//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Fallout Equestria: Eschaton Storm // by TheCopperDragonBard //------------------------------// One-hundred seventy-five years later... Scorch To say Scorch was having a bad day would be a huge understatement. He was dangerously low on supplies, with only a fully-loaded gun, his long-tattered Stable attire, a combat saddle, and a Pipbuck cuffed to his right foreleg. He hadn't eaten for days, and in order to actually obtain supplies, he had to follow the Roaches- because wherever the Roaches were, there was almost always gear. The Roaches were a subdivision of the Wretched Hive- who themselves were the most prolific, powerful, and easily the most dangerous raider band in the Wastes. The Wretched Hive held unparalleled dominion over the land- they were better equipped, better trained and disciplined, and more numerous than any other band of raiders, and used these factors to keep the wanderers of the waste in line. Granted, he knew the entire Roach collective wouldn't be here; the Roaches were spread out all over the Wastes, as many of the other splinter-factions of the Wretched Hive were. Of course, a squadron of raiders from any of the factions would always be a cluster-buck to deal with, especially for one as poorly-equipped as he. He had been tailing a trio of mobs for days, hoping they would lead him to somewhere he could restock, and had done so for a good while, eventually being lead to the ruins of Vanhoover. Upon arriving at the city, the squadrons had dispersed to search for junk, and he had done the same. As of now, he was at the westernmost part of the port town, the area that held all the docks and naval trading departments; he was currently poking around an entire field of rusty carriages and vehicles overlooking the sea. He only really had his eye out for Roaches; rarely anything lived here, after all. Unlike a lot of pre-war settlements, Vanhoover was never recolonized after the war, meaning that nearly everything had been untouched by survivors- it was fertile ground for gathering supplies. It didn't surprise him too terribly much that the Wretched Hive sent the Roaches here- and, to be honest, it didn't even surprise him on why they hadn't salvaged the area earlier. Many of the post-war colonies were deep into the Equestrian Heartland, and the Wretched Hive's stronghold was straight-up on the other side of the continent. He investigated the carriages, ancient and abandoned, doing quick scans on them with his Pipbuck to detect anything of interest within them. He scanned and bypassed countless vehicles, having found nothing within them. Meanwhile, many yards away, three changelings with partially-decayed chitin and exoskeletons, ash-grey in color with faint, gleaming eyes and orange war paint smeared on their bodies were spying on him from afar- not that he knew. One of them, a soldier with a full-head helmet with numerous eye holes, who also had orange triangular sigils strewn across her body, was peering through the scope of her sniper rifle to get a clear view of the intruder. At her right side was a drone with a chinstrap helmet on his head and his left eye replaced with a cybernetic, with orange claw marks painted over both of his eyes and armed with a full grenade belt; on her left, a drone with a metal cap locked over the top of his head(a hole for his horn having been provided), with triangular, jack-o-lantern-esque eyes painted over the area the eyes would be and an auto rifle grasped within his telekinesis. The soldier lowered her rifle and addressed her inferiors. "Anthony, Ian, close the distance. I'll take him out from here." Obeying her orders, the drones slunk ahead, cackling stupidly as they stealthily advanced, while the soldier took aim. Meanwhile, Scorch was still continuing to investigate the various abandoned vehicles that cluttered the fields of the abandoned port, happening upon a carriage that had the skeleton of a stallion strewn in the seat. The owner of the skeleton had met with a terrible death; the cranial area of the skull had been shot through, undoubtedly by a bullet. "Ouch." It was then when he heard a gun go off, followed by a tremendous pain as he felt something cleanly tear through his right foreleg. Clutching his now-bleeding leg and uttering a curse, he immediately ducked behind the vehicle with the dead stallion, readying his own rifle, a painted-red piece of work called Tirek's Middle Claw, for combat. Looking through the scope, he saw the offender- a changeling ghoul armed with a sniper rifle... a Roach, no doubt. He took aim, crouched and under cover behind the vehicle; although a regular rifle didn't have the range and accuracy of a sniper, he would still be able to hit her from here. He then heard maniacal cackling behind him, scaring the Tartarus out of him. He whipped around, gun ready, to see a pair of ghoulified drones, one with a belt of grenades clutching one with his telekinesis, and another with an automatic rifle trained on him. "Hah, you're gonna die!" the grenadier shouted as he pulled the pin on the explosive he was currently wielding. Swifter than lightning, Scorch pressed a button on his Pipbuck, activated the S.A.T.S spell and freezing everything in place. "Uh, Anthony, why aren't we moving? We're about to get shot." "Because, Ian, he's deciding what part of our body he wants to shoot, and we just have to hope that by a random percentage algorithm that he'll miss us." "Well, he's not even aiming at us, so I don't even know why he even bo-" The grenade held in the grasp of the raider named "Ian" exploded, and if the initial explosion didn't kill them instantly, the explosions caused by the other grenades negated any hope of survival, reducing the ghouls to green paste. Scorch was triumphant in his victory, at first- until another bullet tore through his left shoulder blade, reminding him of the soldier he had taken cover against. He immediately assumed cover again, resuming his position and firing a shot at the Roach soldier, the bullet tearing away the left side of her throat. Scorch was briefly surrounded by a purple energy, just barely mending his wounds. It was hardly much, but it provided a brief relief. Such was the benefit of Tirek's Middle Claw; every drop of blood it spilled, every life it extinguished, healed it's wielder's wounds, thus prolonging their own life. Of course, his crack-shot did little; the ghoul's destroyed throat reconstructed itself in a second, drawing off the irradiated atmosphere around it to heal it's wounds, only leaving behind a (still noticeable) scar. Recovering, the soldier fired another shot. Although the rusted hull of the carriage made for a good shield, Scorch was still grazed on his right shoulder, forcing him to remain behind it to briefly nurse his wound. He shook off his newer shoulder wound much quicker