> Fallout: Equestria - Whispers
>  by Kingofhills
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Sheepshead
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Fallout: Equestria - Whispers


Written by Kingofhills



Chapter 1: Sheepshead


“It’s the end of the world, all over again…”


If I had to describe most of my life, I’d say it was… nice.

Up until I was slightly older than a foal, my father kept me busy in one way or another. He raised me on his own, provided me with crude toys, sometimes of his own making, played games with me, all while working hard to make all this come true and prevent us both from starving. How he always managed to find enough time for everything including sleep, ensuring I grew up properly, preparing food, fixing things for locals, and not going insane, I will probably never know.

It was him who taught me the basics needed for survival, how to talk to ponies, what NOT to say when someone is accusing you of something, and so on. Some of these sounded quite extreme, especially to a foal of my age; tips such as “What to do when I find a bloodied knife and the air smells badly?” was one of the suggestions that I remembered the most. Maybe it was their sinister implication, the underlying tone of “what would happen if I didn’t do it” that made them so memorable; maybe it was their uniqueness, compared to other lessons I received.

But by far the most interesting and useful skill I had learned from living with my father was tinkering and repairing stuff. Throughout the years, he shared with me the passion of disassembling and reassembling items, improving their design, cleaning, oiling, and - to a certain degree - even jury-rigging. There was something particularly satisfying about seeing the device you’ve been working on for a couple of days finally kick into life… well, at least until I got a new thing to tinker with, and the cycle then repeated.

I guess I was kind of a nut when it comes to fixing stuff.

Other than that, I lived a pretty normal life, as far as wasteland standards go. As I grew up, I learned the values that living in a small, closely bonded society entailed, and I learned how important it was to cooperate and help each other out. Compared to some places I have heard of in stories, we were one of the most peaceful communities out there.

That is, until that one day.


* * *


I woke up as soon as the first rays of sunshine snuck their way past the old, dirty curtains, only to be stopped by my face on the simple bed. The warmth caused me to shift my head to the side, only to be affected by the same beam of light just a moment later. Realising that I would not win this fight, my brain eventually sent out the wake-up call to the rest of my body, and I lazily opened my eyes to look at the same, wooden wall that always welcomed me from my slumber.

A groan and a small dose of procrastination later, I got up onto my hooves, looking around the room. Nothing ever changed here; nothing but the chaotic mess of screws, metal elements, pipes and tools scattered around. My own little projects, stuff that I sometimes worked on in my spare time. Every now and then some parts would turn into a convoluted mess of wiring and jury-rigged mish-mash that, surprisingly, worked. Not always in a way I had wanted it to, but still worked. The furniture and the walls, however, stayed the same throughout  the years.

Reluctantly, I left the mess behind me and walked down the stairs onto the main level of our house. My father and I lived in a pre-war, relatively renovated building made mostly out of wood and stone. Its simplistic design fit well with the general style of pre-war northern Equestria, and the architects made sure Sheepshead was full of these kinds of constructions. It felt as if every other household was copied and then pasted a few dozen feet further down the road. I remember thinking that the designers for this place were the most boring and unoriginal ponies that ever existed, but as I grew up I started to suspect that streamlined production was much higher in wartime Equestria’s priorities than aesthetic qualities.

Realising that my dad was not home at the moment, having likely gone out to the general store, I picked the door immediately to my left, which led to our little kitchen, and grabbed some mashed Tatos we prepared together the day before. Quickly munching on the impromptu breakfast, I swiftly trotted out onto the street, with the chilly air causing my nostrils to momentarily narrow as the rays of sunshine weakly hit my face.

Even this early on, our little town was heavily waking from its slumber. Local denizens slowly walked out of their homes just as I did, tending to their daily business and chatting with their friends. The faint smell of homely cooking lingered in the air as brahmins called out to their masters to tend to their needs. The soft sound of hooves clopping against the dusty road echoed between the buildings as more and more villagers came out of their hiding spots, ready to start the day. A bigger group of ponies was gathered by the main entrance to the village, though from that distance it was hard to see what the commotion was all about. A distinct rustle of wings betrayed our local pair of griffons, Sharpbeak and Featherlight, heading out towards the palisade gate, presumably to take the shift away from the night guard.

Were it not for that last part, one could think that our village was frozen in time from before the balefire.

Among the few ponies that decided to spend the day actively right from the start I had noticed the one, familiar face I had been looking for. The mare was talking to someone who looked like a caravan driver with exceptionally broad shoulders and flanks. Her sandy blonde mane gently waved in the morning breeze, complementing the light brown coat with a couple of freckles right next to her snout. Her lean frame, clad in simple leather armor with additional padding on her shoulders and knees, looked even smaller compared to the burly earth pony next to her. That did not make her look any less respectable, though. I also noticed her trusty, old pistol holstered right by her front right leg, ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice.

I approached her with a cheerful smile, yet she didn’t even notice at first, clearly preoccupied with chat between her and the caravan driver. The closer I got, the more I noticed their worried expressions, which in turn made me frown as well. It took the mare a couple of seconds to spot me. Her worry seemed to dissipate in an instant, replaced by a similar, cheerful smile I had shown just moments earlier.

“Hey Tinker,” she greeted me with a nod. “I see you aren’t wasting any time today?”

My snout curled into a grin as I chuckled. “Nope. I wanted to do some scavenging today and I thought you might want to join me, Middy. I wanted to take another jab at that terminal today,” I offered, nodding towards her and sparing a glance towards the caravaneer. He offered me a small nod in greeting, while my friend sighed and shook her head in response.

“Sorry, Tink. This fine fellow here told me that a bunch of raiders are camping a short way from town,” Middy - or Midday Shine, but she hated being called that - replied apologetically. “We’re gathering some armed folks and going out to take them down.” Her expression then softened and turned into a smirk. “I’d invite you over for a party, but… you know…”

I waved a hoof at her, chuckling. “I know, I know. We'll find some time to train one day,” I replied, sparing a glance towards the main gate; indeed, even before I could make out the exact shapes I had noticed a small number of armed ponies chatting about. Now that I was a bit closer, I realised that most of them had taken their weapons and kept them close, similarly to my friend. I could see old revolvers, lever-action rifles, some sawn-off shotguns and even one semi-auto rifle that I recognized from my father’s workshop. It belonged to a tall earth pony with a contraption on his back which allowed for much easier use of the rifle. He was standing in the middle of the gathering, and while I couldn’t make out what he said exactly, his words seemed firm and demanding.

Eventually, I just nodded. “I won’t stop you, then. Kick some raider butts from me, will you?” I requested, to which Middy simply laughed, assured that she would, and rubbed my head affectionately before leaving with her companion. I could feel that she was slightly disappointed, and so was I, but we both knew duties were more important than our spare time activities.

With nothing better left to do at that moment, I spent some more time observing the commotion by the main gate. Most of the ponies had been standing near the saddled leader, listening to him attentively as he gave out orders that I couldn’t quite hear. Shortly afterwards small groups of two to four ponies moved out in a hasty trot in various directions; a couple of them were headed to their homes, others approached our local, small warehouse and some even wandered to the general store on the opposite side of the village. As the group dispersed, I finally looked back at the tall earth pony, who - much to my surprise - was walking right towards me. He wasn’t even looking at somepony else, or at the workshop behind me, no - he was looking straight at me.

My confusion swiftly dispersed as I observed his approaching form. His dull, red coat was mostly covered by pads and stripes of strong leather. A broad, curved, inch-thick sheet of metal was fixed onto his chestplate, serving as additional stopping power for anyone brave enough to shoot him. His sides and flanks were protected by what looked like a thick, hardened, leather-like material. The only uncovered elements of the stallion’s body were his hooves and head. He looked at me with his piercing, sharp gaze, the mimic of his snout firm and unyielding. This pony practically screamed authority.

Yet despite his appearance, his expression softened as he spoke in a surprisingly low, non-demanding tone, now that he moved close to me.

“Hey,” I heard him say, the words in a stark contrast to the orders he had been giving just a few moments ago. He seemed uneasy, or maybe he was just being a little awkward. “You’re Benchwood’s kid, right?”

Hearing my father’s name, I felt my ear twitch; I gave the stallion a small nod. “Uhh… yeah,” I replied, then quickly corrected myself. “I mean… yes, sir.”

His expression shifted to an oddly casual one, but that only made it look even weirder, as if he wasn’t really used to looking non-threatening. I gambled a look at the rifle I recognised earlier; it must have been one of the old Equestrian military models. The exact designation eluded my memory at the moment, though.

“Cut the formalities, kid, me and your father go way back. Name’s Gemstone Glint, or just Glint for you,” he said, putting a hoof to the back of his head. “Speaking of your dad, is he around? I need to talk to him.”

I simply shook my head in response. The name seemed quite odd for an earth pony, especially one that didn’t seem related to gemstones in any way, but who was I to judge? The stallion sighed and looked to his side, pondering on something. Upon closer inspection I noticed a few wrinkles on his face, which made me realise that, despite his healthy look and energetic attitude, he must have been quite old. It made the possibility of him actually knowing my father that much plausible. The short, ragged mane actually sported a couple of silvery hairs, though the stallion himself did not seem to notice their existence in any way. If the well toned muscles were any indication, this earth pony was far from retirement.

Finally, he simply sighed and spoke again.

“Ah, well. I left him an old, broken E.F.S a while back. Just wanted to check if he’s managed to fix it up. I don’t suppose you know anything about it?” He asked me, and added a short while later, “Could be damn useful against those raiders…”

My ears perked up at the very mention of the E.F.S. Magical tech was a rarity in these parts, especially as advanced as Stable-Tec goes. I was sure my father would have at least told me if he ever got his hooves on one such device, so I shook my head again. Still, to actually see it in action…

“Dad never showed me anything like it, though I suppose I could go take a look,” I offered, glancing back at our workshop, then setting my eyes on the stallion’s face again. He seemed to have brightened up, if only a little. “What’d it look like?”

“It’s a small eyepiece that you wear on your dominant eye,” he explained shortly. “Last time I’ve seen it, it was cracked and the IFF module was smoked, but the rest was okay. The interface is probably blue, given the tint of the glass, though I can’t be sure,” the stallion added before glancing over his back, seeing ponies returning from the tasks they had been given. “Look, if you find it quick and it’s fixed, bring it over to the main gate. I need to make sure our militia is ready.”

Even without his authoritative tone, I couldn’t help but straighten up and nod. I watched the odd stallion trot back where he came from, already shouting some commands to the ponies passing by. It felt as if that was a completely different pony speaking to me.

Deciding not to waste any time, I went right back to our house, taking the passage to the left as I stepped through the main door. My father’s workshop was only slightly less cluttered than my own room, though that was definitely not the case of him having fewer things to work with; more like he was much, much better at organising his work and keeping his workplace tidy. There were still various trinkets, small machines of many sizes and tools scattered about, but there was a method to it. A quick glance and some knowledge would make it obvious that the screwdriver, a pair of pliers and a hammer were all bundled together because they were all used to work with screws and nails; similarly, the caliper and a couple of rulers were placed next to a jar full of many little screws, nuts, and bolts. There were many examples of that kind of “planning” all over the room. To a naked eye it was a mess, but a professional repairspony would probably feel comfortable with the setup.

I did not go there to admire the regulated chaos, though. My eyes scanned the room for any sight of small, blue items that could match the description Glint had given me. Of course, there was nothing that fit in the criteria at the first glance. I trotted over to the shelf on the right side, hoping I would find the device lying somewhere in plain sight - to no avail. The armor workstation held nothing of interest either, though I did find a few designs scratched onto a small notepad with yellowish pages that I could probably take a look at later on. Searching through all the cupboards, shelves, and even his personal desk yielded no results, either.

Frowning, I took a look outside the dirty window at the gathering by the main gate. They were still there, I still had some time to look! ...but where?

Filled with a newfound wave of motivation, I felt my eyes drifting towards the footlocker by the desk, the only place I haven’t checked yet. That one held my dad’s personal belongings though; things that I should never even see.

I didn’t even manage to consider opening it before I heard the familiar, heavy hoofsteps of an earth pony step into the workshop.

“May I know why you are in my workshop, son?” Benchwood, the local repairspony, tinkerer and most importantly - my father, spoke out. He seemed to be in his prime, with his voice cheerful and filled with vigor despite his age. It would probably sound even better if he didn’t catch me snooping through his stuff. Luckily, I had a good reason to be here.

“Looking for an E.F.S that you apparently have!” I replied, feeling a small smirk appear on my muzzle. His eyes widened in surprise.

“How do you know about it?” The old pony asked. There was no anger or disappointment in his eyes, just… surprise. In turn, the lack of negative emotion coming off him surprised me.

“Well, there was this stallion who came by, said he left it by you a while ago. Went by the name Gemstone Glint,” I explained, suddenly feeling bad about actually looking through my father’s stuff without even asking. How did I know if that odd stallion was actually a friend of my dad? He might as well have just made up some short story in order to coax me into giving away something that didn’t belong to him.

Luckily, that didn’t seem to be the case, as Benchwood’s face slightly relaxed.

“Ah, that old bastard. That makes sense,” he muttered, half to himself. “Though it doesn’t justify… ah, doesn’t matter. The device ain’t ready yet, so it wouldn’t be of much use to him anyway.” The stallion waved his hoof dismissively. “I’m surprised he actually talked to you instead of looking for me.”

I was about to reply, but a loud shout from the outside compelled me to look through the window again. The militia were moving out, walking steadily in a loose formation, though there was a noticeable order to it all. I could gamble a guess that most of these ponies rarely wandered in a larger group like that; their positioning was nothing like what I’ve seen on larger caravans that sometimes stopped by our village.

“He was in a hurry,” I explained. “They were gathering ponies to strike at a nearby raider camp. That’s them heading out right now,” I added, pointing out a hoof to the window.

My father moved over, watching the group marching out with a frown. “That’s a lot of ponies about to leave Sheepshead,” he commented. “Will there be anyone left to protect the village?”

Not really in possession of such information, I just gave him a shrug. Together we watched the party move past the griffons I had seen earlier, though at this distance that was all the detail I could make out. Eventually, as the group disappeared behind the gate, I turned back to my father.

“I’m gonna go visit the ruins,” I said, heading out towards the main hall of our house. “See if I can find anything useful in there.”

