• Published 12th Nov 2011
  • 1,492 Views, 14 Comments

Fallout Equestria: An Eternity to Rebuild - Fillyosopher



Series of Short stories in the FoE universe.

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SS7: Introduction of Massacre

Guns have been the life of my family since before I was born. Before the war even, if my father is to be believed. Back then, my great-great-(add some more)-great-grandfather was working in the Ministry of Wartime Technology. And my other great(s)-grandfather. And a few of my many times removed Grandmothers. Hell, I was probably related to a good third of that ancient Ministry. Earth pony ingenuity, back as far as you cared to trace.

On my father's side anyway. He was a younger son of mmmmm, the head of mmmmm(Jakobs) industries. They'd taken every scrap of Wartime Technology documentation they could out of the Hoofington database many years ago and continued on. Their guns had the most 'Buck' of any on the market. They got the job done fast, and that prestige had kept mmmmm in the market for a good many years. Of course, firing one would announce your presence to everypony this side of the mmmmm(canyon, big) river. “No subtlety,” as my mother would say.

My mother, on the other hand, was the heiress of mmmmm(Maliwan), a competing business run entirely by mares. Unlike mmmmm(Jakobs), they produced mostly specialty and niche weapons. They were the local inheritors of the Ministry of Arcane Science. Energy weapons, weapons that auto-enchanted ammo, nearly silent guns; these were their specialties. My parents occasionally had arguments over which style was better, more for their amusement than any other reason.

My parents' marriage had been arranged. The two companies had no intention of combining, but neither did they want to compete outside the economic arena. The pact was formed for mutual benefit, and it was thus far successful in heading off any armed conflict. Let the others fight, we will prosper. Or something like that.

They did love each other, in a way. But throughout my childhood the tension was always present. Luckily, I had plenty of siblings to keep me company. That was one thing that could be said of their marriage; it was damned prolific.

I was raised by my brothers and sisters. We learned gun safety with dart shooters by the time we were potty trained. Procedure was, if you got shot with a dart you had to act like it was real. Scared the crap out of the little ones; they learned not to aim a bodies you didn't want dead. And gave all of us older kids a great time 'killing' each other. When we got to old to notice the little darts every time, a few of us got together to make an electrified dart. Hurt like a bee sting and you couldn't miss it if you were truly hit. Last I heard, Mom was selling a variant as training ammunition.

We were given our first Real gun at age 8. The earth ponies were also given battlesaddles for their peashooters, the unicorns were expected to have mastered telekinetics well enough to carry their own. The family ranch (minus actual animals, of course) had a large firing range, with stationary and moving targets. There was a family competition once a month, rotating by weapon and ammunition type; I tended to score average. First prize got a cake and a choice of that weapon type from the armory. I remember when Deadeye got his own room, just so that he could fit all his guns on the walls. Bazooka too, although in his case it was the number of rocket launchers.

By 14, I could take apart any weapon in the family arsenal blindfolded. And reassemble it the same way. I knew how to clean and maintain both guns and their ammunition. How to assemble my own weapon from an assortment of parts. How to pour bullets and mix different varieties of gunpowder. Re-power energy packs, or rig them to explode. This was all standard for my family though. I was actually looked down upon occasionally, for not being able to name a weapon on sight or knowing how to build a remote mine (it was the remote part). There were plenty of extra classes I didn't take, and even a few I had to take twice.

It wasn't until I found an implant catalog that I really came into my own. I had to save my allowance for months, but eventually I got down to mmmmm labs. I told them what I wanted and then helped with the specifics. I had a general chemistry and circuitry knowledge, and I was clear with them when something wasn't right. A full year after first hatching my plan, I received the MAD-1 (Magic, Adrenaline, mmmmm) prototype implant. The only one ever made; that had been part of the contract. I took all the research notes afterward.

I returned to the ranch with my head held high that day. I took another two hours, with help from the butlers, to lay everything out. Then, one-by-one, I convinced the whole family to show up. I'd picked my name, I said.

“Before earning your cutie mark?” my father asked worriedly.

“Yes.” I assured him. “You'll see.”

