Fallout Equestria: Insanity’s Flight
By Storm128

Chapter 1: Hero

“In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche

War, war never changes.

It has been nearly two centuries since the rain of fire that nearly wiped the magical land of Equestria, and its peaceful inhabitants, off the face of the Earth. Decades of conflict bubbled forth into a cacophony of violence, forming the single greatest tragedy this world had ever witnessed. The awe inspiring power of magic, once used as a tool of peace, healing, and technological progress, had been weaponized into a destructive force beyond what anyone could have possibly imagined.

After many years, when the fires were extinguished, the final remaining members of the Equestrian race emerged from underground shelters used to escape the atomic desolation. The sight that greeted them was horrifying. A hellscape where crimes once thought inconceivable became the daily routine. Murder, rape, enslavement, and betrayal have all become the norm in a world where only one truth was still accepted.

In the wasteland, there are no gods, no messiahs, and no heroes.

Only survivors.

Fifteen Years Before The Destruction of The Cloud Layer

The morning light dimly shone through the cracks of my shed, though a slow drip from the leaky roof dashed any hopes that it may actually be the sun. I slowly opened my eyes, only to be greeted by the manic grin of a green-maned mare glaring back at me. My heartbeat jumped and I struck my hooves out in a panicked flurry, only to feel them swipe through empty air.

I sat up in bed and felt the yellowed pages of the comic book slowly slide off my face. I smiled in relief, taking several deep breaths to calm the thundering in my chest.

Gingerly, I lifted the ancient pages onto the top bunk to join the rest of my collection. Along with the comics, there were a few other volumes that made up my books. An encyclopedia, a field medic's guide, a thesaurus, some magazines, and a copy of Daring Do and The Sapphire Stone with the latter half missing. The wasteland was deeply deprived of legible books, so I took what I could get. I’d had more, but some got lost, stolen, burnt, sold, or any number of other things really. Love for books also seemed to be in short supply these days.

However, I valued my comics more than any of them. There were only a few, issues four, nine, and thirteen of Power Ponies, but they were by far my most prized possessions. Countless nights had me up, re-reading the thrilling tales. Impossible odds overcome by the power friendship, the forces of justice triumphing over tyranny, senseless quarrels easily forgiven, and even the bumbling sidekick saving the day. Reliving the adventures of the Masked Matter-Horn and her friends reassured me that, at one time, heroes did exist.

My thoughts were constantly preoccupied by fantasies of joining the same ranks as those mighty champions of good. Defending the ideals of truth and justice, saving the innocent from the forces of evil. I imagined myself fighting alongside other brave heroes. All of us working together to bring about real change in the wasteland, to make sure there was a better tomorrow.

The spine chilling scream of a mare next door shattered my hopeful daydream. Shaken, I made my way across the small metal room. There was a pit forming in my stomach as I tried to ignore the sordid whimpers emanating from my wall.

I trotted up to a mirror sitting on a centuries-old dresser. The glass was shattered, but I could still make out a young, steel-gray unicorn colt looking back at me. My mane was cut short, though generally pretty unkempt. It was primarily a midnight blue, streaked with a lighter, grayer shade. The eyes staring back at me were a match for the darker tone.

I didn’t have a cutie mark yet, which was a bit worrying seeing as how I was almost ten. Although, considering where I lived, I was hardly chomping at the bit to find out what my special talent was.

On top of the dresser was my only other possession, an old wooden box inscribed with images of smiling and laughing ponies. I gently slid my hoof across the near-smooth surface, the loving detail of the inscriptions faded and worn with the years. I knitted my brow in concentration, then a deep blue aura surrounded the box before my feeble magic shakily lifted the lid. A bright-pink pony figure dutifully rose, standing on one leg with both front hooves raised in the air, and began to spin in a lazy circle.

The song that poured forth wasn’t one I was familiar with, not surprising as my only source of music was whatever I happened to catch on the communal radio. It was bright, upbeat, and, no matter how tough things got, it always managed to make me smile. Somedays, I just sat and watched the little statue spin its circles, humming along with the jolly tune. My mind wandered to visions of whole towns joining in, coming together just to brighten up each other’s day.

I stayed like that for a while, letting the melody encompass my thoughts. Blocking out the pained moans coming from next door, and the dread slowly filling me as I prepared to start the day. As the final notes played, I felt my mood brighten. After gently closing the box, I grabbed my thick canvas barding and nine-millimeter pistol off the hook beside my door. Equipped, I gave my reflection a final look.

"Well, Venture, time for work," I said to the broken colt staring back at me.

It was time to feed the slaves.

As predicted, it was pouring outside. The rain was enough to soak the barding through to my coat, sending a barrage of shivers coursing through me. Even in the middle of the desert, early morning and rain can chill you to the bone.

“Another beautiful day in Oasis,” I whispered to myself.

Oasis, it seemed like such a calming word. My understanding of what an oasis was led to thoughts of a place of refuge. A pool of cool water in the shades of lush palm trees, sheltering weary travelers from the harshness of the desert.

There could not exist a word that described where I lived any worse.

Oasis was a sort of stopping ground for slavers, be they Hunters bringing in newly captured stock from out west or transporting some for sale to the east. At the moment, we were negotiating a deal with some far larger operation in the Canterlot wastes, and they were looking to buy an exorbitant amount. The Hunters had been coming and going non-stop for weeks; we must have had well over a hundred ponies crammed into the chain link pens.

Normally I was on my own when it came to feeding time, but with the enormous population we had on hoof right now, my older brother Chance was assigned to help me today.

I took several deep breaths as I stared at the shed juxtaposing mine, trying to quell the chilling terror and nausea rampaging its way through my stomach. The screams from earlier were still pervading my thoughts, leaving me with visuals that only further terrified me. My legs shook with each small step toward his door, this time not entirely the fault of the cold. I raised a hoof and lightly knocked.

A couple seconds passed before the entrance swung open and my brother stepped out. He was a tall earth pony, though pretty lanky in comparison to most bucks. His coat was a chestnut brown and his mane a shock black, which he kept cut short and slicked back. The cutie mark on his flank portrayed a pair of bright-red lips dangling a long, silver tongue. His piercing green eyes glared out at me, the scleras both the vibrant yellow that resulted from radiation poisoning. The gaze bore into me with what seemed like a mixture of contempt and…need. My heart hammered in my chest.

“What d’ya want?” he demanded curtly.

“I… it… its… t-time to-” I tried to utter the words, but my lips betrayed me. I stared down at the ground, desperately thinking of an excuse to be anywhere else.

I heard an exasperated sigh before a hoof struck me across the face, sending me sprawling into the mud. My ear rang, and a painful heat started to spread over my cheek. I felt a pressure placed under my chin before I was roughly pulled out of the dirt and right into Chance’s hateful gaze.

“What. Do. You. Want. Fucktoy!?” he shouted.

“I-I, t-time to… to…” the words wouldn’t form. My mouth felt dry, my mind went blank. The churning in my stomach threatened to expel something that would make Chance a lot angrier at me then he already was.

His backhoof landed first.

Again, I was thrown to the ground. The splattering of the wet, cold earth thoroughly re-soaking my barding with murky water. I felt him wrap a leg around my neck as I was pulled up a second time.

“Y’know,” he began, letting his voice fall into a slow drawl, “I was havin’ a real nice mornin’. Quiet, well-rested,” he gestured a hoof back inside the room, “and even some very pleasant company.”

I spotted a golden mare with a bright-blue mane curled up on the edge of his bed. She was bruised and bleeding, especially near her hindquarters, and was shaking with silent sobs as she pressed her face into the dirty mattress. She was also sporting an explosive collar around her neck, standard procedure for anypony that wanted some “personal time” with one of the slaves.

He gave a satisfied nicker, admiring the horrid sight, before forcing my attention back to him. “And now, to have it all so rudely interrupted, well,” his voice dropped to a low growl, “there’s really only so much that I’m willin’ to put up with.”

My whole body was trembling then, and every bone felt like it’d been replaced with heavy steel. I was petrified into silence, merely letting panicked gasps past my lips. Every ounce of will I tried to put into running, hiding, anything to get away from the psychopath running a hoof through my filthy mane.

“Then again,” he continued thoughtfully, “mayhaps I’m lookin’ at this the wrong way. Could it be that my little fucktoy is a wee bit…” he grinned an incredibly unnerving smile, “jealous?” The last word was uttered with an emphasis that had my backside quivering. “Does little Venture want his big brother all to himself? Oh don’t you worry,” he ran his tongue along the side of my face before whispering, “tomorrow, the slaves will be gone, and you’ll be all mine again."

Finally, I convinced my legs to move as they scrambled in the mud, letting me slip out of my brother’s grip and gallop away as fast as possible. His laughter filled the air behind me before the door slammed shut. A terrified shriek erupted from within, quickly followed by the dull smack of hoof striking flesh.

Tears were streaming down my face, and the choked sobs forced me to stop as my breath ran short. I collapsed and broke down on the ground, my wailing muffled as I shoved my head back into the wet dirt.

I hated Chance. The sheer amount of joy he took from punishing others filled me with disgust and righteous anger.

At least... that’s how I wanted to feel, how a hero would feel. If I were the Masked Matter-Horn, I would bust down that door, blast my brother into oblivion, and save the innocent mare from his vile clutches. But I didn’t do that, and I wasn’t crying because I couldn’t. The tears running down my cheeks weren’t those of a heartbroken hero, or even just a sympathetic bystander. They were tears of shame.

Shame that came from the immense gratitude I felt toward that mare, because if it wasn’t her suffering at the hooves of Chance, it would be me. For all my fanciful thoughts of donning some symbol of hope and smiting the evils that plagued the wasteland, it all meant nothing. The mere sight of my brother, to catch those lustful eyes on my flank, was all it took to remind me of just how much of a coward I was.

We’d never been a warm family, hell even calling us civil might have been a bit of a reach, but we'd never gone out of our way to hurt each other. Our father was in charge of the whole operation, while my two brothers and I took care of the day to day responsibilities with a few other employees that were kept on hoof. Pike, the oldest, headed the Hunters. A group of mercenary slavers that went out on expeditions in the wastes to resupply our food and stock, or chase down runaways.

Chance was supposed to be in charge of guarding and keeping the slaves in line. Most days, he just concentrated on the latter job, bringing down punishment on the more rebellious of them. Generally, it meant some sort of public abuse or a few days in the Pit.

I was responsible for feeding and cleanup. Ultimately just bringing the slaves whatever slop the “cook” had dredged up that day, and then picking up whatever came out the other end. When work wasn’t involved, we mostly kept to ourselves.

That all changed about two years back, Chance was in the throes of puberty and I was just old enough to start working. One day, I was cleaning out the pens while my brother was chatting up another slaver. He'd always been good at talking to ponies, his cutie mark was evidence enough of that. It was never too long before he had anypony eating out of his hooves, and this encounter shouldn't have been any different. This time, however, the conversation ended with the brown stallion tripping on the bucket of droppings I’d been collecting and covering himself in almost as much shit as was coming out of his mouth.

She burst out laughing and trotted away, while I tried to suppress a fit of giggles. Enraged, my brother tried to put a bullet in the mare’s head, but he’s never been that good of a shot. Scared her half to death and had her quitting before the end of the day. Chance ended up cementing just how poorly he took rejection with the other slavers, he didn't get a whole lot of attention after that.

Then his bruised ego turned on the next closest target. It was the first time he’d ever hit me, which was quickly followed by the second, then the third. Again and again, beating me until I was a bloody heap on the ground. I thought he was going to kill me that day.

Instead, Chance brought us back to his room with promises that he was sorry and wanted to help clean me up. I went with him, a poor decision in retrospect, but he was one of the few ponies I could actually call family, I wanted to trust him. It began innocently enough, he helped clean the blood and dirt off my coat. Apologizing the whole time and assuring me he'd just lost his head.

