>Be Flea.
>Be a linebacker for the Fillydelphia Manticores.
>Be one of the most feared defense players in the league.
>On account of you causing the most injuries and accruing the highest penalty rate this season.
>And based on the fact that your a Diamond Dog.
 
>Ponies have a natural fear of you.
>Your a big, mean looking predator type.
>Sharp teeth, claws, a nose for sniffing out prey.
>They should be afraid of you.
>Even your team was afraid of you when you first joined.
>They wouldn't talk to you, wouldn't practice with you, wouldn't associate with you.
>Only the coaches and staff would tolerate you, and only because they had to.
>It made you wonder why they wanted you on the team in the first place.
>Well... you knew.
>The head coach wanted to experiment with having a Diamond Dog as a defensepony(defensedog?)
>The owner thought it would spice things up; draw a crowd.
>He had it all set up...
>The Monster Dog. Number K9. Flea.
>You were a monster alright.
>During your first game, you ended the season of a receiver in your very first play.
>Tackled him as hard as you could.
>You were angry.
>You didn't mean to hurt him, but you were angry that your team didn't accept you, and you brought that anger and used it.
>Because of your ferociousness, the other team didn't even score a point that game.
>The Manticores won because of your mercilessness.
>And they ended up loving you for it.
>After that, the team would finally talk to you, would congratulate you.
>They finally saw you as an equal.
>You knew they feared you still, like most ponies feared you, but they now knew you were their monster.
>Their teammate.  
>It made you feel good.
>You would do anything for them.
>Your coach, the players, the Manticores, they wanted a monster like you.
>You won them games by intimidating, manipulating, and dismantling the opposition.
>If you didn't do that, they wouldn't need you, they wouldn't want you.
>You'd be back to where you were: a solitary monster. Lonely.
>You'd rather be the monster of a pack.
 
>"Oooohhhhhh! Another bone-crushing hit brought to you by Flea. And True Breeze is sacked for a loss of yards!"
>The hit is announced over the loud speaker as you lie on top of your latest victim, the Vanhoover Dragon's quarterback.
>You were especially vicious in your tackle this time, but the ref didn't call a penalty against you.
>From what you understand, he might be in the owner's pocket.
>Home field advantage, amiright?
>You peeled yourself off of your opponent and looked down at her groaning form.
>You didn't like hitting mares, but she was just another player in the way of your team's victory.
>And you liked victory more.
>You walked away as the paramedics came to check on the fallen Dragon.
>She'll be fine.
>The Manticores give you a round of congratulatory pats on the back when you reach the huddle.
>"Good boy Flea. You forced out their reserve quarterback. There's no way they'll make a touchdown before the quarter ends with a third string!"  
>He's probably right, but you got to keep up the pressure.
>The score is 31 v 35 in your favor.
>It's 2nd and 12 on their 35 yard line, but there's enough time on the clock for the Dragons to march down the field for a game winning touchdown.
>Can't let them breath. Can't let the team down.
>The defense captain wants you to pressure the passer as much as you can. They can handle the rest.
>The ref blows the whistle and the teams line up.
>You position yourself on the left side in a 4-3 defense formation.
>You make sure your in view of the new quarterback, this time another mare.
>When she glances your way, you bare your teeth through your facemask and lick you chops, making a show of those canines.
>She flinches hard.
>It works every time.
>Suddenly, another pony enters your vision.
>Right across from you in the Tight End slot is golem of a pony.
>You were still much taller than him, on account of your bipedal nature, but he is built like a truck.
>The protective gear from his uniform only served to make him more intimidating.
>And he's staring right at you with fierce, unblinking eyes, just asking you to come at him.
>You could take him.
 
