~15 Years Later~

A grimy mirror hung loosely from the corrugated metal wall just inside the door of the medical shack. The once brilliant surface bore black spots of unknown origin and scratches from any number of occurrences it had witnessed in its time affixed to this wall. A gray stallion stared back from its reflective surface. A jagged scar crossed along his muzzle before blending with his coat and disappearing under his unruly brown mane.

“Do you even remember what it was like?” I asked quietly. Hard green eyes stared back at me, offering no answer. They never did. I sighed and turned from the mirror and pushed my hoof against the ward door.

“Doc? Do you have a second?” I asked as I stepped into the old robot’s exam room. Doc was seeing to a patient sleeping quietly on a dirty cot, a whirring mechanical eye on the end of a stalk turned and focused on me.

“Ah, young master Free,” the robot said as it turned and floated over to me. “I wish I could say it has been a long time since I have seen you. Sad to say that you are my ‘best customer’ as it were,” he continued as he gestured to the free exam table with one of its multi-jointed limbs. The old robot’s engine coughed and it dipped notably towards the floor before the engine coughed again, corrected itself and resumed hovering. The years had not been kind to… well… to anyone here at The Dig. Doc’s chassis was dented and scuffed from patients and guards alike and one of its three eyes had been rendered into so much slag. Likewise the clinic had seen better days. The sheet metal walls had begun to rust; the once pristine floor was showing a distinctive burn path from Doc’s engine and various spilled fluids that had baked in before he’d had a chance to clean them.

“Sorry, Doc. The Minders take a little too much pleasure in reminding me that my name doesn’t reflect my status,” I said as I walked over and climbed onto the table. “Particularly Lash,” I muttered. It was odd how small the exam table seemed now. It seemed like it was just yesterday that I was a foal; scared, freshly enslaved and everything appeared to tower over me, looming like a prowling beast, waiting for the perfect chance to strike.

“Yes, Miss Lash does not share her father’s calm demeanor,” the robot said as its optics clicked and focused on a raw red gash that ran the length of my back. “And judging by the look of this wound, she is up to her old habits again,” the robot added as its mechanical limbs expertly examined the wound.

“What can I say?” I winced as his graspers poked into the laceration, carefully removed the fouled flesh, and set it aside for disposal. “She knows I’d rather it be me than anyone else.”

“I have spoken to Master Fortune about her… less-than-savory treatment of the ponies under my care. I’m afraid that as long as everything meets his grand plan, it matters little to him these days,” Doc replied sadly. “There, the necrotic tissue has been removed. Once again, I must remind you to seek my assistance immediately when you’ve been whipped, master Free. Miss Lash cannot stop you from seeking treatment,” he said as he twisted and floated away towards the locked cabinet.

“Save the potions, Doc,” I called. “Someone might need them today, and they don’t grow on trees. And you’re right. She can’t stop me, but she can make somepony’s life miserable as punishment for me disobeying her.”

A single eye stalk turned and looked me up and down and Doc’s graspers closed on a needle and thread sitting on the counter as he turned his remaining eyes to face me.

“As you wish, Master Free. Of course, you know my feelings on the matter,” he said as he threaded the needle in one quick motion. Cold graspers pinched the raw gash closed and a second arm expertly plunged the needle through my hide and began to stitch the wound closed. I patiently sat, trying to ignore the feeling of a needle and thread pushing through my skin repeatedly, all while gritting my teeth. Getting stitched up was a sensation I could never quite get used to, despite how often it has occurred in the last decade.

“What’s one more scar?” I muttered.

Doc’s optics scanned across my back and flanks. Vivid pink scars stood out all across my gray hide.

“Yes. You are quite the collector, Master Free,” Doc replied dryly as he snipped the thread and checked the sutures.

“Hey,” I said with a smirk as I stepped down from the exam table that I once had to be lifted onto. “Stallion’s got to have a hobby.”

“I do wish yours wasn’t quite so self-destructive,” he said as he escorted me to the door.

“Thanks again, Doc,” I said as the old robot stopped at the entry and offered a wave of one of his limbs.

“Do be careful out there, Master Free. Equestria isn’t what she used to be,” he said as he turned and returned to his other patient.

I opened the door and stepped out into the cool morning air. The thick gray clouds above rumbled, threatening those below with another deluge. The guard by the door glared at me and gestured with the barrel of his rifle back towards the mine.

“Lash says you’re on wagon duty. Get down to the mine and get workin’!” he said, as he spat a fat glob of phlegm onto the ground. I responded with a nod and made my way along the crumbling road that led down into The Dig.

The once large pit was now a massive pony-made rent in the very fabric of Equestria. Over the years, as The Dig became deeper, an inclined road was cut from the sheer cliff and twisted like a corkscrew all the way down to where the current digging was taking place. Teams of ponies pulled rusting metal wagons loaded with dirt and rocks up the winding incline with groups of slavers providing motivation with whips and the butts of rifles. I winced at the sound of a particularly loud crack followed by something heavy hitting the ground. I glanced back and saw an orange maned slaver standing over a prone pastel blue mare, blood leaking from her head.

“Dammit Chains! That’s the third one this week!” one of the other guards shouted. Chains rolled his eyes and nudged the mare with a hoof casually.

“Ain’t my fault the slaves is weak! Should get after the Takers for pickin’ poor stock! You!” he barked, pointing a hoof at one of the other slaves hooked to the wagon. The puce stallion winced, expecting a blow that didn’t come. “Unhook and take that fool up to the Doc, pronto!”

The stallion nodded, quickly undid his straps and hurriedly slithered under the mare and lifted her before galloping up the ramp as fast as he could. I turned away and shook my head. I’d seen many injuries during my stay. The mare most likely wouldn’t last the night.

Just another day…

As I drew nearer, the noise reached up from the open mine to greet me. Ponies shouting back and forth and the sounds of countless picks and shovels as the slaves worked towards the same unknown goal they always had. Fortune’s will. Rusting gantries crisscrossed over the mine circling a central tower and patrolled by Minders. Others walked the mine itself, heavy steel armor protecting them from the workers as they barked orders and delivered more rifle butt motivation.

