And so the iron horse rolled on and on, whistle cutting through the night like a blade. Henri’s company had long left the west behind and were now trundling deep through the eastern coasts of Equestria, taking the seaside routes through the swamps and low-hills as the trains neared the ancient city of Neigh Orleans, the City That Care Forgot. The Big Easy. The Crescent City. All of these were nicknames for the swamp-surrounded city that would be their halfway point between Old Appleloosa and Mount Pleasant Island to the north, just below what used to be Fillydelphia.

All the while, the war waged across Equestria between the NCR as reported by both DJ Pon3 and Homage over their respective radio stations.

“Okay, if you’re just tuning in you know the drill. I’m Homage, Bearer of the Element of Honesty and telling you the truth, no matter how much it hurts. And honestly… Celestia fuck me sideways as my marefriend would like to say… It’s a mess out there. Enclave’s reclaiming territories, I’ve heard from a very reliable source they’re on the move towards Manehatten. So if you’re fighting out there, I’m warning you right now load up your guns as you’ll be getting hit hard if there’s any truth at all to these rumors,”

”In other news, I’ve heard small rumors here and there of a mare named Electra, captain of an airship named the Budgie Dream going after the Carrion Skull. The Carrion Skull, dear listeners, if you’re not caught up on Equestrian history was the personal ship of the legendary pirate captain Celaeno.

It’s a ghost ship, nobody’s ever seen it for ages. Supposedly been flying these hell-torn skies under the Enclave’s radar for 200 years, but me personally… I think that’s a crock of shit. Still, it’s a nice dream to chase after so props to Ms. Electra for having the gumption or sheer insanity to go after it.

Plus, pirates! I mean, seriously… Pirates! How cool is that? Excuse me while I squee a moment, eh?”

Sure enough, there came a very un-Homage like squeeing sound from Iron’s Pipbuck. “Don’t let Littlepip know I did that okay? Please? Pinkie Promise? I’d never hear the end of it from her if she knew I just did that. Anyways, as the old saying goes… Every normal mare or buck must be tempted at times to spit on his or her hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats. So, I tip my feathered hat off to Electra for doing just that.

Really quite the undertaking. It’s a foolish one I know, but then again… I suppose trying to take on the Enclave when they first descended from the clouds was one as well I suppose and yet we, as Equestrians succeeded. So, a huge shout out to that presumed wayward bunch of scoundrels, assassins, and thieves,”

“Now, in other news, -and here’s hoping the Enclave isn’t listening to every word I say… Huh, should probably begin checking my studio, which I like to call Galaxy News for bugs- there’s this little group I’d like to give another shoutout to. It’s currently way-bound for Mount Pleasant Island, or as we here in the NCR support group like to call it… Suicide Central. Henrietta 'Henry' Firebright -Yes, that one- is currently leading a group there to see why everything’s suddenly gone all quiet.

Hopefully, all the Mirelurks and the like died off from radiation poisoning, but that’d be too much to ask for eh? Now, I just want to highlight radiation poisoning. Nasty stuff. You’ve seen Ghouls right? Well, that’s one of the possible end results of the stuff. Well, that or you becoming a pony forest fire. Your choice of death really. Take your pick. But wait! There’s more!” Homage suddenly chimed, sounding a hell of a lot like a bad infomercial. “You can prevent becoming one of the aforementioned zombies or forest fires by taking Rad-Away, or even better as Rad-Away is rancid as crap, RadSafe! ...Celestia, please tell me I didn’t just sound like an infomercial right there did I?”

Another voice chimed in and shouted quite audibly, “Yeah, you did Homage!” and the mare cursed to herself.

“...If you’re a little filly or foal, pretend you didn’t hear that eh? ...Actually, if you’re a little filly or foal why are you even listening into this? This shit I report isn’t for kids ya know!” Homage shouted before she began to ramble nonsensically. “Plus, my language… I should be spanked for that. No, wait… I actually like spankings. So, give me a bar a soap in my mouth for that little bit. ...Can we cut that bit out? Not how I planned my broadcast to go. Aw crap… I just remembered we’re going live.

