Chapter 1
You know, once upon a time I didn't have a name. I didn't have anything. Couldn't even call my cutie-mark mine.
Once upon a time, I was a slave.
Of course, some would still call me a slave, judging by the way I treat my Mistress, but that's where they're mistaken. I chose to follow my Mistress, she didn't choose me. Only choice I ever made, and I still don't regret it.
Let me back up a bit. You see, it all began back when I was a colt, living in the harsh reality that is the wasteland. You think it's bad now? You should have seen the place back before we had all these heroes fixing up the place. Heroes like the Stable Dweller, Security, and yes, my Mistress too.
Yes, the wasteland was a real Tartarus-hole back then. Not that I knew any of this, being a colt so young I hadn't even started to worry about my cutie-mark yet.
Anyway, I was living in the wasteland, with my ma and pa. Except one day, my pa just ups and disappears. No idea why. Did he die? Did he leave? I don't know, and I'll doubt I ever will.
My ma takes this bad. Real bad. She takes to the bottle, and a load of drugs too, just to cope with it.
Eventually, the predictable happens, and she becomes addicted. She becomes so messed up she can no longer work, which means no caps, which means no drugs.
So she begins to pawn everything off—clothes, guns, furniture—even our shack got converted into drugs.
Soon, we had nothing left. Nothing left but each other, that is. That's right, she sold me into slavery to fund her addiction. She got a raw deal as well—bastard slaver only paid 50 caps for me.
Before I knew it, I had a slave collar over my neck and I was being dragged away from my home.
Now because I was an earth pony, they set me to manual labour—pulling carts, clearing debris—that sort of thing. And as I grew, I became stronger as a result. Very strong. There are few who can compete with me in terms of raw strength, and that's no idle boast either.
But my true talents lie elsewhere. You see, occasionally, my masters would grow complacent, leaving me alone. And when I was alone, I did what any colt would do—I played.
It was during one of these 'play times' that I discovered that I was very good at putting things together. I'd been left to myself in one of the store cupboards, surrounded by junk. When my masters found me a few hours later, I had managed to turn some scrap metal, a battery and a lunchbox into a fully automated toy robot, and a picture of a screwdriver and a spanner on my brown behind.
I was beaten of course, and the robot destroyed, but the slavers who owned me were smart. They realised that if I could fix stuff up, my value would rocket. You could practically smell the greed on them.
In order to train my talents, my masters began breaking things on purpose, just for me to fix. If I repaired it, they fed me. If I didn't, they beat me and I went hungry. A cruel, if rather effective teaching method, if you ask me.
I quickly became very good at repairing stuff. Even managed to get an actual robot up and running once. My masters were so pleased with me, they gave me a double portion of food that day. And until I met my Mistress, that was the best day of my life.
How did I meet my Mistress, you ask? I'm getting to that. Though I suppose I can fast forward a few years—nothing of interest happened during my time as a slave—I got passed around a few different owners, repaired a few things and so on. Like I said, nothing important.
Anyway, my Mistress. My current masters, myself and a few other slaves were holed up in a fortified cave somewhere in the wasteland. I think we were making a trade agreement with some raiders—fresh meat for weapons. And we had my Meat, if you catch my drift.
I wasn't really paying attention—I was just there to pull the cart and to fix things, as I had been doing for the past 19 summers or so.
That's when she burst in. There was no fanfare, no warning. The door just burst inwards, bullets flying out of the smoke.
Two of the slavers died instantly, before they could even draw their weapons. The rest then pulled out their guns—all in top working condition, thanks to yours truly.
I dived for cover—I wasn't a fighter, I was a slave. I wasn't even allowed to hold a gun without permission. I heard more gunfire, and screams of rage and pain.
Looking out from my hiding place, I saw three more of the slavers had fallen. I also saw one of the slaves pick up a pipe and charge at the intruders.
That's when I saw Her.
A brilliant white coat, marred by the dirt of the wasteland, with a bright yellow mane billowing around a long, spiral horn, and a look of shock adorning her face, followed by one of determination as she levitated a pistol to her eye and dropped the charging slave. She spun, impossibly fast, and fired again, killing the last of the slavers.
Then there was only silence. I looked at my fellow slaves, only to see that they were as shocked as I was.
This mare, who had to be the same age as me, possibly younger, had single handedly killed our masters.
I didn't know what to do. I'd always had a master. But now he was dead. What is a slave without a master?
Turns out, the answer is 'free'.