“There’s my favorite lil’ slave!” a rasping voice called out across the cacophony. I froze, a shiver running up my spine as a yellow unicorn mare in rusting armor plates trotted over with a smile creasing her features. Her green mane was twisted up into a harsh spiked mohawk that would’ve been more at home on some of the raiders in the camp and a whip was loosely coiled across one shoulder. She was in a good mood. That was never a good sign for anypony within her line of sight.

“Lash…” I said flatly as the mare stopped in front of me. She jabbed a metal clad hoof into my chest and her smile turned decidedly wicked.

“Did I say speak!?” she hissed as she leaned in closer, her smile melting into a snarl. I looked down at her and then shook my head. Her smile returned and she patted my chest with her hoof. “Good boy. C’mon. I’ve got your cart all ready to go,” she said as she spun around and ambled towards the yawning opening in the side of the pit. The mine stank of sweat, blood and burning oil from the guttering lanterns hung haphazardly from railroad spikes driven into the hewn stone walls. Shadows stretched and danced in the wan flickering light as the ponies hacked at the stone with rusting tools. In the middle of the tunnel stood a rickety wooden cart, loaded past the brim with stone and dirt. Lash stopped next to it and patted it lovingly.

“Gee, since you took so much time seeing that old rust bucket, I seemed to have overfilled it a little,” she purred. “Oh well. You’re a big strong stallion. You can handle it, can’t ya?”

“Yes,” I responded flatly. Not that I really had a choice in the matter. I was Lash’s pet project. The slave she tried hardest to break. And for eight years, she’d failed. Each day I hoped she would grow tired of the effort and move on, but so far I hadn’t been so lucky. The best I could hope for was another pony pulling her attention off me briefly and allow my body time to recover.

I came up along the cart’s side and lowered my head to get into the harness. Lash watched intently as I shrugged my shoulders until the harness rested properly and then leaned forward. The lines pulled taut, my hooves scraped against the floor and with the whining protest of a rusting axle, the cart began to roll forward. Lash’s face fell slightly and she moved around to stand in front of me.

“Well if you can move it then you can move it faster!” she hissed, her magic enveloping her whip as I strained against the harness. The rough wooden collar around my neck creaked as the overloaded cart struggled along the uneven ground. It rolled forward slowly and then stopped suddenly as the cart became caught on something. I leaned forward, all my weight against the collar as I tried to get the cart to budge. But it stubbornly refused to comply. Lash’s eyes narrowed and she took a step back. The whip slithered off her shoulder like a snake, the magic receding to only envelope the grip as anger burned in her eyes.

“C’mon! Faster!” she barked. The whip cracked, the tip missing my face by mere inches. I flinched as she drew back the whip a second time, my ears still ringing from the first. I took a step back and threw myself into the harness, trying to jerk the cart over whatever was stopping it. The cart rocked forward, and then rolled back to its previous spot.

“Faster dammit! Or so help me I will flay you to the bone!” Lash shrieked as she lifted the whip again.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Lash spun around, lowering her whip and tucking it behind her back in one swift motion. A skill she’d honed from a lifetime of being caught in the act.

“N-nothing!” She answered hurriedly, her cheeks burning red, “Just getting this stupid slave moving!” An orange glow wrapped over Lash’s whip and yanked it away. An older stallion stepped closer as the whip coiled tightly in the air. He glared down at her from tired eyes and firmly deposited the coiled whip around her neck.

“Get topside. You’re guarding Fortune’s office for the rest of the day,” he said, stepping past her. Lash stood in stunned silence for a long moment before spinning around and following after him. She scrambled in front of him, placing herself between him and me.

“Guard duty? But I was jus-”

The stallion stopped and glared at Lash, who shrank away from his withering gaze. He jabbed a hoof over her shoulder and leaned in close.

“Guard duty. Now.”

Lash opened her mouth to argue and then snapped it shut again. She let out an inarticulate shriek of impotent rage and then trotted off, grumbling under her breath. The old stallion sighed and then turned towards me. I let out the breath I’d been holding and then relaxed.

“Free,” the old stallion said.

“Whips,” I muttered in acknowledgement. He looked over the cart and, after a moment, bent down. He reached a hoof under it and scraped a large stone out of the way and then looked at a nearby group of slaves.

“You two,” he called. Two of the slaves looked up. He pointed his hoof at them and then at the cart. “Help get this cart moving.” The two ponies set down their tools and moved to the back of the cart as the old stallion moved to stand behind them. The ponies pressed their shoulders against the back of the cart, their hooves scrambling for purchase. I could feel the leads slacken and took a step forward to pull them tight again. The cart slowly rolled forward and Whips waved the other slaves off when he was sure I had it.

“Thank you both. You can return to your other tasks,” he said to them. They nodded their heads and hurried back to their tools as Whips turned and escorted me.

“Lash is a little more… restrained than normal…” I muttered as I pulled the laden cart. Whips nodded.

“I had another discussion with her. It should’ve kept her in check for at least a few more days… I swear, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with that girl,” he rasped. I glanced at the old stallion. The years had not been kind to him. He bore just as many scars as I did, though his were more of the invisible sort. There was a haunted look in his eyes that spoke volumes. I recognized that look; it was shared by nearly all the slaves.

“Thanks Whips,” I said. He glanced at me and smiled. A small gesture, but one that I felt meant more to him than he let on. Over the years I had developed a grudging respect for the stallion. He’d always kept a calm head and looked out for the slaves while still maintaining Fortune’s interests. Not that I cared much about the latter.

“No problem, son,” he muttered as he looked away, “Just gotta figure out a way to reign in that girl.” He glanced up the roadway where he spied Lash trotting up to Fortune’s office. His smile fell and he sighed. “Wish I knew where I went wrong…”

I looked at Whips and saw the look of defeat that fell across his face. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that his daughter’s behavior was likely due to his career choice. Despite everything, he wasn’t a bad pony. He was fair, only doled out punishment where it was needed, and more than once had spoken up for the ponies under his watch. Lash was the opposite. Snide, cruel, and quick to splay open a pony’s backside without much provocation or simply to hear them scream.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help in the parenting department,” I said as the cart reached the inclining road. Suddenly talking was off the table for me as all my focus was on not sliding backwards into the pit. My pace slowed drastically and Whips slowed to remain by my side.

