//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: Fallout Equestria: Shades of Grey // by Gig //------------------------------// “Wastelanders: honest, clever, alive. Pick any two.” Prologue “Say… does ‘DERTA’ mean anything to you?” Across the desk, the salesmare looked up from the broken-up plasma Defender with an inquisitive glance. Then, after her sharp velvet eyes drilled into my face for a short eternity, she shrugged and moved her attention back to her inspection. “Not much, but more than most I suppose,” she answered with a cryptic smile. “A pre-war research center, I believe? Another metaphorical pot of gold at the rainbow, darling – you know how all those stories usually go.” Her name, or so she’d always claimed, was Chrystal – and there was little denying she was the best gun broker on this side of the Wastelands. A shrewd business mare, for sure, and quite stunning, too. White coat, pink mane, lovely eyes, a smile that begged for a kiss… Silently I thanked the Goddesses they had not made me to be into mares. Quite a few had certainly met their downfall in those eyes and I was under no illusion I would be anything but a late afternoon snack to her. She sure didn’t get this far by shaking hoofs, nor by being charitable. Somehow, I doubted that being a mare myself offered any kind of protection against her charms. “Just heard some scav’s whispers during an errand,” I lied. “Something about some fancy security systems over there. But hey, even the Ministries’ outhouses had lasers turrets back in the days, so I don’t know why they were so excited about it. As you said – we know how those stories go.” Her gaze met mine again, as I froze into the best poker face I could muster. “Far from me the idea of quenching the fires of enterprising… individuals,” she finally stated with a wry smile. “It’s just good business. Speaking of which…” Her hoof vaguely swept over her desk and my latest haul of the week. “That Defender is essentially worthless, even for spare parts. Fifty caps, top. Then two hundred for the rifle, twenty for that random junk you keep bringing me-” “Fifty?!” I tried interjecting, “I’d get at least a hundred if I sold to-” “Van Graff?” She interrupted me with a chuckle. “In Tenpony?” “…fine, fifty it is.” “Evidently.” That evil smile did not belong on a face as pretty as hers. “As for your own purchases: forty-five for the ammo, and four hundred and fifty for that brand-new, match-grade, twenty inches three-o’-eight barrel.” I might have winced a bit right there. Business expense, girl, business expense… gotta spend dough to make dough… “Which leave us with a two hundred and fifty caps balance.” Her grin did little to hide in whose favor, exactly, that balance was. “No credit.” “I know, I know…” and my tired voice did little to hide to which extent, exactly, I would have to go to wipe out that thin red line from my books. “You never did. Never will. And fuck those who can’t afford it, I suppose.” “As if you, of all ponies, would be the one to ever find yourself out of a job,” she chuckled, yet her smile dimed a bit. “No, really, please – you’re my most loyal customer.” “I’m sure I am,” I railed as my purse sadly emptied itself on the desk. “’cause that’s just me, the perfect customer, walking every day out with one of those thousands-caps rifles shelved behind you. C’mon.” “I meant it.” She tapped her hoof on a desk a couple times, before gracefully pushing a couple dozen caps back toward me. “You might even have earned a regular’s discount.” Those words froze me to the bone. Chrystal didn’t do discounts. Some of my utter confusion must have bled onto my face, because she soon continued with a sigh: “This is not some kind of trick this time, darling. Look,” she vaguely embraced the entirety of the shop around us, “you’re here often enough. Do you notice anything different from the last time you walked in here?” Warily, I made a point to look around. On the walls, on the shelves, everywhere in the room, pristine weapons and armors gleamed in all their glory. Sealed ammunition boxes sat in a corner, each labeled with care. On a side, there were some gun parts which looked like they were just coming out some Old World factories. Truth to be told, it was a glorious sight, and its ownership not been defended by severe strength of arms, I would have gladly helped myself to its entirety. I answered bitterly but honestly. “Not really, no. Everything still looks awesome and far too expensive for little old me.” “Right on target, my dear.” Her usual grin grew thinner still. “Too expensive, mayhaps even too… awesome, as you’d put it. The simple truth is, nobody in those forsaken Wastelands looks for shiny new precision tools. You’re more an exception to the rule than anything – even then I know that’s because for every ten caps you spend here, you’ll make a hundred back on bounties. Exceptional wares for an exceptional mare… it only goes so far, and dynamism is the lifeblood of any business.” “What? That’s just not possible. I’m sure there are a lot of guys out there who would be happy to have a gun which doesn’t jam, and armor without pre-made bullet holes in it.” As I spoke, my mind quietly shoved the words ‘exceptional mare’ into a dark closet in my memories, locked it tight then threw away the key. “Evidently there’s a market. For the Silver Rush in Tenpony, for Megamart in the Hoof, even for Red Eyes’ minions down in Fillydelphia… The issue it’s that it’s not here, in my shop in Friendship City. Quite plainly, not anymore. In the last couple years you’ve been the truest regular I’ve had since... well, you’re the only one now.” I shrugged. “Yeah, well, just try to find bulk 167 grains, 30-cal HPBT bullets in any of those places. Van Graff would probably melt you into green paste for daring to even mention gunpowder in front of him, the Hoof is always a fifty-fifty chance of getting fatal lead poisoning, and Filly… really, Chrystal? Do I look the type?” “Match grade ammo? Heaven forbids,” she groaned. “Even half-rotten surplus is too fancy for some of the living specimens I’ve seen walk through that door. Do you know what they want? They want a boomstick that can make a big noise a few times, then be used as a club the rest of the way. That, or they’ll try to teach me ‘a thing or two’ about my own wares, because the computer on their leg can display fancy numbers and clearly weight / cost ratio is the best indicator when buying ammunition.” “Urgh, don’t get me started,” I groaned. Not that I had anything in particular against Stable dwellers or their descendants, really… however PipBucks somehow brought out the worst of some of them. As if the device by itself wasn’t enough of a status symbol, the like of SATS could make even the most novice shooter turn their nose up as if they’d earned their apparent marksmanship prowesses. Until, of course, they figured out the hard way that their arcano thingy had limits. Using it as a crutch in combat, well… ultimately a foregone conclusion. “So…” Nonplussed, I stared at the few caps remaining on the counter. “A discount? Genuinely?” “Only if you promise to seek my services when you need that barrel installed.” Ah, there it was. “Do I look like someone who can headspace a rifle?” I deadpanned. “You’re industrious, I’m sure you could manage.” Again, Chrystal and her trademark grin. “You could even find someone else to do it for you. After all, who really needs sub-MOA accuracy in this day and age?” “Fuck off.” I groaned, dragging the caps back into my purse and my shopping into my saddlebags. “You wish.” Crystal watched as I made my way to the door. “See you soon, honey.” “The latter the better…” “Oh, don’t count on it,” she smiled evilly as the door closed behind me. Standing there on what passed for a street in Friendship City, I took a few moments for my breath to finally come back to me. As usual, interacting with Chrystal… Well. In any case, there was business to attend to, someone waiting no doubt restlessly for their proof of bounty. I couldn’t shake the feeling this was going to be a very instructive encounter. Had I only known…