A buzzer echoed off of the tiled walls, and the door to the holding cell of cell block A at San Palomino Detention Facility slid open. Led by a bored-looking prison guard in a surgically-starched grey uniform, a line of a dozen newly-arrived prisoners exited the cell, their wrists cuffed behind their backs. Some bore looks of anger and bitterness at getting caught, while others looked calmer, as if they had made peace with their fate or decided that getting caught was worth whatever crime they had committed.
And then there was Meadow Song, who bore a look of wide-eyed fear and disbelief, his bright orange jumpsuit stained darker in places with sweat that had arisen both from the desert heat and from pure nerves. It was all he could do to keep himself from trembling with terror as he looked around him—at the armed guards, at the terrifying-looking other prisoners, some who looked like they had fifty pounds on him, easily.
The worst part was that Meadow didn't even belong at "San Pal," as it was known. He was innocent. He'd only ended up there because a so-called friend back in Ponyville, Cherry Fizzy, had asked him to go to Canterlot to pick up a package. Meadow, good friend that he was, had agreed. He'd discovered far too late that the package Cherry wanted him to get contained almost three kilos of poison joke powder. He had only realised that when he was smashed face-first against the hood of a police cruiser and facing a distribution charge. With no alibi and no money to pay for a good lawyer, Meadow could only watch helplessly as he was slapped with a ten-year sentence, with eligibility for parole in five.
Five years in here? Sweet Faust, he'd be eaten alive long before then! Meadow looked forlornly at his thin arms and legs, before looking to the broad back and bulging arms of the stallion in front of him as they were lined up at processing. The guy looked like he could snap him in two without even breaking a sweat...
The line moved along as each prisoner was given a number and a cell, before being escorted by a guard to their cells. Meadow listened to the names being read off ahead of him, not entirely aware of his surroundings. It was a strange sensation, as if he were floating above the line and watching the action down below. He was eventually snapped back to attention when his own turn came.
"Meadow Song," the guard said from behind the grill, examining the papers he had before him disinterestedly. "Prisoner number A-474046. You're in cell 13. One of the guards will take you there."
Meadow yelped as he was roughly dragged through another sliding door, out of the processing area and into cell block A proper. San Pal, he knew, was divided into four blocks; A and B held the stallions, while C and D held the mares. He was also very uncomfortably aware of the urges that could arise in a gender-segregated environment. He was probably imagining it, but he could swear he felt leers burning into his back as he was led past the other cells, each holding one or two menacing-looking stallions. He felt sick to his stomach, imagining all sorts of horrific scenarios involving showers and soap.
There were forty cells in total in cell block A. Four floors held ten cells each, all of them arranged in a circle around a central command tower which ensured that the guards could keep an eye on the prisoners at all times. Cell 13 was up one flight of stairs, which Meadow was forced to walk up carefully for fear that he would fall forward with his cuffed hands and faceplant into a railing. Outside cell 13, the guard uncuffed him and pushed him inside.
"Welcome home," he said mockingly as he slammed the barred door shut with a clang and stalked off. Meadow watched him go, before letting out a low moan of despair and slumping to the ground. This was it—the beginning of the end. He wondered if he'd even bother getting up, or if he'd just lay there on the floor and wait to starve to death...
"Hey, newbie," a gruff voice said from behind him. "I know it's rough, but it ain't gonna get any better by laying on the cold floor."
"Huh?" Meadow turned to look behind him... and practically felt his heart shoot out of his mouth. An absolute monster of a stallion was sitting on the bunk bed behind him, tall enough that he had to bend his head in order to fit under there, and with some of the most fearsome-looking muscles Meadow had ever seen, bulging obscenely beneath the off-white vest he wore and his mustard-yellow fur. He regarded Meadow with a look that was mercifully not hostile, but rather curious. Meadow tried to say something, but it was like his tongue had swollen up. He was just so intimidating...!
"Cat got your tongue?" the massive stallion asked, raising an eyebrow. Again, Meadow tried to speak, but couldn't form any words.
The stallion sighed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's try this. My name's Dusty Dunes. What about you? What's your name?"
"M... Meadow Song," Meadow managed at last, shakily getting to his feet. "I-I'm sorry, I just..."
"Just got here, huh?" Dusty asked. "What are you in for?"
"Nothing," Meadow said immediately. "I'm innocent."
Dusty chuckled. "Innocent? Sure. You and just about every other pony in here."
"But I am!" Meadow protested. "I got ten years for drug distribution, but it wasn't me! I was set up!"
"Mhm, I believe ya," Dusty said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Still, ten years? That's rough. I've been here for about that long myself. Ten down, five to go."
"Wh... what are you in for?" Meadow asked.
