>Can't say it was preferable but a group of raiders with access to an assault rifle cache we're spraying you down.
>Fifteen or so charging up the hill was far too many to take on with a semiauto sniper rifle.
>Pulling back the nearby brush, revealing a corroded vault door, you pushed through the dead branches and sheet metal as they come over the hill.
>The door was already open but you had to make sure they wouldn't follow you in.
>You pressed your rifle's barrel into the console's base and let loose several 308 rounds into the soft metal, shattering glass tubes and and destroying connections.
>The door leapt to life, several tons of rusty metal, grinding and turning to seal shut.
>They heard your shots, rifles aiming your way, and letting loose on the entire area.
>You could hear the patter and clink of low flying bullets bouncing off the ground and into the door.
>Several objects impacted the armor plates of your stealth suit, one landing in your rear, left leg.
>Moments later you felt another impact your front right leg, one more in the back left.
>You cried out in pain as another 5.56 hit in between the plates of your right upper abdomen.
>Your sprint, turned limping trot, slipped into the steel crevasses of the door and wall.
>You slump onto the floor into the dark enviornment, door crashing to a halt before gliding inward with a horrible scream.
>Then silence broken by small patters of blood dripping onto the floor.
>Your eyes adjust to the dim lights of the tiny concrete and steel room.
>The one in your chest hurts, armor slowed it down. Not too bad. You've had worse. Legs are holding up, nothing broken.
>You need to find the medical center. All your supplies and stimpacks are still out there on that hill.
>Now the jet junkies, outside, scratching on the door are probably playing with them.
>You keep your eyes peeled, hobbling past each room, smashing the button on the door small streaks of blood painting them.
>The occasional pile of bones, poor saps in tattered and decayed jumpsuits, greet you from room to room.
>Is it empty?
>The whole vault?
>Nothing but you and the radroaches?
>This is new.
>Usually something nasty takes up residence in these things, if not ponies equally as bad.
>The next door reveals a sizable kitchen, pre-war packages and food litter the shelves.
>A turn of the knob on a sink and it gurgles to life, water isn't clear but probably drinkable and not irradiated.
>You slip your muzzle under it tasting strong iron before the ferrous color and taste begin to fade.
>A glance up in between gulps reveals a sign pointing out of the room labeled "MEDICAL."
>You shut off the water, rushing to follow it's lead.
>Just around the corner.
>Another bloody punch to the switch and you're in.
>It's been sacked but there's autodocs!
>They're operating! The terminal is glowing on one of them!
>You lug yourself over to it, punching keys with exasperated breath.
>They've got Med-x, anesthesia, and clean surgical components still in stock.
>Sparse but there's enough.
>Your rifle's straps slip off your body.
>You're about to punch in a basic check up when you notice the holodisk reader mounted to the side.
>You scoff realizing this thing won't have enough memory to catalog certain types of treatments.
>A lightly blood smeared hoof opens up the holodisk cabinet, scanning the pages for something to assist with gunshot wounds.
>This one seems to be about shrapnel removal, you can't quite tell.
>You pop it in and configure it, the world swaying slightly in response to your blood loss.
>There's some corruption.
>What you need is still here.
>"HEAVY LIMB DAMAGE"
>You can't quite say it's heavy...
>This shit should, mainly, be general purpose and you need to get these wounds fixed now.
>A few keystrokes later and the machine receives an answer.
>You plop down on the cold rusty chrome table pulling off bits of your armor.
>Two of the machine's small pinchers assist with the rest and guide it off quickly.
>Your armor clatters to the ground, several IVs are slipped into your upper hoof.
>You're not sure how old whatever blood its pumping you with is but it still works, surprisingly.
>Your swimming perception clears up, pain begins to fade, and you eyes start to flutter.
>Wait... You should be awake... For this...
>...
>...
>Just... have to stay awake.. Get up.
>Oh Celestia.
>It put you under? You went under?
>How long?
>A lean upward and you find yourself falling back down.
>Something lurches inside of your stomach.
>Your breathing shudders as you notice something very wrong.
>You can't feel your hooves!
>Nothing!
>Nothing happens when you wiggle them!
>You feel something smaller writhe at your sides and contact a soaking wet metal table.
>Your head tilts to take a look over your body.
>You feel like you've been struck by a deathclaw.
>Small stitched stumps flail at your sides.
>All four hooves are... Just gone.
>Oh fuck... Oh fuck...
>You're going to throw up.
>"No..." Is all you manage to squeak as you wiggle on the table.
