//------------------------------// // Seeing Yourself Die // Story: Fallout Equestria: Brass Sentinel // by Chemtest //------------------------------// It’s a strange feeling, watching yourself die. Even if metaphorically and not literally. Projections of yourself upon others, and seeing them fade can have the same effect. Every day, hearing another attempted hero die. Every week, being attacked by some fiends, and then looking to your left and finding your mate looking just like them. Every hour, seeing withdrawal symptoms everywhere. And all these like minded people start to look no different than the psychos. Being offered a piece of your best friend for the daily ration. Finding bullet holes in everypony, and seeing the gun still clutched in the meals teeth. Seeing the only pegasus around be kidnapped. It’s obvious they’re coming after me now. I’m the only sane one left, and I can hear them amassing guns outside. They’ve gone mad, turned raider, and they kept enough of their senses to take all weapons away from me. Guns, specifically, too dumb to realize that I don’t use guns. Strap on some dusters, hide two knives up each sleeve, prepare telekinetic fists, affix armor properly. Heh, armor, feels wrong calling it that, but it saved my life a few times. Better something rather than nothing, even if that something is a suit reinforced with Brass every few inches. Tons of exposed points, and brass isn’t good at stopping bullets, but it’ll slow them down. Take a bottle, and kick back as you wait. The champions way of faceing what could very well be his death. Hear them bang on the door, “Brass, it’s time to play!” I sigh, and stand up, “You fuckers want to play?” They burst through, “Let’s play, motherfuckers!” They come in, two with baseball bats, and two with tire irons. One with a baseball bat swings for my head. I duck underneath the blow, and lash out with a hoof to the leg. Might’ve broken it, might’ve not, I didn’t have time to tell. My ducked position left my back open to attack, so that’s where the tire iron hit, “Crunch, crunch, crunch!” I can feel the iron strike an unarmored part of the suit, and it definitely will leave a bruise. The pony who hit me raises the iron up again, and his friends join in. Time almost pauses as I ready my spell. A fist of pure magical energy, hard as brass. I aim two at the remaining bat user, and the iron who hit me. And, when I cast, they both go flying back. A fist flying fast enough for their feeble minds to not comprehend. Something that fast does damage, that’s why I can hear the telltale crack from their necks. The last one tries to bring down the iron on me, but I roll out of the way. His iron simply gets stuck in the dirt, allowing me to rip out a knife and send it flying into his neck. I stand up, and breathe deeply. These ponies never deserved this fate. But whenever your in the Wasteland, nopony deserves anything. The least I can do for them is to spare them, not make them live this torture. I take the knife from the ponies neck to finish him off, “Play... play... play.” I hold the knife above him, “Forgive me Creators for my ruthless mercy. Forgive these ponies, Creators, for they do not wish for this. Grant them happiness in death, that they lack in life.” And, with those words, I bring down the knife through the eye and into the brain. Showing mercy, the only way I can. I knew this pony, a good pony, one who would never see himself become a raider. I know, if he could think coherently, he would tell me to kill him. I grant him that wish. I sheath my knife, and peek out the door. Only two more ponies alive, other than me. Both of whom have rusty revolvers. I have a plan, a plan that makes me feel wrong inside, but a plan nonetheless. I move back to the bodies, and search. Some barely useable stuff I can sell later, I’ll take that. Weapons, I can take them. Here we go, Dash. I know those two outside are addicted to it, and they don’t have a steady supply. Two addicted raiders, and there’s only one dose between them. I grab the drug in my telekinesis, and throw it out of the door. I peek out to see it land right between them, “Dash!” Both rush over to it, “Mine!” They run into each other. One aims his revolver, “Dash!” The other aims his back, “Mine!” They both fire at once. *click* Both revolvers fail, the rust doing too much damage to the poor guns. But, a rusty revolver can still be used as a club. To bad the raiders didn’t think about this as they both start to try and kill the other with bare hooves. One starts to strangle the other, and I calmly walk up behind him. The strangled pony runs out of air, and the victor punches their neck just in case. I walk up behind the victor, and wrap my hooves around their head. With a simple twist, they live no more. Surprisingly, pony doesn’t have much potassium, so their bones are really weak. The pony limply falls to the side, and thumps against the ground. I fall back onto my flank, and look around me. This place, we were good ponies. As good a town one could be in this horrible place. We traded, helped ponies, survived. Sure, we weren’t perfect, we threw out some ponies who couldn’t pay, but we tried. What I’m looking at now is not the town I helped build. Bodies dead in the street, buildings collapsed in, ponies on display, heads on pikes. A raider base, one who preyed on ponies unlucky enough to get near. What I did now was a mercy. They were raiders, and I spared other ponies from death. Even if I just left them behind, they would’ve died. Security, Stable Dweller, I heard of them over Pon-3’s broadcasts, they would’ve cleaned them up anyway. But it had to be me, my town, my ponies, my punishment. I take out a lighter from my pocket, and grab a bottle of alcohol. This town is but a farce of what it should be. Ponies shall remember it as it was, not like this. I toss the molotov into my house, and watch it light up in flames. Grabbing more alcohol, I make even more. I toss another one, “Dear Creators, forgive me for I have killed.” Another one, “Do not blame the ponies of this town, for they are but victims.” And a final one, “Forgive me, Creators, for in my future I see naught but death.” I watch the town start to burn away, “As their ash watches me on the wind, as shall you soon. These raiders do not wish to be them, I grant them mercy by death. Forgive me, for I have become a Sentinel to stop this. See the good in the crimes I commit, and the reasons I kill. Grant these poor souls happiness away from the wastes, and forgive me when it is time for me to go as well.” I stare into the fire a bit longer, before turning away. It’s a strange feeling, watching yourself die. Even if not physically, or personally. But seeing what you believe in burn down, and everyone you know become dust. You know that you died in some way when you turn your back on your home. Death is not the withering away of flesh and bone, but the change of mind. Death is when you no longer are pony, but a emotionless Sentinel. Today, I watched myself die and burn away. I may have survived, but I am no longer myself. I am Hard Brass now. The pony I once was is gone, and I am left to find myself again. My new life, cast in blood and brass, lit by the fire’s glow. Raiders, any bandits at all, run. And they’d better not stop running. ——— ”Well, ponies of the Wasteland, looks like we got another hero! As we all know, the Vanhoover Ruins are near infested with raiders and bandits. A week ago, reports came in of the town named New Hope turning raider, and started killing all who would pass on the previously safe roads. Well, it turns out not all of them turned insane! Reports are in of the town being taken out by one pony on the inside, using nothing but hooves and unarmed weapons! An entire town, taken down just like that by one pony without even one shot fired! Now that, that is a challenge to anypony else if I’ve ever seen one. Raiders of Vanhoover, watch out, or run. The Brass Sentinel is coming to get you. Now, let’s go on to some music! We all...” I switch off the radio as I walk forward. The Brass Sentinel? I like that, good description, metal and unfeeling Sentinel. He may call me a hero, I don’t care. I’m no hero, I’m a murderer, but if they want to call me a hero I will accept it. He got one thing riht for sure. I am coming, raiders. Run and hide all you want, I will purge you. I am coming. ——— Footnote: Level Up. New perk added: Sentinel— You’ve thrown away showing most emotions, making speaking to you harder! Every Charisma check requires 2 more points! Skill Check: Unarmed (60).