THE SWIRLING MENAGERIE
PASTE 4
Written by Solanon
 
Continued from ponepaste.org/4272 (Volume I)
ponepaste.org/4285 (Volume II)
ponepaste.org/4286 (Volume III)
 
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>Just when you thought she couldn’t get any stranger, she manages to outdo herself yet again
>Facing the dark, her back to the glow from the radio building’s window, Twilight Sparkle is seated, her legs folded neatly beneath her on the flat concrete
>Before sitting, however, she took the time to retrieve a long, clean strip of dark fabric from her saddlebag, and then…
>She tied it around her eyes, blinding herself to the night
>You are Rainbow Dash, and for a moment, you think about remarking on the insanity you’re witnessing
>Is this how she sleeps?
>It can’t be, because she’s been mumbling to herself ever since she started
>Maybe if you lean in, you can hear what she’s saying…
>After all, it’s best not to interrupt something crazy when it has a chance of becoming even more crazy
>You can barely hear Twilight’s words over the sound of the distant crickets chirping, Applejack’s muted chatter through the building wall, the constant overbearing hum of this whole place
>Nor can you get much closer than you are now, what with the whole ‘being immobilized’ thing, and all
>But you have exceptional hearing, even for a pegasus
>If you had to guess, you’d say she probably has no idea you can hear her from way over here
>…
>”…placed in my spirit, You who commands my heart, You whose word is sacrosanct and whose Truth is almighty. Forgive these transgressions which I have committed today. In the Sixth Hour, I experienced a bout of intolerance. I shouted at a pony whom I had only just met. I did this out of desperation, Mother. I know that this is no excuse, but the pressure of this burden You have granted me… it has consumed my spirit absolutely. I am a fragile vessel, a pitiable vessel. I am not worthy of this thing, or at least, I do not think that I am. I… but I am not finished with my transgressions.”
>Twilight sniffles, and though you can’t see her face very well in this light, you wonder if she’s holding back tears
>This is some kind of ritual for her… but what could blinding herself possibly have to do with it?
>”I continued to behave today in a manner unbefitting of a Sister of Solemnity. Certainly unbefitting of one Chosen to unite your Seeds. I continued to be incensed by this new pony. I have convinced myself that I was frustrated because of the physical activity I had to endure, but You know me better than I can know myself. So I am certain that You must see something darker in me. This pony has truly done nothing to spite me, aside from the meanness of her words. But not only should I not hold her to my own standards, for she is not of the Sisterhood, but her physical burden is certainly greater than my own. She has had… the gift of mobility cruelly wrenched away from her. And yet I feel such rage when I am in her presence.”
>You have to keep from snickering; you don’t want her to notice you’re listening
>You DO tend to have that effect on ponies
>You and Lightning Dust both…
>”I made a solemn vow upon departing my convent. Mother, there is no excuse for these thoughts. But in your Light, exposed to your Truth, I am certain that this turmoil might be snuffed, as easily as a candle is snuffed. And yet… there is one more thing I must atone for. Something You have certainly already seen, and foreseen. A flicker in my heart… for a moment, in the woods, I believe that I lost faith in You. I believe I may even have questioned Your existence. Oh, Great Mother… Divine Light… no lash I give could rend my flesh well enough for this deed to be satisfied.”
>Lashes
>At the thought of the word, a sting arcs across your back, and not the dull pain radiating from your broken wings, either
>After Lightning Dust, you probably received more lashes than anypony in your first years at the Academy
>At any time, you could have appealed to your father, made them stop giving you that pain
>But that wouldn’t be fair… nor would it have been right
>This unicorn, this nun… you had no idea she’d gone through that too
>And to do it to herself, no less, for thoughts rather than actions!
>She’s different from you, very different… but her resolve is the same
>You wonder if…
>But you still want to hear what she has to say
>”’Your burden is my fallibility, O Mother.’ What does this mean? It’s… it’s meant to conclude every confession of errancy that a Sister should give to You. And there was a time when I believe I knew what it meant. But now… it’s as though I say the words, and in my heart something stirs, but in my mind there is nothing. Find the Truth. See past it. Make it yours. I don’t… I just don’t know. You and my Matron, the Prophetess, the World, the Light… You have conspired to place a partition between myself and my destiny. It is meant to be this way, of course, but… my failings, every wrong step that I take… it impacts everything else. How many times have I walked into what would have been certain death on this Mission, had it not been for Applejack? Or somepony else who merely exists, and puts no more effort into doing these things than I put into breathing? So You must shoulder me. Everypony must shoulder me. I know nothing. I can… do… nothing… but… hnh hnh…”
>Gorgons, she’s actually beginning to cry
>Thin streaks of tears catch the radiant light from the window behind her, emerging from the bottom of Twilight’s blindfold and running down her purple cheek
>She lowers her head closer to the ground, tightening her expression, and you have to strain even harder to hear her secret whispers
>”The Depths… they still call to me in dreams. I am tempted to fall into them. And Numena, Your agent, Your Solenoid… her predictions are infallible. But every time I am there in that dark place, I want to jump in. And I’m terrified of that water, that cold, cold water. I don’t want to drown there. I don’t ever want to see those Naiads again. But the urge to fall… to be consumed by that, is… Please, Mother. I am lost. And I don’t want to only be a shepherd. I want to have… to have…”
“One of these shinies?”
