The Hen House

Have you ever been scavenging, your belly grumbling with hunger, and all you can find are empty tin cans, faded wrappers and bleached bones, but then suddenly you come across a Trader or a Merchant and, Praise Celestia, they have plenty of meat or even, miracle of miracles, a cupcake to trade?

Have you ever wondered to yourself, as you stand there watching the Trader trot out of sight, your belly fuller and your cap stash lighter, where all this food comes from after two hundred years and change of scavenging and war?

You may not like all the answers...

A stallion in ragged combat armor walks down a dimly lit corridor, a baton held in the sickly green glow of his magic lighting his way. As he trots along he taps the baton on the bars of the rusty cages lining the walls on both sides of him, from some of these glazed forlorn eyes look up, unfocused, at the sound.

The stench of moldering plumage, waste, and despair hangs thick in the air, sobs and labored breathing compete with the sounds of the ancient ventilation system.

The stallion reaches the end of the cages and ducks through a doorway coverd in flaps of dirty plastic. Here a new reek of fresh blood and rotting ofal assaults his nose, but he is numb to it. He sees a large earth stallion in a stained leather apron carving meat from a twitching carcass.

"Hey Cleaver" He says, "You about done with this last batch? We gotta get this stuff in the wagons."
Cleaver spat the carving knife down and answered, "Yeah yeah, just got this last one to box up and then grab the eggs."
The stallion pointed his baton at the bloody mess on the table that had mercifully stopped twitching, not that he cared. "Fine, you finish this and I'll go grab the eggs"

Cleaver grunted and picked his knife back up to resume hacking at the corpse as the guard stallion turned and ducked back out of doorway, trotting back down the row of cages and turning right at an intersection to enter a large high ceilinged area with cages held on stands, oddly swollen griffon mares crying out in pain and anger as ponies took thier fresh laid eggs and packed them into straw filled crates labeled Sunshine Foods Inc.

"You lot got that shipment ready yet?" The stallion called out, "We are behind schedule!"
The ponies packing the eggs shuffled nervously but did not answer, continuing thier work. The stallion raised his baton, ready to shout when a voice like poisoned honey dripped into his ear.
"Now now Trotter, whats this about being behind schedule, hmmm?"

The stallion, Trotter, used every last drop of his will not to scream in surprise and fright as he slowly turned around to face the huge lavender Basilisk directly behind him.
"S-s-sillia! Ma'am! I was just! The wagons! The wagons are ready! Eggs! I came for the eggs!!"

"Ahh, yessss, eggssss" the giant snake hissed as she slithered by, her tail stroking Trotter from cheek to flank and nearly causing him to faint outright. "I do sso love eggsssss. Sso sssucculent." She raised herself up on her huge undulating body to peer into a cage where a tawny young griffon was crying in labor pain, fighting her own body to try and keep her egg inside and away from these monsters, her body swollen and agonized by the drugs and hormones she was forcefed daily to encourage maximum 'production'.

Sillia watched in anticipation. "Eggsss are sso much ssweeter when fresh, dont you agree Trotter?"
The stallion tried his best to conceal the gulp and not to stutter. "Y-yes my lady, f-fresh is best" "Thats what Sunshine Foods does, f-freshness!!"

"Indeed" the Basilisk hissed softly, reaching into the cage with its mouth and scooping up the still warm goopy egg the young griffoness had lost her battle to save. The snake creature took the egg from its mouth with its tail and said to her stallion, "Double thisss oness dosagess of hormones and feed, i want her fat with eggsss and extra plump for my next meal. The young ones are ssso tender. I will be in my quarters."

The stallion backed away slightly, even his callousness not able to contain his revulsion completely. "Y-yes, yes my lady, I will see to it."

As the Basilisk slithered away with her prize Trotter shook himself and turned back to the other ponies in the room. "Allright you lot get those Luna damned crates packed, we have to have this meat and eggs to New Appaloosa and TenPony by tomorrow night and there is a lot of road to cover! Move it, move it!"

His baton came down on a nearby trashcan with a loud clang and all the ponies hurried to finish and carry crates to the waiting wagons. The cries of griffons in cramped dirty rusty cages falling on uncaring ears.

Author's Note

First publication, yay :D Have you ever wondered where CRAM and other such tasty foods come from after 200 years of scavenging? O.o