I could never recall a time I’d ever bonded with somepony in my family. I started getting excited, actually thinking that I might finally have a brother like the ones I’d read about. Sure, that bonding might've been cleaning up the wounds he'd inflicted, but it was something.

Then... things got strange. He started speaking to me in a hushed whisper, and touching me in places that sent chills down my spine. I tried to tell him I didn't like it, to convince him to stop. It was like he wasn’t listening, just becoming more determined while I struggled. Laughing in my face as I tried to heave his bulk off before violently shoving himself inside me.

Chance discovered something about himself after that. He didn't care about gender, age, or even sex really. He wanted resistance, somepony to say no, somepony he could hurt.

It wasn't exactly a secret amongst my family, but our father didn't care. He was of the persuasion that anything you weren't strong enough to protect, you didn't deserve to have. I suppose it wasn't surprising for a slaver to extend that philosophy to flesh. As long as we all still got our jobs done, he couldn’t give two shits what we did to each other.

I wiped my nose on my fetlock and tried to compose myself as the sobs wracking my body slowly quieted. Chance may or may not show up, but the work still needed doing.

I trotted the short way to the main building of Oasis; a round, two-story abomination of twisted steel. The structure was an affront to structural integrity everywhere, no amount of logic could dictate how it was still standing. Half of the towering, jagged spires were chained in place, with no sight of any reinforcements whatsoever. Every movement within was met with a creak so disconcerting, you'd be forgiven for thinking the whole building was about to collapse into itself.

A guard sat outside, cradling an empty bottle of Wild Pegasus Whiskey as she snored. I opened the sheet metal door to continue inside, lightly kicking the green-maned, orange earth pony's chair as I went by. She startled awake and reached for a double-barreled shotgun that was just out of reach, causing the mare to fall flat on her face as she grabbed at empty air. Trying to compose herself, she quickly lifted the gun, bringing it to bear against her mystery assailant, and then turned right into the edge of the door. She fell back, clutching her nose.

Despite what just happened, I let out a choked giggle before walking over to help Ambrosia. I moved her hooves aside as she peeled open her emerald, tear-filled eyes to see me. The earth pony breathed a sigh of relief as I checked to see if anything was broken.

"Celestia's swollen taint, Venture, you nearly gave me a fuckin’ heart attack," she swore after a few seconds, the injury making her sound a bit nasally.

"You were drinking on watch again, Amber," I responded chidingly, "you remember what the Boss did when he caught you last time, right?"

A bit of the color drained from her face as she absently rubbed a hoof over her right ear, feeling a very deliberate looking cut that split it in half. "Uh... yeah. Thanks for lookin' out kid," she said sheepishly.

"Anytime," I tried to say cheerily, forcing a small smile.

The orange pony almost grinned in return, before she looked a bit more closely at me. "You doin' alright," she asked, worry touching her voice, "you're lookin' a little... weepy."

I reflexively wiped a hoof across my eyes, trying to hide any sign of the tears I'd hoped had dried. "Sure," I tried to say cooly, "never better... uh, tripped on the way over is all." I put my leg around hers, trying to lead us inside. "Come on, you probably need some water, food, and..." I gave the air a disapproving sniff, "maybe a bath?"

The concern on her face was replaced by confusion as she took a cautious whiff under her front leg, and recoiled immediately. "Hoo doggy, you might have a point there. Some grub sounds good too."

I gave a silent sigh of relief, glad that I could steer the conversation away from me. I focussed on the shotgun laying on the ground, the blue aura of my magic glowing, and tried to lift it into Ambrosia's grasp. It shook for a few seconds while the mare looked on awkwardly. Finally, I let out a weary breath and the weapon dropped.

"Here, lemme get that for ya," she stated comfortingly as she bit and slung the shotgun on her back. Then she placed a hoof under her chin, seeming to ponder something. “Is that what’s bugging you,” she asked after a few seconds, “your magic not bein’ up to snuff yet?”

I pounced on the excuse, “It… it just doesn’t feel like I’m a real unicorn, you know? How am I supposed to find my special talent if I can’t even do something that basic?” I tried to summon a sniffle to really sell the performance.

She put a leg over my shoulders, the feeling of her touch sending a course of shivers through my skin. I took several deep breaths, desperately trying to ignore the sensation.

“Now don’t you go worryin’ about some meanin'less shit like that," she began. "You’re a smart fuckin' kid, smarter than any of the clutzes ‘round this place. ‘Specially yours truly,” she placed the other leg on her chest as she said the last bit. “That’ll get ya a hell of a lot further than some party tricks.”

"As for your talent, it'll show up when it does. It's not anythin' you can force, but I bet you it's gonna be somethin' real grand and excitin'. Not like," she gestured at the foaming tankard on her flank, "dumb ol' cider brewin'. Honestly, y’ever heard of such a useless talent? When was the last time you even saw a fresh fuckin’ apple, much less ‘nuff to make cider?"

I sniffed, “Thanks Amber, that means a lot.” In reality, my pitiful magical abilities were one of the last things on my mind. I’d work it out someday, just a matter of getting in enough practice.

I don’t think my treatment was common knowledge amongst the other slavers. If any of them were aware, they kept their mouths shut. Nopony had any illusions about how cruel my brother could be, and how petty he was when anypony slighted him. While Chance might not be that imposing, he was the only one with the talent to convince our father to bring down the hammer on anypony he wanted. Because of that, they were all of the belief that Chance could pretty much do as he pleased.

Ambrosia and I trotted inside and headed for the tubs. I always thought it was a bit odd that a place like Oasis actually had a place to wash, even if it was just some metal basins and boiling water. I walked over to a large cauldron set in the corner of the room, pulling on a lever that let rain water in from a small reservoir on the roof. There was a glyph on the floor that I waved a hoof over, activating the fire talisman placed under the pot.

As the water heated, I turned back to the mare. She was in the process of stripping off her own rough barding, tossing the pieces carelessly on the floor. I felt my cheeks start to warm as I quickly turned away, then heard her let out an amused snort.

“Come on kid,” she teased, “ain’t like you never seen a naked mare before. We don’t even normally wear clothes.”

I continued looking away, not entirely sure how to answer. She let out a laugh and threw her front legs around my chest, pulling me into a big bear hug. “You are just the sweetest, most timid little cuss, you know that?” she cooed. “Why, if only you were a few years older. I’d make you all mine.”

My skin started to crawl from the feeling of her embrace. Light touches I could handle, but anything beyond that and my mind flashed with images of a laughing psychopath and a pain in places that made my nethers quiver with anxiousness. My breath started coming in short, panicked gasps as I struggled against what I was sure was just a friendly embrace. Hearing my discomfort, Ambrosia quickly let go. The same concern from before crossed her face.

Before she could ask, I sputtered, “I-I’ll go get some drinking water… and- and food,” perhaps a bit louder than was necessary. I had to resist the urge to sprint out of the room as I made my way back into the hallway and toward the kitchen.

Even before Chance, I didn't like being held. I'd remembered seeing an article in one of my magazines about the importance of holding your foals after they were born. Since none of us knew who our mothers were, and with our father having about as much affection as a pissed off hellhound, that may explain a few things. At least before, however, I could stand more than just holding hooves. After two years at my brother's mercy, it was pretty rare for me to be comfortable with any kind of touching.

Still, I liked Ambrosia. For a slaver, she was probably one of the kindest ponies I’d ever met. She got hired on about a month ago, and was already the butt of most jokes being thrown around the compound. I don’t think she was unintelligent, just a little naive… and perhaps a bit uncoordinated, but nice. She was also civil to the stock, sort of like how a farm pony would handle sheep. Not exactly equals, but a far cry from the outright cruelty the others used.

I enjoyed our conversations together, I'd talk about my dreams of the future while she listened with a rapt attention. She'd describe life growing up with her brother in New Appleloosa. Although she never spoke much about how she got from there to Oasis, or what drove such a kindly mare to slaving, but I didn’t press the issue. We all had some secrets we wanted kept.

I trotted into the kitchen, and was immediately bombarded with a scent of what smelled like burning brahmin shit. Patchy, the old, three-legged red unicorn that held onto the title of “chef” was absent-mindedly hovering a pan over an open flame. An acrid green smoke flowed from whatever was cooking within, forcing me to clutch onto anything I might have had in my stomach. After a few seconds, he turned to look at me.

“Well now, if it ain’t the black sheep,” he said gruffly. “Got a real nice cuisine for our guests today,” he barked a laugh before letting out a huge snort and spitting into the pan. “Yessiree, Princesses themselves woulda been foamin’ at the mouth to get a hold of this fine dinin’.” Then he lifted out a rusty spatula and scraped… whatever the hell it was into the closest of several big buckets next to the fire. I lifted one onto my back before walking around the old coot toward the edible food we kept for ourselves.

Today I was lucky, an untouched box of Sugar Apple Bombs was one of the last items on the top shelf. I peered at it, surrounding the box with my magic and shaking it just enough to topple the cereal down to the ground. There were also a couple bottles of purified water, both of which I snagged as I took my haul of food back to the washroom.

Ambrosia had gotten the hot water from the cauldron and filled two tubs. She was already lounging in one, a hoof covering her eyes as the hangover was undoubtedly starting to hit her. The mare turned toward me as I walked back into the room, and immediately moved a hoof to cover her mouth as her cheeks expanded. Quickly realizing that the filth on my back may have had something to do with that, I set the bucket down and kicked it out into the hall.

The earth pony let out several ragged breaths as she tried to rid herself of the scent. “Goddess dammit, what does that senile old fool put in that shit?” she gasped.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he had all four legs when he got hired so…” I trailed off as she let out a big gut laugh before wincing and putting a hoof back over her eyes.

I set the cereal and both bottles of water on the side of the tub, thinking she could probably use it all more than I could, before turning around to head out and start work.

“Hey little man, listen, about earlier…” she started to say nervously, “You know, I was just jokin’ around…”

“Forget it,” I cut her off, “it was nothing.”

We sat in silence for a while, the tension in the room growing more taut by the second. I tried to leave again, wanting to keep the unsettling moment behind me.

“Wait,” she called, “don’t you wanna wash up too?”

I looked myself over, seeing the massive amount of mud still clinging to me. I wanted nothing more than to scrub my coat as hard as possible but, “No time, gotta get the stock fed before the Boss comes around.”

“Ain’t Chance ‘sposed to be helpin’ you out?”

“Supposed to and will are two real different things in Chance’s book,” I conceded, trying not to shudder as I spoke my brother’s name.

“If you need some help…”

I waved a hoof, “Naw, I got it. Besides, I think you’ll have plenty to get done today with the shipment moving out tomorrow. So try and get yourself a bit more in order, ok?” I asked pleadingly, “I… I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Trying to exit a final time, I faced the door only to feel a hoof on my shoulder before I could. I turned back into Ambrosia’s kind gaze, and a warm smile spread over her face. “You know,” she began, “you keep that little golden heart of yours beatin', and you’re gonna make a lot of ponies real happy with it someday.” She moved the hoof to my chest, resting it right over the subtle pulsing within. “Don’t you let anyone take that away from you. Ain’t nearly enough kind souls out there.”

Even as my skin began to crawl at the touch, there was the familiar sting of fresh tears near the edge of my eyes as I returned the grin. Not able to think of an appropriate way of thanks, I held onto her leg for a few seconds, trying to keep the warmth of the moment alive, before turning to depart. Her smile widened as she gave a small wave of farewell. I snagged my bucket on the way past and headed back out into the rain.

The slave pens were set right in the center of Oasis, the barracks and main building flanking them on either side. As I trotted up, I felt the same mixture of unease and sympathy. This time it redoubled as I witnessed the filthy and resigned faces of the ponies. All of them were shoved into such close proximity that there was hardly even room to sit. Several shot frightened or loathing looks my way, behavior that I’d gotten used to. I walked toward the guard stationed outside one of the locked cages, a bear of a green earth pony whose name I was never able to extract during the five words he ever spoke around me.