“I know, son. I just value the input of somepony so… honest,” he said quietly as he walked beside me. “I’ve valued your input in particular since you were a young colt. You and Jerry are the only honest souls left here...”

You mean since Bucket…

Perhaps sensing what I was going to say, Whips coughed and continued.

“Anyway, I’ll keep Lash on guard duty for the rest of today. That should make all your lives a little easier. For now. But by this time tomorrow, I’m sure Fortune will be sick and tired of the swearing outside his office, and you will need to be anywhere but in her line of sight for a couple days.”

Like it’s so simple. Maybe I’ll just pop on down to the local town and see what’s happ-

“Your friend’s scavenging team is back,”

Jerry is back? I thought. I wasn’t expecting her so soon.

“I’ll have a word with Bruiser, call in a favor, and see if you can’t join them when they leave tomorrow. That’ll get you out of The Dig for a few days,” Whips added. That caught me by surprise and I stopped in my tracks, my muscles straining as the cart threatened to pull me back down the road.

“What’s the catch, Whips?”

The old stallion continued his stroll.

“I don’t know what you’re-”

“No. You can’t pull that crap with me,” I said. Keeping my voice low was almost as taxing as pulling the cart. “I’ve asked for over a decade to be on a scavenging team. You’ve always turned me down. What’s changed this time?”

Whips stopped. He turned his head, the brim of his old hat obscuring his eyes.

“They need a strong pony. You’re the strongest I got,” he said flatly. “Hell, you’re the strongest in The Dig.” He nodded his head at the cart I was harnessed to. “Case in point. That’s easily a four pony cart. And there you are, lugging it around like it ain’t no thing.”

I looked over my shoulder at the cart full of stones and dirt and then back at Whips. He looked at me coolly, his face as expressionless as could be. I rolled my eyes and started forward, the cart slowly rolling along behind me.

“Fine. I’ll report to Bruiser in the morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take this cart to processing.”

There was poorly masked frustration in my voice, but if it bothered Whips he didn’t let it show. He sidestepped out of my way and watched me pass before trotting back down towards the mine.

Lugging the cart gave me time to think. I didn’t exactly trust the circumstances, but this was an opportunity. I’d been seeing less of Jerry recently as the salvage teams are being forced further and further from The Dig. I guess we’ve picked the nearby ruins clean and are spreading out. Jerry was always assigned to a salvage team, ever since her special talent made itself known. The mare could find fuel blindfolded and with her legs bound. She’s probably the sole reason the generators of The Dig still run.

A static screech snapped me from my reverie and I lifted my head. It came from the tower that rose from the center of The Dig. Rusting metal struts, steel cables, and rickety walkways supported its flimsy frame from all sides. Most of the guards steered clear of the shack atop the tower, and with good reason. Speakers hung loosely from the support cables and soon the static was replaced with pained screaming that echoed all across The Dig.

“P-please! Stop!” The speakers screamed. I heard hooves falling on a wooden floor followed by a microphone being moved.

“It will stop only when you admit your folly,” a deep voice said calmly. More screaming cut through me and I looked away from the tower and continued my task, doing my best to shut out the sounds of torture. I focused on the distant rumble of thunder, on the sound of dirt beneath my hooves, or the protesting squeak of the rusting cart axle. Nothing really worked.

“Goddesses stop! I didn’t do anything, Zero! I swear!”

“Were I a unicorn, this would be far easier. I would simply rip the knowledge from your empty head and see to the next rule breaker. But, alas, it is not to be. I must use a far more… visceral knowledge to pry the information I require out. Oh well, let your screams serve as a warning to the others while I find the truth. Aut viam inveniam aut faciam*.”

“No! PLEASE NO!” The stallion screamed. His pained shrieks echoed throughout The Dig, dispelling any budding ideas for dissidence. His agony dragged on for several long minutes before he fell silent. I hoped it was over, but experience had taught me otherwise. Soon the screaming picked up again as Zero’s victim regained consciousness. I was at the top of the road before the speakers fell silent once more. I stopped, sucking in deep breaths as I took a moment to rest my weary legs from the long haul. The speakers crackled as the microphone was jostled.

“Abiit nemine salutato*. Let this pony’s suffering remind all of you of your place at Fortune’s hooves,” Zero announced calmly before the speakers fell silent again. I glanced towards the tower and shut my eyes.

“Rest now. You’re free…” I whispered.

“Hey!”

My eyes opened and I glanced towards an angry looking grey unicorn levitating a rifle in her blue magic.

“Stop loafing about! Get that cart to processing!” She barked, gesturing to a long line of carts waiting to offload their contents. I nodded and trotted over to get in line. Zero’s broadcast for today was just another reason to be glad for tomorrow. Now that I was on level ground I could allow my mind to drift into the realm of possibility.

This would be my first time outside The Dig since I was first hauled in. This would be my first and possibly last chance to escape. And since I would be in Jerry’s team, I could bring her with me. We could be free of this place and its horrors. The thought of escaping left me both nervous and excited. Was there a word for that? Let’s say we did escape. What awaits outside The Dig? We were both children when we were enslaved. I was conditioned for a life of hard labor; at least Jerry has been outside the walls and knows how to survive the wasteland. Would I be a hindrance?

I shook my head as I moved forward in the line, forcing the thoughts to recede. I can’t think like that. I’ve got to focus on the here and now. Doc once told me that life is a series of short quests, not one long one. And that I need to focus on the problem right in front of me before looking at the ones in the distance. I rolled thoughts and plans around in my head as I moved along in the line until I was at the front. Four slaves rushed forward, unhooked me and hastily pulled the cart away under the watchful gaze of three Minders. They wasted no time in pointing me back down towards the mine, a fresh cart strapped in place. By the time I reached the bottom level of The Dig, a smirk had wormed its way onto my face. I had a plan.

