Fallout: Equestria - The Last Wanderer

Chapter Twenty-Four: Full Circle

Fallout Equestria: The Last Wanderer

Chapter Twenty-Four: Full Circle

Loyalty.

The Wasteland would always have its ways of screwing you over, and giving you the big 'fuck you' right when you think you had done something right. The Wasteland denies heroes, it doesn't want heroes. But the Wasteland needs them, and I certainly was not the right pony to be that hero. It needed another Littlepip, somepony who could put things right regardless of the outcome. Even if it killed them in the process, the Wasteland would be a little better from it -- ponies would ask what kept them going, and the companions of the hero would reply "friendship, of course."

I was not the pony to fill in those shoes. No... I wasn't ready. I had made many wrong decisions for the sake of my friends' lives, for the sake of my lover's life. Crystal. On the night I had destroyed Sunnyvale, she was on the verge of having her life taken away from her. I chose to destroy Sunnyvale to ensure that she made it out, and she did. But the outcome of that decision was regret, and guilt was my weakness. Guilt was the only thing that made it hard for me to progress. I was no Littlepip.

This Wasteland cries and begs for heroes -- ponies who know how to do right -- ponies who know what is the difference between right and wrong -- ponies that can pick themselves up after their many mistakes and errors. I however could not. The Wasteland taught me that the tiniest mistake could have thousands calling for your head. And it was right to do that. No matter what choices a pony makes out in the wild and woolly Wasteland, no matter how many ponies you save, the Wasteland would always find its ways to toss you back into the abyss of guilt and despair.

I was not one of those ponies...

The Wasteland taught ponies to fight to survive -- the Wasteland forced the violent lifestyle on ponies so that Ponykind could survive. Little did they all know, little did I know, that no matter how hard you fight for your own life, you're only taking away another pony's life -- slowly killing off Ponykind one by one. I was no better than they were, I was the same as everypony else. Fighting for survival, trying to add one more day to my life... One pony at a time. I was no different, no better. I was just as bitter and as sick as they were. I killed with almost no remorse.

The Wasteland changes ponies. The Wasteland changed me. My first night out in the Wasteland was a whole new experience. I had killed my first pony, I had met a new friend... ventured beyond the sealed door of Stable 30. Even though it wasn't my choice. I may not have noticed it, but ever since I found myself outside of Stable 30, ever since I took my first steps out into the open Wasteland... the Wasteland was changing me. Compared to what I was all those months ago, I was a monster. A bitter, evil, sadistic monster!

The Wasteland corrupted Ponkykind. Power and control. The Steel Rangers and the Enclave battling each other for control over the Wasteland, and trying to grab as many civilians and other ponies that were useless with weaponry. The promise of easy money dragging them in, and holding them in the fray. After all, money talks. The civilians didn't want to fight, they didn't want to be involved in the violence -- but the safety, and caps they were all promised pulled them in, hypnotized them. And forced them to fight until they saw red.

The Wasteland is a cruel and bitter place. A place where not even the toughest of the tough, the brainiest of the brains or the most brutal of the brutes could survive alone. Friendship guides ponies, friendship protects ponies... Friendship is what makes ponies. Without it, we're all powerless, useless, and alone. Friendship is what helped me get this far, and I was not going to give up.

I came home...

Upon arriving at the familiar cave that contained the door to Stable 30, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me as the dirty cave air rushed down my throat and hurried into my lungs. The scent of the degrading metal coming from the door at the end of the cave filled the air, and the surrounding darkness almost restricted our vision completely. I could just see the number thirty plastered to the mundane grey door at the end of the cave.