Within, Without

by KvAT

Chapter 2: Under the Throes of the Empress’ Might

Manehattan.

Land of Industrial Progress.

Where the coals burn and the factories stamps.

Where tanks rolled along the main street, trucks and artillery peppered somewhere along and around. Fanfare howled as the sergeants played their marching tune, singing songs of intense battle and triumphant victory.

Rows of ponies, flanking both sides of the street in an organized line of space, bellowing in an exhilarated fervor, hungry for an end to the toil they endured. Though more often than not, their screams were dishonest. False excitement, roused by the few planted individuals specifically to incite a heat in the cold and gloomy atmosphere.

In the middle, uniformed ponies with guns on their side, stomping in militaristic order. Their faces stoic, and their muscles trained. Deep down, they were either fanatical, afraid, or tired. None of them were soldiers by choice, only by reason and circumstances.

I watched as the parade rolled along, my high vantage point atop an abandoned store proving a boon as I could see the central figure still miles away. High atop a big moving pedestal hosting a single obsidian throne, the aesthetics greatly matching the one pony standing above.

Her smirk leaked of arrogance, as her mouth spewed a great big fiery speech. Promises of peace, a calm aftermath beyond the raging storm of war. An era of lasting peace, not unlike what we had up to several years prior. Guarantees of a prosperous new era, where will live like kings and eat like princesses.

All they needed? A drop of your blood, a trickle of your sweat, and a bead of your tears. Suffice to say, those figures were grossly underestimated. “Forward unto Dawn”, except for all we knew it might already be dusk.

She eventually rolled along, in front of me. “Her Royal General” Daybreaker, or whatever she titled herself on that particular whim. We caught glimpse of each other, and she frowned for a split second. A non-functioning member of society? In her temporary capital of the valiantly defending Solar Empire? Unthinkable. Despicable.

But reality never matched anypony’s visions, not even hers.

Ever since Princess Celestia ascended, if that’s even the correct word, she cranked up the exhausted remains of Equestria up to eleven. More factories, more industry, more military. More bombs, more weapons, more tanks. More everything. Her efforts proved useful at first, as the changeling advances were halted, or at least that’s what the news said.

Eventually, “more of everything” also included fatigue, exhaustion, and unrest. For every truck rolled out of the factory line, every gun stamped, every soldier minted, a pony dies from overwork, hunger, illness, or all three. One of them collapsed right in the middle of the parade, a previously stoic and supposedly hardened soldier. The exact same bum I saw sleeping inside the ruins of that Rarity shop so long ago.

Yes, the draft encompassed all. No exceptions. That is, unless you’re so physically unfit that you’re not even worth the meager amounts of food required to sustain you and your training.

At least I got myself a small pistol, like few else expelled from the draft. How thoughtful of her indeed.

The military band marched on, leaving in its wake an empty street. Pavings disturbed by heavy tracked vehicles, further muddled by the stompings of hooves. Walking across the same street chafed my hooves a bit, but horseshoes, once essential and cheap, were now an expensive rarity.

The few smithies selling them were in exclusive contract with the crown. Soldier slippers, horseshoes, and the few custom jobs for whatever tools they needed repairing. Paid in stale rations and food stamps. That would’ve destroyed their business if the black market didn’t operate with stamps as currency.

You know what else operated under food stamps? The prison. Never been there personally, but with where the city leads, it might as well be.

No, nevermind. Even the prison doesn’t tax their inmates.

Here? Just look at that. A random, two-story apartment block, black with soot from industrial smoke. A couple royal guards, armour gleaming with painted gold, guns strapped on their sides, bucking the doors down. Several ponies inside, all crying with various levels of panic and terror. One of them shot in the flank. More crying and screaming.

All of the guards entered, one positioning herself on the door, face stoic and brave with a permanent glare. Must be somepony higher up the system, as her body rippled with well-fed muscles. From the inside were shattering porcelain, screams of both adults and foals, several more gunshots, and eventually... silence.

Nopony around but me, the sole oneself under the gaze of that guardsmare. She had her gun aimed at me, but she knew better than to shoot. Hopefully. Fortunately, she did know better. Her colleagues went out with a sack of something, possibly bits and rations, in hoof. They left without so much as a double take.

Passing the house, a wailing cry could be heard. Several windows broken, a sofa overturned. I didn’t look twice. Nopony ever did.

The group entered another apartment block. The same song and dance, over and over again. Some gave up no resistance, some ended in a shootout. I turned to another street, leaving the shootout behind. Society’s problem, not mine.

