1: Welcome to the Wasteland (rewritten 9/26)
The vertibuck gracefully crashed onto the roof. In front of me, the pilot cringed and said, “We’re here”. Out the window, I saw nothing but a dreary building.
“Alright stallions this is a simple search and destroy mission straight from the president himself. Intel says three to four raiders, tops. This mission we have extra baggage, a cartoonist for the president”, everypony stared at me. I nervously shot a grin back, “He may sketch some of you in battle, so make sure to act heroic as you smash some scum heads. Is that clear?” the officer in charge shouted.
Three metallic mustangs yelled, “Sir, yes sir!” before charging out into the barren lands.
Right away, I could hear projectiles pinging off the vertibuck. My head briefly shot out from behind the crate of munitions I was using for cover as I snatched a glimpse of the fight outside. The decimated region consisted of various shades of monotonous gray and sickly brown. Up, nothing but impenetrable clouds loomed ominously, while to my left and right nothing but a cracked world begging for rest arose to greet me. This bitterly pessimistic world was only worsened by the “fight” going on. The rusted pistols used by the muck-suckers could hardly dent the armor of the ponies with miniguns and rocket launchers.
Praying to Lady Luck, I rolled down the ramp, landing behind a statue of some old dead pony, as the fight moved to close quarters. I could hardly compare the knives and pool cue wielded by the raider group with the power hooves that decimated the oppostion. Taking a quick body count, the remains of two wastelanders now decorated the floor, to my horror. I backed up, my nose swiftly losing the battle to keep out the rancid smell of blood. I gagged and turned back to the battle in front of me. The vertibuck had departed, as we were scheduled for a pick up after the battle, but we didn’t even need it.
The four remaining raiders were hardly a match for something as awe-inspiring as three complete sets of power armor. Awe-inspiring could hardly describe it. If this was truly a group of generic waste-landers, then the enclave was unstoppable. I grabbed my notepad and started sketching a particularly gruesome picture of a power-armor-clad pegasus placing a flag on top of a pile of raiders, foaming at the lips.
BOOM!
The rocket rudely interrupted my sketch as it burrowed into the floor next to me and promptly sent me flying. A loud ringing surrounded me. As I stood back up, I looked around for the soldiers. Instead, swarms of raiders greeted me with a war cry somewhere between a scream and a yelp. The missile launcher burdened unicorn stood, directly facing at me. I picked up a stone and threw it as hard as I could at him; I missed. The unicorn took out another missile as his goons with knives ran towards me.
I looked to my left and saw a power-armor-clad leg, sitting by its former owner. Next to the lonesome leg, a pegasus sat, three bullet holes in his helmet. Not even the power armor could prevent three shots to the eye.
To my right, I saw the other two metal-mustangs mechanically mowing down the opposition, which now numbered upwards of ten. I scrambled to get to them, sliding next to the staircase they were now taking cover behind.
“Fall back! We need evac, now! Cartoonist, you follow Brute downstairs. I’ll set up a blockade at these stairs” the stallion declared. He started placing two metal blocks at the top of the staircase.
Get away form the danger? Okay, that I can do. The other stallion, who I presumed to be Brute, galloped down the hall, passing the four doorways and fire exit and slipping into what appeared to be an abandoned room.
“Hey, wait up” I darted down the corridor, pausing only once I reached the chamber. Gasping for air, I turned around, only to hear someone yell duck followed by the detonation of what my expert senses told me, was a big explosion.
The explosion sent a few of the ruffians soaring over the edge of the building; however, the now fragmented hallway was soon filled with five raiders. The stallion next to me popped up with a minigun, but didn’t shoot.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Kill them!” I yelled as I observed the horde approaching.
“Can’t, Wing might still be alive over there” the stallion calmy replied.
I looked over; the debris and blood were now omnipresent, and it was clear anything that was as close to the combustion as “Wing” was had kicked the bucket.
“If you don’t start shooting we all die; now go!” I said, ducking back into the room.
