Dr. Horae

Present Day Equestria.

Dr. Time Turner Whooves’ grumbles and curls up tighter on a wooden floor carpeted with rotten hay, his shackles clinking together in harmony with his shifting. Add in the crowded cart with tiny holes for windows and the unnerving noise from the train’s whistling engine and the churning wheels rolling against the railroad tracks, and Time Turner finds himself in the first ring of Hell. The stench of sweat from the body heat being trapped inside the cart doesn’t help make the situation any better, either.

Time Turner wearily looks around at the silent, miserable bunch around him; stallions of all shapes and sizes and races are crammed into the cart, each with their own special pile of old hay and collars around their necks. Every prisoner is cuffed with enchanted clamps that are connected to a series of chains that link them all together. There is only the working wheels of the train and rushing wind that bring any sort of noise to the terrified prisoners.

When the train screeches to a stop, some of the prisoners wobble in their spots due to a moment of lost balance, and when it lurches to a complete stop Time Turner feels like he’s going to puke. The prisoners whisper to each other nervously as they hear guards outside conversing amongst themselves. Then the locks click, the metal bars are dragged off and the door slides open to reveal a group of six guards aiming their battle saddles at them, being supervised by a pegasus mare with a snowy white coat and brown mane and tail with a cutie mark of a cloud containing a snowflake standing in the middle. While the prisoners are terrified, she looks pissed about being stuck in a baking wasteland. She orders the guards to get the prisoners out, and the lead guard levitates a chain with a clamp at the end and grabs the nearest prisoner. They tug the prisoners out and while most fought to stay inside, Time Turner willingly stood up and hopped out of the cart. He is immediately greeted by the rays of sunlight, free to blind and cook whoever they wish because of the cloudless sky.

The guards line up the prisoners so that they are all facing the pegasus, and she inspects each of them, one at a time, closely. She puts the big stallions in one line, the scrawny stallions in another, and the ones in between in another. Time Turner is put with the ones in between. The prisoners shift uneasily as the pegasus gets on top of a stand that a couple of guards brought, then leans towards a microphone that another guard brought and adjusted so that she can talk into it comfortably.

“Colts, you have been brought to the Badlands Mine under the charge of crimes against the state,” says the pegasus, her voice authoritative and clear. “The nature and severity of your crime will determine how long you are here, and you best pray to Celestia that your time here will be quick, because here, there is no place for sympathy or ease. Here, my word is law, and my law comes from the will of Celestia herself. So to defy me is to defy your goddess.”

She motions towards each group.

“You have been split into three groups based on your build. Further assessment will determine a more accurate placement. Group one,” she points at the largest stallions, “your job will be to drag the carts towards the processing stations.”

She points to the second group, the one Time Turner is in.

“Group two, you will be in the mines, and depending on where you are placed, you will either be harvesting ores or gems.”

Then she points to the final group consisting of the scrawny stallions.

“You’ll be the cleaners.”

She stands up straighter, puffing out her chest and flaunting her wings.

“You will be led to your respective quarters. There you will live your new life, and if you follow the rules, you will survive. Dismissed.”

The pegasus hops off and while a small team of guards carry away the box and microphone, the lead guard steps forward and orders the prisoners to march forward. Time Turner makes no protest as he follows his group to a blocky structure that is not too surprisingly covered in dust and worn away. The structure is not too big: it stands only four stories and on each corner is a pudgy watch tower with the wall surrounding it having towers on the corners as well. Time Turner looks at one of the towers and sees the gleaming metal of a turret poking out. He immediately averts his eyes. When they get past the wall, the column of prisoners shuffle past a chain link fence keeping them away from the hardened prisoners, who are either sitting under crude gazebos, bleachers, or by the wall, or playing a brutal game of hoofball without any padding. Time Turner looks at a group of prisoners who are sitting on some bleachers, and from the looks of it they are betting on something. One pony, who is sitting in the middle of the group with a brown coat and white spots, is staring at Time Turner in such a way that makes his mane crawl. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t blink, or how his head is turning to follow him. Or maybe it’s the way the creepy stallion licks his lips. Whatever the case may be, Time Turner feels sick just by looking at him.

When they get inside the building, which is thankfully fitted with powerful air conditioning, the guards lead them to a corridor and has all of them stand against the wall. Then they unclip the first prisoner from the chains and leads him inside a room, leaving the others outside at the mercy of the guards. Five minutes later, the guards call in the next prisoner. Time Turner peers down the line and immediately gets scolded by the guards, so he pushes himself back and locks himself in place. His quick glance, told him enough, though. Each prisoner takes roughly five minutes to be processed and adding in the thirty seconds of shit happens, multiply that by the two dozen prisoners with him being at the very end...