The earth pony looked at me and rose a brow. “You’ve been there so many times, Tink. Are you sure it ain’t picked clean yet?”

“There’s still one door I haven’t managed to open,” I admitted with a grin. “I will though, someday. It’s protected by a terminal, and once I actually learn how to hack these, it should be easy to get through!”

I heard my dad chuckle as I turned around again. “And how do you plan to actually learn how to hack, huh? You know it’s not even close to repairing machinery, right?”

I stopped in my tracks, thinking. Of course hacking was a completely different thing, but I felt compelled to at least try. The perspective of finding out some hidden treasure down below the ruins was tempting, but… my father was right. I had no idea how to hack. I felt my ears droop as I sighed.

“I know, but… maybe someday…” I started. Then, I heard the older pony’s hooves move over and felt the weight of one of them being put onto my shoulder.

“In fact, I think I know what door you’re talking about. I might just come with you this time around, show you a couple of tricks here and there… maybe you’ll actually learn something from your dad, other than messing around with tools,” he spoke, a warm smile appearing on his muzzle. My ears immediately shot back up as I looked at him.

“Really? You’ll show me how to hack stuff?” I asked, the excitement in my voice obviously betraying how happy I was to hear this news.

In return, I got a simple nod. “Aye. You go there, I’ll follow you soon. Gotta finish some business here in town first.”

I wasn’t even listening to him anymore. Instead, I ran out to my room, took my saddlebag, my little bag with most important tools (you never know when something might need fixing!) and my warm coat, and then swiftly trotted out towards the ruins. My curiosity that had only been rising since the first time I saw that door was about to be satisfied, and I couldn’t give a single buck about anything else!


* * *


After taking the secret passage at the back of the village, which was not really secret to anyone that had been living in Sheepshead for a while, I headed straight to the place I had been visiting somewhat regularly for the past few years. The high, deserted building was visible on the horizon, oddly distant from any town or village known to ponykind. The trip took only a couple of minutes, and soon enough my eyes were bathing in the shadow of pre-balefire Equestria’s glory.

The ruins were standing there, always as imposing as they were ominous. The old, crumbling walls of the building rose at least sixty feet upwards and ended with a collapsed section of the roof that allowed a peek onto the top floor, provided there was enough distance between the observer and the building itself. I figured that in the past, it used to be some kind of office, if the cubicle-like structures of the higher floors and the general design of a boring, bureau-like construction were anything to judge by.

Those levels had been thoroughly scavenged even by the time I first arrived there. Curiously enough, the lower ones - including the reception at the bottom floor - still had a few things that a typical wasteland pony could consider “valuable”, even if most of these were old magazines and barely recognisable, half-broken trinkets and common appliances such as watches or toasters. I was genuinely surprised to see an actual, leather-coated couch still standing in what once used to be the waiting room for guests; it was incredibly comfy and I said my thanks to whomever had previously gone through this place that they were lazy enough to let a valuable, yet heavy and cumbersome piece of furniture be.

What I found most interesting, though, was a set of thick, metal doors that apparently led to the basement levels of the building. Protected by a terminal with a password that I couldn’t hope to crack with my meager knowledge, the door held guard over the mysteries of the lower levels; Goddesses only knew what I would find in there. A simple generator room? Hidden treasures of corrupted, evil CEOs that didn’t even pay their workers well? A janitor’s closet? Some secret lab full of cool, futuristic stuff?

Whatever it was, the anticipation was massive, and with it came the conflicting emotions that filled my mind. On one hoof, the contents of the mysterious room (or set of rooms) were obviously begging to be discovered; on the other, I was clearly fearful of a disappointing result of nearly three years of hyping myself up.

I was lying idly on the couch, head pointing upwards as my hind left hoof dangled off the comfy leather, slightly swishing in the air. My father was taking his sweet time. So, after going through the same beauty magazine for the umpteenth time, I let out a quiet, bored groan. Waiting pointlessly was never my forte, and so I itched to at least keep my hooves busy with something.

Eventually, I got up and approached the terminal. Its thick casing hung from the wall, bolted onto a solid metal frame, which in turn was secured by four thick bolts that dug into the wall itself. The smooth, black screen was turned off at the moment, though that changed quickly as I pressed the button on the side of the case. The bright logo of Stable-Tec appeared at the centre of the screen, taking up most of it and momentarily illuminating my face.

Then the blackness was replaced by a dim, green hue, with the prompt to start writing at the top left of the screen. Occasionally, a brighter stripe of green slid from top to bottom of the screen, likely caused by the refresh rate not quite matching the power delivered to the terminal… or something. I never really worked out how these mysterious devices worked.

For the first time in ages, I set my hoof on the keyboard, staring at the prompt in the top left for a while. Back in the day I had no idea where to even start, and I’m fairly sure I got close to accidentally blocking out the entire system. Admittedly, after a few years it became pretty obvious that writing “Open” to a password protected terminal would not quite work.

Over the last couple of years I managed to learn one extremely useful command that actually did something other than putting out the words “Wrong command”. It was called, adequately, “Help”. From there, I followed instructions that eventually left me with a couple more prompts, including “Login”, “Logs” and “Debug”. The second one was filled with boring data my young, impatient mind couldn’t be bothered to read at the time, and the third one was a complete mystery to me. I selected that option once, and the sheer amount of text that appeared in front of my eyes convinced me never to touch it again without someone to explain it all.

And so for the majority of my life I was left with just “Login”, which - when selected - typed out two simple words that had been blocking my progress ever since.

Enter Password.

I had tried guessing, but - not wanting to accidentally break the terminal - that usually didn’t last long. There was virtually nothing in the room that could help me crack the code and learn the secret word, so I was left helpless time after time, day after day. At some point it frustrated me enough that I considered tearing the machine out of its socket and tossing it onto the ground. That of course never happened, as I lacked the physical strength to do that in the first place.

That day I spent another half an hour dabbling with the options I had at hoof. The “Login” section still stood undefeated, and I honestly couldn’t be bothered by reading through boring logs again. And so my hoof pressed the navigation key twice, highlighting the “Debug” option for a couple of seconds before, hesitantly, I confirmed my choice.

Before me, a wall of text appeared once again. Most of it seemed like incoherent gibberish, with weird symbols that didn’t even look like letters intermingling with actual words; those words, however, made no sense either, as if they were taken out of context and put on this screen for the sole reason of confusing the user. 

I felt like there was something eluding me as I stared at the mess on the screen. Trying to input anything held the risk of accidentally breaking the entire system and locking myself out of the mysterious cellar forever. I considered noting the words that appeared on the screen, to maybe see any correlation with the logs, but that would take me ages, and I honestly doubted that would be the case.

Eventually, I just gave up once again. Dad would teach me, and then I would understand.

Speaking of him, though...

I turned my head towards the exit, frowning. How long had I been here? An hour? Dad was taking much longer than he should, and even if he ran into an unexpected event, he’d have sent someone to deliver a message, in order to prevent this exact situation from happening. I looked back onto the terminal, pondering for a moment before reaching out with my hoof and turning it off again. The screen promptly flickered, showing a goodbye message: “Thank you for choosing Stable-Tec!” and shut off shortly after. Picking up my belongings I trotted back towards Sheepshead, with an ever growing cloud of worry on my mind.

That trot turned to gallop the moment I noticed a trail of dark smoke above the village.


* * *


The first thing I noticed was the smell.

The clouds of smoke only grew heavier and darker by the time I approached the secret passageway. They carried a distinct, near-choking scent of burnt wood and smoldering ash, mixed with a disgusting odour I had rather not known the source of. As my nostrils picked up on the scent, my body felt the subtle difference in temperature. The ominous, ember-like glow I had noticed from the distance felt much more intense from up close, promising no good news, and neither did the lack of anypony actually using the “secret” passage that acted as a gathering point in case of a fire or other, disastrous events.

That could only mean one of two things. Either the event was not serious enough to warrant a mass escape, or it was so serious that nopony had the time to actually get away.

That question was immediately answered when my ears perked, hearing a faint sound of a gunshot somewhere far inside the village. Then another, muffled thunder of the weapon of the same calibre, followed by a rattle of a long, drawn-out burst of what sounded like a submachine gun. We were being attacked!

Fear crept down my spine as I rushed through the passageway into the village. The small tunnel, covered on either end by an inconspicuous trapdoor went right underneath the walls, making sure the evacuation route was short, but also broad enough to allow for swift processing of a huge number of ponies. After going down into that tunnel I kept my head low, and eventually peeked out through the trapdoor to assess the situation.

Luckily for me, most of the gunshots came from far away, closer to the main gate than this secret entrance. Shouts and commands carried over the sounds of battle, mixed with screeches and screams that made me sick in the stomach; pushing those sounds away from my mind I focused on trying to see the course of battle, but it was nearly impossible from that distance, especially through the smoke from the fires that burnt in the distance. To my horror, I realised it was the main gate that was burning, along with a couple of buildings closest to it. The warehouse’s roof, made mostly of hay and wood, was almost completely gone, and I could see the flames raging through the local tavern’s walls. The attackers hadn’t managed to penetrate deep into the town yet.

As I looked around I had realised that nopony was trying to shoot me in the head or decapitate me with a machete, which was certainly a good sign. I did, however, notice one of the townsponies hurriedly getting out of their house through the back door and glancing around in search of danger. I immediately waved over to the mare - our daytime shopkeeper, miss Flowerpot - to hurry up and get into the tunnel. She seemed to get the message immediately; nervously looking around to make sure nobody is following her, she quickly joined me in my little hiding spot.

The moment we were both safe underneath the trapdoor she immediately started talking.

“Tinker! You’re alive!” she spoke out, looking over me as if to make sure she was not hallucinating. I saw fear right in her eyes; she had no family in Sheepshead, luckily enough. We weren’t very close to each other, but it was still good to see a familiar face in the chaos.

“Miss Flowerpot! What is going on?” I asked in a hushed tone.

“Raiders! They attacked shortly after our militia left!” She replied almost instantaneously. I felt blood drain from my face as I imagined all the ponies that were not fit for fighting, elderly and children, left at the mercy of the raiders... 

I shook my head.

“I heard gunshots. Who set up our defense? And where is the militia?” I asked urgently, glancing at the trapdoor again. I could only hope he was alright.

“They haven’t come back yet! It’s as if those raiders knew when we would be at our weakest! They were gathering… oh Goddesses, why us?” She replied, stressing out considerably. Her pitch was rising, and the mare was about to start hyperventilating.

“Calm down. You’ll be fine, and everything will be alright,” I said, putting my hooves on her shoulders to try and manage her panic. I may not have been a psychology expert, but my actions seemed to work; It took a while, but eventually her breathing slowed down, and she gave a reluctant nod. In the meantime, I was trying to gather my own thoughts as well. “I need to find my father, so I will go out and try to sneak through to the workshop. You stay here and try to gather more ponies to escape, just in case we need to run. If anyone spots you, run.” My words were met with another, brief nod. She was still terrified, and honestly speaking so was I, but at least now we both had a plan.

With that in place, I left my belongings in the tunnel next to the mare and moved out. I snuck out into the small alley near the palisade, immediately sticking to the wall of a nearby building, leaning out onto the main street to observe the situation again. In the distance I notice muzzle flares of a small caliber weapon in what seemed to be one of the houses on the left side of the town. The sounds of combat were sporadic and worryingly rare, but they were also intense; the attackers must have been engaged with villageponies in quick, fierce, close quarters combat. I tried to ignore the nagging wondering about how many innocent people would be dead this day and simply pressed onward. I had to stay focused if I did not want to join them soon.

In truth, two thoughts were keeping me from falling into panic as well. The lessons I received from my father allowed me to look at the situation from a broader perspective and avoid going into the loop of worrying thoughts; thoughts that would render me frozen and incapable of performing any action. All that theory was never put into practice, and I constantly had to remind myself about the most important aspects of managing in stressful situations. Then there was the worry about my father himself, but that needs no explanation.

As I progressed further, sticking to the walls and shaded alleys, I heard a group of ponies nearby. I quickly hid behind a garbage bin and listened. A mix of wild cackles and violent shouts that outnumbered the one, desperate sound of a stallion calling out for help reached my ears. My heart sank as I noticed a group of four foul-looking ponies dragging along the fifth, whom I vaguely recognised as one of the older villagers. I didn’t know him very well, but that didn’t stop me from staring in quiet horror as the raiders basically threw him onto the middle of the road, encircled him, and pulled out a number of jagged knives, a machete, and a hoof axe.

I felt sick to my stomach as I forced myself to turn away. Soon after I snuck into the side alley, the terrified cries of agony from the tortured stallion reached my ears, along with gleeful cheering of the psychotic raiders. I momentarily stopped to try and resist the urge to relieve myself of those mashed tatos I had for breakfast.

The journey onward was not easy either, but at least I somehow managed to avoid directly seeing any more brutality. Every now and then I was forced to suddenly stick to a wall or a short stairwell as more of the violent attackers rushed from streets perpendicular to the main road. Twice they had managed to run right past my hiding spot without spotting me. The raiders had infiltrated Sheepshead deeply, and the quicker, smarters ones among their crowd were looting and plundering instead of relieving their sick desires. I honestly didn’t know which was worse: the imminent danger of being seen by opportunistic bandits, or the screams of the tortured stallion that I could still hear just a few dozen meters away from my current position.

Out in the distance, I saw the reason why there hadn’t been a lot of fighting. Much to my horror, the villagers were being rounded up in the same area where our militia had gathered just an hour earlier; herded together like a bunch of mere cattle they were shoved around, abused, and beaten. I was glad I could not clearly see the terrified look they must have had, even though I could hear the gleeful chatter of raiders. All those ponies must have been going about dealing with their business, left vulnerable outside of their households. Some of them were limping, and a few were lying on the ground, lifelessly.

How could we possibly win with… with this?

What mattered even more to me, though, was that my father wasn’t there. I would spot his coat from a mile away, and despite the hot air and the smoke I could still see clearly enough to know that he was not among the rest of the ponies.

