Dear Captain Iron Might, after an accident where a young colt lost their wing due to a machine, I, Forepony Drill Bit of Ironside Row Ore Processing, kindly ask that the child labour laws be revised and that children are no longer expected to work inside these dangerous places. Mines, Steel Mills, Processing Plants and Factories are among the jobs I believe are too dangerous for minors to work.

I don’t just speak for myself, alongside this you’ll also find a list of ponies who agree and support this movement. Please take the time to think about this and listen to the conscience of not just me, but all those who believe in the sanctity of childhood.

Thank you.

Drill Bit looked over the hoof drawn petition for perhaps the twelfth time that day, scrutinising his hoofwork. Already the back of the page was filled with names, soon he’d have to clip more pages onto the document but for the moment he was satisfied.

It was getting late and darkness had descended upon the city streets, now illuminated by lamplight and the occasional overnight shift.

While the town was no doubt quieter, there were still some ponies walking the wooden roads, either going home after extended shifts or performing some late-night activity.

It was this downtime Drill had hoped to take advantage of before hitting the bunks himself.

He spotted another wandering soul and repeated the routine. “Hello, I’m trying to get kids out of the factories, would you like to help by signing this petition?”

The wood-brown earth pony turned to him revealing the other half of his face and when he did Drill’s skeleton almost jumped out of his skin. His cheek was covered in burn scars yet he seemed no more bothered by it.

“Oh? Sure thing.” He took the pen and like so many others before, wrote his name on the back.

Tree Stump

“Thank you!” Drill shook off his prior fear, happy to get another signature.

The pony left and Drill took in a deep breath. “Let’s hope that was the most scared I’m going to get tonight.”

But as Drill began the walk home, he suddenly stumbled when his hooves caught a depression in the road and his saddlebag flew out onto the side. Quietly cursing, he picked himself up and reached for his bag, checking to see if anything had gotten wet or was damaged.

As he did so, a dark shadow suddenly cast over him, cut out from the street lamp above it loomed. Drill went stiff and slowly turned to face whoever was there which was difficult with the light in his eyes.

When his eyes adjusted he saw the huge, wide-shouldered form of a Diamond Dog twice his height in a thick winter coat look down at him. Short snorted with grey fur and a pair of purple-tinted reading glasses sitting upon his muzzle.

Drill froze in place as the instincts of a prey animal momentarily kicked in, but the Diamidian remained equally as still, only tilting his head in curiosity.

“You alright there?” He asked, his voice wasn’t nearly as deep as he was expecting which in tandem with the question, caught Drill off guard.

With a shake of his head, the stallion snapped back to reality and hastily replied. “I-I’m…fine, just tripped.”

The Greyhound offered a friendly smile and extended a hand, which Drill took before also re-fastening his bags. It was weird, Drill felt conflicted about how to feel about the Diamidian. All the stories he’d heard and posters around the city had painted a very different picture.

“Funny, haven’t seen any Diamidians in New Canterlot before.”

“Figures, I’m the only one they let out of the Doghouse.”

Drill squinted his eyes at that. “Doghouse?”

The diamond dog pointed his finger in the direction behind him.

“Little outpost they got outta town mining coal, call it trust issues.”

“Right, you know, come to think of it, I never did think about where all the Dogs we captured went after rescuing the Kirins.”

“Well now ya do, what are yer doin out here anyway? It’s late.”

Drill’s eyes went wide and he glanced at his bag. “Oh, I’m collecting signatures for a petition, trying to redo the labour laws and get kids out of factories.”

“I’m sorry what?” The Diamidian stared at him, Drill took his queue and pulled out the petition for him to read. After a moment he pulled out his own pen and quickly wrote his name on the back.

Cazrel Manx

Drill looked at the name before turning back to him with a smile. “Thanks Cazrel, have to say you have remarkably good writing, mine’s still somewhat scruffy.”

“Yeah well I was a pen pusher, then when I saw what Queen Eudora was up to and threatened to expose her royal ass, I got conscripted. On that note I’d better warn ya, this shit can get ya in trouble.”

“W-wait it can?!” He exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Yeah, had to get real familiar with the laws before they let me in. “Anti-social behaviour” apparently, and trust me you do not want to wind up in New Cantermore prison, it’ll be the worst three days of yer life.”

A shudder blew through Drill’s body as his mind raced with intrusive memories, of letters to loved ones and the worst of news, an order from up high and an inkwell to his side…

Nevermind the stories of what went on within the prison itself, sure he’d heard the tales of those who’d walked away beaten and bloody. But the worst punishments the city could offer paled in comparison to the torment it has offered, should those ghosts be allowed to haunt him once more.

