Genetic Superiority

by Cartophile

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Adventure
Length: 6878

In this future world, ponies are determined by their genetic traits, and a number of ponies go to extreme lengths to uphold their opposing beliefs.

Fifty years have passed, and Equestria has changed. Medical technology has greatly improved, and a bio-social movement reformed Equestria. DNA and hereditary traits now play a role in determining a pony's social class, and eugenics is commonly practiced.

Everypony is happy, and life in the new Equestria is perfect.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-08 05:24:04 UTC

Chapter 1

"Rebuilding the future, piece by piece."

That was the motto of the Equestria Genetic Research Center. And indeed they have rebuilt the future of Equestria; they have made multiple advances in medical technology, and now was the biggest medical organization in the country, taking part of the government's eugenics program.

Their headquarters was a different case, appearing less remarkable than the organization's achievements. It was a squat, white, and lifeless building, with evenly placed windows on every one of its four floors. Their logo – a gray circle with a silhouette of a DNA inside it – was the only object that broke the symmetry of the building.

On the fourth floor of the headquarters was the President's office. Inside was no more than the President himself, leaning on his swivel chair, staring at the world in from his window. The earth pony's face, a bit wrinkly, held little expression. Though his appearance surely gave the fact that the President was old, he had never revealed his age. Fifty? Sixty? Sixty-five?

His age, though, had no effect on the charisma of a revolutionary figure. He was the one that founded the organization, and their medical wonders have increased the life expectancy of ponies and eliminated a number of diseases. Most of all, he suggested to the government to create a program that would ultimately lead to the improved pony race. It was unanimously approved, and that event was so influential that ponies have decided to create a new calender named the "Second Era", or "S.E." for short. The goals he has achieved in his lifetime were countless.

The President sat silently in his chair for some time, until he slowly but steadily stood up and proceeded toward a gramophone on a nearby small table near the corner. He replaced the record on the gramophone, walking back and forth to return the record to it's intended place on the shelf and taking another one. Placing the new record on the gramophone, he moved the pin onto the record, careful not to accidentally scratch it, and flipped the switch on the side of the gramophone's wooden box.

The rest came like magic. The record immediately spun, creating music. After a few seconds of static, the gramophone played a song familiar to almost everypony: Equestria's national anthem. It was majestic. It was glorious. It was...symbolic. Perhaps someday he will become symbolic too.

********

"We came here to relax and, you know, interact," Foresail said, "and you bring your diary-"

"Writer's notebook," Ballad corrected, not bothering to look up.

It was a normal day in Canterlot. Not a single cloud was in the sky, and the marketplace was busy and bustling with ponies. Despite the fact that it was June, the temperature was a cold fifty-one degrees (which adds the question on what the weather ponies were doing). Canterlot lived up to it's reputation; the idyllic city remained a place for the higher classed for several decades, and was filled with fancy and aesthetically pleasing buildings.

"Writer's notebook, whatever. You're letting it take over your life. Really, it's not healthy and I think you should really be socializing with other ponies." Foresail continued. Her voice was soft, but Ballad knew better to not trust Foresail's emotions. She knew that behind those false feelings, Foresail was actually criticizing her.

Foresail was a unicorn mare in her late twenties, having a pale yellow coat and a light blue mane. Her eyes were purple, though it wasn't her natural eye color. She was a slave to fashion–always purchasing the newest "color lens" or the newest clothes the second it was in style.

Ballad, however, was not interested in fashion, and kept her eyes in the color she was born with. Amber. Her coat was a reddish brown, and her mane was tan; the color of sand. She recently turned thirty-three about a month ago. Ballad worked as a poet and an author; after all, her cutie mark was a flute (which had the close appearance to a fountain pen) on a piece of paper, which signified her talent with poetry.

She was unable to understand why her friend was treating her like this. Foresail didn't control her life, she did. Why does she have to care what other people thought about her? As Foresail continued complaining about Ballad's anti-social behavior, Ballad hid her face behind her notebook, gritting her teeth and straining her hooves, while attempting to ignore her words. She felt like at any time she will burst out in annoyance and anger.

