Fallout Equestria: Blue Destiny

by MagnetBolt

Chapter 108: It's A Small World

I was coming home and I saw the world consumed with flames. It had been burned before by the fires of war, and I saw it that way again, the very air blazing in front of me with the fury of the unavenged dead.

The Hub had shredded the moment the spinning ring hit the atmosphere. The resistance and torque had buckled everything and now I was caught in the debris cloud as it made its way down. Fireballs burned ahead of me, parts of the station dipping even deeper and braking harder against the edge of the sky.

The fragment of the station’s hull was under me, armored in the way everything from the war was but still glowing from the heat. Plasma licked around the edges. I burned. The spacesuit had never been designed for this. It had been made for brief moments in the void, a few minutes outside the world. It was insulated against heat and cold, but it was far from invincible.

The duct tape around my idle, infected forehoof was curling and turning to ash in the blaze. It was hotter than an oven inside. Every alarm imaginable was blaring. Air thinned, leaking from the great rifts in my spacesuit. I’d torn holes in it and the fire leaked inside through it, finding my skin.

Pain flooded my right side as the ruptured suit started to tear apart.

I was too high. Too fast. My angle was too steep. Streams of molten metal boiled from the edges of my surfboard. The air beat at it, and I held on to the glowing metal for dear life. It was slowing me down.

The worst thing possible happened. I started to tumble. The wear on the metal was uneven, or the shape was wrong, or both. I started to flip. On instinct, my wings flared out and caught the air. The jolt almost tore me in half. Feathers tore free. The suit’s seams exploded. It was like being shot by a plasma cannon.

For just an instant I flipped completely over and the air roared around me with dragon’s breath. I leaned back, forcing my tumble to continue all the way around. My helmet’s bubble scorched and darkened, the world going dim.

The rumbling slowed. The air got thicker. The pain was incredible. I could only see dimly through what was left of my suit. The ocean below me, approaching at terminal velocity. The remains of the station were already hitting, raising huge waves and steam geysers. I want to say I prepared myself, bent my knees to absorb the impact. I can’t remember.

It hit me like a blow from a giant. Everything went black. I think I bounced.

Water rushed into the suit. All the alarms were silenced, too broken even to scream, just like me.

Instinct forced me to thrash, even though the pain only got worse with every motion. It was hopeless. I’d hit the ocean. It was almost as empty as space.

My hooves hit sand. The water was abruptly only just barely above my head. I couldn’t see anything through the ruined helmet. I stumbled forward. Salt stung my scorched skin. Waves receded. I tore off the helmet.

I was standing on a beach.

A huge statue stood before me. A bipedal cartoon alligator, half toppled-over and buried up to the waist in the sand, holding a torch above his head.

I fell to my knees. Everything went black.

---

“Another drink, Ma’am?”

I mumbled something. I was caught in the most terrible trap of all. I was extremely comfortable and didn’t wanna get up from where I was lying in the bath. It burbled against my coat and soothed my aching muscles. Something about the combination of gentle water jets and the lavender and honey aromatherapy even made my insides feel practically normal again.

It was close to alicorn-level magic made entirely with mundane arts and I loved it.

“What’s on the menu?” I asked.

I looked back at the pony who’d asked. Well, pony was the wrong word in some ways. It was a robot, but one that had been built with friendly, exaggerated features. It was almost like a pony in a uniform, but deliberately made so no one could mistake it for a real living creature, proudly showing off gleaming gold details and a screen in place of its face, a smooth black sheet of glass with cartoon drawings of a smiling face.

“Season pass holders like yourself can order up to three alcoholic drinks per day,” the servitor informed me cheerfully. “You have TWO remaining.”

It said the number in a slightly different tone, emphasizing the word. I wasn’t sure if it wanted to make sure I didn’t mishear or if it had just been recorded differently.

“I’ll just have some sparkling water,” I said. “Save up those drinks for when I want to actually sleep.”

