Author's Notes:

This is a story I've wanted to write for a while but couldn't find the time or courage to get it out there to the world until now. Three years - off and on - that I drew weapons, suits, vehicles, and creatures for this well before I was in this wonderful fandom. Now I am in the process of realizing my dream of getting this out there and am converting all the humanized parts of the universe into the MLP one. Hell, Its going better than expected as this universe actually gives me more to work with than one on Earth ever could.
Anyway, I know not much happens in this chapter as it is meant to give you all a "spoonfull" about the world it is set in as well as a taste of the tone of said world. I promise this story will move to greater heights as early as chapters 2 or 3. The scale of the story is huge, but I didn't want to force it down everyone's throats in a rushed fashion, so If you can find the patience then I promise this story will be worth the while.

Share this story with friends and I'll keep making more of it as fast as possible while retaining the quality and my own sanity.

Los Pegasus
September 23th, 2039
4:53 P.M.
Present Time

It's the little things that are never noticed in life. Those small, seemingly insignificant things that are so easily overlooked and dominated by what we deem more important. For one stallion, it was the sound of his own breathing. Maybe he just didn’t ever take the time to focus on it in the past, maybe the world was never quiet enough for him to notice it.

Either way, the repetition of the sound was the only thing that kept him in check. The sound was the only thing he could control. The only constant that he could count on anymore. It let him know that he was still breathing. He was still alive. He was still there.

Despite the shred of comfort that brought him, the stallion hated how obvious it was. His breathing had a slight metallic reverb to it due to his suit helmet’s airlocked state. The sound was distracting at times, but he could deal with it. It was the fear of others hearing it that was worrying. He didn’t want them to hear it.

The stallion had spent the better part of the past twenty seven years doing everything to avoid them. The rest of the world hadn’t been so lucky - could this be called luck? Was being the only one left something to be happy about? Sure, he wasn’t waking up on his stained cot in a pile of bottles jumping for joy over the prospect of another vicious day, but he also wasn’t with his back against the wall and gun to his head. Well, not yet at least…

Nearly three decades to learn. Three decades to adapt. Three decades to survive. He had seen countless others come and go. Some he stayed with for a while. Got to know them, made them his friends - or his enemies. Then when fate would have it so, they said their goodbyes and parted ways with no chance of him knowing whether or not they were still alive. Sometimes fate gave him that answer, but he wasn’t so sure it was something he wanted anymore. Some died fighting alongside him, others against him. A few of them in his arms. Others didn’t have anything left to hold.

The stallion’s breathing was interrupted when he let out a sigh. In the beginning, it took him forever to work up the courage to let out any sounds louder than his breath out here. He had made sure that he was the only inhabitant of this long evacuated house three times just to be sure. Some even thought he was mute when he wound up at their camp. He wasn’t nervous around others, but he wasn’t stupid either. Making any noise now was the equivalent of ringing the world's largest dinner bell. At least it would be in a few minutes.

The stallion’s electric purple eyes glided up to the top right corner of the suit’s matching interface. That particular corner of the visor displayed two icons. The first was a sun with an exclamation point in the center and a percentage bar next to it. In barely legible letters the words RADIATION LEVELS sat above the icon with the percentage bar at 12%. To the right of the celestial icon was the appropriate time of day. 4:55 P.M. the blocky digital letters read. The stallion sucked in air through his teeth at the mere thought of what was coming.

They say the worst part of a roller coaster ride is the buildup. Standing - or sitting - in a line for half an hour builds tension great enough to deter even the bravest souls. No matter how many dangerous rides the pony in question has been on, that mere span of time resets the tension clock. It was no different for the stallion. For twenty seven years he had watched that clock strike five. For twenty seven years he knew vaguely what to expect when those numbers hit five. For twenty seven years he knew that they would be coming out five minutes from now.

Did they ever leave? He knew they didn’t just disappear into thin air and wait for the sun to set, but he hadn’t ever seen one in the daylight since the flares burned through everything and weakened the atmosphere, irradiating the lands. Even with the setting sun, the radiation didn’t disappear completely. Sure it wasn’t directly in contact with the surface for the next twelve hours, and they knew it. They weren’t stupid either. They had managed to wipe out everything he once knew in a matter of weeks. Now that world was so far behind him that the stallion could barely remember that world. The new world was his reality. It was the only reality.