“Curses,” mutters Time Turner as he slumps to the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time Turner waits over two hours before he’s finally brought into a carpeted room that has a shower stall in the back corner, the Solar Empire of Equestria’s seal on the back wall, and a group of guards in uniform with a unicorn wearing a lab coat next to them. The unicorn stallion has a grayish-purple coat with a peppered brown mane and dark purple streaks at the base, and a moon surrounded by dust as a cutie mark. The unicorn with the lab coat has a name tag that has “Dust” imprinted on it, and he’s also levitating a clipboard while mumbling to himself.

“Dr. Time Turner Whooves, Manehatten Institute of Technology dropout, Ponyville clock maker, and labeled as a homegrown terrorist by the Equestrian Investigation Bureau.” the scientist says lightly. He lowers his clipboard and flashes a surprisingly warm smile. “But we all know you are no terrorist, Doctor, you just had the misfortune of being a victim of paranoia.”

“Nebulus,” drawls one of the guards impatiently.

Nebulus apologizes, but his sincerity of the apology is in doubt, and even though the cooky unicorn seemed to be sincere about his sympathy with Time Turner’s plight, Time Turner still doesn’t feel any better. Nebulus steps clears his throat and peers down at the clipboard, complaining about how he shouldn’t be here like he’s not really upset, just wanting to run his mouth.

“Now then!” says Nebulus suddenly, his horn glowing and various pieces of measuring equipment floating around. “We’re off for some measurements!”

Nebulus measures Time Turner while asking  him a series of questions ranging from his diet to the weather, and his favorite food to his favorite past-time. The way Nebulus rambles on and on about all kinds of trivial things while doing his work reminds Time Turner of Rarity when she made his tuxedo for his wedding. Or when Fluttershy got drunk, courtesy of Rainbow Dash switching her apple juice with the strongest drink the ‘Shamrock Breeze Tavern’ had to offer. That hilarious moment cracks a smile on his face.

“So, any family?” asks Nebulus as he measures Time Turner’s forehooves.

Time Turner stiffens and his jaw tightens as his eyes narrow on the ponies in front of him. His nostrils flare while he shifts in his spot, making some of the guards visibly tense and eye him more carefully.

“Of course you do!” blurts Nebulus, snapping Time Turner out of his hostile trance. “You aren’t a test tube pony! Although, that would be interesting.”

Nebulus stops and taps his chin with his hoof,  musing about the possibilities of growing ponies from test tubes. Time Turner flinches when Nebulus unexpectedly snaps his focus back to him. Then he swears under his breath when Nebulus yanks out a strand of his mane, root and all, and sticks it in a vial.

“Oh stop being such a baby,” teases Nebulus. “Actually, yes. Be more of a baby. You’re a quiet fellow. Like tree quiet, and even then trees aren’t that quiet because-”

“Nebulus, stay on subject,” says the same guard from earlier.

Nebulus gives him a dirty look, saying: “I’m doing science! Science requires questions! Science requires observations! Science requires-” Nebulus yanks out a needle, sticks it in Time Turner’s hoof, right above a vein, and over the surprised yelp from the earth pony, he says: “Blood samples!”

When he fills up the veil, he chuckles devilishly and swishes the red fluid around in morbid fascination before labeling it and securing it in a suitcase of other vails. When that is said and done, he puts a small bandage over the point of entry and slaps Time Turner in the rump, making him yelp again and jump as his face burns from embarrassment.

“Off to the shower with you!” orders Nebulus cheerfully.

Time Turner reluctantly heads to the shower stall, and once inside, he realizes that there is no showerhead. He turns around to say something, but gets a face full of powdered soap instead. He coughs and sputters as he wipes his face, but before he can get them all off, a jetstream of freezing cold water sprays all over him from a hose being manned by one of the guards.

“Turn!” barks the guard.

Time Turner turns around and winces when he feels the powdered soap collide with his backside. And when the ice cold water is sprayed over the soap, he just wants to die from the unpleasant feeling of the icy feeling all over his back, tail and privates. The guard orders him to turn to his side, and he gets another blast of soap and water, and when he’s all cleaned off he steps out and is dried off by another one of the old guards. The remaining guard attaches a saddle on his back with clothing, recreational and working, and a hard hat stuffed in the saddle bag.

“Doctor, you’re fitness is remarkable for a bookworm, do you work out?” asks Nebulus, prompting Time Turner to inadvertently give him a harsh stare. “Nevermind, for your surprisingly good build we are putting you in the ore mines. Luckily for you, its close to the dining halls and your block.”

The guards tug on the leash around Time Turner’s neck, lead him out of the accursed room and down the dead halls of the prison. Time Turner cranes his neck to look at the orange colors of dusk shine through the windows, and when he’s brought to his cell there’s barely enough room for him to maneuver in. The room only has a rock hard cot with a hay mattress crudely tossed on, and a thin blanket and pillow to go with it. There is also a small window that is taunting him of the freedom he cannot have by giving him a view of the Macintosh Hills. The snow capped mountains and their majestic trees seem unreal with the sun setting behind them. Time Turner stands on his hind legs and presses his face against the bars, and for a moment, its just him and the possibility of freedom and being reunited with his loved ones.