I’d raised up my hoof to wave it off. The light caught on the new scales. All the fur had burned off my forehoof and my back legs up to the knees and hadn’t grown back. More of those metal scales had appeared in their place. Considering that most ponies would have needed skin grafts I’d gotten off lightly, even if it looked like I was wearing blue steel socks.

“Of course, ma’am,” the servitor agreed. They were some of the politest, nicest robots I’d ever met, and I wasn’t just saying that because they’d nursed me back to health. Every single one seemed to know advanced first aid up to and including major surgery. Its antenna ears twitched, more like a rabbit’s than a pony’s. It was sending a signal off somewhere.

The spa was a beautiful building and almost perfectly maintained. Potted plants offered greenery rare on most of the surface, and carefully chosen rocks and wooden benches gave the jacuzzi almost a natural appearance, but one that was carefully cultivated. Skylights overhead were filled with stained glass that obscured the clouds outside but let the light in. Recorded birdsong played on a loop long enough to almost make you think it was real. The art was all abstract, not quite committing to anything except suggestions of landscapes and beauty and letting guests fill in the details with their own imagination.

A smaller, less complicated robot drove into the room. It was only about the size of a cat, with a little tray on top carrying an unmarked bottle and a glass. The servitor took the two items from the smaller drone and the thing went skittering away off to its next task.

I stretched as well as I could and tried to get up.

“Some help, Ma’am?” the servitor asked, already reaching towards me to keep me from falling in.

“Thanks,” I said. I reached for him, and he grabbed my left hoof before I could fall. I’d tried to put weight on my right side again. I’d almost forgotten. I sat on the edge of the jacuzzi with my back hooves in the water while the servitor poured me a glass of soda water. I couldn’t get it so easily myself.

I reached over to touch my right foreleg. It ended just above the elbow. I’d messed it up really badly between my mom taking it over and stabbing it myself trying to keep it from attacking me. Then with the suit open to space and the fall and the heat…

The glass of water was offered to me and I nodded to the machine, taking the cold drink and sipping. There was a light lemon flavor and some chalkiness but I wasn’t sure if that was from the groundwater here or something with how they made the seltzer.

A soft bell chimed as the spa door opened and I looked over toward the entrance. A thin pony in a brightly-colored shirt stepped in,

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” the earth pony stallion said. “How are you feeling?”

“Hey, Fog Cutter,” I greeted. ”Like I’ve been through a meat grinder and sewn back together,” I said.

“You’re looking a lot better,” he said.

“Let me guess, the Kahuna sent you over to put me to work?”

Fog Cutter was the valet for the pony in charge of the resort. He did all the hard work that involved running around and talking to ponies and arranging things and his boss did the even more difficult work of sitting on his flank all day, as far as I could tell. I hadn’t met him in person.

“Need a hoof with your, um…?” He awkwardly motioned to the bundle of things I had on the side.

“Yeah,” I said. I gave the robot back the glass after finishing it. It stepped back, smart enough to let us interact without interrupting. Cutter was a brave stallion. He only looked a little afraid while he helped me strap on the prosthetic. It had been made from parts of a broken robot identical to the one that had been helping me, strapped to me with an improvised harness. I let him finish getting the straps tightened, then put some weight on it. It was unpowered, just using springs and magnets to be a bit more clever than a typical peg leg, but it was a big help getting around.

“There we go,” Fog Cutter said. “The Imaginseers do good work.”

“They’re the ones on the north side, right?” I asked. Fog Cutter nodded.

“Yeah. Their ancestors were park employees and engineers, and even though they went tribal and weird they’re still all brilliant--” he tapped my shoulder. “Like with this. We’re lucky they were willing to trade for this.”

“Thanks again for that,” I said. “And for letting me heal up here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cutter said. “You’re a guest, just like the rest of us. The robots do all the work. Least we can do is be good neighbors to somepony who literally fell out of the sky on a chariot of fire.”

I groaned. “It wasn’t all that fun, especially not with--”

I hadn’t looked at my back. There was a reason why I needed the leg to get around. I started to feel a panic attack when I turned my head and caught a glimpse.

