FALLOUT EQUESTRIA: HELLBOUND EXPRESS
By TimberLine
Prologue
Once upon a time in the magical land of Equestria.
There came a time of great advance. An industrial revolution. Technology advanced in leaps and bounds, the likes of which had never been seen before. Creatures from all around worked to build and advance their world. Ponies in particular saw such great advancements to ease there lives and find better ways to produce. But with such great advances comes great consumption. Once plentiful resources soon became cherished rarities. War became inevitable, as two superpowers laid siege, their lust for coal and gemstones becoming a matter of life and death. Until one day that lust would consume the world.
* * *
Tick... tick... tick...
The quiet was deafening in the small office with the only noise being the marking of time.
Tick... tick... tick...
Railright made an agitated sigh as he sat at his desk, nothing more then old twisted two by fours covered with plywood, so beat up it was swollen and peeling away. Forms, figures, manifests and grievances were rising up around him. Pencil in mouth he tried to work through the demands of holding together a small settlement from his perposionitly small office. Nothing more then a few boxcars bolted together made up, for lack of a better word, town hall. It consisted of sheriff’s office, jail cell, records keeping, tax collection and his personal residence. It had a constant scent of rotting wood and heavy stale air. The small hoof full of working lights cast a yellow tint throughout the car. Railright glared at the clock leaning slightly to the left on a old bent nail.
Tick… tick… tick…
“I am not in the mood for this.” He grumbled around the pencil. Feeling annoyed, it was only 10:36. Late, but not horribly so. Between the eerie quiet, and that damn clock constantly ruining his concentration with its incessant, repetitive clicking, he couldn’t focus. An itchy tingle kept picking at the back of his mane.
Spiting the pencil out he admitted defeat. “Alright I’m done.” Getting back to all fours he walked through the office.
Walking out onto the wood slat walkway that ran down the front of several rail car buildings, he couldn’t help but feel the whole town seemed uneased. Few ponies were out in the darkness of tonight. Even the dark seemed darker, the inky blackness only broken by the occasional light coming from a few windows around the town. The few makeshift lanterns that served as street lights only seemed to illuminate a misty haze. It was neither a drizzle nor was it really a fog, it was more of a greenish murk, obscuring most of the town. It's presence was only overshadowed by the yellow tint of the street lamps. Railright could already feel the bitter orange taste of a Rad-X he knew he would have to take later.
Taking stock of the town, pony traffic seemed very light, even for this time in the evening. Black silhouettes of guards could be seen patrolling along the top of the railcar and container perimeter.
Absolutely Everything was dark, save for the dim light coming from a backroom. Ditzy-do must still be working on something. Probably special edition’s to her Wasteland Survival Guide. He knew that not to long ago she had come out with the Hoofington edition. He was willing to bet that this one was either going to be for Manehattan or traveling the Big 52. It occurred to him that she probably never sleeps. Poor thing, he really felt sorry for the poor mare. What a kind soul she was, willing to spend her time helping to make sure others stayed safe.
Railright continued his slow walk around the town. Looking down, his eyes focused on the wet gravel and dirt, turned mud below his hooves. Small trickles of water moved and pooled around the small rocks. With the wet mist dampening his mane and coat, damn, tonight was just shitty. Everything about this life just left you with a shitty feeling.
Turnpike Tavern was open, but judging by the voices coming out of the establishment and the silhouettes, there only seemed to be a hoofful of patrons tonight. Even the music drifting out from the cracks in the walls and the makeshift door seemed slow and down beat. Six String and Drum Sticks sure knew how to play to the mood. Their music had an almost mourning tone to it.
Another shiver ran down Railrights spine. He flicked his tail against his sides to try and calm his tension.
An older black and grey stallion wearing a beat up and equally old black cowpony hat as well as a brown duster was pushed out from the saloon yelling with a drawling twang “Change your ways heathens, or Celestia as my witness, you will burn!!”
“Shut up you old coot” a voice hollered back from inside the saloon, Followed by laughing and a few more comments, that if said to Railright, would probably end in a hard right hook.
“SON, THE GODDESS HAVE GIVEN ME ENLIGHTENMENT!! HEED MY WARNING!! CHANGE YOUR WAYS OR FACE ETERNAL DAMNATION IN BALEFIRE AND BRIMSTONE!!”
“PREACHER!” Railright yelled trotting up to the older stallion. “Quite your ramblings! I’m about to lock you up for being such a bother!”
With ears folded back, Preacher turned to face him “Sheriff, how can you let such villainy exist in your town.”
“Enough Preacher!” Railright cut him off before he had a chance to launched into a monologue. “I think it’s time you bed down for the night.”
Both ponies stared with hard eyes, but Preacher broke first. “Very well then sheriff. I will continue the goddess’s work in the mourning, once the goddess Celestia blesses us with her light once again.”
Railright scoffed at that one, but turned and continued his walk. “What light.” He grumbled to himself. He had never seen the sun or felt the warmth of its rays. The cloud curtain was as sure as radiation itself. Ever present, and ever casting its gloom over this desolate shit hole.
