MLP : Shattered Heart

by gutterratt

Rating: teen
Tags: Original Character, Tragedy, Profanity, Non-consensual, Violence, Death, Narcotics, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 7414

Grimdark MLP story in an alternate universe where King Sombra rules the land.

This is a rewrite of my story Equestria Broken but in first person instead of third person. I didn't really like the way the story was being written so a good friend of mine suggested for me to try something new. I'm really liking how it's coming out so I decided to post it.

This is a grimdark MLP story in an alternate universe. King Sombra rules the land which is decimated by plague, starvation and a rebellion uprising. Clout, an introverted thief who lives his life in the shadows, is forced into circumstances he is going to have to learn how to navigate with the help of two ponies he calls stalkers.

The original story is here: https://www.fimfiction.net/story/254163/equestria-broken
Coverart is by Kirionek on DeviantArt

Published 2023-09-14 03:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-09-28 06:51:26 UTC

MLP : SH - 1 The Everfree

One : The Everfree

Most ponies know of the Everfree Forest, the most cutthroat and savage forest in all of Equestria, despite its small size. They know of it as the place where a pony can get eaten by a hundred kinds of predators and fifty kinds of carnivorous plants. If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll be something’s dinner before you can take twenty steps in.

What most ponies don’t know is the town of The Everfree nestled somewhere deep in its heart, with a population just as savage as the forest which surrounds it. Or, at least, ponies who presume themselves just as savage. It’s a little settlement of thieves, marauders, and mercenaries who need a place to operate where they cannot be easily touched. In other words, it was a place for ponies just like me.

But really, if you’re the kind of pony who belongs here, it’s not so bad once you get used to it. Sure, there might be a fight breaking out every few minutes… maybe a killing every now and again to keep things exciting… and maybe the ponies here tend to drink more alcohol than water… and maybe every bar and pawn shop constantly smells of vomit and blood… alright, so maybe it is kind of bad. But you get used to it. That’s just the cost of living free in this world of ours. If you want to stay out of the king’s reach, you’d better get used to sharing your space with the criminal scum of Equestria. Because, well, you’re one of them.

I found myself at one such bar, The Muck and Buck Tavern, just zoning out and taking in all the delightful atmosphere around me. Not with drinks, though; I didn’t drink. I couldn’t, not when I needed to pay attention and listen for things that would be in my best interest to overhear.

A waitress mare with a poofy red mane trotted past me, delivering beverages to a rowdy table of stallions. One of them tipped her with a nice, solid slap to the flank. A moment later, he found himself on the floor with a black eye. Guess it was his day to learn that even the pretty faces around here are hardy enough to stand their ground. At the table beside them, a buck was fast asleep in a pool of his own vomit. Two tables down, a fight broke out at a poker table as a griffon whipped out a pistol and accused a minotaur of card-counting. A couple of tables and chairs were broken before the red-headed mare was at the griffon’s neck with a cutlass.

Heh. Good girl. I cast her a little grin of admiration, though I know she’d never see. It was good that someone had the balls to keep the peace around here. The bartender certainly wasn’t going to do it. I glanced over at him, a scraggly old pony with antlers. Yep, antlers. On a pony. Obviously another victim of the month of Chaos, the month of the year where King Sombra releases Discord into the wild and lets him do whatever the hell he wants… create paradoxes, make it rain dead alicorns from the sky, turn ponies into chess pieces… Or make them grow antlers. Whatever Discord fancies in that twisted mind of his at the time, it happens. I would say it happens once per year, but really that’s only the average… King Sombra can spring it on us anytime he wants with no warning. He says it’s to keep things interesting and to keep ponies in fear of his reign, but I bet it’s because he needs to keep Discord placated for when he’s back on the leash.

So, yeah… antlers on a pony were one of the tamer mutations I’ve seen. And they weren’t worth shit for self-defense. They only served to make him look like a bigger freak than he already was. He even broke off most of one a few weeks ago, when he tried to stop a fight while the cutlass mare had a day off. I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s not dead yet is because he can mix a good drink, and because everyone feels sorry for him. Honestly, I’d say he doesn’t belong in this town, but what do I know? Maybe pity-mongering is just his survival strategy, and that’s completely valid… it is pretty impossible to pull off in a town like this, and to be honest, I’m not exactly sure how he does it.

