Prologue
Life in the wasteland isn't the kind of thing you should expect to get easier with each passing day. And definitely not the sort of thing that should be treated like a skill that got better with practice. No, it was hard, and often brutal. Between slavers, raiders and goddess knows what else you could find in that endless expanse we call the wasteland. You had other things waiting to bite you on the ass. And life was always willing to bite my ass.
Each scar the wasteland gave you was a story, and each story was a lesson. So I guess you can say, this the story of how I cut my way through what life saw fit to throw at me... Or the lessons following those efforts only to be swept away in the debris...
**********************************************
The dim sun filtered into my room, slowly waking me up. As soon as I was conscious, my head began to pound like someone had thrown a grenade directly into my brain. Attempting to counteract the damned hangover, I held a hoof up to shield my eyes from the unforgiving, cloud-covered sun. I rolled over my tattered sheets and retched; my breath foul with the smell of alcohol.
Yep, I was definitely hung over. Another night consumed by the seemingly endless amounts of alcohol that I had access to. That’s one of the many problems with this place, not enough food and too much alcohol. Half the ponies in town must be raging drunks... oh wait that’s just me. I was startled out of my thoughts as the throbbing in my head started to increase.
“How can it be so bright and so dark at the same time?” I rolled myself out of bed and fell to the floor with a thud. “Ugh,” I groaned. I was eventually able to force myself to my hooves. As I struggled to get up, I found that one of them wasn’t working right. I craned my neck and scowled at my locked appendage -- a cybernetic hoof. Ever since an incident years ago, I had lost my fleshy hoof and gained a mechanical one.
Once I got the others up I was able to lumber over to the large pile of junk that were my everyday things: Cloak, hat, zebra sword. Check. Pistol, varmint rifle and battle saddle. Double check. Ammo. Triple check.
Is it really necessary to check for it?
Yes, now shut up.
With my morning routine completed I looked around for something to soothe my pounding head. After tossing some things around I finally found a Sparkle-Cola. I used the thick and short finger to -- oh wait, did I mention I have fingers? Yeah, this rusty old cybernetic limb is pretty useful. I clutched the glass bottle in between my metallic palm and my thumb then lifted the bottle up to my mouth, wrestling off the bottle cap with my teeth and spit it to the floor. I sucked down the beverage quickly, making sure that I finished it off too. The things cost an arm and a leg for these days, ridiculous I know, but damn if it wasn’t worth it.
Tossing the empty bottle aside, I mentally checked off taking my ‘hangover relief medicine’ and continued my usual morning routine, which was apparently stumbling my way towards the bathroom (honestly, why did I call it a bathroom anyway? It didn’t even have a bath let alone classify as a room) in a drunken stupor. When I finally got to the toilet I... well.. I tended to nature. Moving onto the next stage of the morning ritual, (thanking the Goddesses for the town water talisman in the process) grooming.
The most annoying part of the day.
‘Alright Quick Scope get your succulent flanks in there already.’ I voiced my thoughts as begrudgingly as I could. I dragged myself in front of my cracked mirror in the dilapidated stain that was my... er... “bath” room. I stared into the multiple reflections of myself, and they stared back. All of the grey coated stallions with their blue striped manes. I saw their ears -- my ears, ragged and torn from a whole life in the wasteland -- and my scars. If you live in the wasteland you’re going to have scars, and lots of them. I had a few parallel ones going across my left eye. Another from the right corner of my mouth to my neck. I sighed, wet my mane in the sink and ran my comb through it a few times; I had to pay damn near a fortune to get the thing. A lot of the other stallions over here in New Whitetail made fun of me for it, but hell to them. I like looking good for the mares, hehe.
I put the comb down and got my saddle bags. “Alright now let’s just make sure everything is here.” Booze, bullets, grub, and booze.“Yep, that’s everything.”
I put on my battle saddle, saddle bags, and other accessories. Then I was done and ready to go!
I sauntered toward the only exit of my house and stopped as I passed a full body mirror. I turned to my reflection and a confident smirk crawled across my face. “Hello Mr. Handsome Badass.” My eyes traveled upwards, taking it all in. Mechanical leg on the right. Normal left leg, complete with holster and nine millimeter pistol. A long cloak covering my battle saddle, sword, and hide. And to complete the look was the hat that covered some of my long, shaggy mane and my torn and tattered ears.
I trotted out of my small shack of a house within a small trading settlement known as New Whitetail. Ponies were meandering about, getting on with their daily business. It was my turn to take watch over the east wall. The little schedule was pounded into my head over how many days I’d practiced it. Today I guard the east wall, the day after tomorrow I do it again, and then three days after that I do it again, and then two days after that I do it again, on and on and on. But nothing ever came around that the Talons couldn’t handle. So that freed me up to visit my favorite pony in all of New Whitetail, the barkeeper. I get out of bed each morning just to see her... and her delectable flank. (I have needs, I’m only a stallion). I trotted, almost galloping toward the east wall and that cute little vixen.