So, no cutsies and you get a free insight into my sex life with Littlepip whenever we meet up. Tell your friends and you all can jack off together! Come to my studio and we can meet face to face and you can tell me all about it!” Homage said cheerfully before her voice turned sarcastic. “Actually, let’s be honest here. If you’re doing that with your friends… Actually, I’d be shocked if you have any friends if you masturbate to someone else’s sex life as that’s just… Well no other word for it but euugh… I don’t want to meet you face to face. To tell you the truth, I’d probably punch you.”

Iron had to suppress a snort at that. He couldn’t agree more really. Riptalon, on the other hand, was having no such luck and laughing his head off, cackling like a hyena with Henri shaking her head at her fellow griffon’s antics. Of course, Riptalon’s amusement was soon to fade with what Homage had to say next.

“Now, back to the main story of interest. Henri’s leading her crew towards Mount Pleasant Island, and Celestia and Luna knows why, but I’ve heard rumors that they recruited Riptalon Hawkwind of all griffons as one of their troops! Sheesh, the NCR must be desperate if they’re going to such lengths to investigate what’s been going on over there. Regina Grimfeathers, if you’re listening, can I just ask, what the FU-”

Riptalon, having had quite enough of Homage for one day and not wanting to hear her rant on and on about him, quickly turned Iron’s Pipbuck over to DJ Pon3’s own station.

“...Now, this is DJ Pon 3. Same pony time, same pony station. Now, I want to talk to you a little about Scootaloo-Dash hmm? Yes, I know she created those damn stables amongst other things but for the past year’s she’s been wandering around the Wasteland making up for what she’s done. Fighting the good fight and all that. Hell, I personally interviewed her remember? So for all you neighsayers who are so inclined to want to shoot Scootaloo dead, remember, she’s actually saving your asses from Winter Breeze and her Enclave,” the pony commented. “Hell, wouldn’t be surprised if she’s going up against those Nightmare worshippers as well. Probably doing a lot more to help the Wasteland than you are, so if I was you I’d get up off your butts, and do something to fix that. Maybe shoot a few of Winter Breeze’s followers dead, would do us all a favor.

“...Sorry, I had to get that off my chest. Anyways, reports are coming in from around Hoofington and Stalliongrad about the Enclave making movements in those areas. Vertibucks have been seen surveying the cities, and I heard rumors of some high-ranking Enclave officials, -Even heard Winter Breeze herself might have been on the ground- approaching the leaders of those cities to occupy them, keep them safe from the native wildlife and help rebuild in exchange for housing their troops for a bit.

“Or in other words, forever in this broadcaster’s mind. So just keep in mind, if the Enclave tries to approach you and say their occupancy is only temporary, don’t buy into it alright?” DJ Pon3 said before he continued. “Now, in other news, I’ve heard some interesting reports about a splinter faction of the Enclave. Just rumors right now, and I don’t know how much truth there is to this as these are only unsubstantiated reports but I’ve heard about Enclave troops dressed in black and red armor, flying black and red aircraft.

“Very edgy, I must say. Can I just ask, was the Grand Edginess Enclave already taken as a name? But more seriously and somewhat more frighteningly, unlike Winter Breeze’s troops, they seem to be more obvious in their motives, claiming that they’re cleansing the impure in the name of Celestia. ...So, basically the new and improved version of Commander Harbinger’s’ Enclave then. Wonderful…”

Even a deaf buck would be able to hear the sarcasm when DJ Pon3 said “New and improved”.

Nobody saw this as they were all too focused on their weapons or their own Pipbucks but Iron cast a nervous glance to his shoulder. He was wearing bits and pieces of black and red armor when he’d crawled into that saloon back into Old Appleloosa.