There was a loud mechanical grinding as generators kicked on all around The Dig. Aging lamps flickered into life and bathed everything in a sickly yellow glow as a discordant tone played from several speakers. The clouds opened themselves, unleashing a cold drizzle on us, making good on the promise of the thunder from that morning. Just in time for the night shift. The day shift trudged en masse up the road as the freshly rested slaves marched down to resume the work we’d started. At the top of the road ponies gathered in a large line, eagerly trotting in place and peering around each other. At the head of the line stood two armed guards who flanked an aging blue unicorn as she levitated a small roll off of a large tray and into the waiting mouth of a scrawny stallion. He bit down on it and quickly trotted off even as the guard shouted, “Next!”

“C’mon! Keep it moving! We ain’t got all night!” One of the guards barked, and in response another slave stepped forward to receive their evening meal. The older unicorn worked as quickly as she could, but there were so many mouths to feed that the line moved slowly.

“Rolls look smaller than normal,” somepony muttered.

“Yeah, I hear the little ones are having problems with the farm. There aren’t many elders to show them the way anymore,” said another.

“Not with Fortune working us all to death.”

My ears flicked back and forth, picking up snippets of the hushed conversations. If the guards overheard anything, they certainly didn’t seem to care. They simply looked bored and ready to go on to other tasks.

“Next!”

The line shifted forward a pony’s length as a group and then stood still again. Two guards ambled by, talking to themselves. The slaves behind me fell silent and looked towards the ground. As they passed, my ears angled to pick up their conversation.

“Did you hear? Cutthroat and her team are missing.”

“A missing salvage team?”

“Yeah. She ain’t reported in. Fortune’s prolly spitting his bit.”

“Huh, that’s odd. He sending a search team?”

“Nah, prolly just retasking one of the other salvage crews due out tomorrow.”

It wasn’t the first time a salvage team went missing. Occasionally they were ambushed by raiders, or ripped to shreds by the horrible beasts that lurk in the ruins around The Dig. More than once it was an escape attempt organized by the crew that resulted in the slaves being put down by the Minders who return to camp a few days later to report the loss of equipment to Fortune. More than one Minder had spent time in Zero’s shack for the loss of a group of slaves.

“Hey! I said next!”

The gruff voice jostled me from my thoughts and I stepped forward, took my roll and quickly trotted off towards the camp as I chewed. The adult slaves slept under a patchwork awning that only just kept the drizzling rain off us. Thread-bare, moldy blankets rested in haphazard rows. We owned nothing, and the foremost ‘beds’ were hotly contested. First to sleep and first up in the morning for food. More than one slave had lost their life for refusing to give up their spot to somepony bigger and more dangerous.

The slaves milled about in the brief time that was considered ours. Some slept fitfully while others gathered in groups to speak. Off to the side, a mare and stallion were fucking like this was their last night on Equestria, and for all they knew it might well be.

Across the poorly lit space and the milling ponies I spied a shock of red mane. I pushed my way through the crowd and spied Jerry as she spoke to a burly orange mare. They laughed about something only they knew. The orange mare spotted me and nodded in my direction. Jerry turned and fixed me with a warm smile that was infectious. She bid her friend farewell and trotted over.

“Hey, ya big lug!” She said cheerfully, jabbing me in the shoulder with her hoof. I smiled down at her and put my leg around her, pulling her into a hug.

“Glad to have ya back,” I said. Jerry squirmed in my grip and pushed away with both hooves.

“Oof! Easy there big guy! Gotta remember I’m about half your size,” she said with a smirk.

“Sorry. It’s been a difficult couple’a weeks. It’s nice to see a friendly face,” I muttered as we walked away from the groups and headed to the back of the camp. Before long the blankets were gone, replaced by a large field of mud and stones. A large, worn stone stuck out of the ground and I trotted over and stepped onto it. Ever since I was a colt, this had been my bed. At first it was to keep as far from the others as possible, to try and shut out the fact my freedom ended at my name. No one fought for the biggest rock when they could fight over the least rotted blanket. Jerry and Bucket had stuck with me. The three of us only having each other in this new hell we had found ourselves in. But over the years, this spot had become home. I sat down and Jerry sat herself down next to me and quickly leaned against my shoulder.

“You’re exhausted,” I said. She nodded, her eyes half-lidded.

“Yeah. I spent three weeks out in the wastes looking for stuff. I’m back an hour only for them to tell me I’m heading out again tomorrow,” she mumbled, “Not my fault Cutthroat couldn’t find her own ass with two hooves and a flashlight…”

“Speaking of. Whips is sending me out with you tomorrow,” I said. Jerry’s ears perked up and she lifted her head to look at me.

“Why?” She asked. “He’s never let you before.”

I shrugged.

“He said Bruiser needs a strong pony.”

Jerry’s brow furrowed and she looked down. “Well… Mangle, that brainless raider, did get himself blown apart by an old frag mine last week. Bruiser must’ve radioed in that he was a pony sh-” Jerry’s thought was interrupted by a deep yawn and she lowered herself down onto the rock, allowing her eyes to close. “Sorry… so tired…”

I smirked and brushed my hoof along her mane.

“Get some rest,” I whispered to her. She nodded and muttered something unintelligible. I sat in silence, absently watching ponies settling in for the night as my mind pored over the events of the day. My stitches itched and ached in equal measure, a feeling I was all too familiar with. I put it to the back of my mind and pulled the task ahead of me into the forefront. This would be my first time outside The Dig since I arrived. This will be my chance. I looked down at Jerry. Our chance.

This will be our last night as slaves.

It was early yet, the lights of the lamps providing a sickly yellow shading to everything. The sky was beginning to brighten as somewhere beyond the clouds the sun began to rise. Bucket stood on the edge of The Dig, staring down into the pit at the ponies toiling below. As he watched, one of the slavers brutally whipped a straggling pony. His cries echoed up to us with each crack of the whip.

“Bucket? Wh-what are you doing?” Jerry asked. Bucket glanced over his shoulder and then looked back down into the pit.

