The door to the Arlington Library swung open with a bang, startling the unexpecting ghouls inside the building. As the entrance slammed into the adjacent wall- hitting a surprised ghoul behind it in the process- the light of the coming dawn fell onto the inhabitants, momentarily blinding them as they hissed at their enemy and reeled. In the open doorway stood a tall, unmoving figure. Blinking their eyes, the zombified humans rushed their attacker, roaring with rage. As a ghoul got close to the entrance, almost completely covered in sunlight, a sharp object stabbed through the shade, twisting and turning in the unfortunate ghoul it happened to crash into. As blood and brain mixed together in a kind of sick blender, the blade withdrew, bringing with it a sample of its new mix with a sickening shlip.
The now dead ghoul's companions growled in anger at their comrades demise, and bum-rushed the unwelcome guest as a whole. A new item, one with a long barrel at the end, emerged from the strangers hip. He held it with one hand, turned to his side, aimed, and fired off six shots. Body after body joined the already dead ghoul on the floor, creating a very large mess consisting of blood, bone, and brain tissue. As the pool continued to spread throughout the floor, the shadow walked in menacingly, a scoped revolver in his right hand and a Bowie knife in his left. Lightly sploshing the pool beneath his armored feet, he adjusted his duster, careful not to mess with the various pouches full of deadly explosives. Observing the gruesome puddle before him, he couldn't help but crack a smile.
He cautiously lifted his foot, stepping over the mess hell-bent on staining his duster. Chuckling darkly, he maneuvered around the front desk, not even giving the dead body bent over the terminal a second look as he continued on through the building, ascending the staircase with a wheeze. Standing in the middle of the floor at the top, he looked to his left, stumped. To his right were two doorways, one with an intact door and one lacking, and a still-standing water fountain. To his left was a single door, an old wooden one with a rusty knob dangling from a hole.
Eenie meenie miny moe. His imaginary arrow landed on the doorway to his far right, and as he walked toward it, he swore he could feel eyes boring into the back of his head. Ignoring his twitchy Wasteland instincts, the Lone Wanderer calmly walked through the door's threshold, checking the hallway for any hostiles. Seeing none, his green eyes landed upon a door on the right side of the hallway, shut tight with a single wooden block barring the metal lever that crudely replaced the knob. Eyes narrowing, the man slowly walked toward it, bowie knife held in a ready-to-stab postion and revolver pointed at the suspicious door. Stalking toward it, he opened it with his left hand after depositing the blade into the steel grip of his teeth. Jumping in with a flash and a flick of his head, the Wanderer was stunned to find a well-armored defense inside.
Eyes widening in unexpected astonishment, his eyes wandered the various racks of weapons and ammo that lined the room. A desk with a computer lay dust-covered in the right corner, covering up the obvious pile of grenades buried beneath a hand-made tarp fashioned from remains of leather bandoliers. A gun cabinet stood proudly in the leftmost corner of the room, a lightbulb dangling from the ceiling giving the whole room a sort of eerie feeling. Taking one step forward, he gasped in awe at what he saw to his right: a large painting of Pre-war D.C. hung on the wall, blocking the view of the various whiteboards of scratched out formulas next to it. A ragged map was taped to the bottom, and upon closer inspection, the Lone Wanderer found it was a map of the entire D.C. area. Placing his hand on his chin and bending down onto his haunches, he saw that a large red X was placed over the location he was currently in: the Arlington Library.
The Lone Wanderer squinted in curiosity as he leaned in more. Once he did, he was able to see more clearly some writing that covered the key, hastily drawn and sloppy, as if made by a five year old with arthiritis.
Large library with good, defendable rooms. Will try to scour around the areas around here, see if I can find anything interesting.
Blinking in realization at the writing, he considered what could've left it. Definitely not raiders, wouldn't've survived the Muties by now. Not the Muties either, don't know how to write. Brotherhood wouldn't need to scour areas unless for technological reasons, but they've almost wiped the city clean of technology by now. Which means...it's not something normal.
As he slowly got up, his eyes widened in split-second fear as he heard a loud click from behind him. Glaring, he quickly turned around, Blackhawk in hand as he stared down his enemy. Only, it wasn't something you would normally see in the Wasteland. Or, more specifically, anywhere. Because what had startled the Wanderer was not a Super Mutant, it was not a drug-addicted Raider, it most definitely was not one of his Power-Armored comrades. No, what was aiming a polished .44 revolver with a special handle was no Wasteland inhabitant. Not at all.
It was a pony.
It stared him down, deep magenta irises glaring up at him as if it was waiting to pull the trigger. The pony's light blue fur was rather hard to see underneath the dried blood spots matted all over its body and face. A white bandana only slightly hid the fresh blood that was very slowly oozing out of a cut along the right side of its face. The cloth pushed its...multi-colored mane back atop its head, giving it a kind of "blast-back hair style". It wore a heavily modified version of an XXXXXS set of reinforced leather armor, and a leather bandolier lined with a long row of magnum rounds was tightly strapped over her chest as it stood on its hind legs. A bloodied rainbow colored tail swished back and forth idly from her rear.
The two combatants' stare-off seemed to last for hours as two revolvers aimed at each other, both still as mice. The pony broke into a cocky smirk, still brandishing the glare as its right hoof holding its firearm remained steady. Remaining like this, it broke the suspensful silence with two lingering words:
"Surprise, surprise."