I suppose an introduction is in order. My name is Red Tree. My parents are Banana and Pineapple Tree. My sisters are Yew, Elm, and Pine. We’re all Earth ponies. I have a black coat, and a green mane and tail, with yellow highlights. I’m still not sure why my name is Red, and my parents haven’t said much about it other than ‘it felt right.’

I got my cutie mark a few years ago. Still have no idea what it is, looks a bit like a Hearthswarming tree made out of lines, triangles, and squares. Don’t really seem to have any special talents, other than organizing stuff.

As long as I can remember, I’ve helped out on the farm, mostly by repairing the machinery, keeping the books for us and a few neighbors, clearing the radioactive dust away from the seedlings, and, occasionally, guarding. I’m a pretty decent shot, with enough prep time, but I suck at guessing ranges and I get tired quickly, the curse of an Earth pony without a battle saddle. My sisters have gotten tree related cutie marks, all except Pine, and have thrown themselves entirely into that side of the family business.

We live… well, I used to live in a farm a few miles from the ocean in Mane. It was an orchard, with one of the largest distilleries in the region. We used to trade the moonshine to the local mob, who kept the peace and helped out in the hard years. Otherwise, we sold fruit, wood, and whatever else mom whipped up in the still.

What else… My daily schedule was wake up at 0500, be in the fields by 0530, chores should be done by 0800, food until 0830, work on longer term projects until lunch, head to whoever needed something repaired or had an odd job, home by 2100, sleep. Pretty much everyday for a decade and a half.

I’m not bitter about it, but I’ve always wanted to see the wider world. There just was always something else to do, so it never really felt like the right time. Suppose that’s sort of fixed now.

“Hey, what’s your name?” The still bleeding raider asked, head easily reaching over the side of the wagon. Up close, I could see that his helmet’s horn wasn’t just for show.

“Red Tree, sir.” I said scrambling out of my semi-relaxed position.

“Right…” He paused, looking mildly confused, then shook his head and looked expectant. Waiting for something. “Do you want to know mine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Caravan, my name’s Caravan.” He paused, waiting again. “Don’t talk much, do you?”

“Sorry, sir.”

“That’s not an accusation or anything. Just wondering.”

“Just trying to keep my tongue, to be honest, sir.”

“Keep your tongue? What do- Oh. No. We don’t do that. You’re not a slave or anything.”

I raised the fetters.

“Oh, we don’t trust you not to run away. Yet, at least. But there’s a big difference between some hoofcuffs and slavery.”

“So, I’m free to talk, sir?”

“Well, within reason, within reason. If you scream, we might crush you out of irritation. And you don’t need to use the ‘sir’. I’m not that high ranking.”

“Ok, then. Thank you.” I thought for a few moments, trying to figure out what else to ask. “Where are we going?”

“HQ.” I could hear the capitalization in his voice. I waited for a few seconds, expecting more details.

“Is there anything else you can say about that?”

“Not really. Doesn’t matter to you right now, to be honest.” Caravan walked away from the wagon, and started talking to the other raiders. Though I was becoming increasingly convinced that raiders was the incorrect term. These ponies, well, Caravan at least, were too rational for the stories that I had heard, and far too well equipped. Obviously plenty of food and that armor had to be custom made. Not exactly hard to fabricate with the right materials, but unfinished plate steel was pretty uncommon in Mane after 50 years. If they’re spending most of a day walking around, they must have cleared this area pretty well, which implies lots of forces.

Or I’m overthinking this and they’re just really stupid. Still, Caravan’s confidence sort of argued against that theory, and the others hadn’t tried to skin me alive or worse, so that differed from the horror stories filtering in from Manehattan.

“Hey Caravan,” the pony pulling the wagon called out. “I’m staring to feel it bad. Can we stop for the night?” I looked around, there were at least a few hours until sunset, and it would be light enough for most of an hour after that.

Caravan looked around, and saw the other raiders nodding. He shrugged, and said “We won’t reach HQ by sundown anyway. Might as well find somewhere safe to bed down.”

We were on a trail in an irradiated forest; petrified burnt out trees. Not great for hiding, especially with the wagon. I guess it makes sense to plan for setting up camp taking a while in that case.

Caravan turned off into the underbrush the moment there was enough space for the wagon to squeeze through, and the wagon followed, leaving obvious ruts in the otherwise undisturbed dust. We headed around a hill, leaving an obvious trail, and stopped the moment we were hidden from the road.

