Prologue

Mind numbing, all Vinyl Scratch could think of the current predicament as mind numbing. She wasn’t at her turntable like every night in Ponyvillle, but she was lazing on a long couch she had bought some time ago. She sighed, as lightning cracked outside with great ferocity.

It was going to be one very long night, as Vinyl looked around in the room with thunder reverberating around the sleepy town. Lately, she has been running out of ideas on what to do for her performances, as she slowly ran out of songs to remix like she always does. It made her a little more ecstatic, but for how long? It was the reason why she wanted to get her lazy rump off the couch and actually do something productive, but instead she was stuck to it like glue.

Inside the house, the sound of a cello echoed as Vinyl’s roommate, Octavia, was busy practicing for her next show in Canterlot, two weeks from now. Although she appreciated Octavia’s music, it made her terribly sleepy because in her terms, it was for ‘rich snobs’ in the city.

Vinyl wasn’t that far off, as the notorious Prince Blueblood would be present there. She didn’t like the sniveling, ungrateful little brat who had called her ‘unruly’ and ‘noisy’, nopony had the guts to even say that to the DJ in the face and yet, all it took was just one arrogant pony to piss her off to the max.

In short, Vinyl left Blueblood a broken nose and a leg for a week, which resulted in Princess Celestia’s heated session with her in private, and Blueblood’s constant demands that she be ‘executed’.

She flopped onto her back just as the storm let loose another bolt of lightning out, nearly striking the house. She could hear her familiar array of songs being played in her head, nothing unusual to herself. She groaned again as she hoped the storm was coming to a close for tonight.

Then something popped up inside her greying brain, a new beat that she hasn’t heard of before. It went on and on, with an electronic tune to it and as the background beat, the cracking of thunder. Could this be her spark of inspiration?

She smiled and now had a plan for the week, to create a new song using both nature and machine. But first off, the production couldn’t start tonight, as she was exhausted with today’s roll of events. Nopony could blame her though; being a DJ was tiring, as you had to keep with the crowd in order to keep their attention to your music.

Getting some strength, she clambered out of the couch and trotted over to the windows, her purple-tinted goggles hung around her neck firmly. She could see the drops of waters descending from the clouds above, courtesy of the Pegasi weather team who worked hard to keep the cycle up and running. It was all very serene and peaceful, even DJs could appreciate nature’s beauty besides the electronic rhythms that they churned out at parties.

Vinyl yawned and checked the wall clock that was mounted above the fireplace in her home as the rain slowly receded. It was already 11’o clock, she should be getting some rest for now, and that was what she planned as she trotted to her room, Octavia still playing away her graceful melody.

There were some funny incidents related to these two unlikely friends, and one constant rumor that wouldn’t die down, saying that these two were marefriends. Hey! She wasn’t a darn lesbian, or anything related to that, there will be a stallion for her later but even as much as she cared for Octavia, she wasn’t a lesbian.

If only there was a way to prove it wrong, but it would come later as she pushed the door to her room open, yawning the second time. Octavia could hear this and piped up at the DJ’s sudden interest in napping.

“Vinyl? You’re going to bed so early?”

“’Tavi, there’s no gigs for me tonight, so might as well hit the hay before I go out getting drunk on apple cider like the last time,” Vinyl responded as Octavia immediately recalled that certain incident, and couldn’t help but stifle an unladylike giggle which Vinyl grimaced at, it was a terrible incident and somehow it involved the complete demolition of the town hall.

She and Derpy were charged with arson and promptly paid over a thousand bits to restore it completely, and that is the reason why Vinyl never did alcohol again, or at the very least less often then she usually did.

“Yeah, I can hear that snorting of yours. Don’t think that I don’t remember the noodle incident,” Vinyl responded, or rather growled, at Octavia who immediately flustered and as the result, almost damaged her family cello.

“Er-um… I t-thought we weren’t s-supposed to talk about that!”

“Then don’t ask me why I’m going to bed so early.” It was final, as Vinyl flopped onto her comfortable bed. Her room was covered in posters of other world-class DJs that she admired, or maybe even worshipped. She was only a DJ in Equestria, but the most popular one was a group of Griffins who called themselves ‘Screellix’ and boy, do they churn up the beats like nothing.

