//------------------------------// // Chapter 6: Magical Mystery Consequences // Story: The Mysterious Book // by Late Empire //------------------------------// First good shelter for miles, I thought, crawling into the muddy darkness. Unfortunately, the radroaches nesting under the old skywagon agreed with me. One landed on my flank, and did its best to eat the hammers off my cutie mark. A desperate blast of telekinesis sent it flying. Frantically I pulled out the rusted revolver, and without thinking, tried to enter S.A.T.S. Bad move. A scolding beeping noise from my wretched PipBuck filled my ears. Despite it, I struggled to aim, as the familiar DON’T PLAY WITH GUNS! message suddenly filled my E.F.S. I pulled the trigger anyway, firing blindly. Maybe the wet bullets I’d found were somehow still good? Click, the revolver answered. Click, click, click, click, click. After a brutal few minutes, I concluded it made a passable club. If the griffins came back, at least I could chuck it at them. I bet it would leave a nasty bruise. Or if I could lure them under here, the smell might knock them out. ”There’s nothing outside the Stable,” I remembered Spark Plug saying, crumbs flying from her muzzle to decorate the cafeteria floor. Oh, if only I had believed her. I'd be back in my bunk right now, dreaming of generator maintenance. I waited in my muddy hole as the rain died down, trying to breathe through my mouth. It took a few hours, but slowly the pouring radioactive torrent in the street outside eased up, and what passed for daylight in the Wasteland steadily returned. Long ago, the skywagon had crashed into a fountain, at the center of a small collection of buildings. Decaying shops surrounded what must have been a nice little town square, once upon a time. No sign of the griffins. Crawling out, I dipped a hoof in a nearby puddle, and washed the worst of the radroach debris off my face. My PipBuck’s radiation meter crept up steadily. Finally it made another disappointed beeping noise, and flashed FIND A GROWN-UP! The grown-up wearing it whacked the screen in frustration. I considered my supply situation. I had amassed a huge collection of useful items, in the three weeks since leaving my Stable. One PipBuck, stuck in foal mode. Check. Bent Pipe’s prank was less funny after a few weeks in hell. And after seeing her vaporized. One torn and scorched Stable jumpsuit, bright blue with yellow trim, for extra visibility to raiders. Check. One rusty dented revolver with no ammunition, now covered in radroach guts. Check. Two bottle caps. Check. And lastly, one precious item rescued from the Stable’s safe, at tremendous risk right under the noses... er, beaks, of the griffins. Check. My PipBuck’s inventory screen helpfully informed me this item was “Magical Mystery Loot.” Or possibly the Magical Mystery Loot? Whatever that was. I took the cheerful glowing label as a sign, however weak, that someone at Stable-Tec did indeed have a sense of humor. I shuddered as I remembered the lead griffin screaming at the Overmare. He had been furiously, psychotically, angry when he found the safe empty. But also, somehow... desperate? I wondered exactly what this thing was, that could be worth burning down an entire Stable. Maybe I never should have taken it. I picked a direction and started walking. Night in the Wasteland was utterly freezing. The biting wind on my face also smelled like burning electrical wiring, which wasn’t helping. I needed to find shelter soon, or things would start to get very dicey from a survival perspective. Unicorns don’t do well in the cold. The desert stretched away in every direction, offering nothing unless I wanted to bed down inside a cactus. Even considering the smell, I started to regret leaving my roach nest in the town square. In the distance, I spotted the glimmering light of a campfire. It was inviting, but also made me uneasy. Fires at night drew attention. Whoever made it was probably very stupid, in which case they and I would soon be decorating the walls of a raider camp. Or they were very well armed, in which case they would steal my two bottle caps, and find me a new holster for my revolver-club. I crept closer, trying to get a sense of which was most likely. They didn’t look like raiders. No power armor either, which was a good sign. Just a group of well-armed ponies around a campfire, a skewer of disgusting-looking meat propped up above it. I weighed my options and decided that my only real alternative was to freeze to death. At the very least, maybe I could trade the Magical Mystery Whatsit for some food. I walked closer to the circle of firelight, trying to appear non-threatening. None of them were speaking. Despite the guns, up close they didn’t look dangerous... just very, very tired, worn out, watching the fire. The only sounds were the chemical wind and the wet dripping of roasting meat. With a shock I realized the closest mare was a pegasus. She didn’t look like Enclave, though. The chipped rainbow paint on her battle saddle matched her mane and tail. The earth mare next to her had a similar saddle, but with two magical beam cannons in bright bubblegum pink. The third pony was an orange earth mare wearing a battered stetson. Amazingly, her hind legs were cybernetic, the metal glinting dully in the light from the fire. They ended in razor-sharp hoofclaws that dug into the ground. Joining her were another pegasus, butter yellow and weighed down with healing potions, and a white unicorn mare with an impossibly clean purple mane, the jeweled hilts of dozens of knives glinting from her tight-fitting black barding. And the sixth... uh... ...well, the sixth pony was a smallish mulberry-colored unicorn mare, wearing an exhausted look. Directed at me, no less. “Oh ponyfeathers,” she groaned. The others noticed me and joined in the groaning. There may have been some exasperated wheezing and eye-rolling as well. The orange one pulled her hat down over her eyes and settled in for a nap. This wasn’t going how I expected. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m...” “Yes, yes,” the unicorn said, cutting me off. “Running away, are you? From some dramatic crisis? Searching for motivation? Narrowly escaped from the wreckage of such-and-such disaster?” “My Stable,” I said, nonplussed. “Griffins burned it down. Their leader...” “Stop!” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose with her hoof. “Look, we’ll give you some radroach leftovers, and you can stay by the fire until morning. Then go north to Iron Ridge and check into the lodging house at the bottom of the hill. Ask for Madame X. She’ll introduce you to a lovable cast of characters and you’ll have a grand adventure, learn about yourselves and others, and serve as a small flickering light in the darkness of the Wasteland.” I stared at her. “That’s very specific.” She glared back. “You’re the fifth hero we’ve had tonight.” I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded. In the flickering firelight, we regarded each other for a moment, as heroic wandering souls in the Wasteland often do. “Stop regarding me,” she hissed. “You’re only doing that because the story’s spell matrix got twisted.” “Sorry.” She snorted, turning back to the fire. “Well, anyway, have some roach. Congratulations, we saved the antennae just for you.” “Thanks,” I managed, trying not to vomit. “Anyway, I don’t want you to think I’m freeloading, so I’m happy to chip in...” “That isn’t necessary.” she said, slicing off a nauseatingly juicy antenna. “Really, I insist,” I said, pulling out the Magical Mystery Thingamajig. “Here, this should be worth something.” She froze, staring at it, dropping the roach pieces in the dirt. Despite myself, I felt my stomach rumble. I swallowed nervously. “Are you OK? I mean, I don’t mind...” I took a step back as she charged up her horn. Have you ever seen battle magic? It’s very pretty up close. But also very, very, very, loud. Drawing on my extensive Wasteland combat experience, I dodged and weaved expertly to avoid her furious magical blasts, smoothly putting distance between us until her yowling fury faded into the wind. To be very clear, I absolutely did not run away screaming like a foal with my saddlebags flapping everywhere, and I was not narrowly saved from vaporization when she tripped over a rock. As I ran for my life, back into the freezing darkness of the Wasteland’s expanse, I mentally kicked myself for getting involved with them in the first place. Walking up to a campfire! I must be crazy. No, that unicorn was crazy, and her friends too. Too many Party-Time Mint-Als. Or maybe they were just garden-variety Dash-heads, constantly riding the edge of insanity. Why else would she react that way to a shiny gold ring?