>”URK!”
>The sound of your voice sends Twilight tumbling backwards, landing squarely on her flank
>For a few seconds, she stumbles around blindly, trying to find her hoofing again, and when she finally does she raises one hoof to her blindfold
>It hovers there for a moment, as if she’s considering whether she wants to remove the cloth or not
>But then, sure as ever, the hoof drops again, and she stands meekly and blinded a few meters from your cart
>”I wasn’t finished yet.”
“Then finish, by all means.”
>You grin at the ridiculous sight before you; you’ve never seen anypony behave quite like this
>Twilight kneels down again, eyes still shrouded in darkness, and continues to mumble, this time so low you can no longer hear her words
>All the while, the color of her face fluctuates from the bright red of embarrassment, to the deep maroon of frustration
>Finally, she clicks her tongue twice, and retrieves two small items from some hidden fold of her cloak
>One is a standard lighter, with the letters “AJ” inscribed into the glossy side
>The other is a shiny gold figurine of a tall mare with both wings and horn, her circlet crown holding up a pillar of crimson wax
>Twilight sparks the lighter, then holds the flame to the figure-candle’s wick until it ignites
>Then, strangely, she sets it on the concrete, lets it burn down for only about fifteen seconds, and snuffs it out again with the hardened tip of her hoof
>“Blessed is the Truth of Celestia as it is spoken through her by the Mother of wisdom and compassion. Blessed is the word of the prophetess of the Goddess, it is Truth, it is to be praised. I am humble, I am bound to Her by Her will, and Her word is my law. What She wills, She commands in my heart, and I am entrusted to deliver Her will to the nations of the world. Praise be to Her, the Goddess Mater Solis. Amen.”
>At last, the cloaked unicorn lifts the blindfold off her eyes and over her head, part of the fabric snagging on her horn before letting go
>She blinks a few times, pupils shrinking from the amber light, and turns to face you again
>”I WAS attempting not to disturb you. Hence the whispering.”
“Well, I am a little disturbed. But you didn’t inconvenience me.”
>”Is there a particular reason you were eavesdropping on my prayers? Or do you just revel in pushing my buttons?”
“Woahhh, hay now. Let’s not get all feisty. You’ll have to apologize to Sky Mommy again if you get too pissed, right?”
>”Ugh.”
>Twilight takes a deep breath, in and out, shaking her head and gazing up at the stars
>She looks transfixed; guess your attempt to rattle her didn’t work as well as you’d have liked
>If only she knew how much more effectively you could rile her up if you could walk or fly…
>”The night sky is so beautiful out here. Surely, there were stars to see in my convent. But… surrounded by residences, by factories, by lights beaming into space, most of them were obscured. Without that veil, the totality of the night’s beauty is revealed.”
“How poetic. Anypony ever tell you that you might need to update your vocabulary?”
>Twilight’s muzzle scrunches slightly, but she doesn’t respond to your jab
>”It makes me wonder… what else I’ve been missing all my life. I’ve seen more of the world in two weeks than the rest of my days before then. Surrounded by walls, and trinkets, and… and faith.”
“Ooh. That’s another blasphemy.”
>”Stop it.”
“You’ll have to make me.”
>You smirk as Twilight exhales again, more forcefully this time
>She’s holding something in, and if you can just get her to let it out, if you can prove that…
>”I understand that you’re not having the best day.”
>…
>Huh?
>What exactly does she…?
>The unicorn locks her gaze with yours, and you’re surprised to find yourself taken aback by it
>It’s the same as before, when she tried tending to you; even as you struggled, there was some kind of cherishing light behind those eyes, a reflection of something…
>Potent
>You want to see what it is, and you’ve been trying to force it out all day
“That’s the understatement of the century.”
>”Your home is in shambles. Your nation is being… assimilated. And I don’t know if you know this, but…”
“What? If it’s news, spit it out.”
>”There w-was… Exsilist chatter over the radio. While I was trying to tune it to a frequency we could use to contact Applejack’s family, I couldn’t help but overhear some of it.”
