Rain pounded against the broken urban pathways, seeping into the cracks formed by frost heaving along the asphalt roads and cement sidewalks still remaining after the annihilation of the city. Metallic pitter pattering on onyx colored corrugated metal roofs. Cascading down the walls of skyscrapers, collecting in puddles 'n' potholes, flowing down gutters, running in streets, and gushing down old abandoned drains into equally forgotten sewer systems that ran underneath everything.

All below the thick, stagnant, rolling cotton cloud cover was drab and muted monochrome, with sickly brownish and yellow hues scattered here and there. Warm and muggy atmosphere sinking into the bones of all who inhabited it. A diseased world with motes of “light” traveling within it from place to place, trying to eke out a life within rotting remains.

But when everything was said and done, at least the liquid torrent was comforting, refreshing, and not acidic and irradiated for once.

Rumbling sounded off in the distance once every ten or so seconds, vibrating the air and making it smell of lackluster ozone. Heavy on the lungs and listless. Amidst all this environmental buzz a skeletal creaky carriage with ancient slipshod wheels rattled along the pavement; the gentle clip clop of two sets of hooves in step with each other rings out, one gait smaller and closer together than the other. A father and his colt, traders.

Glum Daylight, the parent, was a brown colored stallion with rippling, sinuous muscle and a size that intimidated most raiders, and dirty, tangled bronze mane and tail. His cutiemark a cresting sunrise with music note-shaped threads of wispy light radiating from it. His irises were a gentle gold, and had probably gotten him into trouble once or twice with raiders who wished to gouge them out and sell them. Over his torso hung lightweight armor, and strapped around his left foreleg was a holster with a high caliber revolver slipped into it. His steps were hefty and slow given he was the main source of power behind his vehicle, carrying a load of medical supplies and cans of food. It was a short distance they had to travel, bringing provisions to the small train car village they lived in.

Duskshine, however, was a rather lanky unicorn colt who had just gained his cutiemark. A dark gray coat of fur with suave, swept black mane and tail that seemed to hug his features just right, rather than being separate from him. A tuft of hair hanging over his vibrant lime green eyes. A rusty combat knife strapped to his right foreleg. While both of them could certainly use a cleaning, Shine came off as more hygienic, possibly due to how his parents cared for him. His cutie mark was of a stained cloth used for polishing leather.

“Are you sure the area's safe, Dad?” Shine's voice was wary with a cracked tone, befitting a colt who was in the middle of puberty.

“The scavvers are paid to keep this territory secure for us, son.” Glum's was deep and baritone, as deep as the faraway thunder, but much more harmonic, with a rustic lilt. “We'll make it home soon, then you can prepare for our trip to Friendship City.”

Silence reigned for some time. Just the storm sounds keeping the rain-soaked pair company as their wagon rolled along.

Shine flipped his hair away from his eye and smiled shyly at his father. His gaze was full of adoration and admiration, clearly looking forward to the day his body and telekinesis were strong enough to help pull the damaged carriage behind. To be able to help his parents. “Can you tell me how you and Mom met again?”

Glum grinned and nodded. It couldn't be heard very clearly amidst all the white noise and talking, but there was a gentle thrum of romantic jazz playing, with barely any radio static to accompany it. It gradually faded into their peripheral, but the music went unnoticed. “You never get tired of that story, do you son? I suppose there's not much else to keep you busy though.” His grin only grew. “Sure. Your mother and I first met at Friendship City.” The stallion had sure been through a lot. Had his own share of scars. Both physical and psychological. “As a traveling singer, I was preparing to sing at the theater that night for some extra caps. Your mother was there for the show.”

Shine seemed to revel in the story, imagining it for himself, completely inundated in visions of dirty stages with torn velvet curtains and what little spotlights still worked blaring down on the unpolished wood as his father sang his heart out. With terrible lyrics but that same enticing, heart pounding, mind bending voice of his.

“I saw her in the audience. Front row. Clearly an important mare. And as I warmed up my voice I thought about how I was going to get her attention. Eventually I just decided: to Tartarus with it, I'll just ask her for her name and use it in my song.” He paused. Letting it hang on that memory for a moment. “So I asked her, and she told me it was Dim Nova. I did what my heart told me and gave her a wink, told her to stay til after the show, and that I had a special performance prepared for that night.”