Seconds into my sprint I skidded to a stop and bolted behind the closest object to hide myself. The Talon captain, Blood Beak rounded the corner. He was pretty fucking huge, and not just in comparison to a pony. He was easily a head or two taller than all the other griffons in his wing. And this bastard was scary. Rumor had it, he once ripped out another griffons throat with his own beak for pocketing some caps he made from contract, so I guess the name Bloodbeak wasn’t so egotistical after all. And this monster of a mercenary had obviously seen some shit, he had feathers missing and many of them were singed from what I assume was an encounter with a flamer. He was riddled with scars, a fucking lot more than me. Along his back was a large sniper rifle with a claw grip and strapped to his chest was... well I’m not quite sure what to call it, it’s too large to be a knife, too short to be a sword, and too goddesses damned threatening to be a machete. He slowly made his way down the dirt “road.” He stopped several meters from my poor excuse of a hiding spot, he shot his head up to look around, for what I didn’t care. He lingered around for minute or so before walking past without noticing me completely, taking off towards the west wall.
I took this opportunity and got my flanks into gear, making a beeline for the saloon. I trotted through the batwing doors and into my regular spot at the bar, my little slice of debauchery. Oh, and what was in my view as I walked in? None but the exquisite rear of the little vixen herself, Drink Mix. I smirked and simply stood there, watching it as it swayed while she hurried around cleaning off the tables. I heard a familiar gargled growl to my right and I turned my head to see the rather uncomfortably familiar face of Drink Mix’s security guard. I rolled my eyes. “Calm down, Lurch. I don’t want to have to hit you with my metal leg.”
He stood steadfastly and loomed over me, growling again. As I raised my mechanical leg Lurch’s hoof shot out and attempted to stop my own. I glared at him and he soundlessly glared back. We stayed in this heated staring contest until Drink Mix chimed in with her lovely, lovely voice, “Calm down now you two, it’s far too early to get into a fight!” Drink Mix lowered her gaze at me. “It’s also far too early to be drinking. Shouldn’t you be doing your job and not starting trouble with Stone Cold?”
“Sweet flanks, nothing ever gets close enough to the walls for us to worry about. Besides I wouldn’t want to miss a single moment of your company.” I gave my most charming smile, sadly it didn't have the desired effect, coming off as lecherous. Maybe next time. Lurch growled at me again. “All right, all right you big lug I’ll go sit in my usual spot.” I trotted towards the corner of the bar and slinked into my usual barstool. As I settled into my seat a familiar face walked down the stairs leading from the upper level where Drink Mix slept and lived. This face was stoic and the striped one of a Zebra.
Drink Mix smiled and trotted, practically pranced, over to the Zebra stallion. “Good morning sleepy head!” she teased before she kissed him on the cheek.
The striped stallion blushed. “Good morning Drink Mix.”
Drink Mix smiled batting her long eyelashes at him. “So the usual, Sygma?”
“Yes please.” He nodded.
She trotted back behind the counter and ducked underneath it, searching for the usual items that the Zebra required. While she searched under the counter I had a perfect view of her rear through a mirror. This seat may be sticky, lumpy and hard as a rock, but the view is perfect. I could see into the mirror and keep an eye on Lurch. Eventually Drink Mix came back up with a teapot and a spark battery powered heating plate. She smiled. “Ok Sygie what type of tea do you want?”
“The usual,” he said evenly.
She nodded and got out some small packets and turned on the faucet to fill the pot. I suddenly noticed that my mechanical hoof hand had yet to close around anything that could get me drunk. I had to alleviate that problem, I cleared my throat and tapped the table with my normal hoof.
The sexy mare glanced at me, “Yes?”
“I’d like a whiskey please.”
She gave me a flat stern look of disapproval( ಠ_ಠ ), “Dammit you old moron you know this stuff will be the death of you right? I mean come on half the time you pass out in here and Sygma and Stone Cold have to carry you home! Your liver can’t handle much more dammit!”
She continued her rant for a good few moments, only stopping to breathe. “So can I get that whiskey now?”
"Fine, it's your liver you're destroying anyway." She opened the refrigerator, which surprisingly enough still worked and pulled out a bottle of... ice cold beer? That’s not what I ordered.
She set the bottle in front of me. “Enjoy.”
I picked the bottle up and took a swig, barely stopping myself from spitting it out. I looked at the label. ‘Light Beer.’ I shuddered, light beer was worse than Sparkle-Cola quantum, and that stuff made my piss glow. I was about to complain, but was met by Drink Mix’s stern yet beautiful eyes.
I huffed, drinking my insult to good liquor. A strange clicking noise caught my attention, and I craned my head back to see old Lurch having a good laugh at me, his tongue making a clicking sound in place of laughter.
