The wind howled through the desolate streets of Manehattan, carrying with it the faint scent of ash and decay. Beneath the darkened sky, a lone figure moved quietly, her hoofsteps barely audible against the crumbling pavement. Littlepip’s PipBuck flickered with soft green light, casting shadows across her face as she scanned her surroundings, alert for any sign of danger.

With a determined yet weary sigh, she adjusted her stable barding and tightened her saddlebags, her revolver floating beside her in a steady, telekinetic grip. For all the destruction, there was still hope—she just had to find it, even if it meant stepping into the unknown once more.

"Hey... I’m Littlepip. You probably haven’t heard of me, but if you have, it’s because I’m usually the one getting into trouble and somehow stumbling my way out. I’m just... trying to do the right thing, even if the Wasteland doesn’t make it easy. So if you’re looking for a guide, a locksmith, or somepony crazy enough to take on a fight, I’m your mare."