When Foresail finally finished speaking, Ballad calmed the flame inside of her and loosened her muscles. Settle down, Ballad. You're of a higher class then her, Ballad thought. Act civilized. She probably doesn't understand as much as you do.

It was true; Ballad was of a higher social class than her in the genetic social stratum. In the system, there were seven divided "strata", or classes, which measured traits such as intellect, stamina, and physical power. Numbered from one to seven, the highest class (Class One) was composed of the "best of the population", while the lowest class (Class Seven) was composed of "defects" such as the feeble-minded, insane, and criminals. Equestrian citizens were tested at age sixteen to determine their class.

Ballad herself was born in a Class Two environment, but after her examination, a test taken at the age of sixteen to determine a pony's class, she was able to move into Class One. It was seen to most ponies as a honorable event, as the chances of moving into the highest class was rare. Foresail, unlike Ballad, did not meet the standards to enter Class One, and was retained in Class Two.

Though ponies were able to retake the "caste test" ten years after the previous one, Foresail refused to retake it. To Foresail, her occupation and home mattered more than the test–an action Ballad saw as forfeiting acceptance. However, Ballad also respected her actions, and after an unexpected meeting, both ponies soon recognized the other, and they became friends.

The two of them were again in an argument with one another; it was happening more and more often. After minutes of silence, Foresail finally speaks. "I think you're being affected. Ever since you entered Class One, you've changed."

These few words restored the anger inside Ballad. "You know what? I think it's affecting you," Ballad retorted. "If you really understood me, you should be happy that I entered Class One. But no, you keep making a fuss of everything I do! Ballad, stop being so reclusive! Ballad, put down that notebook and make friends for once! Ballad–"

She paused abruptly, taking a deep breath. Ballad, avoiding eye contact with Foresail, picked up her leather purse beneath her seat, opening it up. After a short search for her wallet, Ballad placed ten bits on the table without a word and stood up, leaving the restaurant afterwards.

Outside, Ballad was met with multiple ponies walking to and fro, every one of them going to some destination. Ballad was very much aware what her destination was, and that was home, where she could comfort herself by writing some poems or read a classic or whatever that can occupy her. Ballad swerved through the crowd, proceeding down an alleyway. A shortcut. She knew all the primary roads and a number of minor routes in Canterlot; finding the shortest path back home posed little difficulty to Ballad. She didn't like being in the open public, anyway.

It was quiet. Ballad loved quiet places. They at least didn't damage her ears from the noise outside, and made her feel at peace. If only places like these appeared more often...

Ballad, sadly, had little time to think. In a matter of a few seconds, she was restrained by the hooves and her mouth was covered by an unknown pony's hoof. Ballad made a futile attempt to break free, but was stopped by a sharp, sudden pain in the forehoof, and the world around her went spinning into a drain of darkness.

"Is this one a Class One?"

"Yeah, I believe so. Strange. I had expected the mare to put up a decent fight."

"Heh. Guess not all ponies are so strong after all."

Chapter 2

Fuselage paced back and forth inside her architectural working place, hoping that somehow she would instantly think up of something in the process.

Though Fuselage knew that she will eventually have her occasional flashes of inspiration, it didn't help her that the deadline was in six months, and she was far from even completing the airship EP-21 blueprints. She has to complete it. If she failed to turn it in...

Fuselage banged her head at the table. She felt an aching pain, though it wasn't from her self infliction.

"Don't get so stressed," the director of the Aviary Developments said to her once. "Take your time and put your effort in your work." Fuselage laughed at his advice. It sure was dealing with the problem now.

The copper red pegasus cleaned the now messy desk created by her previous ruction, and reorganized her teal colored mane, then went back to work. Her personal meltdown was immediately forgotten.

Fuselage was born with the flair of piloting airships. Sadly, she was banned to pilot one due to her social class. She was Class Three; only Class Twos and above had to privilege to captain and pilot the airship. Unless she can move up to a higher class, she was to work on designing airships. Fuselage still couldn't believe that her life was being controlled even at twenty-six.