"Aggravated assault," Dusty replied. "To be fair, I wasn't the one who started it. Some punk tried picking a fight with me at a bar back in Los Pegasus. He came at me with a knife—I mean, I had to defend myself, right?" He waited for Meadow to nod. "So I got hold of a pool cue, and... well, long story short, he ended up in the hospital with his horn broken off and a whole load of broken bones, and I ended up here."
Meadow's eyes went wide as his face paled. Sweet Celestia, he was in with a monster...
"Hey, relax," Dusty said, no doubt sensing his fear. "I don't pick a fight with anypony unless they throw the first punch." He went silent for a bit, eyeing Meadow up. "Not a whole lot of flesh on you, is there?"
"No," Meadow admitted, staring at his feet. "I keep thinking about some of the other prisoners in here trying their luck with me..."
Dusty nodded. "Yeah. I'm not gonna lie; a stallion as scrawny as you will be easy pickings. You wanna get by in here, you need to build up that body of yours, ASAP. Fortunately, prison has a way of building you up. Spend enough time in the yard and you should be okay."
"But what about before then?" Meadow asked frantically. "What if somepony tries shaking me down today?"
"Ugh..." Dusty groaned with irritation. "Alright, if it'll shut you up..."
Dusty got to his feet, standing at his full height of six foot four, and walked up to the bars. He gave them a couple of sharp kicks, causing a clanging sound which made every head in the cells around them turn their way. Then, without warning, he grabbed hold of Meadow and kissed him on the lips.
"Mmmmph?!" Meadow protested, trying to push away, but Dusty kept a firm hold of him. After about ten seconds, they broke apart. The prisoners around them said nothing, but instead went back to their own business.
"What was that?!" Meadow spluttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He couldn't have blushed harder if he'd been standing on the edge of a volcano's crater.
"Marking you," Dusty explained. "You're my property now. Anypony tries starting something with you now, they'll have me to answer to. Now for Faust's sake, will you calm down?"
Meadow nodded. "S... sure."
Dusty folded his arms, cracking a small smile. "Now then... if you want, I can show you a thing or two about putting on muscle. Just stick by me and I'll show you the ropes in no time."
"Really?" Meadow said eagerly. "Y-yeah! Thanks, thanks so much!"
"Thank me later," Dusty said, raising a hand. "I'm guessing it's coming on lunch time."
Meadow made sure to stick by Dusty's side as they made their way into the tumult of the cafeteria. He wasn't sure how to feel about the notion of being Dusty's "property," but he certainly felt safer by his cellmate's side.
"There's no real hierarchy as such here," Dusty explained, gesturing to the sea of orange jumpsuits that crowded the room. "Every stallion pretty much looks out for himself. You do often see the minnows getting on good terms with the tougher inmates for protection, though."
He pointed to one group in particular, a group of four averagely-built stallions gathered around a zebra. The zebra in question was morbidly obese, his huge gut straining against the fabric of his jumpsuit, with powerful-looking arms. "Take Zazuke's crew over there, for instance. They give him a share of their food and their commissary, and he gives them his protection in return."
"I could use a body like that in here," Meadow noted, examining his own thin arms critically.
"Agreed," Dusty nodded as they joined the line. "Plenty of muscle and padding are a must. You seriously need to get some fat on your bones."
"How do I do that?" Meadow asked.
Dusty smiled. "I've got enough clout in here that I can coerce some guys into giving me some shares of their food. Just leave it to me. Once you have your food, go find a seat and I'll join you."
Meadow nodded as a load of unidentifiable brown slop was slapped onto his tray by a grim-looking mare who looked as if she was secretly harbouring a Y chromosome or two. He took his tray to an empty spot at the end of one of the long Formica tables. A couple of challenging looks were shot his way by the prisoners already sat there, but true to Dusty's word, they didn't give him any hassle. That didn't stop Meadow's stomach from turning somersaults, however, and he was quite relieved when Dusty rejoined him.
"Bon appetit!" Dusty said, setting a tray down... a tray which was piled high with at least three times the amount of brown slop that Meadow had been given.
"Whoa!" Meadow gasped. "That... that's all for me?"
"Well, I didn't bring it for you to look at, did I?" Dusty replied sarcastically as he set down his own tray. "Don't worry, it tastes better than it looks."
"That's not saying much," Meadow muttered, taking the plastic fork he had been given and shovelling a bit into his mouth. The slop turned out to be a sort of beef stew. True to Dusty's word, it was pretty good, in a bland, institutional sort of way. Biting into it also served to remind Meadow of just how hungry he was, and he soon found himself eating away quite happily.
Dusty watched him with a satisfied look. "Good stallion. Once we're done here, we'll head out to the yard. I'll show you a couple of things about building up muscle as well as fat."
