//------------------------------//
// Chapter One - Heads 
// Story: Adventures of the Mysterious Stallion 
// by PenPal 
//------------------------------//

        	Moonlight reflected off the coin as it turned, end over end, until gravity decided to stop screwing with me and let me know what Fate had decided.
Heads.
BLAM!
The raider’s head exploded, showering his captive in gore and brains. From her reaction, she wasn’t exactly happy at the change in her circumstances. Her scream cut across the hills, echoing off of every damn mound and pile of dirt until she decided to up and gallop for it. I chuckled as I saw her spitting out something unmentionable that slipped inside her mouth.
She was one lucky pony. I watched her vanish over the near ridge before scanning the entrance to the stable for more raiders. Apparently Dumb’s friends had decided that whatever was in the stable was more fun than checking out what the gunshot was; or they were in so deep they couldn’t hear. I was fine with either; .308 ammo isn’t the cheapest thing in the Equestrian Wasteland, and I was only carrying another four rounds on me. I had counted another six raiders going in, and no offense to whoever still lived in that stable, but I wasn’t exactly in the best spot. Blown open store fronts make for great sniper camps until some brilliant light bulb figures out where you are; and then it’s a turkey shoot for both sides, and I don’t like getting shot at. It’s kind of against my policy of wanting to be able to keep breathing. Kinda hard to do that when there’s a big hole in your side, you understand? Besides, stable ponies don’t know anything. At least salvagers like her knew the risks they were getting into and went prepared. I mean, what’s the point of saving somepony who’s just going to get themselves killed in a week?
Hell. A week? Who was I kidding? A day. A single, lousy, rotten day full of confusion and terror that probably ended with their life blood spilling onto the dead concrete.
A bullet isn’t worth that. I’d be lucky to scavenge enough off Dumb’s corpse to cover a mouthful of .308s.
A few broken bits of rubble dug into my aching legs gave me even more reason to go. I sighed; if only there’d been two less! Ponies had to make a living in the Equestrian Wasteland, and salvaging wasn’t something that paid well. So I killed ponies for a living. Killed ‘em dead, took their stuff, sold it to the highest bidder. Hell, it was easier than going out and getting the stuff myself, that’s for sure. Still, that bullet was good caps down the drain, and the weapon merchants across Equestria aren’t exactly charitable. Well, maybe Ditzy Doo, but that’s cause she’s Ditzy Doo.
Damn. Moving shadows. The raiders had finished whatever it was they were up to and were headed back out. The store I was hiding out in honestly looked like you could knock it over with a good sneeze, and I chose to remember right then that one of them had had a grenade launcher. Hopefully he wasn’t as trigger happy as he looked. Seeing as how I didn’t want to become nice pile of rotting radroach lunch, I definitely had to get moving. Problem was, there wasn’t any good cover between my position and the main path out; that meant I’d have to track around the stable. That meant I had to get closer to get farther away; and from the looks of things I’d have a hell of a fight if I was found out.
I checked the ammo on my rifle and my pistol, just to make sure that I’d be ready if all hell broke loose. Six rounds in my.44, four rounds in my sniper rifle, and another twenty-four .44 rounds in my bag. More than enough for a fight if I had to.
Wait. Was that shouting? Screaming? Sobbing? No...it was all three, mixed together. Looks like the raiders would have some fresh meat tonight. At the very least the cacophony had been kind enough to inform me that the time for escape was over; I’d be hiding in that store front for a good hour at least before I left. Didn’t want to help though; that might have put me on the menu.
First pony out of the stable was carrying an enormous turret in his mouth. I almost squeaked in terror at the ammo feed that clattered along the ground. Definitely didn’t want to help now. I shrank down further, keeping an eye on the pony with the turret and waiting to see which of the shadows had the grenade launcher. If any of them spotted me, those two were the first two going down; if I was going to die, I had no intentions of letting ponies joke that the big bad wolf had killed me.
“Please don’t see the body, please don’t see the body, please don’t see the body...” I prayed, struggling to keep quiet even though I was far out of earshot. I didn’t know to what I was praying; Celestia and Luna died all those two centuries ago after all. Didn’t stop it from making me feel better most of the time. Or calling it Fate. I’m sure it doesn’t mind.
At least, it made me feel better when it worked. This time, however, Fate had other plans.
“Shit! Edgesaw’s dead!” the pony shouted, the turret dropping from his mouth as he voiced his realization to the world, and worse, to his friends. He stumbled backwards, scrambling for the door, seeking cover from wherever I might be. Sorry. Guess it wasn’t your lucky day.
BLAM!
Turretmouth’s head exploded just like his buddy Edgesaw’s, showering everything right in front of the stable with bits and pieces of recently living, and now suddenly deceased, stallion. Just inside the door, I could see the chaotic movement of silhouettes as each pony scrambled over each other, a clamor of screaming and shouting inside. Great. That just bought me time to slide the next round into the chamber, throwing the hammer back into place. I had planned to fire another rifle shot, and run for it, firing my pistol as I ran. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best I had on short notice. At that moment, another silhouette moved out of the door into the night.
Reflexively, I scoped, lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. One smooth series of actions flowing from one to the next ... it was only after the shot was fired did I realize the horrible mistake I had made.
The shot hit the little unicorn filly in the neck, nearly severing her head and staining her light blue coat, the walls, and stable door with her last, fear filled moments. I could see the reflections of light off her blood. I felt the earth shake as her body hit the ground, the aftershocks of her head hitting moments later, still held on by a mere flap of skin and muscle. I heard the roar of thunder in the stable as the raiders and stable ponies screamed and shouted. The rifle dropped from my grip, and I was swept up in the strident screeching of my senses, until at last all I could hear was thumping of my heart, all I could see was tinted red, and all I could feel was an unholy and righteous rage.