Though she hated the fact that she is most likely never place her talent into good use, she didn't feel like switching her job. This was the only place where she felt close to these flying machinery. And a few kind ponies had allowed her on the co-pilot's seat in cases of test flight.

The bell rang, snapping Fuselage back into reality. Six o'clock already? she thought. Time sure passes by when you're working.

"Time to leave, everypony. Remember to bring your things home. The office and factories will close within an hour," a pony announced, his words coming out of the multiple speakers located around the premises.

Fuselage, upon hearing the announcement, quickly packed up her suitcase and left her room. She took the stairs; Fuselage didn't like being squished inside an elevator. Plus, it was only three floors.

Outside the office were a swarm of ponies that were trying to force their way through the company gates. It was impossible to attempt flight; doing so would most likely cause collisions with other ponies. She didn't try to do the same. She was much wiser than that. Instead, Fuselage flew out from the back of the buildings. Though it took a much longer time to get to the train station, it was much better than staying in crowds, where she had little room.

Fuselage always grinned when she was outsmarting nearly everypony. If it weren't for calculative thinking, she would have been stuck there. She didn't like being stuck.

********

"Creek Road, westbound."

The mare inside the booth took a short glance at the map beside her, maintaining a straight face. "That'll be three bits," the mare replied monotonously. Fuselage paid the tired looking mare and grabbed the ticket, returning a smile for a sign of gratitude.

Fuselage passed the station checkpoint with ease, trotting down the flight of stairs into an underground rapid transit platform. The Heartland Subway was in a terrible state; it always was. The once white walls were covered with forty years of dust, and the modern stone platform was quickly wasted, turning into a nauseating dark gray and stained with dry chewing gum, spit, and mysterious black marks. The fierce stench of trash spread throughout the subway. It looked like the hallway of a slum building.

Ponies, however, appreciate the place despite it's poor quality, but Fuselage herself wasn't quite sure. She didn't dare try to sit on the benches or even lean on the pillars – who knew what kind of

Without second thoughts, she waited at the left side of the platform, expecting the subway train to arrive any minute. Fuselage idly looked behind her; she saw a colt sitting against a round concrete pillar, staring at the meager light bulbs on the ceiling. He was pathetically coated with filth. Fuselage tried not to stare too long at him. Vagrants were common in these subway stations, and were normally found by the patrollers and taken to their rightful place.

The train entered the station with little delay, the lights near the platform edge blinking on and off. The train's doors promptly slid inward, and ponies swarmed inside. Fuselage followed the crowd into the train.

Inside the subway train were multiple cars, some of them had signs above the doors, which determined which cars are for which class. Though a higher class can move to the lower classed seats if they wish, a lower classed pony was unable to seat on a higher classed car. For example, a Class Four could not sit on a Class Three car, and a Class Five could not sit on a Class Four car, and so on.

Fuselage found that the Class Three car was full; every seat was occupied by ponies who were quick to react. She looked at the nearby car door. The door sign read To Class Four Train Car, along with an red arrow next to it. It seemed uninviting, and a few eyes were on her, wondering if she'll open the door.

She moved her hoof away from the doorknob and looked around for a metal rail to hold on for the rest of the ride.

********

Ballad wakes up to a dull ache on her forehoof. She at first thinks that she might have slept on her hoof, but the injury on her hoof proves otherwise. It was an thin entry wound for some sort of bullet, though Ballad wasn't fully aware of that just yet. Her mind, along with what happened in the last ten hours, was shrouded and faint.

Then she shuddered. What if she was dead? Everything seemed so blurry. But she couldn't be dead.  The metal cage bars were real enough; the mattress she was on felt real enough. Everything was palpable and very much real, yet she continued to believe that this was all fake.

That was when she realized that she was shot by a tranquilizer gun, and that she was kidnapped by a group of ponies. It explained why the wound was bloodless, why there was no cartridge inside the wound, and why the wound was small and shallow. She learned about these special bullets when she was fourteen; they were non-lethal and used to subdue riots and other civil unrests. Ballad found it strange; how were her kidnappers able to get their hooves on such a weapon?