My eyes laid on our workshop, which was now just a couple of dozen feet away; however, it was separated by the broad main street, where I would be seen plainly by anything that cast a glance in my general direction. I looked to either side of the road. One was occupied by the four raiders who were still busy with the now sobbing stallion on the ground; the other was full of villagers and nasty-looking ponies that oversaw the operation of them being dragged away. I only had one shot at this, and this was as best as I could possibly get.

Quickly making sure nobody was nearby to accidentally spot me, I stealthily trotted out into the open, crossing the main road as quickly as I could without making too much noise. The daylight still managed to pass through the clouds of smoke and shone right onto my body, contrasting heavily with the ground around me. Deciding not to even try to look to either side, as if fearing the possibility of seeing someone staring directly at me, I hastily moved and finally reached the porch in front of our workshop.

The journey only took a couple of seconds, but it was enough to keep my heart pounding against my chest; scooting off to hide by the main entrance underneath a small table, I listened. No shouts came in my direction, no clopping of hooves rose in volume, and I could safely assume that no raider would suddenly show their ugly face right next to mine and shout “Peekaboo!” I lay still for a couple of seconds, letting my heartbeat drop and making absolutely sure that no one would come to investigate before proceeding further. 

Opening the door felt like uncovering an ancient tomb, with all the dangers and fears included. The quiet creak of old hinges betrayed my intentions as I poked my head through the crack in the doorway; dead silence was the only answer. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. The curtains had been draped along the windows, dulling the light on the entire ground floor and covering it in unnatural, dusk-like darkness. Everything looked about the same as when I left for the ruins; no signs of looting or violence.

“Dad?” I called out in a hushed tone, the sound almost deafening in the silence. There was no reply at first, but I did hear some rustling from the kitchen. Eventually that rustling was followed by a strained voice of my father.

“In here, Tink. Watch for the bear trap,” he warned me. Immediately taking note to pay attention to the ground, I carefully moved in the voice’s direction. Said trap was put right next to the doorframe of the now-wide-open kitchen door; as I poked my head around, I noticed the older pony had made a makeshift barricade made of the table, a sofa, and a couple of chairs. Benchwood’s head was poking out from behind the table, a revolver in his mouth that only lowered when he saw that it was actually me.

“How did that all happen?” I asked in a hushed voice, stepping over the bear trap and approaching the stallion. He gave a shake of his head as he holstered his weapon, in order not to accidentally shoot me.

“They attacked soon after the militia left. The griffons were able to hold the initial force back, but…” the way his voice hung in the air made me sigh after a short while. I lowered my head and closed my eyes. They didn’t make it… just like many others.

“We set up a line of defense near the main gate, but they torched our defensive positions quickly. Most people got caught and beaten into submission. I managed to escape and come here to prepare myself, hoping you’d manage to find your way here,” he admitted, a small smile creeping onto his muzzle.

“But… what about the militia? Where are they now?” I asked, and felt a cold chill run down my spine. What happened to Middy? And Glint? Could they have fallen into a trap?

“I don’t know. They never came back, and we lost radio contact with them shortly after the attack,” my father replied. Noticing the look of horror in my eyes, he immediately put a hoof on my shoulder. “Even if they do come back, we won’t stand a chance, not with our defenses compromised. You have to get out of here.”

“W-what?” I stammered out, looking at him as if I had just seen the princesses descend from the clouded sky. “But what about you? About Sheepshead?”

“It’s lost,” he said grimly.  “If we go together, we’ll be spotted right away. I’ll stay here for a moment, gather some supplies for the road, and then I’ll follow you. But just in case there are complications - head to Junk Hoard. It’s a town a few miles north from here; I’ll meet you there,” he explained. The earth pony then proceeded to detail a couple of landmarks to help me navigate. I listened to him, but in my mind I still tried to comprehend the fact that I was about to leave my home, likely for good, with no friends and little in the ways of self defence measures. A large part of my mind told me that I was definitely not ready for this.

And yet, there weren’t any other options left. Staying in Sheepshead meant death or slavery. Coming to terms with me being thrown into the outside world, full of dangers and without the protective walls of my home… it would take a while. Even with the guidance and protection of my father I imagined we would struggle to find food and stay healthy in the wasteland, not to mention actually avoiding encounters with the wildlife and the bandits that plagued this part of the wasteland. Eventually, after the set of instructions from my father had been explained and detailed, I gave a couple of nods.

“Good. Remember what I taught you,” the stallion reminded me, and I gave a simple nod. “And one more thing…” he added, reaching out to his pocket. I widened my eyes at the sight of a blue-tinted eyepiece, held out in the stallion’s hoof.

“Take this. It’s yours. If we somehow meet Glint out there, you’ll decide what to do with it, but for now - use it.” His tone was serious as he passed me the device. It was almost shining, looking brand-new! The tinted glass in a rectangular shape was adorned with a thin, metal casing. A strap was attached to either side of the E.F.S, allowing the user to wear it like an eye patch. I stared in awe at the piece of technology, and after a small, encouraging nudge from my father, I tried it on.

At first, nothing happened. But as the eyepiece settled on my head, a number of information appeared on the screen, which quickly adapted to my own field of vision. I could see a tab in the top right corner that showed my vital functions such as heartbeat (currently at 110 beats per minute), blood pressure (132/84… whatever that meant), and even brain activity (which I had no idea how to read, honestly). I frankly had no idea how an eyepiece could measure such things, but apparently the Ministry of Arcane Sciences liked to know a lot of things about their customers. 

What mattered more, however, was the display at the bottom of the screen, showing a single dot, pointing in the direction of my father. I reckoned it must have been the Identify Friend-or-Foe module; the big dot was green at the moment. Other than that, it showed an arrow somewhere behind me, likely pointing the way towards this whole Junk Hoard place.

“Woah... “ I simply spoke out, speechless. Dad chuckled softly at my reaction.

“No need to thank me. Now go, before those bastards come here.”

I didn’t need that to be told to me twice. As I was about to head back where I came from, a short snort reached my ears. “And for Celestia’s sake, don’t take the front door again. You’ll be more exposed than a ghoul in Tenpony Tower.”

I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, other than that I should take the back door. Of course, I knew what a ghoul was, everyone in the wasteland learned that at one point… but what the heck was Tenpony Tower?

Pushing that matter aside, it was time to go. The plan had already formed in my head as I left the building through the back, hoping that my dad would indeed follow shortly afterwards. But just in case I wouldn’t be lucky enough to see it happen, I had to move.

Going back turned out to be even more difficult than arriving at the workshop. The raiders’ presence was pretty much established in the village; more and more houses caught fire, filling the air outside with choking, irritating smoke. Everywhere I looked I saw small, red dots one the E.F.S interface. A single glance towards the main gate revealed that the huge group of villagers was being led out by a mean-looking overseer with a long whip. Every few seconds I heard that whip crack, followed by a cry of another settler. I felt my heart sink at the sight; those weren’t just raiders… those were slavers!

I had to press forward and push those thoughts aside.

With the help of the E.F.S, I managed to reach the trapdoor again unnoticed. Red dots were all over the place as I opened it up, hoping nobody would see me in the shaded spot. I simply jumped down, expecting to see miss Flowerpot and perhaps a couple other ponies waiting there for me. I was ready to tell them to follow me to a new place, to rebuild, resettle and live our lives anew.

What I didn’t expect was the sight of the unicorn’s corpse, lying with her eyes wide open and her muzzle twisted in agony, looking straight at the trapdoor I just came from. Above her body kneeled another pony, if one could call them that. The raider’s muzzle was covered in the mare’s still warm blood, it being sunk deep in her torn belly. His ragged ear twitched at the sound of my body dropping into the tunnel; the muscles on his scarred, hideously dirty coat twitched, the short, dusty blonde tail rising attentively as the cannibalistic stallion turned his head to look at me.

He grinned viciously, and charged right at me with his bare hooves!

I screamed. The charge was met with a panicked sidestep, the unicorn’s head crashing right into the ladder up to the village. I ran towards the opposite side of the tunnel trying to escape, but the raider got up with astonishing speed, lunging right at me!

I fell onto the floor, crying out as the ferocious stallion bit into my shoulder. A swift jab of my shoulder sent his muzzle recoiling to the side as I tried to overthrow him. Despite his aggression, he was relatively light, his muscles likely deteriorated from his cannibalistic diet; still, the kick I had delivered to his gut wasn’t enough, and just a moment later he was on top of me again.

I got a good look onto his gleeful face as I was pushed onto my back, pinned down by the drug-addled raider. My eyes filled with terror as I saw him looking right at my neck, about to strike and sniff my life out with a single, violent bite.

In the moment of panic, I was not quite sure what I was doing. My mind was filled with lots of conflicting thoughts as I struggled with all my might, until I just couldn’t take any more mental stress. I felt a sudden rush of warmth as a bright, green flame briefly enveloped my form.

The sudden combustion made the stallion recoil violently, screaming as green flames singed his dirty coat. My normal, bug-like form laid there, panting as the aggressor stumbled and fell onto his back. The wound from the shoulder plate of my carapace was bleeding, but that was going to have to wait. I frantically glanced around, noticing one of my wrenches that fell out of the toolbag at some point.

Grabbing the wrench with my telekinesis I screamed time after time as I swung it right against the raider’s face. By the fifth swing, he was definitely dead. By the fifteenth, I saw fragments of his brain matter splatter on the nearby wall.

Finally, I stopped the onslaught, looking at the violent display before my reflectionless eyes. The raider’s face was frozen in that maniacal, mad grin even through his death; His body only twitched slightly as his brain was attempting to send out signals to his body - and failing. My wrench dropped onto the floor with a muffled cling, and soon afterwards - my body followed because of mental exhaustion.


* * *


Footnote: Level Up!
New Perk: Silent Trotting - A keen eye and a sense of timing mean a lot when there are lots of ponies after your hide… or carapace. You are less likely to be spotted when sneaking and trotting.
> Chapter 2: Prejudice
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Fallout: Equestria - Whispers


Written by Kingofhills



Chapter 2: Prejudice


“Hey, chin up. I know the night just got darker, but it won’t last forever!”


I suppose I owe you some kind of explanation.

To get that right out of the way: even though I am able to change my shape at will, I did not kill anypony to assume their identity. The thought alone makes something turn inside me. No, from the very beginning I’ve been known in Sheepshead as something unique, only roughly resembling a pony in shape. 

So… there’s that. Everyone including myself was convinced that I had simply undergone a vile mutation. That I was just severely affected by taint which caused holes to appear in my legs, my hide to harden and become a shell, my irises to disappear, my horn to become nearly useless and my wings to grow randomly out of nowhere. 

Still, even my unique carapace did not prevent a headache from pulsating from the back of my head as I regained consciousness.

Despite my mind desperately trying to recover from panic-induced unconsciousness, I refused to open my eyes in fear of what sight may await me. I wanted to believe that when I did finally take a look, the familiar, wooden wall of my room would await me; that I would already feel the scent of my dad’s cooking slipping its way into my nostrils through the crack in the door; that I would get up and start my day as usual, the events I had just been through considered nothing but a nightmare.

Of course, reality couldn't care less what I wanted. As I opened my eyes, I was welcomed with a sight of the still, cold body of the mare I thought I had saved. I felt my heart sink like a stone as I moved my eyes to look at the raider instead; luckily, he was very much dead, too. The metal wrench I had just used to bludgeon him was lying in front of me, stained with- no. Don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it…

I shook my head and got up, pushing the gut-wrenching thoughts away. My eyes wandered to the bags I had left here, one of them open near where I fell unconscious. I remembered how the wrench was already lying on the ground when I picked it up; The mare must have tried using it for self defense, just as I did. The reason why she had failed, and I had not, boiled down to luck and the ability to suddenly burst into flames.

At that moment a faint, dull pain in my shoulder joined the throbbing in my head, reminding me of the encounter with the cannibalistic raider. It wasn’t hindering my movements at the moment, but Goddesses only knew if he carried some nasty diseases or not. I wasn’t qualified to treat it, which put finding a doctor to take a look at this wound near the top of my priority list. Said list was growing at an alarming rate, making me wonder just how much I would be able to do before collapsing from exhaustion.

My train of thought suddenly disappeared and my ears perked up when I realised that it had been awfully quiet. A single glance towards the trapdoor leading into Sheepshead confirmed that it was still closed, though. I approached it cautiously. Did I really want to take a look? I couldn't hear anypony speaking from the other side, but if someone was looking in my direction… And yet the information about the state of my home was a very, very tempting thing to consider.

My curious uncertainty was quickly resolved when I tried to push the trapdoor to sneak a peek through, only to feel strong resistance. Something was blocking the door from the other side. I tried pushing harder, but it wouldn't even budge. A couple of attempts later, a heavy sigh left me as I dropped onto my haunches in resignation. 

A solid moment later I frowned, I realised I was left with no other options. I glanced back to the other end of the tunnel, at the exit, before getting up and trotting towards it. I pressed my hoof against the cold wood and, much to my relief, this one did not offer any resistance other than what I would expect from a simple wooden trapdoor.

Knowing that I was not going to suffocate, I could finally consider my options with a relatively clear mind. My father was right, staying in Sheepshead would be suicide if those cannibalistic monsters were still around. There was a chance that they would find this secret passage, too, so I couldn't stay here for too long. That realisation made me actually wonder how long I had been out. A couple of minutes? An hour? Half a day? Goddesses only knew. It was just another reason to get the heck away from that place.

I desperately wanted to know what happened to my dad, though. Deep inside I knew he was resourceful and smart enough to actually escape, but I was still worried sick and felt an unexplainable weight on my chest as stress ate away at my sanity. Attempting to focus on more positive memories, I remembered how he told me he had found me in some old ruins when I was merely past infancy. At first, he apparently took me for an estranged animal that lost its mother, but that perception changed when he discovered I was, in fact, a sapient creature. He treated me as his son ever since. I believed him, heck - I felt his connection to me; to him, I mattered as much as his own foal would.

Losing him would mean losing the entire world at that point. Even though he knew something like this might happen and clearly had a contingency plan, against such an overwhelming enemy even the best of plans might not have been enough. Without him, I did not have much of a chance to make it through for more than a week. I've heard of the monstrosities that wander the wastes. Some of them were so dangerous that I couldn't even hope to spot them from the di-

My train of fruitless thought was interrupted once more as I blinked, only then realising my E.F.S was still attached and working. 