>You get into a three point stance and concentrate on sacking the quarterback.
>The ball is snapped and you move into action.
>Running around the line, you move in an arc toward the quarterback, who is currently searching for an open receiver.
>The only pony standing between you and her is that tight end.
>He runs up to meet you near the line and braces.
>You simply charge forward, looking to make an example of him.
>The two of you collide with a clash next to the other linepoines.
>You expected him to give way, but to your complete surprise he remained steady as a rock and locked his forehooves around your waist.
>With a simple but forceful twist of his body, the pony slams you into the ground shoulder first.
>In this instant, the quarterback throws a long pass to a wide open receiver down field.
>Your teammates manage to take him down at the 45 yard line.
>You grunt in frustration as the pony pushes himself off of you and walks toward his team's huddle.
>You move to get up too, but your shoulder flares in pain, causing you to wince.
>Moving your arm around in a circle proves nothing is damaged, but you'll have a big bruise there come tomorrow.
>Your gaze bores into the back of that pony's helmet as he walks away.
>That damned pony! He stopped you in dead in your tracks. He didn't even flinch.
>You'll show him though. You'll show him how mean you can get.
 
>The Dragons are attempting to gain as many yards as possible through passing plays.
>They are successfully moving up the field, but at a slow pace.
>They wouldn't be moving at all though if you could actually pressure their quarterback.
>That tight end is keeping you from getting to her and, you hate to admit it, doing a good job of keeping you at bay.
>On top of that, this third string player is actually good. Her throws are clean and accurate enough to gain consistent yardage.
>It is infuriating.
>2nd and 8. Now on the Manticore's own 35 yard line. You get into position and set the quarterback in your sights once more.
>The ball is snapped and you run toward the line.
>You barrel through an opposing offensive linepony, but again, your stopped by the stallion tight end before you could reach the quarterback.
>The two of you struggle for dominance against one another, him clutching your waist and you grappling his shoulders, trying to force him out of the way.
>Your so close to the QB, you could almost reach out and grab her.
>The stallion puts more energy into his block and pushes you away out of arms reach.
>You snarl and bite at him like a rabid, muzzled dog, desperate to stop the play.
>As the QB winds up to pass, you put as much energy as you can into leaping out of your opponent's grasp, and just as the ball sails out of her hooves, you deflect the pass with the swipe of your paw.
>The play is stopped and the stallion finally lets you go.
>You take the opportunity to stride up to the quarterback and intimidate her.
>You bring yourself to her level and get in her face with a low growl and a piercing stare.
>She immediately backs away from you, fear evident on her face.
>But, the stallion comes to her rescue and pushes you out of the way, giving you his own icy stare.
>The tweeting of a whistle comes from you side and the ref runs in to break you up.
>One look at him and he hesitantly backs off, only giving you a warning.
 
>You stare down the tight end though, and he just stares right back, no fear at all on his face.
>The coach calls you over to the bench.
>He yells at you for not doing your job.
>He say's that your losing the game for them.
>He says you need to stay on top of the quarterback at all costs.
>No matter what.
>You grimly nod to him.
>He nods back and sends you back out to the field.
>3rd and 8. The teams set up again, but the Dragon's formation is different this time.
>The QB snaps the ball and she runs with it to the right side, the tight end leading the way.
>He barrels through any linepony who tries to stop him.
>You quickly sprint to the right side to try and get an angle on the galloping QB.
>That stallion sees you coming and makes an attempt to block you, but your ready for him this time.
>You discreetly unsheathe your claws and jab him in his side, where there is no protective gear.
>The prod catches him off guard and he yelps in pain.
>You brutally shoulder him out of the way and make a grab for the quarterback behind him.
>She is almost able to slip past you, but your paws get a grip in the wires of her facemask.
>Using her own momentum, you whip her around by her helmet and force her onto the ground face first.
 