Ballad tries to get off the bed, but as she steps onto the ground, she clumsily slips. The tranquillizer is still in effect, Ballad thought. She sluggishly rests on the side of the bed. Ballad is in a prison cell, the walls a light yellow, and the hallway outside dimly lit.

"I'm in a prison," Ballad muttered. But it didn't seem like a modern prison; some of the paint on the walls were coming off, and the top of the bars were rusting. She shivered for a short second. Psychopaths, serial killers, pyromaniacs, and criminals once slept in the same bed she was sleeping in. So this is where they go to die.

"Awake already?" Ballad turned to see a stallion, waiting in front of her cell, smiling. He was clad in a tattered blue prison guard outfit, and next to him was a cart of food. The stallion pulls out a tray from the bottom shelf, then dumps a pile of corn and hay on the tray.

"Well...here's your supper, then," the stallion said, offering Ballad the tray of food. "The shower is near the bottom left corner and will automatically turn on for five minutes within an hour. Lights out at ten."

Ballad nodded. She tries to talk, but the words come out slurred. Her mind was clearer now, but was still unable to cooperate well with some of her body parts. Trying again, she managed to say the two words, "Thank you."

When she was sure the stallion had left, Ballad dashed around the room. There must be some way out, she thought. But, try as she might, she couldn't find anything for her to use. Everything in the room – the mattress, the chair, the table – was bolted to the ground. Only until she searched every inch of the cell did she give up.

I should have known better, Ballad thought. A prison cell is built so nothing can be hidden or detached. The best choice, the only choice I can do is to wait.

She returned to her bed, now noticing how hard the bed was. It felt like a cold slab of concrete. Ballad could not quiet her brain, and she lay there, eyes open. By many methods she had tried to put herself to sleep, but they all failed despite her attempts.

This was going to be a long night, she thought.

********

Ballad was eventually able to achieve a doze, though an hour or so later she awakened from a buzzer sound. She squirmed for a bit, believing that it was just in her head, but as the noise prolonged, Ballad finally got up.

"No! Get away for me! What are you doing?" Ballad heard a mare's shout echo through the hallway.

"Madame, I must comment that your eyes look beautiful. I like them much more than the ones I have now." a voice replied, laughing at his own remark. Ballad determined that the voice was of a stallion's. An abrupt scream, staccato, was heard, then silence.

A few minutes later, Ballad saw two ponies, a stallion and a mare both wearing blue prison guard clothing, dragging an unconscious mare, pass her cell. Where are they taking her? Ballad thought. Whatever it was, she didn't want to know. She just wanted to get away a hundred kilometers away from here.

"I mustn't lose my nerve. I mustn't," Ballad repeated to herself. She was suddenly reminded of her freshman teacher, Mrs. Write, who once told them to stay hopeful, maintain resilience in the face of adversity, and, most of all, never quit. And now, Ballad couldn't say how right she was.

Ballad chose to wait for the whole day and execute her escape at night. She didn't know how she would do it, but she will. But you have nothing, a voice in her thoughts said, how are you so sure you'll escape?

Then, on the corner of her eye, she saw something. It was near the cell, only a foot or two away from her. Though the lights were dim, she could determine what it was – two paper clips. An insignificant object, but it was something. Ballad glanced left and right, and when she was sure that there was no pony in the hallway, stretched her hooves through the metal bars and make a sudden snatch on the paper clips."

Ballad observed the paper clips. Just how they going to get them out of here? A paper clip is used to hold sheets together, not break out of jail. She bit her lip, flicking the sharp tip of the paper clip. If she only had a key...

Then the answer struck her instantly. The paper clips were the key. Or rather, the device used to turn the lock to open it. A lock pick. She heard of those, but had never used one personally. But how did the lock work? Ballad asked herself.