I promptly ignored the fact that my thoughts were in utter disarray and immediately concentrated on the IFF display, turning my head back towards Sheepshead and observing the commotion. A couple of small, red dots appeared on the bar at the bottom, confirming my suspicions that the raiders hadn't left the village. At best, they were still looting, but at worst? They may have decided to stay there for good.

Knowing there was no point in turning back, I eventually forced myself to gather my belongings. Stuffing the wrench back into the toolbag, I closed its straps and attached it to a comfy saddle on the left side. On the right side hung my saddlebag, currently filled with a few dozen caps, as well as a half-finished bottle of water and a couple of mostly useless trinkets. The saddle fit snugly on my back, the leather straps not feeling as tight thanks to the thick coat my father had passed to me a while ago.

Turning my head towards the exit, I spared one last glance to the deceased mare. A pang of guilt struck me; she did not deserve such gruesome death, nor to be left here abandoned, forgotten, and slowly decaying. But what could I do? Staying here meant I would have to put so much at risk. I could be caught by the raiders. My father might be in trouble and I would be too late to help him. That sick bastard who was lying next to her could wake up by some sick twist of fate and actually kill me this time...

There were so many ways this could go wrong. Eventually, I apologized internally to the poor mare, and promised to come back someday to properly bury her. Then, with a firm push against the trapdoor, I left the tunnel.

I was welcomed with the bleak sunlight of a mid-afternoon sun basking me and my surroundings in a soft glow. I had to squint my eyes from the sudden difference in lighting, the sight of the outside world nearly blinding me. The smoke from the fires was a mere trail now, not interrupting the sun rays in the slightest. Similarly, and quite surprisingly, there was not a single cloud to be seen.

The sight of the sun was a relatively new phenomenon for flightless creatures. After the cloud curtain had been dissolved on the day of The Grand Reveal, as the northerners called it, we could feel its warmth on our cheeks for the first time. I was among the ponies who could see the rainbow nova spreading through the skies, dissipating the dark, heavy barrier above us and bringing back a small piece of the old, peaceful Equestria we had heard of in tales from our parents.

The change was welcome, of course, but to most ponies it was just a small blessing in an otherwise harsh wasteland. Crops were still difficult to grow, ponies still needed warm clothing, especially in the winter season; the trails were still covered in a thin layer of snow every now and then, hiding hoofsteps and making it harder to navigate. Most of these issues never bothered us, though. Sheepshead was relatively close to the core of The Equestrian Wasteland, much closer than to the mountain border with the Frozen North. The temperature was fairly decent, if chilly, and we could still grow more resilient crops without much trouble.

Shaking myself away from the pointless thinking I focused on the E.F.S once more. The periodically blinking marker was pointing somewhere in the north-eastern direction. I was reminded of the theoretical lessons on navigating my father tried to teach me. It was time to see if I remembered anything. Re-focusing on the ‘real’ world I looked into the distance, seeing nothing but a few hills and an occasional, dead tree here and there. The horizon line was concealed by a small hill that, from where I was looking, crested around my eye level. There was little in terms of landmarks or potential reference points, the view was mediocre at best, and there were few hiding spots should a raider party approach me.

Basically, it was as good as the landscape could get in that area, which only made me more thankful for the wonder of arcanomagical tech strapped over my right eye.

Making sure the straps are attached correctly, that I had some water left in my bottle and that my saddlebags wouldn’t accidentally open themselves if I had to run, I closed my eyes and focused again. For a brief moment, the green flame encompassed me again, and my old, pony form returned. The hardened chitin was replaced with a soft, chestnut coat with a white spot on my chest. Those odd frills on my head turned into a ruffled, short, brown mane; the same happened to my tail. My horn and wings disappeared completely, as did the holes in my limbs.

With my usual, pony form back on, and with increasingly worried thoughts, I set out towards Junk Hoard.


* * *


I considered myself both incredibly lucky and stunningly unlucky, as I had not seen a single living soul throughout most of my journey up north. Not even a single mutated animal, not a single bandit that wanted to rob me off all my personal belongings and stick a knife up my tailhole… not a single rodent or other critter that could serve as a food source. I was being periodically reminded by my groaning belly about the fact that the last thing I ate were some cold, mashed tatos from the morning. There was no sign of them in my belly now, and the feeling of discomfort caused by an empty stomach would soon be joined by the growing fatigue.

The journey had been long enough for the sun to set below the dark clouds near the horizon once again, covering the land in ever growing darkness. The shadows became both longer and more indistinguishable as the shimmering sun left space for the moon to rise in its stead; similarly, the already low temperature decreased even further. The ground felt hard against my bare hooves, barren and hardened by countless winters. My aching legs told me that I should find a shelter for the night, and they wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, either.

I was amazed when the eyepiece I had been wearing actually adjusted its brightness dynamically to match the lighting around me; I assumed it simply registered the amount of light that reached the screen and based its calculations on that, but I couldn’t really confirm my suspicions at the time. Navigation using that device would take a while to get used to, even though the interface was as simple as it could get. I couldn’t rely solely on the pointer at the bottom of the screen, as there had been obstacles such as trees, old riverbanks, massive rock formations and other natural stopping points that prevented me from going in a simple, straight line. Damn those natural formations!

The terrain was fairly easy to navigate while it was still relatively bright, but I had to find some shelter quickly. Fortunately, that’s when I saw the top of a building above one of the hill peaks. Swiftly trotting up that hill, I took in the sight before me, sighing in relief.

There, a couple of hundred feet away stood a large, secluded house, or should I say - a small mansion. From a distance, this entire place seemed to have been abandoned for at least a couple of months: the windows were mostly intact, but the porch before the house was in disarray, and even from far away I could see that it was cluttered with useless junk. The dull grey of the outside walls, currently illuminated in a gentle orange hue, probably used to be coloured pristine white back in the day, and the roof likely used to not miss half of its tiles. Whoever decided to build their expensive, two-story home in the middle of nowhere either had to be extremely extravagant, or ridiculously rich, or both.

What mattered the most, however, was the lack of any signs of raiders. No heads impaled on sharp sticks, no bodies strewn across the walls, no spikes jutting out of every flat surface. The promise of a safe and relatively warm shelter lifted my spirits up considerably, and I felt myself audibly sigh in relief. I could almost feel the tension slowly ease off my muscles, and if there was anyone watching my face at that moment they would clearly notice the moment I went from worrying for my life to thanking the goddesses up in the skies. Without wasting a moment I ended up making my way towards the house.

I took some basic precautions while stepping onto the old, wooden porch, like checking for any tripwires or loose planks that could spell my demise had I not been careful enough. I made sure the door was not boobytrapped and took a step inside, looking around the dusty interior with caution. There was a short corridor that branched off into two paths right at the start, with one of them leading up the stairs onto the first floor and the other going further into the house. Off to either side of the corridor was a pair of doors, aligned in a nearly symmetrical fashion.

I picked the first door to the right and began my search. This place seemed to be some kind of a living room, with an old, stained coach standing by the wall opposite of the entrance. A small, wooden coffee table stood before it, with a vase with crumbled, long-dead remains of a flower sprinkled around it. Various pieces of furniture passed the test of time in a similar fashion, with cupboards long stripped of their interiors presenting themselves as most preserved ones.

That room had a connection to the one further down the corridor, which ended up being a decently sized kitchen, with an additional door to the bathroom on the far right wall. Most appliances had been removed, looted or destroyed by the time I had come in there, but the place seemed surprisingly well maintained; were it in any better condition, I would say someone had been living there for a long while. Even the fridge was working, presumably powered by a small generator somewhere outside. I found myself eagerly scooping the only somewhat edible thing left to eat in there, which turned out to be a can of old cram that was almost certainly past the consumption date.

The other two rooms on the ground floor held nothing of interest, being filled mostly with some old, empty boxes. I decided to move to the top floor, which held the best gift I could ever hope for: an intact bed with a mattress! In fact, that bed was the only thing in that room, though it was definitely enough to grab my attention. One could say that this place was nearly barren, as if left specifically to keep some guests from sleeping on the cold floor. There wasn’t even any nightstand nor cupboard!

Yet the only thing that mattered to me at that moment was within hooves’ reach. Without a second though I got rid of my saddle, trotted over to the bed and then promptly laid down on it, sighing in relief. It might not have been as comfy as my own, but it would do.

A wave of fatigue washed over me when I realised that I haven’t checked the rest of the top floor yet. Luckily, my strong will prevailed over my laziness and I got up and took a brief moment to sweep the rest of the rooms. There was not much to see, really, aside from another bathroom and a long-looted attic. I finally allowed myself to get back to the bedchamber, lie down on the comfy-looking bed, and close my eyes.

Before I had fallen into slumber, I allowed my thoughts to drift. I consciously avoided the topic of recent events and focused on other things instead… like my friends. Other ponies I had known. Memories of my youth, when I played around with a bunch of colts and accidentally turned into one of them… No. I was not in the mood for kicking myself over the past again.

Instead, I focused on myself in general. For the longest time, I was not sure what had happened to cause me to be so different from other ponies. My father never explained it to me, though I assumed he simply didn’t know, either. Was I even a pony? Admittedly, on one hoof it was quite handy to be able to do what most ponies couldn’t, flying being one of those things. On the other, other settlers were afraid of my original form; enough for me to feel alienated, in a way. Eventually I managed to stick to one pony form and stayed in it. I had to admit, the dissonance in my mind was one of the reasons why...


	<-=======ooO Ooo=======->


 ...I felt out of place. At first, I was just confused; I hadn’t even realised that my eyes were open until I noticed that the view in front of me was a blurry, hazed and unclear mess. I tried blinking repeatedly, but my muscles wouldn’t even process that thought. It felt as if I was frozen in place, except... I wasn’t. My body was still, but I definitely felt the ground underneath my hooves instead of the mattress I laid down on. My body reacted to the chilly wind that swept past my chitin, but even though I wanted to curl down and hide my naked body from the elements, I just couldn’t.

Then I heard the loud, authoritative, female voice; one that could force you into submission almost instantly, without a moment to protest. A voice that would not tolerate an ounce of disobedience, one that almost made me bow my head… until I realised that I was bowing my head. It forced me to look down onto the ground, onto my bare, chitin-clad hooves that I did not recognise; and yet they ultimately felt familiar, as if I had always been in this odd, unfamiliar shell.

As the voice stopped, I felt my head rise again, as if automatically. Now that I could see a bit more clearly, there were many, many shapes around me, all similar in their form, colour and structure. Hundreds, or maybe thousands of bug-like forms akin to mine stood firm and tall, looking right at a much taller, slim shape that stood on a podium far in the distance.

If I had any control over my body, I would have widened my eyes as I observed the lone, imposing figure on a pedestal. Her tall, regal-like posture spoke highly of her authority, as did her powerful, nearly mind-drilling voice. I couldn’t really make out what she was saying, though; her words seemed distorted and jarred, as if spoken through a thick wave of glass, and yet their tone was perfectly recognisable. The figure’s long, jagged horn was glowing with a meek, green light while her wings opened up, revealing a beautiful, regal form. She was perfect in every way.

The speech lasted for a long while before it eventually finished. All the way through, the bizarre realisation of being unable to hear the exact words kept my mind so occupied that I barely realised when her voice was replaced with a louder, less coherent sound of my brethren. The creatures around me cheered. Wings were buzzing, chirrs resounded in the air, and hooves were clopping on the cold, stone floor of what I eventually identified as a massive cave complex. And then I felt myself cheer along, with a massive sensation of pride welling up within me. The joy I felt a thousand times stronger than any other feeling I had ever sensed, as if every living being in the hive shared it.

As the crowd started to disperse, the Queen stood still on the pedestal, with her most trusted guards right by her side. I watched her observe her loyal subjects, smiling; she seemed very certain of something, confident in whatever was in her mind. But the most prominent of her emotions was pride. To her, we were more than just servants. We were her children, her legacy, the backbone for the society that would dominate the continent once more, with enough love to sustain ourselves for hundreds of years to come.

It took me a minute to realise why I knew all this. As “I” moved away from the gathering, lifting into the air almost effortlessly I had realised that we were all connected. Our mentalities, shared into one fluid being, all connected and intertwined at the heart of our hive - the Mother Queen herself. She was the core of our operations. Her mere presence gave us all motivation to move on, to struggle further to gain enough love to survive; by her will, we would prevail and rule.

I heard a faint flutter of wind somewhere to my left, but it was so quiet and random that I could not pay it any attention. My mind was filled with the excitement and joy of being a part of something bigger: a developed, thriving society that was about to grow even further, thanks to the Queen’s guidance.

Even though we could technically share emotions directly through the hive-mind, I saw one other bug-pony move over towards me. He spoke out to me in a strange, buzzing voice that I soon realised was very similar to how the Queen herself had been speaking.

“The preparations are entering their final stage, sir” the other person said, saluting with his right hoof. Wait… saluting? To me? And why did my hearing suddenly come back? “The war machines are ready, and all units are reporting final preparations for the march out.”

“Good,” I replied, in a voice that definitely did not match my own. “How has the Equestrian political situation developed?”

The other hybrid, presumably one of the lower officers, cleared his throat. “Our infiltrators have reported that the equestrians are still in the middle of negotiations with the Zebrican Caesar. The war has already taken a heavy toll on both sides, so they both are trying to seek a compromise, but they are failing. Their security is sure to be on high alert because of this. General Vraak says that the sooner we attack, the higher our chances, but the attack has to be preceded by the enactment of the Dissonance plan.”

I felt my… other… self put a hoof to my chin, pondering on… something. All that I was personally thinking of right now is what kind of weird situation I found myself in. This was not a typical dream, because if it was, I would have already woken up from the realisation. How was I a completely different person? Why couldn’t I control my own body? Where the hell even was I? 

“Then we shall march tomorrow, as our Queen wills it. Send the word to the infiltrators. The glorious changeling hive of Chrysalis will not be defeated again,” I heard my ‘host’ say, which was met with a single salute before the other male moved out. The stallion whose eyes I’ve been looking from all this time observed the officer, clearly thinking of something.

Then, that same, faint flutter reached my ears. Perhaps it was an ounce of common sense, a little warning light that promptly appeared in my host’s head. Perhaps it was years of training that allowed him to understand that a random flutter does not just appear twice within such a short timespan; regardless, the sound grabbed his attention, and I felt myself turn my head around to where it originated from.

