagey’s dryin blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg!
Then I saw Sawed-Off’s shotgun hoverin up in tha air behind mah head.
"I’ll be takin what tha fuck you have too," Monterey Jack informed mah crazy ass wit a funky-ass buggin up drawl.
"w-What?" I turned slowly ta peep his ass standin on tha bridge, bathed up in moonlight, his horn glowin a soft beige light. Da shotgun floated between is, pointed all up in mah face.
"b-But I just saved you, nahmean biiiatch?"
"Yeah. And fo' that, I’m not goin ta bust a cap up in yo thugged-out ass." His eyes narrowed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Unless, of course, you do suttin' wack n' aint a thugged-out damn thang dat yo' ass can do."
"But I just saved you, nahmean biiiatch?"
"Aren’t you top of yo' class," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd snidely.
"Our thugged-out asses should work together playa! Travel together!"
Monterey snorted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time. "And split our limited provisions, biatch? Go ta chill wit one eye open each night, hopin ta catch you when you try ta stab me up in tha back. No props."
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah righteous disbelief stopped short of denial. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Suddenly, I was so straight-up weary. Nodding, I lowered mah head n' let mah two canteens slip free. I then backed up so his schmoooove ass could approach em. I turned mah head ta start unclaspin mah saddle bags.
I saw it on tha bridge just beyond mah tail.
Turnin back ta Monterey, mah own horn was glowing. And tha combat shotgun whipped tha fuck into tha air. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. For a long-ass moment, we stood there, two unicorn ponies on a funky-ass bridge, surrounded by bodies, shotguns floatin between us, aimed at each other. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Moonlight shone down on our asses from tha break up in tha clouds.
Monterey Jack broke tha silence, "You’re not goin ta bust dat shit. I saw you spare dat raider. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. If you couldn’t bust a cap up in a pony like that, you don’t have it up in you ta bust a cap up in mah dirty ass."
I narrowed mah eyes. "I’m a quick study."
Dude huffed yo, but didn’t move. "Do you even know how tha fuck ta bust dat thing?"
I forced a smile across mah face. "Do you know dat you only have one blasted left, biatch? And judgin by tha sprite-bot, dat glock is up in such skanky repair I’ll survive bein blasted wit dat shit. Will you survive bein blasted wit dis as nuff times as I can move tha trigger while you try ta reload?"
Monterey Jack took a step back. And wit dat falter, mah smile was no longer forced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "And I’ll be takin mah canteens back."
*** *** ***
Ponyville. I wondered just how tha fuck mah PipBuck knew tha namez of places before I did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! It even named tha wreckage of a funky-ass buildin dat I had just slipped into. Ponyville was raider territory. I just hoped dis place, dis "Carousel Boutique", was not crawlin wit em.
Monterey Jack n' I had barely parted ways when tha railin of tha bridge blew up like a muthafucka next ta mah dirty ass. A sniper playa! Da same stupid-ass pony, I presumed, whoz ass had turned Cagey’s head ta applesauce. I fled tha fuck into tha town, keepin ta what tha fuck cover there was. Few of tha buildings was intact enough ta hide in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This was tha closest.
Fortunately, I was ridin' solo. I waited fo' nearly a hour, curled up in a shadow near tha door; but tha sniper pony seemed uninspired ta follow mah dirty ass. Fuck dat shit, she or his schmoooove ass could just wait until I came out.
Fatigue washed over mah dirty ass. I had stayed up all tha night before, n' dis night’s events was a strain on both body n' spirit, n' I aint talkin bout no muthafuckin Jack Daniels neither. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah musclez was weak n' achy. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah body hurt from tha kicks I had taken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I felt cheezy-assly played-out. I needed ta chill. Chillin here was probably a wack idea. If I raised up at all, it could be up in tha hoovez of slavers, raidaz or possibly worse. But goin back outside, findin someplace better, it just wasn’t on tha table. I was up in no shape ta test mah wits against tha sniper pony again.
Carousel Boutique was like similar up in condizzle ta tha buildin up at Sweet Applez Acres, only tha lootin was mo' destructive. Da walls had been painted wit crude imagez of violins n' cruder swear lyrics. A pile of torn-up cloth rotted up in a cold-ass lil corner, smellin foul, like ponies had take a pissd on it repeatedly. There was two beds, one of which was stained deeply wit blood (and probably mo' vile things). Da other was smaller, a gangbangin' foal’s bed, not a god damn thang but a mattress on a cold-ass lil crushed frame. In mah state, I felt it would do wonderfully.
Da Carousel Boutique offered two mo' treasures, a locked chest n' another terminal, identical ta tha one at Sweet Applez Acres. This one too was still functional, again n' again n' again ta mah surprise. It was locked; slippin up mah access tool, I went ta work. These terminals was crafted by a shitload of tha same stupid-ass ponies whoz ass later made tha PipBucks, n' tha encryptions n' locks was similar enough dat mah tools allowed mah crazy ass ta git partway all up in tha security. What remained was a puzzle, findin tha password within strandz of code dat mah access tool laid bare. In mah fried menstrual state, it was probably a lil' small-ass miracle dat I was able ta parse tha code n' find tha password.
Or possibly not. Da password was "apple".
I laughed aloud, catchin mah dirty ass when I heard tha volume of mah own voice up in tha stillnizz of tha decrepit boutique, as I realized that, beyond all realistic chance, dis was tha computer dat tha message had been busted to. With a unwarranted feelin of accomplishment, I downlizzleed it, n' let mah PipBuck do tha rest.
Age had damaged tha recordin yo, but there was enough audible fo' me ta recognize dat same stupid-ass biatch voice, kinda dope n' wit a odd accent, dat had nuff minutes before revealed ta me tha code dat lead mah crazy ass outta mah oldschool thuglife n' tha fuck into dis freshly smoked up n' wack one.
"...special instructions fo' Stable Two... ...that’s muh gang down there biaaatch! Until tha poison is gone from up here, dat door don’t open fo' anypony!"
Da voice faded up in n' outta static.
"...know you don't give a fuck bout this, Sweetie Belle yo, but you’re a Overmare now, nahmeean, biatch? Da Overmare of da most thugged-out blingin Stable up in all of Equestria. I need you ta do dis fo' mah dirty ass... ...to keep dem safe... ...best playaz forever, remember?..."
Da sound file took a dirt nap wit a whimper. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I had been right -- there was straight-up no value up in a two-century oldschool message. I left tha chest fo' tha morning, curled up, n' went ta chill.
Footnote: Level Up.
New Perk: Horse Sense -- Yo ass be a swift learner. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Yo ass bust a additionizzle +10% whenever experience points is earned.
Fallout: Equestria (Ghetto Abridged Version)
Chapter Three : Guidance
"Books muthafucka! I’ve read nuff muthafuckin on tha subject."
Daylight.
I had never peeped tha sun before, n' it was fair ta say I still hadn’t. But tha juice of its light filtered down all up in tha thick supa pissed, cloud cover, turnin a sickly color yet still brighter n' warma than tha hummin lightz of Stable Two. Da air itself looked somehow wack up in tha light, off-color. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. But every last muthafuckin thang was illuminizzled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time. I could peep motez of dust n' ash floatin bout tha room (I wondered how tha fuck gamey it was ta be breathang it), n' fo' tha straight-up original gangsta time I straight-up grasped tha expanse of tha outside.
It made me wanna hide under tha window.
While hittin dat shizzle up tha nerve ta step tha fuck into tha (very, straight-up big) outdoors, I preoccupied mah dirty ass wit openin tha locked chest I had discovered tha night before. It took two of mah bobby pins yo, but it was worth it son! Inside was da most thugged-out dope dress I had eva seen! Such lines, such foldz of fabric, n' tha flavas -- elegant n' regal -- yet tha fabric was light, breezy n' did not sag! It was a thugged-out dream! Sadly, a thugged-out trip fo' another, talla pony.
Joy n' disappointment mixed up in equal measure. But even if I could not wear it (at least not without some major tailoring), it was tha prettiest n' most cheerful thang I had peeped since leavin tha Stable. Carefully foldin it up, I slipped it tha fuck into mah saddlebags.
Mindful of tha sniper pony from tha night before, I stood back, behind tha cover of a overturned table, n' used mah magic ta open tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. A tarnished bell hangin above tinkled cheerfully. Muted sunlight poured in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da soundz of outside flowed tha fuck into tha room. Da twizzle of birds, tha far away sloshin of tha river. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Fresher air pushed back tha stale.
Cautiously, I moved tha fuck into tha doorway n' looked about. Post-apocalyptic Ponyville was a rottin skeleton of a once homey lil town. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Between collapsed buildings n' burned cribs, tha streets was littered wit rubble n' refuse. And everywhere, garish paintz of depravitizzle n' grotesquery. Da graffiti was not limited ta outside; tha raidaz had defaced tha Carousel Boutique wit a almost ecstatic fervor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I turned from tha doorway, mah gaze followin tha linez of profanitizzle dat curled up tha walls towardz tha rafters. And shrank back, chokin up in revulsion at what tha fuck tha sunlight revealed above me -- dozenz of dead n' desiccated pussies had been hung from tha ceilin like decorations. I had slept directly beneath three of em.
I took a involuntary step back, one hindhoof up tha door.
BEEP.
What was that?
BEEP.
I turned n' spied tha half-buried orange disk up in tha ground just outside tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. A lil red light was pulsin on dat shit. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
"CLOSE THE DOOR!" Da voice came outta nowhere, tinny n' mechanical but somehow full of urgency. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah ass lurched n' I jumped back inside, slammin tha door hard.
Da explosion just outside tore tha door off its frame, hurlin it n' mah crazy ass back tha fuck into tha room! I crashed all up in a tattered vanitizzle divider, tha tokin door landin over mah dirty ass. "Ugh!!"
I was mo' shocked than hurt as I slowly dragged mah dirty ass up from under tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah ears was ringing. A trap. No wonder tha raider ponies hadn’t invaded while I slept. They had left a present instead.
"Hurry. There is mo' on tha way." I could barely make up tha voice; mah ears felt like they was stuffed wit cotton candy.
"Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is yo slick ass?" I queried yo, but moved ta throw mah canteens over mah neck while magically drawin up tha combat shotgun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I had been dismayed ta learn dat it had only had one blasted left; but if a raider pony stepped all up in tha door, I intended ta make it count.
An entirely different voice replied. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Come out, come out, whoever yo ass is!" Da head of a raider pony slid tha fuck into tha doorway, grinnin maniacally wit suttin' up in her teeth. It looked like a metal apple. Biatch tossed her head, it flew tha fuck into tha room at me yo, but tha stem stayed behind up in her teeth.