The colt was hopeful. “Can you sing it for me again, please?”

Glum let out a mirthful chuckle. “Sure, son.” And with a deep breath he began to sing. A freeform song about a lovely night under the cloud cover, splashing in puddles and staring into each other's eyes. Rolling about and passionately loving one another. It was keen and heartwarming. And lasted just long enough to scratch an intimate itch deep within the soul.

“After my act, I looked to her and said-”

Abruptly a sharp, earsplitting crack of sniper fire cut him off. Too swift for the naked eye to spot. A loud bang that tore through the musty air. Close by. A bullet ripped through Glum's right temple, blood spattering out the exit hole on the other side as the round pipped against the far wall, leaving a vivid mark in the concrete and tearing off slivers from the archaic structure. The strong stallion's eyes went dull and he slumped forward. Blood poured from the wound like a broken pipe and pooled on the ground. Life leaving him unceremoniously as Shine tried to realize what was happening, body stiff as a board. His worst fears coming to life before his eyes. His lips pulled downward, jaw gaping, eyes shrinking to pinpricks. Everything gone in an instant. His hackles raised. He let out a scream. Fear had an ice cold hold on his heart.

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It had been a long few weeks. Full of tumultuous turmoil. Anger. Hatred. Sadness. Depression. And so many other things that were boiling over his brain and leaving him an exhausted mess of negative emotions. Fear's sparkling ruby eyes beaming brightly with latent magical energy. He was so drained. Nearly dead. He certainly wanted to die. But his will kept him going. His conversations with his stuffed mother, who was laying next to him, between his legs, kept him going. He stared into her glassy, lifeless eyes. A spark of light in the wasteland snuffed out. One he could no longer feel the soul signature of, usually. Only in his sleep sometimes. He could've sworn she was there though. With him. He could've sworn he saw the light in her preserved eyes now and then. He egged her on. Tried to get her to speak. And sometimes she would. He'd hear her voice in his crippled young head. Her words of comfort telling him to keep going. To keep trying. But how could he when every cell in his body felt like it'd turned to acid? Like his own self was eating his own body out of spite? When everything hurt and burned, and it left him unable to rest or find a modicum of comfort, even in her body? His breathing picked up again. His anxieties driven up a notch. His eyes darted about from side to side, becoming wild once more. Everything hurt. Life was pain. This wasteland was Tartarus. Why did she have to be taken from him once? He had her back, sort of. But it wasn't the same. He couldn't get her to tell him new information. Just old things. Things he already knew. He squeezed her tighter against his body.

Suffering.

Hurting.

Agony.

It was terrible. His life had become horrendous with one single shot. Fear was left alone. Left behind in the world of grief. In a world full of its own anguish and misery. He felt it inherently. The vibrations of Equestria. Its woe. How tormented it was, just like the novel his mother had found for him and helped him learn how to read. Dear Celestia, how he wished so desperately that, like in his novel, he could see his mother one last time. To speak with her truly and utterly for one final moment. He had become capable of magic, yet he was emotionally disabled. Psychologically damaged. Mentally distorted and twisted. Furiously throbbing feelings channeling through his soul and leaving him a husk of his former, loving self. He was only seven, near eight. Not that he knew. He had no recognition of when his birthday was. His mother always took care of that. Always seemed to know the exact date. Or at least that's how it appeared. The way she celebrated every milestone. Never again would he have that.

Fear was damp. His filthy fur and messy hair matted with moisture. The rainfall and water he'd bathed in cleaning him. Relatively. Everything clumpy and smooth. With a few muddled knots here and there. He spoke once more to his mother.

“Mommy... Why...?”

He desperately asked his stuffed mother, for probably the hundredth time.

“This is just how things are, and we must make the most of it.”

Something she'd always told him. To be strong. He was usually the strong one. But without her, what did he have? He sobbed into his mother's squishy, stuffed body. His brain unhinged. He felt so much fury he couldn't contain it. He stood up, and began pacing. Throwing his body this way and that. Having a tantrum about the cruelty. He screamed at the ceiling, wanting to know why he had to deal with this. Why he had been brought into this world. Why he was expected to live when the world itself was despairing. He shook his head violently from side to side, stamping his hooves on the ground, having a fit. The only thing that kept him calm was the gentle romance song, the airy jazz tunes coming from his mother's radio, stuck inside his saddlebags. His eyes were bloodshot. He was bawling. He wanted revenge.