>The Fillydelphia crowd collectively winces and almost immediately starts to boo in unison.
>The referee is finally forced to throw a flag at such a flagrant foul.
>There's not much you can do.
>Even if he is in the owner's pocket, he can't very well ignore what you did.
>You simply get back up, paw pressing down on the QB's helmet to steady yourself.
>You get to your feet and see the the Tight End with a look of pure horror on his face as he stares at his fallen quarterback.
>It's the first bit of genuine emotion you've seen from him all game.
>He looks up to see you and that horror morphs into rage as he closes the distance between you.
>He goes to punch you, but his teammates manage to grab him and barely hold him back.
>You just sort of stare at him.
>You focus your attention back on the QB and see she is slowly moving.
>Arduously, she gets to her hooves and groggily stands there.
>The ref checks on her for any broken bones or other injuries.
>She shoos him off and trots over to her worried teammates.
>She'll be fine.
>Your little stunt moved the Dragons up 15 yards and gave them a first down.
>Coach yelled at you again.
>Your teammates were being short with you in the huddle.
>"Just try to stop the ball and don't do anything so blatant this time!"
>You had to stop them. No matter the cost.
 
>There's not much time left.
>The Dragons are at the home stretch.
>1st and Goal. At the 10.
>Your team is getting angry. Getting sloppy.
>You have to stay focused.
>The ball is snapped and you go running.
>The Tight End runs to meet you, but one of his own teammates gets pushed out of position and blocks his way.
>You take advantage of the lack of coverage and make a b-line to the QB.
>You properly tackle her this time and force a loss of three yards.
>You also attempt to swipe the ball out of her hooves and force a fumble, but she's got sticky hooves.
>In a fit of frustration, you simply try to take the ball while your on top of her.
>She keeps it tucked into her chest though, away from your prying claws.
>You bark at her to let go, getting in her face again.
>Your teammates pry you off before you could do anything else to the poor mare.
>They scold you for your behavior.
>"What are you trying to do? Get us another penalty?"
>"You got away with a lot of foul play earlier, but your so obvious right now your forcing him to penalize us, so cut that shit out!"      
>Your just trying to help the only way you know how.
>They usually like it when you play this way, but it doesn't seem to be working this time.
>No.
>It'll work.
>It's worked before.
>Keep up the pressure. Break the bones of the ball carrier if you have to.
>You can't let them win.
 
>The teams set up for what's probably the final drive.
>Only 6 seconds remain on the clock.
>The Dragons will go for a hail mary more than likely.
>The Manticores set up for pass coverage, but your still near the line, ready to pressure the passer as always.
>You try to find the Tight End, but he doesn't seem to be near the QB anymore.
>Better for you.
>The QB takes the final snap of the game. Goes back to pass.
>You make your way through the offensive line, one pony at a time.
>They slow you down, but your able to ground one and knock over another.
>Now there is nothing in between you and that QB.
>You gun for her, closing the distance fast.
>You can almost taste the fear from her when she sees your charge.
>She's the only thing you can focus on as you close in for the kill.
>But out of the corner of your eye, you see him. The Tight End.
>He's charging at you from the far end of the line, full speed.
>A grim determination clear in his eyes behind the facemask.
>You know that look very well.
>You know what's coming next.
 
>The stallion comes in low at ramming speed.
>He lowers his head down and hits you shoulder first in your hind leg.
>The powerful hit sends you spinning over him and you lose feeling in that hind leg he targeted.
>The world spins around as you twirl in the air, before coming to a painful halt when you land roughly on your back.
>The QB releases the ball from her hoof in a perfect spiral toward the endzone.
>There's nothing you can do to stop her. All you can do is lie on your back and watch.
>You don't see the touchdown, but you don't need to.
>The crowd roars as the receiver makes the catch.
>The announcer loses his mind over the loud speaker.
>The Dragons scream in triumph.
>The Manticores sulk in defeat.
>You lie on the cold, hard ground, unable to do anything.
>You couldn't stop them. You lost.
>Feeling comes back to your leg in the form of stinging pain.
>You curl up in a ball and clutch your injured leg, doing your best to ignore the rising pain.
>Your eyes begin to water and a whine escapes your muzzle.
>Your absolutely pathetic right now.
>All you want is to get off the field as fast in possible, but you can't do anything.
>A pair of hooves walk into your water vision and you look up to see the QB looking at you with concern.
>Everyone on the field begins to realize your injured and you hear you name over the loud speaker.
>"Hold on folks, we have an injury on the field. It looks like Flea, of all players, is down."
>The paramedics come for you this time and hoist you into a stretcher.
>It's all so surreal, being in this position yourself after putting so many other ponies in it.
>The Dragons look at you with smug triumph, probably thinking this is righteous karma at work.
>The QB and the Tight End stand together; her face a look of pity and his a pitiless expression.
>Your carried past your teammates, who all simple stare in disappointment at your broken self.
>You let them down.
>You let them all down.
>You stare up in the sky until the view of the sky is replaced with the concrete ceiling of the stadium tunnel.  
 