But believe it or not, I’m here for a reason, and it isn’t just to watch bar fights break out for my amusement, or to take in the familiar stench of alcohol and desperation. I’m here because I’m greedy. I want things that other ponies have. In particular, their secrets. And secrets have a funny way of flowing free around these parts, where ponies wouldn’t expect someone like me to be listening.

My attention drifts from the drunk, the feral, the insane ponies, to those who still seem to have some control over their lucidity. The first one I notice is a mare who roams between the tables and holds up a photograph, asking if anypony recognizes the stallion in the picture.

Unfortunately for her, I’m no headhunter. So it’s of no interest to me.

In the far corner, a table of griffons talk about some affairs happening in Griffonstone. Apparently Sombra’s forces have some business there.

Intercontinental politics. Boring.

At the bar, a mare complains that her sister has gone missing for a week. Her companion suggests, quite reasonably I might add, that she’s probably dead, or captured and taken as a slave.

Again, skip tracing is somepony else’s business. Not mine.

A table directly behind me mentions a new rumor going around. Apparently, there’s a new cure for Blackmuck that’s been discovered. A tonic or something. The key ingredient being Alicorn liver.

Nah. This has all the hallmarks of an unprovable claim. Probably all lies. Whoever’s peddling this shit is probably just using the livers of slave ponies or something.

Eventually, I hear what I’ve been waiting for. A table of ponies begins quietly discussing something that very much aligns with my interests.

“So… you know that Count Markus guy, right?” says one pony. “The high and mighty stuffing peddler in Canterlot?”

Hm. Count Markus, Canterlot’s auctioneer. I’m familiar with him. Intimately familiar, one could say.

“Yeh, that rich snob, what about ‘em?” says another pony with a disgusted snort.

“Well, here’s the thing. C.J. and the Birds of a Feather were, as of late, signaling a little visit to the neighbors.”

“Oh, really now? What’s the big deal?”

“Big deal is, it’s come to our attention that the rum stuffin’ is a bit more than we thought. More than we can afford to ignore, one might say. Given we had a better pair of eyes than Cricket, we think things would play out real smooth. We did some talking, and we think it could be you. You in?”

Ah, here we go. As I said, secrets tend to get spilled easy around here, where ponies don’t expect anyone to be listening. And the key giveaway here: they’re speaking in code. The thieves’ cant. Different gangs use different versions of it, so rival thieves can’t eavesdrop on their plans. Unfortunately for them, I understand it all.

“Yeah? What sorta rum we talkin’?”

“The kind they drink in the slave stables.”

“Huh? The slave stables? Never would’ve thought that.”

“Yeh. Like I said, more than we thought.”

“On what basis?”

“Well. Something came to light through a hole in need of plugging. Came to light there’s something hidden under the rug. Count thought to switch hooves with his uncle but went and kept it for himself. Got cold hooves over dropping a horseshoe. So we don’t know what it is, we only know it’s reactive, and it’s a tall buck’s bit.”

Well, well. So this is quite some juicy information. What they were trying to convey so cleverly through their code-speak, was that Count Markus had come into possession of something big, something expensive, and something controversial, something which could land him in hot waters if he was found with it. He got scared, changed his mind about selling it to the black market, and kept it for himself. According to some hidden informant, he kept it hidden in his slaves’ stables of all places – the last place anyone would think to look.

Fair play. I mean, it was the only place I didn’t look, last time I was there…

Now I hear a paper getting unrolled. Undoubtedly a map of some sort. I can’t see the map from where I sit, so I can only listen more closely.

“Right here. The one who passed the peach, pinned it here. Explains why all the pigs. Someone noticed the place was growing pigs, sang their song, and looked in. Figured it was a rare slave. But nope, slaves are all the usual: seven earth, one pegasai, one unicorn. So it ain’t a who, it’s a what.”

I knew they’d just indicated the exact location of the loot on the map, which was information I was not privileged enough to afford, so I’d need to find my own way of pinning it down. Nothing I could do now but to cross that bridge when I got there. Or I could swipe the map and hope they marked it… nah, they wouldn’t. If they were competent enough to speak in this sort of code, they wouldn’t make that mistake.

…Though, their talk of “growing pigs” worried me. In other words, the place was swarming with guards. Count Markus was certainly protecting something there. I’d need to keep my head down if I didn’t want to get a flank full of steel. But if this loot were as valuable as they were implying… I had a feeling it might be worth the risk.