“Let’s get the robe on you,” Cutter interrupted, seeing where it was going. He grabbed the extra-large robe they’d found for me, the old fabric swirled with faded orange and cream color. It wasn’t quite a floral pattern, it was the impression of a floral pattern by way of tie-dye. He put it on my back, helped me get my right wing through the slit and-- well, that was that. There was nothing on the left side except a bump and a scar.

When I’d fallen from space, the sky itself had made sure I wouldn’t go back under my own power.

“Let’s go for a jog,” Fog Cutter said brightly. “It’ll get your blood pumping. Good for the spirit!”

“Sure,” I agreed. I followed him out, the stallion holding the door for me. I wasn’t sure if he was just being polite because I was a mare or if it was because I was crippled, but I appreciated it either way and said a quiet thanks when I stepped past him.

It was beautiful outside. Not too hot, not cold, warm and inviting. Beach weather.

Planks formed a path between carefully cultivated garden plots. A cartoon alligator waved to us, painted on a fake surfboard stuck into the ground ahead of us. Above him, arrows and signs noted what lie in each direction along the path.

“I have a weird feeling that you’re going to ask me for a favor,” I said.

Fog Cutter shrugged. “Not until you’re feeling up to doing them. There are always some things the caretaker robots can’t do.”

“Really? Because they do all the cooking, cleaning, the maintenance…” We passed by one of them that was weeding one of the gardens full of fragrant tropical flowers.

“And they can’t solve problems between ponies,” Fog Cutter said. “They’re pony pleasers. Not in a literal sense, they’re not… equipped for that so please don’t ask--”

“Do I look like the kind of mare who needs to ask a robot for that?” I asked. “Owch.”

“What I mean is--” Fog Cutter continued.

“Wait, is it rude to say I wouldn’t do that with a robot? I don’t know how smart they are. I guess if it was consensual and the robot really wanted to try something and it wasn’t just programmed--”

“WHAT I MEAN IS,” Fog Cutter interrupted, more loudly. “The caretakers aren’t good at saying no or fixing problems in the long term. This place was a vacation resort. They’re designed and programmed to keep ponies happy for a week or two and then wave goodbye. It’s easy to keep somepony happy with some rum and snacks for a little while, but not for years.”

I nodded. “You want me to hurt somepony.”

“No! No.” Fog Cutter sighed. “Not exactly. I want you to talk to Daquiri. He’s been obsessed lately about some conspiracy theory with the caretakers and the last thing we need is for him to end up damaging them.”

“Is this a talk like, you want me to threaten his knees or…?”

“No, a real talk. He’s a good pony, just obsessed lately. The Kahuna hasn’t wanted to deal with him. He might be willing to listen to an outside perspective, and you’re the first real outsider we’ve had here in a long while.”

“I can try. Just one thing. What’s that noise?”

Fog Cutter stopped and listened. It sounded like somepony was beating a gong.

“That’s the zombie alarm! But--” he looked up at the sky. “It’s not the right weather for that! Come on!” He picked up the pace. I guess I did need to test my body out and see how badly it had been messed up. Nothing was healing right these days. Or more accurately, it was only healing a little better than a normal pony.

I limped after him. It wasn’t as bad as you’d think with the peg leg. I had to track down whichever tribal pony made the thing and thank them, because they had to be a genius. It almost moved on its own. I only had to take a little extra care with how I placed my weight.

We made it to the palisades just as the gonging stopped. Two ponies were arguing in front of the main gates.

“...no ashfall at all!” the gruff, grey pony doing most of the arguing growled. The much younger pony in front of him and clutching the gong beater cowered in the face of his anger. “You’re going to throw everypony into a panic, Lychee!”

“Chamomile, can I introduce our head of security?” Fog Cutter said.

“We met,” I said. “Grog, right?” I offered my good hoof to shake. He turned and gave it a quick pump, very professional and perfunctory, but it got his gaze off the cowering foal. “You interrogated me while I was healing.”