The guard turned toward the gate as I drew closer, working the actions on the twin assault carbines mounted on his battle-saddle before bellowing, “Feeding time, back it up!”

The sordid ponies all pressed as close together as possible while the gate was unlocked. Carbine stepped through the gap in the chain-link first, staring down the stock as if daring them to try anything. I followed close behind before turning toward the feeding troughs mounted on either side of the pen.

I tipped the stinking bucket against the side and watched the green goop slowly fill the basin. The ponies behind me looked on, their expressions quickly turning to revulsion and defeat as they observed their morning meal. I felt a sharp pain lance its way through my heart, why couldn’t I do more? The last thing I wanted to do was force them to eat this pile of crap, but it wasn’t like there was nearly enough fresh food to feed all of them. Most days, we barely had enough to feed ourselves. I knew at the back of my mind it was either this, or starvation. Sometimes those choices got pretty hard to decide between.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied movement and almost dropped the rest of the “food” as I spun to see what was happening. A black, earth pony mare was nervously approaching the guard.

“E...Ex-Excuse me,” she asked quietly. The giant pony quickly turned toward her, leveling both guns and tightening his jaw on the mouth grip. The slave took a step back before sparing a glance over her shoulder at a silver mare leaning against the side of the pen. She was clutching her stomach, moaning quietly, while several others tried to comfort her. As if that revived her confidence, she strode the rest of the way to Carbine, sticking her face right into the guard’s.

“Please,” she began, “it’s my sister. I think she’s really sick and I need to get her some help. Do y’all have a doctor or anyth…” Carbine’s strike across her face silenced the rest of question. The mare fell to the ground as the slaver brought both hooves up in an attempt to crush her. A scream of terror erupted from her as she crossed her front legs over her face.

I didn’t even think as I sprinted across the pen and threw myself in front of the prostrate pony. “Stop!” I shouted, immediately halting the guard. He lowered himself to the ground, staring at me expectantly. I gulped, not really thinking of what I was going to do next.

After a couple awkward seconds, the words came to me, “A-After we’ve locked up, go get Syringe and tell her to take a look at the mare.”

“Why?” Carbine responded, a genuine quizzical look on his face, “We got more than enough to spare.”

I shook my head as I extended a hoof toward him, “That doesn’t mean we have to let any of them suffer, or kill them for trying to help each other. Besides, dead stock still means less profit, right? N-now do as you’re told!”

The guard seemed to weigh his options, I guess the thought of not killing mildly insubordinate slaves required time to process. After a few seconds, he shrugged and moved back into position. His rifles aimed back at the rest of the crowd so I could finish.

A gentle sigh of relief left me as I offered a leg toward the fallen mare. Her eyes wide with disbelief, she slowly took my hoof and let me pull her back upright.

"Th-thank you," she gasped, "thank you so much." Sparkling tears of gratitude started shining in her eyes as she moved as if to embrace me.

I backed away, smiling and about to respond when another voice cried out, "For what?!"

A purple unicorn stallion trotted up to us, a burning contempt in his eyes. A metallic magical suppressor was secured over his horn, a precaution taken with all unicorn stock. "So, one of these slaving pieces of shit does something halfway decent and you're fucking grateful?!" He shoved the mare out of the way and approached me.

"Oh, thank you so fucking much for NOT killing us," he shouted into my face. "You come by and feed us this putrid shit day in and day out and, the one time you grow a Goddess-damned conscience, that’s supposed to make everything better? You’re just like the rest of them!” He pushed me over and raised his front legs in an eerily familiar, crushing way, “FUCK Y-."

A gunshot rang out, freezing the heated slave before he fell over. Deep crimson sprayed from his neck, a warm stream spattering across my face. The buck let out a wet gurgle, trying to press a hoof over his wound. His eyes were wide with terror as they bore into me, the pupils shrinking down to pinpricks. Sodden gasps escaped his lips until he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Chance trotted into my vision, a grim smile adorning his face and a smoking revolver in his grasp. He towered over the dying pony as he holstered the gun, “Well, well, well, now what’s goin’ on in this neck o’ the woods, eh?”

The buck merely shook in the dirt, a steady stream of crimson leaking from his mouth, wet bubbling the only noise that escaped him. The other slaves looked on in horror, but the imposing figure of Carbine seemed enough of a deterrent for them not to intervene.

Chance lowered his head toward the unicorn, “What was that? I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I asked you a question,” he slammed a leg into the bucks side, causing another expulsion of blood to spatter the earth between us. “See now, that wasn’t so hard, was it,” my brother continued. “I think that any good working relationship is built on a foundation of communication. So just tell me the truth, ‘I was an idiot, and it got me shot in the fuckin’ neck. I promise never to do it again.’ Easy Goddess-damn peasy.“

He began circling the stallion, “So, lesson learned, right? Tell the truth, and it shall set,” he struck the slave with another kick. “You,” kick, “FREE!” He brought both front hooves down on the buck’s neck as he yelled the last word, caving in his throat and expelling a final stream of gore that splashed across my coat.

The brown stallion was grinning like a maniac, panting heavily. He slowly wiped the small spattering of red on his face against the back of his leg as he approached me. My brother lowered his face until it was level with mine, his green and yellow eyes cutting into me, before extending a hoof and gently wiping off a bit of the blood from around my mouth. I shook in petrified silence as the sensation of his touch set every nerve in me ablaze.

“You owe me,” he whispered, that grin scarring itself into my memory. “Don’t worry, you can pay it back tonight.” He puckered his lips and made a small smooching sound, then threw back his head and cackled the whole way out of the pen.

My mouth fell open as the shock of the situation finally hit me. Then I pitched to my side and dry heaved, silently grateful that I’d forgone eating today.

Oasis made no fucking sense.

As much as I despised my home, what it did, and most of its inhabitants, I could never shake the feeling of just how stupidly the operation was run. What good was a sick or dying slave? What good was it to kill perfectly healthy ones over some trivial bullshit? Why would anypony seek to traumatize them before they’d even been sold? Most days the whole place just seemed like a sadist’s paradise instead of a slaving ring. Honestly, I wondered just how the hell we stayed in business.

I muttered these thoughts quietly to myself as I made my way toward the front gate. The Hunters were due back soon with a few pieces of stock and, hopefully, some more food. The fencing around the compound was basically just whatever big hunks of metal the previous inhabitants had gotten to lean up against each other without falling. The only gap in the wall was a single piece of chain-link fence locked into place with a few lengths of wire and chain.

I began to undo the straps as I spotted a covered wagon approaching in the distance. As they drew near, I saw my oldest brother leading the group. Pike made Carbine look like a pushover. The enormous, deep red earth pony stood a full head taller than anyone I’d ever seen. His long, dark green mane was tied back into a simple knot. The muscles on his chest and legs bulged to near-grotesque proportions, and his cutie mark showed a pair of crossed hunting spears.

The rest of the Hunters were pretty unremarkable, three other earth ponies and two unicorns all of varying colors and genders. The wagon was trailing the slaves they’d managed to take. I could see a stallion, a mare, and a young filly; probably a family they’d ambushed.

The restraints undone, I heaved on one edge of the fence, swinging it open for them. Once inside, I quickly locked up and sprinted after my brother.

“H-hey Pike,” I called nervously.

The giant grunted in response. Pike was a pony of few words, probably because he just didn’t know many. He was a very simple-minded creature, unless the topic was hunting, killing or fucking he generally didn’t pay too much attention. It was never incredibly clear if he had some mental disorder, or just genuinely didn’t care enough to learn anything new. I suppose there was some comfort to be found in knowing that you were only ever expected to do the few things you were really good at.

I tried to put in the effort to know him, seeing as how he was the only family member I had who didn’t seem to have outright contempt for me. However, I’m pretty sure he just replaced their malice with apathy, as if I wasn’t meaningful enough to spend the energy hating.

“How was the hunt,” I tried to continue.

“Found some,” his deep voice stated lazily.

“Didn’t happen to find some food along with them, did ya?”

“Wagon,” he gestured his head toward the carriage.

Knowing I wasn’t going to get much more conversation out of him, I turned toward the transport. Inside was a pretty meager spread: a couple cans of Cram, some InstaMash, junk food, and a few near-rotting pieces of produce. Nearly giving up on finding anything noteworthy, I almost turned to leave when the edge of a blue package appeared underneath the pile. I swiped the rest of the food aside and beheld the treasure beneath, an untouched box of chocolate Fancy Buck Snack Cakes.

I nearly jumped with glee as I snatched the treats. It wasn’t often that we got any of my absolute favorite food, and in my favorite flavor no less. I looked around to see if anypony was watching before carefully creeping out of the back of the wagon. It probably wasn’t a big deal, after the sale tomorrow we’d have more than enough caps to actually go out and buy food. Assuming those in charge of the money had the two-bits to spend it on something necessary before buying up enough booze to drown a small army.

As I exited the wagon, I found myself face to face with the captured slaves. The stallion was a white unicorn with a long, vibrant pink mane, while the mare was a brown earth pony, with short, cyan hair. The filly trailing behind them was a mixture, the white coat and race of her dad and mane color of her mom, though it was far larger and curlier than either of her parents'.

The three of them stared at me, the grim reality of their situation heavily weighing on their expressions. The filly had a terrified look, and was way past the verge of tears if the clean streaks running down her face were any indication.

The joy and excitement I’d been feeling quickly vanished at their plight. I imagined them being shoved into a pen and shown Patchy’s cuisine as their new daily meal, merely rubbing salt in the wound that was their enslavement.

My stomach had the very inopportune timing of growling right then. I looked down at the prize in my grasp, my mouth watering as I imagined the chocolatey goodness filling my rumbling belly. Their gazes met mine again, no words needing to be spoken.

Why couldn’t I do more, I thought to myself, that’s what I’d asked. I stole a glance over my shoulder, the group of Hunters were all conversing, scheming up ways they would spend their various shares of tomorrow’s payday. With a sigh, I approached the family. The mare protectively pulled the filly to her side as the buck placed himself between them and me, putting on the most menacing face he could muster.

With a bit of resignation, I held out the box to them. Shock crossed over all of their faces, quickly followed by fear as they, too, quickly shot looks at the Hunters. I gestured for the family to move a bit more behind the wagon and out of sight, just in case any other slavers decided to look over in our direction. Once hidden, I put my hoof to my lips as I approached the filly. She looked incredibly nervous, so I tried to put on the warmest expression I could to reassure her. The curly-maned girl glanced at her mother who cautiously nodded, though not without ever taking her eyes off me.

Slowly, I parted the kid’s hair and nestled the box amongst her curls, out of sight of any prying eyes. The filly’s look of shock quickly changed to a large grin as she tried to throw her hooves around me, but was yanked back by the chains around her neck. Smiling, I patted her on the head before turning to leave.

None of them tried to converse any further with me, and that was fine. My stomach might have been empty then, but I could feel my heart flutter gently in my chest. I’d done something, made a positive difference in somepony’s life. Better yet, nopony got hurt because of it.

It might not have seemed like much, but that family was in for a whole lot more pain before anything got better for them. If I could do one thing to make them smile for just a little longer, that would have to be enough.

That was my heroic deed for the day.

The sky was darkening as I laid in bed, the brittle pages of Power Ponies number thirteen open in front of me. The issue described the battle between the Ponies and a new villain, Toro Toro. An enormous masked minotaur whose sole aim was to challenge and defeat the strongest fighters in the world. He arrives in Maretropolis and kidnaps the Saddle Rager, convinced that she is the only one of the heroes fit to take him on. Though she refuses throughout the entirety of the story to fight him, when her friends finally arrive to rescue her, they’re captured and have their lives placed in mortal peril. In the final scene, her anger boils over as she transforms into the hulking beast, ready to bring down punishment on the lowly villain that dared threaten her friends.

