Fall of Equestria: Halcyon

Deputy-Marshal Sacker was a terrible sight to behold anywhere in Brink. The grey-striped forest cat wasn’t a fan of the heat, but he grit his teeth and dealt with it for the sake of his job. His reputation for being the one cop that did what he was supposed to made him notorious among the scum and a hero among the innocent. He stood around the scene of eight corpses on Brink’s north side. The body he noted the most was that of Aswad Jezoar’s - head sheared off, presumably by an unprofessional. The flesh had been cut unevenly and then torn apart where they pried the head off the spine. It was gut-wrenching to look at the loose collection of the dead, but he had seen the dead before. They were easy to find.

The cat certainly had the noir look going on, mixed with Brink’s general choice of reasonably functional fashion. Khakis, a white shirt, a long dark-brown duster. He didn’t wear his badge on necklaces like some of the idiots he knew - that, he rationalized, was a reliable way to get throttled to death. He liked to imagine they were wearing Fatal Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation on their necks instead of marshals’ badges. The one time he’d asked why the Hell they did that, they said the folks in movies did it and it looked cool, so why not? At that, they were answered with a sarcastic ‘Ohhhhhh’ form Sacker. He remembered that day fondly as the day he figured out his coworkers were not only lazy-asses, but bumbling fools at that.

Being the singular member of the police that cared, he was the only deputy who showed up. So when he got there and the locals saw him, they scattered, knowing he couldn’t feasibly chase them. After looking at all the bodies one last time, he finally he walked up to the door of the house, cop-knocking on the door. It was late-afternoon, somebody was bound to be up in there. “Marshals’ Service, open up!”

After a few moments, a slim girl opened up and looked up at him, dressed in panties and a shirt four sizes too large for her. Her ears flattened against her head and she cleared her throat nervously. “You here for Pe- Diablo?”

Sacker snorted but didn’t laugh or smile. “Diablo? Is that what he calls himself now?”

She nodded.

“Go get him.” He tracked her as she turned to jog into a hallway. She opened and closed a door behind her. There was some muffled frantic speaking, sounding like she was trying to wake him up. Sacker took the opportunity to step inside, the smell of weed hitting his nose. In the living room alone he saw bongs and pipes, and razorblades covered in white dust. Oh, that’s neat. he thinks to himself. He didn’t tell me about that one.

A male voice yelled from behind the bedroom door. “Fine! Jesus Harold Christ…” The orange tabby stepped into the hall in boxers, his belly hanging over the waistband. He looked up after rubbing his eyes and paused, putting something into careful consideration. With a forced smile he walked closer. “Hey, deputy… Something I can help you with?”

“Sure can, Perry.” The tabby flinched. “How did all those bodies end up on your lawn?” Sacker spoke articulately and powerfully. They both knew he was in control here.

“What-?”

“They’re still there, buddy.”

“Dammit,” he sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “I told those potheads to clean that shit up.”

Sacker actually smiled, his tail weaving back and forth under the duster. “Yep. That’s what happens when a bunch of stoners answer to a crack-addicted butter imp.”

“Hey, ouch?” Perry complained. He sighed again and thought for a moment, glancing away only to meet Sacker’s gaze again. “Look, if I give you names, will you give me another freebie?”

“How about you quit buying and selling cocaine and then give me names, and then I’ll give you a freebie.”

He flinched again. Sacker saw the coke, evidently. “Alright, alright… You got a pencil and paper?”

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She’d been curled up in the corner of the cell for almost an hour now, lost deep in thought. Tempest barely registered the two outside, talking about how great of a time they had to a few other guards. There were four total, including the two on the top of her shit-list. They’d taken turns, letting out some stress and then going a little longer to remind her that defying the caribou was a mistake. Then they went beyond that to punish her for putting their friend in the medical ward. She reasoned that’s probably what the motherfucker deserved, but that opinion wasn’t made known to them.

Somewhere in the fathoms of her conscious, plans were being made as questions were asked and then answered with logic and what she knew so far. Could she escape? Doubtfully, given the trouble she had with just two of them. Under normal circumstances, two adversaries shouldn’t have been an issue. It was nothing she hadn’t handled before. Unfortunately for her and many others like her, the caribou were skilled fighters. The way they spoke, they’d been through more nations than Equestria. Zebras, dogs, gryphons.

She wondered if they’d been through Abyssinia. The mare truly didn’t believe it. Not that she cared what happened anymore, but the place was still a giant fishbowl. There was nothing to conquer, it was just sand and violence. At the most they might steamroll it and kill everything within. Good goddamned riddance.

The earth mare supposed that the one good thing about being raped was what it did to her head afterwards. It was as if the experience had pushed deep inside the clutches of her mind, where she could shut herself inside her feelings and just think. There she could relax and prepare herself for what was to come, consider the future and how she would handle the worst possible scenarios, and most importantly relive memories of the past. Lamenting on the good times, she unconsciously put her hand around her neck, feeling a collar instead of a necklace. Besides not having any clothes, she felt truly naked without her necklace.