“I had to make sure you weren’t a threat,” he said defensively.

“Nah, it’s fine. I would have done the same thing.” I waved off his concerns. “What’s going on?”

“Lychee claims his family is trapped in their farm because of a zombie attack,” Grog said. “Which is impossible. It’s not zombie weather.”

“Zombie weather?” I asked.

“The winds here usually go west to east,” Fog Cutter explained. “But during the rainy season they can shift and blow the other way. When we get winds from the east, they carry radioactive ash with them and it falls like rain on the east side of the island.”

“There are dozens of ghouls out there just waiting for it,” Grog explained. “Awful security risk. It’s why we have the palisade. They lie just under the surface, totally inert. The ash comes, and it’s just radioactive enough to revive them. They stumble around for a while until there’s not enough left.”

“They metabolize it to stay animated,” Fog Cutter offered. “The ghouls clear out all the radiation and then collapse. What’s left is great for the soil, so we have farms outside the walls.”

“But there’s no ashfall right now,” Grog said. “So, no ghouls. No zombies. That makes Lychee an idiot or a prankster!”

“I’m telling the truth!” the young pony protested.

“Somepony should go look,” I said. “I needed a walk anyway. And it could be something worse than feral ghouls.”

“Worse?” Grog asked.

“Living ponies,” I said. “Let’s make sure it’s not raiders pretending to be the undead.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Grog grumbled. “We do have enough outcasts and madmares on this island to make an army.”

“No reason not to check it out, right?” I said.

“Should talk to his parents either way,” Grog agreed. “You really want to come with? You’re…”

“If there’s some kind of trouble, I’ll find it,” I said. “That’s how my life is.”

---

Outside the resort, it looked almost like early spring. Most of the ground was black loam and fast-growing sprouts and young plants, but in the shadows where the wind and rain didn’t reach there were banks of white, pale ash like snow.

Grog led me down a well-worn path, ignoring a body right by the side of the trail.

“That’s one of the ghouls,” he noted, without even looking at it. “They don’t decay, and it won’t get up even if you poke it. We killed a few of them before we realized they were keeping things from getting worse, so now we just leave ‘em alone and have the farmers come into the resort when there’s ashfall.”

“Huh,” I mumbled, trotting past. There were a few trees, twisty things growing out of the wet soil, but I could see where a lot of the timber had been cleared away.

“Believe it or not, these farms were set up before the war,” Grog said. We walked past a fenced-in pasture. “The original builder of Gator World loved farms and trains. They were sort of working tourist attractions for the old park. Ponies would come and see pineapples and coffee being grown and get to take some home fresh from the field. For a price, of course. Mare also charged for everything. Make sure you don’t lose that bracelet.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “Fog Cutter told me already.” I held up the plastic cuff around my left foreleg. “It’s how the robots identify ponies who have season passes, right?”

“Right. Room key, pays for your food and drinks, does practically everything around here. If you lose it the bots might start treating you like an intruder. Or worse, they’ll make you scrounge up bits.” He chuckled at his joke.

We walked past a wrecked farmhouse. It wasn’t fresh -- the damage had to be more than a decade old. Grog glanced at that, even if he’d ignored the ghoul lying in the dirt. I saw guilt cross his face.

“Anyway,” he said, shaking it off and looking away. “Lychee lives down the road a little, so we should have this figured out in no time.”

It was the first time I had a good look at the island outside of the walled garden of the resort. Calling it natural would have been wrong. There were clearly signs that the trail we were following was still something built by pre-war ponies. The stones making it up were really concrete blocks made to look like weathered river stones, but if I looked carefully I could see how there were repeats of the same five or six ‘natural’ shapes over and over again, and paint was wearing away from the most-trampled parts of the path. One oddly-shaped block caught my attention for a moment, a shape like a curled alligator made of stone.

Signs led us to the farms, and then to the fenced-in fields. It was the first time I’d seen anything quite like it. Straight rows of plants like aloe or datura but around a short stalk topped with a single golden, spiky crown each.