Narrowing my eyes, I focused on other bugponies in the area. Nobody was trying to sneak by. Nobody shifted into a different form, there was no pony in sight, no sign of any subversive activity. As I carefully observed my surroundings, I couldn’t see any reason to worry.

So why did I seem extremely worried?

The answer came as I noticed the faintest trace of movement higher up, on a ledge nearby. To an untrained eye such as myself it would have been impossible to notice; the only reason I knew is because my host realised what that was, and immediately sprung into action. As he flew towards the ledge, rapidly beating his wings, I saw what he must have seen from down below: a barrel of a long, sleek weapon.

Aimed right at the podium, where the creature I assumed was the Queen was still standing.

Time almost froze as my muscles kicked in to get that weapon away, but then - as my wings furiously beat against the chilly air, propelling me forward - I saw the flash of the muzzle, immediately followed by a massive, loud explosion. It rang even louder as it reverberated from the cavern walls. A single shot from a high-caliber weapon was all that was needed for the voice of our Mother to suddenly disappear, going silent.

As my senses were overloaded with sudden, panicked screams and the temporary tinnitus from hearing a gunshot from such a short distance, I desperately forced myself to continue on with my course. My host’s movement was determined, but faltering. By the time I reached the ledge, I saw that the weapon seemed practically abandoned, with absolutely no one in sight. I frantically looked around to see the culprit, to immediately catch them and bring them to justice…

...but my search would be interrupted by the rising panic of hundreds of voices. All of the hive exploded in a violent, uncontrolled chaos as drones, workers, and simple-minded soldiers suddenly lost everything their life was devoted to. It made concentrating nearly impossible. As grief, shock and confusion settled within the hive, my host narrowed his eyes when he noticed a brief trace of a rainbow mane flickering in the air, as if appearing and then disappearing again as it moved around the corner.

And while he took off to chase after the assassin, other nodes in the hivemind wailed in desperation for a voice to guide them once more.


	<-=======ooO Ooo=======->


I felt my body come back to life suddenly, as if I was dragged into ice-cold water by surprise. A shiver ran down my spine as the emotions I had felt throughout this dream lingered somewhere in the back of my mind; the unfathomable horror of losing the only reason to live, the only meaning of existence, in a fraction of a second. Just like that, with a single gunshot.

I was terrified. Not only because this weird, semi-conscious dream left an imprint on my brain for long enough to linger past the waking, but also because all of it felt so… real. As if I was there, with my very own body and mind, observing the events unfold and being there for the ride. It definitely felt way too real to be disregarded as a simple nightmare.

Among the confusion I heard one name that gave me a semblance of a clue what to do next. ‘The glorious changeling hive of Chrysalis’ was a name I had never heard of before. Was that what I was? A changeling? Were all these other bug-like creatures my brethren? They sure looked similar to me, and they seemed to talk about old Equestria and planning a war against the ponies, but… why?

It all felt too big for me to understand, and yet - in some twisted, indescribable way - it felt right. As if I was meant to be there, part of this large gathering of creatures similar to me, being a part of something much greater than everyday struggle I was so used to. In a way, it felt as if some part of me longed for this ever-present stream of consciousness within my head. The Hivemind. Perhaps it really was something my kind was supposed to know from the start, a part of their everyday lives that nobody would ever question.

Which made me wonder: Why was I not with other changelings, like me? Were there even any changelings left? Was there any hivemind to become a part of in the first place? Was I a legitimate member of my species?

...what was my species, exactly?

These questions felt way too big for me to understand at the moment. Instead, I left that train of thought and focused on the present day. Only then did I realise that I’ve been hearing a commotion somewhere below me.

A chill ran down my spine. Remembering that there was nopony inside the building when I first came in, and knowing that I was not being held at gunpoint, I reckoned they were not aware of my presence yet. The question left to answer was whether they were some lucky wastelander that just happened to arrive on the same day I did, or if this house was, in fact, inhabited.

Slowly, I led myself towards the staircase and gradually stepped down its steps, making as little sound as possible. Whoever was in the house aside from me was currently in the kitchen, doing… something. Probably searching for food, or making it. I peeked around the corner, only to see a lean unicorn with a dirty yellow coat and a dark brown, scrawny mane and tail. His horn was lit up as he stood by the counter, moving some small cans around and opening them with a surprisingly nice-looking multitool. He wore light, comfy-looking clothes covered in straps of leather here and there, presumably in order to provide a slightest degree of protection. A round, dirty hat lay on his head, with the hole for his horn manually cut away.

I carefully considered my options. The safest bet would be to just leave unnoticed, but… I remembered one of the lessons my father told me so many times I got sick of it. “Always take the advantage when you can,” he used to say. At the time I figured it related to life-or-death situations, when I would be forced to run or fight if I wanted to survive, but… at the moment, I was looking with very hungry eyes at the cans of preserved meat. I was still starving. Could I actually hurt or even kill this presumably innocent pony, just so I could live another day in relative comfort?

No… I felt something churn within my gut. How could I even think of that? Hurting an innocent person to obtain their stuff is what raiders did; the same ones that wrecked my village and killed or enslaved so many ponies. For a brief moment, my mind returned to the beginning of this dreaded day, but I quickly pushed those thoughts away; I didn’t have time to ponder on-

“What the fuck are you?!”

 The sudden, startled voice of the stallion surprised me as I realised he was looking right at me. It startled me as well, because he didn’t say “who”; he said “what”. When did I switch back to my original form?! I didn’t have the time to understand it, as I saw his horn lit up brightly. I saw a shape of something that looked suspiciously like a 10mm pistol being lifted from the counter.

“No, wait!” I shouted, immediately hiding behind the corner as I heard nearly deafening cracks of the unicorn’s personal weapon. “I don’t mean you any harm!”

“Get the fuck away from me, you weird fucker! Away from my house!” He shouted in return, as if completely ignoring my words. The marker on my E.F.S representing the pony was red at the moment, and it was moving towards me at a slow pace. I could sense the aggressive territory defense mechanisms take over his actions; he was clearly trying to murder me. I paled and ran back to the living room, making up a plan on the spot. My saddlebags and the toolbag were both left on the first floor of the building. I had to think of a way to either get back there unnoticed, or convince the stallion to just let me grab my things and be on my way.

Now that this pony knew of my existence, sneaking by him would be nearly impossible. I had to resort to my questionable rhetoric skills instead.

“Listen to me, please!” I shouted in reply, loudly enough to ensure he could hear me, but still staying away from his line of sight. “I left my stuff upstairs. Let me take them, and I’ll be on my way! I promise I’ll never enter your house again!”

For a moment, there was no reply. The dot on the eyepiece, however, suggested that the stallion had stopped moving. It took him a few seconds before he spoke again. His marker was still hostile, though. “You’re not even a pony! How can I trust you?”

I cleared my throat, carefully observing if he was trying to move towards me again. “I’m talking to you, alright? I’m not hostile, and this is just a misunderstanding. Hell, I didn’t know this place was inhabited when I came here! I just needed someplace to rest, that’s all. Let me grab my things and I’ll be on my way!”

My words were once again met with a brief silence. Much to my relief, the dot was still unmoving; I used that as an opportunity to slowly inch myself to the opposite side of the marker, as quietly as possible. Finally, he spoke again, his tone clearly strained.

“Come out. Slowly,” said the stallion, and I obeyed his command without missing a beat. My bug-like form stepped out from the alcove, only to see the scared unicorn still pointing his gun at me. “Go up, take your things. I’ve got my eye on you.” The sight of a 10-milimeter barrel gaping at the level of my eyes was a convincing enough argument, so I simply nodded and moved towards the stairs silently. Having noticed that I have absolutely nothing with me, the stallion slightly relaxed, but still kept his weapon pointed at me as I walked.

The trip to the sleeping room was short, but incredibly stressful. All the while I could nearly feel his breath on my back, as if he did not want to give me even a little space for movement. I couldn’t blame him, really; he was defending himself and his home from an unknown aggressor. All I hoped for was that he wouldn’t be so jumpy on the trigger.

As we stepped into the room, I pointed my hoof at the two bags left in there. “These are my things,” I said, trying to mitigate the tension in my jaw. I moved over to take the bags back, and soon enough, I was good to go. “See? I don’t want to harm you. Just let me go, and you will never see me again.”

At this point, the unicorn seemed to relax a little. He even lowered his gun, though he still eyed me with a critical, penetrating stare. “Fine. You know the way out,” he said, keeping his face as emotionless as he could. 

I took that as my cue to leave. As I walked out, I saw him still keeping behind me, weapon at the ready in case I tried anything dumb. I did not plan to leave this house with a hole in my head, though. Keeping a steady, somewhat fast tempo I reached the main door again and sighed.

“Wait.” I heard him call out once again to me, just as I was about to leave. 

I turned my head around, a sign of worry in my eyes. “Yeah?”

“What… are you?” He asked. I realised his tone had been much less intimidating now that I was out of his household. “You’re not a pony, are you?”

I shook my head a few times, fixing the saddlebags on my back as I replied. “No. I’m… not sure what I am. I think I’m called a changeling, but...”

I wanted to say something more, to explain a little bit on how I was thrown into the wilds just earlier that day. But then I looked at the unicorn’s face as it contorted into what I could best describe as “angry shock”. It was as if a magic spell had just poofed. His horn lit brighter again as he gripped on the pistol once more, aiming it at me.

“You…! I know what you are now! I should have shot you when I had the chance!” He exclaimed, much to my unpleasant surprise. The sudden shift in tone left me almost speechless.

“W-what?” I only managed to stammer, but the stranger kept talking, as if throwing a hissy fit.

“Your kind is responsible for all of… of this!” He said, pointing his hoof somewhere in the wasteland. “I’ve heard so much of you… how you kidnapped ponies and replaced them. How you almost enslaved us all!”

I found myself taking a few, hasty steps back. “N-no, that’s not-”

“And now you wanted to replace me! But I know your tricks, you buggy fuckers; You won’t fucking get me!” He shouted, aiming the gun right at me!

I did the only reasonable thing I could think of, and smashed the door right against his face using my weak telekinesis. The effect was not as strong as I wanted it to be, but it was enough to allow me to start running. I heard his cry of pain as his snout was met with a rapidly moving piece of furniture while I increased my distance from the clearly mad pony!

Luckily for me, the night had already fallen by that point. I managed to get about sixty feet away from the unicorn when I heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot, then another, and then a couple more. I yelped as some of the shots landed mere inches away from my hooves, but I kept going; kept moving without a clear direction, with one, simple thing in my mind: Survive.

I felt my heart pound with staggering force as I got away at last. I had no idea how long I’d been running, or what caused the unicorn to suddenly become so aggressive. Personally, I’ve done nothing wrong to him, other than accidentally breaking into his house; He kept on rambling mad things that probably related to something that happened before the war, but… he didn’t even know what changelings looked like! How could anypony be so prejudiced without even knowing the person they talked to?!

I just… didn’t know. This was all way too much for me. I just kept running, even as the house I just left became a speck on the horizon.


* * *


I stopped running only after I felt my lungs cry out in protest. They burned from the exhausting effort I put them through, heaving and making it difficult to breathe even as I was relatively safe. Now that running away was not necessary, I simply stopped for a moment, trying my best to deepen my breaths and not to hyperventilate. To make it worse, I once more felt the dull throbbing from my arm, as if that wound was having a really hard time healing itself.

A couple of moments later, when the adrenaline got off, I felt the real exhaustion start to kick in. I was barely moving my hooves against the ground, hungry, thirsty, and almost without a single coherent thought. What little sleep I managed to get was clearly not enough for my strained mind. I felt like I could just collapse in the middle of the wasteland and fall asleep then and there. The only thing that prevented me from doing so was the danger of being found by some wild animal and devoured in my sleep.

By the time I reached some kind of landmark, the first rays of sunlight peeked out from below the horizon. It was still dark as hell, but I managed to reach some old, utterly wrecked ruins. It must have been a small, undefended town in the past; the lack of a clear line of defense and the presence of a couple of roads crossing in a few places suggested this place used to be some kind of trading outpost. There were remains of some kind of building on the corner of the street. I promptly walked into it carelessly, too tired to even look for traps or anything else I would regret stepping onto.

Luckily enough, nothing happened to me. Seeing nothing but a small piece of wooden floor that still had a roof over it, I moved over there, covered myself as good as I could with my bag (and let me tell you, a small saddlebag did not offer any decent protection against the elements), and…

...I cried. The events of the past day all accumulated inside me, my worries welling up and up, until I finally erupted in a volcano of pent-up emotions. From losing my home, to losing the track of my dad, to being wrongly accused of being responsible for the Great War and its repercussions. I cried, quietly and without any fanfare, letting the warm tears roll down my cheeks and onto the hard, wooden floor.

I really… really missed my home.

...

At some point I simply fell asleep. This time, I had no nightmares. No visions from the past. No ponies claiming I had broken into their home to kill and replace them.

I woke up some time later, with the sun shining through a small cloud cover, only to feel something blunt, thick and hard nudging at me. As it did, a mare’s voice reached my ears.

“Well, would you look at that…”


* * *


Footnote: Level Up!
New Perk: Dodger (1) - At this point you might as well be called Usain Colt. You can move your hooves so fast that bullets are having a hard time actually finding you! +10% chance to avoid any incoming attack for every level of this perk.
> Chapter 3: Junk Hoard
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Fallout: Equestria - Whispers


Written by Kingofhills



Chapter 3: Junk Hoard


“Into each life, some rain must fall…”


I am still not sure what I felt back then, when that hoof poked me.

A huge part of me just wanted to hide deeper in my shell, to internalize the pain and anguish and let it boil down within me, without anypony’s interference. In much simpler words, I wanted to be left alone. A smaller part of me wanted to have someone’s shoulder to cry on. Normally that task would be on my dad, but… yeah. Yet another part of me wanted to run again, because all the contact with the outside world creatures up until that point proved to be less than pleasant. A plan had already formed in my head that promised a fairly high chance of survival.

First, I would, somehow, escape the intruder. Then I would use the ruins to cover my escape; sticking to the walls and listening to her hoofsteps should do the trick. Then I would go towards Junk Hoard again; having rested some time, I probably had enough strength to reach the place. Should I need to, I could always circle around a little to avoid contact with other denizens of the wasteland.