I suppose they’ll leave somepony on watch, so it’s not as important. Oh, nope. All the raiders started removing their armor, and throwing it in a pile. The three lower ranking ones were obviously panting and distracted, barely in control, driven wild by anticipation. Caravan looked slightly better, but was enjoying the sight far too much. He floated out three flasks of glowing pink liquid, and an equal number of syringes, as well as a single milky potion. He rapidly filled the syringes and injected the other raiders with them, chugging the milky potion himself.

They waited eagerly for the potions to take effect, collapsing to the ground as it did. Then all hell broke loose.

With a scream, the raiders started attacking each other, fighting to get into a dominant position. I gaped in confusion, and decided to spend the night hiding underneath the wagon.

I carefully climbed off the wagon, crawled underneath, and undid the blanket. I decided not to attract any attention by opening one of the snack-cakes, instead just drinking out of my canteen. The sound of crunching bone and cartilage put me off my dinner anyway.

Goddesses, what the hell have I gotten into? I wondered as I curled up. I don’t think I fell asleep, but the fighting died down after a couple hours, replaced by uncomfortably organic squelching noises. Eventually I dozed off and lost track of time, and the raiders passed out.

***

“Guess Red ran off. Pity, sort of liked the guy.”

“I don’t think that I killed anything last night...”

“Me either, and I think I would have remembered somepony running away.”

“Maybe he’s hiding nearby?”

I blearily rolled over, blinking in the predawn gloom. Why is anyone awake now? I wondered, standing up.

“What was that?”

“Sounded like somepony hit a plank with a club.”

Ow ow ow ow… I thought, clutching my head. Why was the ceiling so low? Oh, right.

“I’m under here,” I said, poking my head out from under the wagon. Caravan looked relieved. The other raiders didn’t seem to care.

Gathering up my blanket, and retying it into a bundle, I stood up, trying to keep my balance on the squishy ground. I don’t remember it raining last night. I thought looking around for the first time. There wasn’t much light, we were far enough from the shore that the cloud cover was pretty much complete, though the new moon wouldn’t have provided much light anyway. Still, the raiders had gotten a campfire going, and it was bright enough that I could even make out colors in the clearing.

That is a lot of blood. I started gagging at the sight. The clearing was coated in a layer of the stuff, with chunks of gore for extra texture. Other bodily fluids could be seen here and there, and the raiders were just as bad. Forget what I thought earlier, these are raiders. Nothing sane could have done this.

Caravan waved, his coat matted with gore, flinging congealed blood. I refocused, and saw that they had made a campfire, with a pot of… something cooking above it.

“Glad to see you made it! Come over here, we have porridge.”

Something felt off about Caravan. Aside from the thick layer of blood.

“Your eye… it looks...”

“Normal? Yep, mild healing factor. Not much sticks overnight.”

“So you have a… blood orgy… and heal from any injuries?”

“Pretty much. Plus full muscle recovery. Part of the reason for the hand to hand combat. Exhaust everything, eat a huge amount, come back stronger and more muscular the next day, ready for more.”

“So… you left me, with no healing factor, still wearing hoofcuffs, in the middle of 4 ponies trying to fight until exhaustion? How many prisoners live through a night?”

“Well, normally they join in after a while. Oh, I was supposed to give… right. Never mind. Do you want some porridge?” He scooped a bowl and shoved it in my face. “You should eat this porridge.”

“I’m fine. I brought my own food.”

Caravan sighed and said, “Look, I get that I was all buddy buddy yesterday, but when I tell you you should do something, it means you’re going to do it or I’m going to break your legs and make you do it anyway. So, let’s pretend the last 10 seconds didn’t happen. You should eat this porridge.” He finished in a singsong voice.

I sniffed it carefully, and didn’t smell anything that abnormal. Maybe a little sweeter than normal, so I hesitantly took a taste. Pretty decent, and I started eating.

Caravan beamed, and continued on his own food. The other raiders were devouring theirs as if they were starving, which, considering the amount of blood loss last night, might not have been inaccurate.

By dawn, everypony had finished their meal, and I felt uncomfortably full. And weirdly energized. Falling asleep extremely late, and waking up before dawn would have had me barely able to roll out of the blanket, but now I felt better than normal.

A little worried, I made to get into the wagon, when Caravan asked “I think you should walk.”

I turned and shook the fetters, causing Caravan to sniff. “Considering how loose those are, I’m sure you know how to get out.”

Shrugging, I fished the multitool out of my bag. I’d replaced the awl with a very thin straight piece of spring steel, which I inserted into the teeth of the hoofcuffs. Keeping the shim in place with my teeth, I used my other hoof to press down on the hinged portion of the cuff, pushing it tighter and driving the shim between the ratcheting teeth. I let up on the pressure and that half of cuffs fell open, quickly followed by the other.