Fuck my rules. All of the raiders in that stable were going to die that night, even if it killed me.
Another pony was pushed out into the open. A light grey stallion who was struggling to get back inside. I checked my target this time; no more innocent ponies would die tonight. At least I wouldn’t kill them. Not if I could help it.
Behind him, a pony with a spiked mane, scratches all over his face, and a few strips of hide over his eye poked his head out, a shotgun in his mouth. He menaced the stable stallion with his weapon, a glint of murder in the eye I could see.
Boom. Headshot. Reload. Scope. As easy as breathing.
The grey stallion backed away from the new corpse, nearly tripping over the filly’s body as he did so. Two more ponies were pushed through the gate. They stood stock still, frozen out of fear as I gave them both a quick once over. None of them were targets.
That was when a somewhat more clever raider slipped in behind them and poked her head out. Unluckily for me, it was the one with the grenade launcher. Luckily for me, she was aiming in the wrong direction as she fired off a shot. One of her pony shields decided to make a run for it, screaming as he went. Little Miss Explodey turned and fired. The screaming stopped as a bit of the fleeing stallion’s leg flew over her head. Her other shield had ducked at this point, giving me the clean shot I needed. The raider never knew what hit her as my last .308 tore out the bottom of her jaw, and her grenade launcher fell to the ground.
Before the ponies could figure out what happened, I dashed over my cover, flinging my empty rifle into my shoulder holster and seizing my pistol. The stable ponies outside scattered as I charged.
Sledgepony was stepping out of the light and into the darkness when I fired two shots from ten yards. He crumpled as one hit home in his neck, and his sledgehammer clanked loudly on the broken concrete just outside the door.
“Hey! Sledge! That sounded a lot closer! Didja kill him?” Huh. Apparently I’d gotten his name right. Well, mostly right. I pondered my luck as I slipped into the shadows next to the door. From the silhouette frame, the one coming out probably had a shotgun.
Four shots in my pistol, two ponies left, and one of them had a shotgun; things could still go terribly for me. On the other hoof, neither of them had any idea where I was and that’s an advantage that I like. 
I hid in the shadow next to the door, pressing myself as closely against the wall as I could, and waited. I heard the shuffling of steps as the last two raiders shoved each other to head out the door first. Finally, one of them burst out the stable, firing wildly everywhere but behind him. One shot to the back of the head was all it took.
One raider and three shots left. I liked those odds. They were far better than six raiders, one of which had a grenade launcher, while I hid in some rickety as hell building.
One raider is still one pony who can kill me, and death isn’t something you can undo. So, I pulled the first dirty trick that came to mind: I played dead. Furious as I was, reckless rage only gets ponies killed. When he came out, I could only hope that the shadow I cast covered up the fact that my gun was sitting next to my mouth, hammer pulled back and ready to go.
He crept out of the stable, magical energy rifle ready, his eyes flitting about. I could hear his teeth chattering against the casing, see his tensed neck muscles, smell the piss of fear on him. Still, he was too close; and he could still see me out of the corner of his eye. I held my breath as his gaze passed over me.
Then he was staring straight at me, eyes playing over my pretend corpse, searching for any sign of life. My fear built, and I could feel my lungs burning from the effort of holding my breath for three more seconds of eternal suffering.
He stepped closer to me, eyes squinting, about to prod me with his rifle. I could almost hear the gears grinding in his head. If I didn’t want to be a pile of pink dust, I had to do something immediately. Seeing as how I couldn’t shoot him before he could shoot me, my gun being on the ground and all, I went for the next best thing.
The surprise on the raider’s face was priceless as I kicked out with my foreleg, pushing the muzzle of his energy rifle into the ground. The other hoof clocked him on the side of his head, sending a few teeth flying. Next, I tackled him, hitting his neck with my forehead as hard as I could. He opened his mouth, whether it was him choking or about to beg for his life I’ll never know; I knocked him down again before I could find out.
Stomp. Stomp. Crack. Squish. No raiders left, and I was alive. My lungs were on fire, my heart was beating faster than a bloatfly’s wings, and my hooves were covered in bits of bone and brain, but I was alive. I could feel the red in my eyes receding, the anger leaving me. I felt exhausted. Like I could shrivel up and die; and the sooner the better to be honest. I might not want to kill myself, but believe me, I have no delusions about how much I have to offer to Equestrian society as a whole. What’s left of it.
I closed my eyes, seeing the filly’s neck cut open by the bullet in slow motion. The growing wound as the bullet entered and left, the artful spray of blood glistening in the moonlight. The image replayed itself repeatedly in my mind, and I could only think one thing at that moment. As much as I don’t want to die, it can’t come soon enough.
A moment later, I doubled over and puked up everything I felt: the bile, the self-hatred, the guilt, the sorrow. I retched, and retched until all I was just dry heaving again, and again. The tears rolled down my cheeks, splattering uselessly on the ground. When I was finally done, I just sat there, the feeling the wetness on my cheeks, the dirt beneath my rump.
A few moments later, I felt a hoof on my shoulder. “Thank you,” a voice said. “You’re a hero, you know that? Thank you. Thank you, so very much.”
You’d think I’d feel better after that, but I didn’t. I still felt like I still had all of that gunk in me I’d just thrown up. I still felt like a sack of shit. You know why? I would have abandoned them if I hadn’t killed that filly; and, if I could do it again, I’d still abandon them if I could.
I’m not going to change. That night didn’t make me see the error of my ways; it didn’t make me a hero. No day, or night, ever will.