She sighed and took her goggles off, using her natural magic to float it onto her personal turntable on the other side of the room. Letting loose another yawn and flickering her eyelids, she shortly fell asleep and snored away the rest of the dying night, the only awake one being an Octavia who was on the brink of total exhaustion because of her determination to finish up her sheets just in time for the performance.

The sweet melody of a cello filled the area around the town after the storm, as Cthulu and the Didact watched from above. These two are in no way involved in any further events, but their presence requires so.

“So Didact, my friend, do you think anything fucking awesome is gonna happen?”

“I do not know the answer to that, it’s been eons since I’ve been stranded on this forsaken planet because of the humans,” the Didact sighed, Cthulu giving him a pat on the back of his Promethean armor, causing it to groan.

“Cheer up mate, I’ve been waitin’ years to destroy this place, and a whole lot others,” Chthulu responded as he looked up into the sky and snapped his fingers, he might not be Discord, but he was more than capable of extraterrestrial chaos. “Aaaaand there goes Pluto, fuckin’ Japanese.”

“What is a ‘Japanese’, Cthulu? I am only familiar with humans and not of their subspecies.”

“Well, it’s a pretty long thing and it goes like this….” The Lovecraftian god rambled on and on for ages, even after the destruction of Canterlot at the hands of the Reapers a thousand centuries ahead, which Cthulu supported, then the Didact’s Forerunner armada fought with the Reapers and then shit happens…

You get the gist of it.

#---#

Ah, nothing like a midnight shootout. Ross Brannenburg was laying prone on a flat rock, his deadly M27 Gauss rifle ready for fire as the Lone Wanderer was sneaking up behind a group of Enclave soldiers. “Same old shit.”

“As always, never gets tiring busting their brains out, Ross,” the Wanderer spoke into his radio as he approached the unaware soldiers and scientists with his Combat shotgun ready.

“Can I shoot already?”

“See the fingers?” Ross looked down and found the Wanderer had put up his hand, three fingers visible. “Wait first, I don’t want to miss out on the fun.”

“Damn, you’ve been having fun for I don’t know, ever since we both busted out of the Vault?” Ross replied impatiently. He and the Wanderer were both Vault dwellers, and they were practically brothers after their exit from the cold, dull walls of the Vault. But the Wanderer had a clear task, whilst Ross had none.

So it was then Ross became the first companion of the Wanderer, who naturally had know-how of energy weapons. After almost a year of crusading across the Wasteland and the Enclave close to defeat, Ross was now seeking to make his own name, to be his own Lone Wanderer. But there were many things to be fulfilled if one is to become such a legend.

Did he have any vendetta against anyone? No.

Did he have an objective? No.

Did he have a big fucking inventory of guns? Hell yes.

How about a companion? Now that was going to be hard to find… Ross was promptly snapped out of his trance and went back to adjusting his aim onto an Enclave soldier geared up in Hellfire armor. The Gauss rifle was a gift from the Wanderer himself, having no need for it since he had another rifle that he found a little more satisfying to use instead. Ross was glad that he had received such a priceless relic, and now was his go-to weapon, followed up by his trusty Plasma Defender that somehow landed in the Capital Wasteland.

It was the least of his worries as the Wanderer’s fingers now withdrew, and in a minute the whole place was set ablaze. The Wanderer blasted an Enclave scientist to bits and shot the soldier with a Gatling laser next, wounding him through his thick armor plating. The Hellfire soldier grunted and raised his Incinerator to scorch the legend…

Only to have his head blown off by Ross who laid prone on the rocky outcropping as an Enclave soldier noticed him, causing him to grunt. “Oh shit, son!”

He quickly pulled out the empty magazine and took out another of his precious ammunition, slotting it in with an inaudible but nevertheless satisfying click.

“Now you see why I prefer my own sniper?”

“Doesn't change a single fucking thing, brother!” Ross energetically replied as he opened up V.A.T.S, causing the entire world to slow down as the Enclaves who were practically cloaked in the night were highlighted with shades of blue. He smirked and picked his choice of targets, the mini-gunner… The scientist…

Satisfied, V.A.T.S automatically turned off and soon the two targets were nothing but bits and pieces of their deceased forms. This rifle was not of the Anchorage Simulation as the Wanderer had spoken about; rather it was an old M72 Gauss rifle that they had stumbled onto. This variety of rifle was more powerful than the one the Wanderer had used during his adventures in Anchorage and thus, it allowed Ross to easily snipe off even the heads of deathclaws with ease.