I donned my special, 5 mount battlesaddle. Too much, you say? Well... yes. I'd had to wear practice weights for months before I could wear it loaded. My earth pony brother who'd helped me make it laughed when I first laid out the design.

“Thats too much for a unicorn. You won't be able to walk!”

“I won't have to.” (Yes, simplicity in speech is family virtue)

Finally, dressed for battle, I walked out to meet my family. All twelve were there, along with what butlers could spare the time. They eyed me as I slowly walked to the stage, painfully climbing the steps. “Is she trying to become a tank?” my mother stage whispered. I grinned grimly. Funny, yes. Painfully close to the truth... that too. Well, I'd pulled this off before during testing. It was time for a show.


“Hey there everyone. I know you are all terribly busy, but only wanted to do this once. No need to waste ammunition.” My father smiled as I used his favorite phrase.

“As you know, I've spent the last year working with the ponies from mmmmm on a new implant. It's complicated and a bit dangerous to get installed. I've come to the conclusion that it can not be made market efficient.”

My mother's face darkened slightly at that. I hadn't FULLY explained where that money was going, and she was a sticker for usefulness (of the sell-able variety).

“However, I did have one successful test subject. Myself.”

Whispering at that. No one in the family had implants. Most thought it was bad sport, just like using S.A.T.S.

“I promise, I didn't make and install it to beat you in the shootout. I'd need more then this to catch Deadeye anyway.” Laughter.

“Okay, here goes.” I turned around to look at the firing range. Nearly every target was standing, from those very close, all the way back to the sniper's targets at 3000 feet. With a press of a button, half began moving back and forth on their tracks.

I had 5 rifles attached to my harness, of various type. Spread out before me was a selection of weapons from the armory. Nothing explosive, but I one of everything that wasn't. The fact that no two weapons were the same was part of the show. Just as uneven battlesaddles were hard to fire full auto, it was difficult for a unicorn to fire multiple varieties of weapons simultaneously. Assuming you could aim multiple; plenty of ponies had trouble with that part.

“Come on sis, let's see some action!” Yep, time to stop thinking and start doing.

I stepped onto a raised platform so that my under-chest rifle had a clear line. Then, struggling, I began to raise weapons. It wasn't about finesse, it was all about bulk mass. Twenty more guns raised around me, pointing mostly forward. Pistols, SMGs, Rifles, larger machine guns, shotguns, energy weapons. It wasn't easy to split my magic into that many lifts, even if they weren't THAT heavy.

“There is NO way.” “She wouldn't try it!” “I don't care how good that implant makes her aim, that ain't gonna happen.” “Just using that battlesaddle will throw her off.”

The doubt... I started up my implant. It was a slow process, but then it was a big implant. The piece overlay my spine from top to bottom, connecting to organs along the way. Hormones started flowing as I initialized the system. As it started, I smiled, then began laughing outright. This was going to brilliant!

I kicked my hind legs, activating spikes on my battle harness. They smacked into the ground, holding my back legs in place. Braces tightened down around my body. Goggles came down over my eyes, specially made to darken under heavy light. The four guns mounted, two to either side, loosened in their mounting, only the bases staying attached. I floated the front ends; they could aim anywhere within 45 degrees of my facing. I laughed harder and louder.

“YOU WANT A SHOW!”

With shakes from adrenaline pumping through my body, I felt the magical increase begin to move up my spine and onto my horn. Three... Two... One... I hit SATS at the last moment, just as it reached the tip.

In S.A.T.S., I gave instructions to each of the twenty-five guns, one at a time. Firing instructions, reload times. It took far beyond the time of a normal S.A.T.S. activation, from my point of veiw. Of course, it wasn't a normal S.A.T.S. activation. I double checked, making sure I had every target tagged. Then I released the spell and the world roared.

Those guns I could barely float? As one, they snapped to a ready position. Slides were pulled, hammers cocked, and rounds chambered. Then they started firing, switching from target to target, pausing as needed to reload. The guns at my sides did the same, unloading expanded clips of 60 rounds each rounds each. The kick forced my light frame back, the braces only able to take so much. But I held, pushing against the spikes.