The key is pushed inside the lock completely, allowing it to turn, Ballad answered. She needed something to keep tension at the bottom while creating a jagged pick to act as the "key". Discovering this, she immediately bent the leg of the paper clips, turning into a straight steel wire, and curving it again, taking the appearance of a bobby pin. Ballad at first tested this at the lock, but noticed that it couldn't add tension, and accidentally bent her pin downward. Ballad dropped it, cursing under her breath. But when Ballad found that the bent tension wrench worked perfectly into the lock, her curses turned into words of delight.

She then pulled the leg of the second paper clip outward, twisting the tip inward. While doing so, she pricked herself with the tip, leaving a small cut. Ballad winced. It was painstaking work, slow work, but she forced herself to continue for an hour twisting the tip into a hook, producing an improvised pick.

Ballad carefully extended her hooves through the metal bars, one hoof pulling the tension wrench while the other was shaking, pulling, and turning the lock. The pick couldn't get into the lock – it didn't fit. Ballad jammed the pick inside multiple times, and in frustration, kicked the metal cage.

Aware of what she had done, she moved her hooves back into the cell, hoping that nopony has heard that. After a few minutes, she looked at her pick again. Ballad started bending the pick more, and put it in the lock along with the tension wrench, but ended up with the same result as before.

I would kill, Ballad thought, for an actual pick. Just one.

She pondered more. A key had a jagged edge. The pick had to closely resemble the edges of a key. Bending one end wasn't enough. She needed to curve it more.

Ballad returned to bending her pick, intricately bending a second time on the tip of the pick. She poked on her hoof again, and sucked on her wound, grimacing from the pain and the ferrous taste in her mouth.

For a third time, Ballad pushed the pick inside the lock. This time, it fit completely, and her ears rose from that merry sound. The lock, however, did not budge. She was confused. Why isn't it working?

She continued to wiggle the pick for a seemingly endless time. Ballad counted the number of seconds that has passed; she can probably do it another fifty times or so before –

Ballad heard a barely audible click, and stopped. Did something happen with the door? She moved the door left and right, finding out that it was unlocked. She went into a burst of joy.  but kept silent to avoid attracting the prisoner guards. Yes! I'm out! I'm out, I'm out, I'm out, I'm out~

She then saw that she wasn't out of the prison yet. The prison cell was only the first phase of escaping.

Chapter 3

Ballad peeked through the gap below the door for the shadow's of ponies' hooves. Once she knew that danger has passed, she opened the door and headed downstairs. She kept her hoofsteps quiet to decrease the chances of the guards tracking her. How fickle everything is, she thought. Fate loves playing tricks with me.

Ten minutes. It only took her ten minutes to get the "prison guards" chasing on her tail. The prison's security wasn't very tight; only three or so ponies were guarding each floor, and even the perimeter was loosely patrolled.  The majority of these ponies wore tattered blue clothing and were disorganized and unorderly; they looked far from actual prison guards.

Ballad believed that with such poor security, she would easily escape without causing suspicion. She was shortly proven wrong when a guard had noticed that her cage was opened, which set off the alarm and caused every guard in the prison to be searching for her.

She walked down the stairs to the second floor, peeking from the edges of the gray, concrete walls. The walls deteriorated greatly, the reinforcing metal sticking outward. Ballad had once expected for prisons like this to at least be clean and sanitized; she was a bit disappointed to see that the prison guard bedrooms were not much better and were equally claustrophobic as the prison cells. She honestly didn't care about the fate of degenerate criminals, but she couldn't stand seeing how justice was treated so poorly in return. Guess jail is made to discourage ponies from returning.

Ballad then heard several hoofsteps coming from the hallway, and her first reaction was to make multiple turns and put distance between herself and the guards. But then as she grew more tired, she gained a realization that continuing her chase would inevitably bring her into a dead end; the more she lengthened it, the more ponies will join the group and take her down.

She needed to think in another direction. "They're using the sound I'm creating and following it," muttered Ballad. "Well, I'll give these ponies a trail to follow."

Ballad took a short glance at her back. They haven't detected her yet, but they were catching up. She needed to do something, and do it fast. A metal door at a three way intersection was nearby – a perfect distraction. She had intended to slam the door to cause a loud noise, a diversion, for the guards to hear. Ballad attempting to turn the knob, but it was stuck in place.