The firefight raged on as the Wanderer pulled out a Chinese assault rifle and finished off a badly wounded Enclave soldier before using it as a club to whack a fleeing scientist in the head, killing him instantly as Ross was growing bored of laying in just one place.

“Well, I can let you finish them off on the ground, do you want to?”

“No shit,” Ross responded as he struggled to get up and jumped down, his Plasma defender at the ready with the ambling Enclaves firing their weapons blindly at this new target who rushed to engage them. “It’s been a while since I’ve even moved.”

“Heh, maybe I should let you go in first later…”

“Nah, I’ve been wanting to say this but I think we should split up,” Ross said over the defender blasting away at one of the Enclave soldiers who grunted in intense pain.

“…What?”

“You know what, I’ll let you know the details after we finish off these bitches.” Ross had just killed one more and rushed out of cover to finish off the other one who now was fleeing away from him, Ross called this ‘being a pussy’ but somehow to the Enclave, it just meant a ‘tactical’ retreat.

“Hey asshole! Quit being a baby and get over here-Gunfire cut him out as two bullets hit his shoulder, causing him to recoil and grunt in pain. The Wanderer saw this and quickly rushed over, pulling out a stimpack.

“Whoa, whoa! You needing a stimpack, buddy?”

“Nah, I’ve suffered worst, like a pack of rabid deathclaws.”

“Can’t argue with that, he’s yours.” Ross smiled and heaved up his M72, aiming it for the fleeing Enclave soldier. With one pull of the trigger, the soldier violently exploded into pieces and metal. “And scratch one. Nice shot, still one of the Wasteland’s best marksmen, are you?”

“Yep, still am,” Ross replied as he slung back the rifle, still having half a clip, and looked at his wounds. “As I quote the Black Knight, ‘Tis just a flesh wound.’”

“Hah, never gets old,” The Wanderer chuckled before his impression switched to a more serious one. “Anyway, what was it about splitting up?”

“Oh, right…” Ross sighed and sat down on a nearby bloodstained rock. “Are you able to handle yourself now?”

“Well, depends really,” The Wanderer said as he pulled out a 44.Magnum and polished it with a ragged cloth. “I’ve been through lots of shit ever since our exit. Mutants, Talon mercenaries, the Enclave and a whole lot of shit.”

“That’s good, it means that we can go our own ways.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Ross stuttered, not knowing how to break the truth to his best Vault friend. “I think I should make a name for myself.”

“But you have a name! You’re the friend of the Lone Wanderer! A friend of the legend! You’ve fought by my side since we left the Vault!” He said loudly, causing Ross to feel bad for wanting to be his own man.

“I know, but it’s just… I want to be another lone wanderer, and you should concentrate on finding your dad,” Ross replied solemnly, his intentions to leave him clear, very clear. “We’re friends and I get that, maybe we can help each other out, you know.”

The concerned Wanderer thought for a long while before responding.“…So you really want to be another wanderer of the Wasteland just like me, huh?” The son of James responded as he pulled out something from his pocket. “Well, if you’re going to be the next crazy son of a bitch in this place, might as well take some of these.” He tossed two rare 2mm EC magazines, which Ross caught expertly, three stimpacks, five Med-Xs with a stringent warning not to get addicted to them and for one last time, a bottle of Vodka.

“Vodka as our farewell drink? My favorite,” Ross replied as he pulled out his own bottle of vodka, popping the cap open and offering a toast. “One last drink.”

“One last drink indeed, old buddy,” the Wanderer declared as their bottles clinked, and they took one big gulp each. “Man, vodka is the stuff!”

“You said it,” Ross replied heartily as he swiped his lips clean of the alcohol before he put his hand into his pocket. “Oh yeah, you should take some of these.”