They said everything was done for the sake of the war, to eventually ensure victory, and send the changelings back where they belong. Under Solar rule, everypony either desperately wanted to believe that it would end, or they would rather have the changelings enter. Kill them. End the suffering.

None saw changelings as saviours, neither saw Daybreaker as one. Same side of a different coin is the same nonetheless. No hope under the rolling swarm. No hope under the falling sun.

Within the barracks, a different story rang from behind the barbed walls. Cheers of soldiers, guards, and other ponies in barest contact with the military, laughing and singing along as they filled their bellies in reckless abandon. The naive, juvenile, and fanatical. Green soldiers, worth nothing but cannon fodders.

All tools of propaganda to entice the few undrafted to join into the military.

In another block, the same setting. Same buildings, same barracks, same equipment. Different atmosphere. All of these ones had seen combat. Seasoned soldiers, veterans, frontline survivors. One of them smoked outside their tent, facing outwards a fenced gate. I passed him, and we locked gazes.

I nodded, he nodded.

Stallion in his later days, several scars ran through his face. Nondescript cream decorated with mane as black as mine. Yellow teeth chewing a cig.

He looked considerably cleaner than I ever had been for years, but his tired eyes told me the reverse reigned true inside. A life dirtied by lead and blood, one I had ever dared to dream only once. Gunshots, bombs, hurt, sickness, death. Things nopony should ever be allowed to see.

Still, our mute conversation told plenty of stories. An exchange of experience, mutual envy of each other’s conditions.

The army was his constant. Days passing without sleep, only to shoot a few bullets and retreat under the barrage of bombs and aerial suppressive fire. Sleeping with increasingly different ponies in an increasingly cramped and musty space. Cleaning a gun he would fire less and less. Now that the changelings stood behind the city gates, he would either empty his supply or never fire another shot.

The streets were my constant. Digging through trash for another change of finding my fill. Sleeping in rotting cardboard boxes in a damp and dirty alleyway. Constant moving around, avoiding maggot buildup. The permanence of my dumpster wouldn’t change, but the ponies, or maybe changelings who threw trash into them eventually will.

As we both said in roaring silence: mutual envy.

He offered me his fag, and I took a single drag. The cheap tobacco left a creamy aftertaste, one I savoured not to waste.

I nodded, he nodded.

We moved on, walking our separate ways.

Comments

[Pete100]

She eventually rolled along, in front of me. “Her Royal General” Daybreaker, or whatever she titled herself on that particular whim. We caught glimpse of each other, and she frowned for a split second. A non-functioning member of society? In her temporary capital of the valiantly defending Solar Empire? Unthinkable. Despicable.

How did she become daybreaker?

Ever since Princess Celestia ascended, if that’s even the correct word, she cranked up the exhausted remains of Equestria up to eleven. More factories, more industry, more military. More bombs, more weapons, more tanks. More everything. Her efforts proved useful at first, as the changeling advances were halted, or at least that’s what the news said.

What does he mean by that?

Eventually, “more of everything” also included fatigue, exhaustion, and unrest. For every truck rolled out of the factory line, every gun stamped, every soldier minted, a pony dies from overwork, hunger, illness, or all three. One of them collapsed right in the middle of the parade, a previously stoic and supposedly hardened soldier. The exact same bum I saw sleeping inside the ruins of that Rarity shop so long ago.

How long ago was that?

Here? Just look at that. A random, two-story apartment block, black with soot from industrial smoke. A couple royal guards, armour gleaming with painted gold, guns strapped on their sides, bucking the doors down. Several ponies inside, all crying with various levels of panic and terror. One of them shot in the flank. More crying and screaming.

But why?

All of the guards entered, one positioning herself on the door, face stoic and brave with a permanent glare. Must be somepony higher up the system, as her body rippled with well-fed muscles. From the inside were shattering porcelain, screams of both adults and foals, several more gunshots, and eventually... silence.

Is that necessary?

Nopony around but me, the sole oneself under the gaze of that guardsmare. She had her gun aimed at me, but she knew better than to shoot. Hopefully. Fortunately, she did know better. Her colleagues went out with a sack of something, possibly bits and rations, in hoof. They left without so much as a double take.

I would have been ready just in case.

They said everything was done for the sake of the war, to eventually ensure victory, and send the changelings back where they belong. Under Solar rule, everypony either desperately wanted to believe that it would end, or they would rather have the changelings enter. Kill them. End the suffering.

You know, I wonder what it’s like being under the changeling rule?

[KvAT]

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I purposely left Daybreaker's ascension and the policies she implemented eventually a bit up to interpretation.