Most parts of the plan held strong, but I definitely needed to address the elephant in the room that was the previously mentioned mare. Her voice sounded so rough that I had serious doubts whether she had any chance of being friendly, which, frankly, was the sole reason I came up with this hasty escape plan. On the other hoof, looks - or is it “hears”? - can be deceiving, but was I really willing to risk it?

I may not have been thinking straight at the time, because after quick deliberation I came to a conclusion that simply ignoring the female until she went away was my best chance of survival. I somehow didn’t even think of shapeshifting into a tiny creature, or just running away like a normal pony would, or delivering a swift blow to her head and using her shock to escape. No, I decided to ignore her. Because surely, after sufficiently long time, a random stranger would just give up on bothering an unresponsive, weird creature they found in the ruins... right?

Wrong.

Of course I was wrong. A few more pokes later, I let out a startled yelp as I felt that very same hoof lifting me up without any problem whatsoever. Were it not for the sudden lift off, I probably would have admired her superior strength. My head was forced to look at her face, only to notice a smug, amused smirk on it.

“Now, do I really deserve to be treated so rudely?” she asked in that rough voice again. I looked at her with fear mixed with disbelief while she kept that amused grin.

“What do you want?” I retorted with a pitch slightly higher than I would like to admit.

In response, the mare simply shrugged and replied in her oddly casual tone. “To know who you are, for one. That, and to know what you are doing sleeping in the ruins of Oathike, which are widely known as a wild mongrels’ den.”

I widened my eyes, and the mare let out a deep, hearty chuckle. I still kept quiet, not really willing to answer, so eventually she began to turn away.

“I guess I can’t force you to answer, so... good luck out there and-”

“Wait!” I interrupted her, getting off the ground and approaching the huge mare. Only now did I have enough guts to properly look at her. The dirty, dark blue coat was covered in brownish patches of dirt here and there. That, in addition to the generally poor state of her short, black mane and tail gave the mare a ‘wastelander’ kind of look. It was complimented by a set of sturdy-looking leather armor which, luckily, did not sport any skulls, spikes or other unnecessarily aggressive additions. Overall, her stature fit her voice well - the mare was surprisingly tall!

As she eyed me with curiosity and amusement, I cleared my throat and spoke again. “Do you know the way to Junk Hoard?”

At that, her eyes finally gained a slightly friendlier look. A small smile adored her muzzle as she turned her entire body around.

“I’m headed there. I left some of my stuff there to lighten my load, since I had quite a long way to go,” she replied, and I must have involuntarily smiled quite widely, as she let out a loud laugh. “I can let you tag along… under one condition.”

My ears drooped. I already had a feeling where this was going.

“You are going to tell me something about yourself. More specifically, what exactly happened to you to make you all… black, and shell-covered,” she noted, contrary to my expectations. Admittedly, such a low price for practically being escorted to a nearby settlement was a nice piece of variety in this otherwise hostile world. Even though I did not hear, or feel, any hostility coming from this mare, the recent events taught me that a pony’s attitude can change in a span of seconds. I also quietly cursed under my breath for not remembering to get back to my usual disguise before resting.

Finally, after a short while of hesitation, I replied. “I’m… a mutant. Since birth, I’ve had this… chitin-like cover on my fur, those odd wings that don’t work, and a horn that barely does work.” The lie was far from perfect, but there was not much room for preparation here, so I carried on with it. “As you can imagine, I’m not very welcome in most communities because of my looks.”

“Yeah, I can imagine alright,” snorted the mare. “You look like a fifth degree burn victim with glowy eyes. Uh… no offense.”

I raised a brow at that comparison, but did not comment on it. Instead, I shrugged and continued. “So the upside of that mutation is that I can change my shape slightly to look more… plausible to your everyday-”

“Oh, wait! I recognise you now. You’re a changeling!”

The mare’s voice not only interrupted my train of thought, it made said train derail and crash completely. I was speechless. Yet another person who knew of the existence of changelings, heck - had strong opinions on them, without even knowing what exactly they looked like? What the hell was wrong with these ponies? It’s not like I blended in with the crowd!

What baffled me even more was the friendly tone she said those words in. It was such a huge difference compared to the unicorn from the previous day! While the stallion was almost fanatically eager to kill me on the spot, this stranger seemed not to mind me being a shapeshifter at all! I couldn’t wrap my head around this, so I simply stammered out some incoherent gibberish. At the sound of that, the dark blue mare laughed shortly.

“I guessed that right, didn’t I? Honestly, I didn’t expect I'd ever meet a changeling in my life! Talk about a lucky find, eh?” She said in a tone that was much more upbeat than it had the right to be. I finally gathered my thoughts, blinked a few times, and attempted not to look as confused as I probably did for the past couple of seconds.

“How do you know what I am?” I asked, giving up on the already weak cover-up story of being a mutant. In response, the mare only laughed once again. That laughter was starting to slightly irritate me.

“Are you kidding me? My mom used to tell me lots of stories about how changelings helped protect the north of Equestria during the war. And the spy stories! I used to want to be like you guys back when I was a kid!” She spoke with clear excitement, though I almost stopped listening halfway through. Another issue has taken over my thoughts; one related to the bi-polar nature of  my ‘fame’. 

I shook my head and sighed. “Alright. Yes, I'm a changeling. My name’s Tinkerbelt, but call me Tinker. And please, don’t go out shouting about that little… secret of mine, will you? I’ve already had a run-in with a unicorn that does not quite like my kind.”

In response, the earth pony snorted and waved a hoof. “No worries. That must have been some old, crazy-ass bastard, or a prepper. Most ponies in these parts would love to shake hooves with you, I’m sure!” She retorted. Right as I was about to reply, she added another thing in. “Oh, and… I’m Rainfall.”

I finally allowed a smile to creep onto my cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Rainfall. I'll still keep my disguise up. I’d like to keep the risk low, you know.”

“Of course!” Rainfall replied in her upbeat tone once again. “Hell, that sounds like I’m part of a spy story myself!”

I rolled my eyes and moved over to gather my bearings. “Lead the way, please. I’d like to be in Junk Hoard today. Someone is waiting for me there… I hope.”

It was at that moment that Rain remembered about my request from earlier. She let out a little “Oh!” of recognition. “Right. Let’s go,” she said, turning around, with her tail now facing me as she made her way out of the building. With little in terms of choice, I quickly focused to bring up my usual disguise of a brown earth pony, fortunately without any further comments from the mare. I followed her, moving out from the ruins, with my saddlebags and the toolbag safely hanging from either side of the saddle.


* * *


“So how did you wind up in Oathike?”

My supposed saviour, much to my dismay, was not one of the quiet types. In fact, she was almost too talkative, for what her tone of voice and her general posture would suggest. Her mouth opened every now and then, asking me more and more questions such as ‘where did I come from’, ‘did I have any friends’, ‘what skills did I possess’ and so on. Time after time I answered, since ignoring her proved to be fruitless; she would probably just lift me by my hooves until I replied. At that point, with yet another question aimed at me, I sighed in irritation.

“It’s kind of a long story,” I finally said. “And I don’t wanna talk about it.” Thankfully, that managed to shut the tall mare up for a moment long enough for me to take a good look around, though I saw in the corner of my eye how she huffed with a displeased expression.

We were passing a small parking lot filled with old pieces of junk that used to be motorwagons once upon a time. The rusted husks were mostly stripped for parts and left to be consumed by the elements, meaning there was not much to be found in them. We tried anyway, just to see if years of scavenging left anything worthwhile to look for, but we predictably ended up with empty hooves.

The parking lot itself was adjacent to what must have been a public park of some kind. A couple of feet to the east of the lot, if my sense of direction and time did not fail me, the ever present patches of conifers increased in density, with dead, needle-like leaves scattered on the ground in much higher amounts than usual. Unlike most of the flora in this region, those tall, hardened trees managed to withstand the test of time and still kept their yearly cycle going; although the sight was far from the pre-war forests must have looked like. Probably.

Much to my relief, we didn’t take a single step into the forest. Having never been in one, I’m fairly sure I would immediately get lost even if I were to look straight at Rain’s rump... to get myself oriented, of course. The ground was getting steeper as well, so finding my way out, without even being able to see where “out” could possibly be, practically bordered impossibility.

“So who’s waiting for you out there?” I heard the mare’s voice again, and I let out a resigned sigh. I was fairly sure she didn’t mean to drive me nuts, but she was still pretty good at it. There was no helping that, though, so I did eventually address her question.

“My dad. We got separated when our village was attacked by raiders,” I said, not even looking at her. “He told me to find Junk Hoard in the first place. If I’m lucky, he’s already there. If I’m not lucky, then…” I hesitated, then frowned. “I guess I’ll see when I get there.”

“...Damn. I’m sorry to hear about your village,” Rainfall muttered out in reply. Did I feel a hint of embarrassment in her? Or perhaps she just felt bad about asking so many questions. “I’m sure he’s already there, worried out of his mind about you.”

I appreciated the thought, but I didn’t reply at the time. We passed the parking lot, while the adjacent park was still visible as we carried on. Although we kept a steady pace and our walk was relatively quiet, Rainfall seemed bothered by something whenever I spared a glance in her direction. Finally, with a bit of hesitation, I spoke up.

“How about you? You got anyone waiting for you out there?”

The mare shook her head in response, shifting slightly to adjust her saddlebags. “Nope. I’m all on my own in this lovely little world of ours.” And while her tone of voice retained its unfittingly chirpy nature, it did feel a little more empty from how she spoke just a moment earlier.

“Oh. Um… I’m sorry,” I muttered in response, not sure what else to say. Luckily, Rainfall smiled and nodded to me in return.

"It's been a long time now. I've managed." It was all she was willing to say at the moment, which allowed us to keep going in silence for once. I was not keen on pushing the conversation; the one we’ve just had was probably quite taxing. For both of us.

Eventually, as we kept going, even the park disappeared behind the horizon, replaced once again by the depressingly barren landscape of the cold wasteland.

I used the free time to ponder on the latest events. It certainly felt nice to meet somepony who wasn’t hostile for once, and yet... the thoughts about the previous evening kept appearing at the back of my mind. I was wondering what my apparent ancestors did during the wartime. Who should I believe: the crazy, racist unicorn, or my recently met friend? Logic suggested believing the mare, since she at least had some base for her beliefs, but… there must have been some reason for the stallion to go nuts. Bad memories? From what? That would suggest there were more of my kind out there, but they were not exactly friendly to the local populace. I hoped that whatever changelings I would find would at least cooperate with the wasteland dwellers, including me.

Then there was that weird dream I had. This alien metropolis I’ve seen back then was sprawling with life, but they were about to go to war with Equestria. That obviously backfired, since their leader was assassinated shortly after, but… what if that did happen in the end, and that was what the stallion was talking about? 

But in that case, Rainfall’s version did not make much sense. If we attacked Equestria, we wouldn’t have helped the ponies during their war with the zebras… right? I let out a quiet, frustrated huff. History was never my favourite thing to learn. I’d much preferred screwing around with tools and making exciting stuff in my room. Rain looked at me with curiosity on her face.

“Something wrong?” I heard her ask. In response, I shook my head in dismissal.

“Nothing. Just… thinking,” I replied.

The mare snorted. “Don’t think too much, it’s not healthy in the long run.” I looked at her with a puzzled expression, but before I could ask her what she meant, she pointed out another thing. “We’re almost there.” 

I immediately focused on this new revelation, looking out for a sign of… well, anything that resembled a town. Yet wherever I looked, there was no sign of walls, nor did I see any buildings - not even ruined ones. The surroundings slowly turned from dead plains to hills and small mountains, obscuring the view as well. 

With time, I was panting from the increased effort; walking upwards was surprisingly much more difficult than walking on a leveled surface! I could only commend anyone who built their defensive positions on a high vantage point. Most attackers would get tired even before the real fighting would begin!

That is, unless they had wings. I looked at my back hesitantly. While I still kept my disguise, I allowed a bit of the changeling magic to reveal those insect-like wings. The green-tinted flame subtly lingered along my back, and wherever it touched, my wings slowly formed. Finally, there they were, growing out of a hole in the coat, their semi-translucent membrane only partially covering the creamy brown material.

At first, I tried using them while keeping the rest of my disguise on, but that proved to be completely impossible. As it turns out, earth ponies are heavy. Looking around, I saw nothing but the hills getting steeper. Not a single building, not even a single tree where someone could hide and spot my abrupt change. Deciding to take the risk, I called out to Rainfall to stop for a while, before giving up on said disguise completely. The bright flames engulfed me, and then I was once again a bug-pony. The mare seemed more fascinated than startled, but she luckily didn’t say anything.

I took an attempt to lift up and at least hover in the air for a moment. As much as I tried, though, I couldn’t focus on the wing movement for long enough before my muscles strained. I eventually fell down onto the ground after a couple of seconds of simple hovering, panting even harder. It simply felt as if those wings were way too thin to lift my body.

I could seriously use a flying lesson. But not only were there no changelings that could teach me, I have never seen a pegasus in my life, either! I knew there were griffons, too, but their wings were built very differently to a pony’s, much less in comparison to mine. I once asked the ones that lived in Sheepshead if they could tell me something about flying, but all they said was that “it came naturally” to them. Needless to say, that did not help at all.

And so I was left with wings that didn’t really do much. Rainfall observed my repeated attempts at flying with curious amusement for a while. Finally, she spoke up after the fourth fall or so.

“I can carry you upwards if it’s that tiring, you know,” I heard her speak with a cheeky smirk apparent on her face. I felt warmth rush to my cheeks as I looked away from the mare.

“Uh… no, thanks. I’ll manage on my own,” I retorted, giving up on the idea of flying for now. One day, maybe…

Our journey continued for a while longer. I took my pony form again after failing to fly, and carried on trying to utilise the more developed earth pony muscles to not get tired as quickly. The sight of the landscape behind us growing smaller and smaller as we progressed further was very impressive, especially to someone like me, who has been living on plains for my entire life. Sheepshead was way too far for me to spot, but I could still see quite a decent area. I even recognised some minor landmarks we passed on our way! Judging by the general lighting, it was well past noon.

