Chapter 1

    There wasn’t much left in the world for Taelea Zangara, Courier of the Mojave Express. Courier Six. The true Courier. The failure. With bleak eyes, she stood at the debris wall at the mouth of the Divide, helmet hanging loosely from one hand by a cord. The mushroom clouds to the East and West were clearly visible, even still; the legacy of Ulysses, of America. The ancient, buried giants that had crushed the Long 15, the lifeline of the NCR, and Dry Wells, the gathering place of the Legion.

      “I wasn’t fast enough,” Taelea murmured to no one in particular, a dusty hand brushing away a lock of short, dark hair from her eyes.

      Ulysses. That name would haunt Taelea for the rest of her days, she was sure. The “original” Courier Six. The mastermind, the trickster who had lured Taelea and ED-E straight to his trap in the Divide. She had managed to kill the bastard, but he had wasted too much of her time. The nuclear missiles had smashed into the lifelines of both civilizations in the Southwest, effectively cutting the arteries of them both. With the destruction of the highways, the NCR, even with their win at the Hoover Dam, would be forced to pull back. With House dead, and most of the Securitrons destroyed, New Vegas would have little leadership, and anarchy would reign. Ulysses had planned it all so perfectly.

      Everything she had fought for was going to fall into the sands of the deserts now. The Boomers would hole up in Nells, while the Brotherhood of Steel would keep to themselves, as always. There was nothing for Taelea here. A bullet to the head would be too… ironic. And walking into the radiation just did not compute. The Courier was a survivor. So with a soulful sigh, she replaced the riot helmet on her head, shouldered her anti-material rifle, and trudged back towards New Vegas. A visit to her adopted home… and then to walk the roads once more.

At the Lucky 38, her gang’s some-what home, Taelea said her goodbyes. Her sizable cap fortune, won from the casinos and the loot of the Sierra Madre vault, was split amongst the group, as was her massive arsenal of weapons and armor. A good portion of it went to the Followers of the Apocalypse, and another to the Kings. She did not know if it would help in the long run, but she had to try, at least. By the time Taelea was back on the road, she carried only a hunting rifle over her shoulder, Joshua Graham’s .45 Auto on her belt, a Ranger Sequoia on her hip, and a travelling pack of supplies on her back, supported by her riot control armor. It was both sad and liberating all at once.

Heading north, Taelea paid the Boomers a visit first, using a saved gold bar to pay for a full bag of ammo for her weapons. It was good to see them thriving even in the dark days, and Taelea could only hope the ex-Vaulters would survive when she left. They were good people, if a bit naive and xenophobic. With a sigh and a wave, the Courier turned her back on the Mojave, heading north into Nevada and Idaho. She did not know it at the time, but a new chapter of her story was beginning. Possibly the most important one of her life.

*********************

Gunshots. Taelea jerked her head up from blissful sleep as the gunshots thundered away from over the ridge she had made camp on. Rifles, judging from the sound of it, and the faint whine of a laser weapon. Frowning, Taelea quickly fastened her helmet and boots back on, grabbing her rifle so she could peer over the top of the ridgeline. Tribals fighting wasn’t unheard of this far north, though in Nevada they were more likely raiders. Either way, driving them off before they found Taelea in her sleep was the safest bet. She would rather not get raped/killed out there, thank you.

What greeted the Courier through her scope was not, however, exactly what she was expecting. A short woman, more likely an older teenager, her hair a mass of purples, was running for her life, blue dress and odd purple cape flapping as she ran. Behind her, whooping and cat-calling, was a squad of raiders, hammering after her with rifles and a laser pistol. 80’s, Taelea judged with a wince, noting the road signs soldered on their armor. A tribe out of Utah, the 80’s were known for being vicious fighters, and had recently annihilated the powerful White Legs tribe at the Great Salt Lake. The Dead Horses and Sorrows tribes had warred with them soon after, and sent them scattering from their homes along the highway. These had to stragglers.

Taelea’s rifle barked as it sent a round downrange; the .308 bullet smashed into the spine of the raider furthest back in the squad, sending him into a nerveless tumble in the dirt. In the cacophony of the moment, his compatriots did not notice his gun going silent. The next round hit the rifle of the raider in front of him, the effect much like a grenade as wood and metal shrapnel was thrown into his face. His screams, however, drew the attention of the rest of his band, only for the female with the laser pistol to go down in a heap, brains painting the dusty ground. The last two immediately jumped behind a set of rocks, their .45 SMGs throwing a hail of bullets back at the sniper, the rounds pinging and whining among the stones around her position.

Taelea winced and ducked back immediately, scowling beneath her helmet. Shit. Those rounds could pierce her armor, she knew that very well. She’d probably need to flank them, and then-

“Hey! Stop it! You don’t have to do this!”

Oh hell. The Courier peeked back over the ridge, paling immediately. The young woman was standing up, hands held out towards the raiders and her back to Taelea. For some reason, the raiders had stopped firing, their faces looking stunned and confused through the Courier’s scope.

“Please, just… just go away! Your friends are dead already… just t-take them, and go, o-”

The lead raiders got off a small burst before Tae’s bullet could strike him, and she cursed when the girl went down with a yelp. The remaining killer tried to turn and run. She made it only a few extra feet.

