//------------------------------//
// The March of Industry 
// Story: Imperial Forclousure 
// by The Sound of Loneliness 
//------------------------------//

Fickle. All of them were so fickle. This pathetic foal she found herself entangled with barely offered any resistance. 
He did not remember his parents, neither did she. For all their shared life they lived on Bottle Street, among the empty crates and fumes of multiple glass workshops. She did not know why she was inside his body, neither did she know who she really was. She only knew what she had to do. For every their shared moment, she watched and studied him. The foal was a very gifted unicorn, his parents could not even imagine what kind of luck they slandered. He knew nothing of his talents though. His childhood was spent stealing meals from workers and trying not to freeze to death in winter. He could barely speak, even that he learned from listening to other ponies on the streets. She could not recall hearing any other, but their speech always sounded funny to her. She pitied the poor foal. Life could have been bright for him, but everyone has his lot. Eventually, his life caught up with him. One day, the factory workers managed to catch him. They beat him and threw him in a ditch, she felt every strike acutely. There he lied for what felt like hours, ponies trotted by, dragging carriages with industrialists and other wealthy ponies, but nobody gave him notice. There, he finally gave in. He had no strength left to resist. Too bad, she almost started to respect him. Wrestling control over his body from him was trivially simple, he simply no longer cared. It felt weird to finally have the body follow her directions, but she got used to it quickly, for she had business to attend to. The pain did not matter, it would stop. Magical touch came to her easy, naturally. Opening the gate wide, she trotted back to the same workshop. The workers were leisurely sitting on the unloaded crates, blowing out clouds of smoke. They saw her almost immediately, she did not even try to hide. One by one their faces turned to disdain as if seeing a vermin. One started to shout something angrily, she did not care enough to listen. It was not what she was there for. One of them finally started to move towards her, no doubt to give her more of the same treatment. She grasped him by the head and simply turned it to the side. With a sharp snap, the pony dropped to the ground. Others immediately changed their attitude. She smiled at them, deeply. They tried to run, but it did not help. After two more snaps, it was done. Her final tribute to the foal that they murdered.

Killing those ponies came very easy, she felt no pity and no remorse, as if she was always doing it. She almost laughed at how weak they truly were. Soon enough, someone else found their corpses. She did not stray far from her years-long home underneath the same crate that foal used to live under. He had some toys there, mostly the ones he found abandoned or cast away. He would sleep hugging them, as if they were alive. She always found it cute. Tending to his toys was what the police found her at. They even allowed her to take one with her. She chose the very best toy that foal had: a stuffed dog, torn in several places and stained with the same dirt he found it lying in. They looked at her with pity. She laughed in response. They knew not what just transpired. She came with them freely, and walked into her cell still carrying the same stuffed dog with her. 

It was dark in there. But she quickly found amend, a magic that did something to her eyes so she could see better. It came easy, as if she was doing it for the millionth time. A pony guard came every day to give her something to eat, this one was not like the others she met. He eyed her with practised indifference, he knew better than to show her pity. It was good in that cell, much better than on the streets. It was warm and dry, the fumes were gone too. 

Sometimes, a pony would come and look at her from behind the bars, she did not like that, the guards would carry a lamp in, it hurt her eyes. Sometimes the pony would talk to her, ask her questions. But the questions were so non-sensical that she could not help but only laugh in response. She did not like speaking anyway, it felt pointless. She had everything she needed just there already, she had no reason to speak. 
One of them asked her name. The question was pointless, she had no name, just like the foal had no name. Or rather no real name. The ponies on the street called them many names in the past. The most common nickname they shared was "Spoiled Milk," it was meant to be derogatory, but she never found it insulting. If anything, the analogy was amusingly accurate. 
After hearing her answer, the same pony then asked what happened to her parents. This time, she could not help but laugh again. Their questions always were so clueless.

Sometimes, the thought of leaving would visit her. But she always just smiled and waved it away. This place was her home. Over time, she found more ways to entertain herself. Shaping spoons just the right way and rubbing them together let her make a funny sound. Sometimes someone would bring her another toy, but she would always quickly get bored with them. The loyal dog she had with her got better with time. Someone brought her a piece of fabric and some strings, they knew she needed no needles. 