“Hm,” I heard the second pony mutter. “So we got some unknown contraband worth more than a chunk ‘o gin, and what more? You guys have lousy holes. And you couldn’t pull their tongue a bit more?”

I had to agree. To take this big of a risk on an unknown object was… well, it would reek of desperation, at least.

The first pony spoke again. “On the peach, it was worth at least four dozen chunk ‘o gins… but not much else. Found a voided invoice in the bin that called it ‘half a clock of mustang gem shards,’ but gods only know what it meant by that.”

Mustang gem…? What in Tartarus was that? This was looking to be a gamble, alright. Probably reeking of as much desperation as I thought. I’d never heard the term ‘mustang gem’ before, so it was either completely worthless, or a very well-kept secret.

I was willing to take the chance. Worst case, it was worthless junk… nothing I haven’t seen before. But something told me, if these ‘mustang gem shards’ were kept in the count’s possession, and he was willing to pay the guards so much overtime to protect it, it was probably worth something.

The second pony said something that almost echoed my own thoughts. “You want me to join you guys… for some pieces of broken glass.”

The first pony doubled down. “Well… if it means much… according to my uncle, the mustang gem was some ancient thing, owned by the long-gone rulers of the Crystal Empire. The real rulers of old, not the puppets. If it was owned by royalty, it’s gotta be worth more than a rusted button!”

Well. That was all I needed to hear.

I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray on the table, slid out the booth, and trotted out the door. I thought about paying for my glass of water, but the bartender and the waitress were both too busy trying to break up another fight.

As I trotted back down the dusty streets of The Everfree, I couldn’t decide which was worth more: the alleged ancient royal treasure of immense value, or the look on C.J.’s face when he shows up to find there’s nothing left to steal.

* * *

Familiarity has a way of worming into your bones and not letting go. I admit, I felt a certain kind of fondness for this rugged little town hidden away in the heart of Equestria’s most deadly forest, maybe because it’s the only kind of life I’ve ever really known.

I set out on my fool’s errand that evening, taking in the sights and sounds of the town, letting it bring me a strange sort of comfort and warmth against the chilly evening air. Every building was a structural hazard, threatening to collapse if the wind blew on them a bit too hard. The wooden path beneath my hooves had rotted away, many patches having practically turned to compost. Half the building's front-facing windows were broken, and nobody gave enough of a damn to fix them. We didn’t exactly have the bits or the horsepower to… invest in our infrastructure, as it were. The town broke down and rotted away year after year, and somehow kept on going. There was a certain security in knowing that even though the town was a shithole and always would be, Equestria’s scoundrels had a place to call their own.

I passed by all my favorite landmarks on the way out of town. There was the local pawn shop, Crowfoot’s Crap Shack. I glanced through the window to see if there was any new inventory I could swipe, but nope; still the same old stale shelves as last month. I passed by Doc Maggot’s Slice-n-Dice, the town’s only healthcare center, and probably one of the only places in Equestria that could really give me the creeps. (Believe me, there’s no greater incentive to keep yourself in one piece than the thought of ending up on Doc’s operating table…)

I gave a passing smile to the Crippled Cragidile Inn, just as a drunkard stumbled out the front door, babbling nonsense at someone who wasn’t there. I had to stop for a moment to see if this would go any further. And yep, moments later, a furious mare barreled her way out the front door, tackled him into the mud, and started beating the crap out of him. “You filthy cheating piece of SHIT!” She screamed.

I chuckled. This is what passes for entertainment in The Everfree, so might as well enjoy it. Though, my smile broke when a stray dog noticed the scuffle and decided to join in. I high-tailed it out of there. Hate dogs. I’d rather take a bullet to the flank than get a leg bitten off by one of those filthy mongrels. If I ever decided to live here, I’d easily consider paying a bounty for dog pelts, so people would do something about the stray problem. It’s only been getting worse.

And finally, I found myself at the edge of town. Wasn’t any more pleasant of a place than the town itself. Only the pure darkness of the Everfree Forest lay beyond, with its thick and twisting vines and its carnivorous plants with gaping, drooling jaws… Out of the cauldron and into the fire, as it were. The town even needed to be surrounded by a neck-high barrier of salt bricks, just to keep the Everfree Forest from growing back in and reclaiming its territory, which I bet would happen in about ten days, given the chance.

