I sat atop the uneven cliff side, my rump awkwardly setting into the slight inward curves of the rock and my hooves dangling over the edge, tempting fate. I tapped the empty glass bottle of sparkle cola that sat awkwardly at the edge, tipping it over, sending it falling to the barren wasteland below. I could feel the cigeratte hanging loosely from my mouth burn shorter, and shorter, until only the butt remained. The cigeratte shared the same fate as the cola bottle, falling against the harsh winds of the Equestrian wasteland, only to splash into the shallow body of water that had formed at the base of the cliff. I heard a slight mechainical whirring behind me. I turned to see Grave Digger, an old friend, taking aim with a large sniper rifle, the whirring, presumably being the large mechanised scope, zooming in and out.
"Ya see anything, Dig?"
I speak, the smoke from my last pull of the cigeratte oozing out of my mouth, accompanying the words.
"Dustcloud."
He doesn't take his eye away from the scope, he just keeps staring intently.
"Really, how big?"
I pull myself away from the edge and stand up, patting the dust from my flank before standing on my four hooves. I quickly trotting to Grave Diggers side.
""Bout four days out, if it's Duster, I'd give 'im, maybe a day an' a half."
Grave Digger finally brought the rifle down by his side.
"Ya ready?"
He stared at me, and I, in turn, stared at the small, dark green box that sat by our smoking, dead fire.
"No" I uttered, still staring away from the dirty white unicorn "But what else can we do?"
Hours passed and Grave Digger lay at the edge of the cliff, leaning his head on his rifle as he continued to track the progress of the large dustcloud. I held a stick over our, now alight, fire. The stick was nothing more than a snapped twig, with odd, uneven protrusions and a dry, rough texture, but what was impaled on the stick necessitated the sticks new position atop a flaming pile of dirt and other sticks, radroach meat, not exactly caviar, but I've eaten worse. The meat began to simmer and drip as it was cooked to perfection, I pulled it away before it became to overcooked, crispy, black and burnt. I dropped the chunk of meat onto an old ceramic plate, cracked and dull, the years had not been kind to the poor piece of china.
"You sure you don't want none? It's smelling pretty good?"
I yelled over to the bastard on his belly. There was no reply, I wouldn't be suprised if he'd fallen asleep atop the piece of junk he called a gun. Never cared for them types of guns, myself, always thought they were too clunky, overly complicated. As far as I'm concerned, the only kind of gun you need is the classic, bolt action rifle variety, patient, attractive and light. A true hunters weapon.
I trotted over to Grave Digger, an attempt to assure myself that my suspicions that he'd fallen asleep on the job where just that, suspicions. I nudged his back leg with my own fore hoof.
"Dig?"
I quickly move to his face, hoping that a good slap to the face would wake him up. I was horrified to find the scope of the rifle shattered and cracked, a small pool of blood beneath his face, and a patch of sticky, red clotted fur on the back of his head. I began to panic and quickly spun around to grab my rifle which was resting by the fire. I turned to see a large pegasus, almost entirely concealed by a large, tattered, brown trench coat and a dark, worn gas mask with large, round, red, eyes. He held a revolver with a large barrel, not so much wide, but tall. The sun refected off of the lens of the revolvers long scope, blinding me for a brief moment.
"Shot Glass, you are under arrest on the charges of grand larceny of military equipment, murder and multiple counts of treason, by the power vested in me by the New Canterlot Republic, I sentence you to die."
He spoke in a loud boom, must've been the echo from the mask. I began to shake from fear, but I still wore a smirk and tried to bullshit my way through the encounter.
"You won't kill me, you can't."
"I'll put two rounds in your face, and then you can try and argue."
"You can't kill me, because the box has deadlock seal, and a password, besides, you wouldn't wanna waste a bullet on little old me, not when ammo's so scarce."
"What makes you think I'm supposed to retrieve the package?"
"The big stamp that says "Precious cargo" on the side."
We stared at each other, as he trained his revolver on me and I tried to grip Grave Diggers rifle with my back hoof, subtely kicking it, inching it closer beneath me.
"So, you're saying you'd rather spend your life in an NCR correctional facility, is that it?"
He kept his sights on me, though now he began lightly wave the gun as he spoke.
"That's about the size of things."
I felt my hoof firmly press against the stock of the rifle beneath me, I bucked it hard, sending it flying beneath my forehooves. I dropped to the ground, taking aim with the large rifle and preparing to fire a slug right between the bastards eyes.
Click
Uh-oh.
"Bit of gun jam, I see."
I looked up, giving him a wide, squeaking smile before patheticly uttering.
"uh, can't blame a buck for trying?"
"Yea, prepare to meet your maker."
He aimed the gun at my head, prompting me to scream in a panic.
"WAIT! There's a bounty on my head, two thousand caps!"
I winced, preparing myself for a forty four to lodge itself into my skull. I waited, before looking up again to see the ranger with his weapon sheethed.
"go on."
I stood, clearing my throat and regaining my composure, wearing a stern expression.
"Trottingham, 'bout three days out north, if we leave today. A writer by the name of Chronicle, I wronged him and he put a price on my head, five hundred dead, and two thousand alive."
"What happens if you go back alive?"
I was deflated, I spoke slower and began to stare at the ground.
"Then I'll stand trial, and the good people of Trottingham will do to me as they see fit, be it execution or a jail sentence."
We stared at each other. I hadn't noticed, but he'd gotten closer, he was ahead of the fire now.
"Why do you think I'd even want two thousand caps? They have no value in the NCR."
"C'mon, big traveller, like yourself,you spend more time in the wasteland, it's good money that could go to supplies, a good nights sleep, some female companionship-"
I could feel the cold stare he was giving me beneath that creepy looking gas mask.
"Or, y'know... not."
He walked even closer, strapping shackles to my forehooves and latching them to a chain, which connected to the battle saddle beneath his coat.
"So, I get to live?"
He turned, walking on, as I followed behind him.
"For now, we'll see what the good people of Trottingham do to a filly fooler."
"But I'm not a filly fooler."
"We'll see who they believe."
And with that, we were off, I was to await my fate at the hands of ponies from another life, leaving Grave Digger, and my new life, behind. We ventured into the great barren wasteland as the sun began to rise, it was the dawn of a new day in more ways than one.