>Tears well up in your eyes a glance over cements your horror, all four limbs piled in a bloodied, rusty, nickel bin.
>The terminal is topped with a single small caliber round from your chest, deformed and bloody in a similarly small tray.
>Your armor lays in tatters below you, pieces scattering the ground now useless to your stunted form.
>You struggle against nothing but the metal slab you lay on shocked at what has become of your body.
>Tears streaming down your face as you panic and curse Celestia again and again.
>The terminal illuminates half the room in it's eerie, green, apathetic glow as you struggle to make sense of any of this.
>You begin to calm, groaning out for help, breathing slowing.
>You remember the food and water.
>There's not much to threaten you here.
>You can be reasonably sure you're safe.
>...
>Oh Celestia you're completely fucked.
>Utterly fucked.
>You're stuck in here with those chem fueled raiders out there and now you're stuck like this. For good.
>The blood spatter from the saw is dry on the table, now.
>You stare blankly into the dull lighting overhead.
>...
>Thinking of how helpless you are now...
>It's for real.
>You couldn't set hoof outside without getting eaten by something now.
>Or shot.
>Or foalnapped.
>What would other ponies think seeing you like this?
>Oh Celestia... You can't even stop them from doing what ever they wanted with your body now.
>Imagining yourself laying in a powerful stallion's soft bed.
>He smiles, teasing your entrance gently, with his length.
>Very soon he's inside, pounding away, you as his helpless fucktoy.
>Finally cumming and filling you up with so many foals no matter what you might want or say.
>Your womb; his personal cum balloon.
>You reach forward instinctually reaching for your needy slit but becoming frustrated and fall onto your back.
>No hooves anymore.
>You can't reach anything.
>And you really need it right now.
>...
>Stuck like this. Probably permanently.
>And the first thing you think about is jacking off to stallion fucking you in this state.
>...
>You need to get up and moving.
>You need to know you can do something, not just rot on this slab.
>Okay going to flip over.
>A little painful to bear any weight on the ends of your stumps.
>They're really short.
>You can't do much with them.
>You'd probably smash that autodoc into paste if it didn't turn you into this.
>Almost... And you've flopped onto your belly.
>You ease your rear stumps off of the chrome slab, body wiggling carefully downward.
>Oh shit! It's tipping! Drop!
>You land on your ass, crying out in pain from the dull impact with your recently stitched flesh.
>Oh Celestia. Fuck. Where were you going to go, now.
>It feels vulnerable being on the floor like this.
>Maybe the kitchen.
>There's food.
>You need some water.
>It's a slow and tortuous way. Dragging yourself back along your previous blood trail on painful stumps.
>But you make it.
>The door is still open. You probably can't reach the switch.
>Your gun is still back there.
>You probably can't use it anymore...
>A few more painful motions are able to drag you into the kitchen and prop yourself on a floor level cabinet.
>You take a moment, wiping your eyes with blood stained shoulders.
>Looking up you find a single box of instamash staring back at you.
>Panic strikes as you realize you cannot reach.
>You groan out in the empty room for help.
>That's when you make it out.
>Skittering.
>Oh Shit.
>Please no.
>The brown carapace of a fat radroach pops out of a crack in the ceiling.
>You tense up.
>Your breathing quickens.
>It skitters down the support beam, right over the box of mash.
>The box tips, falling off the counter onto the floor.
>The roach stops.
>It's body turns toward you.
>The roach is walking your way.
>It's coming at you.
>"No! Please! Stop!"
>You snivel and plead as it comes near, stumps flailing.
>"Don't eat me! Help me! Help! I don't want to die!"
>The roach's feet patter across your flesh as it climbs your torso, approaching your head.
>"It's going to bite me! Help! please! Somepony!"
>It takes you a moment to realize the dumb thing has completely passed over your shivering body.
>Making it's way up the counter toward some faintly glowing mushrooms sprouting out of a small hole.
>You sniffle briefly before taking the opportunity to flop onto the mash box, grabbing it in your mouth, and scooting off at a snails pace.
>You were helpless enough that a radroach could have been dangerous.
>Your shoulders slink up, ears flopped down, burning in shame.
>More tears come as you work your way back to the medical slab, instamash box in your mouth.
>You still need to find a way to open it.
>You won't last a week like this.
>...
 
 
>Perk "Limbless" added
>All other perks removed.
>Agility -10
>Strength -9
>Lockpick, Medicine, Repair, Science, and Sneak reduced to 0
>Carry weight reduced to 25
 
>Seek out cybernetic enhancement to reduce the debilitating effects of permanently crippled limbs.