No, he had to do this, he had to make things right.

“Well, what do I do? I can’t just let children get minced by the machines!”

“Try taking an office job, put yourself somewhere yer voice can’t be easily ignored. If yer make yourself valuable then whoever’s in charge won’t be so keen on losing yer. It worked for me…” Cazrel’s voice then dropped. “-for a while…”

Drill looked down at the petition with a grimace, of course, such a law would only be noticed by some creature privy to paperwork. What kind of world was he living in that such a clamp on freedom of speech was not just being used, but was thought needed?

It was madness, but as he stared at the paper he remembered the screams, the crying and the shouting. The echoes of a banshee replaying in his head.

No, he had to do this.

The fire inside burned brighter still and he looked up at the Diamidian. “Thank you Manx, I’ll…see what I can do.”

“Good luck, and be careful of the other dogs...” The dog slowly walked past Drill, before turning around and giving him one last glance.

“...They ain’t all nice.”

The following day Drill Bit was extra vigilant, just like Inkwell promised he’d gotten a hoofful of workers back which meant fewer kids to worry about, now the crew were split half between adult and child workers and if Drill Bit could help it, that number would only go down.

He’d organised them into pairs and that seemed to do the trick, with the kids learning from whoever they were assigned to and being given helpful advice. More importantly, he made sure no child was ever without an adult keeping an eye on them at all times.

For Drill however it still wasn’t enough, all throughout the shift a weight had pressed against his back. He found himself walking aimlessly keeping an eye out if only to distract from the deeds he’d done.

But it wasn’t just that, on his way to work he felt as though everypony was watching him. There was no doubt word about the accident and the petition were spreading but there was no telling who actually knew, if what Cazrel had said was true it wouldn’t be long before City Watch came knocking.

He’d seen them, patrols of guards in their crimson red and black garbs armed with batons and pistols. It was a sight that always left him on edge.

They’d been established to maintain order and keep ponies safe, but now he was viewing them with a very different eye. He was wary of them, worried at any moment a patrol would walk in through those doors asking for his name.

Yet at no point during his shift did they arrive, either he’d not garnered enough attention or perhaps they didn’t care? Maybe there was some crazy lunatic on the loose and they’d come for him another day? Or perhaps, they didn’t consider his actions enough of a concern to respond. Either way, as the clock struck six and the whistles blew he felt little in the way of relief.

This guilt was eating him and this paranoid stress was only accelerating it. Drill knew he had to do something, the petition was a good start but it wasn’t what he was looking for, he needed vindication.

So that evening as the sun set and the world dimmed, he went on a walk to the hospital.

The building was huge and spanned around three stories and was the length of a grand cathedral, its steel panel walls were covered in blue paint with the occasional medical insignia inscribed on frozen banners. There were balconies built on the upper floors acting as entrances for ambulance carts drawn by pegasi and even a smaller area beside it built as an elderly care home.

It might’ve paled in comparison to what they had before the Great Storm, but it was reassuring to know the city still had some decent medical care.

Walking through the doors, he walked up to the receptionist before clearing his throat.

“Excuse me, my name is Drill Bit and I’d like to visit somepony. A blue pegasus colt, lost his wing a couple of days ago.”

The receptionist pulled up her half-rimmed glasses before looking up at him and answering in an unexpectedly deep voice. “Are you family?” She croaked.

“No”

The deck worker grabbed a clipboard before checking through a list of names and writing a few things down. “Ward seven, second floor.”

Drill nodded before proceeding through the building, it was a series of wide halls and wooden doors connecting a long room with several ceiling-mounted curtains. He could hear the occasional beep of a heart monitor and see patients being helped along by doctors and nurses. Many of which with stitches, bandages and even stumps in place of limbs.

At the very least the smells of copper and machinery drowned out anything else that might’ve assaulted his senses.

But that was where the good news stopped as he soon saw the familiar colt, lying in a bed several sizes too big for him reading through an astrology book. His night sky purple mane was dotted with specks of white similar to the freckles that adorned his face. There was a bandaged stump where his other wing previously laid, a grim reminder of events past.

Taking a deep breath Drill marched forward, trying to fortify himself as best he could and quickly saw the colt’s name on a bed-mounted clipboard.

“Comet Trail?” He asked.

The colt laid the book down and upon reaching eye contact with Drill visibly winced, eyes going wide with fear as he slinked back into the bed. Drill already felt tinges of guilt stab into him, like a hot knife into his back.