What eventually stopped me, quite literally so, was Rainfall’s hoof. I focused back on the road ahead of us, except there was no more road. Instead, we stood before what could only be described as a junk gate. The structure was not very tall or impressive, but it and the walls extending from it did what they were probably supposed to do: deter wild animals and smaller raider parties. It was mostly composed of old, rusting metal elements such as wagon wrecks, steel sheets, bent beams, barrels and tire elements; the same went for the walls jutting out of the structure.

The gate itself was broad enough to fit a brahmin through. It was currently closed, but if my eyes were not deceiving me, there was a lifting mechanism attached at the top. The chains were attached on either side of the broad sheet of metal blocking the entrance. Said gate also must have had some stairs or a ladder that allowed ponies to get onto it, because two of them were currently looking down at us.

“Oi! Who are you and what’s your business here?” Came a young mare’s voice as she casually fixed her position, preparing her rifle to shoot at any sign of trouble. At least they weren’t aiming at us yet.

I was glad I had Rain by my side, as she stepped out and shouted back to the mare. “Name’s Rainfall. I’ve been to Junk Hoard a couple of times now, and I’ve got news for mayor Gentlehoof!” She shouted back, her voice booming across the hilly landscape. Seriously, her voice had the potential to be carried on for miles! At the mention of the mayor, the gate guard visibly relaxed, though she did still eye me with suspicion.

“Alright, sounds good. And who’s your pal over here?” She inquired, pointing a hoof at me. By Rain’s silence, I assumed she expected me to introduce myself. I cleared my throat and took a couple of steps forward to instill confidence in myself.

“My name is Tinkerbelt. I’m a mechanic, and I come as a refugee from the recently raided village of Sheepshead,” I spoke out, deciding to go for the fairly truthful approach. Truth be told, I did not have anything bad to hide, so there was little point in coming up with an elaborate persona for me to take over while I was here. I could hear the guardsmare mutter out a curse word under her nose.

“Sheepshead’s gone? Shit… Well in that case - step inside, you two. The mayor will want to hear about this attack,”  the mare called out to us, immediately signalling to someone out of our sight to lift the rusty gate up. Even though something in my chest sank at her comment, my face remained relatively emotionless. I’ve had enough crying last evening. I gave the guardsmare a nod of thanks, glanced at Rainfall who had joined me, and together we stepped inside the walls of Junk Hoard as the metal creaked and groaned from the gate being opened.

Now I may not have been around many towns in my life, but what stood before my eyes was definitely unique in more ways than one. What would be called a simple courtyard before the main gate in Sheepshead was completely nonexistent in Junk Hoard; There was no broad, open space in front of me, there was no main street, and there weren't even any buildings anywhere nearby! Instead, all I saw was a relatively large industrial elevator to the right of the entrance, and a pathway to the left, which led down into what appeared to be a broad chasm. We were standing at one of the edges of said chasm, at the top. As I stepped out to see just how deep the ravine went, I immediately took a step backwards.

Junk Hoard was a town situated on the walls of a gorge at least ninety feet deep and a hundred and twenty feet wide at its peak. The steep, yet positively inclined, massive blocks of hard rock had numerous supports jutting out of them at near 90 degree angles, supporting catwalks, walkways, and even broader areas where a couple of ponies could fit onto a platform. A couple of buildings were fixed to the rocky masses on either side, though they were not large in size, likely due to engineering restrictions. Long rope bridges connected the opposite sides of the gorge in a couple of places, disappearing into well-lit tunnels that probably housed even more spaces that served as functional areas such as a shop, a tavern, and many households.

The sight was baffling, to say the least. Who in their sane mind thought that building an entire town practically hanging off a ravine was a good idea?! The threat of collapsing alone should have been enough to make these ponies reconsider their choice! A feeling of dread ran down my spine as I imagined a couple of random ponies, without an engineer supervisor, happily sticking a bunch of supports into an unstable segment of the wall, only for it all to collapse in one, catastrophic motion…

Rainfall must have noticed my expression, since I heard her snicker once again as she pulled me away from the viewpoint.

“Come on, pipsqueak. Junk Hoard’s been around for at least a hundred years now, and those walkways supported ponies far larger and heavier than you or me,” the mare assured, motioning at me to follow her down the pathway. I looked uncertainly at the elevator nearby, but seeing that she was not stopping, I hastily followed her. Getting lost in this horrifying place was the last thing I wanted to do!

The pathway was carved into the wall just like most things in this town. Sheets of old metal grating were put in some places, most often to cover up a damaged section or to provide a slightly more stable footing in otherwise slippery areas. The whole town had a distinct, industrially junky feel to it. Vastly different from the pre-war architecture of Sheepshead, the rusted metal shacks followed the principle of efficiency and practicality over good looks. Not much of a surprise, given the circumstances; I’m fairly sure my home would collapse if hung on a sheer cliff.

My E.F.S went crazy with neutral markers, so I disabled it quickly and stuffed it into one of the small pockets of my saddlebag to keep it safe. As we descended, I took a better look at the settlers. Most of them were earth ponies, one of which had an odd-looking contraption attached to what seemed to be a modified battle saddle. Said contraption looked like a pair of thick, metal arms with blunt endings, with an even thicker base at either side of the saddle, jutting out at an almost perpendicular angle and measuring about two feet or so. I had no idea what this could possibly be used for, but it definitely looked heavy. I assumed only earth ponies could reasonably wear it without straining themselves after a couple of minutes.

Surprisingly, there were a couple of griffons in there as well. Some were flying over the makeshift bridges and minding their own business; a small group of feathered hybrids was lounging in what I could best describe as a small resting place on a rocky shelf, with a bunch of old furniture strewn around. I noticed that the majority of the resting group was wearing combat armor, which once probably used to be black, but now was painted over in a shade of bleak white. One of them must have seen me, because I saw him wave his hand at me. I smiled slightly and returned the gesture; only now did I realise how much I appreciated non-hostile contact with other denizens of the wasteland.

We eventually crossed the bridge that led to the other side of the gorge (I had to stop and regain my balance twice, that’s how intimidating that experience was) and stopped in front of a building with a sign that looked like it was ripped straight from an old store’s forefront. The faded letters were crossed out and replaced with the word “Socket’s” in an oily, black paint. It contrasted fairly well against the dirty blue background of the sign. Rainfall looked at the sign, then leaned in to speak to me.

“I need to see a guy before we head to the mayor, so I’ll leave you for now. You can try looking for your dad,” she suggested, to which I frowned.

“He’s not here,” I replied. “The guard didn’t know about the attack on Sheepshead. He would have told her.”

Rainfall pondered for a moment, before replying with a shrug. “You never know. Maybe he met a different shift and the news hasn’t spread out yet? Go ahead, ask the locals. I’ll be around,” the older mare replied. I doubted her words would turn out to be true, but I still gave her a reluctant smile and a nod, before she disappeared inside the building.

While I could spend a whole day looking around and admiring this incredibly odd, yet marvelous feat of engineering, Rainfall was right. Now was the best time to look around and, perhaps, learn something about this odd town. After a short while of searching for possible points of interests, my eyes laid on the group of griffons that I noticed earlier, some of which were observing me with a curious look. I gave them a similar, interested gaze, to which they reacted with an inviting gesture of their hands. Seeing no better option at the moment, I eventually approached them with a dose of reluctance.

The group consisted of four griffons, three of which wore the distinct combat armor I noticed earlier. Now that I was close, I could see old markings, scratch marks, darkened spots and other kinds of proof of wear and tear. Despite that, the protective gear still looked clean and carefully maintained; not a single loose screw, not even one strap misaligned, all plates in their place... Clearly, these griffons cared deeply about their equipment. I saw one of them nod at me as their attention shifted towards me.

“New guy in town?” One of the griffons asked, his voice surprisingly friendly. For their tough looks I definitely expected a rougher, no-brahmincrap kind of attitude. I tilted my head to the side, looking at him in mild surprise.

“How'd you know?” I asked, before realising how silly that must have sounded and shaking my head. “No, wait… I think I know. I look like a new guy, because I keep looking around instead of knowing exactly where to go. That, and I didn't recognise you, even though I probably should've. Is that right?” I immediately followed with an explanation as it came to my mind. The avian before me smirked.

“Well aren’t you a smartass,” he said, reaching out to ruffle my mane. I wasn’t quite happy with someone touching me like that, but… I was kind of afraid to protest. He wasn’t doing anything bad anyway, right? “You missed the point that we’ve never seen you around here, but yeah, you’re mostly right. So why don’t you introduce yourself?” he added, moving back a step. I haven’t seen too many griffons in my life, but he seemed quite well-built and confident. Combined with the fact that he was the one speaking, I could assume he was the leader of this bunch.

I finally looked up at the griffon, mustering a smile. “Name’s Tinkerbelt. Just a mechanic from Sheepshead,” I introduced myself, leaving out the unnecessary details. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen another stallion from Sheepshead around here recently?”

The griffon, as expected, shook his head. “Nope. In fact, you’re the first one to arrive from there in… hell, must be around a year or so.” I saw him shift in his position, offering his hand to shake. I reached out with my hoof to accept the awkward gesture. “I’m Lieutenant Marshwing from the Winterclaw Mercenaries. These here are Grim,” he said, gesturing towards the only non-armored griffon in the bunch, before moving over to the other two. “...Sunbill, and Rivernail.”

I nodded to each of the griffons introduced before speaking to Marshwing again. “Winterclaw Mercenaries?” I asked in a curious tone. A chuckle escaped the avian before me.

“You really aren’t from these parts, are you?” He asked, as if to confirm his suspicions. Before I could reply, he continued. “We’re the only group of mercenaries in this region. Used to be Talons, but we had a little… division, over our principles, so to speak.” His words may have had an impact if I actually knew who Talons were, but I decided not to press on that matter for now.

“I see. So… what exactly do you do in Junk Hoard?” I asked, glancing over the other armor griffons for a brief moment. The group didn’t seem to be going anywhere, so why would they wear their pristine armor in a town like this?

“It’s one of the settlements we protect,” Marshwing explained. “There are always a couple squads of Winterclaws around, even if this town isn’t really in much danger. Most of us keep watch out for wild animals during our patrols.”

I nodded in understanding, though something bothered me about the fact that there were mercs protecting such a small town. “The mayor has enough caps to pay for mercenaries?”

In response, a wistful smirk appeared on the lieutenant’s beak. “Apparently so. I don’t know the specifics, but him and Winterclaw herself have some kind of special deal going on.”

Before I could reply, another, gruff voice cut me off. “They’re shagging, obviously!” It belonged to Grim, the unarmoured griffon of the bunch, who now had a huge grin plastered over his beak. His intrusion was met with a reproval from Marshwing, but then Sunbill also stepped in.

“They’re not ‘shagging’, they’re just good friends! Besides, she’s a griffon and he’s a pony. Things just don’t work like that between our kinds!” He said in defence of both the mayor and their… I assumed commander in chief.

“Only makes it more interesting!” Grim retorted with a cackle. Sunbill looked at him with a furious look, but before any friendly violence could emerge, Marshwing spoke up again.

“That’s enough about Commander’s sexual life,” he said in a cold tone, immediately shutting both squabbling griffons up in an admirable feat of leadership and charisma. It also confirmed my assumption about her title, so at least one guess of mine was correct. He then turned his attention to me. “Sorry about them. Anything else you’d like to know?”

I shook my head and smiled apologetically. “As interesting as it is to talk with you, I need to find someone. Maybe the Mayor will know something...”

The lieutenant nodded in understanding. “If there’s anyone who could know about arrivals from other towns, it would be him. We won’t keep you occupied then. Stay safe out there!” He added. Smiling to him in return, I turned around and headed to the shop Rain stepped into. I wasn’t going to aimlessly wander in search of the mayor’s office when I could just go with the big gal instead!

Opening the door, I felt just like visiting our workshop back in Sheepshead. Less homey, of course, but the resemblance was obvious: it was clearly a place occupied by a craftspony. In contrast to my room, nothing was lying on the ground. Instead, a number of shelves were placed by the walls, filled with various junk and weapon parts: lenses, stocks, triggers, even parts of a battle saddle! All of the shelves were standing on the other side of the room, divided in two by a long counter, where I currently saw Rainfall passing some bits over to the clerk: an orange-coated stallion with a dirty cap on his head.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Socket,” I heard Rain speak. “I’ll come for it later when I’ll be leaving the town.”

“Sure thing Rain. Anytime!” I heard the chirpy voice of an orange-coated stallion, before his attention shifted towards me. “Ooh, a new customer! Come on in!” I heard him say excitedly. Rain turned her head to me and grinned.

I waved a hoof, smiling apologetically. “Oh, I’m just here to see if she’s done yet,” I said, nodding towards the mare.

“Actually, you may wanna see if Socket here has anything that catches your eye!” The earth pony mare retorted. The stallion looked at me expectantly, either not noticing or ignoring my uneasy smile. I didn’t plan on making any purchases, especially since my caps were… non-existent. After a short while I figured that it wouldn’t hurt to look… right?

The stallion behind the counter seemed to agree. “Come closer, come closer! We have a wide selection of goods and junk; anything you may need, you can probably find it here at Socket’s!” The clerk spoke in a typical voice of a guy who will try to sell you even the most useless thing he has.

I smiled at him and approached the counter, looking at the assortment of all kinds of weapons, modifications, and other pieces of mechanical stuff, half of which I could probably cobble together to create some funky device. If I had the caps, I would likely pick something up from that pile. Of course, the lack of funds also meant I wouldn’t be buying any sort of firearm, and besides… I was never taught how to shoot properly. Without training, I might accidentally put another hole through my legs if I wasn’t careful.

On the other hoof, there was the barding. Noticing a fairly decent-looking armor in the back corner of the room made me realise how ‘naked’ I was, trekking through the wastes. Everypony around here had some sort of protection over themselves. Even Grim, while he was not wearing his pristine combat armor, did seem to have strengthened materials lodged onto his clothing. Me? With just a coat, no matter how warm it might be, any stray bullet might spell the end of my adventure. 

“Say, how much for that barding over there?” I asked, pointing a hoof at it. The stallion followed my hoof, looking at the stand, and smiled knowingly.