In a strange, twisted way, nothing had actually changed. He worked around the clock, worked to provide for himself and others, was supposed to clock out at a predetermined time each night. The routine of the world hadn’t changed one bit. The ambition did though. No longer had he strived for his dreams anymore. That little colt who wanted to study engineering at the best university in Los Pegasus and maybe even improve his art on the side for extra bits was no more. Ambition was no more. Dreams were no more.

The instinct to survive was all that remained. He was running on instinct now - he had been for twenty seven years - rather than his own dreams of a future. He had come to accept it a long time ago. The world had died - it became empty, meaningless, the world had become hollow.

He had become hollow.

It was hard for him to believe that a different world without empty values existed before. This world had changed him so much. It had molded him into… a stallion? A man? A monster?

Monster. That word that once was used to describe an imaginary creature or threat. That word that was only used by aggravated parents to scare rowdy fillies and colts into behaving now held a different meaning. One couldn’t call him a monster. One couldn’t call them monsters. They were very much real. They clearly existed. He had the scars, both physical and mental to prove it. They didn’t kill for amusement or sport. They did it to survive.

So did he.

A small device on his ear chirped to life as it glowed with the same violet as various other lights and indicators on his suit. A similar light activated on the firearm mounted to his back. The magnetic locks that kept the weapon in place deactivated as the object was swung around to the front of the stallion. It’s handle looked almost identical to the device on his ear and was glowing in the same aura. At a distance, he would have been mistaken for a unicorn using a simple telekinesis spell.

The weapon in his telekinetic grasp did share similarities to some of the firearms found in the royal guard, but those similarities ended at the shape of the frame. The stock of the weapon was angled oddly as it was curved back towards the weapon rather than below for recoil control, but that wasn’t even the weirdest part. The weirdest part was the canister that sat snug within the hollowed out stock and connected to the weapon via steel pipes. The word O2 was faded, but still embedded on the canister. A single limb ran underneath the weapon and ended in a canister that had the words .20 Rivets written on it. The barrel of the weapon consisted of two slabs of metal that slid into place against one another to form a wide quintic barrel. Each piece of the slab was held up by a set of rotating limbs that one would find on a crossbow.

The few others he had encountered in the earlier years would always wonder what made this stallion so special. They always wondered why he came back at the end of the day when their spouses, family members, or children didn’t.

Some thought it was the suit, but in reality this suit was nothing more than a resprayed and modified All Terrain Systems Suit meant for hostile environments that became standard issue in the guard supposedly right before the world went to shit. He wouldn't know. He could hardly remember anything from those days.

Others thought it was his weapon, as strange and impressive as it was, the device wasn’t actually a firearm. It technically wasn’t even a weapon until he made it one. The device was actually labeled as an Airship Repair Nailgun or ARG Gun by the manufacturing companies who had long since expired. He labeled it as the "Sweeper Rifle" at a friend's request.

The stallion had become accustomed to it before everything went to shit. His grandfather had been an airship engineer and took him on many outings once he discovered the stallion’s interest and natural talent for engineering. Of course, the nail gun wasn’t even remotely combat ready until he made it. The stallion had made a few modifications of his own to the tool-turned-weapon’s fire rate, damage output, rivet capacity, and even managed to add a “last resort” feature.

No, in the end it wasn’t his suit or tools that kept him alive. It was his intelligence. By no means was he valedictorian or a genius by any standards, but he was resourceful - and in this world - that meant life or death - or worse...

By this time, the stallion had reached the front door of the vacant house. He took in another deep breath as he unlocked the safety on his weapon and prepared for another night with them. Putting a forehoof on the door, he glanced at the time again.

4:59 P.M. - Shit, it just turned to 5:00!

The stallion finally spoke up for the first time since coming out here. He didn’t offer a prayer to whatever long dead Gods supposedly were said to watch over them. He didn’t voice his hope for a safe trip. He didn’t plead or beg to whatever was lurking out there. No, all the stallion said was;

“Come and get me…”

Then he threw the door open…