//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: Rattling the Chains // Story: Fallout Equestria: Revamp // by midworld1999 //------------------------------// Sector: Shackle 98 Years, 5 Months, 12 Days PSR I spent my first weeks in the slave camp learning the ropes. Every morning we were woken by the hungover shouts of the slavers. Whoever didn't get up and to the gate of their kennel quick enough of was whipped. We would be escorted to the courtyard and divided into groups, different every time with few exceptions. Unfortunately, Wick's group was one of these exceptions. Once in our daily groups, we'd be given a job to do for the day. The difficulty and danger of the jobs ranged. Among the most sought after jobs was acting as servants for the off duty guards, as it meant being out of the sun and minimal work, usually just cleaning guns and getting food. Easy stuff. Jobs in the middle of the spectrum were things like scavenging and repair. I learned that the labyrinthine dump I'd searched my second day was one of nineteen in the vicinity, which slaves were rotated through regularly. Scavenging through these sites was the most common job to get. While it was by no means easy, it was at least relatively safe. When I heard of the repair group, my first thought was to wonder why Eniac hadn't mentioned it. I decided she'd probably been joking by suggesting I fixed something on my own time. The repair group was an obvious opportunity to catch our captors' attention. Repair took the scraps from the scavenging crews and turned them into something salable. Most of the stuff they rebuilt was simple, like flashlights and cobbled together furniture. The slavers then took the newly refurbished items to other settlements and sold them. Whether these towns knew the stuff they were buying came from slave labor, no one knew. The job everyone dreaded to get was hunting. Hunters were given makeshift spears and made to kill any edible animals in the area. They always received a strict warning that any violence towards guards would result in immediate detonation. Hunters usually tried to nab smaller animals, like molerats, bloatsprites, and the like, which wasn't a big deal. The dread of the job arose when the roles of the hunter and prey were switched. It wasn't unusual for a hunting party of ten to come back with nine. Once I learned of this unfortunate fact, it weighed down on my mind constantly. I knew if I got picked for hunting, I'd be one of the lost of ones, one of the ones who screamed uselessly for mercy from a mindless animal. I was no fighter. I didn't know how to handle a spear. My family always bought our food, we never killed it ourselves. This wasn't my only source of nightmare fuel. What Nebula said to me about her insomnia affected me on a subliminal level I hadn't anticipated. Combined with my fears of the hunt, my mind birthed new horrors. There were few nights I didn't dream of shrieking constellations and roaring supernovas, yelling hellish, indecipherable gibberish at me while I begged for them to stop. After a few days I came to realize I'd drive myself insane if I let these terrifying visions persist. I forced myself to think of other, more practical endeavors. Over the course of getting used to the sadistic routine of the camp, I began to internally plan what I'd create once I got grouped in repair to impress the guards. There were several things to consider, like what parts I'd have, how much time I'd need, and what tools I'd have at my disposal. What I eventually came up with was, in my mind, sort of poetic. After about three or four weeks of waiting, I got my chance. One morning, I was selected for the repair group. Myself and fourteen other foals were led under a long line of canopies. Beneath them was a series of tables placed end to end, stretching from the first to the last tent. On the tables were piles of random parts, looking as though they'd been slapped down without a second thought. A gruff, sand-hued mare glared over us. "Alright, you have until the end of the day to build something I like. I see anything fishy, guns or the like, you get 'sploded. Now get to it." That's it? They didn't want anything specific? That made my job a whole lot easier. I spent the first hour digging through the garbage, looking for usable parts and tools. Now that my magic was blocked, tools were important again. I eventually found everything I needed. A solderer, screwdriver, copper wiring, speaker, antenna, receiver, energy cells, other odds and ends (dials, switches, and the like), and metal casings to hold it all together. The work was more tedious than usual, due once again to my lack of magical assistance. Using my tools with my mouth while holding the parts together with my hooves was slow, wasteful, and less efficient. Still, my project slowly began to take shape. I added parts to