>The doctors told you your leg was broken.
>"Nothing serious," they said, "just a hairline fracture."
>But, you'd probably be out for the remainder of the season.
>Figures.
>Maybe this really is some sort of divine retribution.
>Its almost funny to see the roles reversed after putting so many ponies in this very situation.
>Your not laughing though.
>The doctors put your leg in a brace, give you a pair of crutches, and some medicine to dull the pain.
>They said they'll put you in a proper cast after you dress down in the locker room and send you on your way.
>But you don't go to the locker room like your told.
>You can't face your team after letting them down like that.
>You take the rest of your uniform and gear off in the hallway and unceremoniously dump it by the door.
>Then you take a walk.
>Making sure not to run into any staff, you sulk around the complex just thinking to yourself.
>What could you have done differently?
>Did you do everything you could?
>Does the team hate you now?
>How can you make this up?
>Lost in thought, time passes by unnoticed.
>Your walk eventually takes you to the part of the facility that hosts the visiting team.
>You can hear them celebrating from the hallway, so you must be close to their locker room.
>Part of you wants to burst in there and give them a good scare, but what would that accomplish?
>The bathrooms come into view and you make a quick stop at the water fountain.
>While lapping up the water streaming from the fountain, the sound of the bathroom door opening gets your attention.
>You turn your head to see none other than the Dragon's quarterback standing in the doorway.
 
>You can more clearly see her features without her gear and uniform on.
>She's an Earth Pony with a white coat and a green mane.
>Her features are soft and well rounded (as mares tend to be), but not pudgy, she's still an athlete after all.
>But what really catches your eye are the bruises.
>They stand out painfully against her white coat.
>There's one on her leg. One on her shoulder. A pretty big one that runs along the side of her barrel.
>The flush bruise on her muzzle reminds you of when you threw her to the ground face first.
>There's even little scratch marks at the base of her forelegs from when you tried to claw the ball away from her.
>You did all that.
>Of course the moment she sees you her eyes go wide and she stops in her tracks.
>She's frightened just by your presence.
>Can't really blame her. Your so used to this already.
>Probably thinks you might eat her or something.
>Vengeance for your humiliating defeat and your own injury.
>You probably could take your anger, your frustration, out on her.
>But what would be the point?
>They won. You lost.
>Nothing will change that.
>Besides, you've done enough to her already.
>You grab your crutches from the wall and turn away from the pony to leave.
>"H-Hey..."
>The pony meekly calls out to you and you look back at her.
>She looks you up and down, taking note of the brace fastened to your hind leg.
>Apprehensively she asks, "...are you ok?"
 
>You raise an eye brow at that.
>"I mean, it's not serious is it? The uhh..."
>She points a hoof at your braced leg.
>You just shrug.
>"Oh, well... I guess that's fair enough."
>That's new.
>Nopony has really shown much concern for you before, let alone a member of the opposing team.
>Granted, you've never been injured like this before, but you've been put through the ringer in the past.
>Not even your teammates show legitimate concern for you when you've been battered and bruised.
>She stands there in awkward silence, pawing at the ground nervously, until she speaks again.
>"I feel kinda bad. Smash really let you have it that last play. It looked really painful..."
>Smash?
>Oh. She means the tight end.
>Heh. Fitting name.
>Well, you can still hobble along well enough.
>You try to think of something to say, but you just settle with giving her a shrug, a thumbs up, and a small smile.
>The gesture seems makes her relax a bit and even gets a giggle out of her.
>"Hmmm. That's good."
>You point at her.
>"Hm? What, me?"
>You nod and point out the many bruises along her body.
>"Oh! These? It's not so bad. Having white fur just makes it look worse than it is..."
>She says shes fine, but you could tell that's not the case.
>The way she deflates after the question, the way she idly brushes a bruise with her hoof, the way she looks away from you.
>You feel awful.  
 
