Fallout: Equestria - Broken Luck

Fallout: Equestria - Broken Luck

Prologue: Evil Begets Evil

You never know just how terrible it is to be a slave unless you've been one. The bites of whips, the ache in your back from carrying too much for too long, and the harsh words and looks all seem designed to break your spirit and make you feel like dirt. And that's just for the lucky slaves, the ones forced into manual labor. The Sisters forbid you end up with the short straw and are made a conscript, or worse...a breeder. My mother wasn't one of the lucky ones...though I suppose I should be thankful somewhat that she wasn't, otherwise I'd not be here.

From what I've been told, my birth was messy, angry, and dangerous. I was a big foal, and my mother wasn't quite the heartiest of ponies. But she survived, thankfully. I don't know where I'd be without her. From the moment I could walk on my own, however, I was forced into labor. I carried and carted and built and dug. It was never-ending. Each night I was allowed to sleep, I didn't even notice that my bed was nothing more than a sad, thin cloth to keep the dirt off. At the time, it felt like the most luxurious feather bed, a heaven-sent gift. I would fall into it and immediately be dead to the world. Thankfully, the Legion allowed my mother to keep me during my childhood...otherwise I'd have been broken just like the rest. She taught me about how to think for myself, how to watch for opportunities, and to put on a tough face when I felt like crying.

My opportunity came in the form of one of the more...perverted legionnaires trying to have his way with me as a young filly. All that manual labor built me up, and the fact that my mother, Sweet Poison, was sneaking me extra food. Sometimes I wonder how she survived by giving me most of her food. I digress, though...back to the soldier. He was stupid enough to take his armor off and try to get cozy with me.

"Bend over, child, and do your duty. Follow in your mother's hoofsteps." his harsh and arrogant voice still rings in my mind. His hooves positioned me and ripped the thin cloth that passed for a cloak on me, off. But that was his mistake, letting his guard down and assuming a child wouldn't fight back. I bit his leg, and when he made to force me to the ground, I socked him right in the balls.

"Eat shit fuck-face!" my admittedly too-young voice retorted. He did kick the shit out of me afterwards...but he never tried anything with me again. Well, it just so happened that one of the Praetorian Guard saw this exchange, and instead of executing me, he saw an opportunity. I became a conscript slave at his order, handed down by the Caesar himself. My training as a bodyguard began then. It was even worse than the manual labor.

My day started before daybreak. I would be whipped awake, forced into a heavy wood and steel yoke, and forced to pull around heavy stones until the sun was high in the sky. If I stopped, I was whipped mercilessly until I started again or passed out. At first, I did pass out, a lot. Every time, I'd be awoken again by the cracking of whips, forced out of my bed. But each time, I went longer and longer, until I was able to make it to noon. My hide would be sore from all the whipping and beatings...but it toughened me up.

After the stone-pulling exercises, I was allowed a small meal of raw radroach and dirty water. It sounds absolutely disgusting, and it is. But when you are exhausted and hungry, it's like a five-star meal from Las Pegas. But I was only allowed two minutes to eat each time. If I lingered, it was the whips again, and I would get whatever was left taken away. After my meal, it was training time. I would be forced into combat training against vastly more skilled opponents, usually veteran stallions who had a bone to pick with females. That part sucked, not just because I got my flank handed to me every five minutes, but because it was frustrating to not be making any progress against them. But I learned later it wasn't about winning. It was about taking a beating. And boy, did I take them. Once again, if at any point I stopped, slowed down, or back-talked, it was the whips again. After a certain point, you stop feeling it, I suppose.

I would be forced to train like that for the rest of the day, until the sun was on the horizon. Then I'd be allowed another small meal...most of the time it was stale bread or partly rotted vegetables. Occasionally, I'd get the spoiled meat scraps...those were the best meals, I always felt much better eating those the next day...though I suffered from pretty bad stomach cramps and tossing my cookies for a little while. I got a stronger stomach from it though. Anyway, after my evening meal, I'd be put into a pit with other foals who were being trained, just like me, and we were told that the last one still up would be allowed to get out for the next day. I hated that pit.

It was a hole of filth. Shit and piss and death was the prominent smell. Half-rotted bodies of foals who were lucky enough to escape by the sweet embrace of death stayed in there. Any of us that were caught eating them were immediately executed. Not that any of us -wanted- to...though I did see one little filly in particular get her head lopped off when she couldn't resist anymore. She was weak...she wouldn't have lasted anyway. But it was an arena, on a small scale, for the legionnaires to have their sick sport, watching us fight each other. We beat each other senseless, night after night, never realizing that they eventually let everypony out after a 'winner' was made. The 'winner' was just the first one to get hauled out and maybe given some medical treatment. I won a lot. I don't know why...maybe it was my natural strength, maybe I just had a stronger will. Maybe it was because I wasn't mindlessly brainwashed.