A memory flashed all up in mah mind: I as a lil'er pony, trottin ta tha Stable schoolroom when a olda pony stepped outta a thugged-out doorway n' heaved a gin n juice balloon all up in mah face. It had burst against mah horn, soakin me n' mah homework. "Yo, don’t look so sad, blankflanks muthafucka! I was just tryin’ ta muthafuckin help yo thugged-out ass. Y’know, up in case yo' cutie mark is supposed ta be a target!" Da olda pony had laughed n' hurried off ta class, leavin me drippin n' miserable up in tha hall.
Lesson hustled: when somepony throws suttin' at you, don’t let it hit yo thugged-out ass. Don’t even let it hit near you, cuz it might splash. Da combat shotgun clattered ta tha floor as I focused mah magic on tha metal apple, catchin it n' hurlin it back up tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da grenade barely cleared tha doorframe when it blew up like a muthafucka. Dust n' splintaz of wood few at me, gettin up in mah eyes. A tinklin erupted at mah feet. Lookin down, blinkin tha debris from mah eyes, I saw tha lil bell from over tha door had landed, mangled, at mah hooves.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah eyes hurt, n' I kept blinkin ta clear em. Cautiously, liftin tha combat shotgun again, I edged towardz tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I could barely peep tha foreleg of tha raider pony around tha edge of tha door frame, straight-up still. With a second thought, I levitated tha table so dat it formed a funky-ass barricade over tha lower half of tha doorway, n' crawled up behind dat shit. Quickly poppin mah head up, I looked ta peep if tha raider pony was still conscious.
Da leg wasn’t attached ta tha rest of tha pony.
It took me a moment ta spot tha rest of her torn body, mercifully dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I dropped back under cover, feelin a strangenizz pass over mah dirty ass. I had just capped somepony!
*** *** ***
Sneakin outta Ponyville had been harrowing.
I realized early dat I had been neglectin mah Eyes-Forward Sparkle. Once I had brought up mah E.F.S., it was far easier ta determine where tha raider ponies were, n' ta avoid em. Despite actively lookin fo' me, tha raider ponies proved less than adept hunters. Usin mah magic ta bang a mailbox lid down tha street or break a empty forty against a gangbangin' freestandin chimney nuff muthafuckin yardz away provided sufficient distraction ta git past em. I had almost made past tha last doggy den when tha sniper pony started takin shots all up in mah grill again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da closest blasted grazed mah flank -- a slash of burnin pain n' a gangbangin' flowin blood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Fortunately, tha wound looked far worse than it was, n' even mah meager medicinal game was enough ta stop tha bleedin n' bandage dat shit.
I crouched up in a lil gully, sheltered by trees, n' fought ta catch mah breath. Somewhere up in tha distance, I heard noize playin again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da rumble from mah stomach was much louder, remindin me dat I hadn’t smoked up in almost a thugged-out day. It make me wanna hollar playa! I floated up one of tha applez from mah saddlebags while I un-corked one of mah canteens. Of course, I had no mo' than taken a sip when mah PipBuck threw a thugged-out ridin' dirty red light tha fuck into mah E.F.S. compass. Not comin from tha raider hood yo, but from up ahead, deeper tha fuck into tha hilly wood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Of course. Somethang else was comin ta git mah dirty ass. Because tha wasteland clearly hated mah dirty ass.
I re-corked tha canteen n' stood up, wincin all up in tha flair of heat up in mah wounded flank. I lifted tha combat shotgun, still wit its single shot, n' perked mah ears ta listen.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah surroundings was on tha fuckin' down-low. Even tha noize was gone. Then I started ta make up a gangbangin' faint buzzing. I lifted tha glock ta eye-level n' focused down tha top of tha barrel, linin it up wit warnin mark of red on mah E.F.S. At first, I saw nothing. Then I spotted it, a skanky lil flyin creature, bloated n' grotesque, hoverin between tha trees. It spotted mah crazy ass too, n' blasted a spiny dart all up in tha air all up in mah face. It missed mah crazy ass (mostly, gettin tangled up in mah mane).
I aimed yo, but hesitated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time. Da damn thang was so small, n' could jerk bout so erratically, dat I had almost no chizzle of hittin dat shit. I didn’t dare waste mah only shot. So I did tha next dopest thing. I dodged behind a tree n' prepared ta gallop.
Another mark rocked up on mah E.F.S. followed by a zortching, cracklin sound like unlike anythang I’d heard before. Da red light winked out, leavin only tha freshly smoked up one, which mah PipBuck had divined as "bumpin'".
"I’m straight-up sorry bout what tha fuck happened back up in Ponyville. But dat raider didn’t give you any chizzle. Biatch would have capped yo thugged-out ass." It was dat same stupid-ass mechanical, tinny voice dat had shouted up tha warnin dat surely saved mah thuglife earlier.
With a mixture of relief n' bewilderment, I watched tha sprite-bot fly up ta mah hidin place.
"Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck is yo slick ass?" (‘What is yo slick ass?’ was tha question dat wanted ta escape mah muzzle yo, but I suspected it would be rude.)
"A playa." I raised a eyebrow. "Okay, a passin acquaintance. But one dat don’t mean you any harm." After a pregnant pause, "Call me Watcher."
I regarded tha sprite-bot critically. "Watcher. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Okay..." I slipped up from behind tha tree n' started lookin fo' where mah apply had rolled ta when I dropped dat shit. Not far away, near where tha flyin creature had been, I spotted a glowin pile of pink ash. "Yo ass do that?"
"Bloatsprites. That’s what tha fuck you git when you mix parasprites wit Taint. Can’t stand ‘em, mah dirty ass. Glad ta muthafuckin help."
Findin mah apple, I levitated it up. "Thank yo thugged-out ass. And fuck you fo' tha warnin bout that... thang up in tha ground."
"Mine."
I blinked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Y-you want mah apple?"
Da sprite-bot laughed, which was straight-up weird ta hear since tha artificial voice didn’t have any inflection. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "No. That’s what tha fuck it was called. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da explosive up in tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! It’s called a mine. It triggers when you step close."
"Oh." I took a funky-ass bite of tha apple. "That’s a straight-up wack name fo' a weapon."
Da sprite-bot laughed again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It was a lil unnerving. Then, strangely, I found mah dirty ass chucklin as well. "I straight-up thought you meant mah apple was yours. I’d share it if you wanted, although I don’t know what tha fuck you’d do wit it since you can’t eat."
"Huh?" For havin no emotion up in its voice, tha sprite-bot did a phat thang at conveyin confusion.
"Yo ass don’t eat. Food. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Because yo ass be a robot, n' you don’t gots a grill."
A third time wit tha laughter, although dis was mo' of a slight chuckle. "Oh! Yo ass mean tha sprite-bot." Well, at least I wasn’t tha only one dis conversation had managed ta confuse, although I was mo' trippin now than eva. I be runnin hoes up in 2013. "Da sprite-bot aint muthafuckin mah dirty ass. I’m somewhere else; I just hustled how tha fuck ta hack tha fuck into these thangs ta communicate. And look around."
I was beginnin ta git tha picture. "Then dat beatz. Drop dis like itz hot!.."
"Oh gosh no. I turn dat crap off tha moment I hack tha fuck into one of these n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Yo ass have no idea how tha fuck oldschool dat noize gets." As a afterthought, tha hacker-in-the-sprite-bot added, "Yet."
I finished mah apple. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah stomach felt much mo' betta now, nahmeean, biatch? As did mah spirits, props ta finally havin a cold-ass lil civilized (if utterly bizarre) conversation.
"Oh, time’s almost up. Look, there is a gangbangin' few thangs you’re goin ta need if you wanna survive up here. A weapon (or at least a shitload mo' ammo fo' tha one you have), armored barding, a funky-ass bit of guidance... n' most blinginly, you need ta cook up some fuckin playas."
Armor, at lest, shouldn’t be too hard, although I shuddered hard all up in tha thought of puttin on a thugged-out dead pony’s barding. Still, dat grazin shot... I’d been outside less than a gangbangin' full dizzle n' already I’d come terrifyingly close ta dirtnap. I could probably slip back around ta tha bridge n' strip it off tha corpses there.
A weapon, biatch? If tha idea of strippin armor from tha dead made me cringe, tha idea of possibly cappin' again n' again n' again stopped mah ass. And playas, biatch? I’d had no luck wit dat as a gangbangin' foal up in tha Stable. What chizzle did I have up in a ghetto where savin a pony from raidaz n' slavery didn’t git you a thang welcome mat, biatch? If dis was what tha fuck I needed ta do ta survive, I wasn’t shizzle I was up ta tha task.
"What do you mean by guidance?"
Da bobbin sprite-bot was silent a moment. "I’m goin ta take a blasted up in tha dark here n' guess you like books. Am I right?"
"Well, yes. I..."
"There’s a pimped out book fo' playas travelin all up in tha Equestrian Wasteland. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I’m pretty shizzle there’s a cold-ass lil copy up in tha Ponyville Library. Give me just a second... Okay, I’ve busted tha tag fo' it ta yo' PipBuck."
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah eyes widened up in alarm. "Da Ponyville Library. Yo ass mean, dat place I just barely escaped from, biatch? Da hood full of sick, psycho ponies, biatch? Is you tryin ta git me capped?"
"Look, you’ve gots ta trust some muthafucka."
Da memory of Monterey Jack surfaced up in mah mind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Why should I trust yo slick ass, biatch? I’ve never even kicked it wit yo thugged-out ass. You’re hidin behind a robot radio."
"Oh, I dunno. How tha fuck bout tha me-saving-your-life part, biatch? If I was tryin ta bust a cap up in you, why would I have done that?"
Da voice, Watcher, had a point. Before I could say anythang ta dat effect however, tha sprite-bot burped static n' fuckin started playin noize again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. (Da noize featured multiple harmonicas n' trombones.) It flew lazily away, as if it didn’t care I was there.
*** *** ***
Da Ponyville Library was up in a tree. Not a treehouse yo, but literally inside a tree. A massive, gnarled tree bigger than most buildings had been grown up in tha middle of tha town, clearly tha project of magic, n' hollowed up ta be tha hood library. Da downtown side of tha tree was scorched black n' dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But there was still a gangbangin' few leaves clingin ta thuglife on tha opposite branches. Da tree was surrounded by a wide open space wit straight-up no cover.