"... all free now," the mare was saying.
I shook my head. I couldn't believe it. Free? But what would I do without a master?
Many of the other slaves cried tears of joy. I cried for a different reason. My life was gone. My world had been destroyed.
I remember wondering if that is what the ponies of long ago had felt when they saw the bombs descending upon their homes.
I shook my head, clearing it of such melancholy thoughts. Looking again, I saw that the mare wasn't alone, but that she was accompanied by a griffin, who was currently escorting the slaves out of the cave.
Throughout all this, I hadn't moved my spot. The mare must have noticed me, for she approached me.
"Hi there," she said in that cheerful, easy going attitude of hers, as if she hasn't just killed a dozen ponies. "I'm Glorious Destiny. What's your name?"
I blinked in shock. Was this an order? I decided to treat it as one.
"Slave."
She snorted. "That's what you were. What's your name?"
"Slave." Why couldn't this mare understand? I had no name. I was a slave.
"Oh come on now, you've to have a name. What does your mother call you?"
"50 caps," is my immediate response. As soon as I said it, I flinched, realising what I had done. I had spoken back to a master!
However, the beating I was expecting never came. The mare was just sat there, with a look of incredible sadness on her face.
"Your mother sold you into slavery?" she asked. I nodded in response. "I'm so sorry." She pulled me into a hug. "How long?"
"Since before I got my cutie-mark."
I don't know how how long we sat there, holding each other. I think I cried again.
Eventually, she pulled away.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked me, unlocking my slave collar with a key and removing it.
I looked at her in confusion. "What do you want me to do?"
She snorted again. "I don't want you to do anything."
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
I flinched. "Okay, Mistress."
"What? No! I meant why did you say 'okay'?"
"I meant that I won't do anything, Mistress."
"I... I don't even... For a start, don't call me Mistress."
I flinched again. "I'm sorry. Please don't hit me."
She sighed. "You're a difficult one, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry, Mistress. Ah! I'm sorry! Please don't hit me."
"Calm down! Calm down. I'm not going to hit you." She sighed again. "I suppose you could just follow us to the next town. We can work out what to do with you there."
I nodded. This was an order I could understand. Follow. Follow my Mistress.
"We still need a name for you though. Can't just call you slave."
"Sure we can," said a new voice, this one harsh and sharp. I looked up and saw the griffin approaching, a fierce expression on his face, augmented by the red vertical stripes beneath his eyes. He also looked to be my age. "We can call him Destiny's Slave, oh great Mistress."
I nodded. Destiny's Slave. My Mistress was called Destiny, and I was her slave.
"No, Garoth. We are not calling him that. He’s free, not a slave." my Mistress snapped angrily, before turning to me. "Say, what are you good at?"
The unexpected question caught me by surprise. "I fix things. Equipment, armour, weapons, carts, you name it, I can repair it."
The griffin looked at me thoughtfully. "Say, can you fix this?" he asked, pulling a rifle out of his backpack.
I took it off him and ran my hooves over it. It was an assault rifle, zebrican design, with a custom grip—presumably for griffins. I quickly saw what was wrong with it—the barrel had warped. I remembered seeing something similar amongst one of my Masters.
I got up and walked over to the corpse, retrieving its weapon. Five minutes later and the griffin's rifle was functional once more.
"Not bad," he said as I handed it back to him. "Not bad at all."
"Heh, you're really good at that, aren't you?" my Mistress said. I beamed at the compliment. "Why don't we call you Toolkit? Because you can repair stuff."
Toolkit... My name is Toolkit. I am my Mistress’s Toolkit. I nodded slowly. It was a good name.
"Thank you, Mistress," I said. For some reason the griffin began to laugh, earning him a glare from my Mistress.
"Oh let's just get out of here before the raiders arrive," my Mistress said, heading for the door.
I obediently followed.
---
Upon exiting the cave, I looked around at the wasteland. Dark brown soils and rocky debris, stretching as far as the eye could see. To the south stood Vanhoover, it's tall, crumbling towers reaching up to the sky. To the north lay the Crystal Mountains, a huge wall of snow-capped rock, bordered by the ever present ceiling of cloud that obscured the sky. I looked around, but couldn't see the other slaves. They must have headed back home already.
Closer to home, I found a cart waiting for us. Garoth, the griffin, immediately took to the air and landed on it, whilst my Mistress and I remained on the ground. Without any prompting, I immediately climbed into the harness.
