Raiders are interesting folk. The’re usually forced into the life by circumstances beyond their control; be it poverty, survival, desperation, slavery, madness, drug use, or just being a second generation raider. And because of what they are, and what they do, they are often killed on site by merchants, travelers, and pretty much anything that ain't them. Like radroachs that wander too close. It's another, more subtle, horror of the Equestrian Wasteland. But if you sit and observe a group of raiders for a few days you begin to understand that they are ponies, just like us. They laugh, they cry, they mourn, they cheer, they play, they fuck, they love. They are ponies just trying to survive out in the wastes, with the only thing to look forward to is the suffering of others. They even have some level of compassion and empathy, even if it's just for each other. At least that is what I have seen. And I have seen quite a bit observing from afar, through a high powered scope, attached to an even higher powered rifle. Like this little family of raiders I have been keeping an eye on for the past couple of days. Just six ponies waking up to fix breakfast and start the day.

At some point I always give my targets names; it helps pass the time and makes it easier for me to mentally keep track of them all. Small Fry is their leader, a petite little unicorn mare with a green coat that carries around a surprisingly well taken care of pump shotgun. Quick to anger, but she’s also a clever little bitch. Sledg, an unremarkable brown earth pony buck that’s handy with a sledgehammer, and not much else. Not much to say about him aside the fact he’s big. Cowboy, a black coated unicorn buck that carries around twin revolvers holstered to his sides; .38s I think, but it's hard to tell at this distance. He seems to be the quiet type and about the closest thing they have to a medic. Top and Bottom, a pair of dirty white unicorns bucks that I have seen more than once sneak off for a little alone time. Top has a red mane and is armed with a bolt rifle that looks like it has seen better days. The yellow maned Bottom carries around the butt stock of a similar rifle to Top’s, but uses it as a club, must hold some sort of sentimental value the way he cares for it. And finally there's Hole, a blue earth pony mare that spends a majority of her time being used as a hole, or eating one out, hence the name. She enjoyed it well enough from what I have seen, gets downright enthusiastic about it sometimes. She killed a seventh member of their troop with a wicked little knife strapped to her foreleg not long after I started watching them, he was a buck who wanted more then she was giving at that particular moment. One big happy family living under the roof of your friendly neighborhood post-apocalyptic Donut Joe's.

Fortunately for the wasteland, and most who inhabit it, this is a family I am going to break up. They have been raiding up and down this stretch of highway between Manehatten and Fillydelphia for a few weeks now, attacking two caravans before I came out here looking for them. I worked my way up to the top floors of this hospital to get a good view of the area. I spotted them about two miles away attacking a third caravan; too far away from me to do anything about, but close enough so that I could see the rape, murder and all the other reasons I needed to put them down. They didn't take any prisoners; they just dragged the bodies into a nearby building to rot after they were done with them. I watched them make their way back to camp, that was conveniently just within range of my cozy little hospital room. I stuck around for a couple of days to see if they they had any connections with the larger groups of gangs in the area or had any other friends running around the wastes. But they look to be all alone and accounted for.

I got my rifle ready; a fifty caliber anti-machine rifle with a marksman trigger and stock. The stock was designed fit into a pony’s shoulder while he, or she, lay prone. The trigger was a bit connected to the receiver of the rifle by a cable, so when the shooter pulled the trigger, the movement of their head wouldn't move the rifle and affect the shot. I place the bit in my mouth and lean forward into in the butt of the rifle, the bi-pod kept it from sliding forward. I pull back on the bolt making sure one of the massive rounds was chambered, and push it back in when I see the glint of brass. One in the chamber, and four more in the magazine. Looking through the scope the donut shop just about fills my field of view, even with the optic at full zoom. The ponies around the campfire out front look barely larger than a single tick on my retical. Hole's the first target, with any luck I would get her square in the temple and on through to the leg of Sledge, whom she was fellating. I line up the shot, range and windage already dialed into the scope, and a click to the left because the breeze picked up a little in the past few minutes. I hold my breath and steady the rifle for the shot. I was ready to pull the trigger when a green flash caught my eye.