Any hope mah luck all up in tha Carousel Boutique would hold up here was dashed when I looked up ta tha highest balcony n' finally spotted tha sniper pony - a earth pony armed wit a powerful-lookin rifle. Da rifle was attached ta tha balcony railin wit a glidin swivel mount, allowin tha raider ta aim it wherever dat thugged-out biiiatch could see. Da only safe approach was from directly behind her, where tha door ta tha balcony n' tha narrow top of tha tree beyond blocked her line of sight. There was surely mo' raider ponies inside.
Sneakin up carefully from tha only direction dat wouldn’t mean instant dirtnap, I was tremblin wit nerves by tha time I reached tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. As swiftly n' silently as I could, I slipped outta Ponyville... n' straight tha fuck into pony hell!
Pony corpses everywhere biaaatch! Not like tha bridge where ponies had fallen up in battle; these ponies had been mutilated, desecrated n' put on display dawwwwg! Some skanky pony’s body hung from tha ceiling, head n' hooves severed n' flesh sliced open n' pulled back ta reveal tha meat n' bones beneath. Headz n' limbs hung from chains like sick jam decorations. Da rottin body of a pink pony wit a violent mane was mounted, spread-eagled over a funky-ass bookcase wit railroad spikes. Two had been driven tha fuck into her eyes. On another wall, a torso had been skinned n' sliced open, tha pony’s entrails pulled up ta decorate tha shelves like streamers.
Blood n' gore was everywhere, drippin from tha ceilin n' paintin tha walls up in equal parts wit tha graffiti dat had somehow gotten even mo' mockin n' wack. Between tha bookcases, pre-war postas was mounted up in shattered frames. Some raider pony had painted over one of dem ("Readin is Magic") wit a cold-ass lil crude but effectizzle depiction of a megaspell detonation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Another ("Da most dope ponies have dope minds!") was covered over by a paintin dat was simply p-to-tha-ornotastic. Da books had been burned up in piles. Da floor was layered up in ash n' filth. Da stench was unbearable.
Da room was dominizzled by three cages, two big-ass square ones, n' a smalla one hangin from tha ceilin which was barely big-ass enough fo' a pony. Captives -- filthy, beaten n' misused -- was curled up inside, they hooves tied together wit stained ropes. Da two up in tha nearest cage looked all up in mah grill pitifully n' mah ass wrenched painfully.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah eyes kept goin wider until I had ta clench dem shut n' bite mah own hoof ta keep from screaming. I backed against tha door, heaving, unable ta breathe properly, not wantin ta breathe dis air at all! Da horror of tha room flooded over me, drownin mah dirty ass. I pulled mah hoof away barely fast enough ta avoid vomitin mah apple all over mah dirty ass. Da stench of it mixed wit tha reek of tha room, beatin tha livin piss outta me further.
"please," a whisper from one of tha ponies, terrified ta raise her voice, "help us."
This was beyond horror playa! I pressed mah eyes tighter n' tighter... then opened dem as a wave of brutal determination cut all up in tha sickness.
"please... muthafuckin help!"
That was no voice, disembodied n' trapped up in a eternal loop, comin from some radio signal floatin all up in tha ether. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. These was livin ponies; they was right here up in front of me, n' they needed muthafuckin help. And I was as damned as these rotten raidaz if I was goin ta make dem beg again.
Da screwdriver n' bobby pin slipped up n' immediately fuckin started hittin dat shizzle on tha nearest lock. With a cold-ass lil click, tha metal cage door swung open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Inside, two ponies, bound n' layin up in they own filth. I realized uncomfortably dat I had not a god damn thang ta cut tha ropes with. I tried ta untie dem wit mah magic, tha straight-up original gangsta pony’s ropes was so wet wit blood dat I could pull dem apart yo, but second pony’s was bound too tightly.
"Are... is you fo' real?" Da first pony stood shakily. "I-I’m free?"
I nodded, then glanced ta tha other ponies. I had no idea how tha fuck I’d reach tha one up in tha hangin cage. "If you could muthafuckin help me with..."
Da pony blanched n' shook her mane. "Oh no, I can’t stay here any longer. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. But, here, take these supplies. I managed ta squirrel dem away..." Da pony dug tha fuck into tha floor muck wit her hoof, revealin tha utterly pathetic pile of scraps layin on a thugged-out dirty rag dat amounted ta her entire ghettoly possessions. A can of diced carrots, a funky-ass box of pre-war single-serve cake, a handful of forty caps. It broke mah ass.
"Fuck dat shit, you keep dat shit. You’ll need it more..." I paused, mah eye catchin a single shotgun shell up in tha pile. "Actually, I’ll take dis shell. Thanks!" I magically opened tha shotgun n' slid it tha fuck into place. Now I had two.
Da pony had already folded up tha rag, picked it up in her teeth n' slinked rapidly up tha door before I could say anythang else. I busted up a prayer ta Celestia fo' her n' focused on savin tha others. I looked over tha second pony, whoz ass hadn’t holla'd a word, n' recoiled as I saw tha blood cakin tha inside of her flanks. What had these raidaz done!?!
Lookin around, I took up in tha shape of tha room, tryin ta blot up tha horrors everywhere I turned. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! (Above tha front door was a aged fresco of a funky-ass dope white winged unicorn -- Celestia, biatch? -- unusually big-ass n' graceful, a funky-ass book floatin up in front of her, her wings outstretched over a rainbow of foals as they smiled up n' listened ta storytime. Not only had tha ponies been painted over wit imagez of blood n' knives n' violins, tha fresco had been used fo' target practice, every last muthafuckin thang from bullets ta flung excrement, n' was now shattered n' stained unspeakably.) Da room was oddly shaped, wit balconies n' rooms branchin (literally) off up in all directions. I could hear tha voicez of raider ponies up in tha other rooms. And, judgin from tha decor, knives wouldn’t be far behind.
"I’ll be right back," I promised wit a whisper. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Then, levitatin tha combat shotgun, I moved towardz tha nearest interior door.
I jumped back as tha door swung open all up in mah face. A raider pony stepped all up in n' stopped, starin all up in mah grill blankly. His coat was dark black under his crazy-ass makeshift armor, his crazy-ass mane wild. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Holstas was strapped ta his wild lil' flanks, one wit a lil' small-ass gun, tha other holdin a funky-ass blade whose edge was jagged like a saw, ensurin da most thugged-out grievouz of wounds. In stark, horrified disbelief, I saw dat his cutie mark was muthafuckin a splayed torso.
Da raider pony recovered quickly, swingin his head around n' drawin up tha lil' small-ass glock up in his cold-ass teeth (what, was he goin ta pull tha trigger wit his cold-ass tongue?) just before S.A.T.S. muthafuckin helped mah crazy ass pump mah two shotgun roundz tha fuck into his wild lil' face. I felt no remorse as his head turned tha fuck into spaghetti sauce dat splattered over his crazy-ass muthafuckin instantly lifeless body. I hadn’t just capped a pony -- these raidaz had given up any right ta tha title biaaatch! These was not ponies, they was sick monstas dat needed ta be put down! And Celestia muthafuckin help me if I wasn’t goin ta do just dat shit. I didn’t realize it until dat moment yo, but I was mad hommie biaaatch! Da pure evil of dis place had shaken me ta tha core... n' mah core was furious!
Collectin knife n' gun, I dropped tha empty combat shotgun ta tha side. Da smalla weapon was not goin ta be as powerful yo, but was straight-up loaded -- six shots up in a revolvin barrel. And dat was good, cuz there was no way tha noise wasn’t goin ta brang every last muthafuckin raider pony hustlin.
Da first three raider ponies galloped tha fuck into tha main library almost immediately, one of dem bustin up like a biatch up thrilled disses. S.A.T.S. muthafuckin helped mah crazy ass fire three shots at her head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da first two missed yo, but tha third found a home up in one of her skanky red eyes n' down dat biiiiatch went. A second started firin another lil' small-ass firearm all up in mah grill (what do you know, they do blast wit they tongues!), bullets impactin tha door frame. One blasted punctured one of mah saddlebags yo, but didn’t pierce flesh.
I crouched n' poked mah head around, levitatin tha revolver up in tha open doorway. I fired two shots all up in tha second pony yo, but mah PipBuck’s targetin spell was refreshing, n' without it I might as well done been aimin all up in tha ceiling. Still, tha gunslinger raider skittered away, rockin one of tha captizzle ponies fo' cover. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da dishonorablenizz poured gasoline on tha fire of mah anger. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I stepped straight-up tha fuck into tha doorway, lookin fo' tha third, spottin his ass on tha far end of tha main room.
Da third raider pony lowered his head, a pool cue clenched up in his cold-ass teeth, n' charged all up in mah face.
I blinked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Straight-Up?" I took a single step back. Da pony rushed all up in mah grill full-tilt, n' was nearly on me when tha endz of tha pool cue struck tha doorway, snappin his ass ta a stop. I fired tha revolver’s last blasted point-blank tha fuck into his neck. Even I didn’t need S.A.T.S. at dat range.
"Shouldn’t you ponies be smarter than that, biatch? Yo ass live up in a library!"
As tha body slumped ta tha floor, bleedin from tha gapin wound all up in it’s neck, I saw tha gun-wieldin raider standin up in tha open, aimin all up in tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I dived ta tha side as shots rang out, n' screamed as I felt a funky-ass cap sink tha fuck into mah side. It hurt son! Mo' than I had thought it would.
I fell against tha wall, leavin a funky-ass bloody smear as I collapsed next ta tha doorway. Pain seared mah side, flarin wit each breath. I could hear tha clop of tha raider’s hooves as he approached cautiously. I tried ta focus mah magic ta close tha door yo, but tha body of pool-cue pony was up in tha way.
I cast bout tha room. It was a kitchen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. On a table, surrounded by knives, was tha body of a gangbangin' fearsome creature of scalez n' teeth. Da raider pony wit tha splayed torso cutie mark had been carvin it up ta cook. A refrigerator. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. And oven. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. There was scattered books yo, but all ancient, destroyed n' unreadable. (I was beginnin ta doubt tha Watcher’s assertion dat there was a funky-ass book here like da ruffneck busted lyrics about.) Then mah eyes fell on what tha fuck I was hopin for. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. In one corner, mounted on tha wall over nuff muthafuckin metal boxez of ammunition, was a gangbangin' faded yellow box wit a pink butterfly symbol on it: a medicinal box! Double luck: tha box looked ta be locked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! There was knife-scrapes all over it where tha raidaz had attempted ta git it open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It should still gots a gangbangin' few medicinal poultices, n' maybe even a healin potion!