“What the buck…” Grog stopped in front of me. I tore my attention away from the strange plants to look up at the farm. Ponies were milling around outside it, stopping at doors and windows and rattling the locked shutters. I could tell at a glance that these weren’t raiders in costume. They were dried out and ravaged in the way only ghouls could be, clad in scraps of clothing turned the same color as the ashes by time and rot.

“Looks like the kid was telling the truth,” I said.

“Right. You go back and tell everypony,” Grog said. “I’ve got this.”

I scoffed and grabbed a fallen branch. It was sturdy enough to be a decent club. “I need the exercise.” Before he could argue with me more, I charged.

In a way, ghouls were the ideal opponent to help me get back in shape. They were slow and predictable and they weren’t some crazy unkillable thing made out of living metal. Best of all, they weren’t really alive or aware of things so I didn’t have to feel guilty when I swung for the fences and hit the first one’s head so hard it flew right off its neck and into the air in a clean ballistic arc.

“Woo!” I turned to the next one. It looked up at me and hissed, eyes burning like coals. I spun around and immediately stumbled, totally off balance. My butt hit the wall of the farmhouse and it took that whole building to keep me from falling over.

A shot rang out, and the ghoul’s head exploded. Grog worked a bolt-action rifle, struggling to get the next shot loaded. A third and fourth ghoul lurched around the sides of the building in something almost like strategy by flanking me. Unfortunately for them, I was immune to strategy.

About a minute later, they were all the way dead and Grog was speaking with the family inside the farm and making sure they were doing okay. I looked at where one of them had managed to bite me and glared at it, annoyed. It wasn’t really bleeding, but the fact I’d gotten hurt at all seemed silly. The toothmarks were a reminder that I was rusty and it had nothing to do with the dip in saltwater.

“They’re all fine,” Grog said when he finished doing the friendly thing. “They don’t have any idea where the ghouls came from.”

I looked past him and waved to the small family. I couldn’t help but notice the faint stripes.

“Are they… part zebra?” I asked.

“Yeah, but they’re good ponies,” Grog said firmly. He gave me a challenging look like I was going to fight him about that. “Gator World was always inclusive and we try to keep up that tradition, thank you.”

“No, it’s cool,” I said, waving a hoof. “I just wondered if these were some kinda zebra plant. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

I motioned to the crop.

“You’ve never seen a pineapple?”

“...I guess not,” I admitted.

Grog smiled. “I’ll see if we can get you a fresh one. You did help save their lives, I think they might be willing to share some of their crop. There’s nothing like them. The king of fruit!”

I smiled and nodded. That actually sounded really nice.

“We should probably figure out why this happened first,” I said.

Grog’s smile faded and he nodded. “Let’s move the bodies away from the farm.”

I helped him drag them out of the fields. When we did, a scrap of paper fell out of the ghoul’s worn clothing. I stopped to pick it up and read it.

“Are these… orders?” I mumbled. The ancient form was faded, but it was Equestrian army paperwork from before the war, the paper torn and sun-washed on one edge, water damaged, dirty… and written on by a recent hoof in darker ink, ordering the soldiers out to attack ‘zebra collaborators’.

“Let me see that,” Grog said. He took the form, and I poked the bodies of the ghouls a little harder. Now that I really looked, the worn clothing looked more and more like a ruined uniform. “This is insane,” he mumbled. “It’s signed by Commander Lime.”

“Commander Lime?” I asked.

“The Equestrian Navy wanted a presence on the island, so they built a small base on the eastern shore. Kaffir Leaf Base. It was just a token presence, but Commander Lime died during the war. Whatever happened across the ocean that created all the ash… they got the first wave of it and died. The robot caretakers weren’t allowed on base, so they couldn’t lead them to safety like the ones did for our ancestors at the resort.”

“Died, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone,” I said, nudging one of the undead. “I’ll go take a look.”

Grog shook his head. “It’s not safe. The place is probably still radioactive, even if the rest of the island is safe.”