She then knew the dreadful fact – the door was locked, and therefore she could not slam the door. Damn it, I don't have time to open this! yelled a voice inside her head. She forced the machinery inside her racing mind to function, and in desperation, kicked the metal door.

"Stop! Don't move!" Deciding that she should no longer waste her time on something so trivial, Ballad was again on the run, taking a right turn to get away from the prison guards' line of sight.

She made several turns and trips up and down the stairs, to throw off the guards. When Ballad was sure that she was unseen, she ran downstairs to an underground floor. It was completely dark inside, the only light being the moonlight shining through the narrow, caged window. I can hide here for some time, Ballad thought, until I've formulated a plan. And when I do, then I can leave this forsaken place.

Ballad moved blindly to an open shower stall at the far end of the shower room. She squinted and put one of her hooves in front of her, swinging it left and right to feel any object near her surroundings. She stumbled, occasionally bumping into walls; Ballad then walked close to the edges of the stalls to maintain her balance and make her navigation in the dark less difficult.

When she arrived at the last shower stall, she went inside, lying against the corner to blend more into the darkness. Her darkly colored mane assisted her in this, but her amber eyes and light blue coat made her more visible. She tried to reduce this by curling herself into a ball, where her mane and tail covered her coat.

She tried to breath through her nose, but the foul stench inside the shower stall burned her nose. Smells like a rathole, Ballad thought, later correcting herself. No. It's worse than that. It smells like the smell of overused toilets and defecated waste. Even the cells aren't as bad as this. Ballad then breathed through her mouth, slowly and silently inhaling and exhaling, hoping that she was not causing too much sound.

An apprehensive half hour passed by, and though weariness was on Ballad, sleep did not visit her, although the silence was in the prison's shower room. Once she had thought she had heard steps in the hallway, and froze in place for several minutes, though not a single pony had entered the shower room.

They're far from done with their search, but it seems like their investigation is becoming less intensive. I can probably sneak outside... Ballad pondered, taking a short glance at the small caged window. Two guard towers could be seen outside – only one tower's lights were on, and a small, sole silhouetteconfirmed the fact that only one prison guard was watching the perimeter. She smiled. "Either they don't have enough ponies around here, or they're incredibly stupid," Ballad commented.

Ballad paused, nearly motionless. There was something approaching the shower room, and she quietly returned back to the shower stall, flattening herself down, and peeking through the edge of the wall, she watched. The thing that was approaching was a pony.

It was a stallion, his body visible due to the illumination from his glowing horn. He was unlike any other prisoners; he wore a distinctively darker navy blue suit with a white collar, and lacked the typical peaked cap that every prison guard wore. His coat was teal, and his mane and tail were two shades of green, one light, one dark. His lime colored eyes reflected in the dark, possessing some kind of unexplainable force that intimidated her. Though he looked a bit frail, he appeared middle-aged.

The stallion eyes were fixed on the ground with utmost concentration, observing and studying it as if he had noticed something different. Ballad, fearful of being discovered, hid back into her corner.

Ballad's first impulse was to charge herself at the stallion and running out of the shower as he approached her hiding spot, but she saw the stallion's right hoof touching a metallic object – a semi-automatic pistol, resting on its holster. It was a unicorn model, which was, unlike other pistols, compact so unicorns can levitate it with ease.

Ballad held her breath. She did not dare shudder, due to fear of being caught. The stallion slowly traveled from stall to stall, checking their interiors. He eventually arrived on her  stall; the stallion's eyes moving down, until they stopped, looking straight forward. Ballad felt her heart stop.

But the stallion merely smiled, walking carelessly toward the other side. The stallion had no problem walking in the dark. His sharp eyes must have uncanny powers, Ballad thought. He had only missed me by the slightest chance.

"Ballad," the stallion suddenly spoke in a cultivated and somehow familiar voice, "As I suppose that you are in the sound of my voice, let me congratulate you. Not many ponies such as you have managed to solve my little puzzle, let alone successfully hide from my guards. I now find you interesting, Miss Ballad, that is, if you are inside this room."