Preacher drifted into town a few moons back, and since he was mostly all talk and normally wasn’t too much of a bother, Railright permitted him to stay. But truth be told, when Preacher finally decided to move on, Railright would not lose any sleep over it.
Silence once again returning to Railright ears as the crunch of gravel under Preachers hooves slowly faded. He made his way to the train yard, hearing the muddy, wet gravel crunch under his own hooves. The itch in his mane returned along with a knot in his stomach. This feeling of unease gnawed at him the closer he got to the rail yard.
Up ahead was the main line track that ran through town, from Ponyville to the rest of Equestria, through New Appleloosa before continuing south, up a mountain grade, toward old Appleloosa. Two siding tracks ran next to the main line for loading rail cars. with a large, rusted crane in between tracks 2 and 3. Track 4 was a RIP track had been made to allow for maintenance to be done. Track 3 had a string of rail cars on it. Three flat cars loaded with logs and a few wooden barrels and crates, two box cars with crates of homemade barding, along with some gun parts and one passenger car with a caboose at the end. His sad excuse for a train was older than antiquity. All his cars were small, single axle boogie sets. Although the paint had long since faded away, they still kept the decorative trim from when they were in service before the industrial revolution.
The shadow of a large unicorn pony wearing a yellow hard hat could be seen milling around, checking tie downs and doing last minute checks. Crane must be working late tonight, getting ready for tomorrow’s run.
Their rusted down, sad excuse of an engine was sitting in the round house with the nose of the boiler, cattle catcher, and heart shaped light poking out. There were two other engines with the same 4-4 wheel configuration in the round house, but one with missing drive wheels and driving rods, while the other didn’t have a cab. 190 some odd years had not been nice to these engines, but if he had to use three engines to make one work, then so be it. These engines were pre-war, hell, they were even pre-industrial revolution.
Crane and Torque were decent mechanics, it’s just at some point, things break and can’t be fixed. They still had a few fire talisman’s left to heat the boiler with, but those would eventually die, and it would be back to pulling the train with pony power. Fire talismans were very hard to come by. He was just thankful to have gotten a water talisman.
A rush of air and the crunch of gravel told him some pony had just landed behind him.
“Railright, hell itself is rolling down those tracks, probably a mile out. They have come back.” The pegasus said, with a his twanging accent.
Railrights ears perked up at the news. He turned to look at the young, rust colored pegasus with a large brown cowpony hat and twin rifle battle saddle.
“Calamity.” Railright said. “Do a fly over to the gates, let them know it’s coming, and to open up. DO NOT SHOOT!” he stressed. Staring him down. “Not another shootout!.” Calamity ears folded back as he glared. Then mumbled something about slavers deserving nothing less than a bullet.
Calamity had only been in town a few moons. And in that short time he had left and come back a time or two. Calamity had said he had come down from the clouds only a few moons before that. When Railright had questioned him on his story, all Calamity had said was there was nothing worth his time up there, and how the Enclave were a bunch of cowards.
Railright had gotten annoyed by the pegasus’s blunt demeanor from time to time. It didn’t help that he had a knack for blowing things up, but besides that, Calamity was a good hoof to have. Honest and hardworking, Railright needed more ponies like him. But when Railright told him he could be a permanent resident, the pegasus had declined. That had caught Railright off guard. Said he wasn’t keen on staying put too long. Railright thought there was more to it then that, but Calamity didn’t elaborate, and Railright didn’t press. Hoping that with time, the pegasus would find no place better.
From out past New Appleloosa town limits, deep in the darkness of the wasteland, the loud sound of a long, low train whistle shattered the silence. Not the high pitched, almost cheary whistle his engine made, but a deep, low tone the seemed to echo in your ears and tighten around your soul. It was the warning that pain and suffering was rolling down on top of you.
The guard ponies, and few work ponies in the yard, froze and looked toward the sound.
The moisture in the air seemed to have become 5 degrees colder. Railright looked from the trouble coming their way to other end of the rail yard, where the track continued up the hill to Old Appleloosa, and could only imagine how many lives were at the end of that track, about to be shown what true pain and total loss of freedom really were.
The unofficial mayor turned back to Calamity, who replied simply “I reckon everypony already knows”
Railright narrowed his eyes at him. With a quick nod and a few pumps of his wings, the pegasus took flight.
Railright watched Calamity moving across the yard. Losing him for a second as Calamity flew behind the large crane sitting at attention over the railyard.
He stood off the mainline looking down the track that ran under the perimeter wall of cars and scrap iron. A flat car had been placed on its side sitting on a set of rollers. As the car/gate was rolled open, light flooded down the track and into the railyard from the lamp mounted in front of the boiler. The ground started to tremble as the monstrous machine moved slowly closer. Small pools of water began to ripple as the locomotive pulled into the yard. He had seen this train many times before as it stopped in new Appleloosa each time before heading up to old Appleloosa. Yet he was never truly prepared for what he saw.
A deafening blast erupted from the sides of the engine as great white plumes of steam billowed around the train, making it harder to see, save the beam of light cutting through the cloud. As the engine slowed to a crawl, emerging from the gates through rolling clouds of steam and coming into the dim lights of the rail yard, it revealed itself in its entirety. Gigantic in size. The engine alone must be 16 feet tall and at least 70 feet long. All black save for the polished steel that made up the driving rods.