Eventually, her thoughts would inevitably wander to those on the other side of the bars, the guard and the police. She did not knew their names. She didn't need any regardless. Her guard was just that, the Guard. The others who came to her she called: Crank Step, Stare Eyes and Two Teeth. They almost never talked, there simply was nothing to say. But one of them asked her why did she kill those workers. She laughed and said that they deserved it. He never talked to her again. The other one asked if she knew how many years was she convicted. She responded that she did not listen when they told her. He never spoke to her again either. Two Teeth never said anything to her, but he often brought her something. This was his way of speaking. She liked him the most for this reason.

One day he brought her a piece of paper with pictures and some funny-looking symbols. She liked the pictures. One had a crowd of ponies putting their hooves to their heads. The other page had a picture of a pony talking, while behind him on the wall was another picture of a pony trying to look menacing. She loved to look at that picture specifically afterwards, it always brought her a smile.

Eventually, the police were so used to her that they became talking in her earshot. Sometimes they would talk about the doings on the outside. The gangs, thieves, other criminals. Sometimes they talked about going to a lake after their duty, or some other leisure.  They rarely talked about her. Except for those four, ponies tried not to spend time near her and when she did they gave her fearful looks. Eventually, they even stopped bringing criminals to the other cell in front of her. She rarely took the interest in other convicts, but they still were terrified the whole time they were in her eye reach. They all were soooo pathetic.

On one rare day when they brought someone to sit in front of her in the cell, that pony was so scared that he managed to claw his way to the Guard's pistol and threatened to kill him if they would not let him out. She did not enjoy him straining her ears with his threats to the ponies caring after her. She snapped his neck like a twig, ending his yelling as simply as it started. The usually impassive Guard then looked at her with more horror than she saw on anypony's face before. But quickly calmed down again, upon realizing her having no intention to harm him. He threw a cautious look at the dead pony still having his revolver. Picked it up and deliberately slowly walked out, she watched him all the way out. Other ponies soon came to take the corpse, but she did not see the Guard for some time. 
From that day on he changed, but she saw that before.  He smelled the same as some of the workers at night. That smell staying with him every time he walked in.

Eventually, the precept was started to feel more and more rundown, she could hear fewer voices in the hallways. Her body grew a little, she felt stronger than before. Sometimes she was catching herself feeling that her cell was getting smaller as well. Sometimes her mind was longingly roaming over Bottle Street from her younger years. Her time in this cosy place was coming to an end.

Finally, the day came when the Guard walked in with a chair and put it in front of the bars. He then took out a flask from his jacket and took a long sip. He put the flask back inside the pocket and took out some cards instead. 

"This is my wife," he said in a valiantly flat voice and showed her the picture through the bars. She drew closer to look. The monochrome picture depicted a smiling mare, wearing glasses and sitting in a swinging chair, "Her name is Soothing Bells. We were married for fifteen years," he continued. She curiously looked up from the photo, expecting him to explain.
"This is my daughter," he took out another photo, adding it to the one he was already holding. In the second photo was a tiny filly trying to climb on a chair, she was visibly excited, "She is two now," the Guard said. Something in that filly kept her attention and she kept staring at the photo, the stallion simply held it there for her. She finally looked up at him again.
"I didn't tell her about what happened at that time. I didn't want to tell my wife either, but she already heard that I was threatened with a weapon by that convict. She tore me a new asshole that evening. I promised her that nothing would happen to me, that I was just doing a desk job. I almost lied. My wife would've had to go work several shifts in a factory to feed our daughter and herself. If something happened to her, m-my daughter would be left alone on the street." She didn't laugh this time. She grew to know these ponies, they felt familiar and for some reason him saying this did not feel meaningless.
"I-I don't know w-why you did it, I don't l-like that y-you snapped his neck. But t-thank you anyway!" the stallion barely restrained himself from crying in front of her, that brew in his flask helped. He was silent for a few minutes, calming himself down.
"The precept is closing, I am the only one left and today is my last shift," he continued calmly again. "I don't know why you killed those workers, I don't know who you are or where you came from, but I think you had your reasons. We burned your files and agreed to never speak about it again. I am going to open the door now, there's a bag with some food on the reception table. Please, don't linger in the town."
The stallion took out a ring of keys and shakily inserted one in the hole. The door slowly cranked open. She stood there, not knowing how to act. Her life was all she wished for up to that point. She had a dry and warm room, she had something to eat each day, she no longer had to struggle over her meal, she had toys, a bed with a soft pillow. She took a moment to walk around her home and remember it as it was for her. She touched the hard, brick of the walls to memorize the feeling. She fondly touched her pillow and her blanket. Finally, she took her faithful stuffed dog and put it on her back.

