A society burned before the eyes of an earth pony.

Standing on the hillside a ways away from the horrors, she fell to her knees, feeling the mud seep into her pants. Her breath caught itself in her throat, and she held it until she sobbed. Tears rolled down her face, coming in waves, dripping off her chin. Everything she thought she knew was over, and hopelessness settled into the pit of her stomach.

The imagery before her will always haunt her in the shadows. Bulky, antlered brutes overpowering ponies, mares and stallions alike. The women were undressed, some were raped. The native men were helping. It was a sight beholden to one still struggling with the implications of all this. Ponyville was just another bump along King Dainn's road now.

It would be easier to run back to her birthplace in Abyssinia. Barring the thievery and the killing, at least there she had a fighting chance. But Equestria is in her blood, whether she likes it or not. She wiped the tears off her face and took a deep breath.

Several minutes of silence passed before she parted her lips. "I've seen them bleed," she whispers. "Thusly, they can surely be killed." Anger replaced her sadness. "So why aren't any of you fighting back?"

The earth mare finally stood and backed up, slinking into the treeline and out of sight.

Three months before Equestrian invasion.

Brink, Abyssinia

"Come on," the cat groans, half-pleading with a disinterested vendor. "You know I'll pay you back, I'm good for it!" The literal and figurative beggar was a calico feline, the white belly stretching up his torso and neck, stopping at his chin. Long brown hair fell down his back, tied into a tight ponytail. He wore green cargo shorts and a dirty white t-shirt, enough to cover him without throttling him in the desert sun.

The dry food stand he was at was on the main street, flanked by an alleyway. Clotheslines hung above them, joined by large awnings made of leather or cloth above the stands to keep them out of the sun. Brink was a largely feline-dominated town, since tourism wasn't popular there. It was similarly looked down upon and deemed dreadful to visit. Much like anywhere else in Abyssinia, apart from mercenary and pirate hives such as Kludgetown.

The vendor was a white cat, obese in every way possible with a long white beard. "I told you a thousand times already, no," he returns in a gruff voice, slightly slurred by the cigar in his teeth. "I don't front any of my product. Cough up money or leave."

"You can trust me! I get paid-"

"Fuck off, Gus. If I do it for you then I have to do it for everyone else. Come back when you have money." He took the cigar out and ashed it, blowing smoke in the other cat's face. This was his final warning for the calico to get outta there.

"No need for all that," said a new female voice. "I got it, Gus." The pony walked up and dispensed a few Abyssinian coins, tossing the loaf of bread to Gus that he was clearly after.

After catching it and grinning, he started walking back, turning once he saw the mare walk up next to him. "My favorite horse in all of Abyssinia, come to save my hide once more. What're you doin' up this early, Night Tempest?"

"It's midday," she answers, tying down the coin purse. "I was looking for you, actually. I need a hand, and now you owe me for the bread." Her emerald eyes rolled over to Gus, who was halfway through the loaf when he paused to look over.

"Oogh Agh Aghf-"

Tempest raised a hand and interrupted him. "I'll wait 'till you're done."

Gus choked down the mouthful and cleared his throat. "Do I have to do it now? Ya can't save it for later, or?"

"Nope." She smiled knowingly. "Trust me, I'm not looking forward to it either, but at least we can be in each other's misery throughout the ordeal."

Gus sighed. "Alright, fine."

She sensed his unease. "Tell you what, after this we'll count the last job even, eh?"

The feline hummed at that, satisfied some debt had been lifted off his shoulders as he inhaled the last of his snack. Finally he nodded, waving goodbye and sauntering in another direction.

"Good. I'll see you tonight."

The dry heat was eventually replaced by a brisk cold. Night fell and Luna's moon climbed into the stars, casting its luminescent glow over the barrens. Curtains were moved from the windows of the shanty houses and the town lit up with the fires of its inhabitants. Anywhere you looked, smoke was trailing into the sky above. Most of the town's buildings were at least two stories, some were higher. Cheap wood and metal, all amateurishly fashioned together by an ignorant and impoverished people.