“Laugh it up big guy. Laugh it up,” I muttered. I begrudgingly chugged down the rest of the beverage as quickly as I could. “Ok sweetie now can I please have some real alcohol?”
“Hmmm I don’t know.” She looked to Lurch and Sygma. “What do you two think?” As expected, Lurch shook his head, Sygma didn’t immediately answer, still sipping his hot tea.
“Beer is for hardworking ponies,” Sygma concluded.
“But I am a hard working pony!” I whined.
“So you have a job?” Sygma asked.
“Yes I do. And I work hard at it,” I stated adamantly.
“Oh really?” Drink Mix countered. “Well aren’t you supposed to be on the wall about now? You know, doing your job?”
“Eh, they won’t miss me,” I shrugged nonchalantly.
Moments later a screech sounded out, “Where is he!”
They all looked at me. “W-what?! He couldn’t possibly mean me!”
“Where the hell is that drunk cyborg!?” the voice screeched.
“That could be any handsome cyborg,” I said meekly, Drink Mix giving me a disapproving look. “Hey you don’t mind if I hide here do you?” I was already scrambling for a hiding place to hide before she could even answer. I spotted the bathroom and bolted into it, shutting the door behind me. I prayed to the goddesses that he wouldn’t find me, but honestly why would they want to help me?
Seconds later I heard the scratch of talons on wood and his growling voice. “Where is he, bar-bitch?”
I watched through the keyhole and saw that she scowled at him. “I don’t see no bar-bitch here. Do you Stone Cold?” she asked the mute stallion as she glanced over to him.
He shook his head and cracked his neck, either preparing to attempt to fight Blood Beak, or kick me out. I was greatly hoping it would be the former of the two, but I knew it was most likely the latter.
She glanced over to Sygma, “Do you Sygma?” He of course replied with a gruff no. Drink Mix looked to the large griffon, continuing, “Well I certainly don’t see any ‘bar-bitch’ here. Just an incompetent commander who can’t get his guards to show up on time.” She had been slowly stepping closer to him, making him take a couple of steps back.
He gulped and continued his scowl. “Whatever. You know where he is or not?”
She nodded. “Yes I do.” She turned to Lurch and smiled sweetly. “Oh Stone Cold, would you be a dear and fetch Quickie for us please?”
I swear I knew he was grinning ear to ear even before I saw him turn and saunter over to my hidey-hole. He threw the door open and slammed his head against mine -- bastard’s lucky he’s got such a thick skull -- and proceeded to pull me onto his back. He then paraded me through the near empty bar, earning a slow clap from Blood Beak.
As he passed the bar the sexy mare winked at me. “Stop on by after work boys,” Drink Mix purred charmingly, ever so charmingly.
Lurch trotted through the batwing doors and pulled me off his back with his forehooves and rose to his hind legs. Before I could protest he hurled me onto the street, a grin spreading wide across his face. He happily trotted back in and went to the curvy vixen. She smiled. “Thank you Stone Cold.” She proceeded to stand on the tips of her hooves and give the mute a stallion a peck on the lips, earning a blush from him. Drink Mix was the biggest tease in town, everypony knew it, in fact she was a bigger tease than the... most promiscuous mare in the town.
Before Blood Beak came out and blocked my view I saw the bar mare give the big oaf a cold beer. Totally unfair. The griffon sneered at me. “I foresee double shifts, many boring double shifts in your future,” he stated with a sickly sweet tone.
“Crap!” I groaned
********************************************************************************************************
Name: Quick Scope
Footnote Level 10 (Level Remembered!!!!!)
Perk Remembered
Booze Hound - You’ve got a drinking problem, but it does come with some benefits. You are less likely to become intoxicated when drinking copious amounts of alcohol and your endurance is increased by two when intoxicated.
S.P.E.C.I.A.L.
Strength - 7
Perception - 8
Endurance - 6
Charisma - 4
Intelligence - 6
Agility - 5
Luck- 5
Traits
Fuzzy Memory (Conditional)
You’ve forgotten important stuff, all that drinking hasn’t done you any favours either. Certain events will cause you to remember perks, events and skills you have previously forgotten.
Cybernetic Leg
You’re a cyborg, your cyberlimb gives you increased strength and dexterity. Equivalent to 1 point in Strength and Agility. But this one is old and doesn’t come with fancy anti-rust enamel or rust resistant parts. Because of this you must work to keep your limb from rusting or suffer penalties to Agility equivalent to -1 Agility point per rust point, this penalty can only stack 3 times, but more rust points can be gained. Upon gaining 3 or more Rust Points your leg has a 5% chance of locking when engaging in strenuous activity. Upon gaining 6 rust points your leg will cease functioning until at least one Rust Point is lost. (Note: +1 to Agility is passive and is cancelled upon gaining 1 rust point.)
Rust points: 1
Sub Traits
FINGERS!!
This cybernetic comes complete with mechanical fingers. Great for earth ponies who want to manipulate objects or fight melee style.