As I stepped past the salt wall, a stray gunshot rang out from somewhere in the town, as if to wish me well on my travels.

The trek through the forest, whether coming or leaving, was always my least favorite part of visiting the town. At least with drunkards and degenerate rebels, you can reason with them, bribe them or placate them. There was no such salvation for you this deep into the forest if you took a wrong turn or caught the interest of an usra major or a timberwolf pack. I like to think that I’d gotten used to keeping my wits about me and that I could survive in a pinch, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. But I did know the worst things to watch out for, at least, like the creeping Poison Jokeweed. The stuff’s dripping with Discord’s chaos magic, and it’s always growing in a different place every time you enter the forest. You touch one of those and you get cursed, whether or not it’s Chaos Month. The stuff was probably created by Discord himself, for all we know. Thankfully, the vines are always in bloom and their flamboyant blue petals give ‘em away so they're easy enough to avoid, as long as you watch where you step.

The other reason I hated the trek through the forest: you absolutely need all the sensory awareness and peripheral vision you’ve got, so it’s the only place outdoors where I’ve got to pull back my hood, and that alone is enough to unsettle me. It feels unnatural. I need to feel hidden. I wear my hood if there’s even the slightest chance of meeting another pony, or any creature, face-to-face. It’s an instinct of mine. I guess you could say it’s part of being a thief. Can’t have anyone seeing me for who I am, remembering my face. Recognizing me. But in the Everfree Forest, I can’t have things my way. Regrettably, I have to show my face to the forest. The forest gets to see me for who I am. And nobody else. Well, nobody except one very specific pony.

I realized I was losing sunlight fast, and I picked up my pace. I heard the owl’s songs echoing from deeper within the forest, and the timberwolves howling from some faraway hill. Somewhere nearby I could hear a few chimera caught in a scuffle, probably a territory dispute. Hopefully. Hopefully I hadn’t lost track of time and forgotten about the chimeras’ mating season, in which case I was probably already surrounded by them and dead where I stood. Closer still, I heard something slithering through the leaves. Could be a viper, or worse, a cockatrice. All wonderful reminders that the Everfree Forest was no place for a lone pony at this hour of the evening, and that the shadows would swallow me alive if I didn’t get out of here by sundown.

Then it was over, the forest spat me back out the other end. The town of Ponyville greeted me on the horizon, a welcome sight, reminding me that I was back in the world of normal civilization.

A nice place, Ponyville once was. For a while, ponies called it the last living remnant of the olden days back before Sombra took over the continent. (Though, how anyone even knows what life was like a thousand years ago is anyone’s guess…) Recently, a certain notorious rebel leader called Wulf Song claimed the place as his base of operations. (Original name, I know.) Now it’s more like a war fortress, with the civilians basically drafted into the resistance efforts. They even surrounded the whole place with a wall of heaping scrap metal, and call it the safest, most secure town in central Equestria, and claim that it’s the place you want to live if you don’t want the king to lay a hoof on you.

So basically, it wants to be what The Everfree actually is, and without the advantage of secrecy. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me. And the place doesn’t go a day without the threat of siege or bombardment from the long horn of Sombra. And yet, for some damn reason, everyone still wants to live there, at least everyone who hates the king. Especially ponies like freed slaves. The overpopulation was so bad, they built shitty wooden shacks on top of all the building's roofs, just to house everyone. Worse, there was a huge encampment of ponies just wanting to get in the door, since every pony had to go through an interrogation checkpoint at the front gate. They had to at least make an effort to keep out the king’s spies.

I made sure to pull my hood back down over my face and adjust the mask that hid my muzzle before I got into anyone’s eyeshot. I was back in the real world. Out here, nopony has the right to see me.

As I kept my distance from the reinforced walls of Ponyville, I marveled at how much it kept mutating every time I saw it, turning into a mockery of what it apparently used to be. I looked at their half-assed wooden shacks on top of shacks on top of shacks that I could see towering above their scrap-steel mountain they called a wall. The endless swarm of rebel pegasai scouts and burly earth ponies stood guard over what, from a distance, looked like a shambling junkyard.

Well, I’ll give them credit. At least they’ve nailed the look of the Everfree, I’ll give them that.