"What are you doing?" my Mistress asked. I turned to look at her.
"Pulling the cart. You do want me to pull the cart, don't you?"
My Mistress opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a chuckle from Garoth.
"Glory, if he wants to pull the cart, let him. Besides, he's an earth pony. He could probably pull us all the way to Canterlot and back without having to stop every five minutes."
"Ugh. Fine, we'll let the ex-slave pull the cart. Anyway, Toolkit, we're heading north, to Gem Town."
I nodded. My former masters had been in there not two weeks ago, picking up 'meat'.
I pulled on the harness and the cart followed, rolling down the rocky road.
Hours flew by as I pulled the cart northwards. Garoth and my Mistress spoke for a bit, something about Stable-Tec and the Ministry Mares, but I was paying more attention to the road.
Not once was I hit by a whip. Obviously, my Mistress was pleased with my work. I like this Mistress. She's easy to please.
Eventually, the light began to dim and my Mistress gave me the order to stop.
“Come on, we can make camp here,” she said, hopping off the cart. I let myself out off the harness and followed. Setting up camp was something else I knew how to do. Between the three of us, we quickly had a small shelter and a fire built, rats-on-a-stick roasting over it.
“Ugh, not meat again,” my Mistress complained, sticking her tongue out at the griffin.
“What? I am a carnivore,” Garoth explained. “And besides, lots of ponies eat meat. Right, Toolkit?”
I nodded. "The Masters only ever fed us meat. Everything else is to valuable to waste on us."
My Mistress frowned at me. “You said ‘us’. You’re not a slave anymore. You’re a free pony now.”
“I suppose I am,” I said cautiously. Free was never a word I had associated with myself. “What does a free pony do?”
“Well, anything you want to do. Thats kinda the point,” my Mistress said.
“I don’t know what I want to do. What do you want me to do?” I asked, rubbing the circular scar around my neck nervously.
My Mistress threw up her arms in exasperation. “What I want is for you to decide on what you want to do!”
I take it back. This Mistress is hard to please.
Garoth chuckled. “I think we’re getting a little recursive now. Lets start with baby steps.” He turned to me. “Toolkit, do you want to share some of my meat?”
I nodded. “Yes, please.”
“Well, aren’t you a polite one?” he said, passing me a stick.
I looked at it, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Most masters don’t like it when I’m rude.”
“Well, I’m not your master, so feel free to be as rude as you like,” He said, still holding the stick. “Well, are you going to take it off me or what?”
Hesitantly, I lifted a hoof for it, waiting for the griffin to snatch it away. This was a popular sport amongst my masters, and not playing could get me beaten. I darted my hoof forwards grabbing the stick, before pulling back, holding my prize to my chest.
I looked down in amazement. Garoth hadn’t snatched the food away from me, and he wasn’t making a fuss out of me having it. I tore into it as fast as I could—I was going to eat it as much of it as I could before it got taken off me again.
“Woah, easy now, easy now,” my Mistress said. “What's the rush?”
“Got to eat it... before somepony... takes it from me,” I said in between bites, ripping at the flesh with my teeth.
“Nopony is going to take your food away from you,” my Mistress said, with an angry glint in her eye that made me pause. “And I’ll hurt anyone who does.”
That took me aback. Mistress... cares about me? It didn’t make any sense. I was a slave—property, something to be owned and bartered. You don’t care about property. Yet, my Mistress did. That’s when I knew what I wanted.
“I want...” I said, closing my eyes. “I want you to be my Mistress.”
I opened my eyes, to find my Mistress staring at me in shock.
“You... want what?” she asked, incredulous.
“I want you to be my Mistress,” I repeated.
“But why would you want that? You’re a free pony now!”
“No, I’m not. All I know is how to be a slave. Being free... I don’t know where to start. But you... you care about me, you’re kind. You gave me a name, you haven’t beaten or whipped me, you gave me food. If I am to be a slave, I want to be your slave.”
My Mistress held a hoof to her head. “But I don’t want or need a slave.”
My ears drooped. “Do you want me to leave?”
“What? No! Its just... agh, Garoth, talk some sense into him, would you?”
“But I’m with him on this one,” Garoth said.
“What.”
“I’m serious. Look at him—he clearly can’t look after himself. Toolkit is so used to following orders that anybody could just order him around, and he’ll do it. Say for example, someone ordered him to give them all his caps, or all his food. Toolkit would do that, because that's all he knows to do. But what he’s proposing... isn’t so different from the griffin blood oath Dad made me swear to you—to follow you around and obey your orders. It’s just that mine is a cultural thing, and his is a psychological need thing. If it really bothers you, think of it as voluntary indentured servitude.”