Ballad soon heard the sound of hooves growing fainter and fainter, and she finally exhaled out restrained air from her near bursting lungs. Her first thought was horrible; why had the stallion spoke and turned back? That was when she knew the reason why. She didn't want to believe it, but the truth was crystal clear. The stallion was playing with her, intentionally sparing her so that the stallion could hunt her again.

Another shudder of horror went down her throat as the second thought came to her. Ballad recognized the stallion's voice; it was the stallion from earlier that had seemingly tortured the poor prisoner who was taken somewhere else, somewhere she did not know of. She grimaced when she thought of that unknown place, imagining it as some equally horrifying as that maniacal stallion.

Ballad knew she could two things. The first choice was to stay and remain hidden, though she believed that the stallion would return sooner and later and finish her off, leading her to conclude that to continue hiding was suicide. The second choice was to flee, but she couldn't shake off the possibility that the stallion would eventually find her with ease, which was postponing the inevitable.

She decided to take her chances with the latter choice, and, leaving no time for hesitation, she headed outside. "If the stallion was able to track my trail," Ballad muttered, "then I'll have to give him a trail to follow."

Ballad then smeared and rolled herself on the ground, the dust getting onto her coat. She did not enjoy getting herself dirty and making contact with the presumably diseased surface, but she knew that her life depended on this feat. When she was done, Ballad peeked outside at the hallway, and, without hesitation, ran.

She made intricate loops, doubling on her trail of dust several times. Being careful to not accidentally be detected by the guards, she often hid into supply closets or rooms. Ballad grinned at her cleverness – even with a pony with extremely keen senses could not possibly follow such a complicated trail. But perhaps, the stallion wasn't the natural kind of pony...

When she arrived outside on the prison recreational yard, she patted the dust off of her coat. With the dust trail she left, Ballad believed that it would keep the guards busy and confused for several minutes. The yard was surrounded by two sides by an iron chain fence, the top of the fence tied with curved barbed tape – the other two opposite sides were the concrete walls of the building itself.

Ballad observed the perimeter of the prison, now having a wider view. This time, there were two layers of chain fence on the perimeter, both enforced with barbed tape. On each side, there were four guard towers; a few of the them were unlit. The front gate, which was locked, was patrolled and guarded by two ponies.

There's no way I'm able to get through these fences without either damaging myself or getting noticed, she thought. And escaping from the front door is out of the question... Her eyes wandered aimlessly, looking for something that can assist her escape.

Ballad's first impulse was to make a dash for the lightless tower on the corner; the darkness can be used in her favor to blend in, the same action she had done in the shower room. But she still needed to get through the yard's barbed fence.

She could possibly strike the degraded concrete walls. They were most likely brittle due to aging and damage, and she could create a hole between the fence and the wall and crawl through it. But then again, she didn't have anything to strike the wall with; plus, the noise would attract the prison guards.

Maybe I don't need to make a way out, thought Ballad. She recalled the mystery genre movies she used to see in the Canterlot theater when she was younger, where in some storylines, the detective goes into the visitor's room to search for clues and ask the prisoner to testify.

Visitor's room. She can get out from there. If ponies back then were able to enter the prison, then it could be possibly to escape from that same path. Ballad looked at her paper clip lock pick that she had been hanging on her ear all along; she had almost forgotten about it until now, and she was quite surprised to find it still there. She had expected the paper clips to drop in the midst of all that madness – being chased by prison guards, hiding from these guards, and meeting with a possibly insane pony. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Knowing this fact, Ballad returned to the building, where she saw what she least expected to see. Less than twenty yards away from her was the stallion she had encountered in the shower room, along with several guards.

Stuck in a split-second decision, Ballad took off to the left, again making several turns left and right in an attempt to confuse her chasers. How did the stallion track my trail? was Ballad's first thought. She didn't wait for an answer; Ballad tried to find anything she can throw to slow the ponies behind her down.