"You think I can put on much fat with this food?" Meadow asked through a full mouth.
"Count on it," Dusty replied, making a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Look around you—you'll see plenty of bulky guys here."
Meadow took the opportunity to take a look around, and sure enough, there were quite a few prisoners with big, round bellies of their own. "And they all get the lion's share of the food, I take it?"
"Yep," Dusty said, smirking. "Kind of like you."
Meadow blushed as he cleared his tray. Faust, that stuff was filling. He could see why you'd bulk up quickly if you were on a permanent diet of it. Soon after he had finished, a buzzer sounded throughout the cafeteria.
"That's our cue," Dusty said, pulling Meadow to his feet. "Time to hit the weights."
Meadow squinted against the sun's glare as it reflected off of the tall barbed-wire fences surrounding the exercise yard, nestled in between blocks A and B. Even in the dry heat of the desert, the inmates were still gathered around pumping weights, shooting hoops with a busted basketball hoop, or just standing around talking to each other. Through one of the fences, Meadow could see the mares' exercise yard for blocks C and D. Even from where he stood, he could see that many of the mares were just as brawny as the stallions were. Guards stood perched on towers at the corners of the cell blocks, keeping a close eye on the prisoners—notices on the fences bore stark warnings that they were authorised to use lethal force on anypony who tried anything stupid.
"So," Dusty said, leading him to a rack of dumbbells, "let's get building up those arms of yours, shall we? We'll start off small with the twenty-five pounders. As time goes on, you'll be able to work your way up to heavier ones, like the others." He gestured to a couple of broad-chested stallions effortlessly bench-pressing massive weights.
Meadow eyed the dumbbells with some foreboding. Not only was he not a particularly strong stallion in the first place, but he was still feeling rather uncomfortably full from the bumper lunch he'd had at Dusty's behest. Still, he needed to bulk up, and it was best to do it sooner rather than later, right?
So Meadow took a seat on a battered-looking bench and took hold of one of the dumbbells, lifting it experimentally. It was pretty heavy, sure, but not obscenely so. Once he'd gotten used to the weight and gravity of the thing, he found he could lift it without too much fuss.
"Okay," Dusty said, placing a second dumbbell in Meadow's other hand. "Get lifting. Alternate between them—left arm, right arm, left arm. Once you get into a good rhythm, it's as natural as breathing."
"Got it," Meadow said, a bead of sweat breaking out on his forehead as he raised his left arm up. Okay, now right arm. He did the same thing again, and kept going. It started off slowly, but true to Dusty's word, he soon found himself getting faster with them.
"Hey, ch-check it out!" he said, grinning helplessly as he saw how easily he was managing it. "I'm actually getting the hang of this!"
"Yep, you catch on quick," Dusty said, cracking a genuine smile for what seemed like the first time. "A couple of weeks of this sort of workout and you'll be looking after me."
"Heh... I don't know about that," Meadow said, feeling his cheeks flush slightly at the compliment.
"'Ey, Dusty!" a new voice called. Meadow paused in his lifting and looked up to see the massive zebra from the cafeteria, Zazuke, looking at them with his strong arms folded across his great big belly. "You looking to take this runt under your wing, huh?"
"Just building him up, Zazuke," Dusty replied with narrowed eyes. "Don't really see what business it is of yours."
"Oh, no business," Zazuke said with a chuckle. "You just didn't seem like the caring mentor type, is all."
"Yeah, well, ya learn something new every day, don't you?" Dusty replied. "Now if we're done with this little social call, I'd appreciate it if you cleared off."
"Heh, you got it, boss," Zazuke smirked, turning and waddling off. Meadow didn't even realise that he'd been holding his breath until he let it out.
"Phew," he said. "I thought things were about to kick off, there."
"With Zazuke? Nah," Dusty said, shaking his head. "He's got a mouth as big as his belly, but he's not one to start a fight for no good reason."
"And what would a good reason be?" Meadow asked as he got back to weightlifting.
Dusty chuckled. "I dunno. Stealing from his stash of candy, probably."
Meadow laughed along with him. He really did feel safer with Dusty by his side. As long as he could count on his mentoring, maybe life in San Pal wouldn't be as bad as he thought it would be.
As the days and weeks passed, Meadow began to grow under Dusty's guidance. Spending the afternoon hitting the weights began to build up his arms, while bumper servings from Dusty at mealtimes began to round out his stomach and face. Soon, Meadow could no longer be accurately described as "scrawny." He moved from scrawny to thin, from thin to stocky, and then from stocky to bulky.