I sighed with disappointment as I flipped to the final page. The words at the bottom were those that filled me with more contempt than any others in the wasteland, TO BE CONTINUED.

"I fucking hate cliff-hangers,” I muttered to myself, slowly closing the book with a subtle push of magic.

I laid back on the mattress and stared up at the top bunk, the raucous noise of inebriated celebration filled the air around me. A few hours ago, the representatives from our buyer had shown up to finalize the deal. They brought a few sacks full of caps, and a crate of booze to celebrate. I was pretty sure everypony was absolutely plastered at this point, so I usually found this time to sneak away.

I felt my eyes start to close, the experiences of the day still swimming through my mind. Thankful tears of a distraught mare, the dying eyes of a scorned buck who let his temper overrun his reason, the pure unbridled joy of a filly getting one more treat before her life would forever turn for the worse. I hoped I was netting something close to positive on the whole hero scale, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

The sound of drunken slurring, that may have been an attempt at singing, began to draw nearer before a set of random thumps reverberated throughout the shed. After a brief pause, a loud banging sounded from my door as a voice called out, “Hey, shaweet thang. Hubby’s home.”

My stomach twisted in knots at Chance’s drunken ramblings. The thoughts running through my head went through their usual cycle: lock the door, hide, pretend I’m not here. All for naught really, it never worked. If I hid, he’d find me, or make things a lot worse the next time he did. If I locked the door, he’d find a way to break it down. Even as liquored up as he undoubtedly was, the buck was incredibly persistent and I didn’t feel like jury-rigging another new lock.

Instead, I lowered my head, drew in a breath, and moved toward the entrance. It always felt like a long walk, the sinking feeling in my gut, the quivering from my backside, and the unbridled terror that was rampaging its way through every facet of my body.

No matter how much I wanted to run, to turn tail and leave this horrid place at my back, I knew it would never happen. This was my life, or at least a part I’d been forced to accept. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to go, hell I’d never even been more than a few hundred meters outside of the compound. The world out there was a complete mystery to me, save for the stories I’d hear the other slavers tell. The only horrors I had to deal with here were ones that I was… intimately familiar with.

I just wanted to curl up on my bed and cry, as if I hadn’t done that enough today. But Chance was waiting and, the longer I kept him doing so, the more vile he would be.

The door creaked as I opened it. My brother was leaning against the frame, his eyes glazed and the smell of cheap liquor strong on his breath. He shoved me aside as he barged in, taking a final swig off a bottle perched on the end of his hoof before carelessly throwing it against the wall above my head. The glass shards glanced off me, opening several small cuts on my skin.

He stumbled around the room for a bit before finally collapsing on my mattress, crushing the comic beneath him. I galloped across the floor, my earlier fear completely overridden by my desire to save the precious pages. I shoved at the drunken sadist on my bed, desperately trying to retrieve the book.

“Move!” I shouted.

A look of inexplicable confusion crossed his face as he slowly rolled onto his side. I grabbed and tried to stow the comic on the top bunk, hoping my brother wouldn’t take an interest, before it was snatched from my grasp. Chance, a look of amusement on his face, held the cover and let it drop open, as if expecting some erotic centerfold to come spilling out.

“Za fuck you readin’ zis for,” he slurred, carelessly flipping through the ancient pages.

I felt a mixture of horror and anger lance through me as the sound of delicate paper tearing filled the room. I rushed at my brother, desperate to save the book. A bitter chuckle escaped him as he held the comic just out of my reach, dangling it in front of me.

“Give it back!” I screamed, desperation driving my every move.

“Ooooo, po’ wittle Venture wants his wittle picture book back,” he mocked. Another sadistic giggle left his mouth before he struck out with his rear legs, sending me toppling to the floor.

Tears of anger and frustration streaming down my face, I picked myself back up and charged toward my brother. Giving a final sneer, he held the thin volume in front of my face before tearing it right down the middle. I could feel my anger disintegrate as horror seized me. The colorful scraps of the ruined pages fluttered softly to the floor as I felt my limbs give way. I buried my face against the cold steel, feeling fresh sobs begin to wrack my body.

The frame of my bed creaked as Chance stood, the sound of muffled giggles escaping his throat. “Aw, I didn’t hurt my brover’s wittle feewin’s did I?” the mocking tone still pervaded his voice. “Well, don’t you worry, we can still have a lot mo’ fun togever without any stupid kiddie books.”

Pain and vitriol flowed through me. In my most defeated, bitter tone I muttered, “Just… just get it over with.”

“Now, now,” he responded, a chiding edge to his voice, “I would think you, more than anypony, would know that I’m just a…” he placed a leg around my shoulders, bringing his mouth close to my ear, “hopeless romantic. I would never want this to end too quickly.” He started chuckling again, the sound grating against my nerves like hooves scraping a chalkboard.

Then he grasped my tail in his mouth before yanking me up onto the dirty mattress, the sharp pain from the motion causing me to yelp in surprise. I could feel Chance’s hooves press into the top of my back, shoving my front end down as he continued holding my tail aloft. He began a slow, methodical massaging of my backside.

It was all I could do not to yell in fright and dart from the room. The sensation of his touch caused my skin to feel like it was struggling to pull itself free from my flesh. The room started to spin, blurred by the tears I was trying to hold back. My breath came in ragged gasps, the terror squashing any remaining feelings of self-pity from the loss of my book. I steeled myself in grim anticipation for what I knew was to come.

“Well now,” he cooed, “seems like we’re about ready, huh?” The touching stopped as the frame creaked again, signalling Chance’s change in position. His hooves returned, this time placed on my flanks as he aligned himself with my exposed nethers. “So… you like those dumb lil’ supercunts huh?” he continued, the increased pressure on my back warning me of what was next. “Well, you wanna see some real superpowers?”

He lowered his head toward mine again. My eyes were sealed shut as I tried to escape back into my own mind, uselessly trying to withdraw my senses from the reality playing out before me.

With the acrid smell of liquor infusing his words, he gently whispered, “Watch me make this cock disappear.”

I whimpered helplessly, feeling the warmth of his member push against my skin. I bit the dirty cloth of my mattress, preparing for the debilitating pain slowly entering me. The initial shock and warmth struck like a blow as the unwanted phallus spread me apart and he began to push inside.

I was dimly aware of the sounds of celebration increasing in volume outside, the sounds of arguments and scuffles joining the mix. It was a fairly common occurrence, usually the result of somepony welching on a bet that lost them their share of payday. Wasn’t much that could be done about it, it was always just my hope that nopony went for their guns.

As if they’d been waiting for me to think it, the crack of a gunshot overrode the entire discourse, and was swiftly followed by another… and another. Despite the horrific sensations befalling me, a feeling of worry for those outside began to creep in as well.

Different guns started to join in, as the sound of ricocheting bullets accompanied several holes sprouting in the thin metal of my room.

“Wha’ the fuck!” Chance shouted, immediately withdrawing himself from my burning backside.

I dove under the bed, placing my hooves over my head. The shootout became intermixed with shouts of shock and pain before I heard a voice crying, “JAILBREAK, JAILBREAK!”

A panicked look struck my brother’s face as he turned toward the door. “Stay right fuckin’ there!” he shouted as he pointed an uncoordinated hoof toward me, “We’re not done here!” Slowly, he peeked his head outside before sprinting into the night, conveniently in the opposite direction of the shooting.

For the first time in my life, there was nothing I wanted to do more than listen to Chance. The cacophony outside was only becoming more panicked and, with night swiftly settling in, I doubted anypony even knew what they were shooting at. I would be just as likely to get shot by another slaver as I was attacked by an escaping slave.

Besides, who would I even help? I didn’t want to hurt anypony, slaver or slave, so what good could I do?

In answer, a high-pitched scream of pain erupted from beyond my door, quickly followed by an agonized whimpering.

I crawled across the floor toward my door, a lump of worry settling in my stomach. I was terrified of what I would find outside, but ponies were getting hurt. As much as every instinct I'd developed screamed at me not to, I couldn’t live with myself huddling inside when I could help. I pulled on my rough barding, slid the pistol into the holster on my side, and grabbed my field medic’s guide off the top bunk.

Slowly, I pushed open the door and crept outside. Ponies were all running and shouting, firing random shots at the various silhouettes in the dark. It was pandemonium, bodies lay randomly on the ground, some still moaning or clutching at wounds. In the waning light, it was hard to tell the extent of any injuries.

I looked over at the pens. The front gates of each had been thrown open, almost like they’d been unlocked. A large mound lay near the cages, the bloody heap that was Carbine appeared to have been trampled. Both of his rifles were missing.

Shaking off the image, I galloped toward the source of the scream. It was a peach mare with a light red mane, I recognized her as one of the unicorn Hunters. She was writhing on the ground, clutching her chest, and crying out in agony.

Swiftly I looked her over, shoving her hooves aside, and noting one very serious looking hole oozing blood on her breast. I tore a piece of the canvas barding off and started to apply pressure. It was far from ideal, and the dirty cloth would undoubtedly cause an infection, but bleeding out was the main concern. I had to stem it.

I could feel the material get sucked into the wound as she inhaled. Upon breathing out, a stream of crimson spat from the hole, while the mare coughed a red haze into my face. Panicked, I opened up the guide and flipped through the pages until I came to gunshot wounds. The book detailed that her lung had been pierced and it had become a sucking chest wound, her breathing pulling air in and out of the cavity. It needed something airtight to seal or her lung would remain collapsed.

I moved toward her face, a look of terror and pain etched into her features. “I’ll be right back, ok?” I tried to say as calmly and comfortingly as possible. “I just need to get you a better bandage.”

“N-no…” she cried, grasping onto my leg, “don’t... l-leave me.” Tears were streaming down her face, “It… it hurts s-so much. I-I… don’t wanna die.”

“You won’t, I promise,” a cold assurance I didn’t even know I could muster touched my voice.

Fear still pervading her expression, she slowly nodded and let go of my leg. I turned and galloped toward the main building, where Syringe kept her office.

I couldn’t tell who was who as twilight set in, and the sound of fighting only seemed to escalate as I approached the center of the compound. Bullets occasionally zinged by overhead, forcing me to hit the ground. Still and crying forms were littered everywhere, those that could calling out for help as I crept by.

I jumped as something grasped onto my leg. There was a dirty, unarmed buck on the ground beside me. A slow dribble of blood trailed out of his mouth as he gurgled. Sparing a glance downward, I could see his stomach was a mess of ground meat. A continual stream of gore poured out of the wound, and I could see the end of grey intestines extruding as well.

His eyes were terrified and pleading, the same as the mare I was trying to help. It broke my heart to do so, but I yanked my leg from his feeble grasp, mouthing a silent apology, and continued on. If I didn’t focus on one pony at a time, I wouldn’t save anyone. Fewer without any supplies.

Arriving at the hideous structure, I pulled open the front door and dashed inside. Rushing through the crude hallways, I passed by the kitchen. Several ponies I’d seen in the pens were ripping into the few boxes of decent food with a bestial hunger, the broken and bleeding corpse of Patchy cooling on the floor behind them. His face was stuck in a gruesome deathmask, screeching in pain. His three legs all struck out at impossible angles, and an enormous, mouth-shaped gash was all that remained of his throat.

I felt a pang of sympathy for the old buck, but there wasn’t time to dwell. There were still ponies alive that I could save.

I rounded the corner leading to the medical office of Oasis. As I approached the entrance, I could hear what sounded like panicked voices pleading with somepony. I slowly opened the door a crack and peered inside.

The sick slave and her sister from earlier were huddled on the operating table, clutching desperately at each other as they stared at a mare across the room. Syringe was a plump, old unicorn with a dirty yellow hide and a gray mane. She had a manic look in her eye as she levitated a hunting rifle at the two, panic causing her to twitchily switch between them.