I heard a minigun start to speed up as I frantically searched the room for anything useful. The sole inhabitants of the area were a meager desk and gray table, both with rickety old chairs behind them. I started shoving the table over to the doorway, trying to make a barricade. Sweet Celestia! What was this thing made of, osmium? I eventually bumped the table into a good position, so it was sideways, stopping anyone who felt the need to come in or out of this room.
I turned back around, looking for Brute. He was near the entrance, digging in a bag for something. He pulled out a rifle. The amount of polish on it reminded my reflection and me of how terrible I looked.
He glanced over at me, and began to say, “What are you doi-”, before having to hit the deck.
The wall was consumed by a thick fog of bullets.
“Ow! Ow! Ow! What the hell? Is that my freaking blood?” I cried, sitting behind the wall, staring at the red trickle as it engulfed my wing.
“Quit being a baby and shoot them!” Brute shouted, tossing me a gun that looked older than I was. He picked up a broken branch and a wicked-looking knife. “You may want to bite into this, and remember to keep shooting” Brute instructed.
Wait, what? “It’s just a bullet; I don’t think we need to amputate my entire freaking wing!” I shouted.
Brute shrugged his wings. Turning around, he started firing a weapon at the waste-landers tearing up our cover. All around us, the inferiors closed in. We sat at the end of a hallway, the only way out through the Celestia-forsaken front door where my dead comrades now sat.
“This can’t be happening; This can not be happening! I am a cartoonist, not a jar head. We need to get out of here right now!
Brute turned around and opened his mouth to speak. “Are you crazy? They don’t care about us anymore! We’re tainted. Now get your act together, and let’s go,” he declared. He ran out into the hallway, screaming, “Enclave power!”
Brute never made it passed the third doorway. I had to give him props, he took down two of the vulgar bastards before dying; however, the bullets tore through him, sealing both my fate and his death. His eyes remained open, looking down at his own life, which now smeared the walls and floors. I shuddered; some images cannot be forgotten.
“That the last of ‘em? Heh, they’re pretty strong, that is until they’re missing both wings, begging for forgiveness” a cracked voice said.
“Let’s go. For every one of these pigeons we see, there are probably ten more up in the sky waiting to take our heads,” another voice responded.
“Hell no! Did you see that power armor? I could buy something shiny with that!”
“Listen, I’m the boss, and I say we go.”
“Who the buck says you’re the boss? My new power hooves happen to say otherwise” The stallion shot back, smirking. The smirked stayed on his face, even after a bullet went spiraling into his heart.
The boss looked at the other survivor and said, “Am I the boss?” the other stallion nodded, “Good, now where are the others?”
“Malady bit the dust a few minutes ago, and buck if I know where Crazy John went. As for the three mercenaries we hired, they were too petrified to move at the sight of the vertibuck, so I just shot at them until they started running. They’re probably half-way to Canterlot by now. Oh, and the triplets all died; rather fitting, don’t ya think?,” the minion responded.
Would they just leave already? I stole a glance down the corridor. The two were turned around, walking away. Letting my breath out, I felt peaceful. That is, until my I noticed the blood seeping from my wing. I picked up a bandana from a pony, and tried wrapping it around my wound. Letting out a less-than-stallionly scream I jumped back. The bandana was somewhat akin to a hot plate, and my wing did not appreciate that.
“Heh, even in death they still scream like wimps. Come on, let’s go” boss-pony said.
I looked at my surroundings. No signs of other living Enclave personnel were in sight. The only other pegasus here was the recently deceased Brute Force, whose radio was still crackling with activity. Glancing over, my inner kleptomaniac took hold, and his old radio suddenly turned into my new radio.
Checking my surroundings while procuring my new radio, I saw nothing but destruction, death, and a tree. The rooftop I was standing on looked extremely unstable. Escaping would be impossible. Thankfully, I had wings. Well, one wing at least.
“Any last words, pigeon?” a rusty voice called out, followed by the cackling of a mad pony. I spun around to look at the owner of the voice, only to find a badly dented pistol pointed at my face. Note to self, sightseeing during battles is a bad idea. He sauntered over, moving uncomfortably close to me. Three yellow teeth, bad breath, and the firearm were the only things present in the ugly brute’s mouth.