“No… No I couldn’t be… Could I?” Iron muttered to himself quietly, and as he looked out a window at the darkened swamps, he could have sworn he saw in the window a mirror image. One of an armored pegasus, wearing black and red insectoid like armor. And the wings, they were a frightening shade. One of pure solid gray, like a nimbostratus cloud. Exactly like Iron’s own. “No… Just the lack of sleep getting to me… That’s all it is…” He murmured to himself but didn’t sound exactly reassured.

“Oh, one last thing. Those Nightmare worshipping freaks, they’re still out there as well. So, we’ve got two religious nutjob cults (As that’s really the only word for them) out and about, plus Winter Breeze’s folks. But it’s not all doom and gloom people. Oh no, I’ve heard rumors of this Gray Ghost thing ripping into the Nightmare forces. One group of Alicorns, ripped clean to pieces by one thing! Now, I don’t know what to believe. Maybe this Gray Ghost really exists, or maybe, more likely it’s some group under Zebra Stealth Cloaks. You decide, dear listeners.”

“Celestia above… What are we going to do about them?” Riptalon asked, gesturing with a paw to the dead bodies of the NCR troopers the feral ghouls released by the Engineer. (As Target had called him) They’d been piled up unceremoniously in the back of the carriage under a tarp by Henri and Midnight. It was a rather cold method of dealing with them for the time being, but Riptalon knew there was no other way of dealing with them for the time being. He just had to put up the stench of them for the time being.

“Told you before,” Henri answered. “When we get to Neigh Orleans, we’ll be giving them a proper soldier’s burial. But for right now, you’ll just have to buck up and get used to the stench.”

Of course, there was one thing they didn’t take into account. And that was a certain pegasus named Iron Skies. For the past few hours, he’d seen a few radigators peeking their heads out of the water, presumably attracted by the smell of the bodies. So, it wasn’t that long before both Henri and Riptalon found the pegasus dumping the bodies one by one into the waters below.

“What the hell are you doing?” Henri snapped, her eyes red with rage and she looked as if she was about to reach for her twin pistols. “I told you, we were going to give them a proper burial when we got to Neigh Orleans!”

“Well, it’s not like they’re asking questions about how they wanted to be buried,” Iron said coldly, as he tossed the last body out the window and into a radigator’s waiting mouth. “Unneeded load, if you ask me, and the stench was starting to get to me.”

“There’s a little thing called respect for the dead, or haven’t you heard of that?” Henri snapped, memories of Puppysmiles’ body being taken over by that… thing filling her mind. By no stretch of the imagination was this the same thing at all, but there was still some measure the dead had to be respected. “Look, I get it if you wanted to get rid of them in case we stopped at a station and by some chance, Winter Breeze had a spy and she or he started asking questions about the stench, but calling them an unneeded load? They were ponies at one point, for fuck’s sake!”

“Yes, was. Or have you lot forgotten that?” Iron asked for clarification, still in that same cold tone of voice and that was the end of the matter. Henri contemplated shooting him right then and there and feeding his body to one of the swamp-dwellers (See how he liked it) but remembered he was still valuable to them as another soldier. Or a meat shield.

She turned to a gaping, completely speechless Riptalon and muttered “You pick the strangest friends…” as she shook her head and walked off angrily still muttering under her breath about Iron and then finding something to shoot.

Neigh Orleans

And so, with a still furious Henri in tow, the train pulled into Neigh Orleans with a huff of steam and a sharp piercing whistle with a steaming smoky cry.

“Ah, Neigh Orleans…” Riptalon started off as a storm broke open, and waters drenched the blood-soaked griffon as the skies flashed with dazzling displays of jagged lightning and the winds howled through the trees. “Never change, old girl. Never change.”

Jazz wafted from bars onto the streets as rain-soaked ponies rushed inside old Prench built buildings, their hooves trampling the muddy cobblestone streets. Under the cover of a balcony, an old stallion strummed his hooves lightly on a messy and beat up acoustic guitar playing the blues. “Hellhound on my Tail” if Riptalon remembered correctly.