“P-please,” the black mare began, “we didn't have anything to do with whatever's going on outside, we’ve been here the whole-”

“SHUTUP,” the old mare shouted, nervously working the bolt action on the rifle and ejecting a perfectly good round. “I don’t know why the fuck you maggots are turnin’ on us, ‘specially after all this hospitality, but I’m not takin’ any chances. Either of you little shits tries anythin’ and I’m puttin’ you down!”

I swore under my breath. I’d been hoping that the one other pony with any scrap of medical training would be willing to help me. That hope dashed, I cautiously drew the pistol on my side, making sure my teeth were safely placed on the grip, and took several deep breaths. I was an ok shot, but I'd only ever practiced on bottles or geckos, never another pony. But those slaves didn’t deserve to die just because the old bat couldn’t keep her shit together. Slowly, I pushed open the door and entered the room.

Luckily, the panicking doctor was too preoccupied with the pair in front of her to pay me any mind. I carefully levelled the sights at the back of Syringe’s head, trying to pretend it was the same bright yellow as the reptilian vermin I practiced on. The slaves were obviously trying to ignore me, forcing Syringe to focus entirely on them.

The sick one suddenly gave me a quick, worried look. Noticing the motion, the yellow unicorn shot a glance back at me and started to turn the rifle around.

“Stop!” I shouted at her, halting the frightened mare’s movement. “Let them go Syringe."

“What in the fuck do you think you’re doin’ you little traitor,” she growled, anger creeping into her voice.

“There’s a jailbreak,” I stated flatly, “and there’s a hell of a lot more of them than there are of us. If they decide that revenge is more important than escaping, then you’re not gonna make getting out of this alive any easier by having their blood on your hooves.”

Doubt started to pass over her face, the barrel of the rifle tipping slightly toward the ground. I was about to continue when the sound of dozens of hooves galloping across metal resounded throughout the room. Taking a quick glance back into the hall, I could see the mob of starving slaves galloping out of the kitchen and toward the exit. The shoddy building groaned at the mass movement, the walls visibly swaying while the noise made the whole structure sound like it was going to collapse.

Panic immediately striking the doctor’s face, she raised the rifle once more at the pair and the trigger began to tighten. The terrified shriek of the sisters echoed in the room.

A shot rang out in the enclosed space, and the left side of the old mare’s skull exploded across the wall. A mosaic of blood, brain, and bone began a slow descent as the corpse collapsed with a thud.

The smoking pistol shook in my grip before my mouth fell open and the weapon clattered to the ground. I was once again grateful for the lack of food I’d eaten as I pitched over and retched. My body shook, and the sting of fresh tears came back to my eyes. I let out a choked sob before covering my face with my hooves and crying out in anguish.

I’d killed somepony. That wasn’t what heroes did, the Masked Matter-Horn never killed a villain. No matter how much she may want to, no matter how logical it might seem, she would find another way. You were supposed to keep yourself above the standards of your enemies, else how were you any different? Superheroes had to do better.

A comforting hoof was placed on my back. I looked up into the sad eyes of the silver mare, her own tears running down her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered quietly before throwing her hooves around me in a quick embrace. I didn’t have time to push her away as she swiftly released me and turned back to her sister. I hadn’t had time to notice before, but the two were the complete inverse of each other. One black, with a short silver mane and a silver half circle on her flank. The other silver with long, black curls and the matching half of a black circle. Their eyes were the same brilliant amethyst.

The pair then both looked back at me, gratitude, understanding and… a touch of uncertainty in their gaze. Both of them made nervous glances toward my fallen pistol.

I wiped my eyes, “If… if you hurry, you can probably get past the guards before things settle down”

Elation flooded their faces, “What about you?” the the black mare asked, concern coloring her voice.

I smiled back, “I’m sure things will get back in order soon. My family isn’t going to take this lying down, and they won’t be too forgiving toward any survivors. I’ll need to be here, try and talk them down. They’ll also be needing somepony to help take care of the wounded, I can do that.” I shot another glance at the still form of Syringe, a pool of blood slowly encompassing the remains of her head.

It felt oddly reassuring to tell the lie. Now that the reality of the situation was hitting me, I didn’t know what the hell was going to happen. Oasis might be finished. Even if we did all manage to survive, this deal was our last shot. Without the caps, who knew if the operation could even continue on.

Even still, I tried to reassure them. My shitty lot in life shouldn’t get in the way of their one chance at escaping this place.

The two shared a look before they spoke, "You could come with us."

The statement floored me, "W-what," I stammered.

"You could come with us," the black mare repeated. "You saved my sister and I, there's no way I can repay that, but the least we can do is try. You’re the only one of them that actually seems to care. I don’t know what your motivations might be, but you obviously don’t belong here."

I wasn't expecting that. I barely knew these two, and yet I was almost assured a better life if I went. The thoughts were tantalizing, no more feeding ponies garbage, no more complicity in their enslavement, no more Chance. That thought alone almost had me galloping out of the room with them in tow, but something stopped me. A niggling thought at the back of my mind.

There would, undoubtedly, be a hunting party going after any escapees. As much as I didn’t think my family cared, could I really take the risk that they wouldn’t look extra hard for me? Could I live with myself if I was the reason these two had freedom so unfairly plucked from in front of them?

With a sigh, I slowly shook my head. “Thank you, really, but my place is here. I’ll slow you down, and I can’t take the risk that my family won’t be looking harder for me. This is your only chance, please don’t let me get in the way of that. I’ll be fine.” I tried to plaster on my most reassuring fake smile, hoping that the crushing disappointment in my own decision was well hidden.

The two looked as if they were going to protest, before realizing the truth in my words. They turned toward the door, but the black mare looked back a final time, “My name’s Mist, and this is Echo.”

I stared at them, wide-eyed. I never took the time to learn a slave’s name, merely satisfied to refer to them as stock. It made my daily routine a lot easier when there was at least that much emotional distance between us.

I placed a hoof on my chest, “I-I’m Venture, Venture Forth.”

“I hope we can see you again some day Venture Forth, good luck.” With that, they waved small gestures of farewell before dashing out of the building and into the chaos outside.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to quell the turmoil of emotions lancing through me. When I was reasonably sure I was ok, or at least not about to have a complete mental breakdown in the next few minutes, I turned the office over trying to find as many medical supplies as I could carry. I ended up with a metal box adorned with a bright red cross filled with bandages, healing potions, and pain killing Med-X.

Checking the halls for any sign of the rioting slaves, I crept outside and galloped back toward the bodies. More ponies reached out toward me, and I tried to keep note of which ones looked like they had a decent chance to survive, tossing them healing potions as I went. However, I couldn’t stop, I had a promise to keep.

As I drew near, I saw the Hunter drawing in shallow breaths. I immediately set to helping her, grabbing a plastic bandage and several vibrant purple potions that I poured directly into the wound. Small swirling motes lifted into the air as the healing magic attempted to close the gaping hole.

The mare’s breath caught in her throat, before being expelled in a gasp. She glanced at me, a small grin spreading over her face. “You... came back,” she said weakly.

“I told you I would,” I whispered, trying to concentrate on sealing the wound.

“Might… might’ve been a waste of time,” her voice dropped in volume with each word.

“Don’t talk like that!” I shouted at her. “I told you that you’re gonna be fine and you will be, just hold on!”

Silent tears streamed down her cheeks, “I-I’m real fuckin’ scared kid.”

“Th-that’s ok,” I croaked, my own sobs threatening to collapse the brittle dam that was my resolve, “I get scared all the time. You’ve been brave enough for one day, you go ahead and be scared.”

"Please... h-hold me," she whimpered.

I hesitated, my skin tingling just at the thought of willingly embracing somepony else. But what could I say? Sorry, I really don’t like being touched so if you could just go ahead and die quietly, that would be great?

A burning guilt started to form in my chest until I laid down beside the mare, gently wrapping my legs around her rapidly chilling neck. My skin roared at me from the prolonged contact, but I tried to will my damage away. She needed this.

“It’s ok, I’m here for you,” I whispered.

Her gasping breaths seemed to calm somewhat, although she continued to shake in my grasp.

“What’s your name,” I asked, trying to keep her distracted.

“C-Cinnamon,” she croaked, “Cinnamon Dash.”

“It’s nice to meet you Cinnamon, I’m Venture.”

She didn’t respond at first, her breathing just becoming shallower as we laid together.

After a few seconds she spoke up, “I… I haven’t been a good pony, Venture. I’ve d-done a lot of real rotten sh-shit.” I could feel her tears dripping onto my legs. “I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna go to hell.” Cinnamon’s sobs muffled her speech and pained gasps continued to escape her.

“Everypony does what they have to to survive,” I responded, “sometimes we hurt ponies in the process. But I like to think that, as long as we feel regret, then we can at least ask for forgiveness.”

She seemed to ponder that. “I-I’m sorry,” she gasped, “Celestia please, I’m s-so sorry. Please… f-forgive me.”

I squeezed her a little tighter. “It’s ok,” I whispered, “everything’s gonna be ok.”

She gave a pained smile. “Thanks... for tryin’ Venture.” Her whole body fell limp, a final breath escaping her lips.

“NO NO NO!” I shouted, slamming my hooves against the ground. Just like that, any scrap of resolve I still had left, every desire I had to help the ponies trapped out here, my triumphant journey toward becoming a hero, all of it crumbled away. The remains of the tears I’d been trying to hold back came pouring out, dripping onto the still corpse in front of me. I could still hear the cries of pain near me, other ponies that needed my help. But I couldn’t tear myself away, I couldn’t risk failing again.

My teeth grit in disgust, I was so fucking selfish.

A hoof was placed on my back, and I looked up into the resigned eyes of Ambrosia standing behind me. Thankfully, she wasn’t hurt, but had dirt and blood spattered against her coat. Despite every scream of my nerves not to, despite the horrid imagery rampaging its way through my mind, I threw my legs around the mare’s chest, burying my face in her soft coat as I wept. My body cried out against the feeling, but an equal desire for some measure of comfort shouted back.

She said nothing, just returned the embrace and let me be.

Ambrosia had to leave after a few minutes. The remaining guards and Hunters had rallied together and were pushing back against the slaves. They’d even begun rounding up any that hadn’t already fled or died.

The wounded were being ferried into the main building. I passed my medical kit to a guard, they’d be able to do more good with it than I could. The injured would need all the supplies they could get without Syringe around.

I approached my shed, wondering if sleep was even within the realm of possibility, when I heard a small sneeze. I froze, my hoof pressed against the door as I turned toward the small crawl-space beneath my room. Lowering myself down, I spied three shrouded forms all attempt to hide themselves from my gaze. After several seconds, my eyes adjusted enough to make out a brilliant pink mane, and an incredibly curly, cyan one. The family from earlier all glared out, uncertainty and fear pervading their expressions as they recognized me.

I swallowed, what was I going to do? The jailbreak was practically over, anypony would realize a group of slaves trying to leave now. I looked around, none of the others were near enough to see, but plenty were still hanging around the gate. I motioned for them to stay hidden as I sprinted toward the nearest section of the wall surrounding the compound. I looked over the shoddy construction, desperately trying to find any vulnerability. As I said, the wall was pretty much just a pile of scrap metal leaning against itself, so creating an exit shouldn’t be too hard. Just needed the right amount strength.

I spied an I-beam tipped rather precariously against a few other pieces. Several gaps were already present, it would just need enough of a push to make them a bit bigger. I galloped back to the slaves, their looks of apprehension now replaced with a subtle hope. Gesturing toward the section of wall, I silently coerced them into following me.