“Always the same,” grumbles the guard quietly as Time Turner slowly paws at the bars, whimpering quietly.

Time Turner looks over his shoulder and watches the bars making up his door slide shut. When they close and lock, the bang and click echoes in the dead halls of his new home. When the guard is out of sight, Time Turner sighs, slides down to his hooves, and climbs on his bed wanting to do nothing more than sleep. But alas, sleep eludes him when he hears the marching of hundreds of sets of hooves and guards shouting for prisoners to stay in line. He lifts his head slightly and watches prisoners dressed in gray and all wearing collars walk past his cell, including the spotted pony looking at him when he first arrived. The said pony flashes another smile directed towards him and Time Turner looks away, once again feeling sick in his stomach.

When all the prisoners are locked safely away in their cells, the guards leave and metal slabs slide over the window, blocking out the sun and encasing the block in a blanket of darkness. Time Turner sighs and pulls the blanket over himself and shuts his eyes, hoping for a good night’s rest.

“Helllllooooo newcomers!” shouts one of the prisoners. “Here at the Badlands Mine we like to welcome our new family with the hospitality our fair piece of the world is known for!”

Time Turner opens his eyes, scowling and makes a low, irritated grumble as other seasoned prisoners make shoutouts to the newcomers with hoots and hollers and vulgar language about having their way with their mothers, sisters, and anyone else they can think of. The situation is made worse when the seasoned prisoners bang on their bars and call out cell numbers belonging to the new prisoners. Some argue which prisoner will belong to who, and it usually comes down to a “share and care” type deal. The claimed prisoners are silent as they push themselves further back in their cells, hoping that they can melt into the walls and escape the Hell they are in. But when Time Turner’s cell number is called, everyone goes silent, and Time Turner buries himself under the blanket.

“Cell N One Nine Six Three, you’re mine!” yells the prisoner that called him again. “And I’m not sharing him with anypony, you got that!”

Time Turner closes his eyes as tight as they can go and pulls the ratty pillow over his ears. The voice echoes in his mind and he tries to escape by tightening the blanket around him, but there is no escape. He only feels more trapped now, and he lets out a little whimper with a single tear rolling down his cheek as he realizes now knows there is no escaping the Badlands Mine.

[[[[O]]]]

Time Turner wearily stumbles into his abode late at night, covered in mud and dead tired from the all day protests against the Special Talent Act and the nationalization of farms. His eyes feel like they weigh a ton each and kept sliding shut. When he snaps his eyes open in a feeble attempt to keep himself awake, he wobbles towards the light switch and flicks it on. Everything was where it was supposed to be. The couches and chairs were set up around a glass coffee table, leaving a comfortable opening to their radio and phonogram. The family and wedding pictures are all there, including a timeline of Dinky growing up. Even his expensive griffin rug retains its glamorous look. However, there are four ponies he does not recognize waiting for him in the living room. All of them are wearing dark coats and suits, and the only one who isn’t wearing any sunglasses or isn’t a unicorn is an earth pony relaxing on his chair. The stallion is wearing a worn stetson that goes nicely with his attire, is barely older than Applejack and admittedly very handsome. Like stallions would turn gay and lesbians renounce their sexuality for him kind of handsome.

“Sorry ‘bout the whole setup here,” says the stallion with a heavy Appleloosan twang, “but Ah figured if ya saw yer lights on when nopony was home you’d gone and bolt.”

Time Turner blinks a couple of times before shaking his head to distract himself from the stallion’s good looks.

“Ah’m Agent Braeburn of the Civilian Defense Agency and Ah have no intention of hurtin’ you or anypony else. Ah jus’ wanna have a few words with ya.”

Time Turner’s thoughts on how ridiculously good looking the stallion is flies right out the window when he admitted to being CDA. He gulps nervously and takes a step back, making the unicorns step forward and one of them use their magic to lock the door. Time Turner feels himself shaking with cold beads of sweat sliding down his neck as he stares at the unwelcomed guests.

“How-How did you know the house was empty?” stammers Time Turner.

“Well, Derpy’s shift is suppose ta end in another four hours, but we already picked her up, and yer daughter is at the Unicorn Range Summer Camp,” replies Braeburn. He stood up and began pacing around the furniture set. “Time Turner, Ah wanna make it clear, Ah don’t want any trouble, but Ah have ta bring ya in fer some questionin’.”

Time Turner pales and his eyes dart between Braeburn and the other ominous ponies standing around him.

“What are you going to do with my family?” asks Time Turner, trying to act brave but everyone can see him trembling and sweating.

Braeburn smiles reassuringly, but that only makes him more terrifying. “Don’tcha worry  ‘bout a thing, the CDA will take care o’ yer family. We just need ta have a little talk about yer activities. Nothin’ serious, jus’ some questions.”

“I did nothing wrong!” says Time Turner defensively as he tries to back up, but he ends up backing himself into a corner. He shrinks down as the other ponies being led by Braeburn closes in on him. “The Solar Doctrine gives the citizens of Equestria the right to assemble!”