Neigh Orleans was, to be perfectly honest, like no other city in Equestria. To the common pony, it might have been seen as downright odd. The first puzzles came in the form of the now famous Prench Quarter, not more than just a row of old townhouses and cottages standing one by one next to each other. The bars, much to many a stallion’s pleasure, had no closing hour and often served the spiciest of foods. Music, as you may have already noticed was everywhere. From little bars in side streets just barely tucked away to right in front of your very face.

Neigh Orleans was awash with life of every kind to the partygoers, to the homeless just striving to get by day to day. There was soul food restaurants, gentlestallions’ clubs and plenty else to please the visitor. You could catch on a good day the whiff of jasmine blossoms as you munched on cornbread at your leisure.

Leisure, that was a good word for the city. You really just wanted to stay and take life at your own pace while you were there as if the troubles of the world couldn’t bother you for a spell.

Even 210 years later, it still hadn’t changed. Life was slowly coming back to the city little by little as it reclaimed its glory days of long ago.

Neigh Orleans was one of those cities that had been built by not one race in particular. The Prench, the Zebras from Africa, and the Spaneighish had all contributed in one way or the other. In fact, the Café du Monde at Jackson Square was Spaneighish in its construction, not Prench as so many believed it to be.

And of course, what can we say about Neigh Orleans or any part of the deep southern part of Equestria without mentioning voodoo? That mysterious religion, always believed to be associated with zombies and putting hexes and curses on people.

Or at least, that’s what the foolish and simple-minded propagated.

But really, it wasn’t that. It was the honoring of ancestors, amongst other things with song and dance brought into the city by the Zebras long ago. It was really only in the popular mind that the curses and hexes were thought of, not what Voodoo really was. If you cared to look deep enough, you’d find the truth. But not many were that brave, or at least less prejudiced.

But Riptalon didn’t care about any of that. He was just happy to find a nice place to sleep for the night, and perhaps a good solid dinner after being out in the Old West with only rations to sustain him for so many days.

Whispers hissed out from the townsfolk as Riptalon strode into town, but for once in his life, they weren’t directed at him. No, instead they were directed at Iron Skies. That was perfectly understandable, in the current climate pegasi weren’t exactly favorites among ponykind.

Suddenly, a pair of hooves grabbed Riptalon and Iron by the necks and pulled them into a bar out of the pouring rain.

“Y’all trying to attract attention or somethin?” a southern fried Dixie style accent asked and both Riptalon and Iron got a good look at who had pulled them into the dimly lit bar. A jukebox played an old song from somewhere nearby, but neither wanderer could be bothered to care to listen to it. Not with the pony in front of them.

He was brown furred and wore a Stetson like Target. Unlike Target, however, he was a pegasus with small glints of metal under his rusty brown wings. Mechanical implants. A rifle, looked to be a carbine rested on his back.

But the most obvious feature was the Dashite brand, a gray cloud shooting out a thunderbolt, a purposefully twisted mockery of Rainbow Dash’s cutie mark. Riptalon’s eyes widened and he let out a nervous swallow and muttered “Hoo boy…”

“Nice hat, Calamity Jane!” Iron snorted. The new pony didn’t look amused and muttered something to himself. It sorta sounded like he was saying “That again? Really?” but Iron couldn’t be quite sure.

“I’m sorry Deadshot, didn’t realize walking about in the street was a good way to attract attention,” Riptalon snarked, and neither of them noticed Iron wriggling his way out from Calamity’s grip and walking up to the bar and order two shots of whiskey. And then a shot of bourbon.

“It is if one of the ponies you’re traveling with happens to be a pegasus, good way to have interestin’ questions asked. Especially when said pegasus looks like shit and is half-covered in blood, packin' heat in an NCR issued weapon.” Calamity responded.

“Relax, he’s with me, I trust him. ...Okay, maybe not but I owe the ass my life so that’s something at least, right?”