Shooting nervous looks toward the groups of searching guards, I led the slaves to the opening and mimed pushing the beam. The father gave it a close look before nodding slightly, knitting his brow, and surrounding the rusty metal with a bright-pink aura. The wall creaked as he slowly tipped the scrap, creating an exit that I quickly ushered the rest of the family through. The buck continued holding it until his wife and daughter were safe, then slowly began to make his own way toward the opening.

My ears suddenly perked as voices started drawing near. I shot a look toward the gate and, sure enough, a group of slavers were starting to make a surveyance of the wall. I turned back toward the buck, with his concentration on the beam he hadn’t yet noticed. While he was levitating the metal like that, he wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough to make it through before the guards arrived.

Adrenaline started to pump through me as I focussed my own magic on the beam. A pressure like nothing I'd ever felt pressed against my horn. I'd never even attempted lifting something that big, but if I couldn't, the buck and his family were as good as caught.

With that desperation in mind, I focussed as hard as I could, pressing back against the crushing weight on my head with everything I had.

Praying that it was enough, I gasped, "Go... Run... Now!"

The stallion spied the approaching guards and immediately withdrew his aura from the beam. The pressure against me redoubled as the dark blue of my magic struggled against the weight. The white buck galloped toward the hole, diving through just as a blinding pain seared across my skull and the beam fell back with a crash.

Images of the stallion crushed in between the bits of wall immediately filled my thoughts as I sprinted toward the opening, but the whole family was out of sight. I turned back toward the group of slavers, their expressions curious.

"The fuck are you doin' out here kid?" a dark gray buck questioned, suspicion trickling into his voice.

"Oh... you know..." I stalled, desperately trying to come up with an excuse.

"'Fraid I don't," he responded, giving me a more scrutinous look.

"Just... um... well you see."

"Venture," a mare's voice called out. I turned to see Ambrosia coming back toward me, a goofy smile plastered on her face.

"Y'get the wall fixed up yet?" she continued.

"Um... I," I started.

"What d'ya mean, wall fixed," the buck shot back.

"Welp," the mare continued, overly-stressing her accent and making herself sound downright comical. "Boss got worried some o' the escapees might try and make it through the wall, so he asked me to look for any holes. Found one, but I figgered that lil Venture, bein' a unicorn and all, could fix it up likitee split compared to me."

"That... is some of the dumbest shit I have ever heard somepony say," the buck responded. "Why the fuck would you ask a little kid to do the heavy liftin’? What, you need a foal so you can talk to somepony on yer level? You really are a dumb fucking cunt." He barked a laugh before turning toward his group and continuing on their way around the wall.

Once they were out of earshot, the mare turned back to me. "You ok?"

"Yeah... just fine," I gasped, my heartbeat trying to return somewhere close to a healthy speed. "Listen... um... about what I was doing..."

"You mean fixin' the wall," she cut me off.

"N-no... I mean... you shouldn't have to cover for... you might get in trouble if..."

She placed a hoof over my mouth, a serious look on her face. "Fixin'. The. Wall. That's what we were doin', that's all we were doin', and that's the end of the conversation. Ok?"

I looked up at her, there was no way I'd be able to show her how much gratitude I felt at that moment. We quickly embraced again, the crawling feeling somewhat abating, before I turned back toward the gap.

The three shocked expressions stared up at us through the opening. My heart soared as I watched them all, safe and sound, and out of the clutches of Oasis. The father and daughter were shocked into silence, quiet elation spreading over their faces, while the mare sniffed back tears before gesturing me to come closer.

I approached as she removed something tangled up in her short mane, placed it on her hoof, and extended it toward me.

I looked at the item, it was a pendant tied onto a loop of old wire. The metal disk held a familiar-looking symbol, two alicorns swirling around each other in a circle split into a bright yellow and a dark purple. One was a brilliant white that rose with the sun, the other a midnight blue who dove down with the moon. I looked at the small necklace with awe as the grateful mare dropped it into my grasp.

"Celestia bless you,” she rasped, “my hero.”

I was about to protest, not wanting to part her with such a beautiful treasure, but something soft smacked into the side of my head. The white packaging of a Fancy Buck Snake Cake fell to the ground at my hooves. I looked up at the filly, who gave me a big smile, before the whole family waved silent goodbyes and trotted away.

I almost felt a warm radiance coming from the pendant. Ambrosia peeked over my shoulder, a smile crossing her lips as she grabbed the cord and laid it around my neck.

"Well, how're you feelin' hero," she asked softly.

Hero, I mouthed the word to myself.

It was the best feeling I could possibly imagine.

Even the torrential downpour the following morning could do nothing to hamper my mood. However, the ear splitting rattle of the rain slamming into the sheet metal roof could do plenty to get me to wake up. For the first time I could remember, I rose with a smile on my face.

Oh don’t get me wrong, I knew good and well we were undeniably fucked. Months worth of work all hinged on today’s payout, and there was no way in hell we’d find and recapture every slave we lost. Celestia only knew how we’d explain to any surviving slavers that there wasn’t going to be any caps for all their work. That little fact might even make surviving last night pointless, but I didn’t care. For the first time in my life, I felt like I had made a difference, made the wasteland just a little brighter.

I tried to contain my grin as I made my way toward the door. I spared a glance at my dresser, seeing the old music box, now also housing the pendant from last night.

There had to be at least a couple minutes before work, I thought. I knitted my brow, trying to concentrate on the lid, before a sharp pain lanced through my skull. The floor quickly came up to meet me as I collapsed to my side, clutching the agonizing pulsing in my head.

Slowly, I pushed myself to my hooves, a mind numbing migraine beginning to form along my forehead. Lifting that beam last night must have… sprained my horn or something. “Ok, no magic, got it.”

I lifted the lid of the box, the pony and her song quickly following, snatched the pendant from the bottom and threw it around my neck. I’d spent several hours last night trying to find where I’d seen the symbol before. I almost gave up before closing my encylopedia and seeing it on the back cover, right above the words, “Property of The Canterlot Royal Library.”

It was the royal seal of the old government of Equestria. I knew a little history, though I recall the only book I'd had on the subject got pissed on by a drunk guard not too long ago; I stopped reading outside after that. From what I could remember, Equestria used to be a peaceful place before we went to war with the zebras, some big weapons were made, and that’s why the world looks the way it does now. I was pretty shaky on the details, but I’d say I was doing pretty well all things considered.

The same warmth that I felt last night blossomed through my chest as the metal met my skin.

The old pendant was exactly what I’d wanted, a symbol of hope. Hope that anypony could make a difference, no matter how small. All you needed was the right opportunity, and ability to take it.

I yanked my sheet off the bed and threw it around my neck, tying it in a hasty knot. Giggling like a foal, I raced around my room, feeling the makeshift cape flap behind me and the metal disk flop against my chest. I couldn't remember the last time I'd played superhero, and it felt oddly freeing to indulge such a childish whim. To let my imagination run wild with heroic adventures, smiting villains, and saving the innocent. To know, deep down in my heart, I did the right thing.

Happy, that's what it was. It's weird how you can smile, laugh or even want to be a good friend to others, and yet still not really feel happy. Real happiness isn't just a passing feeling, it's something a bit deeper than that. It's your outlook on the world, how you feel it encapsulates you, and being satisfied with what you see. Sure, I might die today, but outlooks are all relative. I've seen a world of shit in my short time of consciousness, but knowing I get to go out after doing one truly good thing, I felt a bit better about my ultimate fate. Who knows, karma might even toss a bone my way.

Starting to get winded, I removed my cape and dropped the pendent back inside the box. I wouldn't dare and try to wear it around Oasis, somepony would start asking questions. Then I threw on my barding, holstered my pistol, and opened the shed.

As the door swung out, the air filled with the sound of a multitude of guns cocking. A quick glance showed about fifteen different guards and Hunters all aiming at me. Chance, Pike, and our father were standing in the center.

Bullwhip was the second biggest pony I'd ever seen, just a head shorter than Pike, but every bit as muscular. His coat was a bright orange and he sported a shoulder-length, sky blue mane. On his flank was a depiction of his namesake, a cracking whip. The look on his face was usually one of bored contempt, only paying as much attention to anything as was absolutely necessary.

Today, however, he had what I can only think to describe as a very shooty look. He had on a forced looking smile, and his eyes were wide and manic with the irises shrunk down to small dots. An old caravan shotgun was balanced against his shoulder.

"Mornin' boy," he called, very thinly veiled anger pervading his commanding speech.

"H-h...ha... h...," I tried to speak, the shock of such a quick onset terror froze every part of me. I desperately tried to get my thoughts working again, to figure something out, but I was so scared.

"Sleep well?" he continued, beginning a slow trot toward me. "Bet ya did, last night was... pretty nuts, right?"

He reached the entrance to my shed, put a leg around my neck, and hauled me outside. I was thrown to the dirt as his hooves grasped either side of my head, forcing me to look at a gap in the firing line.

If I wasn't on the verge of a complete mental breakdown already, what was beyond the armed ponies certainly pushed me over the edge. Though dirty and with huge clumps missing, it was impossible to mistake the vibrant pink mane of the father I’d helped last night. His white coat was patched brown and splattered with red, and one eye was purple and swelled shut. His horn was broken off, and a slow stream of blood poured from the jagged stump.

"Found this lot," my father shouted in my ear, "earlier this mornin'. Your big brother Pike has been workin' his ass off all night tryin' to round up our stock. Brought back twenty, ain't that nice?"

He slammed my head against the ground. My ear rang and everything started to spin, a metallic taste spread over my tongue. "Ya wanna know how much twenty slaves is gonna get us on our deal with Paradise? Jack," he slapped the side of my head, "Fuckin'," smack, "Shit!" He finished with a strike to my right ear. An agonizing jolt of pain shot its way through me and I could feel a warm stream pour down the side of my head.

"You recognize this stock, boy?" Bullwhip demanded, his voice slightly muffled from the ringing in my ear. Slowly, I pushed myself up, a continual flood of tears streaming down my face. The rain, at least, hid that little fact.

I looked back at the buck, meeting his good eye. We shared the same moment of clarity, neither of us wanted to give up the other. Deep in my heart, however, I knew he had a lot more to lose than me. It would just take the right threat to overwhelm his gratitude if his family's lives were also on the line.

My dad got tired of the silence as he delivered a final kick to my stomach. I cried out at the strike, clutching myself and gasping for air. Ignoring me, Bullwhip signaled at another portion of the line.

The indicated slavers parted to show the wife and daughter of the beaten slave, each of them with a rifle levitated to their head.

Turning back toward the stallion, Bullwhip called, "This the kid that helped you escape?"

The buck continued to stare at me, a feeling of hopelessness crossing over his face.

The Boss waited a couple more seconds before motioning toward the mother and daughter again. A hunting rifle barrel was shoved into the filly's mouth, her eyes widening in terror at the sensation. The bolt-action twisted, cracking the silence.

The buck gave an anguished shout before bellowing, "YES… yes, it was him... please... don't hurt her!" A sob wracked his form before he shot me a woeful look.

"Thank ya for your honesty," my father called, sounding oddly calm. Then he swiped a hoof across his neck.

A white, unicorn mare nodded as she lowered her single shotgun, pulled back the hammer, and blew the buck's head off his shoulders. Time almost seemed to slow as I held his gaze. The slug sailed through him, swollen eye splattering and the other falling free of his shattered skull. I could just make out the tormented cries of his family while the corpse crumpled to the ground.

I slumped over in shock, begging my brain to wake me up, to let me know that this was all just some fucked up nightmare. I wasn't given much time before I felt myself get dragged back to my hooves as Bullwhip stuck out his front leg. I flinched before realizing he wasn't about to hit me.

"Gimme the gun, boy," he stated evenly, no hint of emotion entering his voice.

I shakily grasped my nine-millimeter and placed it in my father's hooves. He brought it up to eye level, and worked the release on the magazine. He slid a hoof along the bullets, dropping each round to the wet dirt with a splash. Reaching the end, he worked the pistol's slide, ejecting the final round.