The Wanderer look on with confusion before declining. “No thanks, keep what you earn.” Ross immediately withdrew the bottle caps and checked his M72 for external cracks. “I’ve got a lot of caps already anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” he responded as he pulled up his hand, checking his Pipboy 3000 on where they were. “I guess we’re about a few klicks away from the Citadel, where are you going next?”

“Hmm… I dunno, they said Dad went northeast towards Vault 112, it’s pretty damn far though,” the Wanderer responded as he straightened up and withdrew the revolver, pulling out the same Chinese assault rifle as before from his back. “I guess that’s where I’m going, how ‘bout you?”

“…Rivet City?” Ross responded, Rivet City was a good place to hang out for a little while, having been built inside an actual but damaged aircraft carrier planned for usage during the Great War, as Ross remembered. “Muddy Rudder sells some good drinks there and I’ve got a room, maybe listen to some radio on the way there.”

“That’s my Ross, always listenin’ to the music of old,” the Wanderer responded as he patted Ross, who flinched at this. Everybody who was acquainted with the two friends knew that Ross liked music, not the old hyped ones but instead, he liked classical music, those played on violins and pianos. He’d hoped to salvage a piano from the wrecks of D.C, but it seemed quite hopeless judging that Washington was the most heavily nuked place in America.

It was time, Ross wanted to move out now in fear of further Enclave patrols, even though this was their 30th patrol. “Well, loner. Gotta run.”

“Same here, take care of yourself,” they waved good-bye and Ross watched the Wanderer took off into the night, vanishing shortly after because of a used Stealth Boy. Ross sighed, and walked slowly towards the ruins of D.C, where the Brotherhood of Steel was located, and where the Mutants roamed under threat from the Paladins and Talon mercenaries.

But this time, he was completely alone, unprotected by his best friend who had gone off to look for his father. He shuddered as a cold breeze swept though the air, it was a full moon tonight and he couldn’t resist looking up towards the solace of the midnight sky.

“First night alone, without my best buddy,” he muttered to himself as he trudged forward without any further though, his scavenged boots crunching on the gravel. “A name for myself? Let’s see if that happens.”

He continued forwards, until he stumbled upon a grisly sight. There were four Raiders gathered around two clothed corpses, they spat out insults at the corpses before one of them guffawed and lit a match, shortly tossing it on the bodies and setting them on fire.

Raiders, he hated them. No remorse, no feelings and certainly no better than a Mutant. He grimaced and decided to kill them, to avenge whoever killed these alit bodies. Unslinging his M27, his aim reached the head of one of the helmeted ones and in a short moment, he pulled the trigger as his rare NCR riot armor shuddered under the recoil of the Great War relic.

How he got NCR armor in a place so far was a mystery even to the Lone Wanderer, but they all assumed he was somehow related with a high-ranking person in the Mojave Desert, something he constantly denied.

Anyway, the first raider who threw the match had his head torn off his neck by the sheer force of the super-accelerated metal ball. The others barked and raised their weapons, a mixed arsenal of lead pipes and hunting rifles. “That bastard took out Kenny!”

“Just as I wanted,” Ross coldly responded as his M27 spouted another high-speed ball bearing that killed another raider, leaving the last growling with his rifle at the ready.

“Come and get me! I ain’t afraid of anyone!”

“As you wish,” Ross grandly declared, thinking himself as an assassin and activating his limited supply of Stealth Boys, totally wrapping him in darkness as he pulled out a silenced pistol and a combat knife, unslinging his M27. Slipping past two rocks, he could hear the remaining raider taunt him as he looked around, trying to slay the beast of the night. In thirty seconds, Ross was right behind the now frightened raider who swerved constantly.

“Hey,” he said in a raspy voice, causing the raider to slowly turn back, knowing he was capitally fucked. “Surprise.”

The raider had a knife straight up into his abdomen, and then with a quick thud, his body fell down. Ross was now satisfied with the deaths of these filthy beings and held out the knife in the moonlight, the blood of the dead shining like a ruby in the dirt. This was his first conflict without the help of his best friend, and he actually fared a lot better then he expected.

Happy and not wanting to clean the knife, he sheathed it and holstered his silenced pistol before heading out towards the city, it’s lights now visible over the former windows of wracked buildings.