Brink had its own reputation for crime, home to killers and thieves alike. In between lived those just trying to survive, having no better alternative, no money to fund an escape to safer lands. Night Tempest was certainly one of the city's many scum in her own right, chained to the town's bad habits by birth. She was in on Brink's inside joke - you can leave at any time, if you have a few feet of rope.

Night Tempest wrapped her duster around her body. She chose one that was light tan in color, figuring it could make an alright camouflage. The mare occasionally reminded herself not to drop it in the sand, or she may never find it again. Under that was the usual - long-sleeved forest-green shirt, black pants, black boots. It matched her dark fur, a color you generally didn't see on ponies. Her mother seemed to think she got her color for her birthplace, implying the happy-go-lucky spirit of Equestria gave Equestrian ponies their bright palettes.

Tempest herself always just nodded, but she thought that sounded ridiculous.

She would have been nigh-invisible in the dark, if not for the flowing white mane. Her tail twitched under the coat, brushing the dust on the ground. She was crouching, leaning against the wall, staring boredly skywards with a lit cigarette dangling from her lips. Time seemed to crawl, as if it held a grudge against those who were impatiently waiting.

The sounds of gentle, distant chatter were cut by the sound of Gus' voice. "Temp, you ready?"

"Yeah," she answers smoothly, standing flicking the last little bit of her cigarette to the side. "Right, you remember everything we talked about the other day?"

"Eh… Might need a recap. I was drunk."

"Christ," she breathes unhappily, crossing her arms. "Okay, Taskere Drin is in that bar," she gestured to the tavern across the street. Lights on, cats of varying shape and size inside - standard tavern crowd. "All we have to do is follow him, sneakily, and get him home safe. We both know nobody is going to fuck with him-"

"This is gonna be so fuckin' boring."

"Yeah, I know. But the dude thinks it's worth paying a hundred bits to follow him and make sure he gets home."

Gus heaved a mighty sigh. "So now we wait for this paranoid fuck to stumble out of the front doors and drunkenly wander through town until he gets home."

Tempest tried for optimism with a dismissive shrug. "Maybe he won't be too fucked up."

The mare spoke too soon, or perhaps at the perfect moment. A grey tabby struggled out of the bar, very carefully watching his steps and muttering to himself. His head slowly rotated until it pointed in the vague direction of his house, wherein he twisted his body to line up with his nose and began walking. Walk was a powerful word in this context, what Drin did was more akin to an endeavor.

The mare wanted to chuckle, but it was a painful reminder that they would be dealing with this for hours. "Let's look at it this way," she whispers, nudging Gus. "We're being paid to walk around town for a while."

"I don't know," the cat responds grimly. "Doing nothing is a lot more fun when it's on your own accord."

Hours limped by like days. Taskere Drin was lost, consistently passing out, stopping to vomit, and getting preoccupied with other women on the street. A lifetime might have come and gone before he finally wound up at his front door, fishing around for his keys. Gus and Tempest, weary of the excruciating night, were looking around the corner, waiting anxiously for him to step inside and close the door behind him. That was all they needed to seal the deal. Drin was famously good for his word, and folk tried not to play him dirty in return for his clean record. All he had to do was step inside, and the money was theirs.

His hand escaped the dungeons of his coat with a key in hand, and with careful consideration, he began jamming the lock until the tip went in. The moment it did, his eyes closed for the final time, and his limp, snoring form fell against the door and slid to its knees.

"Dammit," Gus curses lowly. "We have to move him."

"Doesn't the violate the 'be subtle' rule?" she asks, cocking a brow and glancing over.

"You're convinced he'll remember?" the cat asks sassily, already walking over. Temp followed with a grunt. The pair closed the distance between them and the tabby with a light jog, Tempest being the first to twist the key. It clicked, and the door started to give way.

Gus threaded his arms over Drin's, lifting him by the shoulders with the crooks of his arms. "Feet," he orders quickly, the weight putting some strain on him. "Guy's got a hell of a beer belly." Night Tempest grabbed him by the calves, heaving the dead weight to support the calico and helping him carry the drunkard inside.