“We’re under martial law, remember? The Solar Doctrine holds no value when that’s goin’ on.” Time Turner gulps as Braeburn towers above him, his pupil shifting to green. “Jus’ cooperate with us and nopony will get hurt, okay?”

[[[[O]]]]

“RISE AND SHINE, COLTS!” shouts one of the guards as he marches down the hall with a bell ringing over the intercom.

Time Turner pokes his head out from under the blanket and has to squint his eyes as the slabs of metal covering the large windows are pulled up, letting in the morning rays of sunshine. He groggily climbs out of his bed and puts on his work clothes when ordered to do so by the guards. When he slips on the thick, drabby miner’s outfit after some difficulty he stands in front of the door, waiting for it to open. There is a buzz and all the doors slide open at the same time, grinding against the concrete floor in the process. Time Turner steps out immediately with the other prisoners and they are led outside by the guards, with more of them keeping their weapons trained on them from higher levels.

Once outside, Time Turner looks at the rising sun, captivated by the way its partially hidden by the mountains and how everything seems so innocent with the orange hue.

“Keep moving!” barks one of the guards as he jabs Time Turner in the ribs.

Time Turner picks up his pace to an almost full on run until he catches up with the group he came out with. The group files into a kitchen that is just as dull as the rest of the prison. The monotonous colors, steel tables, and seemingly endless wave of gray ponies is enough to bore anyone into a depression. That is if they are not depressed already. When it’s Time Turner’s turn to get his food, he gets a pancake with a glass of milk and a bowl of oatmeal served by a mare in a prisoner outfit with a fork and spoon stitched on her shoulder.

“Enjoy,” drones the server.

Time Turner silently nods to acknowledge what she said as he carefully carries his dish to his table. Since he arrived later, there aren’t many places for him to go, but he does find a good spot in the very back, where there is a minimal amount of prisoners. He takes the back corner and tries to enjoy his drabby meal in silence, but his hopes for a quiet breakfast is ruined when a tray slides next to him and two more slide across him. Then, to his horror, the same spotted pony that gave him the creeps slides next to him and two more earth ponies, each covered in scars and grime, slide across from him, grinning maniacally.

“Do you know who I am?” says the spotted pony.

“Should I?” asks Time Turner quietly, mentally kicking himself for saying something so snappy to someone who looks like he’d make a great timberwolf.

The pony nickers and wraps his hoof around Time Turner’s shoulder and hugs him closer. “I like this guy already, he has a cute accent. Trottingham, right?”

Time Turner forces himself to smile as the three guests chuckle and throw in their two cents on his “cute accent”.

“The name is ‘Toolbox’,” says the spotted pony while forcing Time Turner to shake hooves with him, “and who might you be?”

“Dr. T-Time Turner Whooves,” mumbles Time Turner.

“Ah, we got ourselves a doctor. What kinda doctor are you? Hoof doctor? Eye doctor? Mind doctor? A real doctor?”

Time Turner shakes his head. “I fixed and built clocks.”

“A time doctor,” breathes one of Toolbox’s friends in amazement; he has an orange coat with a blue mane and a pair of shoes as a cutie mark.

“Don’t be an idiot, Shoe Shine, there’s no such thing as a time doctor,” scolds the second pony; him having a blue coat with his mane and tail colored red with streaks of orange running through them. His cutie mark is a microphone.

“Easy, Alto, you know Shoe isn’t the brightest bulb,” reasons Toolbox harshly, making Shoe Shine glare at him while Alto snickers. “So, Dr. Whooves, if your special talent is time related, does that mean you’re really good at timing things?”

“I-I guess so.”

“So you can count very well and schedule things to near perfection?”

Time Turner looks down, nodding, and inadvertently remembering the night his world got worse.

“You could say that,” says Time Turner quietly.

===

“Well, I have to say that that was an exhausting event,” complained Time Turner as he finished loading up the last of the boxes of fliers. “I could really use a cup of tea and one of Derpy’s muffins right now.”

Applejack snickered and playfully nudged Time Turner’s ribs while folding up the banner that was hanging on Ponyville Townhall. “What kinda earth pony are ya, gettin’ all worn out by talkin’ and handin’ out fliers like that?”

Time Turner frowned. “I also had to make sure everything was taken care of and timed to perfection.” He then pulled out a list from his saddlebag, not noticing Applejack trying desperately to contain her snicker, and began checking off the appropriate items. When he realized that Applejack was stifling a snicker, he stopped, spat out his pen and stared at the farmer. “Is something wrong, Applejack?”