It was half an hour before he finally reached Rivet City, and now he was flat out tired. He saw the security chief, a man named Harkness, patrolling for hostile mirelurks, raiders and mutants with his signature plasma rifle in tow. Harkness spun his head to find the companion of the Wanderer panting away towards the entrance to the city. “Well, well, well. It’s you again, where’s your friend?”

“I had a little discussion with him, and now I’m just my own company,” Brannenburg replied as he wheezed and put his gloved hand onto the aging hull of the carrier as Harkness folded his arms.

“I can see that. Good for you, getting to be a one man army,” the chief replied to Ross as he rubbed his forehead. “What is it, one in the morning? Aren’t you a little tired or something?”

“I guess so,” Ross sleepily replied, wishing he had vodka right now. But he had one, and the reason why he wasn’t taking it was just a bunch of simple karma rules;

1. No alcohol after midnight.
2. No scotch after a barfight.
3. Absolutely no Jet before or after killing.
4. And most of all, no imitating of a legendary warrior they call ‘Leeroy Jenkins’, especially after midnight.

Damn, he felt tired and shuffled towards the opening inside the carrier. “Have a good sleep, tomorrow is just grey like today.”

“Don’t be a soulless machine, Harkness,” Ross replied, reflecting on the mood of the security chief, who just let out a grunt and watched him ascend towards the Weatherly Hotel. Now this hotel was one of Ross’s favorite places, and it only cost 120 caps per stay to his delight. He had more than enough to pay off the kind young lady, named Vera, managing the hotel as he entered the room.

“Hello, Brannenburg! It’s quite the surprise to see you here in the early hours of dawn,” Vera chimed in as she stood behind the counter, her eyelids almost closing. “You’re quite the lucky one to catch me awake.”

“I didn’t expect you to be up too, just that Mister Handy you call your best friend,” Ross commented, knowing that this lady was friends with a robot named ‘Buckingham’. It was an odd name, but this was the Wasteland and he could spend all day looking for the fucks the Wasteland had to offer to him.

Just then, Buckingham floated into the scene. “You know, sir. I am here still operating.”

“That’s our robot,” Ross smiled, Vera followed. She was an attractive woman to Ross’s standards, but he just called her a friend because it was hard enough to keep a relationship as a companion to a legend. “So anyway, room 415!”

“Got it!” Vera exclaimed as she opened up a drawer and grabbed a set of keys, tossing it towards Ross, his helmet’s twin red visors reflecting the room and adding to his mysterious persona.

“Thanks, Vera,” Ross politely replied back as he stood up, grunting underneath the weight of the NCR armor.

“No problem, Brannen,” Vera responded back. “Speaking of which, how did you get that armor of yours? The NCR’s all the way out in those deserts of theirs, and we’re here in D.C.”

“Details are quite foggy and long, Vera. Want to spent time until six in the morning to hear how I got this?” Ross sarcastically responded, reminding himself of that unfortunate incident with an NCR Ranger and an Enclave patrol, something that he never let on to his buddy during his travels.

It was technically his first fight alone, but now he was a full-fledged lone wanderer and he had to fend for himself now. But there was still some things that were missing, he thought as he entered the room.

He had no clear objective unlike the Wanderer, no vendettas or anything at all. Adding to the list that he had, in fact, no other friends in the Wasteland, he was your regular Wastelander, albeit heavily armored, smart, a natural sniper and most of all, a person who dreamed about hearing music.

He unslung his M72 and with his free hand, opened the cabinet nearby with ease to hang up the rifle. He stood back and unsheathed his knife, putting it on the table along with his silenced pistol and Plasma Defender.

Then he finally twisted the helmet open to reveal two electric blue irises and silver streaks running through his hair. Following with the removal of his coat, he then flopped onto the bed and flickered, getting up slowly to close the door before lying down on the bed again.

It took a while before Ross fell asleep, and he felt a little better knowing that he could make his own choices now. All he just needed was a challenging task and a close friend like his relationship with the Wanderer and himself.

But the question was, where could he obtain such a friend?

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GhostofSandwich

GhostofSandwich #1 · Mar 31st, 2013 · 1 · ·

I love this so much! Awesome premise, plus it has plenty of funny moments that don't kill the mood or over do themselves. That, and this is the first story in a month that I found myself actually reading! Without going off to do something else!

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