than his other injuries, taking aim again and striking her in the chest, causing a gout of green, irradiated blood to spurt from the wound. The injury healed soon enough, leaving only a mark where the bullet penetrated the exoskeleton. With that, the soldier retaliated, once again pulling the trigger. And nothing happened. Although Scorch couldn't really hear her, she seemed to hiss as she remove the clip from her sniper rifle and reached for a new one. Taking the opportunity, he fired another shot, nailing her in the neck. It did nothing; not only did she regenerate from the wound completely, but her other scars seemed to heal over as well. At least, on the bright side, his own had as well; he was considerably in a better shape than he had been not too long ago. Reloading her rifle, she sent forward another shot, and he took another graze to the right shoulder, ducking behind the carriage. Scorch leapt up again to take another shot at his foe, only to be shot himself right through the right side of his chest, with no rusty metal hull to shield the bullet. 'Clever girl.' he thought. Deciding to be sneaky himself, he decided to crawl over to the other side of the carriage; once he did so, he popped out and took a potshot at his combatant, shooting her right in the heart. Although the regeneration made it so it did virtually nothing, the life-force he reaped from her completely healed the chest wound he had received. Which was replaced by an even worse one that struck his sternum, dangerously close to his esophagus. Thank the Goddesses that the bullet didn't tear through his spine on it's way out. The wasteland wanderer took cover yet again, clutching at the horrible wound. It had barely missed multiple vital organs when it struck the chestplate-like bone in his ribcage. He looked to his rifle; he had one bullet left. He prayed to Celestia and Luna that it would produce enough life force to matter- then swung out from his cover and pulled the trigger, nailing the Roach sniper in the leg. A mere inkling was all he got. It hardly even stopped the bleeding, let alone healed the wounds to any favorable extent. He made a mad dash toward another carriage to reload... only to be shot in the right flank, causing him to topple onto the ground. Even as he heaved his body forward, feebly attempting to crawl away, he heard the buzzing of insectine wings coming closer. He heard a thud at his side- before a blunt force struck him in the head, stunning him. He opened his eyes to see the elongated barrel of the soldier's sniper rifle in-between his eyes, the Roach looking directly at him through her helmet. He could see the glow of her eyes through the holes added to it. "Such an exotic-looking fellow, aren't you? We Roaches aren't like the Hornets... we don't exactly have the pleasure of kidnapping unfortunate souls on a daily basis. I'm almost tempted to keep you as my little pet..." She tilted her head as if she was still pondering it, causing a shiver to run down his spine. If he wasn't terrified a few seconds ago, he was now; the prospect of being a raider's personal object was not a pleasant one. "...but, you still intruded upon our scrounging grounds, and we wouldn't want anyone alive to run off and risk exposing our presence here." She applied her telekinesis on the trigger, ready to shoot. "You gave me a good fight; that's not something I can say for a lot of the unlucky bastards I kill. For that, I'll make your death quick." She pulled the trigger- and once again, nothing happened. She was out of ammunition. She growled, pulling the gun back and slinging it over the back, before hovering into the air, proceeding to fly off. "Don't hold your breath! I will inform the others of this, and when you do, you'll either be dead, or you'll wish you were!" And with that, she took off, flying towards the ruins of the actual city located eastward. Scorch struggled to stand up, with both his chest and leg in tremendous pain. He limped forward, looking around for any way he could hide or escape. He knew that he wouldn't be able to leave the ruins by the time the squadrons converged upon him, especially in his current state. He hardly even had the strength to even think about the fact that he was doomed, let alone reloading or thinking on how to escape; he merely finished his walk over to the wrecked carriage that he had originally bolted towards for cover and slumped down, sitting down while leaning against it with a thump. He heard a snort. Immediately cautious, he leapt into a battle stance, readying his enchanted rifle(even though it was empty), and went back over to the vehicle to investigate the source of the noise within. He did not expect what he saw. It was another pony. Or, at least, he thought she was; she was one of the most horrid-looking specimens he had ever seen. Her fur and flesh had been charred black, although he could still make out a vestigial hint of tyrian purple in her burnt coat, and she lacked a mane or tail- likely burned off from whatever partially incinerated the rest of her body. Her veins burned with a vibrant green light that radiated from underneath her skin. One of her eyes was closed, and the other an empty socket with a green pinprick of light glowing from within it, giving off a chilling feeling that she wasn't completely asleep. Her left cheek had been completely torn out, half-exposing her jaws, which had teeth that radiated a faint green glow, not unlike the eyes of the changeling ghouls. She wore a cloak, and at her side was a burnt and heavily damaged guitar- though the implication that it was still playable amazed him. But easily her most noticeable physical trait was that her horn was broken off at the base. Few Unicorns survived long in the wastes without their horns, and yet this figure had made it all the way to Vanhoover. Speaking of which, this individual just so happened to be sleeping, curled up into a ball and sleeping comfortably, completely oblivious to the threats that she would face. Scorch couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the Unicorn, as well as astonishment of her obvious confidence. Then he thought of another thing- she was clearly a survivor. She had lasted as long as she had with no weapons, drugs, or even magic; that would give the strong implication that she was a skilled combatant, with potentially years of experience. She could be his ticket out of here. Even if he didn't see her as such, the squadron would inevitably find her as well- and he doubted even someone like she could hold off two roving gangs of raiders- who also happened to be ghouls, not to mention. All he needed to be sure of was if she was safe to associate with. Activating his E.F.S spell, he scanned over the sleeping mare. Yellow, not red. Good. He grabbed ahold of her shoulder and began shaking her, firmly but gently. "C'mon, stranger, eyes up."