I weighed that carefully. On the one hoof, I wasn’t really worried about radiation. On the other hoof, I was already tired just from a few stumbling lurchers like these. If there was a ghoul that still had it together well enough to write orders, he could be more than I could manage on my own.

And on the third hoof if I couldn’t take down one smart ghoul I might as well have burned up completely, and that ran me out of hooves entirely. I was going.

“I’ll just take a look,” I said. “If it’s too much I’ll come back.”

Grog didn’t look certain, so I gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“You focus on keeping everypony safe at the resort until this blows over. Maybe it’s nothing.”

---

“Just a test-run,” I told myself as I walked past the chain-link fence. It was surprisingly easy to tell this wasn’t part of the park. Thanks to some directions from Grog, I’d learned the path to the naval base was hidden away down a dirt path concealed from obvious view and with nothing obvious along it where it broke off from the main park road.

It was clear this side of the island had gotten the worst of whatever disaster happened across the sea. It had to be some kind of megaspell carpet bombing. I couldn’t imagine anything else that would make enough radioactive ash to carry across the sea for centuries. If they had a boat in the naval base that would float, maybe I could…

Well I wasn’t sure what I could do. I didn’t know how to sail, but I wasn’t sure how the buck else I was going to get off this island.

First thing was first, though. The base wasn’t very big. The trail took me in from the north, the dirt road leading down and around a large, cleared area. The ash was thicker here, building up in piles next to the mostly-ruined buildings. They all had that cheap prefab look that stuff did from that era, everything churned out by huge factories and dropped into place. The remnants of an ancient Vertibuck totally ruined by weather lay on a helipad next to the largest building, and tents were laid out in squares and were mostly just scraps wrapped around broken poles now.

Somehow, the flag had survived on the flagpole. It was probably enchanted. Ponies did that kind of weird, patriotic thing two centuries ago.

I watched a ghoul parade up to the flag, lurching and sleepwalking his way across the ash, then stop and look up. Some dim glimmer of recognition must have washed over him, because the decrepit undead raised a hoof to his forehead and saluted.

Rusting loudspeakers blared to life with a tortured electronic squeal. “An intruder has entered the base!” The voice was only a little louder than the interference. The ghouls must have understood it just fine, though. The feral zombies started lurching and sliding their way out of where they lurked, pulling themselves from shallow graves and starting on dimly-remembered patrol routes.

“Don’t mind me,” I said, picking up the pace. The prosthetic was starting to get annoying. When I was walking normally it was fine, but it clearly wasn’t designed for running and the joints were developing a slight squeal already like they needed oiling.

I checked the front door of the main building. It was locked. I shoved harder. The stupid thing said push, I wasn’t trying to get in a pull door. I could feel the ancient rusting handle still moving despite its age and wear, but the door refused to listen.

“Come on, you stupid--” I wasn’t going to be outsmarted by a bucking piece of wood!

I kicked the door open. Fine ash billowed out, and I tasted metal. It hadn’t been locked. There were literally dunes of the stuff inside where the rain couldn’t wash it away. It was almost chest height along the walls, and everything was that same grey color. Between the haze in the air and the monochrome world, I felt half-blind.

“I’m a scary invader,” I called out. “Anypony want to come and stop me?”

Hissing and screaming came from within. Just as planned. No, really. Why waste the energy to sneak around and bonk them on the head when I knew they’d come running with no real strategy?

“Oh that’s a lot of them,” I said, as the dunes of ash erupted. The dead poured from them, and I pretty much instantly lost track of how many there were. I started swinging the club I’d brought with me. It was one of those situations where it all blurred into screaming faces and clawing hooves and biting teeth.

You know, normal stuff down here on the surface.

I’d love to say I stood like a wall of steel and let the waves of ghouls bash themselves against me, but the truth was there were more than I expected and I was very quickly overwhelmed and tripping over myself, shoving a growling feral zombie out of the way and trying to get distance from the hoard. I got through a narrow doorway and managed to hold it for a few moments before I gave up and had to slam the door shut and shove some junk against it to hold it closed. Claws and stumbling bodies crashed into the overbuilt door, and the box of rusted metal parts in front of it held it closed long enough for me to pull a set of lockers down and push them into place as a better barricade.