Caravan grinned, “I knew you were a smart one. How’d you learn that trick?”

“Didn’t have much to do during winters, and I bought a book on escapology from a passing merchant. Couple years on and I got pretty good at knots and simple locks. Still never got a handle on actual pin and tumbler locks though. Can’t figure out how to hold the picks and torsion wrench at the same time, and bobby pins and a screwdriver don’t make for a good substitute.”

“You learned all that from one book?”

“It was a good book.” I shrugged.

“So, you’re a pretty decent shot and you know about locks. Any other skills?”

“I wouldn’t really say that I know about locks. Stuff like that just sticks in my head.”

“So, good with mechanical stuff? Repairing crap?”

“I guess.”

“What’s your cutie mark? I can’t figure it out.”

I looked at the ground for a few moments, trying to figure out what to say, while Caravan took the opportunity to get the wagon moving back on the trail.

“So, about my cutie mark… I’m honestly not sure.”

“Really? How does that happen? Shouldn’t you know what caused it?”

“Kind of?” I offered hopefully, then sighed.

Glancing up, I noticed Caravan looking towards the skies, muttering to himself. “-work in either. Might as well push him through the-”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, nothing.” He looked around suddenly, “I think we’re in feral territory. Keep an eye out. And don’t talk.”

About 25 kilometers, and most of the morning, later, the blighted forests and concrete wastelands were interrupted by a large round building in the middle of nearly a kilometer of flat asphalt.

“You’re living in the Lobsters’ Pot?” I asked, in surprise. Before the war, it had been a failed idea to bring a hoofball team to Mane. Afterwards, the decorative, and now mutant, lobsters had colonized the stadium. Not exactly aggressive outside their territory, they still cut into the major trading route south towards Manhattan. If these raiders had taken it over, that was fairly worrying.

Caravan glared, and kicked. It made solid contact, and I heard a few things crack, and I fell on my side, screaming in pain. A few seconds later, the shock had faded enough to breathe again. Right… don’t talk.

The other raiders surrounded me, practically salivating at the chance to beat somepony up.

“Get the fuck up, maggot.” One of them said, drooling and cross eyed. I blinked, the guy was so gormed out of his brain on… whatever the stuff in the food was… that I was mildly impressed that he could even speak, let alone say something relevant to the situation. I struggled to my feet, and started walking, wincing as white spikes of pain shot up and down my ribs.

“Hurry up.” One of the raiders demanded, shoving me forward. I barely caught myself, and started running.

A few hundred meters later, we reached a fortified gate, and stopped. I stood there, panting, trying to ignore my injuries, while Caravan chatted with the guards, as they lifted the stacked crates, looking for presumably stowaways or bombs or something. The other raiders walked through the gate, while Caravan unhooked himself from the wagon.

“Come on.” Caravan ordered, walking back outside and staring at me. I nodded, and cantered through the gate. “Follow me.” He demanded, walking down a nearby ramp. It was fairly clean, no garbage, no body parts, just lots of crates, sacks, barrels and the small clusters of massive ponies in bloody raider armor. The inside of the stadium was pretty empty, though that was pretty expected considering that it had been built for 50,000 ponies. Ok, looks like 5 ponies in this section. This is section 164. next is 101. 4 floors. So, 1200? Maybe? That seemed a little high, but assuming that they took a dangerous well defended location because they needed the space, then there was an organized raider band the size of a town.

I shook my head, and hurried down the ramp. In the basement, it was much more uncluttered, though there were still piles of stuff, just organized properly. From the plastic wrap and consistent labels, looked like they were prewar. Cans of food, emergency medical equipment, blankets. A public bomb shelter?

A couple normal sized unicorns with pens and paper sat at a table, quietly talking to Caravan. I slowly approached, they barely spared me a glance.

“Alright, you’re sure about the full program? Sounds like he would be useful in administration.” The right secretary said, cleaning a pair of cracked glasses.

“We’re going to need outpost leaders, and that means soldiers who can read and write. He’s a good enough shot that I’d want him as a marksman anyway.”

“OK, we’ll put him through the leadership program.” The left secretary said, ringing a bell. A few moments later, yet another massive pony came through the door. It might have been slightly larger than Caravan, but at some point, even bigger doesn’t really mean much more terror. She pointed, and I walked in that direction without complaint.

A few minutes later, I arrived at a medical room, the giant thundering down the hallway a few meters behind, with a couple zebras and unicorns in lab coats working on terminals and with large glassware setups.