"I... I hate you Mommy! You left me! You let the raiders take you! You knew everything... You never let them take you before!"

Storm's familiar inflection echoed in his mind. "I know sweetie. It was a terrible mistake."

"I hate those raiders. I hate all raiders. I hate ponies. You always admired me for my love but now... Ponies have so many choices in front of them. And they decided to take you away. They wanted to torture you and me."

"You never held that against them before."

"Yeah but now... Now they've taken away my dearest treasure. How can I not hate them for that?"

"You still have the book, and my rifle. And my weapon care kit."

Fear shook his head emphatically, tears running down his cheeks. It wasn't enough. "I hate this world. For crying to me about how much it's hurting. I hate the past. Why did ponies have that stupid war!?" Equestria had become such a shit hole of perversion and pain.

"You have to take care of the world. One little thing at a time. Just like you always told me you would."

"But... But I can't!" Fear blurted out woefully.

After a moment of mourning Fear continued. "Most of all... Most of all, Mommy. I hate myself. For being so weak. For not being able to take care of you. I couldn't push you out of the way. I wasn't knowledgeable enough to know better, to save you. And I hate myself for being so sensitive to all of this." He whimpered. "I should be able to overcome all this. You've told me I still have so much left. I shouldn't be so hateful. So angry."

"It's okay to not be okay sometimes, my little Nightlight."

"No it's not! I should be better than this!"

Fear's stomach growled at him for food. He was slightly emaciated and hungering for sustenance. It felt like forever since he'd had a meal, and it was driving him bonkers. He needed to eat to survive, even if his appetite was lacking due to his trauma.

Fear needed something to take away his wrath, and distract himself from his starvation. Some way to vent all this. He heard hoofsteps. The rattling of a carriage. He heard ponies coming close. He yanked his mother's Garand out of position and brought it with him. He would kill. He would kill as his mother had been killed. Not only that. He would release others from this Tartarus on Equus. He would end the suffering. That's what he told himself.

The injured colt got to the entrance of the Sky Wagon Station and laid prone on the ground, against his tummy, holding the butt of the rifle against his right shoulder and staring down the scope as much as he could. Aligning it properly and staring down the road. Looking for his targets. A colt and stallion. Carrying cans of FOOD! Perfect. He was on their right. He ground his teeth together, gripping the sten-like handle and glaring intently. Lining up the shot. A perfect blow to the head. He waited for them to get close. Held the gun in his telekinetic aura. Waited... Waiting... And as soon as it was perfect he pulled the trigger.

BAM.

The bullet flew true through his target. He heard the vague sclorch amidst the other noises. He watched his victim fall. He smiled in a sinister manner. He lined up for the second shot. Intending to take the colt out in one quick movement. And then surely he could take their supplies for himself, provided no scavvers were on their way to investigate.

As he lined up the sight and pulled the trigger, the colt moved at the last second, narrowly avoiding his fate as he ran for the skyscrapers across from the station. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the colt was hit in the knee instead. The knife shattering on impact, the shrapnel digging into his leg, the knee destroyed. The colt screamed again as he nearly fell to the ground, limping away as fast as he could, stuttering movements dragging him toward the entrance to the skyscraper.

Fear cursed and got up, levitating the rifle behind him and rushing to the downed stallion. He looked around, and noticed a revolver next to the body. His smile came back in full force. He unlatched the holster and pulled the firearm out and held it next to his body in his magical grasp. Then rushed after the colt. Feeling out his soul signature and following the path laid out before him. His saddlebags jostling behind him, the radio slotted inside ringing out.

==========================================================================================

Duskshine could hear the radio behind him. The smooth jazz tunes. Getting louder as he crawled along the ground, through a lobby and then down hallways, trying doors as he left a trail of viscera behind him. Bleeding out slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. He was panting, his eyes glazed over, full of absolute fright. His brows raised high and forehead creased with worry. He shook his head as he dove into one of the only rooms available to him, hearing a coltish whistling drawing near. He tried to hold his breath as he hunkered down under an abandoned desk.

Fortunately for the colt, it was too dark to see any blood.

