The Factory Dasher

CHAPTER 1

Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the sudden

movement and shuffled backward on his hooves, drops of sweat beading on his forehead despite

the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking

to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the

darkness.

With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft.

Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the

room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and forth as

it ascended, turning the colt’s stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded his senses, making

himfeel worse. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he could only sit there, alone, waiting.

My name is Orion, he thought.

That … that was the only thing he could remember about his life.

He didn’t understand how this could be possible. His mind functioned without flaw, trying to calculate

his surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded his thoughts, facts and images, memories and

details of Equestria and how it works.

And yet he didn’t know where he came from, or how he’d gotten inside the dark lift, or who his parents

were. He didn’t even know his last name. Images of ponies flashed across his mind, but there was no

recognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. He couldn’t think of one pony he knew,

or recall a single conversation.

The room continued its ascent, swaying; Orion grew immune to the ceaseless rattling of the chains

that pulled him upward. A long time passed. Minutes stretched into hours, although it was impossible to

know for sure because every second seemed an eternity. No. He was smarter than that. Trusting his

instincts, he knew he’d been moving for roughly half an hour.

Strangely enough, he felt his fear whisked away like a swarm of gnats caught in the wind, replaced by

an intense curiosity. He wanted to know where he was and what was happening.

With a groan and then a clonk, the rising room halted; the sudden change jolted Orion from his

huddled position and threw him across the hard floor. He felt the room sway less and less until it finally stilled. Everything fell silent.

A minute passed. Two. He looked in every direction but saw only darkness; he felt along the walls again, searching for a way out. But there was nothing, only the cool metal. He groaned in frustration; his echo amplified through the air, like the haunted moan of death. It faded, and silence returned. He screamed, called for help, pounded on the walls with his hooves.

Nothing.

Orion backed into the corner once again, folded his arms and shivered, and the fear returned. He felt

a worrying shudder in his chest, as if his heart wanted to escape, to flee his body.

“Someone … help … me!” he screamed; each word ripped his throat raw. A loud clank rang out above him and he sucked in a startled breath as he looked up. A straight line of light appeared across the ceiling of the room, and Orion watched as it expanded. A heavy grating sound

revealed double sliding doors being forced open. After so long in darkness, the light stabbed his eyes; he looked away, covering his face with both hooves.

He heard noises above—voices—and fear squeezed his chest.

“Look at that shank.”

“How old is he?”

“Looks like a klunk.”

“You’re the klunk, shuck-face.”

“Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie.”

“Ain’t no ticket back, bro.”

Orion was hit with a wave of confusion, blistered with panic. The voices were odd, tinged with

echo; some of the words were completely foreign—others felt familiar. He willed his eyes to adjust as he

squinted toward the light and those speaking. At first he could see only shifting shadows, but they soon

turned into the shapes of bodies—ponies bending over the hole in the ceiling, looking down at him,

pointing.

And then, as if the lens of a camera had sharpened its focus, the faces cleared. They were stallions, all of

them—some young, some older. Orion didn’t know what he’d expected, but seeing those faces puzzled

him. They were just teenagers. Some of his fear melted away, but not enough to calm his racing

heart.

Someone lowered a rope from above, the end of it tied into a big loop. Orion hesitated, then stepped

into it with his right hoof and clutched the rope as he was yanked toward the sky. Hooves reached down,

lots of hooves, pulling him up. The world seemed to spin, a swirling mist of faces and color and light. A storm of emotions wrenched his gut, twisted and pulled; he wanted to scream, cry, throw up. The chorus of voices had grown silent, but someone spoke as they yanked him over the sharp edge of the dark box. And Orion knew he’d never forget the words.

“Nice to meet ya, shank,” the boy said. “Welcome to the Glade."