Applejack shook her head and walked away, giggling about how he and Twilight have a lot in common. His eyes followed Applejack as she approached Twilight, whom looked less than pleased by what she’s seeing. The two Elements have a small conversation that ends with the lavender’s unicorn’s eyes bulging and her ears and cheeks flushing red. Then Twilight got deadly serious, scolded Applejack and walked off with a huff, but not without stealing a glance at Ponyville’s resident clock expert first. Time Turner looked at Twilight and she galloped away while Applejack ragged on her about seeing what she did. Applejack trotted back to Time Turner with an unusually smug smile and he furrowed his brow and looked away from her to continue with his checklist.

“Didja see Twilight checkin’ ya out?” teased Applejack.

“I’m married,” said Time Turner sourly with the pen in his mouth.

“Yeah, Ah know, but Ah was just wonderin so that way ya can back me up in case she tries t’ deny the whole thing.”

Time Turner once again spat out his pen. “You’re the Element of Honesty, why would anypony think your lying?”

Applejack just smiled and walked away without saying another word, and Time Turner rolled his eyes and went back to his checklist.

===

“Oh, can you tell time by looking at the sun?” asks Shoe Shine eagerly, snapping Time Turner out of his thoughts. “I hear that the buffalo can do that!”

Time Turner glances at the sunlight seeping through the dining room window.

“He can’t do that! That’s just a stupid-”

“It’s nine thirty four,” blurts Time Turner, completely interrupting Alto.

Toolbox whistles, Shoe Shine grins, and Alto gives Time Turner the most terrifying, malicious glare he’s ever seen. Time Turner shrinks down, nibbling at his breakfast, and Toolbox looks over his shoulder and laughs amusingly as he points at a clock hanging on the wall.

“Well, cuff me, gag me, and send me to Shining Armor with a bowtie, he’s right!” laughs Toolbox. “I knew I made a great choice picking you. Stick with me, Whooves, and nopony will mess with you. Not even the guards.”

“He cheated,” sneers Alto, still holding his glare.

Time Turner shrinks down even further when the accusing pony narrows his eyes at him.

“Is somepony jealous?” teases Toolbox.

Before Alto can answer, the bell rings and the guards shout for everyone to get up and head outside. It doesn’t take long to make Time Turner realize he’s been underestimating how much trouble he’s in. As soon as he goes outside he immediately feels the uncompromising, flesh-burning heat of the morning sun. And as if the heat isn’t bad enough, he can hear the small army of collared ponies trudging through the burning sand with the squeaking wheels that mark the carts carrying their cargo.

The guards lead the prisoners past a steel, barb wired gate with a sign labeled “BADLANDS MINE and PENITENTIARY” propped above it. Upon passing the gate,Time Turner’s muscles do everything in their power to make him turn tail and run.  Fortunately for him, two things happen:  one, his brain is smart enough to keep his legs in check, and two, someone was thinking the exact same thing that he was. The pony, a pegasus with his wings cuffed to his sides, attempts to make a run for it, but is tackled to the ground and brutally subdued by two pegasi guards that attacked him from their hidden perches. Time Turner closes his eyes and tries not to think about the poor pegasus’s protests and the guards’ shouting.

They are led to a hellish landscape comprised of a giant crater dug into the ground and deep gashes in the mountainsides, perpetrated by the enormous drills and other oversized steampunkish vehicles. All the tunnels are connected together by a series of catwalks and rail systems that help the bigger stallions pull the carts of mined materials to be stored in larger vehicles, which carry them to a building hidden behind a large wall. The only thing anyone can really see of the building is the heavily defended walls and the spires spewing out smoke. The mine is also being guarded by a single armored zeppelin with the sun of the Solar Empire painted on its side gliding in lazy circles, forever watching every move.

As Time Turner shuffles towards his destination, he swears he hears the Equestrian national anthem playing. He tries to push that notion out of his mind and focus on what has to be done while the guards ferry the prisoners to their respective groups, leading them to whatever forsaken tunnel they have to work in after giving them their tools. Unfortunately for Time Turner, he’s stuck with the three ponies that interrupted his peace. He tries to outwalk them, but they are persistent. Alto and Shoe Shine flank him and Toolbox steps in front of Time Turner, matching his brisk pace.

“Where do you think you’re going? You have to stick with us,” says Toolbox.

“I-I um I have to-to do the um mining... thing,” stammers Time Turner.

“So do we, Whooves, but you don’t see us scampering away from each other, do you?” Time Turner shakes his head quickly. “I’ll let this slide because you’re new, but remember, you belong to me. You follow me where I go, you laugh when I tell a joke, and if I tell you to stab somepony, you do it.”

Time Turner gulps and his ears droop while Alto chuckles, but Shoe Shine wraps his hoof around the brown pony’s neck with feigned love.

“Aw, don’t be like that to the new guy, Toolbox, you’re scaring him,” jokes Shoe Shine harshly.

“Then he better toughen up,” snarls Alto. Then to Time Turner: “Consider yourself lucky that you aren’t being shared and that you’re with us instead of somepony else, like Nimbus.”

“Nimbus got especially nasty when he found out somepony murdered his boy,” warns Shoe Shine.