But I had ta survive tha raider pony first, n' I was wounded n' outta bullets. Crossin ta tha ammo boxes would mean movin across tha open doorway. Scootin back, I looked around again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. And focused mah magic all up in tha pain.
When tha raider pony stepped in, da thug was kicked it wit by a swarm of knives flyin at his wild lil' face. "Gah!!" Dude turned n' fled back out. Da knives all either missed or struck uselessly against his thugged-out armor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I was even mo' pathetic wit melee weapons than I was wit guns. But it gots his ass outta tha way long enough ta make fo' tha ammo boxes. Luck was wit me again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. While one box had ammo up in big-ass clips fo' a type of glock I had yet ta see, tha other had bullets designed fo' tha revolver.
Da raider poked his head around again, callin up "You’re all outta knives, missy dawwwwg! Why don’t you just come on out. I promise I’ll let you die, eventually."
His head turned up in mah direction his wild lil' fuckin eyes went wide. I don’t know if it was tha look up in mah eyes or tha revolver. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. S.A.T.S. was wit me again, n' dis bastard wasn’t goin ta git another chizzle ta bust raped n' beaten captizzle as a shield.
*** *** ***
One mo' dead raider, a picked medicinal box n' a healin potion later, I trotted on tha fuckin' down-lowly back tha fuck into tha main room, serrated knife floatin by mah side. I moved ta tha open cage n' sawed away tha ropes bindin tha skanky pony. "Go. You’re free. Git somewhere safe." With a funky-ass blink, I remembered tha sniper pony, n' quickly holla'd at her which direction ta sneak away in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Biatch nodded mutely n' fuckin started ta slink out. I moved ta tha next cage.
What I saw sickened mah dirty ass. A pony had been locked inside along wit a thugged-out decayin corpse. Da pony was whimperin up in her chill, n' had her tail wrapped around tha ghastly body like a teddy ursa.
Unlike tha other bodies, I couldn’t tell how tha fuck dis one had died, fo' it wasn’t carved apart. Da body had lost all its coat, it’s skin was a sickenin blotch-work of red n' grey, flakin away. Its eyes was open, dry n' starin up in wack directions. Its teeth was horribly yellowed, matchin tha few strandz of afro left up in its mane n' tail. Odd, fleshy growths hung from its sides. At first, I mistook dem fo' mutations yo, but then I realized I was lookin all up in tha pony’s wings muthafucka! This was tha body of a pegasus pony. Stripped of feathers n' hair, tha wings looked strange, even repulsive.
I screamed, a gangbangin' full-throated cry of terror, when tha corpse shifted posizzle n' sat up, it’s eyes slidin around until they both focused on mah dirty ass. It was a zombiepony!
Da zombiepony blinked at me, then tried ta git up, only ta fall over onto one winged side as it’s hooves was bound up in ropes like tha others. It... her big-ass booty stared all up in mah grill plaintively.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah mind was reeling. Of tha scattered half-thoughts dat flitted all up in mah dome, "untie tha sick zombie so her dope ass don’t git mad at me" managed ta be da most thugged-out coherent, if not da most thugged-out sane.
Swallowing, I moved tha knife down ta her ropes. "Hold still." I looked at her eyes n' was quickly forced ta look away. One of dem was slidin again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Her breath was fetid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Now if I let you go, n' you try ta smoke mah domes, we’re goin ta have harsh lyrics."
*** *** ***
I had freed tha second two captives, includin tha zombie-pony, both of whom slipped away without a offer ta muthafuckin help (although tha zombie at least smiled at me, which was... deeply unpleasant), n' was tryin ta figure up how tha fuck ta git ta tha hangin cage when two mo' raider ponies rocked up on a funky-ass balcony above. One of dem was a unicorn pony wit a straight-up scary-lookin firearm. I dove tha fuck into tha shelter of a stairwell as tha raider opened fire. Da glock let up a terrifyin cacophony of rapid-fire cracks as it sprayed tha main room wit bullets.
At least I knew what tha fuck type of glock tha big-ass clips was fo' now, nahmeean?
I waited until I heard his ass reloading, then dashed tha fuck into tha room n' spun ta grill him, focusin all mah magic... not on mah own weapon nor on his ass yo, but on tha bookshelf behind his muthafuckin ass. Da glow of mah horn stood up brighter n' brighter as he lifted tha reloaded assault rifle n' took aim fo' mah head.
CRASH!
Da bookshelf came down on top of him, knockin his ass unconscious. Da assault rifle fell ta tha floor up in a thugged-out drizzle of dead books. Somethang else showered down as well, thrown from tha fallin bookshelf. Knockin away a funky-ass book dat had fallen over it, I saw dat it was a ancient, dusty pair of pre-war binoculars. At first, it struck me as mad odd dat one of mah thugs would need binoculars up in a library -- dat would require some straight-up bad eyesight -- but tha wack-ass thought passed.
I couldn’t peep where tha other raider pony had gotten to. Swiftly, I added tha assault rifle ta mah growin collection, n' tha binoculars fo' phat measure. Then I looked back ta tha balcony, thankin bout it as a way ta git ta tha cage pony hangin from tha ceiling. If I could git up there, I thought, I could leap from it ta tha cage. That would git me close enough dat I could peep what tha fuck I was bustin while I picked tha lock.
Da second raider pony rocked up back all up in tha railing, a wicked grin on his wild lil' face. With a hoof, da perved-out muthafucka shoved forward a ammo box, then tilted it over. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da lid sprung open n' half a thugged-out dozen orange disks poured up tha fuck into tha library below.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
BEEP! BEEP!
Oh fuck!
I dashed as fast as mah lil hairy-ass legs could take me, leapin over tha body of pool-cue pony n' under tha kitchen table, rockin mah magic ta toss it over as a shield. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da carved-up radigator slid ta tha floor wit a meaty thump.
Behind mah shield, tha ghetto became blindin light n' fire!
*** *** ***
When I emerged, tha main room was a wreck. Fresh blood dripped down tha fuck into mah mane. Lookin up, I saw tha blast-torn remainz of tha pony up in its twisted metal cage. Oh, Celestia damn dem ta hell!
Mo' determined than ever, I stripped tha raider bodies (what lil was left of dem now) of they armors. Da armors was up in shredded tattas yo, but wit some effort I was able ta bust tha dopest partz of each ta patch together suttin' dat would give me mo' betta protection than mah stable-issued utilitizzle barding. Da resultin tracksuit had almost no pockets, so I would have ta dig tha utilitizzle suit outta mah saddlebags ta git at most of mah tools yo, but it was a gangbangin' fair trade.
Puttin it on was gruesome. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah hooves was darkened wit blood just from hittin dat shizzle on it; every last muthafuckin inch was covered up in tha flash-fried gore of dead ponies. I almost lost mah nerve n' abandoned tha wack thing. I slipped it on; mah stomach rebelled yo, but I didn’t have any mo' ta throw up.
A last look around while I figured I still had time. Da raider above obviously assumed I was dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. (I would have assumed I was dead too.) Lootin tha bodies garnered mah crazy ass a lil mo' ammo. Da glock from tha earlier raider had been up in bad shape ta begin with, n' was damaged beyond repair by tha explosion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Several ponies apparently collected forty caps, which struck me as a absurdly odd thang ta horde. I left dem ridin' solo. Da kitchen’s refrigerator had a lil' small-ass stockpile of chicken: cooked radigator meat, a gangbangin' few skewerz of barbecued fruits n' what tha fuck tha PipBuck identified as bloatsprite meat, a funky-ass box of pre-war cake (cuz not a god damn thang says gamey smokin like two-hundred-year-old chicken) n' some gin n juice dat looked like it was fortyd straight outta sludge river. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I took every last muthafuckin thang but tha cake n' water; apparently, splayed-torso cutie raider was a rather decent cook. With a second thought, I looked over tha ingredients on tha cake box (filled wit enough preservatives dat yo' stomach will still be intact long afta tha rest of y'all rotted away ta dust!) n' took it too.
Da raider pony was up in tha main room, lookin over his handiwork, when I returned from tha kitchen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. One look all up in mah grill (and mah growin pile of weaponry) n' he fled up tha stairs. I galloped afta him, revolver zippin all up in tha air up in a cold-ass lil cloud of levitation magic dat matched tha light around mah horn.
Dude went all up in a thugged-out door on tha level above. It took me only a moment ta reach it yo, but caution made me skid ta a stop before barrelin all up in cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. If dat had been me on tha other side, I’d be waitin just ta tha side of tha door, locked n loaded ta take tha head off of tha raider whoz ass rushed all up in cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. With positions reversed, I was not goin ta make tha same stupid-ass mistake.
A filly’s cry from inside, "aaah! Help!" chizzled tha scenario.
Standin ta tha side, I threw open tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. When there was no attack, I darted in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. And stopped short.
Da room was lined wit mo' destroyed books on either side, n' ended up in a big-ass window dat opened onto a funky-ass balcony. This room was decorated as disgustingly as tha last yo, but filled wit stained chillin mattresses. Near tha open window, a gangbangin' filly too lil' ta even have her cutie mark lay on a mattress stained wit so much blood it was nearly black. Biatch had been brutalized n' raped repeatedly, n' her flank was covered up in lil' small-ass burns where her cutie mark would have eventually rocked up.
Her ropes was on tha floor nearby, lookin chewed all up in cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. And between mah dirty ass n' her, tha raider pony stood wit a shockin hostage: tha zombie-pony dawwwwg! It took me a moment ta realize she must have flown up in from tha balcony; n' (if I was allowed ta believe there was any decency left up in tha ghetto) it would done been her whoz ass gnawed tha filly’s ropes free. Now, dat biiiiatch was against a wall, wit tha blade of a axe ta her throat.
A lil' small-ass part of mah dome insisted on distractin me by wonderin how tha fuck tha zombie-pony could have flown when her wings didn’t have any feathers. As if dat was a mo' significant mystery than how tha fuck dat thugged-out biiiatch could be kickin it (by some definition) up in her decayed physical condition.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah distraction was distracted by a nearby table. An ashtray wit a tokin cigar holla'd at mah crazy ass just how tha fuck tha filly had gotten dem burns. Rage welled up in me until I felt it would burst all up in mah eyeballs. Next ta tha ashtray, two familiar metal applez rested on top of a (only lightly stained) book wit a stylized pony skull on tha cover. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. A second book, dis one showin a revolver almost identical ta tha one floatin next ta me, had slipped ta tha floor where it rested against one leg of tha table, along wit nuff muthafuckin pencils n' a gangbangin' filly’s lunch box. A smiling, gentle white unicorn wit a funky-ass dope lavender n' pink mane stared back beneath tha Stable-Tec logo. It felt wack dat suttin' so innocent-lookin should be up in dis place.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah eyes turned ta tha earth pony raider wit tha axe up in his cold-ass teeth. For a moment I just hated at him, tha room on tha down-low except fo' tha filly’s occasionizzle whimpers.