"Seems you're a bullet short, ya join in the fightin' last night too?" he asked, a real questioning tone in his voice.

"Y-yes," I squeaked.

"Hmmm, strange thing that. Seems there was only one death by a caliber that small." He lowered himself down, bringing his mouth right next to my head, "Ya wouldn't happen to know what happened to Syringe now, would ya boy?"

My breathing came in pained, panicked gasps. My heartbeat slammed in my chest, causing a painful throb in my damaged ear.

The Boss just smiled, before he motioned toward the mother and daughter. A blue buck, the one that had held the rifle in the filly's mouth, started leading them closer toward us.

As they drew nearer, another voice cried out, "I told ya pop, I knew that little shit had somethin' to do with all this," Chance began. "I bet he planned the whole jailbreak, thinkin' he's like some lil' fuckin' superhero."

"Interestin'," Bullwhip called back.

"Yeah, and I bet that stupid cunt he’s always hangin’ ‘round with was in on it. Some of the bucks says these two were hangin’ round the wall last night, actin' real peculiar," my brother smugly responded.

“Which cunt?”

“Lil’ hard of hearin’,” the brown buck answered, flicking a hoof over his own ear.

“Ah, right. Well, I think she’s gotten ‘nuff warnin’s, don’t ya think son?”

“Most definitely, pop,” Chance responded, a sickening glee soaking his every word.

"Now boy," Bullwhip stated, referring back to me. "You’ve made some real bad fuckin’ decisions, but I like to think I'm a reasonable stallion, and I wanna give ya a chance to make a smart one.”

My mouth gaped open, what could he possibly have in mind?

As if on cue, the mare and her daughter arrived in front of us. Casually, my father took a revolver off his hip, and let it fall with a clatter to the mud at my hooves.

"There's one bullet," he stated flatly, "one of these cunts is gonna be helpin' us… blow off a little steam,” cries of approval resounded throughout the crowd. I felt sick to my stomach, this is how Bullwhip was planning to placate them? Well, this and giving them somepony to blame for fucking up the deal with Paradise.

My father held up a silencing hoof. “But the other is gonna help prove you're really with us. Pick one." He finished by kicking the gun a little closer.

Shaking, I started to lift the weapon, turning into the terrified gazes of the mother and daughter. The mare put a hoof around the filly, pulling her close and trying to shield her as much as possible. Anguished cries still resounded from the pair as I levelled the sights at them.

No, I thought, the first clear one I’d had in the last several minutes. This was wrong, this isn’t what heroes did. They didn’t just give up when things got tough, they found another way or sacrificed themselves before putting the innocent at risk.

Through my tear-blurred vision, I could barely make out the two slaves in front of me. I wiped a hoof across my eyes, desperately trying to think of a way to get all of us out of this alive.

One bullet wasn’t going to be of much use, and I wasn't exactly thrilled at the odds. There was also no negotiating with my family, my short life had at least taught me that much. Everything seemed so hopeless, but there had to be a way, superheroes always found a way.

Suddenly, a voice called out in the tense silence.

“Howdy everypony,” Ambrosia stumbled into view. She was balancing half a bottle of whiskey on the end of her nose, doing her absolute darndest to make sure it didn’t fall. The mare seemed completely oblivious to what was going on. “Wha’s all the commotion ab-.” She cut herself off as she spied me, the bottle toppling off her nose and plopping into the mud.

“Well now,” the Boss called, “ain’t this for-fuckin’-tuitous. Saved us the hassle of huntin’ you down.” He motioned toward a few other slavers, and they immediately surrounded the, probably, hungover mare.

“Wh-wha’s goin’ on y'all?” she asked nervously, backing away from the assortment of guns now staring her down.

“I think ya know damn well,” Bullwhip chided, absently gesturing at the remains of the family the two of us had helped last night.

“Welp… fuck,” she replied flatly, a grim resignation entering her voice.

My dad smirked, “‘Bout sums it up. Chance!”

“Yeah pop?” Chance replied, bounding up to our father with an almost foal-like glee. He seemed to know exactly what Bullwhip was about to ask, and I had a morbid feeling that I did too.

“While I’m seein’ to your brother, you mind teachin’ this little cunt what happens to ponies who steal from me?”

The usual horrifying smile spread over my brother’s lips, “With pleasure, pa.” Then, my brother galloped toward the slowly retreating Ambrosia before spinning, and delivering a full-strength applebuck right into the mare’s chest. She collapsed to the ground, wheezing as the painful blow forced all of the air out of her lungs.

Chance muttered a few words to the surrounding slavers, before each of them took hold of one of Ambrosia’s legs, forcing her onto her back, and spread them in front of Chance’s gaze.

“I’ve been waitin’ a good long while to get my hooves on you, cunt,” he shouted before his tongue actually dropped out of his mouth, panting.

Ambrosia, a look of complete calm on her face, stated without the barest hint of an accent, “Then keep waiting.”

Before I knew what was happening, she slipped her rear hoof out of an indigo mare’s grasp, and delivered her own powerful kick right into the slaver’s muzzle. She cried out in a high-pitched yelp before releasing the orange pony and falling to her side. Meanwhile, the captive mare wrestled with the others, throwing her free leg around the neck of a green buck grasping the other, and twisted her whole core. A sickening snap emanated from their direction as the lifeless slaver fell to the ground.

The two other bucks struggled to keep a hold of her front legs as Ambrosia struck out with vicious kicks to their sides. Chance watched, a look of sadistic amusement crossing his face, before pulling out the revolver on his side and putting a hole in my friend’s rear leg.

She screamed, the cry swiftly muzzled when my brother delivered a buck to her mouth. Another nauseating snap filled the air as her jaw hung limp.

“Now, now,” Chance venomously spat at Ambrosia, “how’re we gonna have any fun if you keep goin’ on like that. Best thing for you now would be to just lay back… “ he spread her rear legs again, putting extra pressure on the bullet-wound when she tried to move, “... and let ol’ Chance take real good care of you.” He let out a dark cackle before burying his head in Ambrosia’s groin.

A gasp of surprise left her lips before she shouted, “‘Huck y-,” but cut herself off with a piercing shriek of pain. Chance rose again, his mouth now slathered in blood, and spat a spray at the mutilated mare. His perverse giggles intermixed with her anguished screams before he delved back between her legs.

I looked on in horror at the fate befalling my friend. I couldn’t move, and my thoughts ground to a standstill. I knew I had to do something, but what? The pistol was still in my grasp, and everypony seemed to have their eyes glued to the gruesome show.

Sacrifice, I thought to myself. If I couldn’t save everypony, shouldn’t I at least try to save one? One who’d put herself at risk to help me, who made me feel like I’d mattered, who tried to convince me that I could do more than survive, that I could be better.

Blinking the tears out of my eyes, I spared a final glance at the mother and daughter. Both of them were trying to hide their eyes from the gruesome sight. There was no way I could save all of us, I just prayed that what I was about to do wouldn’t make their future any worse than it already was.

My father had a look of sickening pride plastered on his face as he watched, but wasn’t paying me any mind.

The pistol’s sights lined up along my brother’s head as he rose to prepare himself for whatever other heinous acts he had in mind. I bit my tongue, trying to aim as well as I could. The distance was farther than anything I’d ever had luck shooting before, but with the same determination I felt lifting the beam last night, I knew what had to be done. I couldn’t miss, I had to save her.

The gunshot cracked through the disgusting discourse as an explosion of gore burst through Chance’s head.

The brown buck fell to the ground, shrieking in agony and clutching at his right eye. The slavers around him were in shock as Ambrosia met my gaze. There were tears streaming down her face, and a look of surprise as she spied the smoking gun in my mouth. I let it clatter to the ground.

“Run!” I shouted.

She seemed hesitant. A look of heartfelt concern crossed her face despite the horrors she’d just been forced to endure.

I couldn’t give her time to think about me, she had to get moving, “Run you fucking idiot, RU-”

The Boss’ kick to my side swiftly silenced the rest of my plaintive cry. Ambrosia, my words spurring her, smashed her unwounded leg into the hock of one of the bucks holding her down, grasped the pistol on his side, and blew a hole through the chest of the other. With a display of elegance I didn’t think her injuries would allow, she spun her rear legs, flipping herself onto her hooves, and wove in between the shocked slavers.

Several shouts of panic spread throughout the crowd as Pike and a few others broke away and made chase. I desperately wanted to know she was safe, that she could make it. But my father was pressing a hoof against my neck, keeping me pinned against the ground as the group left my line of sight.

“Wrong choice boy,” he muttered threateningly before delivering several more powerful kicks to my side. I tried to gasp for breath as the sound of cracking accompanied one of the worst pains I’d ever felt. Each blow pervaded my entire consciousness, making itself the only sensation I could focus on. The edges of my vision began to blacken, choked gurgles the only noise I was capable of making.

I heard several more gunshots from the other side of the compound, and I prayed that they didn’t find their mark. After what seemed like an eternity, Pike marched back into view with considerably fewer ponies than what he’d taken to hunt down Ambrosia.

“Well?” our father asked, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.

Pike looked at the ground, “Got away,” he muttered.

“So… what you’re tellin’ me is you can’t hunt down one pony. This particular pony bein’ the cunt that helped lose us the payday yesterday and just got your brother mutilated. That sound about right? You’re, honestly, that much of a fuckin’ retard?” The vitriol coloring Bullwhip’s voice made the giant pony seem to collapse into himself. Only our father could make someone as intimidating as Pike feel smaller than a radroach.

“W-w-w-want us to chase?” a stutter I rarely heard cracking his speech.

“Not yet,” our father sighed as he placed a hoof over his eyes, “secure the gate, and watch the rest of the stock.” He turned back toward me, “I’ve gotta go deal with this.”

“Let me do it pa,” Chance shrieked. He stumbled over to us, breathing heavily, as several other gunponies tried to lead him away, but he shoved them off. He clutched his right eye, a steady stream of deep crimson pouring down his cheek. “I gotta put this lil' shit in his place. Pay him back, with interest, for what he did to me!" he moved the hoof.

The bullet had entered the side of his head and exited through the socket. All that remained of his right eye was an enormous, bleeding cavity. I was shocked that he was still alive, nonetheless standing and talking.

"I know all his buttons. I can make it hurt for a long time,” he finished.

I shuttered. Letting Chance put his hooves on me after what I’d done filled me with more terror than I knew I was capable of feeling. Weird, it seemed like every time I thought I’d reached the pinnacle of horror, my brother always seemed to find a way to push that bar a little further.

“No,” Bullwhip stated flatly as he stood in front of me, “he’s my son.”

My heart fluttered gently in my chest. That was the first time my father had ever said that. Even with the situation being as it was, a small spark of hope erupted in me. Maybe, in some small way, he did care.

“I decide how he dies,” he finished, every part of me chilling at his words. “Throw him in the Pit.”

I didn’t struggle as a few other slavers grabbed onto my legs, dragging me through the wet mud as we made our way across the compound. I could still hear Chance loudly whining at Bullwhip, but I was satisfied just being pulled away from him.

Despite it all, I felt a few grateful tears slide down my face.

Ambrosia was safe. My first exploit into heroism might have ended catastrophically, but at least I didn’t get my only friend killed in the process. She was hurt, hurt really bad. But wounds, even those that physically and emotionally deep, had a chance to heal. I chalked that up to one life saved, one act of valor I’d given the wasteland.

All it cost was my life.

Pitch blackness completely surrounded me.

The Pit was a cavern somepony had discovered near the edge of the compound. It may have been some sort of crude, pre-war fallout shelter at one point. There was a round hatch with a wheel lock up top, the interior lock having been removed, and a few sparse shelves and boxes that had been raided years ago. The steady sound of trickling water exuded throughout the whole space, originating from a small creek near one of the walls.