I collapsed against it, feeling the vibration of the undead attacking the door through it. I could barely breathe. I felt like my body was torn apart inside from the effort, I couldn’t catch my breath, and my heart hurt in my chest. That last thing was probably a bad sign.

“I am really out of bucking shape,” I panted.

A bullet ricocheted off the locker next to my head.

“You’ll never take us alive, zebra scum!” A second shot came from where a pony was hiding behind a huge wooden desk that took up half the room. I flinched and ducked into better cover behind a hanging, faded flag on a stand.

I took a better look at the room I’d fled into. About two hundred years ago when it hadn’t been monochrome it had been a very well-decorated office. The remnants of a plush carpet rotted under my flank, I could make out some of the shapes of paintings on the wall, and I could see a nameplate on that giant desk. Commander Lime.

“Really?” I whispered to myself, ducking back from a third shot that ripped through the old flag.

“We’ll never stop fighting, and we’ll never allow you zebra infiltrators and collaborators to win!” Commander Lime growled from where he lurked. We were almost in the same situation, each hiding from the other, with the big exception the fact he had a gun and I didn’t. “You quislings are hiding them! Protecting them!”

“Do you want to try talking it out?” I asked. “I’ve had sort of mixed results but--”

Shot number four found a target. I probably should have kept my stupid mouth shut. I yelped in pain and stumbled out into the open. The ghoul must have heard my cry of pain because he stood up and I got a glimpse of the pony in his elaborate dress uniform, complete with medals, before he fired the last two shots in his revolver right into my chest.

I collapsed to the ground.

He put the gun down on his desk and trotted over to me, almost walking steadily despite his broken, cracked hooves.

“Give ‘em a taste of Equestrian iron and they run for the hills,” Lime mumbled through dry lips. He got closer to look at his handiwork, looming over me and peering down at me with those burning coals he had in place of eyes.

I lunged up and grabbed his neck, twisting it sharply. There was a loud crack.

Lime fell limp, and I let go. His jaw was still working when he landed. He glared up at me. I stomped once on his skull, and it was over.

I panted, and every breath hurt. I sat down to look at my chest. He’d been a damn good shot for somepony who’d been dead for two hundred years. Both bullets hit me center of mass, right into my ribs. They hadn’t penetrated far between my tough skin and what SIVA had done to my bones, but they’d still torn up the flesh between in stinging furrows that bled slowly. Ash was already caking in the would. I had to imagine radioactive ash was one of the worst things to get in a cut.

I was still poking at the wound, trying to decide if I should try and find something to wash it out with, when I saw a glimmer of light coming from the Commander’s chest.

I tilted my head and leaned down, opening up what proved to be a very recent tear in his clothing. His chest had been cut open crudely, the area over his heart scooped out like a pony making the worst ice cream cone of all time.

In place of his heart was a rock the size of my fist, a rough geode or crystal made of a dimly glowing reddish-purple crystals. Somepony had put it there.

“Now things are getting interesting,” I mumbled to myself.

Comments

[Thought Prism]

*sees new coverart*

Oh god she landed in Pony Florida. This is going to be the most harrowing arc yet.

[Reese]

"what lie in each direction along the path"
"what lay in each direction along the path"?

"Ash was already caking in the would."
"Ash was already caking in the wound."?

"a rock the size of my fist, a rough geode or crystal made of a dimly glowing reddish-purple crystals"
"a rock the size of my fist, a rough geode or crystal made of dimly glowing reddish-purple crystals"?
Also, what fist?

Well! I definitely wasn't expecting this, but, as I was expecting, I remain neither disappointed nor disinterested! :D
Thanks for writing!

[Gabriel Miranda]

I finally catched up, I'm loving the fic!

Is there any art for how chamomile looks like? And also, what's her accent like?

[Ahsoka Tano]

what is this tahiti :P