When mah voice returned, mah lyrics surprised mah dirty ass. "By Celestia, you’re fuckin wack. Hard ta tell a pony ta back off, or surrender, when yo' grill is full of axe, aint it, biatch? Maybe if you dropped some mo' time readin these books rather than beatin tha livin shizzle outta them, you’d be smart-ass enough ta come up wit a plan dat muthafuckin allowed you ta negotiate a way outta this." Da grenades levitated off tha table; I dangled dem between us. "One dat don’t end wit me shovin one of these up yo' tailhole!"
Da raider pressed tha axe blade tighter against tha zombie-pony’s throat, enough ta cut flesh, which split n' pulled back as if it had been strained taut. Ichor dat might have once been blood oozed from tha wound. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da zombie-pony didn’t flinch or whimper yo, but tha filly did both.
"Right. Bust a cap up in her muthafuckin ass." Da revolver floated forward next ta tha grenades. "That way, there won’t be anythang ta block mah shot."
I could peep tha raider thankin bout his options n' not likin what tha fuck da thug was finding. Droppin tha axe from his crazy-ass grill, da thug whinnied pathetically "I don’t wanna die!" n' dashed fo' tha open balcony, leapin over tha cringin filly.
S.A.T.S. bust four shots right tha fuck into his thugged-out ass. It was a pathetic way ta die.
Lookin ta tha filly n' tha zombie-pony, I smiled grimly. "There’s one left. I’ll be right back."
I turned n' continued up tha stairs toward tha upper balcony n' tha sniper pony.
*** *** ***
Better equipped n' a shitload mo' confident, mah ass still flickerin wit righteous fire, I made mah way carefully outta Ponyville.
Up ahead, I spotted a big-ass gazebo surroundin a marble statue of a rearin pony girded wit combat barding, a sword up in his crazy-ass grill. Da gazebo was relatively free of grafitti... n' peekin all up in tha binoculars, I could peep why. Da field of weedz around it was crewin wit radigators. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah E.F.S. was fillin wit red marks as I drew closer.
Slippin up mah newly acquired sniper rifle, I picked off a gangbangin' few. Their meat, I knew now, was safe when cooked (at least, relatizzle ta other chicken source up in tha Equestrian Wasteland). Slippin tha sniper rifle back tha fuck into its harnizz (another "gift" from tha sniper pony), I slid up tha serrated knife n' crouched up towardz mah kill.
An alert flashed on mah PipBuck. Peepin it, I discovered dat it had labeled tha gazebo up in front of me: Da Macintosh Battle Memorial.
Curiositizzle pulled mah crazy ass closer. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Careful of radigators, I neared enough ta read tha inscription beneath tha statue all up in mah binoculars.
"In honor of Big Macintosh, all up playa of tha Battle of Shattered Hoof Ridge, n' his noble sacrifice fo' all of Equestria."
As I lowered tha binoculars, I caught sight of suttin' else. A concrete circle stickin up from tha ground, roughly halfway between mah dirty ass n' tha gazebo, wit a ponyhole cover. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Rememberin tha night before, I turned mah PipBuck back ta tha straight-up original gangsta radio broadcast on tha list.
"...from dem damned apple trees up near tha Stable, n' now he’s terribly sick. Too sick ta move. We’ve holed up in tha cistern near tha oldschool memorial. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. We’re hustlin outta chicken n' medicinal supplies. Please, if anypony hears this, muthafuckin help us... Message repeats..."
Pullin up tha revolver, wary of radigators, I crept towardz tha cistern opening. I was almost there before one of tha beasts charged at me, its big-ass maw openin ta reveal rows on rowz of razor-sharp teeth. I fired twice tha fuck into its grill. Horrifyingly, dat wasn’t enough ta bust a cap up in dat shit. But it did make tha beast be thinkin twice. Da sound, however, brought mo' of dem down on mah dirty ass. Abandonin tha revolver up in fright, I used mah magic ta pull open tha ponyhole n' dived in, slidin tha cover over behind mah dirty ass.
*** *** ***
In tha wake of mah anger, I was exhausted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time. In tha aftermath of tha library battle, mah whole body ached from exertion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah nerves felt frayed from tha content adrenaline. Eatin a funky-ass bloatsprite skewer, I looked over tha lil' small-ass underground chamber once mo' before curlin up on tha upper bunk of tha pair of bunk bedz built tha fuck into tha wall. I tried not ta be thinkin of tha colt skeleton on tha bed below mah dirty ass. Da skeleton of his wild lil' daddy was by tha door. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. A sip from mah canteen took tha edge off mah thirst. It was almost empty; I had ta conserve.
I reflected how, when I had come back downstairs afta dealin wit tha sniper pony, tha zombie-pony was already gone, n' had taken tha skanky filly wit her muthafuckin ass. I hoped it was ta someplace safe. I found it strange dat da most thugged-out decent pony I had found up in tha wasteland was already sort of dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I also noticed dat tha assault rifle pony was also gone; dat schmoooove muthafucka had woken up n' freed his dirty ass from tha crushin bookshelf. That meant there was at least one mo' raider still up in tha wastes yo, but I wasn’t tha sort of pony ta bust a cap up in somepony while they slept. Not even a raider.
I figured dat if I slept here tonight, dat would give tha radigators time ta wander away from tha exit. If I was dirty, I would even spot where I dropped tha revolver.
Until then, I would preoccupy mah dirty ass wit mah two freshly smoked up books. Slippin dem outta mah saddlebags, I looked tha straight-up original gangsta one over, tha one wit mah lost revolver on tha cover. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Guns n' Bullets. Straight-up straightforward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I set it aside fo' now, nahmeean?
Da second book, a grey tome wit a funky-ass black pony skull on tha cover, was tha real prize. Openin it ta tha straight-up original gangsta page, I fuckin started ta read:
"Da Wasteland Survival Guide. By Ditzy Doo..."
Footnote: Level Up.
New Perk: Bookworm - Yo ass pay much closer attention ta tha smalla details when reading. Yo ass bust 50% mo' skill points when readin books.
Fallout: Equestria (Ghetto Abridged Version)
Chapter Four: Perspective
Chapter Four : Perspective
"I don’t know why it took a interest up in you yo, but I’d be careful. It’s never muthafuckin helped mah playas before."
Stupid!
A blast of lightnin fired past me, shatterin a oldschool clock all up in tha back of tha overview crib I was cowerin in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da Wasteland Survival Guide was full of all sortz of muthafuckin helpful tips. Scavengin guides. A whole chapter on mines. And mo' biaaatch! And then there was tha not-so-helpful ones. After havin read tha chapter on "Makin Pre-Battle Ghetto Pony Technologizzle Work For You", mah first thought when I came across tha ruinz of Ironshod Firearms was ta take a peek inside n' peep if there was any technologizzle I could make work fo' mah dirty ass.
Instead, I gots mah dirty ass trapped up in a maze full of ponicidal robots n' automated turrets, fleein until I managed ta back mah dirty ass tha fuck into a cold-ass lil corner here up in a crib box high above tha factory floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Almost outta ammo. If I hadn’t found dat medicinal box up in tha hommie bathroom, I would have took a dirt nap tryin ta git across tha second floor.
How tha fuck could I possibly done been so straight-up stupid?
Below, three of dem robots was rollin about, lookin fo' mah dirty ass. They was tracked things, built ta somewhat resemble ponies, wit clear domed headz dat housed real domes. I refused ta be thinkin dat tha ponies whoz ass built dem might have used other ponies’ domes up in tha construction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da thought was just too horrible. Even bustin dat ta a animal’s dome was awful. And clearly, two-hundred muthafuckin yearz of continuous operation had done not a god damn thang fo' they sanity.
"Come on out. Our thugged-out asses only wanna bust a cap up in you fo' trespassing!"
Case up in point.
Da fact dat tha voice sounded like a lil' filly, despite bein clearly artificial, just made dem dat much freakier. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Fortunately, tha railin on tha catstrutts leadin up ta dis crib was too narrow fo' tha dome-bots ta git up here.
A much deeper, authoritatizzle voice boomed across tha room. "Surrender up in tha name of tha Ministry of Technologizzle, zebra scum!"
I cringed behind a line of metal filin cabinets as tha room filled wit a rush of flame!
Unfortunately, tha same stupid-ass could not be holla'd fo' tha other type of guard robot I’d crossed paths wit up in dis biatch. Da multi-limbed thangs looked like giant metal spiders, nuff of its arms seemed ta end up in weapons, includin a funky-ass buzzsaw n' a gangbangin' flamethrower. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. And worse, tha damn thangs could fly!
I slipped both of mah grenades outta mah saddlebags n' waited until tha flames took a dirt nap away. Da metal cabinets was beginnin ta git unpleasantly warm against mah back, n' tha heat up in tha air seared mah lungs. Da second tha flamethrower cut off, I turned mah head around tha corner n' levitated dem both right up ta tha metal monster, pullin up tha stems on tha way. Da moment it saw me, tha robot raised a pulsin chronicweapon dat looked like a unicorn’s horn. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Eldritch fire erupted from it, shootin past me close enough ta singe mah cheek. Da blast struck a oldschool hustla chillin on tha desk behind me; it glowed chronicfor a moment, then melted hommie biaaatch! I ducked back as I dropped tha grenades.
Da explosion rocked tha crib. I heard a gangbangin' fearsome twang as part of tha catstrutt outside gave. Lookin back, tha robot was up in a non-functionizzle heap. Da struttway outside was still mostly intact yo, but saggin badly. I wasn’t shizzle it could hold mah weight.
Strippin what tha fuck I could from tha fallen spider-bot, I considered mah options. I couldn’t stay up here all up in dis biatch. If I moved straight-up fast, I could run tha struttway without tha dome-bots below gettin mah dirty ass. Their weaponry did not seem straight-up accurate. But tha straight-up original gangsta few yardz of tha catstrutt had partially torn free, n' sagged alarmingly. Da mo' I looked at it, tha less I wanted ta put a hoof on dat shit.