“W-we shouldn’t be off the farm. We need to get back before somepony sees us.” She half-whispered as she huddled next to me, her eyes darting back and forth on the lookout for guards.

“WE shouldn’t be here, Jerry… We’re supposed to be out there, with our parents…” Bucket said quietly.

“Our parents are dead, Bucket,” I said softly. He winced and stared down into the mine for a moment.

“Then our parents were the lucky ones…” he said as he turned away from the pit and walked silently back towards the farm. Jerry watched him go and looked at me.

“What’s wrong with him?” She asked. I shook my head.

“He’s losing hope, Jerry. He needs us as friends more than ever,” I said as I trotted after him.

“Wake up... need to move!”

I felt hooves jabbing into my side and my eyes fluttered open.

“W-what?” I grunted as consciousness slowly filled me.

“I said, you need to move! You’re heavy!” Jerry whined. My eyes opened and I suddenly became aware that I had Jerry pinned between my side and the rock. I rolled onto my hooves and looked away sheepishly.

“S-sorry!” I stammered, rubbing a hoof across the back of my head. Jerry stood up and arched her back until it popped.

“Yeah, me too. How’d you get so damn big on a diet of crappy rolls and rainwater?” She muttered as she rubbed her neck.

“Sheer stubborn tenacity,” I answered with a smirk. Jerry made a show of rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, c’mon. We need to meet up with Bruiser. Trust me, you don’t want to be late.”

Before I could respond she trotted off, nimbly dancing around the prone and sleeping ponies. It was only barely morning, the faintest traces of light piercing through small gaps in the gray clouds overhead. I followed after Jerry at a much slower pace, not being even half as nimble as she is.

A group of guards stood nearby talking amongst themselves and Jerry trotted past them as casually as you please. One watched her carefully for a moment before returning to their conversation. The sounds of the evening crew’s work drifted up from The Dig, filling the air with a constant droning of tools clashing on stone even as the generators sputtered and died one by one; the lights flickered out as the day began.

“Hey!”

I froze, a chill running along my spine. A guard ambled over, the assault rifles affixed to his barding clicking as he released the safeties.

“What’re you doing out so early?” He asked.

“I’ve been assigned to leave with Bruiser today,” I said quietly, looking away from the guard.

“Yeah… so what’re you doin’ over here?” He asked, taking a step forward. I took one back, keeping my gaze low.

“It's my first time on a scavenging team. I don’t know where to go…”

The guard rolled his eyes and gestured with a hoof.

“Stupid slaves don’t know nothin’. Head up the road, stop at the checkpoint, and wait with the others for Bruiser. And don’t piss off the night watch, they aren’t as friendly as I am. Now beat it!” He barked as he spun around. He muttered quietly to himself as he moved to join the other guards.

I quickly trotted off in the direction the guard had pointed, following the muddy road as it was gradually replaced with cracked and crumbling pavement. I glanced around, taking in structures I’d only seen from the corner of my eye for most of my life. A squat, gray building rose from the ground. Through broken windows I spied hanging lanterns of guttering flame and heavily armed guardsponies that stood behind highway dividers that had been hauled in for fortification. Surrounding that building were smaller, rusting longhouses. Delicious smells emanated from the biggest of these, and a line of slavers trailed out the door as they waited for their meal. I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply the aroma of cooking food. I had no idea what it was that was being cooked, but my mouth watered all the same. The rolls they doled out morning and night provided only what was needed - flavor not included.

“Don’t get used to it.”

I opened my eyes and looked at the source of the voice. Jerry sat next to me, smiling.

“I… I was just…” I stammered. She nodded in understanding.

“Even out there, we get the same stale rolls. Only difference is they’re even more stale,” she said as she stood and nudged my shoulder with hers. “C’mon, Bruiser doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

We walked in silence for several minutes, passing more and more guards on the way. Most paid us no mind as they went about their morning duties, others watched us very carefully.

“I never knew there were so many…” I muttered. Jerry looked back at me.

“They’re slavers, Free. Most of the time they’re off finding new slaves,” she answered solemnly. “When they aren’t out destroying lives, they’re here getting ready to.”

We fell silent as we approached a large, colorful wall composed of buses, trucks and trailers of various hues. They’d been lifted and stacked on top of one another, forming a wall of rusting hulks that kept the outside world at bay and Fortune’s army of living tools in. Broken windows revealed the interiors had been filled with sandbags while the uppermost ones had been gutted entirely, allowing guards to patrol the wall behind a modicum of cover. At its foot, a group of ponies shuffled about while a large white unicorn stallion in gleaming metal armor looked over a checklist he levitated in front of his face. Jerry tapped me on the shoulder and nodded her head in the stallion’s direction.

“That’s Bruiser,” she said, “he’s pretty laid back. But don’t let that fool you. I once saw him crush another stallion’s skull between his hooves for attempting to escape.”

I looked over the stallion again, this time with a warier eye. Thick muscles bunched beneath his hide, flexing as he stood there. He was bored with standing around, probably eager to get back out to the wasteland. Jerry nudged me and trotted over to stand amongst the group. I followed, standing next to her as Bruiser cleared his throat.

“Daydream?”

“H-here,” a timid pink mare mumbled. Bruiser fixed her with a withering glare and she squeaked and looked away. He smiled, seemingly pleased with himself and continued down his list.

“Wrecker?”

“Yeah, yeah.” A wiry earth pony spat. If my time here had taught me one thing, it was beware of enslaved raiders. I’d be giving Wrecker a wide berth.

When he came up to me he tucked the checklist into his saddlebag and glared at me. It was odd being eye to eye with one of the slavers. I’d been so much bigger than most of them for the last several years.

“You’re the muscle that Whips sent up, ain’t’cha?” He asked. I nodded, which seemed to please the unicorn. “Right, so what’s your name?”

“Free,” I answered. His brow peaked and a smirk tugged at his lips.

“No. You aren’t,” he said, pressing his face close to mine and exhaling his rancid breath into my face, “Best remember that out in the wasteland, colt. That clear?”