the base at a humble but steady pace, soldering the correct wires together accurately, fitting incompatible parts with some makeshift adapters, adding sections of the outer shell as I finished different portions. I noticed the sandy mare sparing me glances more than the other foals. My project of complex electronics must have stood out among the unsturdy apparatus being fashioned by my peers. The constant stares made me nervous, but I told myself ignore them, this is necessary, they're supposed to notice you. The sun had almost reached its peak when I attached the final components. The dial, on/off switch, and antenna were soldered into place. I hooked up the energy cell, tuned the dial to the Radioactive station, and flicked my machine on. The radio sputtered to life, filling the air with faraway sounds. Chatter between guards and slaves alike slowed and died. "–eer clear of Repentance. I swear, those Children get crazier with each passing day. I know they mean well, but damn. "Now I know what you folks at home are really dying for. Some tunes! Today we got some of that classy cello shit, courtesy of the late Octavia. Quiet mare, but trust me folks, she was a real screamer in b–" The music started before Mike could finish his sentence. It was a haunting melody, a single instrument weaving webs of emotion. I'd heard the song before, of course: most radio stations had a very limited selection, and I'd listened to Radioactive a lot. But even so, it was like I was hearing the song for the first time. The sad, mournful chords almost seemed to speak, and strangely, offer comfort. We've been here, they seemed to say. We know. I was brought out of my trance by a smack to the back of the head. It was the sandy mare. "Come with me," she said curtly, lifting and turning off my creation with her magic. I followed, careful to look dismayed. It wasn't hard. I had weeks of practice. She led me to an imposing shack, easily the largest I'd seen in the camp. Inside was the griffon I'd met only once before, and hated with all my being. Hammer Swing, shed of the armor I'd first seen him in, sitting on an antique wooden chair. A pony's skull had been mounted above it. Around the monster lay a couple of mattresses, actual mattresses, not the hay-stuffed bags us slaves slept on. And on each of those mattresses lay a slave, wearing an assortment of sultry saddles and scanty dresses. My eyes found Wick with a ball-gag in her mouth. I wanted to scream. Hammer must've seen me looking at her. "You're right to admire my harem. The ancient horses of Saddle Arabia would have harems of five hundred mares. My harem is more modest, of course, but it serves its purpose." He grinned. "Quite well." He turned to the sandy unicorn. "Sandstorm, why'd you bring this pup to me? So he could get a half inch hard-on for my fillies?" I wanted to strangle him. Sandstorm lifted my radio. "Because of this, sir." She turned it on. Octavia's melody was still playing. "So he found a working radio? You disturbed me for that!?" His sophisticated tone, a far cry from the brute he'd shown himself to truly be at our first meeting, was now coated with malice. To her credit, Sandstorm maintained composure. "He built it, sir." Hammer's eyes widened. "He built that?" Sandstorm nodded. "With scraps from the shit pile?" Another nod. Hammer swung to face me. "What's your name, slave?" "Revamp," I said without hesitation. I couldn't afford to show fear now. "How did you know how to put together that radio?" His tone was hard, calculating. "I used to rebuild things before–" I stopped for a moment, choosing my words with care "–I arrived here. It's my special talent." "Pfft, you ponies and your 'talents,'" he laughed. "You put so much stock in those talents, you're all so proud of them! Must be convenient, having your entire life's meaning spelled out on your ass, right?" He was trying to get a reaction. I wasn't biting. "I've never seen it that way before, but I guess that's one way to look to at it." His grin grew wider. "I like you, boy. I think I got a job for you. Just follow me now." On our way out of the tent, Wick and I caught each other's eyes. I saw confusion, so I raised my mouth in a quick, reassuring smile before stepping out. I followed Hammer across the slaver's side of camp, a place I'd seen up close only briefly when I was first brought in. The buildings were dilapidated shacks, but still a good tier better than what us slaves were living in. Slavers and slaves were interspersed throughout, performing their daily chores or (in many of the slaver's cases) relaxing. I was wrong about Hammer Swing's cabin being the largest in camp. The prewar building he led me to was at least three times the size, and mostly intact. Inside, the floor and walls were covered in the electronic remnants of an old Equestria, dark consoles and broken robots littering