She looked up at the shorter of the guards, Rekke, as he called her name. “Night Tempest. Get up, you’re due to see Warden Setra.” She’d learned their names after listening to them speak for a while. The other one was called Agata. Internally she laughed, while being physically stone-faced, at the absurdity of those names. She hadn’t learned the others, but she assumed they were equally silly. They sounded ancient, the kind of names parents gave to their children who had never let go of traditional values. That made sense when it concerned a group of patriarchs.

Perhaps she would have thought they were fine, maybe even interesting, a few months ago. As for now, these two and the other name that kept getting thrown around - Dainn - represented a direct affront to her sexuality and everything she valued. So she used them as fodder to fuel the gallows humor that kept her from losing her shit. If anything else, she at least had herself to keep her company. The merciless God above knew she didn’t have anyone else to rely on, and the lack of cigarettes was killing her.

Following the guard’s orders, she stood, keeping her back against the wall. Hoofsteps came into earshot and the four guards fell into formation, saluting and then unlocking the door. A caribou about her size walked in through the door, wearing armor that seemed more ceremonial in nature. He had a folder in hand, and when they met eyes, he hummed thoughtfully. His coat was light in color and seemed to have slightly darker stripes. Tempest guessed this was Setra.

“When I was told you’re a dark mare, I didn’t think they meant black.” A fifth guard brought in a simple light-weight chair, setting it down before stepping out and having Rekke lock the door. “Take a seat.” For a split second she thought in the chair, but when he sat in it, she placed herself in the floor, with one leg looped under the other and her arm resting on her knee. He seemed bothered by her casualness, but didn’t comment on it. She remained silent. Setra opened the folder and studied it, speaking without looking at her. “Night Tempest. It doesn’t have a place of birth, or age, or much of anything listed apart from your appearance. You’ve been a black collar since… Yesterday? How did you manage that?”

“I’m not from here,” she answers simply.

“Where, then? Crystal Empire? The forest?”

She rolled her eyes. Setra didn’t seem to notice, but he looked up after she didn’t answer him for a few seconds. “Speak.”

“Woof.”

“You-” His temper clearly flared up for a moment, but he relaxed himself and spoke again. “You’ll have to cooperate if you want your stay here to be more comfortable.” That word was used loosely, but at this point he was hoping he could get her to talk without hitting her or raping her. The defiant ones were even less cooperative after that.

Sighing, she answered him. “Abyssinia. Ever heard of Brink?”

“Yes.”

“That’s where I’m from.”

Setra nodded, writing some things down. “Uh-huh. Have you ever been to Equestria before now?”

She shook her head. “No. Nobody could have paid to come here. Celestia’s perfect little echo-chamber sounded almost worse than Brink as far as I was concerned.” Tempest remembered who she was talking to and kept a mental note to give him only the information he wanted. Nothing else.

“Now that’s curious,” he says, writing something else down. “I take it you were never taught to say ‘nopony.’ I usually have to break mares of that habit.”

“Why the fuck would I say that? Is that a thing over here?”

“Yes.” Setra smiled. “What you said about Equestria being an echo-chamber was accurate. The natives were very racist.”

Night Tempest snorted. She almost smiled, but kept her face straight in the name of pride.

Setra asked several more questions, submitting as much information on her as he could. It took about an hour, setting up a profile for her. He’d gone so far as to ask if she had lived a hard life in Brink. After dealing with the snark, he’d learned precisely what he didn’t want to hear. She was an experienced fighter, which accounted for the successful incapacitation of one of their soldiers. Not only could she fight, but she could kill and still sleep peacefully, as if nothing had happened. That worried him somewhat.

It was easier with the mares native to Equestria. Some may have been hard workers, but virtually none of them were killers. Hell, there were almost as few that could put up a fight. The six heroes, clearly. The handful of female soldiers, some of the Wonderbolts. Even those were handled relatively painlessly with the assistance of their brothers-in-arms. This bitch wouldn’t be easy to sell.

Once he was done, he stood and walked over, kneeling over and getting in her face. Her stare didn’t waver. That didn’t help his impatience with her. “Night Tempest, I’m going to explain a few things. You’ve done this to yourself. You have no rights here and nobody is obligated to be polite to you. The men, and by extension the state owns your mind and your body. Do you understand?”

Was he being serious? Thinking back, she shouldn’t have been shocked. But having it told to her was really what gave her a better understanding and forced her to acknowledge the situation she was in. She thought ahead to her possible future - endless, mind-numbing rape. Being tormented day-by-day. Seeing others like her who were so much more helpless. She knew she might lose the strength to stay defiant. Her willpower, her pride, her dignity, all were bound to go down the drain. It was as if she were being told how and when she was going to die.

In the midst of coming to grips with her future, she felt a hand strike her cheek. “Hey! I asked you a question. Do you understand?”

Tempest scowled and hacked up a loogie, then spit it in his face. Slowly and as calmly as he could humanly manage, he wiped his face, then slammed his hoof into her stomach. “You little fucking whore. You’ll learn, Night Tempest. This isn’t Brink. You have no hope here. You are our property.” The mare was on her side, coughing and wincing, daring herself to say some impolite things to him. Instead she just nodded, scowling at him as he turned and waved at them. They unlocked the door and he stopped, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Fuck her until she passes out. Make sure there’s someone in this cell every hour. And use her ass this time.”