These days, the Pit was used as a sort of solitary confinement for unruly slaves. A few days without food, clean water, or even light was usually enough to crush even the most rebellious spirits. The water flowing through the cavern mostly just helped keep the prison semi-clean of waste. Seeing as how most ponies probably didn’t want to be stuck in here with their own shit, they made use of the creek. It was so irradiated, though, that even a few mouthfuls would probably liquify your insides. There’d been more than one occasion where I’d been forced to clean up the remains of slaves that had chosen that particular way out. Another genius practice of Oasis.

I couldn’t tell how long it’d been. No light penetrated into the cavern, and the hatch hadn’t opened since they threw me down here. It had to have been at least hours… or maybe days… weeks? No, I was still alive, couldn’t be weeks… right?

I felt like I was losing my mind. What were they going to do to me? Did they want me to die of thirst, kill myself with the water, wait for me to totally lose it and bash my head against the wall? I don’t know if I slept, there are gaps in my memory, and I think I feel myself waking up. I can never tell, it’s always dark.

Every so often, I tried my horn again, praying that I could work out some kind of light spell. The pain was easing, but only weak sparks simmered out.

There were also a few loose rocks littered around the floor, the smallest of which fit in my hoof. Trying to preoccupy myself with magic practice seemed better than just sitting around, waiting for whatever punishment would befall me.

So, I began my imprisonment in the Pit trying to lift rocks. The blue aura of my will flickered around them, shaking slightly, but not rising. I tried again and again, attempting to tap into the same determination that… well, that got me thrown down here I suppose. Every attempt was met with a little more progress, one of the smaller stones eventually lifted a few centimeters off the ground before clattering back down.

It might seem helpless, it might seem like a waste of time, but there was nothing else to do. Once the terror had faded slightly, the sheer boredom was almost enough to send me over the edge. I screamed and pleaded with the hatch, begging to be let out, or to just let me talk to somepony for a little while.

Everything felt so hopeless.

Luckily, the physical pain I was feeling was more than enough to take my attention off trivial things like thirst, hunger, and emotional trauma. Boy did not being able to see really increase the sensations I was feeling. I knew I at least had a few cracked ribs, if they weren’t outright broken. It was getting hard to breathe, and I could feel the bruising every time I moved. Just getting around was starting to become agony.

Soon enough, I couldn’t even bring myself to practice as even shifting position became more and more difficult.

Then I spent some time thinking about what had happened outside. Primarily, I thought about Ambrosia. How had she learned to fight like that? The moves she displayed looked trained, a far cry from the mindless scraps I usually saw ponies getting into. Also, what had happened to her accent, was Ambrosia even her real name, who was she?

The pain began to overbear my thoughts as well. Eventually, I couldn’t concentrate on anything aside from trying to find a way to breath without a mini-nuke going off in my chest.

I was just about hysterically rocking back and forth on the cavern floor when the hatch finally opened. I yelped with glee and limped toward the light, just wanting to see another pony’s face. A gunshot rang out and planted in the ground right at my hooves, sending me backpedaling.

“Stay right there,” Bullwhip’s voice called down. I immediately sat where I stood, gazing up through the hole. I couldn’t see my father, but a pony with a bag over their head stood on the edge. The brightness of the day, even without the sun, hid any other features as I shielded my eyes.

Suddenly, they lurched forward as if shoved by someone behind them. A terrified shriek erupted as the bagged pony plunged several meters to the sandy floor beneath the hatch. It landed with a harsh thud, crying out before moaning in pain. A loud screech sounded from above as the metal dome slammed back shut, plunging the two of us into complete darkness.

I tried to feel my way over to the pony, hoping that they weren’t hurt too bad from the fall. The anguished gasps guided me across the cavern until I felt a soft, warm form under my hoof, their chest rising slowly as they breathed. Moving my hooves up, I grasped the bag and pulled it off the pony’s head.

Finally, I knitted my brow and tried my light spell one more time. The same sparks from before toppled to the floor, but I kept at it. The desire to see somepony, talk to somepony, demanded that I make the spell work. A slow ache started to form beneath my horn as I concentrated, but I could see a faint glow through my eyelids.

My knowledge of magical theory was just as limited as my history, but I think I had a handle on the basics. Our world is infused with a magical energy and every living thing within it has some sort of connection. How they are able to utilize that relation is dependent on their race.

Earth ponies, for example, are gifted with an innate bond to nature. Their abilities in growing crops, sense of direction, and astounding strength, dexterity and sure-footedness simply cannot be matched. Pegasi are closely connected with the sky, giving them incredible skill in controlling weather patterns. They, of course, also possess the gift of flight. As long as a pegasus still has their wings, despite whatever condition they might be in and as long as the bones are intact, they will continue to be able to fly.

Unicorns are a bit of the odd one out. There’s no general gift that every one of them share, aside from their natural connection to that same magical energy that imbues the talents of every other race. Sure, there are the basics like levitation or creating light. However, their talent is described in how they can bend that energy to their will. Every other race merely accepts the effect our world has on them, while unicorn’s primarily focus on how they can change it.

I don’t know how I stacked up to other unicorns my age as far as ability was concerned, but I still had issues with the basics. Creating light is definitely one of the first spells we should be able to learn. Essentially, when a unicorn casts a spell, they collect a certain amount of the world’s natural magic within themselves and, from there, can modify the effects it will have once it’s released. The process involved in creating light was incredibly simple. All it involved was collecting energy to such a level of concentration that the aura that naturally forms around our horns during spellcasting creates a visible brightness. It’s not even really a matter of changing that energy, just soaking up enough of it.

The glow grew more intense, whilst the aching in my head followed suit. I opened my eyes, trying to keep the subtle, blue light going. A ring of illumination surrounded us, splashing dimly against the walls of the little cavern. I looked down at the pony at my hooves.

The brown mare I’d helped escape was cast in the blue light. She was clutching her side and her eyes were sealed shut as she moaned. I shook her shoulder slightly, trying to get her attention. Her eyes slowly peeled open and immediately widened in horror as she recognized me.

“Can you move your hooves,” I asked quietly, my voice cracking from a mixture of pain and thirst. Her reaction confused me, but I shook the feeling off.

Without saying a word, she removed the hoof clutching her side, allowing me to try and assess the damage. I gently pressed around where she’d been holding, watching her reaction closely. She winced slightly, but that was all. Hopefully that meant there would only be some bruising and she hadn’t suffered any serious break.

“It’s gonna hurt for a while,” I croaked, “but you should be alright.”

She nodded, the look of dread never leaving her face.

I offered her a hoof. She grasped onto it and let me pull her upright.

At least, that’s what I tried to do. The second her weight yanked against my leg, every part of my chest felt like it’d suddenly caught fire. I cried out in pain, and dropped like a rock to the cavern floor. The fall, of course, only exacerbated the wounds as I screamed in agony. The sensation was overwhelming, and I felt a familiar blackness creep into my vision before I lost my concentration on the light spell. We were plunged into darkness yet again.

I coughed and gasped, trying to push the pain away, but it was no use. Sputtering on the ground, I tried to form a coherent plea for help, but only agonized gasps escaped me.

The mare stirred and I could hear her stumble toward me. A cautious hoof touched my side.

“Are… are you ok,” she asked.

“N-n-n… n-no,” I wheezed, every attempt to get the word out sending another barrage of pain through my chest.

She removed her hoof and then it sounded like she began pacing. I knew there wasn’t much she could do, without any potions or Med-X it was incredibly unlikely I could even get back to my hooves. The pain was just too much, and that didn’t even begin to touch on what internal injuries I was making worse by moving. If I didn’t get something to heal me soon, I wasn’t going to make it much longer.

Then why even bother throwing me down here, I thought to myself, and why was she here? None of it made any sense, and that mystery was still the most terrifying part of this punishment.

As I lay on the floor, I could just make out the mare muttering to herself.

“... why did it have to be him, he’s just kid. But he’s already in so much pain, I’d be helping him, right? I can’t believe I’m even considering this, but I can’t let Juniper down. Just breathe, Lullaby, do it for her. Do it for,” she paused, a quiet sob interrupting her speech, “Sugar Drop.”

The clop of her hooves resounded throughout the cavern as she approached me again, “Celestia please,” I heard her whisper, “forgive me.”

I sensed her kneel down beside me, before her front legs wrapped around my chest and pulled me into her lap. A pained gasp was the only noise I was capable of making as the embrace caused an explosion in my chest. I tried to choke out my distress, begging her to stop, until she slowly started running a hoof through my mane.

The pain withdrew slightly, and the usual crawling I felt at somepony’s touch seemed distant. A subtle warmth started to spread across my wounds as the strange sense of relief exuding from the mare filled me.

It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Even though I could still feel my injuries, they didn’t seem to matter as much. I felt so incredibly content and comforted.

Then, she started to hum. I couldn’t place the tune, but it was soft and quiet. After a few seconds, she began to sing.

“Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy h-head,” a small sob cracked her speech at the last word. “Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to go to bed.” Several tears splashed against my face.

I began to feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, the glow of affection encompassing me. The loving tone of her lullaby made sleep sound so desirable. This is what it must feel like to have somepony truly care, somepony who wants nothing more than to comfort you. What having a mother must feel li…

My thoughts cut off as the singing stopped and she moved her legs up, resting them below my chin.

“I-I…,” she croaked, “I’m so sorry."

Her legs tightened around my throat.

My relaxed breathing started to come in panicked chokes, the pressure only increasing as I tried to struggle against the mare. Shock and confusion muddled my thoughts, but the only thing I could focus on was trying to get air into my burning lungs. I choked louder and, every time I did so, the pain in my chest roared back with full force.

“It… it’ll all be over soon,” she cried out, “please, just let go.” She began humming again, though far louder and with a panicked pace.

I thrashed and pounded against her flesh, my need for survival forcing me to endure the pain.

Something moved underneath my rear hoof. Trying to center my rapidly fading consciousness, I focussed on the object. The aura of my magic surrounded it, something big, heavy, and round.

Darkness suddenly assaulted my mind as it attempted to faint. I cried out, forcing myself to stay awake by focussing on my pain. The agony spreading throughout every facet of my body was almost more than I could endure, but it kept me conscious, kept me alive.

My concentration returned to the rock, the faint glow of my magic surrounding it, and I yanked my horn toward the ceiling. I could feel it shaking against the ground, but staying put. My teeth gritted with effort, I let out a final shout, pushing every ounce of torment and grief into fuel for the spell. The rock began to rise.

POP!

A blinding flash seared across my vision, and the sound of something sailing through the air at high speed resounded above me. A wet thunk quickly followed as the pressure around my neck eased and I fell to the floor, sputtering for breath.

The inferno in my chest made it hard, but the encroaching unconsciousness seemed to retreat as oxygen filled my aching lungs. The sound of sodden gurgles echoed behind me as I turned and ignited my light spell.

Lullaby lay on the rocky cave floor next to a blood-spattered rock. The left side of her skull was caved in, and the pool forming around it turned a deep purple in my waning light. Her left eye dangled free from the remains of its socket, a continual stream pouring from the gaping cavity. The bubbling in her throat continued as she began to shake.

My lower jaw quivered in shock before I pitched to my side and vomited the remains of last night’s snack cake onto the floor. I fell over, placing me right beside the dying mare.

“W-why?” I pleaded.

“Juniper,” she wheezed, “I c-can’t… see. I’m so… sorry sweetheart. I tried.”

She convulsed several more times before finally lying still.

The horror of what I’d done slammed into me, wrenching an agonized wail from my throat. “WHY?!” I screamed at the corpse, confusion and anguish coursing through me. My hooves slammed against the ground, the impacts echoing continuously throughout the cavern.

I sobbed into the floor, “W-why…?”

Why can’t I be a hero?