Lunch is here, and Thirteen enters the cafeteria in the long queue of prisoners. It doesn’t look like anyone is about to pay her any attention, which is exactly what the shaky changeling needs at the moment. She ponders sitting under the corner table like during breakfast, but in the light of past events and the presence of her new cellmate nearby she opts to grab a bowl from the serving mare, and heads for the central table where the big minotaur is already sitting alone.

Sitting across the table from him for at least some semblance of safety in case all this turns out to be a really bad idea, she pushes her bowl towards the huge biped. He gives her a long look, and then he nods with a grunt Thirteen chooses to think of as approving.

Okay, what would Three do?

“Hello?” she looks up with her head lowered just above the table, “Three said you only looked mean, but deep down you were nice. W- What’s your name?”

“I only told that obtrusive little creature that I’d punch someone’s face off if you needed me to, not that I’d be some chat buddy for either of you,” he growls.

“Yeah...” she sighs, “Where Three failed, what could I do? Keep my portion anyway. I don’t think my cellmate likes me much. I’ll just sit here and enjoy a meal where no one tries to grope or hit me.”

Magpie silently sits down several seats away from them to their otherwise empty table. After few days of observation, it doesn’t seem to Thirteen that there’s actually too many prisoners in here, or at least those allowed to gather here in the company of others. Obviously, those like Gem or that strange Corrupted mare the others called Harriet would be too much to handle for normal wardens if they were only in shackles like the creatures here. Thirteen has never seen a Corrupted before, corruption barely spread that far past Crystal Empire, but there was some knowledge about them within the hive mind from Gem’s frequent travels, and most of it could be summed up to stay away. For some reason she doesn’t understand but is supposedly tied to an old story of infection her hive fought off a long time ago, they’re naturally extremely resistant to corruption, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have their heads chewed off by those powerful, tentacled creatures.

Some chewing later, the minotaur swallows and asks:

“You’re saying it as if you changelings were all the same, just better or worse. Is that a thing with the numbers instead of names? Three, Thirteen, and so on.”

He wants to talk to meeeee?

“Well, ehm, it’s not like that. I mean, it is, but it’s not enforced or anything. In the old days before dad and Three split off of queen Chrysalis’ hive, a changeling’s number was their rank.”

“Judging from the little guy and you, the higher the number the better, right?” he doesn’t seem interested at all, but as long as he’s willing to talk, Thirteen’s willing to explain.

“No, it’s the exact opposite,” Thirteen shakes her head, “Dad is the boss, mom is number One, and the new drones and warriors are numbers over one hundred.”

“So you and Three are supposed to be strong then?” he narrows his eyes.

Thirteen shakes her head even more vigorously than before.

“Not at all, at least I’m not. Three’s a bit… special. You see, dad remembers the time when we changelings were pretty much exactly as you described - the same but only better or worse, and the worse ones were just food for the higher ranks... or lower, to be accurate. In those times, I would have been eaten weeks after I hatched, if that. I’m not good at anything, and mom is possibly the best changeling warrior ever, which made things rather… bad at home,” she waves her foreleg, “I’m getting distracted. Can’t even concentrate properly. Aaanyway, dad wants us to find our own names based on what we like, showing us that we can be individuals rather than just numbers to be used up. Most of us still haven’t found the right name, few like Seven don’t particularly care, and then there’s Five, Two, and One, my mom, who keep the number as a mark of honor and achievement. Mom had to fight through the ranks of the old hive and prove herself over and over to become One, Two and Five faced threats I can barely understand.”

“And the little one, Three?”

“His real rank used to be three hundred thousand and something, but… you may have noticed he’s a bit… simple, so he calls himself just Three, because he can’t remember the full number. He’s not stupid at all, don’t get me wrong. He actually knows a ton of things, and he can occasionally do weird stuff no one else can, but his collection of knowledge is a bit… scattered. He’s dad’s best friend, and he’s been with him even before he met mom.”

“He’s… friendly. It almost makes me believe he doesn’t want to stab me in the back when I’m not looking.”

Thirteen gasps and objects out loud:

“Three would never do that!” she shakes her head, “I heard he even died once just because he tried to make friends with a guy who tried to wipe our hive out.”

“He died...” he gives Thirteen a flat stare.

“I don’t know much about it and I sure as holes wouldn’t be able to do it, but if we have enough love, powerful changelings can sort of retreat into our hive mind and stay there for a while if their body is destroyed. It’s highly conditional, and draining to the point of barely ever being worth it, but it can be done.”

“Does it have anything to do with those glowing marks on his body?”

“Mhm, but I can’t talk about it. Dad says that’s a secret.”

“I could twist your legs off one by one. Slowly,” he leans closer, which makes Magpie lower his bowl and tense his hind legs. To the surprise of both of them, or probably all three of them, Thirteen only pouts and crosses her forelegs on her chest, although she does lean away in her chair.

“And what good would that do you? Dad and Three would miss me, no one else would. Hole, mom might even be happy I’m not a drain on our resources anymore, and it’s not like you would be immortal or anything. You’re not a changeling, and it’s impossible to do without the help of other changelings.”

The minotaur measures her with an expression that’s unreadable to Thirteen.

“I don’t have a name,” he says after a while, “Losing a name, for a minotaur, is a punishment just short of execution. That’s one thing the remaining wild tribes and Rift minotaurs have in common - nameless minotaurs don’t get any help, and are turned away or even hunted down for sport, although that’s more of a wild tribes thing. It means I have no honor, no value, and no rights. In my case, I got to choose an exile through hunt instead of serving as the lowest even under the younglings.”