I had no business being in Ponyville that day; I was headed for higher places. My target was Canterlot. And if I wanted to get back from Canterlot before the sun would rise the following morning, I needed to take the train. The closest train station just happened to be situated right outside Ponyville’s walls, as all the safer and more remote stations which I used to frequent were conveniently deemed unnecessary by the king and shut down.

As I neared the station platform and tried to blend in with the ponies waiting there, prodding my coin pouch to reaffirm my spare bits hadn’t gotten swiped when I wasn’t looking… I caught a sort of sweet, putrid scent on the wind, and I instinctively backed away from the crowd. Could’ve been some colt who forgot to take a bath for three months, but it smelled too much like Blackmuck, and I wasn’t in the mood to take any chances.

Blackmuck. You catch that and you’re done for. You got a month to live, max. Your last days will be spent violently coughing up tar, as your flesh bursts open and your innards spill out. Last I heard, scientists couldn’t even determine whether it was a virus or a bacterial infection. They say it’s some sort of cursed miasma, magically resistant to any cure. Keeps spreading. Well, if Blackmuck’s really got magical properties, there’s probably never going to be a cure, not since most of the unicorn race died off and there’s hardly anyone left who even understands magic anymore. King Sombra reassures us all that it’s under control and it’s receding, and yet, I hear about more cases every season. There’s this stigma about even mentioning it, because we all know there’s nothing we can do, so most of us try to pretend it doesn’t exist. Best you can do is know what it smells like, and stay the fuck away.

When it was my turn at the ticket booth, I adjusted my hood and approached the mare who stood behind the glass pane. I heard the crackle of an old radio from somewhere behind her. DJ Smile Cat was reading a news update. Of course, even as the rest of Equestria deteriorated under the reign of Sombra, he made sure to keep the radio towers operational and the DJs spinning their records – since radio is the best way to spread propaganda. So there were only about four stations left on the whole continent, and the only one everyone listened to around here had a pony called DJ Smile Cat cheerfully reading off the day’s events between the playlist songs. News update: rebels crushed in Northern Equestria. News update: Dodge City is on fire. News update: The king is right and everypony else is wrong. It’s just that, all day long, with occasionally an old song played between the news updates every now and again. It’s all old music, because nobody performs anymore. But hey, I get why people leave it on in the background; the music gives people a dose of cheer in these rough times. (Personally, I’m more interested in the news updates; a city on fire is ripe for pillaging.)

What most ponies don't know about Smile Cat is that in the middle of the night, when everypony is asleep, he puts something odd over the radio waves. For about three solid hours it's just some random monotonous voice reading off a string of random numbers, interrupted occasionally by various beeping tones of different lengths. Nopony knows for sure, but it's widely assumed to be a covert communication system. If it really is some sort of secret communication, nopony has any idea who the message is for. Someponies have attempted to write down the numbers and tones but they're different every night and nopony can figure out the cypher. It's an intriguing puzzle, to say the least, and it would be quite satisfying to figure out the secrets which have eluded all who aren't in the know. I will admit I have spent some nights trying to figure it out for myself. I haven't even come close.

My attention turned from the radio back to the ticket booth mare.

"Where ya headed, stranger?" the mare asked, clearly unfazed by my outfit. With this train station so close to The Everfree, I wouldn't be surprised if she saw shady ponies like myself on a daily basis.

"Canterlot." I replied.

"Seven bits." she told me.

Seriously, seven bits? It was four bits last month. This was the problem with those damned rebels. They go making a big fuss about the king's rules and it ruins it for everypony else. I know, I was just praising them for making my job easier and now I'm complaining about them. Whatever. I grabbed the coin from my coin pouch and hoofed over the perfectly shined bits in exchange for my ticket. Goodbye precious valuables, your sacrifice will not be in vain, I assure you.

It was a few short minutes later when the locomotive arrived in the station and came to a screeching halt. I guess I got here just in time. After a few ponies exited the ride, I followed the small crowd. My admission was punched by the ticket pony, who also did not give two shits about the way I was dressed, and I found an empty seat. Just as I was about to slide myself into the booth, the train jerked forward, slamming me into the back of the chair. Great… so our conductor today was an amateur. I gritted my teeth and rubbed my side with a hoof as I moved to sit down, almost failing to notice the seat was already occupied…

A small black rodent sat there on her haunches, furiously cleaning her face and whiskers. The rat ignored me completely as she worked her tongue on her paws and wiped them over her muzzle.