The muzzle flares turned into a wall of fire. The friction of so many bullets in such a small area superheated the air. Heat lightning began to ripple in front of me, the heat wave passing backward toward me to warm my exposed face. It was glorious, it was deadly. Exactly 16 seconds later, every gun went silent. They dropped from the air, falling to the ground. Mom and Dad weren't going to be happy about that.

But as I looked at the field ahead, I didn't care. It wasn't perfect. I hadn't hit everything, especially the farther targets. Likely some of that was do to the techno-spell's time limit; I'd have to take firing time and spell time into account in the future. But hundreds of targets registered hits. I'd wiped out a field in (a bit more than) ten seconds flat.

Carefully, I kicked the pegs out of the ground. The braces loosened a bit; it felt like the right side might have bent a bit. The mounted rifles returned to their stock position. Goggles came up, head phones off. I shook my head a bit, then turned to face the family.

You know, sometimes you don't realize what you're scared of until you've beaten it. I'd spent my life so far being scared of failing my family. I wasn't the best gunsmith, or sharpshooter, or all that great with explosives. I was bad with mortars and gun recognition. Even when I'd finished creating the implant, it wasn't something I was sure they would be proud of.

But when turned, I saw the happiest family in the world. They were taking off headphones, smiling to each other, chatting excitedly. And when I turned, they gave me a standing ovation.

My father came forward first, meeting me as I struggled off the platform. “You were right to only do that once. I'd hate to waste the ammo.” I grinned sheepishly.

Next same my mother. “Honey, that was brilliant. You've made the whole family proud. Now are you sure this wouldn't be profitable?” I shook my head bemusedly. “We'll have to talk about it later.” She patted my shoulder and moved out of the way.

Then came the gang. In a cooperative dogpile. I should have expected it, really. What better way to congratulate me and simultaneously show off how immobile I was? It was a good thing the barding was so reinforced; ten siblings can be a lot of weight.

“Well?” my father asked once they'd all gotten off.

I looked at him inquisitively.

“You were going to tell us your new name.” my mother explained.

Ah yes. I grinned even more widely.

“My name is Massacre.”


It wasn't until much later, tired of congratulations, they I shed my armor and noticed the new Cutie Mark beneath. A ring of eight different guns, all pointing outward. That seemed about right.


For a while, mom totted me around for weapon testing and showcasing. I could fire literally anything on the mmmmm lineup. Once, for example, I was asked to fire the cannon of a tank by a misunderstanding tech. I think he expected me to get inside or something... I just picked it up and fired it from ten feet off the ground. The accuracy and damage was awesome! but I didn't feel like asking mom for one after I'd broken the suspension like that. Seriously... ten foot drop. How was I supposed to know a tank couldn't take that? It was a tank!

I also did weapon showcases. For the most part I'd just magically lift and fire the weapons normally. Only at the end was I allowed to go full tilt, as a way to scare the crap out of the high bid crowd.

Mom received many requests for copies of my implant, but she turned them all down by my request. I think doing so caused her physical pain, but I wasn't backing down. When you find something that makes you unique, you don't go and teach everyone else how to do it.

But eventually the shows and guns became work. It was too repetitive a life for me. I considered going home, but my brothers and sisters were leaving, finding jobs that fit their skills and personalities. So I began to look for other options.

After asking around a mmmmm, I finally hit on something. The mmmmm tech division had a small, military arm known as the Tech Hunters. They worked as both intelligence and procurement from the company. Their job was, more specifically, to obtain the plans of competing company's new products, and to locate old weapons for research. I signed on, the family name doing much to speed me through the process. The only class I couldn't pass immediately was 'old tech recognition', but after four months at the company college I was off. I hate an monthly budget, to spend as I pleased, and so of the more high-tech equipment mmmmm could provide. Happy with my new job's freedom, I wandered out into the waste.

Comments ( 2 )

Ouch... thank you. I feel like my FoE writer rights have taken a gut punch. I really should know canon better than that.

Also, I canceled this because I wanted to stop posting failures... and I notice that isn't happening.

Due to the recent stat update, I've found out that some pony is still reading this!

Whoever you are, I'd like to know you! Say something in the comments!

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