"On his belly," he says next. "If we're lucky he'll think he came in and passed out on the floor." He pulled the key from its lock and carefully set it in Drin's hand, giving him the appearance of having done all this work himself.

The earth pony wiped her hands on her pants, backing out and looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody was around. "That wasn't so awful now that it's over," she concedes, getting back into a better mood. It had been a significantly long night, and she was looking forward to going to bed. She stretched, yawned, and patted her friend on the shoulder after he closed the door. "Thanks Gus, I appreciate you tagging along."

"You kinda used my debt against me," he says with a soft smirk.

"What, me? No, I'm a good friend, you could have bowed out. It's genuine." It wasn't genuine.

Gus just laughed. "Alright, Temp. Drop by my place if you got any jobs or something to curb the stillness." He put his hands on his pockets and arched his back, groaning.

"I might. I might come by and drop off the cut of your pay anyway. See ya."

They departed, offering little more than waves. There wasn't anything else to be said between them. A simple understanding betwixt one another is defined by a long history of keeping their noses out of one another's ass succeeding a shitty work night.

Night Tempest's home was the same as any other in Brink - one bedroom, a small area for preparing food, the odd pillow or maybe even a sofa to furnish the place. They'd all heard of Equestria's poverty line; the lowest of the low had at least a house made of brick and running water. If that was poverty, they rationalized, Abyssinia must be a shithole. These citizens, however, made the most of it.

She grabbed an apple and went straight to her bed, undressing and digging everything out of her pockets. With only panties left, just grey enough to be told apart from her fur, she got the fireplace started. Stoking the flames until they grew, lazily taking bites from her breakfast. The sun would be rising in an hour or two, and when this occurred to her she grabbed a cup of dirt and killed the adolescent flame with it.

"No sense in having a heat stroke in my sleep," she mumbles, walking back over to her bed and crashing into the cushion. The nibbles got slower and slower as she got sleepier, before it slipped from her weak grasp. Fuck it, might as well sleep.

Tempest's half-naked body slammed into the mud, knocking the breath from her lungs. She rolled immediately, knowing a caribou stun baton was not far behind. The mare heard it strike the muck, and the telltale curse of the male trying to subdue her. The second she heard, she reared both legs and kicked behind her as hard as she could, hoping to connect with him. Much to her glee, she had bucked his legs out from underneath him, and another curse accompanied the splash of a heavy body hitting the mire.

She was on her feet again in no time, backing up and raising her fists. "Come on big guy, I thought you said I was just a weak little slut?" There was always time for snark. Always.

The caribou got to his hooves and snarled. "You're gonna wish you were dead, bitch. I'll make sure your collar matches your fur." His battle buddy was several feet away, unmoving. Not dead, something Night Tempest considered a failure on her part, but he was at least incapacitated. That, however, was costly on its own. The mare ended up with a bloody lip and bruises, and what she suspected was a broken finger. He had even kicked her in the thigh where her cutiemark was, treating the white crescent moon like a target. It didn't matter, the pain kept her focused on the task at hand.

The caribou still standing was feeling rightly humiliated, and started thinking with his head instead of his rage. "How have you gone this long without a collar anyway?" he spits, raising the baton to a defending posture and inching towards her.

"I'm not from here," she answers bluntly, inching back in return. She kept a careful eye on his movements, looking for any twitches or telegraphs. She had used the first guy's stun baton against him, which was a simple solution, but it certainly wouldn't work a second time. Temp needed a new plan, quickly.

Guy Number Two knew she was a little more nimble than him, and had the strength and determination of a soldier. Something told him she'd been fighting all her life. Doesn't matter now, just get her taken in. He darted forward, eliminating the gap between them in the matter of a second.

The mare was only fast enough to duck and fall into a roll, the baton missing her by mere inches. She was on her feet again right by his back, seeing him twist his body to try to hit her with the baton again. At least, that's what she thought he was doing - as Tempest threw her bodyweight, using everything she had to crash into him, she felt his elbow hit her muzzle.

Stars danced in her vision and she was on her ass before she realized what he'd done. Everything was blurry, the sudden impact dazed her. The precious seconds it took her to think about moving again were long enough for the caribou to jab the baton into her belly.