every room. As I tried to reel in my awe, Hammer spoke. "We've been trying to get the security system of this place up and running for months. My guards are too thick to do right, and I'm too busy with other things." Yeah, right. "I want you get the system working, able to recognize friends and enemies, and respond accordingly. Do that, you'll have permanent job in advanced repair, and maybe some other perks." My mom once told me that the best time to barter was when you had something your customer could only get from you. I might not get another chance to set conditions. "Let's talk perks now." I could see Hammer trying to keep his temper; he'd probably never had a slave talk to him like that. "What do you want?" A grin forced its way onto his face. "A pick from your harem." He couldn't hold it in anymore. "Who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit?" "Someone who has something you want." I kept my tone cool, but inside I was panicking. At this point, backtracking was just as dangerous as moving forward. I was dancing in a minefield. "I ought to kill you." Shit. "You need me for your security system." "We've been getting by without it for years." Double shit. "You wouldn't have brought me here unless you had good reason for wanting it fixed." "I should just make you fix it and kill you afterwards." Celestia's shit on a motherfucking biscuit. "I can fix more than that security system. I can repair anything you need. At least I can if my head isn't blown to bits." I needed to keep pressing. The more desperate he thought his position was, the less he'd think about how much I was bullshitting him. "If my head's gone, I'd be pretty useless, and your guns would be pretty useless, and your security would be less than useless." For a moment, I was sure Hammer Swing was going to tear my head off. Then the moment was over, and his face was neutral. But I'd seen. "Alright, I guess I can give up one of my whores if it means getting my security up and running." Trying to act nonchalant, like he was doing me a favor. He even changed his wording, from "harem" to "whore." I knew I'd won. "Alright, I guess I'll get started tomorrow," I said. He nodded stiffly. I was tempted to allow myself a victorious taunt, but decided not to push my luck. We headed back to Hammer's shack, walking in silence. I no urge to break it. Once we were inside, Hammer Swing spoke: "Take your pick." I pretended to take my time. All of the fillies had fear plastered on their faces; they had no idea what was going on. That is, except for Wick. She was stifling a grin through her gag. She had some idea of what was happening. After about a minute, I pointed my hoof at Wick. "I want her." Hammer smirked. "Like exotic girls, do you? Didn't strike me as that type." When I didn't reply, he walked over to Wick and snapped the gag roughly out of her mouth. "You follow him and do whatever he says," he growled. He turned to face me. "Now get out of here, before I change my mind." His tough guy front wasn't fooling anyone, not even his personal slaves. I'd gotten under his feathers and walked away without a scratch. Sandstorm walked us back to our kennel. We were the first ones back today. Before leaving she gave us a suggestive grin. Once she was gone, Wick tackled me in a hug. "How?" So I told her. I told her everything, even about Eniac. I was too happy to leave anything out, and besides, Wick knew the threat posed by speaking about this better than anyone. "Are you really going to fix their security system?" she asked when I finished. "I don't know," I replied. "But I get the feeling I'll find out from Eniac once I tell her I finished this step. I think she knew about the security system needing to be fixed." "You think she's gonna have you perform a bit of sabotage?" Wick grinned. "That's probably not a bad guess. Either way, I'll find out tonight. And unless Eniac gives me a good reason not to tell, you'll find out too. I should've told you about her instructions the first time. We could've organized something even better." "Yeah," she said, punching my shoulder. "You should've told me." "Besides, you'll probably learn about it from being with me anyways. You're my 'whore' now. Hammer will expect it." "Hey, I'm not complaining, especially if I get to wreck their shit." That evening Swiss let me into Eniac's chamber. We had become decent friends over the past few weeks, mostly due to our common interactions with Eniac. He looked curious at my appearance, but he didn't pry and I didn't tell. I remembered the conversation about that. Her face didn't register any surprise on my entry. She met my gaze with a cool, controlled stare. "I fixed up a radio," I stated. "Good." "They want me to fix their security system." "Mmhmm." "Now what?" Eniac's eyes glinted, and her smile widened. As she told me her plan, I grew a smile of my own.