Almost miraculously, she arrived at the front gates, which was adjacent to the visitor's room. It was easy to determine, as the several glass panels and microphones, along with it's white walls, distinguished it from anything else in the prison. What amazed her more was that the gates were unlocked. Having little time to be happy that fate was now going her way, she slid the gates open, speeding up to a sprint as she came closer and closer to the outside world.

With little difficulty she was out of the building, and Ballad continued to a dark guard tower where she could hide and soon sneak out. Everything was coming according to her plan, and even she was amazed that it actually worked.

Approaching one of the lightless towers on the corner, she opened the tower's door, which was also unlocked – she wondered if the guards around her were even working properly.

The inside of the guard tower was dimly lit, with only a hanging light bulb offering its weak brightness. The stairs was built against the tower's walls, with only an iron handle connected to the stone slabs with narrow beams offering protection. Ballad rushed up these stairs, nearly tripping on one due to her excitement, and reached the top of the tower.

The tower itself was small and squared. The top of the tower was transparent, giving a panorama of the whole prison. At the center was a circular wooden table; a flashlight and a yellow folder was on it. Ballad neared the table, turning on the flashlight and pointing it at the folder. On it read with a stamped red mark, which only read one word: "confidential".

She suddenly felt cold, and shivered before opening up the folder. Inside it was a document, organized and typed. Several paragraphs highlighted with a black marker, making it impossible to read. Ballad could read some of the words that were visible, but were in incomplete sentences.

"The Central Correctional Facility is now officially abandoned by the county government and moved to a new facility...recent revolt of declassed prisoners has forced military forces to subdue the problem...possible that outside criminals have assisted the prisoners and guards into attempting escape or mutiny..." Ballad's joyful face turned into shock as she continued reading fragments of the document.

"And to answer your incoming question, all of that is true." Ballad stopped, hearing the telltale sound of the hammer of a firearm being cocked. Slowly looking up, she saw the stallion, holding a darkly colored pistol, and he was pointing it straight at Ballad's chest.

"Allow me to introduce myself, ma'am," the stallion proceeded, seeing that she was staring at his firearm. "Do not worry, Miss Ballad, for this is a tranquilizer gun. Non-lethal, really. Anyways, back to my introduction. I am Profonde, and if you do not mind, I shall reveal what is going on in this prison.

"What you see as a miracle is actually one of my mere puzzles I have given to you to aid your escape. In fact, every pony has been given something to help them get out of their cells. But you, Miss Ballad, have thrilled me. You were not only able to find the two paper clips I have left near your cell, but you have also tried to deceive my guards and me.

"Sadly, your clever tricks were not enough to stump me. Even the complex dust trail was predictable. You ran and made prints that were close together, and the real trail had prints that were further away from each other. But nonetheless, you are exceptional compared to other ponies that have attempted to escape this prison. For ponies of a higher class, most of them do not even try, and when they do, they do excessively stupid actions, which I find annoying.

"There was one that had attempted to escape before you. She was quite resourceful, and almost escaped. I eventually had to use my pistol to suppress her, and when I brought her back, she had tried to resist and squirm out of my hooves, I had to shoot her again. Also, I must comment, she has beautiful eyes. Even the sharp and observant eyes I have, not to be a braggart, are not as appealing as hers.

"And now, dear Ballad, you may surrender yourself to me with minimal harm, or I will shoot and take you by force," Profonde finished. Ballad took a short glance behind her. She was sweating and shuddering. Nearly twenty feet below her was the surface, and only a few trees stood not far from the prison's perimeter wall.

Ballad wasn't going to give in to the stallion. At least not now. She was slowly backing up, hesitating as she bumped into the wall. No, she thought. I'll rather take my chances with jumping than giving up. She closed her eyes.

And then she leaped.

Profonde raised an eyebrow, and for some minutes looked outside through the window into the darkness. Ballad was nowhere to be seen, and he eventually gave up on his search. He didn't really care if Ballad was alive or not; regardless of her fate, she was already disposed of.

He looked at the clock that hung on one of the tower’s stone walls. “One fifty-one,” he mumbled. “I’m late for my affairs.”