“Yeah, and the dumbass thinks I had something to do with it,” grumbles Toolbox. “It’d be nice if he thought for a moment. What could I have possibly done to get Sunshine killed when I’m stuck in this Celestia-forsaken place?”

“To be fair, you did try to kill that freak with a bomb a few years ago,” points out Alto.

“Okay, it might also be bad for you if you’re with us, since Nimbus automatically hates you since we claimed you,” says Shoe Shine to Time Turner as they walk past a trio of pegasi giving them the death glare. “But the good news is, you aren’t being shared.”

Time Turner’s blood drains from his face when he realizes how screwed he is in the forsaken prison. As much as he wants to think about something positive, like Derpy’s muffins or Dinky’s pictures, the idea of being on a hitlist overshadows any hope of staying positive. He starts worrying that he’ll get pummeled in the shower, stabbed in a mine, or pummeled in a mine, then stabbed in a shower and bleed to death in an infirmary because of inadequate doctors. To add to Time Turner’s blight, he’s also certain that the Nimbus-Toolbox rivalry is racially driven, given that every pony he has seen being associated with Toolbox has been an earth pony and Nimbus had just pegasi. So, even if he wasn’t part of Toolbox’s gang he’d still get brutalized in some horrible fashion. But it is as Shoe Shine stated, at least he isn’t being shared.

While Toolbox explains the “Laws of the Badlands”, he throws in a gratuitous amount of racial slurs targeting pegasi and unicorns, but mostly pegasi. However, Time Turner isn’t paying much attention to what Toolbox is saying, rather he’s worrying about whether Derpy is in a hellhole like his, given that the CDA picked her up to. His thoughts are interrupted when they walk by another group of pegasi, and unlike the little groups they passed, this one has close to a dozen of them.

“How much bread do you wanna bet Nimbus is hiding in there?” jokes Alto.

Time Turner asks which one Nimbus is while walking past the group, but Alto’s only description is “the ugly one” and Shoe Shine remains quiet. Only Toolbox gives him a good description.

“He’s not in there. But Nimbus has a gray coat and black hair, kinda fading, and his cutie mark is a tornado. If you get pummeled by any of those featherbrains you let me know. You’re my property and I take care of what is mine.”

Time Turner is at a loss of words as to what to say about Toolbox’s statement, so he does the only thing he can do. Stay silent and follow them into the mine, it’s not like he has much of a choice anyway.

Time Turner goes inside a tunnel marked “063” with the three other ponies, now wearing masks with their hard hats and boots designed to resemble diamond dog claws. The tunnel walls are surprisingly smooth and has lights hanging on the walls and ceiling with enchanted wooden beams holding the tunnel up. However, the deeper they go, the darker it becomes and the louder the digging and conversations of the miners become. Time Turner also notices that there are shielded boxes drilled into the wall and that the largest of the stallions are strapped to rusty carts, waiting for a full load. Once their cart is filled up, the prisoner that did the last load taps the stallion three times to let them know that their load is full. After that, the stallion leaves for his long journey out of the dark cold tunnel to the bright, scorching earth above.

Despite the dim lighting, Time Turner can still make out some of the ponies easily. They are clawing like mad at the rock wall, knocking loose large chunks of rocks into baskets attached to saddles, much like what he’s seen on Sweet Apple Acres. Once the baskets are filled, they carry them to the carts and dump them off, resuming their work shortly after.

“Hey, Whooves, pay attention, I don’t want to see you jumped,” says Toolbox sternly while pushing Time Turner towards the other two ponies.

The trio is unaware of a group of seven pegasi stallions approaching them with malicious smiles. When Alto notices the approaching pegasi he furrows his brow and nudges Toolbox, alerting him of their company. Toolbox faces the lead pegasus and offers a less than friendly smile while Alto and Shoe Shine flank him; Time Turner decides it is in his best interest to stand behind Toolbox’s gang.

“So, this is your new pet?” chuckles the lead pegasus; he has a green coat, a blue mane and tail, and has a sun inside a cloud as a cutie mark. His smile turning more sinister when he sees Time Turner cowering in the back. “Looks like you're losing your touch, Tool. Picking out the weakest of the litter is a horrible strategy.”

“Your featherbrain just can’t comprehend what’s going on, Cum Bucket,” taunts Toolbox.

The pegasus sneers. “That’s Cumulus.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” Toolbox brushes past Cumulus and his guards, his posse following close behind with Time Turner keeping his head down. “By the way, don’t forget to tell your old man that his empire is through, here and in Barnville.”

Cumulus growls while scuffing at the ground. “Keep talking big, dirt walker, we’ll see how far that gets you.”

Toolbox and his gang, minus Time Turner, laugh and wave their hooves around like cheap ghosts. Time Turner, on the other hand, shrinks behind the group, mostly out of the sake of self-preservation since he can feel the pegasi’s mental crosshairs lock on to him.

“Better to be grounded than with our heads in the clouds,” retorts Toolbox after returning to all fours.