“Crystal…” I muttered. Bruiser stepped back and smirked.

“Good. You damn greens always think going outside means you’ll get a chance to escape. Don’t be as stupid as the rest. Stitch, Fricassee; hook him to the wagon,” he said as he turned his back on me.

Two unicorn mares approached, pulling a cart with their magic. The one on the right might have been considered cute, had she any flesh that didn’t look like it had been burnt, blistered and sloughed off a dozen times over. I couldn’t tell what color her coat had been, as most of her frame was covered in thick leather padding and that which wasn’t covered was knotted scar tissue. Two hoses snaked from a mechanism on her back to a mask affixed over her muzzle. The device huffed loudly and the mare jerked as it forced air into damaged lungs every few seconds to keep her upwardly mobile. Two smaller tanks rested on her hips, thick tubes connected them to two hefty flamethrowers that were rigged to a harness around her body.

“Right,” she wheezed, “C’mon then, slave. You know. The drill,” she said. Each word sounded like it took a tremendous amount of effort just to say. Like she had to take a deep breath just to spout a word or two.

The other unicorn had a pristine white coat and a gentle looking face inset with sunken eyes partially hidden behind her tan mane. She didn’t look at me so much as she looked past me at nothing in particular. A cigarette hung limply from her lips, a faint orange glow smoldering in the early morning light. I could just make out her cutie mark under her combat barding - a threaded needle with a drop of blood coming off the tip. She waited until I was in place before she magically tightened straps and belts around my midsection and secured me to the cart.

“C-carts hook-kuh-ked up, Bruiser.” she stuttered.

All told there were twelve ponies in the group, with Bruiser, Stitch, and Fricassee being the ones armed and in charge. Bruiser moved to stand in front of a large gate and turned to face everypony.

“Alright, I know news travels like a plague in this place, so I’m sure you already heard that Cutthroat’s group never returned from their last outing,” he said as he paced up and down the line of slaves, “Mister Fortune says we’re to follow their last known path and try to find them. At the same time, I expect you to meet your usual quota on salvage.”

Bruiser looked directly at me and strode over. He jabbed the tip of his hoof into my chest.

“Lookie here, new fish. I don’t like taking fresh slaves out into the world. Makes you a liability. So you’re going to do everything you’re told exactly when you’re told. No questions asked or I will let the first danger we come across rip you to bloody shreds, am I clear?”

It was clear he wasn’t looking for a verbal response, but rather was establishing himself as the dominant pony in the group. I glanced down at his hoof and then nodded, being sure to keep my eyes downcast. He nodded smugly then spun sharply and approached Fricassee and Stitch. The trio spoke in hushed tones as they discussed something clearly not fit for measly slaves to hear. Jerry took the opportunity to trot over and stand beside me.

“You sure you’re up for this?” she asked quietly. I smirked at her and gave her quick nod.

“More than you know,” I muttered. I looked at the other slaves and gestured with a flick of my head. “What can you tell me about everypony here?” I asked.

Jerry looked around, taking a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Right… well,” she gestured at Daydream where she sat in the mud. The pink mare hung her head low, her green mane down over her eyes, and kept her tail wrapped around her. “We picked up Daydream about a year ago. She was half dead, hiding in some old building and surviving off of whatever she could. Bruiser slapped some chains on her and called her part of the quota. He keeps her out of the mine. He figures that if she survived to adulthood out there, then she must have some scavenging chops,” she said with a shrug. “She keeps to herself. I feel sort of bad for her.”

I looked at the mare sitting in my periphery and then nodded my head at the mint green raider pony with a spindly purple mane.

“What about him? Wrecker, was it?”

Jerry scowled and glanced sidelong at him.

“He’s filth. He’s the kind of pony that should be worked to death in The Dig, not ponies like Daydream or you and me,” she practically spat. She returned her gaze to mine and sighed. “Stay away from him. He’s dangerous and unstable.”

Quietly we went around the group with Jerry filling me in on the brief history of the ponies in the group. Snazzy, the purple stallion with the dark red mane, had been a wandering merchant until Fortune’s slavers got a hold of him. Crackers and Baker were siblings that had run a bakery in a small settlement far to the north. Slavers raided the town and put everyone in chains. Those two were sold to Fortune’s people a couple years back. Onyx, Sandy Shadow, and Caramel had all been enslaved as foals like we had been. I rolled the information around in my head, only broken from my thought by Bruiser’s voice.

“Alright,” he bellowed loudly, the guard assigned to the gate suddenly snapping to attention. “Open her u-”

“Wait!” somepony shouted as they came galloping up the soggy road. Bruiser grumbled loudly and shoved Daydream aside roughly as he stepped past the slaves to intercept the oncoming pony.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled, his magic levitating out a battered pistol. The brown earth pony slowed and took a moment to catch his breath.

“My n-name is Dig Deep. M-Master Fortune sent me,” he wheezed as he twisted to bury his muzzle into his saddlebag. Bruiser aimed the pistol at him, eyeing him carefully as he watched the pony root around for something. After a moment he pulled out a rumpled sheet of paper. Bruiser’s magic snatched it away and he looked it over carefully, the gun dipping lower as he read. The earth pony waited patiently, eagerly taking this moment to catch his breath and fiddle with a strange shackle around his foreleg. After a moment Bruiser hissed and the note crumpled in on itself and was tossed back in Dig Deep’s face. It bounced in his hooves a few times before he was able to catch it and clutch it to his chest.

“Fricassee, you’re babysitting the bookworm,” Bruiser muttered as he pushed himself to the front of the pack.

“Just. Great.” Fricassee hissed between force breaths. “Stay close. Keep your mouth. Shut.” she added, jabbing a hoof into the stallion’s chest. Dig Deep nodded quickly but didn’t speak. Bruiser pointed at the gate guard.

“C’mon! Get that damn gate open! Time’s a wastin’!” he bellowed. The guard nodded and turned to a control panel next to him. He reached out a hoof and flipped a large knife switch. It sparked wildly with loud pops as power cycled to a large winch. Steel cabling groaned in protest as the heavy steel door was slowly lifted. Bruiser ducked his head under it and then gestured for the group to follow. I followed slowly, waiting for the gate to clear the ground enough to fit the cart through.