It was time to initiate plan B. “What the hell is that?” I yelled, pointing into the clouds with my silver hoof.
Thankfully, wastlelanders aren't known for their brilliant minds. The idiot turned his head just long enough for me to give him a swift buck, sending him tumbling over the edge and onto the ground, several stories below.
Hearing more hoofsteps, I decided now was probably a good time to make my departure. “So long, dirt dwellers!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. The nine millimeter round that went spiraling into the ground in front of me was enough motivation for me to finally leap off of the building.
Being a pegasus had its disadvantages; preening, awkward wingboners, etc., etc., but those were the last things on my mind as I leaped off the ledge, spreading my graceful wings.
It was not until I started falling with style that I realized my blunder. I tumbled into the tree, cracking the elderly branches with my face.
SPLAT!
The whole world spun around me. I groaned and picked myself up. “Bucking raiders! Just wait until I get back to the clouds and bring a vertibuck down on your flank!” Wait. I was trapped. In the dirt world, alone. I started hyperventilating. Oh Celestia, what had I gotten myself into?
Shaking my head, I focused. It’s okay. I can still fix this. I just need a place to rest and wait for evac. Realization lighting up my eyes, I started sprinting in one direction.
Oh, this was a terrible idea. Out of breath, I scoured the scorched land for shelter. The feeble remains of a once beautiful house in a once beautiful world and a modest cave were the only things around. Using my expert survival skills, I deduced that nothing living would ever place a hoof into a cave as eerie as this. Therefore, it was the perfect choice to spend the night.
limping into the cave, I soon realized it was not very deep. Rubbing my head and sitting down at my decided camp site next to the entrance, I concluded that I would need a fire for no other reason than to prove my survival skills and add to the story for when I got home. I pulled out my trusty Enclave Survival Guide.
A picture of a smiling mare looking at a fire covered the first page of the fire-starting section. The second page read "Fires and You" by Ink Dot. Illustrated by Rough Sketch. Grinning in pride at my expert illustration, I flipped the page and began to read.
1 Crumple paper into a little ball.
2 Find matches.
Realizing I was a stallion who didn't need instructions, I ripped out the pages on fire starting and used them to start the fire. My brilliant strategy abruptly ended as the fire decided to die out once it realized there was no other fuel.
Sighing and contemplating why bad things happen to good ponies, I kept flipping through the manual. I flipped past “Interacting with Wastelanders” and “Cloud Farming Today”.
Being the classy pegasus I was, I fumbled the guide. As I started to pick up the manual, I heard it. What was that sound? Where did that come from? When did it get so dark? What happened to my fire? Oh right, It died. What just touched me? The noise got louder. I turned. Before me stood a creature of horror, one unparalleled in both strength and viciousness. As the creature loitered there, I heard the soft sound of chirping. The only word that could sum up this monstrosity, this beast of legend, was... radroach.
Terrified, I let out a little scream and flew into the air. Grabbing my saddlebags, I shot across the horizon and dived into the ruins of a pre-war house. The supports sagged, begging for rest. However, they would need to work for just one more night. I lay next to a looted safe and smashed desk. Settling into my spot, I next spent ten minutes convincing myself the radroach was just a nightmare.
As I finally got comfortable on the Celestia-forsaken floor, I fiddled with the radio I had taken off the dead soldier.
"Hello?" I said, testing the microphone.
"This is the Grand Pegasus Enclave Radio Frequency. No dirt-dwellers are allowed on this station. Thank you and have a nice day,” A strangely soothing voice responded.
"Wait, I’m Enclave! My name is Rough Sketch,” I shouted at the black piece of plastic.
"Yeah, right. Now please get off this frequency" The still amazingly soothing voice replied.
"My code is Hotel Echo Lima Papa Mike Echo," I said.
"Kid, I have no clue what that means. But if you're truly Enclave and stranded in the dirt, then you are f-"
"So when is my evac?" I asked, feeling slightly nervous.
