There were four boxes of ammo sitting under a bank of dead lights with labels like “generator #11 output” and “sector #7 load”.  I knelt by the ammo boxes.  Two were empty, the other two locked.  I opened one easily enough, retrieving ammo that didn’t match any firearm I had seen before.  A big and frightening caliber.  The other box, to my surprise, was jammed.  Somepony had tried picking the lock and failed badly.  It was literally the first evidence I had seen that anypony in the Equestrian Wasteland other than me had learned lockpicking.  Unfortunately for both of us, this pony wasn’t very good at it.

I sat back.  I had no idea how to open a force-jammed lock, aside from the sort of massive firepower that would likely destroy the contents of the armored box.  The damn thing was designed so you couldn’t just shoot the lock.

I telekinetically lifted the box and tried to pry at it, but that was utterly futile.  A pony might think that having the strength to lift a train car would give me more than enough power to tear open a box, but no.  The levitation field of my telekinesis makes the objects trapped inside, like the boxcar in Appleloosa, virtually weightless… until, of course, I let it go.  There simply wasn’t enough force behind my single magical spell to break a lock.  I’d have better luck with a crowbar.  But I tried anyway.  And failed.  And tried again.  And failed again.  And finally tossed the box as hard as I could.  It hit with a thud that did no further damage to the box but left a small crack in the plaster covering the wall.

Fallout: Equestria Chapter 22