Griffin blood oath? I wondered, but I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my place to ask.
“Ugh... Fine, fine.” She turned to me. “Are you sure that you want to be my slave?”
I nodded.
“Okay, fine, whatever. You want to follow me around the wasteland? I can’t stop you. So go ahead, be my slave.”
“Oh thank you, Mistress,” I said.
“Don’t call me that! My name is Glorious Destiny! Glory for short!”
I was about to apologise, when a thought struck me, out of the blue. It was so unexpected that I nearly dismissed without acting on it. Maybe it was the shock of seeing my old masters die, maybe it was the food, or the camaraderie, or simply the thrill from making my own decisions, but a long buried part of my psyche rose and gave me the perfect response.
“Yes, Mistress."
---
Footnote:
Level Up!
Repair increased! Survival increased!
New Perks!
-Indentured Servitude—Your life as a slave has toughened you up. +1 STN, +1 END and +5 Damage Resistance. However, you are also highly susceptible to suggestions. Other ponies get +10 to barter and speech when trying to persuade you to do something.
-Mechanic—You have received extensive (and brutal) training in making repairs. +10 to your Repair skill.
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'My' in the second sentence needs to be capitalized.
Should be a space between 'Without' and the period.
Comma between 'yes' and 'please'.
" in the fantastic (if a little oversaturated) Fallout:Equestria universe" I must simply ask, how so? How is it oversaturated if you could make a story with a new idea? How can a fandom be oversaturated in general? That would be like saying that there is to many stories with Pinkie Pie or something like that. The setting is so huge, and ever growing, so how can you fill it up? Sure there is not many readers to each story, but with all writing long and winding epic tales that is longer than most novels, how would anyone then expect all to read all the stories. Think on yourself, how many longer 100-200K word stories are you following just now? But enough about that little comment, lets talk about the story.
First of all a sad thing, while your slave acts like a slave in his own story, can I really not hear it in the way that he is telling it. Sure there is some few traces of it, but when you try to sell it as your main point is it a bit to weak. I am thinking on all the fine words, and how he himself puts him in a rather high place, instead of the lower rank of a slave. I know that he are doing that at points, but that is the thing, it is only at points. I want to feel that we are listening to a broken pony, only just now so late in life beginning to mend in the hoofs of a Mistress. Call me demanding if you want, but when you try to sell on it should it be better, especially when I know that you can catch the heart of other stories and portrait other characters so well.
Another little thing is how this Mistress magically can open bombcollars, because they are known to be hard to open. I could understand it if Toolbox described it as sheer awesomeness, something over the top like Mistress looked at it for a second, and then bite trough it or something, really being over the top and putting her on that pedestal.
“Slaves don’t deserve meat. It’s too valuable to waste on us.” I think that you have misunderstood a thing with Fo:E, meat are more or less the cheapest food you can get. You get it from the things you kill to survive, where you have to scavenge for pre-war food, and don´t make me start to tell about how hard it is to get fresh. So giving slaves meat would not be a rare thing for a slaver to do, maybe even feeding them the meat for other fallen slaves... Yea have I said that Fo:E are dark at times. But then again, what you and me think on as meat is not the same meat of these wasteland ponies, they eat mutated animals, and more or less fresh meat, not needing to think on bacteria as we do... Okay I can see that I am beginning to lecture so I will stop now and jump over to the nitpicks.
Nitpicks
"My ma takes this bad. Real bad. She takes to the bottle, and a load of drugs too, just to cope with it. Eventually, the predictable happens, and she becomes addicted. She becomes so messed up she can no longer work, which means no caps, which means no drugs. So she begins to pawn everything off" Should all of this this not have been written in past tense?
"I had a slave collar over my neck and I was being dragged away from my home" His mother have sold his home, so should it not be family or mother instead of home?
"And we had my Meat," No need so far I can see for the capitalized M in your meat
"Was this an order?" Should it not be "that"?
"is my immediate response" Should be past tense
"I don't know how how long we sat there" I think that you have a how to many here.
" This was an order I could understand" Should this not have been in past tense? With a that instead of this
"not a slave." Your period needs to either be a comma or exclamation mark here because of grammar rules.
"nopony upsets my Mistress." You can not use nopony about a griffin, goes against the whole pony thing in the word.