"You might want to take that blanket with you," the Guard suggested. "It gets cold at night and I don't think anyone would miss it here." She suddenly remembered, the outside was far from as comfortable as here. She lifted the blanket awkwardly with her magic and started her way back to the Guard.
"Here, let me help you with this," he took the blanket and rolled it up neatly. "There, you can tie it to the bag like this."

The bag was lying where the Guard said it was. She looked inside to check how much she had. Some crackers, bread, a haystack tied with a shiny ribbon. A large flask for water, like the one she saw on a soldier once. All around a week's worth of food. 
"My wife made you these," the Guard presented her with four round bums. "She gets a little sentimental after she's done yelling. After what you did for us, she even wanted me to bring you over, but... well you know."
She quietly nodded ever so slightly and took a bite at the bum. The world exploded in her brain. It had to be the softest and sweetest bread she had in her life.
"Ha!" the Guard took note. "Isn't she a baker! Don't eat all at once, they'll stay fresh till the evening."

She finished the bum quickly but the pleasant feeling still remained. Once outside, she took a look around and the town changed. She's been around on this street, it was just a few minutes away from her home on Bottle Street, but it was not as she remembered. The houses looked even more run-down than usually, some had their windows barred with wooden planks.

"The business closed down," the Guard explained. "Workshops had to close one-by-one when the glass factories started. No pony, no matter how quick, can be quicker than machines. That's why the precept got closed down, there's no one left to police."

The news struck her with a pinch of sadness, unexpectedly. This place was dirty and miserable but it was her home. And the home of that foal who so desperately tried to live. In the end, he was lying there with the thought of it not mattering anymore. The thought made her even sadder. The feeling was new and alien

"It's always hard to see your home getting abandoned like that, but don't pay it any mind. Ponies were always meant to move around anyway, you know? We are leaving the town too, later this week," he said while locking the door to the precept. "In many years that I've been dealing with thieves, drunk brawlers and robbers, I never met anyone who enjoyed being in a cell. I guess I get it. It's dry, you get a meal every day... it's miles above leaving on the street. But it's still not as good as it can be, you know? Sometimes you just need to leave all bad things behind and just find a new, better place to start over at. So, tell you what," he stepped on the road in front, "That way leads to the Great Eastern Track," he pointed in one direction. "Countryside village named Woodland Moor lies that way in about three days on hooves along the big, old, cobbled road. They say ponies in that country are simpler but kinder. Not like here, anyway. You go there, find yourself some nice place, find a way you can do some good, with that horn of yours that won't be a problem, and then just wait and see what ponies would do to show their gratitude. Don't build any expectations, just let them surprise you. And do tune down a little on murdering the ones you don't like. I am not saying that I heard much good about those workers, but killing them is a little excessive. Ponies don't like when that happens in their neighbrhood. Ponies aren't just there to get in your way, this place is such a dump because ponies here think that this is the only way. I think you know better by now." She was given a moment to consider the suggestion. When put that way, it didn't sound too bad. "Well, guess it's goodbye now. I don't know where we'll end up either, maybe even in Equestria. I hear their Empress died a while ago and since that time it had some change. There's always work for ponies like me in times like this. Who knows, maybe we'll even meet again. Take care and have a good thought on what is it you want in your life. Trust me, gets a whole lot easier from there."

He gave her a little wave and started his way up the street, leaving her to consider her options now.