“Yeah, ya owe a lot of debts Blackhawk, just sayin. Not gettin’ in my good books really with that excuse,” Calamity replied before his voice lowered. “Listen, Ah may have pulled your fat out of the fire a few times here and there and got the lawmen off yer tail, but that does not make us in anyway friends,”

“Yeah, yeah… Henri told me the same thing as well, she’s been yabbering on about that ever since we met up a few days back on that recruitment drive of hers,”

Realization slowly came to Calamity’s face. “Right… Homage did mention somethin’ about her and a group going to Mount Pleasant Island. Actually got a message to reserve rooms here in advance by Henri a day or so back now that Ah think of it. Now, about this here friend of yers, he’s a member of the Enclave isn’t he?”

“You think he’s not?” Riptalon asked, his voice lowering to Calamity’s own pitch as they took a seat at a table, chatter from the ponies around them fading out.

“Well, Ah could be inclined to believe that he’s a Stable-Dweller… Heck, if ya had the caps Ah’d could probably convince everybody else in this here town the same thing. But knowing your type of friends, Ah wouldn’t be surprised if he was an Enclave soldier… or at least a former one,”

“You saying I’m a traitor?” Riptalon hissed out.

“Well, ya are to everybody at large,” Calamity pointed out. “Not ta me, of course, but to everybody else…”

“Fair point…” Riptalon grumbled out. “But you’re absolutely right, I have no doubt in my mind about who he used to work for. Hell, I’d believe he was a Stable-Dweller if not for the simple fact I found him near the burning hulk of an Enclave cloudship back in Old Appleloosa. Too much of a coincidence. I’m not stupid enough to believe otherwise…” the merc trailed off.

“But it’s the odd thing, isn’t it?” Calamity replied. “No Dashite brand, nothin’ of the sort is there? It’s a walkin’ conundrum…”

“Gets weirder still, guy claims he doesn’t even know his own name. What a load of-”

But whatever Riptalon had to say was cut off when the subject of his and Calamity’s ponderings was getting up off his barstool, and swaggering towards them obviously incredibly drunk.

“Heya lads… You’re fine looking bucks, aren’t ya? I could just eat you up!” Iron slurred out and licked his lips before he began taking a close sniff of Calamity who quickly shoved him away.

“Ah’m happily married, thank you!” Calamity barked out.

“Oh no…” Riptalon muttered, shaking his head and letting it hit the table in embarrassment.

“Calamity… You, er… Mind giving me a hand here?” He murmured, not quite sure what to do really. Poor fellow.

“Calamity!” Iron suddenly shouted, throwing a wing around the very embarrassed stallion. “Hey everybody, I met up with some scumbag raiders back in Old Appleloosa saving that fat arse’s (Here he pointed to Riptalon) life! Ya know what they did?” He hiccuped out. “They compared me to him, they did! Called me a knock-off of Calamity here!”

“Well, to be fair he does have the background of being a former Enclave soldier and he was wearing a Stetson at the time… Plus, much as I hate to admit it, damn good shot.” Riptalon thought to himself.

“Great, so a mix between me and Blackjack ‘erself…” Calamity muttered, hiding his hugely embarrassed face under the brim of his hat.

“I dunno who this Blackjack pony is mate, -if she’s even a pony- but I consider that a compliment!” Iron slurred out. Riptalon facepawed.

“Wasn’t supposed ta be one, ya idjit…” Calamity muttered to himself.

“You know this griffon here?” Iron continued to ramble on, now shouting to the whole bar at large. “I don’t know if it’s common knowledge, but he’s wanted by everybody in the Wasteland! Even I want to kill him ‘alf the time! Honestly, it’s griffons like him that give griffons like him a bad name! And yet I saved his fat feathered arse! And then I snuggled with him in the dead of the night!”

Calamity’s head whirled around to face Riptalon and stared directly at him. His eyebrow arched, almost as if to say “Really now…?”

“No comment…” the now thoroughly embarrassed Riptalon muttered to himself, wishing he could shrink down into nothingness in his seat. Hoots and hollers echoed from around the bar, making things that much worse.