"Heh, tell you what kid. Umm, head to the nearest, erm, Single Pegasus Project Tower for extraction. They should be marked on your Enclave Survival Guide. Now get off the radio frequency" The voice commanded.
I was overjoyed. I had an extraction point. I had a plan. I had a map, which was conveniently located in my survival guide currently... guarded by the deadly radroach. I sighed. This was going to be a long night.
I then stopped. Why was I, Sir Rough Sketch, worried about a radroach? I had a gun, and knew how to use it. The radroach, however, did not. Concluding it was time to regain my guide and my honour, I set out for vengeance. Thus began my epic quest for redemption.
I looked at the gun in my hooves, the only possession I had with me, and targeted the abomination. This was what it had come down to, one on one, pony against radroach, superior vs. inferior. The radroach lifted its antennae, and pointed one in my direction. It was time. I took a breath, prayed to Luna, and fired.
Well, I would have fired. Looking down at my hunting rifle, the piercing scream of a bullet went unheard. Instead, one soft click rose to take its place. Hmm, ammo is pretty important.
"Well, buck." I looked over at my nemesis's cave, a malevolent chirping echoing against the walls.
"For the Enclave!" I cried.
"Hissssssss!" the radroach declared.
The radroach charged. I charged. The radroach leaped at me. It missed. I sprinted past the radroach, and kept running towards the cave. The radroach turned its head sideways, looking at me.
I dashed into the cave, rummaging through the accumulated debris. There, near some ashes, laid my reward. I shook off the soot, carefully examining it. Picking it up in my mouth, I exited the cave, and came face to face with a rather angry looking radroach.
That was it. Only one would leave this damned cave alive. I assaulted it, my rifle becoming the world's bulkiest club.
The radroach was caught off guard. In the three seconds I took to swing my rifle, the radroach saw its life flash before its eyes. The radroach then paid its debt to nature, and thus ended my quest for retribution.
"Goodbye, venerable foe" I said in a short eulogy.
The bliss of victory was only to be disturbed by my realization of how much of my nemesis's blood was now deposited on my hooves. "Ew! Why is the blood green?! Eww!" I yelped.
As I returned to my makeshift camp within the bones of a damned building, I realized I was hungry. This was a problem, because I had absolutely no food.
Maybe there was something in the fridge. Deciding I had nothing to lose, I checked the fridge, and to both my delight and horror, found food. Two-hundred year old food. More specifically, two-hundred year old snack cakes. I now had the delightful choice between starvation and food poisoning. Hmmmm, decisions, decisions. Pulling out one of the many bottle caps I had found in the cave, I flipped it. Landing heads side up, Lady Luck had it that I was to eat one.
Luck indeed. How does one describe a Fancy Lads Snack Cake? The same way one might describe their first love or first flight. The feeling was somewhere between joy and euphoria. The taste made everything wrong it the world right, every misfortune trivial. I wolfed down two boxes faster than a recruit on the first day of flight camp.
I entered what was the sole bedroom. The only things present, a charred bed and two singed skeletons that still sat staring somberly at each other. Perhaps they were lovers, doomed to die. Maybe they were siblings, spending the last moments together. As I saw the rusty knife that penetrated one's rib cage, I stopped being poetic and assumed they were most likely enemies, fighting until the end. Although the blade was rusted, I still took the knife. I sighed, kleptomaniac problems.
Frantically searching the kitchen for more I found nothing but a stylish hat, and a moldy blanket. Invoking the finders-keepers rule, I returned to my makeshift room with my new loot.
After making sure everything was safe, I sat down on the better part of the blanket. The itchy old blanket was coated in dried blood, but I was too tired to care. Finally getting comfortable, I drifted off into the world of dreams and angels. For some reason, I couldn't help but feel I was forgetting something.
The feeling overwhelmed me. I was sure I was missing something. It was nighttime, if there even was a day and night in the wasteland, but I didn't care. I could not sleep without it. The problem was I was unsure what it was.