I smiled under my mask and began to pet the fuzzy little creature. "Hey Thief, what do you think you’re doing? Trying to get sat on?" I asked as she looked up at me and twitched her whiskers, "Oh, you must have got thrown off. Want to come back up?"

I offered my hoof for her to climb up on and she just sat there staring at me. "Alright then." I shrugged my shoulders and sat down between her and the window.

Now, most ponies would shriek and start trampling at the first sight of a rat. Rodents now-a-days are blamed for spreading the Blackmuck, probably for a good reason. They gather in large numbers around corpses, so naturally they’re blamed for proliferating and spreading the disease. That's a giant load of crap – they’re too cute to be guilty of something so heinous.

Ponies who know me think I'm crazy for befriending rats in times like these, but they don't know them like I do. I've had many pet rats before Thief, each of whom I’ve considered my best friend. They make for much better companions than ponies. They don't judge me for my lifestyle, they don't back talk me when I give them attitude. Plus, they’re just about as greedy as I am. I feel like they get me in a way ponies don't.

Unfortunately, they don't tend to live past two years, but there’s never any shortage of them. Good for providing me with an endless supply of company.

Thief was my current favorite little assistant. She was about six months old, give or take, and I had trained her well. She could gnaw through power lines, steal trinkets, and run distraction. Most importantly, she was particularly good at not getting killed. She’d already survived two separate incidents where I thought she was a goner. There was something special about this one, I swear. Felt like she had a lot of life left in her.

The little rat got bored and scampered away somewhere to go explore at her leisure. I wasn’t worried – she always came back when I called. Figured at least one of us should be allowed to have fun on this ride. Going from Ponyville to Canterlot would be a solid hour’s wait, leaving me with nothing to do but to watch the world pass by through the dirty window next to me. I halfway felt like sneaking around for unattended trinkets, but these particular cars were pretty cramped. Not very stealth-friendly architecture. So, I just huffed a sigh and waited out the ride.

I gazed blankly out the glass pane as we passed the broken wall of Ponyville. I noticed a caravan traveling the road alongside the train on their way to the rebel city, probably escaped slaves seeking a safe haven from their masters. Poor things were in for at least a month of interrogation and bureaucracy just to get their residency passes, but for them it was worth the struggle. Freedom at any cost is better than slavery. I clenched my jaw at the thought of somepony like King Sombra holding my leash, demanding me to obey his orders or suffer his wrath. I would know. I was a slave once, before I knew any better. It only took one taste of true freedom for me to decide I was never going back to the chains, no matter what it took.

Sometime later, Saddle Lake came into view. Something large and serpentine broke the surface of the water only to dive back down seconds later. Rumor has it that a sea serpent is one of the nine leaders of the Rouge Rogues, the thieves’ guild that runs The Everfree. I suspect I may have just caught a glimpse of one, I've never seen one before.

The hour-long ride continued to drag on. Eventually I spotted the massive mountain up ahead, a long-dead volcano upon which Canterlot had been constructed. The pyro-ducts had been repurposed into railway tunnels, and we were about to head into one.

As I gazed out the window in the final moments before the darkness of the tunnel overtook the train, I spotted a few bats flying high in the sky. Just behind them looked to be a pegasus that trailed clouds behind them. It almost looked as if the pegasus were adding to the already darkened sky, helping the weather prepare for its inevitable downpour that would start later tonight. I wasn't fond of the rain. It usually puts a damper on my activities; no pun intended. Water droplets are quite easy to spot so sneaking around and leaving a wet trail behind you is a great way to get caught.

All at once, darkness engulfed the inside of the train and my view out of the dirty window. The great metal beast had entered the steep mountain tunnel and began its climb up to the entrance of Canterlot. I couldn't see a hoof in front of my face. With the windows blacked out, I would need to find something else to occupy my mind. With the sights gone, I turned my attention to the sounds.

The sound of wheels on the tracks below clicked and clacked as it pulled us all up the mountain, struggling with the train's own massive weight. I could hear somepony humming a soft tune in front of me. Something vaguely familiar, probably from the radio; it nagged on my mind for a minute or two before I gave up trying to place it.