“Trying to talk to raiders, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Tae groaned, scrambling down the hill as quickly as she could, “You better not be dead, kid… goddamnit, those bullets are rare…”

The girl was curled up tightly on the ground, whimpering and coughing painfully. Taelea sighed, peeling off her helmet and setting it beside the girl.

“Easy kid, I’m here to help,” she whispered softly, “Roll over for me, let me see.”

“I-I don’t wanna d-die,” the girl managed blearily; her voice was soft, frightened.

“You won’t. Now, come… on…”

Rolling the girl over changed Taelea’s life that day, initiating her into a world she never thought possible. On her forehead, on a dainty little face not yet encrusted from a life on the Wasteland, was a horn. A curling, porcelain horn that rose to a fine point; her Pipboy let out a soft click at the faint amount of radiation coming from it. A mutation? Possibly, Taelea thought, Though not one she had ever seen before. Underneath the girl, a pair of purple, feathered wings spread out comfortably. It was getting harder to focus on the girl’s injuries- just what was she?- but Taelea was a skilled doctor, from her work with the Followers.

Two rounds from the .45 had torn into her stomach, blood pouring thickly from the wounds. Gut wounds, Taelea thought with a wince, These are not fun. Working quickly, the Courier pushed a Super-Stimpak into the girl’s arm, along with a shot of med-x, before taking out her tweezers. Judging from the pain-filled sobs and cries of the girl, she’d never been shot before. The first time was always the worst. Though at least, in this case, it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been; the bullets had sliced into more fat- what precious little the girl had- than anything important, and once the bullets were out, it was as simple as sterilizing and sewing her up.

With a soft grunt, Taelea flopped on her butt beside the now-passed out girl, staring with wide eyes at her horn.

“Just… what… are you…”

************

Waking up was not fun for Twilight Sparkle, at all, but sleep had not been good either. Nightmares of those… human monsters had hounded her, and all that blood. In Equestria, the most blood the young alicorn had ever seen had been at the fish market, and even that had been nauseating. To see any creature just… With a groan, Twilight rolled on her side, unloading her stomach contents onto the dusty ground beneath.

“Thanks for not doing that on my bedroll.”

Oh Celestia. Cracking a purple eye open slowly, Twilight paled; a female human was sitting by her, smiling faintly. She was a little older than the humans from Canterlot High, or that might just be premature aging. Her eyes, a soft forest green, were haunted, and her hair looked like it was cut regularly with a knife instead of the proper scissors. She was dressed in an odd form of armor- a leather duster over a set of square, green plates, with a set of green pauldrons on top of that. Across her legs lay a rifle, though it was different than those used by ponies; it had a small, finger-trigger, more like those used by griffons.

“Y-you’re welcome,” she managed weakly, wincing and bringing a hand to her dry throat.

The woman smiled softly, picking up a canteen and holding it out, “Here. Yeah, the dust will dry you out fast.”

Ah yes. Fingers. The enigma of all ponydom. It took a few tries, but Twilight finally managed to grab ahold of the canteen, though opening it took using her teeth. Sweet, sweet water. It had a faintly fruity taste to it, but holy Celestia was it soothing to Twilight’s aching throat. She had gulped down about half the contents before noticing the woman’s pained expression, and she sheepishly handed it back.

“T-thank you, miss…”

“Taelea. And you?”

“Twilight Sparkle.”

The woman blinked slowly, tilting her head, expression unreadable.

“That uh… that’s a name, there,” she managed after a few moments, a smile cracking across her features again.

Twilight managed a smile of her own, then took the moment to look down at herself. Her dress had been torn at the knees- darn, Rarity had worked hard at that- and she could feel the tightness of bandages on her stomach. It still ached terribly. She reached a shaking hand to her stomach, wincing. That was going to last a while.

“So, I have to ask,” the woman spoke up suddenly, making Twilight jump a bit, “Why in god’s name did you try to talk to raiders? You know damn well they don’t listen.”

Raiders? Twilight had thought them simple brigands, or delinquents, at least until the first shots had been fired. Then it seemed more likely that they were soldiers of some kind, and she had been mistaken as an enemy.

“Well,” she started shyly, “I-I thought… they could be reasoned with… I mean, most ponies-” People, remember Canterlot High! “Most p-people have at least some reasoning, right? I was unarmed, I-”

She leaned back, startled as the woman broke into a bitter laugh, her head leaning back.

“Kid, raiders aren’t even sane, half the time. It’s like trying to talk to a deathclaw. They might understand you, but they still kill you just for being there. That’s how this world works, remember? Sane people kill other sane people for stupid reasons, and insane people kill just to kill.”

Twilight winced, looking down. Oh, great. This world sounded fun. Finding her friends was… not going to be easy then.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know, Miss Taelea.”

The laughter finally died with a soft sigh, and Taelea reached up to rub her ragged hair, eying Twilight carefully.

“Alright kid, just… ...where are you from? Can I get you back to it? Unarmed out here, with no supplies, you won’t make it a day.”

And that was going to be the difficult part, wasn’t it? Twilight sighed heavily, peering up calmly at the armored woman. This wasn’t Canterlot High. This world was dark, and completely crazy. If this woman thought she was, well… so be it.

“I guess that’s a bit of a long story, miss. It all started yesterday…”