I’m not sure what I had been expecting, but I found myself disappointed. Outside the gate wasn’t much different than inside - a barren wasteland pock-marked with the decaying signs of a civilization long gone. A large checkpoint was assembled in front of the main gate and a couple of guards looked down on us dispassionately from the short towers.

“Make sure you drag Cutthroat back by her mane, Bruise!” one of them called out, “Whether the bitch is dead or alive.”

Bruiser nodded stiffly but said nothing. He followed a cracked road as it veered off to the right. The other slaves trotted behind him in silence. Stitch stood to the side, eyes downcast. Fricassee, Dig Deep and I brought up the rear. There was no speaking as we marched. The silence was only broken up by the sounds of our hooves on the old pavement and of Fricassee’s respirator keeping her alive. I cast furtive glances around as we walked.

Now, it was a matter of opportunity.

Turns out I was wrong about that being our last night as slaves. We walked for days, stopping at nearly every patch of sizable old world rubble long enough for the rest of the slaves to poke through for anything valuable. Anything worth keeping was deposited in the cart I pulled, and it didn’t take long for the cart to become quite heavy. Bruiser made it very clear that I wasn’t to scavenge. I’m here for my muscle and my muscle alone.

Now, he stood atop a pile of rubble that was once a building’s facade and watched the slaves carefully, casting the occasional glance in my direction to ensure that I was still near the cart. Stitch walked among the others, occasionally giving out a stuttered order before moving on. Fricassee and the last minute addition sat a little ways from me and the cart. He was quietly muttering to himself as he fiddled with the shackle on his leg while Fricassee dutifully ignored him.

“-and if the signs are accurate I might just find a clue to our objective just east of here. Finally, after all these years... Fortune believes-” he muttered as he tapped the shackle. Fricassee snorted loudly and the stallion looked at her.

“You talk. A lot.” she wheezed. He frowned and lowered his hoof.

“S-sorry. I’ve never been far from the- The Dig. I’m nervous… and when I’m nervous I document things,” he said sheepishly as he rolled a small stone under his hoof. Fricassee turned her head and gazed at him with bloodshot eyes.

“Document. Quietly.” she rasped, her tone brooking no argument. Dig Deep nodded and lowered his gaze to his shackle once more as Fricassee resumed her silent vigil.

The cart jostled loudly and I whipped my head around. Jerry stood there, a large canister next to her with drag marks leading to the cart.

“Hey big guy. Can you lift this into the cart for me?” she asked, sweat beading on her brow.

I nodded, bent down to bite the handle, and lifted it onto the cart. I easily shoved it to the back despite its weight and turn back to her. “More fuel?” I asked. She beamed and nodded.

“It’s my special talent you know,” she said proudly as she turned, showing off her cutie mark and then trotting away.

I smirked and glanced at the image on my own flank. Though a scar cut a swathe through the middle of it, I could still make out the yellow half circle with an orange crown peeking over a brown horizon. I didn’t know what it meant and I hadn’t been doing anything different on the day I’d gotten it that might clue me in. It was something I rolled around in the back of my mind, escaping inwards to power through the horrors of my reality whenever I needed to.

“Hey!” Bruiser shouted from his perch, thankfully derailing my train of thought. I looked at him. He appeared to be looking at me, but just to be sure I glanced over my shoulder. Just me then.

“Yes sir?” I called back.

He jabbed his hoof to the left.

“Grab the bookworm and bring him this way. I want him to check something,” he said before sliding his way down the opposite side of his rubble perch. I glanced over at where Fricassee and Dig Deep stood and trotted over. Fricassee eyed me carefully as I approached, but said nothing.

“Bruiser wants him,” I said with a gesture of my head. The earth pony looked up and then at Fricassee. She jerked her head at me.

“Go,” she rasped. Dig Deep stood and together we trotted in the direction Bruiser had gone. When we reached the hill of rubble he glanced back at Fricassee and then sighed in relief.

“She’s a scary one,” he muttered. I couldn’t tell if it was to me or himself, so I responded in kind.

“They all are. Just count yourself lucky you’re not a slave.” He glanced at me.

“What makes you say I’m not a slave myself?” he asked. I snorted and looked at him from the corner of my eye. He was dressed in thick barding with heavy saddlebags on both his sides. Suddenly I jerked my head in his direction. He shrank away, shielding himself with his foreleg and that strange shackle. I straightened and looked forward again as we reached the crest of the debris and started down the other side.

“That,” I said. Dig Deep frowned.

“Wh-what? You didn’t say anything,”

“It’s not about what I said, it’s about what you have,” I said as I slid down the scree. At the foot of the hill I glanced back at Dig Deep as he carefully tried to pick his way down the loose rubble and more than once nearly lost his balance. Rather than watch him stumble down the scree I cast a curious glance at my surroundings. It looked like we were in the heart of some pre-war office building that had fallen in on itself. Rusting desks and shattered terminals were mixed with the general wasteland detritus between the few walls that somehow still managed to stand. Bruiser stood over a single desk in a corner as the other slaves weaved in and out of the ruins searching for valuables.

“Bookworm! Quite wasting time and get over here!” he barked. Startled by the sudden outburst, Dig Deep stumbled and slid down the remainder of the hill on his side. I reached out a hoof and he took it to help himself up. He trotted over and gave Bruiser a worried look.

“Wh-what can I do for you?” he asked. Bruiser jabbed a hoof at the flickering terminal that rested on a half-buried desk. The staticky image of a stylized eye over an open book briefly flashed into view. Dig Deep’s eyes widened and he stepped closer. “An Image terminal. Excellent work, Bruiser,” he said as he raised the shackled hoof to his mouth. He carefully pulled a thin cord ending in a metal plug from it and inserted it into a hole on the side of the terminal, and then proceeded to jab at buttons on the shackle with his free hoof. Both devices whirred and clicked as something happened between them.