Iron then raised a glass of bourbon, swiping it away from a passed out stallion. “A toast, to the world’s biggest arsehole, that for whatever reason, I actually want to keep alive!”

Riptalon then heard loud, feminine laughter and then he saw Henri, in the corner of the bar laughing at the whole spectacle alongside a few others. Lo and behold, the cackling hyenas had arrived. Henri, he would later note was now in a very form fitting and flexible body suit with light armor on the shoulders and other areas. It was one of a number standard issue uniforms for NCR troops. Riptalon personally never was really fond of it honestly, too constricting in his opinion. Squished his chest (Amongst other things if you catch my drift) too much.

The male griffon groaned and muttered to himself “Oh, Celestia fuck me sideways…”

“You know…” Iron said, leaning in close with the liquor wafting off his breath. “I may not be this Celestia mare, whoever she is, but I can handle the fuck you sideways part…”

Before Riptalon could respond, Iron then fell forwards and slammed his head on the table completely unconscious.

It was then Calamity burst out laughing, clutching his sides in great amusement as Riptalon muttered “Some friend you are… Can you at least help me carry this moron to his room?”

“Sure, sure… But you’re spending the night with him, aren’t you?” Calamity sniggered and Riptalon glared at him. If looks could kill, the pegasus would have been vaporized Novasurge Rifle style on the spot.

“Asshole…” Riptalon muttered to himself as he and Calamity carried the unconscious Iron Skies up to a bedroom. A bedroom, which Riptalon quickly noticed, only had one bed exactly.

“Have a nice night…” Calamity sniggered again as he shut the door after depositing Iron on the bed.

“DAMN YOU HENRI!” Riptalon roared as he grumpily pulled the sheets over himself, and once again a loud cackling sound was heard. Riptalon could only emit yet another groan of embarrassment as he reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it out.

Author's Notes:

Okay, first off give a very happy birthday to my good friend RuinQueenofOblivion. (Hell, a huge thank you for letting me play in her entire spin-off universe to begin with.) This entire chapter is pretty much my birthday present for her, especially the inclusion of her DJ Pon3 title Xiraia here. (Personal victory for me here, as I finally get to write that character with some of my own dialogue.) Also, speaking of credit, obviously Homage and Calamity belong to KKat.

On Calamity actually, he's not going to be heading off to Mount Pleasant Island like Henri and company, he's just staying for a bit of the next chapter and that's that.

Also, on credit, the shout out Homage makes to Electra and the Carrion Skull is a nod towards Fallout Equestria: Black Flag by Norbu, so credit to him for that. Well worth a look, that fic. Not the best, but it has potential.

Okay, now for a few confessions, at the beginning of this story, my heart wasn't really into things and writing it. I liked FOE and it's spin-off fics, (And again, a huge thanks to RuinQueen for investing me in this MLP sub-fandom) and even played a small bit of Fallout 3 -I sucked, but that's not the point- but half the time I was wondering what the Hell I'd gotten into writing this. Didn't know what I was doing half the time, and Hell, sometimes I still have doubts.

But now I have the basic plotlines figured out in my head, and some good ideas so I'll just keep pushing on forwards, like that iron horse rolling on in this chapter. Now, the other confession. This one I'm more embarrassed about. Langauge, specifically the constant dropping of the F-Bombs in the early chapters. Heck, still using a few in this one. I admit, I suppose I was trying to make this fic more edgy... (Even if this is Fallout: Equestria...) and I really don't normally use the F-Word in real life unless I'm really pissed off about something. I know it's not me saying it as such, but I'm still typing it out. Trying to cut down on the more extreme curses from here on out.

(Also another shout-out goes to Dreams of Ponies and a friend from MojoJojoFan1994's Discord server who sadly has to go unnamed because of the fact that he has no account here for help with the editing on this chapter. Thanks, guys!)

Anyways, enough of my rambling. As always, comments and critique are welcomed!