When Meadow entered the communal showers three weeks after his arrival, he was square in the middle of the "bulky" category, large enough that the smaller prisoners had begun to give him a wide berth. His arms were now impressively strong and muscular, the sort of arms you would find on a construction worker or a longeshorepony. Whenever Meadow flexed an arm, he couldn't help but grin wildly at the sight of veins and tendons—his veins and tendons—surging to the surface beneath his fur and skin. Down below, his legs had also become quite meaty and corded, the result of a strict regimen of leg pressing as well as bench-pressing. Dominating his middle, rather than a toned six-pack, was a round, soft keg of a belly, hanging down slightly over his crotch and jiggling ever so slightly with every step he took. Beneath the pillow-like layer of fat and a pair of flabby-looking moobs, however, was a layer of thick, strong muscle. Meadow had been given a sumo wrestler's build, with both strength and size.
It had done wonders for his confidence, too. Before, Meadow would have tried his best to make himself invisible when he went into the showers, staring at the floor and not daring to even glance at any of his fellow prisoners. Now, he strode in with aplomb, greeting familiar faces as he stepped beneath the running water.
"Looking good, Meadow," Dusty said, patting him on the back as he joined him, his own sculpted pecs and six-pack glistening from the water. "Looking good."
Meadow smiled as he looked down at himself. "Heh... I am, aren't I? It sure makes a change from being the skinniest guy in here."
"That's for sure," Dusty agreed, lathering himself up with soap. "It's nice to see you not being such a shrinking violet who's afraid of his own shadow, too."
"No argument there," Meadow said, flexing an arm. "All thanks to you. Man, this feels so good..."
"Oh yeah?" Dusty smirked.
"Yeah!" Meadow said eagerly. "I feel so big, so strong! So... so powerful! Weird as it is to say... I actually feel like a prisoner now."
"Look like one, too," Dusty said.
"Wait... does this mean I have to get a haircut and a tattoo?" Meadow asked jokingly.
Dusty laughed and shook his head. "Thankfully not."
"Hey, move it!" a gruff voice said, as Meadow felt himself being pushed out of the way, his head knocking painfully against the tiled wall. He looked around to see a smug-looking teal-coloured stallion with a towel around his waist, not even looking back at him as he swaggered past.
There had been a time when Meadow would have simply kept his head down, let the offender go on his way, and thanked his lucky stars that he'd escaped with his teeth intact. But that was then. This... this was now.
"Hey!" Meadow yelled angrily. "Hey!"
The stallion turned around. "You talking to..."
The colour drained from his face as he saw the size of Meadow—he had fifty pounds on him, easily. Meadow slowly and menacingly advanced on him, backing him against the wall.
"I..." the stallion stammered. "I, uh..."
"You what?" Meadow growled. "You thought you'd just push me and knock my head against the wall for no reason? Is that it?"
"N-no!" the stallion squeaked, covering his head with his hands. "I-it was an accident! I'm sorry, sir, i-it won't happen again!"
"See that it doesn't," Meadow said darkly, before bunching a fist. "Now scram!"
The stallion couldn't scramble out of there fast enough. Meadow watched him go, before turning back to Dusty... who, he noticed, was giving him the same look of pride that a wise master in a martial arts movie gives his young student when he wins the local karate championship.
"Meadow," he said, "I think you're gonna do just fine in here."
"Thanks," Meadow grinned, cracking his knuckles as he stepped back into the spray. "All thanks to..."
"No," Dusty said, raising a hand. "That one was all yours, Meadow."
"Really?" Meadow blushed. "Well... thanks, anyway."
"Any time," Dusty smiled, patting him on the back once more.
Six months later...
"Let's go, then!" an inmate shouted angrily, pushing another inmate to the dirt floor of the exercise yard. Gathered around the pair, half a dozen others cheered them on, baying for blood. Nothing got their pulses racing quite like a good fight, and this one was shaping up to be...
"Hey."
The heads of the stallions turned around, each of them bearing an "oh, crap"-type expression when they saw none other than a shirtless Meadow Song—the Meadow Song—staring them down. His 400-pound mass practically blotted out the sun from their perspective, his enormous bare gut offset only by his utterly beastly-looking arms. They'd seen him lift a stallion into the air by the neck with those arms without even breaking a sweat. And he'd proven that he was more than willing to do that to anypony who tried to mess with him.
"You're blocking my path," he said simply. Immediately, the inmates backed off, some bowing respectfully as they allowed him to pass. With every step, the earth seemed to tremble slightly beneath his feet.
As he left them behind, he allowed himself a small smile. It had taken a while, but he'd built himself into a force to be reckoned with. Nopony here dared mess with him now unless they were stupid or suicidal. It was just a shame that Dusty had been paroled a month earlier—he was sure he'd have loved to share in his spoils.
Then again, he had promised to come and visit him. Meadow grinned. Man, would he have some stories to tell him then...
END