“Excellent, excellent,” he murmured as he tugged the cord free. “This data will take some time to process. Are we close to where we lost Cutthroat’s team?”

“We’re heading in the same direction,” Bruiser grumbled with a shrug, “But we don’t know WHERE along the route they disappeared.”

“Well, as soon as we’re ready to move, I suggest we do so,” he added as he returned his focus to his leg. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to look over this new information.” The stallion muttered to himself as he slipped through the ruins absently heading back the way he’d come. Bruiser’s eyes locked on me and narrowed.

“Shall I head back to the cart?” I asked. He snorted and gave me a dismissive wave of his hoof before trotting off and barking orders at one of the others. I picked my way quietly back to the cart. Fricassee still sat nearby, stock-still save for her jerking movements when the respirator breathed for her. She inclined her head to me, fixing me with her goggled, bloodshot eyes.

“Where’s. The nerd?” she huffed.

“With Bruiser the last I saw.”

The mare grunted and then stared off at the ruins where the rest of the slaves scavenged. I sat beside the cart, casting furtive glances in her direction. She wasn’t much bigger than Jerry was. She might be heavier given that she was always lugging around her breather and those two flamers. I doubted she could move all that quickly with all her gear.

“See something. You like?” she breathed, turning her head towards me. My eyes widened and I looked away.

“Sorry. I was just… wondering what happened.”

Fricassee was quiet for a long time before she shrugged.

“Fire. Bad,” she said. She let out a wheezing rasp that I guess must’ve been chuckling.

It took another hour for everyone to return. The various pieces of salvage they’d dragged back were given a once over by Bruiser. Anything not tossed aside as trash was placed in the back of the cart and secured with a fraying rope net. Bruiser looked intently upwards as the light began to fade from the sky.

“Move into the ruins; we’ll be making camp here for the night,” he said as he trotted towards the sagging structures. He passed several before finally stopping in front of one and glancing into the darkened interior. His horn began to glow, casting a weak light inside. Stitch moved over to stand next to him, peering into the shop as well.

“W-what’s the p-puh-problem?” she asked. Bruiser noisily sucked his teeth before looked at our group.

“Any of you scavenge in here earlier?” he asked. I looked to the others and saw several heads shaking. Bruiser sighed and pulled out his weather-beaten pistol. “Fine. Wrecker, get your hide up here. We’re gonna take a look around.”

The raider muttered insults and obscenities as he trudged into the darkened interior, followed by Bruiser. From outside, I could hear the occasional noise of a kicked can or bumped shelf and vaguely make out the faint glow of his magic.

“I don’t get it,” I muttered. “What’re they looking for?”

“B-buh-Bruiser’s t-talent is to s-suh-sense ferals. F-fuh-ferals like the ruh-ruins,” Stitch stammered, “They’re m-muh-makin’ sure we d-don’t get m-muh-munched in our sleep-p-p.”

BLAM!

BLAM!

The group fell silent as all ears focused on the darkened interior. Fricassee took a couple of steps forward, the pilots of her flamethrowers igniting with a spark of her magic as she peered into the darkness.

“Boss?” she called, louder than I thought she could manage.

After a long moment Bruiser’s voice cut through the tension.

“It’s fine. Just a single feral,” he called. Fricassee visibly relaxed and the ignition flames on her weapons cut off immediately. Several minutes later Bruiser stepped into the waning sunlight, a foul red splash marring his gleaming armor. A cloth was magically tugged from his saddlebag and mopped across the offending stain. Behind him trudged Wrecker, a length of rope clenched in his jaws, the opposite end of which was tied to the leg of a withered and decayed... thing. He dragged it into the middle of the road and spat out the rope. Then he spat a few more times to wash the taste out of his mouth.

“All clear. Everyone pile in for the night,” Bruiser said as he gestured at the building with his pistol. Stitch unhooked me from the cart and trotted into the structure after the others. I stood for a moment in the waning light and stared off into the distance. Freedom was so close I could almost taste it.

A sudden burst of light and heat caused me to wince and shy away. I turned and shielded my eyes with a foreleg as Fricassee torched the corpse Wrecker had dragged out. The sickening smell of searing, spoiled meat washed over me and it was all I could do not to gag.

“Hey! Time to pack it in for the night, greenie,” Bruiser called, his pistol still levitated in front of him. I turned and looked at him. He looked almost bored. This was all routine to him.

“Yes sir,” I muttered. I trotted around him and into the building. I could hear him following, his hoofsteps slow and deliberate. A faint glow came from up ahead where the others had started a small fire. Smoke billowed up through the ruined ceiling. The slaves crowded the back wall and huddled together in small groups. The exception was Wrecker, who laid down between the slaves and the slavers. Fricassee stood at the entrance apart from the others, staring at the impromptu funeral pyre she’d made in the middle of the street, her rebreather wheezing every few seconds.

Instinctively, I lowered myself down next to Jerry. She smiled warmly and nudged me with her head. None of the slaves talked. Bruiser and Stitch whispered quietly to one another while Dig Deep whispered to himself and continuously tapped at his shackle. The others quickly went still as exhausted slumber took them. I wasn’t as tired, given that I hadn’t been allowed far from the cart. I put my head down and watched our keepers through half-closed eyes. I was antsy. Part of me wanted to just grab Jerry and take off at a run. The other part of me knew that bullets tended to travel faster than the average pony could run. As the night ran on I relented and shut my eyes.

Tomorrow would present me with an opportunity.

NEW GAME

Character Name: Carefree Free

CONFIRM
Yes/No

New Perk: Heavy Hoofed -- You hit like a truck. A very big truck. Melee and Unarmed damage increased, critical chance lowered.
New Perk: Hot Blooded -- When your blood spills, it boils. When under 50% health gain a 10% damage increase, - 2 Agility and -2 Perception.

Author's Notes:

---

TRANSLATIONS:
*I will either find a way or make one.
**He went away without bidding anyone farewell

9/21/16: Added in the initial perks for Free and made some minor spelling corrections
11/7/16: More spelling and grammar corrections
7/26/17: Always little mistakes that can be tidied up