>You'd been pitiless before, but you never saw the ponies you hurt after the games.
>You never really thought about it.
>Your teammates and coach loved it when you played rough with the other team.
>When you intimidated them. Brutalized them. Hurt them.
>They would praise you.
>They said it was ok.
>They said it helped them win in the end.
>You helped them win.
>If you didn't help, they wouldn't like you anymore.
>They don't like you now.
>Hell, you don't like you right now!
>But that's for a different reason.
>You hurt this pony.
>You hurt a lot of ponies.
>You thought they would be fine. That they would get over it.
>Some did. But some never fully recovered.
>You never thought about it until now.
>Looking at this battered and bruised mare.
>...
"I sorry."
 
>The pony was caught off guard by the sound of your deep, gravelly voice.
>She stares at you before saying, "Hey! I didn't know you could talk!"
"Diamond Dog can talk. I just not have have much to say."
>O-oh. Sorry... I assumed that-"
"It o.k."
>You hobble over to the mare and slowly sit down in front of her, taking care not to put too much weight on your bad leg.
>You lower yourself to meet her at eye level.
>The both of you stare awkwardly at each other, before you finally say more.
"I sorry I hurt you. I hurt a lot o' ponies. I real mean. My team like me mean tho. They want me because I mean."
>You point at your braced leg.
"But after get taste of own medicine..."
>Then you point at her, gesturing at the bruises.
"And see you like this, I feel bad."
>You look at her and then at your leg.
"Lots o' ponies feel like I do now. Broken. Useless. It a bad feeling.
"So... Flea sorry, for hurting pony."
>You finish your apology and continue to look at the ground for a bit.
>You can't really think of anything else to say, so you move to leave.
 
>When you go to get up, you feel something touch your paw.
>The mare has her hoof on it.
>She's looking up at you with a smile on her face.
>"Thanks for that Flea. I accept you apology."
>She helps you up the rest of the way and gives you your crutches.
>When you've got then under your arms, she extends her hoof at you.
>"I'm not going to say your reputation doesn't precede you. Hehe, you definitely know how to dish out some brutal hits, let me tell ya!"
>You chuckle a little at that.
>She grabs your big paw again in her hooves.
>"But your not as mean as some ponies say you are. And you don't need to be mean for your team to like you. Just think about that while your nursing your wounds."
>Hmm. You will think about that.
>She lets go and you give her a hoof bump.
"Thank you... uh?"
>You never got her name.
 
>"Oh, my name is Fast Pitch."
>Wuh?
>She smiles wide and presents her cutie mark to you, a baseball in motion.
>"Hoofball isn't my main sport, but I gotta have something to do in the off season, eh?"
>Well, I guess this explains the good arm on her, despite being a third string.
"Maybe should change that? You a good player."
>She's surprised by your endorsement and actually thinks bout what you said.
>But she waives it off.
>"Nah. Hoofball is great and all, but it ain't no baseball. For one, baseball isn't a contact sport, and that's something I can stay used to, haha!"
>Heh. Fair enough.
>The both of you head your separate ways, but she calls back to you before you round the corner.
>"Hey, Flea! If you can make the trip, we'll be up in Manehattan playing the Zephyrs next week. I'd be cool if you came to watch?
>Go see another game?
>Well, it's not like you can practice with a bum leg anyway.
>And maybe a little vacation isn't such a bad idea. You'd never been to Manehattan before.
>You warmly smile at the invitation and give Fast Pitch a thumbs up.
"Sure. I come root for your team."
>She gleams at your answer.
>"Awesome! Thanks a bunch. I'll see you around okay?"
>You nod in agreement and she slips away to her locker room.
>You head back to your own and think about the week ahead of you.