I look over my scope to see what had caught the attention of my peripheral vision. It was a green bolt of plasma speeding across the sky. I quickly trace it back to a trio of fliers. Repeated shots of red lasers come from two of the fliers, aimed at a third. I turn my rifle towards the three, zooming the scope out a bit to better follow the action, the raiders could wait. They are pegasi, two in standard black Enclave armor, the other in an armor of similar design, but all white. The pegasus in white dives down to avoid the volley of lasers coming from the other two. The white one flattens out its flight path after putting enough distance between it and its two black pursuers. White, in one swift, graceful, motion folded in its wings, tumbled forward to face the black pair, and fires a pair of bright green bolts of plasma at the closer of the two. The bolts hit their target square in the chest, blowing bloody bits of flesh and armor into the sky before melting what was left of the pegasus into green goo. The remaining black armored pegasus veers off to avoid bits and pieces of its partner, then dives down to meet its white armored opponent with a storm of red laser fire. It’s a hell of a show to watch the two fight. For a full minute the two danced around each other, a steady stream of fire coming from the one in black, and the occasional green blast from the white. The deadly dance came to an end when the two charged each other. Black got a few good hits in, striking White in the shoulder and back, just before White obliterated its target in another flash of green. The white pegasus fell into a barely controlled free fall; one of its wings must have be injured in the last volley.

I wasn't the only one to notice the fight. I zoom out the scope farther trying to keep an eye on the diner and the pegasus at the same time. I didn't have to zoom out very far. The raiders sat around the campfire, watching the show, chowing down on breakfast. White didn't land very far from the camp, a about a hundred yards by my guess. Small Fry made a gesture to Top and Bottom; they got up, gathered their weapons, and started walking over to the crashed pegasus.

I turned on the broadcaster on my Pipbuck, setting it to broadcast on all frequencies. I hope White has a radio.

"White Dashite, White Dashite please respond." I said into my Pipbuck’s broadcaster around the bit in my mouth and waited for a response.

"I'm not a Dashite damnit, who is this?" Yells a pained female voice over the radio. The Pipbuck automatically switching to her frequency.

"A wastelander with your best interests in mind. You landed near a raider nest and got two on their way to your location. Can you walk?" I quickly say as I watch the two raiders approach. They didn't see her yet, a skywagon she landed behind blocked their line of sight. I aimed for Top, as he’s the biggest threat to the downed mare at the moment.

"Shit! I can walk, but I’m grounded." She gets up, one of her wings limp at her side, and looks in the direction of the raiders through the skywagon; her armor probably has an Eyes Forward Sparkle. "How are they armed?"

"One has a club, the other a rifle."

"Copy." She readies herself into an aggressive stance watching the ticks on her E.F.S. Top said something to Bottom and the two split up, slowly going around the the skywagon.

"Take the one coming around the west side of the wagon, I got the other." Top comes around the front side of the wagon, his rifle up and ready to shoot whatever’s on the other side of that wagon. I don’t give him the chance. I fire. A wave of warm gas and deafening sound fills the little hospital room I’m hiding in. I feel the concussion wave along my muzzle and in my chest as it pushes against the lower pressures in my body; if I wasn't wearing hearing protection I would likely be bleeding out of my ears. The rifle slammed into my shoulder from the recoil, more than likely leaving a nasty bruise, it always does. I keep my eye to the scope watching the bullet, or rather its wake, through the air as it speeds to its target. A second later it slammed into the unicorn, hitting him right behind his shoulder, sending bone and gore blasting out the other side. His magic dies out and he drops dead where he stood. Bottom disappeared in a blast of green energy almost at the same time as his lover. White turns around quickly as she could after firing off her shot ready to engage her other attacker, not trusting the mysterious voice over the radio to come through. She pauses, surprised, when she sees Top's body, suddenly looking around after she hears the delayed report of the shot.