He raised a hoof. “Now Comet-”

“P-please don’t take my other wing!”

“I’m not going to do that!” Drill assured him. “In fact I wanna apologize.”

Comet Trail paused, while he still held the bedsheets close by he at least maintained eye contact with the repentant earth pony.

Seeing no further interruption, Drill continued, “Comet I’m-” but felt his throat burn as he choked on his words, “I’m sorry about what happened, I’m so, so sorry. I was put in a difficult situation, I didn’t want you to get hurt, I didn't want anypony getting hurt.”

His words tumbled, Drill felt like nothing he said, be it ten words or ten thousand, could ever convey the guilt he felt at that moment. Thus, the most he could manage were the easiest words to say.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a long moment of silence as Drill’s apology hung in the air, but soon the colt’s stare turned into a glare as his expression hardened. Drill expected some animosity but even he might not’ve been prepared for what Comet said next.

“Bullies say that to get out of trouble, how do I know you're being honest?”

Drill paused, taken aback by the question. “Uhm, well…Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Give me my wing back!” He demanded.

“Comet, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Then leave me alone! I’m no shooting star anymore!”

Drill took a step back, not expecting the colt to reply so venomously and anxiously looked around for anypony staring at him. There were a few onlookers taking notice but nopony advanced on him. With another deep breath, he turned back to Comet. “Do you have parents? Friends? Are they around?”

“What do you think?” He spat.

Drill looked down at the clipboard and searched for more names, only to find the plates where relatives would be listed blank. The residence?

“Valley Row Orphanage.”

A stone lodged itself into Drill’s throat and his stomach sank into his hooves. “Oh this colt, this poor, poor colt.”

Thinking back, it made sense. Orphans lacked any sufficient caregivers, thus it was easier to push them into dangerous work conditions. It also explained why he didn’t have any angry parents or relatives coming for his throat after what happened, though that brought him no comfort.

The weight pressing on his back now felt fit to break him if he didn’t leave immediately, he wanted to say something, anything to earn hive forgiveness. But his mind played out the conversation for him.

“I saved your life Comet, I was trying to do the right thing!”

“The only thing you did was prolong my suffering!”

Even if that wasn’t really what he’d say, Drill knew better than to linger and hastily left with his head hanging low.

What he didn’t see however was the semi-guilty look on Comet’s face as he passed through the doors.

“He’s just a kid Drill Bit, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You can make things better, you can make them right.”

Over an hour had passed since leaving the hospital and Drill had wasted none of it. He collected signatures in the streets, at the cookhouse, and most recently the pub. He wasn’t sure how many he’d need but the more the merrier and by now, he had filled up a half dozen or so pages on both faces.

He craned his neck and looked over his shoulder.

Since then he’d received more warnings and blessings alike, but they didn’t matter. What mattered was making things right, he was going to get these signatures, give them over to Iron Might…somehow, and from there hopefully, maybe his consciousness would be allowed to rest.

He turned and looked again, was he paranoid? Was it stress? Or was something watching him?

Maybe he could make it up to Comet somehow? Did prosthetics for wings exist? Technology had advanced leaps and bounds in the past decade but he’d never kept pace, it never interested him beyond the necessities of his work.

He whipped around one more time, just to be sure he wasn’t being tailed.

What was going to stand in his way? How many ponies knew about what happened? Sure he left out the part where he amputated the boy’s wing, but there’d be those in the know, word can travel quickly in New Canterlot and there were witnesses.

Scratch that, what about the guards? How close were they to catching him and if they did would they let him off with a warning? Throw him into prison or worse? Their watch towers and stations were everywhere in New Canterlot, you couldn’t walk past a hoofful of buildings before catching sight of one. Even now their searchlights illuminated the city rooftops, a security measure that’d only annoyed him until now.

His mind raced with all these questions and more, was this how Steel Beam’s thought process worked? The draft was never really talkative…until he was.

However, all of this and more came to a screeching halt as Drill Bit returned home. His jaw dropped and his blood ran cold, because sitting atop his apartment with its back against the full moon…

Was an owl…

Author's Note

New Canterlot's medical policy focuses on faster recovery methods that may risk worsening a patient's condition, as opposed to using resources for a longer-term but safer strategy.

While initially, this created a small minority of disabled with missing limbs. Simple prosthetics such as artificial legs and organs have since seen them return to work.

Replacements for wings or horns have yet to be created within the city.

The motion of the limbs is assured by small motors, which can be recharged via the internal springs that can be wound up by locking the joint and then using an internal turn key that can be revealed and unfolded then cranked in the appropriate areas.