I’d never tried levitatin mah dirty ass before. In theory, it should work yo, but I’d never peeped a pony do dat shit. Focusing, I tried. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I could feel tha glow from mah horn stretch up ta envelop mah entire body. Brighter it glowed as I tried ta lift mah dirty ass. I was shinin like a thugged-out dozen lanterns when I felt mah body lift, just slightly, from tha ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was sweatin. This was as far as I could go yo, but I was bustin dat shit. Now one step forward… n' another… n' another…
I was halfway across when tha dome-bots started firin lightnin up in mah general direction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. One of tha bolts struck tha catstrutt, arcin along dat shit. I felt straight-up dirty I wasn’t muthafuckin touchin dat shit. But I was also almost spent. Ahead of me, tha catstrutt stopped right before tha big-ass windows dat let twice-filtered sunlight (once by tha cloudz n' once by tha dirty glass itself) onto tha factory floor, supplementin tha light from heavy fixtures hangin above. Da catstrutt blasted off up in both directions, hustlin parallel ta tha wall. One was tha direction I had come from. Da other lead ta a thugged-out door which had been locked. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Only dat door didn’t gots a lock ta pick. Instead, it could only be opened by command from a terminal.
Another blasted of lightnin missed cleanly, shootin all up in one of tha shattered windowz of tha observation crib n' fryin tha terminal I had just used, not five minutes ago, ta unlock holla'd door.
It was a shitload of metal catstrutt. And tha damn bots beneath me blasted lightning. I grunted wit tha effort dat kept me aloft, feelin mah vision darken all up in tha edges. I had ta stop, or I’d pass out. And dat would be tha end of mah dirty ass.
Releasin tha magic, I dropped onto tha catstrutt. It wavered yo, but held. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I let go of a funky-ass breath I didn’t realize I was holding, n' started ta gallop.
"Don’t run! Our thugged-out asses wanna be yo' playa!"
Mo' blasts. I tensed, expectin ta feel paralyzin electricitizzle rip up mah body, startin at mah hooves. Instead, I heard a cold-ass lil crash a funky-ass bangin pop n' a twang from somewhere above. Lookin up as I ran, I saw dat one of tha bolts had hit tha hangin lamp above, causin its softly buzzin light ta explode. And that, freakishly, was tha last straw: it snapped loose from tha badly aged, cracked ceilin above n' swung down, crashin tha fuck into tha catstrutt behind mah dirty ass. Da whole struttway shook. And then tha section behind mah crazy ass tore away wit a rendin scream of played metal.
Oh fuck me wit Celestia’s forehooves!
I’ll admit, mah repertoire of colorful descriptions had grown mo' profane from mah experience wit tha raiders; but as I galloped down tha struttways at heart-tearin speed, tryin ta keep ahead as tha sectionz of catstrutt fuckin started ta fall down onto tha factory floor like a thunderous, lethal game of dominos, I felt tha sentiment entirely appropriate.
I was almost ta tha door when tha metal struttway dropped up from under mah dirty ass. I threw mah dirty ass forward, carried only on momentum, n' caught tha final section wit only mah forelegs. I hung there, mah hindhooves danglin nuff muthafuckin stories over a ancient rifle assembly line dat had been crushed by tha fallen catstrutt. I struggled, tryin ta inch mah dirty ass up. I used mah magic ta try ta tug on mah saddlebags n' drag mah dirty ass forward. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah ass was pounding. I fought ta keep visionz of fallin from dominatin mah imagination -- tried not ta be thinkin of mah back breakin as I landed on tha conveyor belt below. At least tha damned dome-bots weren’t shootin all up in mah grill anymore, havin scurried fo' cover.
It seemed ta take forever yo, but inch-by-inch I pulled mah dirty ass onto dat final section of catstrutt. It wobbled threateningly beneath me, stickin up from tha wall like a thugged-out divin board, held up in place by bolts dat wiggled up in wear-widened holes. Cautiously, I gots mah hooves under me n' stepped lightly towardz tha door.
A blast of lightnin hit tha catstrutt, shootin up mah hairy-ass legs n' bustin me tha fuck into fucked up convulsions. I collapsed, bobbin, on tha struttway, mah mane n' tailhairs standin on end yo, but it ain't no stoppin cause I be still poppin'. Da struttway responded wit a metallic cry n' tilted nuff muthafuckin inches, threatenin ta dump me tha fuck into tha gulf below.
I struggled shakily ta mah feet. Another blast blasted up from almost directly beneath me, missin tha struttway by less than a gangbangin' foot n' strikin tha ceilin above. Bitz of singed plasta drizzled down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I gave tha door a push, n' was vastly relieved when it swung open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Then tha catstrutt gave further. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I lurched, rappin bout ma forelegs around tha door frame ta keep from slidin down tha now like steep metal platform. A third electrical blast ripped all up in tha air, strikin another strip of industrial lightin whose light also blew up like a muthafucka, makin it swin perilously.
Grunting, I pulled mah dirty ass tha fuck into tha room. I turned n' sat up in tha doorway, lookin down all up in tha dome-bot rollin up in circlez directly below, tryin ta figure up how tha fuck ta git mah dirty ass. Then, wit a phat kick of mah forehooves, I knocked tha last of tha catstrutt loose. It fell, scrapin down tha wall, until it smashed all up in tha robot’s dome-case, pulpin tha organ inside n' continuin down, rippin tha machine roughly up in half. I must admit dat I found tha crunch immensely satisfying.
*** *** ***
I realize dat if tha room I had successfully accessed at such pimped out underground risk had not offered another way out, I would done been up in deep shit.
Closin tha door behind me, I felt immediately mo' comfortable. Da room had been painted up in what tha fuck had once been a funky-ass bright orange, n' tha paint had not lost all its warmth over time. Da wood panelin probably brought a pleasant, homey feel ta what tha fuck I believed was clearly tha factory overmare’s crib. Now dat wood was rotted n' crumbling. On tha back wall above tha desk was a oversized logo up in deeply tarnished bronze:
IRONSHOD FIREARMS
How tha fuck do you like dem apples?
I didn’t git dat shit.
Ignorin it, I looked around. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Phat, fancy desk. Chair. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Filin cabinets. A posta up in a funky-ass backlit frame -- tha same stupid-ass posta I had peeped nuff muthafuckin other times up in tha factory yo, but dis one up in mo' betta condition, showin graceful pegasus ponies soarin all up in tha sky, rainbows explodin behind dem as they blasted down on dark, demonic striped figures wit evil, glowin eyes. (Better Wiped than Striped hommie biaaatch! Join tha Equestrian Forces Today!) A wardrobe.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah eyes barely touched these, movin ta tha blingin thangs first. Da crib held a terminal I could hack, a wall safe I could pick, n' a underground elevator that, if it worked, would git me safely ta tha straight-up original gangsta floor n' outta dis dirtnaptrap. There was a ammo box under tha desk. Then mah eyes fell on suttin' unique. Mounted on tha opposite wall was a glass case. And up in tha case was a funky-ass dope n' perfectly preserved revolver. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. A similar model ta mine yo, but crafted wit what tha fuck must have approached love. It had a scope, n' a ivory bit molded fo' extra-comfortable fit up in tha grill n' ease of trigger. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. On tha handle was a emblem, three apples.
I tried mah hoof (so ta speak) all up in tha safe first. It was tough, takin a gangbangin' few attempts yo, but afta breakin one bobby pin I hustled mo' betta how tha fuck ta prevent further losses. Da safe opened wit a generous click. Da impressive amount of objects made me wonder if mah excursion tha fuck into Ironshod Firearms hadn’t been worthwhile afta all. I started sortin tha treasure from tha rubbish. Inside was sack full of pre-war coins, a cold-ass lil copy of Equestrian Army Today, a whole bunch of finizzle papers dat ceased ta mean anythang hundredz of muthafuckin years ago, a funky-ass box of what tha fuck looked like bubble gum (I couldn’t decipher tha freestylin on it), a Spark o’ Magic battery n' finally a odd hoof-strapped arcano-tech device dat looked like it was meant ta intercourse wit mah PipBuck. Curious, I slid it on n' let mah PipBuck analyze dat shit.
StealthBuck. Invisiblitizzle Spell. One charge.
Hot damn!
Next was tha terminal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Pullin up mah utilitizzle suit, I slid up mah access tool n' started ta work. This terminal was tougher ta crack than tha previous ones. Even wit mah tools, I had ta abort nuff muthafuckin times ta avoid gettin locked out. I pulled another apple from mah bag n' bit tha fuck into it, intent on tha screen, only ta hit suttin' painfully hard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Levitatin tha apple up ta eye level, I saw a funky-ass cap embedded up in dat shit. Lookin down at mah saddlebags, there was indeed a lil' small-ass hole, although it took me a gangbangin' few minutes ta remember when dat had happened.
Once in, I discovered a whole mess of oldschool notes,lyrics n' a cold-ass lil couple schematics. In addition, tha terminal had a shutdown key fo' all tha robotic security. And it could remotely open both tha safe n' tha display case. I rolled mah eyes, thankin tha universe eva so much fo' givin me dis potentially life-savin option only now dat I’d already fought mah way ta tha finish n' no longer needed dat shit. I also realized dat I could have saved mah dirty ass a funky-ass bobby pin if I had hit dat shizzle on tha computer first.
I downlizzleed tha schematics then,
holla'd all up in tha terminal ta open tha display case. Bustin so triggered a message.
"Cousin Braeburn, Ah know we ain’t talked up in some time yo, but tha war effort’s takin’ a twist fo' tha scary, n' Ah might not gots a cold-ass lil chizzle t’ peep ya again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Ah want t’ mend fences. Now, Ah ain’t gonna muck dis up wit lyrics. Our thugged-out asses all know how tha fuck well dat went last time. Instead, Ah’m sendin’ ya Lil’ Macintosh as a gift n' as a apologizzle. T’sheezy you I’m sincere. Keep ‘im safe fo' me, will ya?"
Da accent was straight-up much like dat of tha voice I found on Velvet Remedy’s PipBuck, although dis time it was clearly not from tha same stupid-ass pony. But it was tha earnest tone of tha recordin dat made me pause. Two hundred muthafuckin years ago, some pony had given dis glock as a token of apologizzle n' as a effort ta rehook tha fuck up wit family. And dat some pony’s cousin had done just as she axed, preservin tha weapon fo' generations afta his own dirtnap.
I wasn’t goin ta leave it there, untouched by anypony until tha buildin collapsed on dat shit. But when I took it, I removed it respectfully.
All dat was left was goin all up in tha rest of tha crib. Da ammo box held bullets fo' Little Macintosh, n' not a shy amount. In tha wardrobe, I found some oldschool maintenizzle suit dat I could bust ta repair tha holez up in mah own utilitizzle barding, n' other garments dat I left behind.