"The fuck..." was all she said in confusion.

"Sorry, fifties tend to make a bit of a mess." I say as I work the action of my rifle slowly, picking out the spent brass to put it in my saddle bag, and load a fresh round into the chamber.

"How many are left?" She asks.

I look back over the camp. The remaining raiders were staring expectantly in the direction their two comrades went; possibly troubled by the distant gunshot. I doubt they heard White's plasma rifles. "Got four left, but there are still in their camp. Sit tight, I'll pick them off and warn you of any that come your way."

"Copy"

Small Fry gets up and starts barking orders to the other members of her band, guess she figures the two bit off more than they could chew. She's right. They got up and started gathering weapons. Cowboy checks his revolvers; he should have been more concerned with finding cover. The bullet hits him in the gut, spraying the ground behind him with blood. Hole and Small Fry find cover in the diner. Sledge drops his hammer and tries to drag the black unicorn to safety as he bleeds out. Sledge is strong and had no trouble moving his friend toward the diner at a steady pace. I only have to lead his movement a little bit, the round hit him square in the chest, he collapses on top of Cowboy. Muzzle flashes start blasting from one of the dinner windows, Small Fry's pissed. I guess she figured out what direction the my fire was coming from, but at this range she would be lucky to hit the building I was in, much less me. She hid behind the wall of the diner, shotgun hovering over her head firing blindly; that's a mistake. I hit right below where her shotgun's floating, gore sprays into the dining room.

I saw movement at the edge of my scope, I pan over to find Small Fry galloping as fast as her short legs could take her trying to reach a cluster of homes a few hundred yards away, hoping to find better cover. I guess she used Hole as a distraction, clever girl. I work the action as fast as I could. I line up the next shot on pure guess work and fire, hoping to hit the little bitch. I smile a little as it looks like my guess work paid off, the bullet and it's contrail looks to be on the right path. A moment later the mare tumbles to the ground, flank over hooves, her rear leg flying off in another direction. I pull back the bolt and remove the empty magazine from the rifle, replacing it with another one with five fresh rounds.

I look back through the scope at Small Fry, she was leaving a blood trail behind her as she scrambles to the cover of the homes using her magic to stop herself from bleeding out. I shoot her again, center mass. She's dead. I turn my scope back over to Cowboy, he is where Sledge left him, unable to move due to the the big buck's corpse laying on top of him. He too got a bullet to the chest. I couldn't see Hole, she was probably still behind cover in the diner; if there was any kindness in the universe she would bleed out quick.

"Ok White, raiders are taken care of." I said as I turned my attention back to the skywagon and the white armored mare sitting next to it.

"White? I have a name you know." She says, her voice sounds stressed. From the looks of it she was bandaging herself up.

"Is that a fact?" I said.

"It's Cloud Swimmer. What's yours wastelander?"

"Long Shot."

"So, what happens now?" She asked, the last word was more of a grunt through clenched teeth as she pulled a bandage tight..

"You sit tight while I work my way over there, we scavenge the camp, and head off to town for warm beds and cool drinks. How does that sound?"

“You’re going to help me, just like that? No slavery? No expectation of payment?” She asked skeptically.

“Yep”

She sighs, I guess today’s been a hell of a day for her. "Just let me know when your coming. You sneak up on me I’m very likely to shoot you."

"Fair enough, I'll be there in a jiffy!"

A jiffy is the exact length of time it takes to break down my rifle, gather my stuff,disarm my traps, make it down thirteen floors of ruined hospital, and sneak across nearly a mile of wasteland. In other words, two hours.

I really hope this bitch doesn't shoot me.

Author's Notes:

Thanks to Kkat for Fallout: Equestria and to the many writers of pony fiction everywhere!

This is my first fic, please leave a comment if you like it or want to let me know ways I could improve on it.

And thanks for reading! :D