“Aye, our top quality leather barding. Light, but durable enough to withstand most lower caliber shots,” the shopkeeper spoke, moving over to the armor stand and putting it closer to the middle of the room, where the light was a bit better. I could see the studs at the edges of the leather, at the thicker parts of brown padding. The whole thing indeed seemed like a decently comfortable construction, and additionally interesting function was that all parts were detachable, by the looks of it.

“How much is it?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

“A thousand and two hundred caps, friend,” replied the stallion, drawing out a sigh from me. “We take either cash or-”

“Sorry, I’m way too poor for that,” I interrupted him. “Unless I can repay in hard work, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass for now.”

Socket nodded, only slightly dumbfounded. He probably wasn’t used to people interrupting his spiel. “I get it, no worries. You might wanna head over to the Mayor and ask him for a job, then. If you know a thing or two about generators, he might just have something for you.”

My ears perked up at that. “A job, you say? Can you tell me more about it?”

The stallion shrugged in response. “Something about the power source of ol’ Lifter breaking down. Really, you should ask Mayor Gentlehoof for details, I’m stuck to this workshop during most of the day.”

Nodding in thanks, I turned to Rain, who surprisingly remained silent throughout our conversation. “Ready to head out?”

With a short approval from the mare, we both said our goodbyes to the shopkeeper and left the shop. Rainfall snickered right after the door closed.

“I’m impressed, Tinker. Do you know how difficult it is to keep Wired Socket from babbling you to death?”

“I assume it’s as difficult as it is with you,” I replied, earning a laugh from the mare. Admittedly, I smiled a little, too.

A short while later Rainfall led us along the crevice wall, towards one of the cave entrances. At this point I was somewhat used to walking on sheets of relatively thin metal over a deep ravine, but stepping onto a solid ground was still a relief. The mayor’s office was located deeper into what turned out to be a complex system of caves and corridors. At that point I realised that, while most functional buildings were outside, the majority of housing found itself deeper in the rocks. I wondered why that was the case. Maybe the caverns were ultimately warmer than the outside world, especially during winter? Or maybe it was easier to heat them up with a generator?

Our trek was short and mostly uneventful. We passed a couple of local townsfolk and finally approached a walled-off section of the cave complex, with a simple sign spelling out “Mayor." Rainfall stopped, and looked at me.

“Well, I figure we can go in together, or take turns. I don’t mind either option,” spoke, leaving me with a rather simple decision.

“Let’s go in together and not waste any time.” I knocked, then pushed at the metal door; Rain followed me without delay.

The office was surprisingly comfy, for being situated in a cavern. Instead of the hard rock, it had actual dark, wooden, laminated panels that served as a substitute for your usual floor of a typical house. There was some furniture scattered around, with an oaken table in the middle being the most prominent, followed by a couple of old, leather-laden seats surrounding it. In one of those seats, behind the table, sat a surprisingly young unicorn with a funny looking, round, beige hat. He was holding a pack of cigarettes of a brand I didn't recognise in his telekinetic field, the bright glow of his magic complimenting his matte brown coat. Only after a couple of seconds did he spare us both a glance.

"Sit down," He gestured towards two of the leather chairs. Both me and Rainfall accepted the invitation rather swiftly. We'd both been on the road for a long while, and my hooves were absolutely killing me; I only realised that now that my rump could actually rest.

The brown stallion looked at us both with a judging look, before smiling.

"So what can I do for you two?" He asked, keeping a professional, yet kind tone of voice. I looked at Rainfall, who in turn looked at me. A single nod from me convinced her to start speaking first.

"I return from River Town," she said. I also listened intently, hoping to catch a glimpse of information about the outside world. "You may remember that you sent me there with a message."

"I do remember," the mayor nodded.

"Well, thanks to my innate charisma and flexible tongue, they've accepted your offer and want to meet on even ground for a trade agreement tomorrow," Rainfall finally said with a big grin, clearly proud of her mission. For some reason I was having a difficult time believing her claims.

The mayor didn't seem to care, though; he just smiled, but also frowned. "That's some great news. Tomorrow, though…? They're setting quite a rough timetable, but I guess we should go for it anyway. Where's the meeting settled again?"

"Old Colttown," the mare replied. I sincerely hoped Rainfall wouldn't mind introducing me to some of the locations in these parts of the Wasteland; at the very least, they would be good orientation points. Mayor Gentlehoof nodded again.

"At least it's not that far off... alright. Thank you, miss Rainfall. I'll have your payment ready in a moment," the mayor promised, getting up and heading over to one of the cupboards on the side of the room.

"In the meantime, in order not to waste much time, does your companion have anything to say?" He suddenly asked, turning his head to me. Taken so abruptly out of my train of thought actually left me gasping shortly as I looked back at him.

"Aah... um... Greetings, Mayor Gentlehoof. I'm Tinkerbelt," I finally introduced myself after an awkward, short pause. "I came here asking if there's any work for a repairspony, or a mechanic."

There was a brief moment of silence, interrupted only by steady clinking of caps falling into a leather bag. Once that was done, the stallion turned around and put the bag of caps in Rain's saddlebags.

"We don't really have any work for a repairspony in this town," he said, shaking his head. "We have enough engineers and mechanics around here to keep everything in a decent shape."

My ears drooped. So much for utilising my talents. How unlucky can a repairspony be to roam the wasteland, and the first and only place he was directed to is full of ponies who can probably do his job better than he can?

"However..."

My head lifted again as I focused my eyes on the stallion.

"You're not from around here, are you? I have a job that would require you to make a trip to a nearby factory."

I hesitated. If there's any place that could have long forgotten monsters inside it, it would be an old, abandoned factory. Still, I gave him a nod.

"I haven't been around for too long, but I guess I can go find that factory," I offered. Mayor Gentlehoof's eyes focused on me.

"Good. I need you to find a rotor for our generator," he explained. "Our local engineers don't really have any experience in the wastes, and the griffons will have no idea what to look for."

I carefully omitted the fact that I've been traveling for less than three days, and focused on the task instead. "What model do you guys have?" I asked. Of course, I barely knew anything specifically about generators, but giving an impression that I know what I'm talking about wouldn't hurt.

"You'd have to ask our chief engineer, Bigby, but it may not be necessary," the unicorn explained. "Our generator was built from the parts from that very factory a long time ago. I imagine that they didn't produce too many rotor variants. Still, if you want to meet the chief engineer, he lives just a bit further down the corridor."

I nodded. "Thanks. Will I meet any, uh... dangers in that factory?"

The unicorn nodded, confirming my suspicions. "Aside from the usual wasteland fauna, occasionally some ghouls appear on the production levels of the factory. We have no idea where they come from, nor why they keep coming back, but since we don't scavenge the factory too often nowadays... well, I figured that finding their source wasn't worth the ponypower and resources."

I glanced at Rainfall, who was looking at me with a small frown. I cleared my throat.

"I don't suppose you could invite one of those strong-looking griffons to help me?" I asked with a somewhat sheepish grin. To nopony's surprise, Mayor Gentlehoof shook his head.

"I could, but then you'd have to pay me more than I'm willing to pay you for this job," he said bluntly. "Speaking of which... a hundred caps. Bonus if you can also install the part yourself."

I winced. That... didn't seem like much, given that I would be risking my life getting eaten alive by ghouls. "What does the generator provide power for, anyway?"

"This generator's most important task is powering our cargo elevator," he replied with a rise of his brow. "Occasionally it also heats our homes, if the primary generator fails or if it gets too cold." The stallion probably knew where I was going with this, but he said nothing yet.

"So... it's pretty important," I continued. A small, innocent smile creeped onto my muzzle. "Surely repairing such a huge part of your infrastructure is worth more than a hundred caps?" I offered. It was a typical bluff, as I didn't even know the value of a bottlecap very well. Our repairswork apparently brought us some decent caps, but I always spent those on new things to tinker with. Parts and junk were the things I knew the value of.

The mayor, much to my dismay, shook his head. "That's why I'm giving you a bonus if you do repair the generator on your own. I have engineers that could do it as their usual job, you know," he said, his voice turning more professional. "I'm paying you a hundred for the extraction and delivery of the part. No more, no less."

My ears drooped, but I eventually gave him a nod. Whether I liked it or not, I did need those caps. "Fair enough. I'll take the job, then," I finally said, in hopes that the ghouls would simply not be there when I arrive.

The mayor seemed happy with this result. "Splendid. The sooner you go, the better. Although, do feel free to use our inn to spend the night in. Now, if there's nothing else..."

I got up, then hesitated. I remembered the words of the guardsmare at the main gate, and turned my head to the stallion once more.

"Oh, and... I know it's a long shot, but... have you seen another, new stallion around here? A tall earth pony, a coat slightly darker brown than mine, possibly with a whole box of tools by his side?"

The mayor pondered for a short while, before shaking his head. "Can't recall anyone like that, I'm afraid. Why?"

I cleared my throat. "Our village, Sheepshead, was raided. My father told me to come here to find him, but I suppose he hasn't made it... yet." I added that last word with a strained voice. Mayor Gentlehoof looked at me in surprise.

"Sheepshead was raided?" He said, frowning. "I should send out more patrols, then... Thanks for letting me know, kid. And sorry for the loss of your home."

I just nodded without a word, opening the door to the mayor's 'office'. I heard Rainfall also say her goodbyes and follow me outside; I just realised how little she talked while I discussed the job with the unicorn. I wasn't even sure what she was doing in the meantime! How come she could only stay silent when I was talking with other ponies?

Now that we were outside, however, she was quick to express her emotions.

"He's lowballing you," she said with a huff. "You were right to try and haggle. The mayor is known for being more of a donkey, given his stubborness, but that's still quite a low price. We'll see, maybe that bonus will be worth it..."

I snorted, shaking my head. "At this rate, I won't even have decent protection, much less a weapon I could actually use... assuming I'll even be alive after that factory raid," I said with a heavy sigh. It seemed pretty obvious that I did not see my chances as very high. In return, Rainfall patted my head a few times.

"Don't worry, hun. I'll keep you safe in that factory," she said, making me blink in surprise.

"I don't remember inviting you over for that job," I said perhaps a bit too coldly. Rainfall simply laughed.

"Surely you could use a big earth pony gal who could strangle a ghoul with her bare hooves?" I heard her say, prompting my eyes to roll.

"Not if I have to share what little caps I'm getting from the job," I retorted. The mare stopped for a moment, and then chuckled.

"Oh, you won't have to pay me, silly! I just wanna come along, that's all."

I remember being quite shocked at that revelation. Not only did she not have enough of my... somewhat cold attitude towards her, she actually wanted more?

"Why?" I asked, simply baffled. Rainfall only shrugged, keeping her silly grin.

"I dunno. You seem like a fine chan... stallion," she quickly corrected herself. I raised my brow. "And you need all the help you can take at the start of the trail. So I decided to be that help!"

I didn't believe this, not one bit. But... she did offer help, for free. I did not want to trust her too much, but at the same time I didn't want to get eaten by ghouls even more.

"...Fine," I finally said. "But I'm not going today. I'll gladly take up on the mayor's offer and hit the hay. Are the beds in that tavern any good?"

"They're pretty decent. Certainly the best in this part of the wasteland," the mare replied with a grin. "Come along, I'll show you!"


* * *


The evening creeped upon us without us even noticing.

Rainfall led me back through the metal walkways and alongside the cliff towards a tall, wide, but narrow building hanging right by the tall, rock wall. The tavern, fittingly called the "Rusty Pipe," might not have been the most visually appealing building in this town, but it did offer a place to rest, drink, and sleep off a long journey. The single door led to a room which, while not very spacious, did fit in a small number of tables and chairs for ponies to sit on. A considerable number of these ponies, as well as two griffons, sat by the tables, sipping on drinks of various kinds. A set of narrow stairs led further up the tavern.

The chatter was quite audible as we stepped in, the wooden floor gently creaking underneath our hooves. The patrons barely paid us any mind. We decided to make our way straight to the bartender. Rainfall checked over the gear she left behind the counter, making sure it's still there, while I bought myself a room for the night. With fifteen caps less in my pouch, I was eventually led upstairs by the mercenary mare.

The upstairs area was decently lit and much quieter than the downstairs. This time, the floor was covered in an old, but thick rug that made our steps much quieter than usual. The small area that the stairs led into quickly narrowed into a corridor leading alongside the tavern's length, right to its furthermost wall. Old, sparkle-fueled lanterns covered the floor in a warm, moody glow. 

After a short search we found our rooms, which just so happened to be practically next to one another. Rainfall turned around, looking at me with a smile that quickly turned into a yawn.

"It's late, Tinker. I think we both need to catch some shuteye," the mare said through her yawn, the voice somewhat distorted. I looked at her with amusement.

"Yeah... I'll hit you up tomorrow, Rain. See you around," I replied, waving the mare goodbye as she stepped into her own room and closed the door behind her. I eventually stepped into my room, lighting it up with a switch I managed to notice in the shadow. It wasn't huge, but that's what I expected from this building at this point; somehow, the constructors of this place managed to make everything compact, but not too compact, which worked out just fine by me.

With a heavy sigh I let my saddlebags slip out from my back and land on the floor next to a small cupboard on the left. Directly opposite of the cupboard was a night table with another, small light, presumably for those who liked to read a book before their sleep. I had none at my disposal, so I promptly ignored the lamp and landed with a dull thud on the bed, face first. Mm... comfy.

Instead of immediately falling asleep, my mind decided to torment me with my most recent memories again. Only this time they focused mostly on Rainfall's constant blabbering, the awe I was struck with when I first saw Junk Hoard's... interesting design, and on the fact that in that day alone I've probably spoken to more people than I would speak to in Sheepshead in a month. Snickering to myself at the thought, I finally managed to get a genuine smile on my muzzle. Even though I didn't find my dad, or anyone from my village for that matter... I did have a secure roof over my head, I was about to go on my first job as a wasteland mechanic, and a strong pony apparently found me to be good company.

If this wasn't progress in my quest for survival, then I had no idea what was.

With the positive attitude stuck in my mind, I finally rolled onto my side, closed my eyes, and allowed sleep to overtake me.


* * *


Footnote: Level Up!
New Perk: Empathy (1) - You're slowly learning the subtle art of talking to ponies. During conversations, you will have an easier time predicting the other side's reactions to your words.