Hearing the phrase exile through hunt, Magpie winces. He killed a lot of nameless minotaurs in the blood arena who chose to regain honor through battle, and he survived three hunts, which of course didn’t mean he successfully escaped. In two cases, it meant surviving longer than the other hunted. In the final case, it meant killing his pursuers in the end.

“And what used to be your name?” asks Thirteen.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head, “It’s lost forever now.”

“So you can’t ever return home?”

“I’m not going to repeat myself, bug,” he growls.

“Sorrysorrysorry,” Thirteen lowers her head.

“Heh,” the corner of the minotaur’s mouth curls up, “Now there’s something I wouldn’t tell anyone else, and I would advise you to keep it to yourself,” he glances Magpie’s way, “Same goes for you, catbird. I know you were listening, and it wasn’t for you.”

“I’ve got enough problems of my own to care about your sob story, cow,” Magpie opens his beak, and pours the rest of the contents of his bowl in. Without looking at the minotaur or Thirteen, he stands up and leaves.

When Thirteen returned to her cell, Magpie was already either asleep or pretending to be. Any half-decent infiltrator would pick out the difference, but Thirteen is just Thirteen. With that, she followed his example and took a nap before today’s terrifying time outside.

Unfortunately, the wardens banging their blackjacks on the bars woke her up, and she was ushered to the inner courtyard of the prison.

So far, Thirteen has successfully avoided the attention of everyone, slinking by the walls and dodging the cones of light from the guard towers above. Luckily for her, it looks as if this particular corner filled with stinging nettles hasn’t been mowed for some time, and even the rough-looking mares are avoiding getting close. If she’s lucky and doesn’t move, she might survive another day unnoticed in the dim electric light of the guard towers.

With a sigh of relief, she lies down with only the faintest motion of the greenery around her.

“Ah-hah!” a big, brown hoof stomps the clutch of tall stalks in front of her, and as Thirteen tries to stand up, the same hoof trips her up just as she feels flat teeth bite down on her ear and give her a sharp pull.

“Ow ow ow owwww!” Thirteen softens her teeth-guided fall by following the tugging, and ends up on her side on the ground, surrounded by a tight circle of scarred and toned mares, several with clumps of hair, teeth, and in few cases even an eye missing.

“I knew I saw somepony sneaking around,” the brown, heavily built, muscular earthpony mare who dragged Thirteen out smirks and pushes her down by putting her foreleg on Thirteen’s chest, “You know it’s rude to listen on conversations of other ponies, sex toy?”

“I wasn’t-” a kick in the muzzle interrupts her objection. It’s not enough to harm her, but it definitely has enough force to convey the message that the mare’s question was rhetorical.

“Now get up and listen, because I’m going to make you a little offer, you can’t refuse. I mean, you can, but the wardens on the ground won’t see you when you’re surrounded like this, and before those on the walls notice, you’ll be missing few important bits,” she raises her foreleg from Thirteen’s chest, and takes a single step back. Thirteen wants to fully stand up, but a rough push sends her back down on her haunches, so she gets the idea and remains sitting. At least she’s not lying down with the mare standing on her anymore, and that has to count for something. The mare continues, “Good, maybe you won’t need some discipline beaten into you,” she puts her hoof under Thirteen’s chin, and forces her to look up at herself, “Or maybe, from the looks of it, somepony already did it. Heh,” she gives Thirteen a soft slap, “Now, most of us have been here for few years already, and we’re still not even halfway done.”

“So you want to get out?” Thirteen hazards a guess, which is followed by a punch that sends her down on the ground.

“Too bad, for a second I thought you were more than just bughorse sex toy,” the mare spits on her, “Of course we want to get out, but we know that even in whatever is going on outside we’d have everyone on our asses immediately, and it’s not like we can escape into the wilderness with all the Corrupted everywhere. No, what we want from you is to spice up our stay, sex toy, the only way you bugs are useful for. Besides, you must be pretty hungry, unless your cellmate is reaming you on nightly basis, and I’m certain we can be a lot gentler than any horny brute you’re in a cell with. We can also be nastier. Got my meaning, or do you need a little demonstration?”

Is that the only thing I’m good for in the end? I mean, Three is in the castle helping engineers build the farms. I can’t help him or protect him. I can’t get Gem out of here. I can’t get out myself, and even if I did, it would do more harm than good. If I call for help, they’ll just beat me up. I might defend myself from one of them, but not from eleven. The best thing I’ve managed in my WHOLE life was to make a minotaur share his secret, and that was only because I’m such a screw- no, such a fuck-up that no matter how disgraced he was I would be even less.

I’m nothing. I should… I should…

I should just be silent and do what others tell me. Maybe they will find a use for me if I’m too dumb to find it on my own.

With a bitter smirk, Thirteen nods and obediently opens her mouth.

She finds herself hanging upside down, bent by her barrel over something hard.

“What the-?” the nameless minotaur currently halfway into a pull-up on a monkey bar gives her a puzzled frown.

“Ah?” in a moment of complete confusion, Thirteen spins around the monkey bar and drops on the ground like a sack of potatoes. It hurts a bit even through her chitin, but at least the world is the right way up now.

The minotaur finishes a rep and drops down.

“How did you get up there?” he asks, examining her without offering her a hand.

Thirteen winces as her whole body twitches at once for no explainable reason, but pushes herself up despite it.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” she looks around, her eyes eventually stopping on a pile of eleven collapsed mares in the distant, dark corner of the courtyard, a slowly dissipating pink cloud of lust visible only to changeling eyes hanging over them, “You didn’t see me or something?”

“I don’t look up when I’m doing pull-ups,” he grunts and starts doing squats instead.

“Mind if I stay around?” Thirteen gives him her best ‘begging Three’ impression. Where with him that stare could melt a steel wall or the heart of the darkest evil lord, the minotaur just shrugs.

“Just don’t get under my hooves.”