Unfortunately for the colt, he was dealing with a natural hunter. A natural raider.

Fear stood in the doorway of the room and stepped inside, giving a witchly cackle as he cocked the revolver's hammer with a click. The cackle was just like his mother's full blown laugh. His lips were pulled back in a snarl. He felt so alive, the idea of taking this life invigorating him. He felt butterflies in his stomach at the thought, his nerves fraying. Was he really going to take a life in cold blood? Another one? His second kill in life? This one completely premeditated? Hunted? Fear jumped up onto the desk with a thud, making the colt underneath bite his lower lip so hard he drew blood, flinching harshly from the sound, his heart thumping in his chest, making him bleed harder. He was lightheaded.

The murderous colt hopped down onto the ground and spun around, leveling the revolver between the colt's eyes.

“No... P-please... D-don't... I have a m-mother.”

Fear hesitated, looking into those vibrant lime-green eyes, feeling Dusk's emotions. And saw his mother. Even if momentarily. The hunter's face contorted into a scowl and he jammed the barrel of the gun against the colt's forehead, whose breath hitched in his throat. He rammed it again, making the colt whimper. He was so... So ANGRY. Fear was livid.

“I had a mother. But all of you TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME.”

The colt pleaded. “I don't... Don't know what you're talking about... P-please... Don't k-kill me.” His voice cracked, showing once more that he had just hit puberty. So full of potential. With a mother that needed him, cared about him and his father. She needed them to get through life in the wasteland.

Fear didn't hesitate any longer, depressing the trigger and blasting a hole in the colt's head. After a moment his cheeks bulged out and he twisted his head to the side, dry heaving and retching forcefully from his kill, even if nothing came out except a little water. He could feel the soul signature of the colt gone. Vanished without a trace just like Glum's. Fear turned back to his victim with tired eyes. He took a deep breath through his snout. Let it flow through his larynx. And settle in his lungs. Chest rising, his mother's pendant swinging around his neck. He held the air for a long moment, smiling peacefully, glad he'd proven himself and to some degree "avenged" his mother. And then slowly expelled the breath out through his maw.

Knowing ponies would be looking for the colt later, and knowing the colt had a mother, even if he momentarily wished he could have taken her life too, he lugged the colt's broken body back to the carriage and threw him onto the ground next to his father. Remorseful he'd taken away the mare's loved ones. Watching with glee nonetheless at the two dead bodies, feeling a little sick, bile rising to his throat despite that. He felt ashamed. And giddy all at the same time. He shook his head and started gathering up the food the two had been carrying, sticking as much as he could in his saddlebags until they were bloated, like he hoped his belly would soon be. Grabbing even more than that in his telekinesis so he'd have as much as he could carry, then hurried back to his mother so he could grab her and flee the scene before anypony else could find it. Stomach roaring at him to remind him one reason he'd killed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_0TaOjUWQk

DJ-P0N3's voice, the voice of the wasteland, a light in the dark, erupted from the radio held in his saddlebags with barely any white noise in the background. “Remember colts and fillies, beware raiders! And beware even more the raider inside all of us. Stay true to yourself and your virtues, and you'll be fine. Now I have a story for all of you today...” Fear would feast soon.

Author's Notes:

Killing these innocents to everyone with a heart would be seen as irredeemable, that's the point. To show Fear at his lowest, most cowardly, most emotionally volatile. His actions ruin who he is in the audience's eyes and that's intentional. He's not supposed to be perfect. Many people have done things they regret in their lives, things they think they should probably be stoned for. Fear will carry the burden of what he's done for the rest of his life, once he's finally aware of it (and he will become aware of it). The story is about Fear coming back from the brink to heal the wounds of the past as he tries to deal with his own. I want people to see Fear as irredeemable so there are high expectations for him. He's not meant to be immediately understood at face value, not without effort. Eventually he will probably see himself as irredeemable. But that's the point. To regret your mistakes and learn how to accept them and make up for them as best you can. Without letting them destroy you.

Fear is a hurt, desperate child in need of love and guidance, and he doesn't deal with his emotions well. The hope is that he'll grow up into something everyone can be proud of. To everyone we meet, we judge them by the first thing we know about them, and often times those who have done something wrong the first thing we learn about them is an atrocity they commit. Not about their life growing up or who they may become in the future.