In the booths next to me and a couple seats behind, there was a mare making her bench squeak as she was mumbling, "Don't trust… Don't trust…" to herself. She continued as I heard a foal struggling in her grasp, "Gotta get out, don't trust. Have to keep them safe. I'll keep them safe for you my love. Won't come back, he won't. Don't trust, gotta get out. Don't trust… Don't trust…" She seemed terrified of something but I have no idea what frightened her so much.

Far behind me I could hear a filly and colt quietly arguing over something, and I probably could have followed their argument if it wasn’t for the obnoxiously loud snoring from the seat beside them.

Finally, there came a sound I was waiting for: a soft thud against my seat cushion and a scramble of tiny claws. Thief had returned to me, probably with some loot of her own. I shifted to the edge of my bench to give her room. Sure enough, she scampered up onto the seat with a large cookie in her mouth, then failed to secure a good claw-hold and slipped back down. Silly girl, eyes were always bigger than her mouth, but I always had to admire her for it. I chuckled quietly as I lowered my hoof to the ground, giving her an easy ride back up.

I gave Thief a few pets as she settled in and began to nibble on her prize. She really was a master thief of her own class; I could never match up to her skills. The cookie was almost twice her own size; it was a wonder how she managed to carry it so far.

"See! I wasn't lying! I didn't drop it! It was stolen!" cried a sudden young voice. I snapped around to find two foals, a filly and a colt, standing at the end of my bench. My ears folded and my jaw clenched.

Well. Even master thieves make mistakes sometimes, I suppose.

Ugh, foals. Why? Why was this necessary? Just give up the cookie, it’s not that hard.

I hate dealing with kids. I never know how to act around them. I never know what to say. Wish they would all just be afraid of me and scram, but too many foals are too stupid to know when to be afraid. And it isn’t like I could just kick the crap out of them – well, I mean, I could, technically, but… Damn it, I have standards.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have so many standards. Getting in a fight with a kid is really one of the worst things in the world. They have no filter. They just say what they see, even when it’s entirely inappropriate. They cry out loud instead of suffering silently like everyone else. And I just can’t… well, I can’t steal from them. Can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve tried. Believe me, I’ve tried. But it gets to me. It isn’t like when a rich pony has a temper tantrum because they didn’t get what they wanted. When a kid does it, it’s real. They really are helpless. It really is an unfair fight. They’re innocent. And they will remind you of it when they cry and scream.

Graah. I HATE kids.

I tried to ignore them, hoping they’d leave me alone.

"AIEEE!" the filly shrieked. "A rat!! Teddy, it’s a rat! We need to leave! That thing will make us sick!"

"But that guy's sitting right next to it and he's not scared of it." the colt argued back.

“Well that guy is probably just a dumb hobo!” she squealed. "Those things carry the plague. You can’t take that cookie back now! It'll make you really sick and you'll die! That's how they all died, that's why we're with him!" I figured she was probably referring to the stallion snoring in the back row.

"Well..." the colt began, "what if I wanna get sick? What if I want to be with big brother again, instead of you, you big butt!? You never let me do what I want! I want to be with everypony else! I want mommy!" As the colt argued, his voice grew louder and I could hear him struggling in his sister's grasp.

"You gotta be quieter! You want him to wake up? He’s just going to hurt us again!”

I glanced over at the two of them, wondering when they were going to leave. The filly had a hoof over the colt's mouth, trying to keep him quiet. He glared at her as best he could before opening his muzzle to give his sister's foreleg a big lick. She shrieked in disgust and let him go. The filly then waved her leg in the air in an attempt to get the saliva off.

"Eeeww!" the filly exclaimed, "What is wrong with you? That’s gross!"

Okay, that was kind of funny. I stifled a chuckle and turned back to the blackened window.

My outdoor view finally began to show signs of nearing our destination. The glow of sunlight gradually chased away the darkness and I could start to see the details of the volcanic tube we moved through. I studied the rock wall, trying to ignore the foals but I could still feel them there. I could feel their eyes on me, refusing to leave me alone. I tried a glance in their direction, hoping an evil eye would scare them off.

It's not working. Why isn't this working? The filly continued to stare at me, intrigued by something about my face, while her brother was petting Thief. Stop staring at me kid, it's uncomfortable and I hate it.