“I-I don’t think you should antagonize him,” suggests Time Turner nervously. “they um kinda outnumber us.”

Toolbox and his gang stop everything to glare at Time Turner while Cumulus’s demented smile returns to meet with his guards’ snickering.

“That’s right, listen to the coward,” snickers Cumulus, now walking away with his posse. “He just might save your life. Colts, lets get out of here, a tunnel is only fit for dirt walkers.”

The pegasi walk away, being sure to kick some rubble to them on their way out. When the pegasi are out of sight, Toolbox sighs heavily and turns to face Time Turner. Alto and Shoe Shine stand behind Time Turner to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Time Turner’s pupils shrink and his ears droop as he cowers under the wrathful glare of his self-proclaimed master. Toolbox puts his hoof on Time Turner’s shoulder, making him wince when the boot’s claws part his skin.

“Listen here, Whooves, because I’m only telling you this once,” growls Toolbox. He throws Time Turner on the ground, leaving a nasty series of gashes on his shoulder and down his leg. Time Turner cries in pain and trashes on the ground, only stopping when Alto presses his hoof down on his neck. Time Turner sniffles and whimpers as his blood trickles to the nasty ground. Toolbox kneels next to Time Turner and presses his hoof against his head. “I may take care of what is mine, but since you are mine I can discipline you however I please. You just embarrassed me in front of one of Nimbus’s lieutenants, and that calls for immediate discipline.”

Time Turner’s eyes widen when Toolbox raises his hoof, then the last thing he sees before blacking out is the sole of a boot.

=**********=

In a simple wooden shack overlooking all of the Badlands Mine, Nebulus stands by a grungy window, watching everyone do their duty. He blows raspberries and unenthusiastically shifts through a stack of manila folders in a little basket labeled as “Newcomers” resting on the desk. A few seconds later, he puts the folders back  and looks up at the ceiling fan while furrowing his sweaty brow, watching it spin in lazy circles. His horn and the fan glow a dark purple, giving the fan gets a burst of energy that cools of the room nicely, thus making Nebulus a happy unicorn for the time being.

He relaxes in the chair and stares at the door, hoof tapping the desk in sync with the clock’s ticking. When the pegasus running the mine walks in, her stature, like most pegasi, is proud, and, like most pegasi when they see an unwanted guest on their cloud, she scowls. The stallion smirks at her behavior as he stands up to greet her.

“Nebulus, what are you doing in my office?” snarls the mare.

“I’m working, like I always do, Frost,” says Nebulus coolly. Frost snorts and he arches an eyebrow. “Is something wrong?”

“You know damn well what’s wrong,” sneers Frost, ruffling her feathers.

“I guess breaking into your office was a bad move, then.” Nebulus looks at the clock hanging on the wall. “But not to worry, I’ll be outta your mane in just a little bit, I just need the progress report about the excavation.”

“Here’s the simple version: If you want more progress, give us more clouds.”

“Clouds aren’t my department.”

“The prisoners are being cooked alive out there!”

Nebulus shrugs. “What do you want me to do? Call Hoofington and ask them if they can spare some clouds?”

“It’s Hoofington, they can spare enough clouds to cover this place twice.”

Nebulus chuckles and relaxes in the chair, ignoring the pegasus’s glare.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll talk to Major Fuller about your cloud problem and see if he’ll get our friends in Hoofington to spare some clouds.”

Frost’s eyes narrow. “You better, because Fuller’s operation depends on the prisoners’ well being.”

Nebulus stands up and approaches Frost, he’s about to say something, but stops halfway and sniffs obnoxiously. Frost scowls and takes a step back when Nebulus sniffs again, this time leaning towards her. She has to put her hoof against his chest to keep him from sniffing her face, but he still leans forward, thus making her lean back.

“Nebulus, what are you doing!”

Nebulus takes one last sniff before saying: “You smell funny.”

Frost growls and stomps the floor while pointing at the door.

“Get out!”

“Jeeze, relax, I’m just saying you smell.”

Frost scoffs in disgust and doesn’t give Nebulus the chance to defend his poor choice of words. She pushes him out with enough force to send him falling on the ground on his face, kicking up a cloud of dirt upon impact. He gets up, shakes dirt out of his mane and then turns to Frost.

“'Nice'! I was trying to say ‘You smell nice’! Like vanilla bean nice!”

“Just get me more clouds, Nebulus!” orders Frost.

“Will do!” chirps Nebulus, grinning broadly.

Frost slams the door shut and the cheerful unicorn stares at the door for a couple more seconds before walking towards his living quarters, whistling a happy tune. He hears Frost call him when he’s a few paces away, and he turns to see her trot towards him with a manilla folder in her mouth.

“Here’s your progress report for Fuller,” Frost says moodily as soon as he takes the folder from her with his magic.

Nebulus thanks her and her only reply is a grunt before she trots back to her shack. When her door closes, he resumes his unpleasant walk in the blistering heat, his smile growing bigger and his steps turning to childish skips.