But after getting hauled out of the pit, I was made to serve food to the soldiers, then allowed to sleep. I slept for maybe three to four hours each night, before I was forced awake again, starting the cycle over again. It was a brutal way to live, and I'm actually pretty surprised I didn't turn to raiderism faster.

It was like that, day after day. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and months turned to years. As I grew and trained, so did my skill. I was the top of my 'class'. I was even starting to scare the veterans with just how brutal I fought. There was one time, I fought one of the more esteemed soldiers, and I broke his leg in half. The bone was sticking out and everything, and he was crying and whining like some little pathetic foal. When the taskmaster came to whip the tar out of me, I had enough by that point. I snatched his whip out of his jaw, and I wiped his arrogant grin off his face by cramming it back in, all coiled up. I never did find out if he choked to death on it or not.

All I remember from that day is that I immediately went to the chow hall, got food, and went to bed to sleep for more than I ever had in my lifetime at that point. I never got messed with after that. Training didn't happen anymore, because the scrubs of the army were too afraid of me, and the older veterans were too proud to fight 'a mere filly with a mean streak'. It was alright though, because after that day, I was put into the advanced training. I learned how to fight with the traditional weapons, of course. Gladius, spear, nets...just about every weapon you could bludgeon or stab a pony to death with, I learned how to use.

Because of my 'status' and my achievements in training, I was granted a little more freedom and a mostly private room to sleep in. I think it might have had something to do with my mother too, but I can never be too sure. I hadn't seen her for years after that, except for the occasional glimpse of her when I was moving around the camps. I say mostly private, however, because I had a bunk mate, both to serve me, and to keep an eye on me to make sure I wasn't trying anything fishy. Her name was Glimmerhoof, and she was one of the breeding mares when she wasn't with me. She wasn't any older than I was either.

Now Glimmerhoof...she was one of the more beautiful creatures I've ever laid eyes on. She was a crystal pony, decendant of the ponies who lived in the Crystal Empire. Her coat was a beautiful shade of shimmering yellow, even in the lowest of light, and her eyes were a rich, deep green color. Even though she got the crappiest draw on the slave bit, she never seemed to have anything but kind words and a gentle hoof with me. I'll admit, that's when I found out I was into mares just as much as stallions. She grew fond of me, mostly out of necessity, because when I was around her, nopony would dare try to force her. I made it quite clear with the first one that did try that they would be missing vital equipment between their legs afterwards. I guess it was sort of a Stockholm's Syndrome in it's own right. But you know, it was nice to have somepony say kind things and massage me after the rough days, and it helped that she was so pretty.

Along with Glimmerhoof, I had my adopted sister, Avari, to keep my spirits from breaking. She was always very nice to me, despite the fact that I wasn't a zebra. She was cursed with a name that meant bad things...but I never saw it that way. She was one of the ones who taught me some of the moves I know today. Between the three of us, though, I was able to survive. But it took it's toll on me. I because just like the soldiers...arrogant, cruel, and ruthless.

That all changed when I was awoken by Glimmerhoof on a hot summer evening, when both of us were teenagers.

"Tough, wake up! There's somepony here that wants to buy two slaves, and we've been chosen to stand in the line-up!" her soft voice roused me.

"Mnhm...go 'way."

"No! Come on you lazy ass, get up before they skip over us! This is our chance hon! We gotta get out of here. I can't stand being shoved into the dirt and raped every day."

"Fine...fine. I'm up. Mhm...ugh. Sharp Stick did a number on me with his training sword...so sore.."

She didn't waste any time in prodding me out to the lineup, despite my protests and not having had time to look presentable. But I was never really one for looks. I like being pretty and seeing pretty dresses, but that was something that was absent in the camp...so I had to make do with what I could find. I learned a pretty neat trick on how to keep my mane in a tail, so it looked less messy.

The lineup was typical...about twenty slaves were lined up and the prospective buyer was strutted in front of us. We weren't allowed to move, look, or even make a noise while being inspected. If you did, you were executed on the spot for dishonoring the Legion. The buyer, however, was rather old. He was suave, but old. After he paced the line a few times, he stepped back. I could see it in his eyes, too. He was going to get Glimmerhoof. My first thought was to snap her neck. It would have been a quick, painless death...I could handle being crucified to save her a life of misery. But her name wasn't called first.

Mine was.