“Shooter.” The giant rumbled, causing two of the zebras to perk up and walk over. Twins, I thought, brother and sister.
“Thank you, large one, please bring him to the table.” The sister said, bowing to the giant.

“We ought to make absolutely sure that he is stable.” The brother replied, getting uncomfortably close and examining my face.

I walked over to the indicated table, rigged with leather hoofcuffs and stained with what appeared to be some reddish brownish liquid. Probably not blood, I thought optimistically, attempting to bury an increasingly terrified portion of my brain. Instead, I decided to concentrate on the table itself, minus the stains. I was mildly intrigued by the resizing system, ropes tied with a sliding knot allowed ponies on the outside to adjust it without needing to untie the person in question. Somewhat insecure, but probably safe enough if the target was properly observed.

And the leather cuffs were rather comfortable. Very well worn. And the table was still warm. Felt nice against my flank.
It wasn’t working, I was starting to feel rather nauseated. The two zebras started cutting off my overalls and were arguing to themselves. My gear was piled nearby, one of the unicorns was carelessly going through it and throwing it into a box. After going through my blanket, he grabbed one of my snack-cakes and took it back to his desk with him, munching it idly.

“Good muscular structure, no major injuries, how is his head?” The brother said.

“Timid, weak, fearful, and would probably rather be dead.” I was starting to get rather annoyed with the rhyming.

“I’m not so sure. I don’t like what I see in his eye.”

“What does it matter? The worst he can do is cry.”

“I see defiance and wit. Are they sure that he should keep his mind?”

“The last time we asked, they responded with that question in kind.”

The two shuttered, then the sister opened a medical box and pulled out a set of syringes. She carefully removed an angry red potion from the set, while the brother started wiping down my neck with what smelled like disinfectant.

“You don’t know lucky you are.” The sister said around the syringe clamped in her mouth.

“Zebra brews will help you go far.” The brother said, picking up a different one.

“That wasn’t a useful addendum.”

“Fuck off. I’m going to grab some gum.” The sister jabbed me with her syringe. I could feel the chilled fluid traveling into my blood. Moments later, I started to feel faint.

“Well, screw you, I want an orange.” My eyes fell closed against my will.

“Oh, come on. You are such -”

***

Eventually, I woke up from a nightmare where nothing was right, to a world where everything was wrong. I was hiding underneath my bed, cowering as my skin constricted and choked me, as my limbs prevented me from moving, as my mind couldn’t cope and went absolutely mad. I frantically tried to get rid of all of it with my multitool but it wouldn’t, couldn’t, cut deep enough. I tried vomiting, but couldn’t as my jaw unhinged and I stuck my entire leg down my throat without effort. I tried digging out the wrongness, but it spread faster than I could scoop. An eternity later, I couldn’t tell where that ended and where I began.

I screamed, and a deep, strong, angry blast of noise forced me into silence, jolting me from the feverish half sleep.
I tried to look around, but strong hard bands kept me from moving.

I screamed again, and the same blast of noise reverberated around the room.

Everything hurt, from a deep soreness that ran to the bone, to sharper points, places were I could feel the stickiness of dried blood. My eyes ached and watered, by head pounded, my hooves felt like I had walked for days with a huge pack on my back. Even without the restraints, which were tight enough that I could feel the dull thump of my pulse, I wasn’t sure if I could move.

Frantically trying to focus on anything other than myself, I looked around my cell. I was strapped to a slab leaned up against the wall. A toilet was built into the floor, there was a heavy steel door, and a window near the ceiling. I wasn’t aware of individual cells in the Lobsters’ Pot, so I guessed that this was probably custom built for holding… what exactly? NOPE. Not going there. I tried to shake my head, stamped down a moment of anxiety, and continued looking around.

Outside of the window, I could see bleachers, with individual shanty houses built into the seating. The clouds seemed thinner than normal, and I could see a waning crescent through a break. Well, at least I have a minimum amount of time. I thought. Wonder what they could do in at least a full month.

Rather than go absolutely insane trying to imagine what horrors two rhyming zebras and a bunch of morally bankrupt snack-cake stealing unicorns would do while I was drugged, I continued to stare at the sky, until I fell asleep again.

Footnote: Level Up.

New Perk: Thief: Practice with locks and getting into locations you shouldn’t has finally born fruit. You get +5 to lockpick and sneak.

New Quest Perk: Experimental Zebra Brew – Leader: You’ve been through an intensive augmentation process, with effects both big and small. +10 to Strength and Endurance, -5 to Agility, -2 to Intelligence, -30% to radiation resistance.

Author's Note

Sorry about the long update time, a couple editors had issues come up IRL.