Eventually, I turned ta tha elevator n' pushed tha button. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Nothing.
Of course it didn’t work. Da wasteland just couldn’t give me a funky-ass break. Pullin up mah tools, I opened up tha side panel n' tried ta figure up what tha fuck was wack n' if I could fix it from here.
To mah pimped out relief, I could. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da elevator proved ta be up in impressive condition, particularly thankin bout tha rest of tha building. But tha battery fo' tha intercourse was dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. As Celestia’s mercy would have it, there had been a replacement up in tha safe. One swappin of batteries later, I was on mah way. As tha doors slid shut,another message started
"here is tha schematics fo' Sergeant RL-3 n' ED-E up in return fo' what tha fuck Macintosh did protectin mah sister..at least tha pimpin' muthafucka tried..." tha thought crossed mah mind, "Macintosh, biatch? Wasn’t that…"
*** *** ***
I trotted between tha collapsed buildings dat littered tha area around Ironshod Firearms, not havin any particular direction ta go. Aimless. I hadn’t found any signz of civilization… civilized civilization, mind yo thugged-out ass. I had kinda given up on findin Velvet Remedy. For now, I was satisfyin mah dirty ass wit random exploration, although dat had just proven exceptionally dangerous.
In Stable Two, I knew exactly what tha fuck mah future would be (as unbearably dull as it would have been). Out here, up in tha big-ass open outside, I was strugglin wit just tha opposite. I never considered dat havin a assigned place might be as much a relief as it was a funky-ass burden.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah ears perked all up in tha sound of overwrought, triumphant beatz. Drop dis like itz hot! I watched as a sprite-bot fluttered down a cold-ass lil cross street. Hustlin up ta it, I drew mah dirty ass around up in front of dat shit. "Watcher?"
It just floated by.
I dashed up in front of it again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Hello?" Da noize just kept playing. I waved a hoof right up in front of its lack of face. It danced around mah crazy ass n' kept going.
Well, dat was muthafuckin helpful.
I picked a random direction n' started trottin again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I thought of Watcher’s lyrics. Armor, check. Weapon, double-check. Guidance, biatch? I looked back all up in tha Ironshod building. A bit iffy yo, but check. Hommies?
"It’s kinda hard ta make playaz where there don’t seem ta be anypony around!" I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah exasperated voice echoed off crumblin wallz of concrete. If dis was a quest, it was a lame one. I seriously needed ta find suttin' ta do. Preferably other than "dodge" n' "duck". In Stable Two, I felt painfully ordinary. I yearned ta be special; now I yearned ta be anything.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah downcast eyes chanced upon a Red Rider scooter amidst tha ruins. Reachin up a hoof, I flipped it back onto its wheels n' prodded it back n' forth a gangbangin' few times. Three of tha wheels was locked wit rust; but ta mah surprise, one still turned.
Lookin up, I found mah dirty ass all up in tha edge of a playground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da swings n' slide jutted tha fuck into tha oddly-colored air, blackened by ancient spellfire, like bonez of a pimped out dead beast. Da merry-go-round was warped n' canted. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This type'a shizzle happens all tha time. Da skeleton of a funky-ass baby pony was still curled at one end.
Sadnizz n' immense shame flooded mah dirty ass. I had been feelin sorry fo' mah dirty ass up in tha midst of all this!, biatch? Another tiny skeleton lay against tha burnt husk of a tree, three rolla skates up in tha dirt near its hooves. Da fourth, biatch? I doubted mah playas would eva know, nahmeean?
I plodded on, movin all up in tha silent impromptu graveyard.
At tha far end, sheltered by walls dat was mostly still intact, I found a oldschool vendin machine. "Sparkle~Cola" tha machine still advertised all up in tha muthafuckin yearz of grime. It featured a funky-ass backlit emblem of stylized carrots. Surprisingly, tha machine still looked functional. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. Fishin up a gangbangin' few pre-war coins, I fed dem tha fuck into tha machine. I didn’t muthafuckin expect dat it would still have soda afta all these years. I was astonished when a funky-ass forty rolled up dutifully. I suddenly realized how tha fuck awfully thirsty I was!
Da Sparkle~Cola was luke-warm yo, but muthafuckin rather delicious, wit a thugged-out delightfully carroty aftertaste. Da clickin of mah PipBuck warned mah crazy ass dat I was ingestin trace amountz of radiation wit each swallow yo, but not enough ta be harmful. I’d taken mo' harm standin around at Sweet Applez Acres. And besides, if it reached a point where mah radiation intake fuckin started makin me sick, I had a cold-ass lil couple RadAway potions -- tha only supplies from tha Ironshod medicinal box dat I hadn’t needed ta bust just ta survive tha building.
I spotted a funky-ass bench just around tha side of tha buildin n' decided ta take a load off mah legs, possibly read a shitload of tha Equestrian Army Todizzle book I had picked up. As I turned tha corner, mah gaze fell upon a old, torn posta affixed ta tha wall. Da image was tha grill of a coffin dodgin' pony of almost obtrusively pink coloration. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Her mane was streaked wit grey. (On some ponies, grey afro make dem look distinguished; on most, it just make dem look old. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hers made her look like a cold-ass lil candy cane.) Her eyes was huge, staring. I could swear, posta or not, dat dat biiiiatch was lookin right tha fuck into mah dirty ass. Some pony had ripped tha posta right all up in tha middle; I had no idea what tha fuck her expression was supposed ta be yo, but I couldn’t muthafuckin help but feel like I was bustin suttin' wrong. Bold lyrics above n' below tha image, now deeply faded, announced: PINKIE PIE IS WATCHING YOU FOREVER! There was additionizzle lyrics, straight-up tiny, beneath, so lil' small-ass n' faded dat I had ta lean close n' strain ta read em.
"…a aiiight reminder from tha Ministry of Morale." I stepped back, tiltin mah head as I looked all up in tha posta again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "What’s tha Ministry of Morale?"
Watcher’s voice erupted from over mah shoulder, makin me jump high enough mah horn whacked tha ceiling. "Another well-meanin idea dat was so much mo' betta on scroll."
I gasped, willin mah ass ta beat regularly again, n' felt a gangbangin' fleetin empathy wit Sawed-Off. Da sprite-bot was hoverin right next ta mah dirty ass. Celestia, dem thangs was silent when they weren’t playin music! "Is you tryin ta give me a ass attack?!"
"Oh. Sorry." I gave tha flyin orb a glare.
I forgot bout tha bench n' started strutting, tryin ta smoke up tha rest of mah Sparkle~Cola. Da sprite-bot followed.
"I peep you’ve gots some armor…" Da mechanical voice seemed hesitant. I didn’t ask why. Watcher either didn’t care enough ta explain or thought mo' betta of dat shit. Maybe tha fact dat I was struttin all up in tha Equestrian Wasteland up in a tracksuit coated inside n' up wit dryin blood gave it pause.
I could probably go up ta any Stable pony n' go "I be evil, bad, nightmare pony. Arrrr!" and, even despite mah size, they would take one look n' flee.
I sipped mah cola n' wished desperately fo' someplace decent ta bathe. Problem was, any gin n juice clean n' radiation-free enough ta take a funky-ass bath up in would be too precious ta pollute. One of mah canteens was empty n' tha second nearly so.
"Maybe tha reason you’re havin shizzle findin yo' place is dat you haven’t discovered yo' virtue yet," Watcher offered outta thin air.
I stopped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "What, biatch? How tha fuck did you know… oh, nevermind." Then, "What do you mean, mah virtue?"
"Well," tha flyin bizzle fuckin started, "Da top billin heroez of Equestria, ponies wit lifelong bondz of unbreakable thang n' strength, was each known fo' exemplifyin one of tha pimped out virtuez of ponykind. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Kindness, honesty, laughter…"
"Laughter be a virtue?" I axed dubiously.
"Roll wit me on this," tha sprite-bot continued without breakin stride. "Generosity, loyalty n' magic. They straight-up didn’t know themselves, or each other, until one pony came ta realize dat her playaz represented these virtues, n' together they grew ta live by em. Now, I’m not sayin dem is tha only virtues, they is just a…" Now tha bot paused as if searchin fo' lyrics. "…particularly blingin set. I’m just sayin dat like if you learn ta recognize tha dominant virtue up in yo' own heart, yo big-ass booty is ghon find yo ass. And you won’t need mah playas or anythang else ta rap yo' place up in the" Watcher’s voice cut up wit a abrupt pop n' noize once again n' again n' again poured from tha bot.
"Buckwild." I watched as tha sprite-bot slowly sailed away.
Well, if dat wasn’t a load of ponypies, I didn’t know what tha fuck was. Finishin mah soda, I tossed tha empty forty amidst a pile of others. Empty fortyz littered tha Equestrian Wasteland like weeds.
A freshly smoked up thought was occurrin ta mah dirty ass. Bout Watcher. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. Da Wasteland Survival Guide had ta be freestyled afta tha megaspells drizzled down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Long after, thankin bout its sound lyrics on scavenging. So dat book wouldn’t done been up in tha Ponyville Library as part of tha original, pre-war library. It found its way up in there later; from tha lack of bein burned, defaced or covered up in blood, I was guessin recently. Which made me wonder: did Watcher know bout dem skanky ponies tha raidaz held captive, biatch? And if so, is dat why I was talked tha fuck into goin there, biatch? Was I manipulated tha fuck into struttin tha fuck into dat horror cuz Watcher hoped I would free them, biatch? I couldn’t be sure. And thankin bout dat Watcher saved me, I should give tha benefit of tha doubt. But I couldn’t muthafuckin help tha nigglin sense dat Watcher had played me, n' I don’t like bein tricked.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah ears perked as tha noize stopped again, replaced by a voice. But dis wasn’t Watcher’s voice. This was somepony else. This voice wasn’t metallic. It was tha voice of a smooth thug pony wit a greasy as fuck charisma.
"Hommies, ponies, rejoice biaaatch! Although tha ghetto bout you is bleak, scarred n' poisoned by tha war of honorless, thoughtless, inferior poniez of tha past, our phat asses aint gots ta live up in tha shadow of they greed n' wickedness. Together, we can raise Equestria back ta its forma beauty dawwwwg! Together, we can build a freshly smoked up kingdom where all live together up in slick unitizzle dawwwwg! It’s already happening, mah phat ponies. Already, tha foundation fo' a freshly smoked up n' straight-up dope age is bein built. Yes, it’s hard work yo, but don’t we owe it ta ourselves, n' ta future generationz of ponies, ta be better, biatch? Fuck dat shit, ta be tha dopest we can possibly be, biatch? I’m spittin some lyrics ta you now, as yo' playa, as yo' leader, dat we can. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Our thugged-out asses must. And we WILL!"