Returning to the kitchen, I re-searched each cabinet in hopes of some Luna-blessed snack cakes. Sadly no snack cakes were present in the aged cabinets. I tipped over the fridge, looking for a secret entrance. The fridge toppled over a bit harder than I had planned. I did not find a secret entrance; I did, however, create a new passage to a wine cellar, albeit a giant hole in the archaic floor.
Risking life and limb, I slowly descended into the unknown. After letting my eyes adjust for a few minutes, I wandered around the rotten cellar. The place smelled strongly of dust, whisky, and danger. My searching resulting in little success, I swiftly galloped upstairs. The less time I spent in that creepy cellar, the better.
Giving up on my hopes, dreams, and aspirations, I returned to my spot on the floor, feeling sore from the day's fights. I got comfortable, knowing it would be a painful night. The butterflies in my stomach were apparently in a mosh pit. Once again, I reluctantly slept.
The night, or what I assumed was the night, reluctantly gave way to the morning. Grunting, I slowly rolled off my impromptu mattress. I tried to extend my wing. The aching appendage slowly moved. In no rush to go exploring the outside wastes, I slowly made my way back down to the wine cellar.
After descending into the room and waiting for several minutes, my eyes finally adjusted somewhat to the darkness. I still had to slowly trot forward with my hooves out in front of me. I pushed up against a shelf.
As I grasped the case, something fell off the top. Glass shattered and I sensed something wet splash onto my rear hooves. Hoping it wasn't poison, I picked up one of the shards. It read "Merlot". Still unsure as to the toxicity, I placed my hoof on top of the shelves. Dust, dust, and more dust. My hoof hit a bottle. I brought it down. Deciding I had enough of the dusty room, I returned to the kitchen.
I once again looked at the bottle's label. Apparently, it was a fancy wine. This might be good for a celebration once I get back home, I thought.
SMASH!
While reading the label, I tripped on a dented lamp and went flying into the ruined bed. The aged bed gave a final groan and collapsed, tired of two-hundred years of work. Oh buck. I checked the bottle. It was seemingly fine. I picked myself up before surveying the room. The bed lay in pieces. The lamp rested on the floor. The dust from under the bed gently floated around, its light brown color contrasting the rusted bed frame. I stared at the spot where the bed frame had resided. Sitting in the center sat what looked like a floor safe. Hopefully the safe wasn't locked.
After staring at it for unreasonable amount of time, I poked the safe. Nothing happened. I poked it again. A small padlock on the safe's handle stopped me from opening the box. Yep, this safe was locked. Pulling out the knife I had found in the dead pony's rib cage, I slowly started to pick the lock.
Thirty minutes later, I was infuriated. The little lock was outsmarting me, Sir Rough Sketch! Each attempt at picking the lock had resulted in nothing but a string of curse words. Exasperated, I jammed the knife into the lock, shouting, "Just! Open! Celestia! Dammit!" With each word, the lock felt a little looser. With one final stab, a small click emanated from the safe.
Well, that worked. Bracing myself for an explosion, I pulled open the door. My eyes landed upon the front most item. A white mare met my gaze, or rather a sculpture or a mare. "A doll, all of this effort for a stupid doll?" Throwing it to the side, I kept searching the safe; some dresses, a ruined photo, and a recording were the only things keeping the doll company. I picked up the recording, and pressed play.
A voice started speaking. "... Rarity, you and I both know I'm not dying while hiding in one of those deathtrap vaults. I told her what my number is, 6. I don't care what happens anymore. I'm going to spend the last few minutes of my life doing what I want. I'd rather die than sit in a glorified closet for the remainder of my life. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a mushroom cloud to walk into. Have a happy holocaust!" The voice faded out.
Well that was, odd. Glancing over, I picked up the toy. "Be Unwavering!" was inscribed on the base. The beautiful mare smiled at me. I placed the dresses, recording, and statuette in my saddle bags.
Now it was time to find a road and start traveling.
LEVEL UP!
New Perk: Hunter- In combat, you do 75% more critical damage against mutated animals.
Statuette Found: Rarity- +1 endurance