The steam locomotive was a 4-8-4 wheel configuration. Two sets of smaller guiding wheels under, and directly behind, a large, broad cow catcher, almost comically small in comparison to the rest of the engine. These were followed by four sets of driving wheels, each of which were taller than a regular pony. All linked together with heavy steel driving rods. Finally, two more sets of trailing wheels sat under the cab. The faded number 3133 was barely visible under the cabs window. A massive boiler, 8’ across, sat above the driving wheels with a walkway running down the sides from the nose to the cab. Large sheets of flat steel covered the front third of the boiler on the outside of the catwalk, looking like a grim approximation of blinders some sniper ponies used. Hanging off these panels was a painted canvas banner colored in a crimson red with a single eye painted on it.
At the front top of the boiler was a short round smoke stack billowing out thick clouds of smoke in shades of deep purples and necromantic greens, with ribbons of pink that twisted and rolled up toward the sky. It was as if the engine was run on the burning of pony souls. Occasional spurts of glowing red embers would arc through the air, fall across the boiler, and proceed down to the ground, where they were extinguished in a hiss of steam on the wet gravel.
The engine was both beautiful and terrifying at the same time. The rhythmic motion of the driving rods passing one another and the sliding of the drive piston was truly hypnotic. It was a true testament of earth pony engineering, and an enormous display of Red Eyes power. To not only have the power of manufacturing, but also the requisite logistics. Being able to move anything almost anywhere in no time at all gave the slaver leader a massive advantage over other factions in the wasteland. And Red Eye knew this. Its what helped build up his empire so quickly. Sending the train out to bring back scrap iron, food, medical supplies, tech, and ponies. Lots of ponies.
Regular slaver caravans could bring dozens of pony slaves in. One train load could bring in hundreds of slaves. All to work and die at the Fillydelphia Fun Farm. Many slaves never even survived the journey, leading to the train being named The Hellbound Express.
Railright took a few steps back as the engine rolled by. The rhythmic dinging of a brass bell and steam blowing out from the drive cylinders and floating above the ground before settling at his hooves. Looking up at the cab, the fires of hell itself seemed to have come unloose. A black silhouette of a pony was in the cabs window. Flames were licking up in the air in the cab. The demon pony looked down at him with what looked like fire reflected in his eyes.
Uncontrolled fear gripped Railright as he felt his heart stop and the breath be taken from him. Eyes wide, he took 3 steps back before tripping over his own hind legs and landing his rump in the rocky mud. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered “The devil has come for you. Time to atone for your sins.”
Fighting against his instinct to flee, Railright closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Trying to still his racing heart, he refocused and calmed himself. Now was not the time to show fear.
As the engine and its massive tender of seven axles rolled by, it was followed by a flat car loaded with rail ties and sections of railroad track. A large track mounted ponytron was chained to the end of the flat cars. Sporting two large arms, each capped with a minigun. Four double decker passenger cars showing their age followed. Cancerous rust ate at every corner of the cars, with plates of steel being used to patch holes. Long faded markings could barely be seen on parts of the last three passenger cars that were still original steel. Some letters could even be made out. Remnants of the cars’ history, trying not to be forgotten. The words “Hellbound” had been spray painted in a deep blood red, followed by the word “Express” in elegant script that was original to the car when it had first seen use.
Light shown through some of the windows, but nopony could be seen. The last passenger car was void of windows, but had a large sliding door on the top and bottom levels. To the right of the upper level door, there seemed to be an imprint in the steel in the shape of a pony. Railright cringed to think of how that gotten there, and what became of the poor pony.
Next were four container well cars with double stacked containers. The top containers had platforms coming out of each end, almost meeting the platform from the car in front and behind it, making it easy for a pony to walk from one car to another. Again, these containers had seen better days. Light peeked through round holes of different sizes all over the containers. Again, each upper level container had barn style sliding doors for easy loading and unloading.
Three more empty flat cars, save for the two large track mounted ponytrons, one placed at each end of the first flat car, followed. Each ponytron faced opposing sides of the car. Railright once had the idiotic notion of trying to take the train for himself, but that thought had been quickly scrapped after he saw the robotic armament mow down an attacking band of raiders. One thing was for sure, this train was well armed.
Three open gondola cars for scrap metal came after this. Finally, at the back of the train where the slave cars. Old converted cattle cars, covered in coils of razor wire with rusted patches of steel over some of the larger holes. Dried blood and shit stained the sides of the car. The stench of decay and disease hit Railright like a buck to the muzzle. He wrinkled up his nose, trying to push away the horrid smell.
No light or sound came from the slave cars. That would not be true when the train came back this way.
With the last screech of metal on metal breaks, the whole line of rolling death came to a stop. With the final clanking of steel as the slack between the cars compressed then relaxed. A loud hiss of steam erupted from the other end of the rail yard where the engine was nosed up to the south gate. The final knocking of air brakes worked there way from car to car in quick succession, giving the final notice that The Hellbound Express had arrived.