“Yeah, she totally digs me,” says Nebulus proudly, then he slows to a stop and uses the folder to shield his eyes from the relentless onslaught of the sun’s rays. “Dear Celestia, we really do need more clouds up here.”

=**********=

It is late at night, and an armored train is speeding down the tracks, heading towards the mountains that guard the Badlands. The new moon and thick cloud coverage almost makes the night pitch black, but the train acts as an illuminated blur as light escapes its windows.

Inside the train, guarding a prisoner shackled to the ground with thick chains and even thicker shackles is a nervous unicorn Royal Guard. The Royal Guard tries to keep himself calm by reading a romance novel titled “Legends of Autumn”, but peace eludes him. His eyes keep drifting back to the prisoner, and the prisoner has yet to take his eyes off of him. He has been silent the whole time he has been in their custody, only moving his legs every so often as far as they could go. The young guard is guessing that it was probably due to cramps, but that doesn’t make him feel any more at ease. Just about every prisoner he’s encounter has either given him a death glare or tried to mock him, but not this one. Nope, this one just stares. It’s not even an angry stare or a sad stare; it’s empty. It’s like the prisoner is lost in his own little world and his eyes just happened to be looking at him when he zoned out.

The guard jumps when the door opens up and a seasoned unicorn guard walks in with a tray of food levitating in front of him.

“Relax, Rookie, it’s just me,” says the new guard.

“Sorry, Sarge, just a little jumpy from that guy staring at me all day.”

Sarge walks up to the prisoner, and he admits he’d be scared to approach him if the prisoner wasn’t shackled since the red stallion is, to put lightly, a titan among ponies.

“Has he said a word?” asks Sarge.

“No sir.”

“...Has he even blinked?”

“I doubt it, sir.”

Sarge waves his hoof in front of the prisoner’s eyes; the only reaction is a slight twitch.

“Are you going to talk anytime soon?” asks Sarge with a condescending tone.

The prisoner blinks.

“I think he might be a mute, sir,” says Rookie, “I mean he hasn’t said a word the whole time he’s been here.”

“That... that could explain a lot actually.” Then he turns to Rookie with a shrug while levitating the tray on a small table in the corner. “Oh well. We’ll be reaching the Badlands Mine in a couple of hours, then we can drop this guy off with the other prisoners and we can relax.”

“I reckon that won’t be happenin’,” says the prisoner casually, having a thick country accent, making both guards jump in their spots from his sudden vocalization.

“Whoa, he can talk!” says Rookie, eyes wide and heart racing.

Sarge, after recollecting himself, tries to put on a cocky smile as he turns to the prisoner. “I ‘reckon’ that it will, Macintosh.”

Big Mac’s lips curl into a small, confident smile that makes both of the guards’ manes crawl. Then, before any of the two guards can react, he yanks out the chains holding his front hooves down. Both guards swear while shielding their faces as slivers of wood scatter around. After freeing his forehooves, Big Mac rips out the chains holding his hind legs in place. When Big Mac is freed, Sarge attempts to use his battle saddle, but it is too late for him. The monster sized stallion bull rushes him in the chest, sending him crashing through the door and skidding across the floor in the other cart, where normal prisoners are. The prisoners cheer and bang on their cells while Big Mac knocks out Rookie with a swift swat the head. Big Mac is about to run to Sarge to grab his keys, but the door opens up and two more unicorn guards rush in with their horns glowing and their battle saddles armed and ready. Big Mac darts back inside the cart he came from, barely missing getting his body pumped full of led and magical attacks.

The alarm on the train rings frantically and the lights on the train switch to red. Big Mac pushes himself away from the doorway as more bullets and magical energy whizz by, leaving an abundance of holes and scorch marks on the back wall. Big Mac waits patiently for the two guards to approach, and when they walk in, he strikes. He uses one of the chains that had been holding him down like it was a rope to wrap it around the first guard’s neck with a swift flick. As the guard tries to free himself, Big Mac swings him into the second guard. Both guards stumble to the ground, the one chained by his neck tenderly rubbing the point of impact. Then, while both guards are trying to get up, Big Mac rams them both into the damaged back wall. It comes to no surprise for Big Mac when all three go through the wall and roll end over end of each other like a ball on the railroad tracks. After coming to a stop, both guards are unconscious under his hooves and the train screeches to a stop, sending out a shower of sparks from the wheels.

Big Mac clambers to his feet, trying to ignore the wave of pain over his hooves and ribs, and limps as quickly as he can into the safety forest. He looks over his shoulder and picks up his pace when he sees searchlights from the roofs of the train sweep the area with Royal Guard pegasi taking flight. Each step sends a small twinge of pain in his hooves and side, but the pain also fuels his determination. He will not be captured again! He cannot afford to be captured!

“Hang on, AJ, I’m coming.”

And with those words, Big Mac gets a sudden burst of adrenaline that gives him the speed and the endurance needed to disappear into the dark forest.