Finally, I couldn't take it any more and just spouted, "What?" at her.

"Your... eyes," the filly said breathlessly. "They're..."

Is this filly really that smart? My whole body is covered, she shouldn't be able to figure it out and yet here she is, ascertaining what I am just by looking at my eyes. At least the vast majority of ponies were dumb. Still, this wasn't good, I couldn't have anypony find out what I am.

When the train finally came to the open mouth of the cave that was the train station, the multitude of lanterns that hung from the cavern's ceiling made the space almost as bright as daytime. The train began its deceleration as it pulled into the platform where Canterlot's ticket booth was. I could see tents and disheveled shacks all around as a makeshift camp for those not wealthy enough to be let into the city proper.

"Diamonds!" the filly exclaimed, "You have diamonds in your eyes!"

I watched her, the filly's tiny face brimming with excitement as if she had figured something out. She obviously doesn't know what she's spotted. I don't think she's ever seen one to know. At least, I hope she hasn't. Luckily an interruption broke the elation of her discovery before she could ask any follow up questions.

"There you two are!" said a stallion whose coat was a green so bright it couldn’t be found in nature. He glared at the two children as he scolded them. "Do you want me to put the chains back on you? Get back to your seats or I'm going to have you two branded the second we get there!"

Ah, so they were slaves. Foal slaves weren't all that uncommon in Equestria; I saw them quite often actually. If their masters were nice, they waited until the foal got their cutiemark before branding them. If not, they gave them their mark as soon as they were bought. Branding prior to getting a cutiemark prevents the pony from ever getting one. It's a sacrifice, but at least it's better than starving to death in the gutter. I'm just glad I wasn't branded when I was younger. Though I don't know what my cutiemark means, it's still a part of me. It's my trademark, my identifier. It's a reminder that there's only one of me, no pony else out there has this specific tattoo on their butt. Without me in this world, who would be the one going around Equestria reminding everypony to protect their valuables? Who would be the one to encourage lock makers to improve their products? Who would reappropriate the wealth in the land and redistribute it to those who deserve it more? I am providing a very valuable service to society.

With the brightness that the train station provided, I could see the foals clearly now. The filly was slightly larger than the colt and they were covered in wounds from whip lashes; marks they would likely carry for the rest of their lives. The colt was cowering under his sister as they both trembled in the stallion's presence.

"Yes sir. It won't happen again," the filly said quietly, her eyes downcast.

"S-sorry," the colt replied in a tiny squeak.

I felt sorry for the foals. No really, I did. They were in this situation because the plague took their family. They didn't choose to be slaves, life just threw them into a pit of fire and said, 'Figure it out yourselves.' Unfortunately, this was the way the world worked. You had to make the best of your situation, no matter how shitty it was. Sure, they could get help from a kindly random stranger but that wouldn't guarantee a better outcome. I, for example, could beat the crap out of this stallion and set them free. But then that would either put the responsibility onto either them to take care of themselves, or onto me to be their new guardian. I certainly wasn't going to claim custody of them. They would most likely starve to death or get killed at the hooves of the king's guard for stealing. I just had to remind myself that it wasn't my problem, I couldn't go around saving every foal just because they always made me feel bad in one way or another. The world is the way it is and no pony could change it.

There was one thing I could do, however…

As the foals slowly marched back to their seats, the green stallion slammed his hoof on the floor of the train car, causing them to jump in fear and hurry back to their assigned spot. I grabbed Thief, put her back under my hood and got out of my seat. I then shoved the other buck out of my way so I could make my exit. The green pony threw an insult at me for slamming my shoulder into him but I didn't care. I smirked under my mask as I made my way off the train. Like the vast majority of ponies, he didn't even realize I had stolen something from him.

When my transport finally came to a complete stop, the train conductor opened the door to let the passengers exit. I stepped out onto the wooden platform and pulled out the whip I had taken from the idiot. Inspecting the weapon, I could see it used to be made of some decent materials but it was well worn. He never took proper care of it and in its current state it was quite useless. I'm surprised it didn't fall apart when he used it on those foals. After tossing the worthless piece of junk aside, I had made my way towards Canterlot.

Author's Note

Never tried first person before so please be gentle with constructive criticisms ^^; I do want to improve my writing skills but I have a hard time with people confirming my own personal criticisms of my work. Ugh, I need tougher skin.