//------------------------------//
// Chapter Four: Revelation 
// Story: Fallout: Equestria - Subject Delta 
// by DerpDaHerp 
//------------------------------//

With nothing but the whirring of the talismans and my own irregular breathing to occupy my senses, I consider it high time I activated the one possession I brought with me to hell: my radio. Clicking it on, I am initially greeted with static. I rotate the dial, clicking through preset channels. Apparently, zebra radio stations don't reach this far out. Sighing, I tap the side of the device, switching it to manual tuning.

Almost immediately, my capsule is flooded with cheery, pseudo-inspirational equestrian singing. Something about giggling at spirits, sang in an all too high pitched voice. Grunting, I turn back to my surroundings. I suppose terrible music is slightly better than silence, with plenty of emphasis on 'Slightly'.

Surely, I must be nearing my destination. Settlements are becoming more frequent, housing becoming much denser. According to my instructor, I would know when I had reached Canterlot. An extravagant fort perched on a mountain, spires scraping the stars; all surrounded by hundreds of modern skyscrapers. My target is the fort, residence of the princesses and frequented by the 'Ministry Mares'. Taking out all of them at once would be a blessing; ruining their morale and rocketing ours. The war would be won on that day.

But of course, only a fool would hope for the impossible; I'd be lucky if I manage to kill even one figure of importance. Hell, even with a direct hit, I hear the princesses are tough to kill. This mission is as much a scare-fest as a suicide mission; if I manage to strike the nations capital, how can the other cities even hope to stay safe?
A babble of equestrian splurts from my radio. I had, of course, been educated in equestrian, just like every other zebra warrior, but occasionally my mind struggles to keep up.

Since it's most likely to be irrelevant nonsense, I cast it from my mind and focus once again on my destination.





I glance upwards towards the pseudo-mirror, only to be greeted by my reflection. Either my extended periods of solitary confinement are finally getting to me, or someone's acting to leave an impression of mystery and wonder. Grunting, I raise my foreleg to the mirror and press my hoof against it, making it creak and give slightly underneath my pressure.

Though not shoddily crafted, it clearly isn't meant to stand against much force, and, after a moment of contemplation, an obvious thought comes to my mind: to smash the mirror.

Taking a few minutes to mentally discuss the situation, I conclude that the best path of action would be to postpone any drastic decisions, for at least a small duration of time. My reasoning is that, if, after waiting for a time, nobody comes to collect me, or to interact with me, I can only assume that they wish for me to take an action myself.





I can see it upon the horizon. Fairy tale towers climbing well above the clouds, majestically peering down upon us mere mortals. Frankly, while they may sicken my peers, I feel nothing but pity for those that reside within. Clearly, they strive to achieve better, to help those around them while bettering themselves in the process; a quality that seems to be rare within Zebra cultures.

In my home village, we are taught to be independent. If we require something, we get it ourselves. We guard secrets jealously, and consistently work to put ourselves above those around us. New farming or brewing techniques aren't shared, they're hidden.

A small, flashing light that had previously gone unnoticed catches my eye. Scrawled above it (in what looks similar to chalk) are the words 'Talisman Alert'. Though there is no noticeable change from within my craft, I am sure that from the ground, a previously inconspicuous patch of blue sky has suddenly changed into a black speck in the clouds.

Knowing the urgency of the situation, I prepare my parachute backpack and wedge my hoof underneath the Ejection lever. Already, I hear the whines of a siren, calling for citizens to evacuate the streets, and I suspect that any anti-air precautions are being trained upon my vessel at this very moment. Since time is so valuable, I waste no more and pull the lever, bracing myself for a heavy impact.

A strange sensation washes over me, and I feel my senses be dulled, most likely to prepare me for the bitter cold of the skies and the deafening rushing of wind past my ears. Leaning forwards, I position myself so as to be as streamlined as possible, while still leaving the straps of my parachute readily accessible. Thuds akin to cracks of thunder fill the air, and streaks of light pass by my body, sizzling and hissing, scalding my skin through sheer aura.

I feel myself accelerating to ridiculous speeds, and hastily activate my parachute. Though I had been told of the effects I would feel, nothing could prepare me for the wrenching of the tough straps on the trunk of my body, as the parachute slows me from massive speeds to a steady descent. Though I can still hear the sounds of weaponry on the surface, my sky coloured parachute seems to be disguising me fairly well, and I presume that fire is being concentrated on my empty glider.





Now was the time for action. Nopony has visited me, so I can only assume that they intended for me to make the first move. I examine the door; a rusted and badly vandalized piece of metal, but still sturdy, and the hinges aren't even slightly loose. The walls, too, are strong and firm to the touch, leaving only the mirror as a potential route.

Only now, as I trot around the room, do I realize the true impact that such long periods of inactivity has had on me. My joints and muscles ache, a biting pain shoots up my spine as I lift my head, and my hooves feel cracked and sore. As I lift my forehoof to the mirror, (metaphorical) daggers stab deep into my arm and force it back down.

I clench my teeth and try again, managing to rest my hoof against the mirror. After a few seconds, the pain subsides and I can once again use my leg. 

Moving myself into a more suitable position, I rear up on my hind legs and raise my forehooves, before bringing them down upon the mirror with as much force as I can muster. A thump resonates through the room, as the mirror noticeably bends and quakes beneath my might.

I strike the mirror once more, yet still the mirror does not give completely. Again, again and again, the mirror curves but does not break. Mentally shouting in anger, I throw my whole body into the mirror, sending myself flying through the mirror. Glass and metal shards fill the air around me, yet do no damage to me or my suit, before falling to the floor.

Unlike the shards of glass, my descent stops much more abruptly, following my impact with a wall.