What up in a gangbangin' fever trip was that??
Da noize had resumed -- not poppin back up in tha middle of a cold lil' woo wop like when Watcher seized control of a sprite-bot yo, but all up in tha beginnin of a freshly smoked up song, like dis was how tha fuck tha bot was supposed ta work.
Wait, ponies gots a leader now, biatch? That was straight-up shizzle ta mah dirty ass. As far as I could see, our phat asses didn’t even gots a cold-ass lil ghetto. Hell, I’d settle fo' a town! Even just a gangbangin' few shacks built within vague proximitizzle of each other, so long as they had ponies livin there up in peace. Or as close ta peace as tha wasteland allowed.
If our crazy asses had a leader, our crazy asses had ta have at least one town, right?
Trottin fasta now, I found a ruin wit enough intact stairs fo' me ta git up ta what tha fuck was left of a second floor. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. I brought up tha binoculars n' looked about. Sheezy enough, up in tha distance, I saw smoke. Enough plumes, close enough together, ta suggest some sort of settlement. I prayed ta Celestia dat tha smoke was from cookin fires, not raidaz burnin it ta tha ground.
There was a path leadin up towardz tha settlement. That would keep me from losin mah way. And there was movement on dat path. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah horn glowed as I focused tha binoculars, brangin a lil' small-ass crew of ponies tha fuck into view. Two of dem was pullin a heavily laden wagon. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. A lil' pony rode on its back, apparently rappin' wit two others whoz ass was guidin equally-burdened two-headed beasts. Da crew was headed towardz me, away from tha theoretical town. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But they didn’t look like they was fleeing, n' none of dem was wounded, all of which I took fo' a phat sign. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. A straight-up phat sign indeed.
I looked up tha fuck into tha thick, broilin clouds, up ta where tha disk of tha sun done cooked up a funky-ass brighter spot up in tha cloudy ceiling, n' busted a prayer of props ta Celestia.
*** *** ***
Da path wasn’t a road, exactly. Rather, it was a long, arcin swath cuttin all up in tha Equestrian Wasteland. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Two parallel metal lines reinforced wit badly-aged cross-plankz of wood. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I be fly as a gangbangin' falcon, soarin all up in tha sky dawwwwg! Half-an-hour back, it had crossed over a gully on a rickety bridge. After mah funk wit catstrutts, I chose ta brave tha gully rather than put mah hooves on suttin' else dat was surely holdin off its inevitable collapse until it could take me wit dat shit.
It turned up ta be a phat decision, despite tha wounds. Da gully had been home ta a funky-ass bunch of large, bloated pig-things wit mad nasty front teeth. One of dem gots ahold of mah left hindleg, bitin clean all up in mah armor n' cuttin a thugged-out deep gash.
Little Macintosh is neither on tha down-low nor subtle. A single blasted from dat dope lil glock tore tha head clean off tha pig-thang attackin me biaaatch! And it fires quickly enough dat I was able ta slay tha three others before mah targetin spell ran out.
Beneath tha bridge was somepony’s camp. It had a long-abandoned feel ta it yo, but there was scattered supplies, includin a gangbangin' few casez of shotgun ammo, a single can of chicken amidst a litter of tin cans ("Magical Fruit" tha label boasted yo, but it turned up just ta be beans), n' a locked medicinal box. I picked tha lock easily, findin a healin potion which I swiftly drank, breathang a sigh of relief as tha nasty gash mended gently, tha pain ebbin away. There was magical bandages, nowhere as bangin as a potion but phat fo' flesh wounds, n' a funky-ass box of… mints, biatch? ("Mint-als muthafucka! Refresh yo' mind n' yo' breath!" I had been surprised ta peep a smilin zebra on tha front of tha box, tha straight-up original gangsta depiction of a zebra I’d peeped dat didn’t look like a storybook villain.)
Now I figured I was over halfway ta tha settlement, maybe two-thirds. I tried ta keep mah dirty ass from imaginin what tha fuck I would find. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! (A whole hood of civilized n' aiiight ponies, maybe.) I didn’t wanna ta set mah dirty ass up fo' a letdown. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Even a gangbangin' few shacks" I holla'd at mah dirty ass. I picked up tha pace of mah trot.
I heard a gunshot blasted up in tha same stupid-ass instant dat I felt a funky-ass cap tear clean all up in mah right hindleg n' another clang off tha metal casin of tha sniper rifle strapped ta mah back. I screamed up in agony, collapsin ta a skiddin halt on tha rocky ground, clutchin at mah hindleg. I was bleedin profusely all up in tha hole torn all up in dat shit. Da cap missed tha bone, n' I could tell dat sickeningly cuz I could peep it son! I tossed mah head back n' screamed again.
Desperately, I dragged mah dirty ass around a big-ass mound of rocks, tryin ta take shelter from a shooter I never saw. Focusin as much as I could all up in tha terrible pain, I pulled tha magic-laced medicinal bandages from mah pack. I tried rappin bout ma bleedin hindleg yo, but tha bandages was meant fo' cuts n' gashes, not gapin holes. It was soaked wit blood n' slidin off almost before I had finished wrappin dat shit. I tossed tha bandage n' tried again, dis time pullin tha bandage much tighter. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. It too soaked bright red yo, but at least it stayed.
Shakin wit fear n' pain, knowin from tha sudden chills dat mah body was goin tha fuck into shock, I looked up n' tried ta spy tha pony whoz ass beat down mah dirty ass. I looked all around yo, but no one was there biaaatch! And there wasn’t a whole lot of cover ta be hidin in; these hillz of dirt n' rock was mostly barren. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I felt like mah ass swallowed a ice cube when tha image hit me dat there was a pony up there wit a StealthBuck! Biatch could be right next ta me, pointin her glock at mah head, n' I wouldn’t even know!
But then I looked upward, n' there up in tha sky was a rust-coated pegasus pony wit a orange mane under a funky-ass black desperado hat, n' what tha fuck looked like two rifles, one strapped beneath each wing. Da pony had just finished circlin back around n' was aimin right at me!
With panicked instinct, I levitated a big-ass rock up in front of mah grill as a shield. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A crack rang up in tha air, two riflez fired simultaneously dawwwwg! Da first cap struck tha rock, bustin chipz of stone flying, n' ricocheted, lodgin up in mah canteen. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Da last of mah gin n juice burbled up at mah hooves. Da second punched all up in mah armor n' embedded itself up in mah left shoulder, bustin me reeling. Again, I collapsed, tha pain peakin n' then beginnin ta bleed off, which I knew wasn’t a phat sign. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. This time, I didn’t be thinkin I would be gettin back up again.
So, dis is what tha fuck it was like ta die, biatch? So overrated.
I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah eyes felt heavy. I closed them, I don’t be thinkin fo' long. But when I opened dem again, I spotted tha ponies drawin they wagon, comin over tha hill. Behind dem would mah crazy ass mo' ponies, guidin pack... two-headed cattle-things. I remembered tha lil' pony up in tha back of tha wagon.
I doubted any of dem would be lookin up.
Forcin mah dirty ass ta mah hooves, I fuckin started draggin mah dirty ass tha fuck into tha open. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. If I was goin ta die, it wasn’t goin ta be layin down, watchin these playas git slaughtered hommie biaaatch! I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah body screamed agony tha fuck into mah head yo, but I kept going, marchin mah dirty ass on lame hairy-ass legs until I was standin up in tha path right up in front of tha approachin group. Turning, n' focusin all up in tha hammerin up in mah head, I lifted Little Macintosh tha fuck into tha air n' pointed it all up in tha rust-colored pegasus whoz ass had whipped back around n' was again n' again n' again flyin right all up in mah face.
I stood directly between his ass n' tha travelaz. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah vision was blurry from tears n' trauma. I wasn’t sure, even wit S.A.T.S., dat I could hit his muthafuckin ass. And I stood no chizzle against his thugged-out aim. Dude was a dunkadelic shot; technically, dat schmoooove muthafucka hadn’t missed mah crazy ass yet.
Puttin every last muthafuckin ounce ta tha bounce of me tha fuck into it, I growled as menacingly as I could. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! And hoped dat a pony whoz ass had survived four shots would be mistaken fo' a pony ta be reckoned with. "Shoot all up in mah grill all you want yo, but if you battle dat family, I will! End hommie biaaatch! You!"
To mah surprise, tha pegasus’s eyes widened, n' instead of firing, his thugged-out lil' punk-ass backflapped his wings, comin ta a halt up in front of mah dirty ass. "Whoa nelly!"
Levitatin Little Macintosh was gettin straight-up hard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I’d lost all feelin up in mah blasted leg, n' fell onto mah haunches without realizing.
"Ah ain’t tha one attackin’ dat caravan! Yo ass are!"
What!, biatch? Black was seepin tha fuck into mah vision from all sides. I be a gangsta yo, but y'all knew dat n' mah head was swimming. Da conversation wasn’t makin any sense. But at least da thug was conversin rather than cappin' mah dirty ass. Weakly, "…not attacking. Yo ass blasted mah dirty ass."
"Well of course ah blasted you, nahmean biiiatch, biatch? Ah peep a raider headin’ at a cold-ass lil caravan, ah’m gonna perforate her till she ain’t movin’ no more!" Da rust-colored pony glared all up in mah face. Then, wit a strangely proud as a muthafucka look, "It’s muh policy."
I felt mah forelegs beginnin ta give. I was near collapse. But tha lyricz of tha pony caused a gangbangin' fire ta flash up in mah head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Little Macintosh had begun ta sink towardz tha ground yo, but now it swung back up, pointed right between mah attacker’s eyes. "I’m not a raider!"
Da pony pointed all up in mah grill argumentatively. "Y’sure look like a raider!"
Seemingly from outta nowhere, tha colt from tha wagon galloped tha fuck into view. I tried ta raise mah voice up in warnin yo, but not a god damn thang came out. Da blacknizz fightin ta overtake mah vision finally won, n' I collapsed, sinkin tha fuck into what tha fuck felt like a thugged-out deep chill.
Da last thang I heard was tha colt whinnying, "Calamity, what tha fuck have you done?!"
Footnote: Level Up.
New Perk: Egghead - Yo ass will add +2 skill points each time you bust a freshly smoked up experience level.