>You sigh, dusting your haunches against the cool steel of the cart
>Trying to appear as unconcerned as possible
>For what? Who’s your audience?
>Her, of course
>And you don’t… you can’t care about this pony
>Not yet…
“What did they say?”
>”They were… their voices are so awful. And they’re barely comprehensible over the radio. So synthetic… so damaged. But some of what they said was in the common tongue, rather than their Western dialect—”
“Just tell me.”
>Inhale, then exhale
>Seems to be her way of clearing her mind, resetting her emotions
>Well, big whoop… everypony does it
>All this one’s done is ritualize it, make it a part of her sun cult
>”It’s all very vague. But there’s some kind of large-scale movement going on. Exsilist forces are picking up and moving en masse from one frontier to another.”
“That’s hardly news. What do you think all those blimps were for? They’re colonizing Pegasopolis. They must be committing all their outliers to that task.”
>”But that’s just it. The movement is occurring in the opposite direction.”
>At that, you sit up slightly, brushing your wings against the steel axle beneath you
>You cringe at the jolt of pain this causes, but try not to show it
“What? You mean they’re moving north, like us?”
>”North and east. There were at least five different broadcasts from five different Exsilist command points all across the frontier to, and I’m quoting here, ‘remain minimal personnel and proceed to Alpha Prime.’ And then they gave bearings.”
“Alpha Prime is Unicronia. They’re reinforcing their siege. Why?”
>”I really couldn’t say, Rainbow. You know far more about this than I do. I was hoping you might have a guess.”
“What about Pegasopolis? Anything from there? Any… um… chatter?”
>Twilight shakes her head, and you can feel yourself physically deflating
>”Nothing from the city. Only relays from various outlying stations. All I can say for sure is that there seems to be some kind of program for reorganizing the PAS military into… well, you can imagine.”
“Integration. Gorgons.”
>Your Wunderbolts… your friends, your brothers and sisters in arms…
>The Exsilist “integration” policy has been their staple ever since they emerged out of New Exsilia with their teachings, their dark mechanical motives
>Every conquered territory in the Westlands was to be quickly and decisively enslaved, with only their existing upper caste having a chance at avoiding the fate of hard labor and forced implants
>That way, they would have an incentive to remain docile, obedient to the Cult, and might gladly sell their own citizens if it could ensure their own survival
>Any military opposition, especially in the unincorporated regions which had minimal loyalty to Canterium, were disbanded on surrender, and its troops were scattered and…
>Changed
>Worse than slaves, the unluckiest of the soldiers in those places, those that DARED to stare down the dread Cult of Exsilium, were stripped of their identities; their names, their faces, their lives
>Transformed into golems of flesh and steel
>Time Turner’s bodyguards were the first of those beasts you’ve ever had to lay eyes on in person, and only now do you feel, in your bones, the true horror of what might await all your comrades
>Within a day, just a DAY, the Cult is already integrating the PAS
>The Trust was only a stalemate in the end; a truce, designed to lure Canterium into striking at the PAS first 
>And now that they have, the Cult is swooping in like vultures, turning everypony against one another, and then picking up the pieces
>Chancellor Neighsay, that scum, wanted you to take your father’s place as a puppet, as General of a new PAS under the wing of Canterium
>But even that would have been preferable to what’s actually happened
>Not one of the Hauptgenerals has the courage to stand up to the Cult now that the PAS is in this weakened state; they’d rather roll over and be good little lapdogs
>And if your Wunderbolts aren’t killed on sight for their direct loyalty to you and your father, they’ll be… they’ll be…
>Panic seizes at your heart
>Everything is slow… everything is dry
>Everything is silent
>”Rainbow? Is everything…?”
“NO! WHAT DO YOU THINK, YOU DAMNED UNTERGLASCHEN! YOU HORNED FREAK!”
>You’re done being in this stupid cart
>Done participating in this farce
>You want out now
>You need to go back, back to Pegasopolis, need to help your Wunderbolts
>No, no, you need to go forward, on to Unicronia, need to save your father from whatever They have planned for him
>Your whole body is rocking, torn between left and right, then back to front, the whole world is shifting, and then…
>You’re falling
>Striking the hard, cold concrete with your legs
>All three of the legs that work, that is
>But you’re standing up, and you’re looking at her, and SHE…
>She is just holding you back
>She’s like Trixie; a unicorn, an enemy, a hindrance
>She’s taking a step back
>She’s afraid of you…
“You think I want to be here? This is the last place I’d EVER want to be! Stuck in the middle of the woods with two ponies I don’t even know!”
>”Rainbow, you’re… you should really lie down…”
“Screw that! I can stand on my own, see? SEE?! As if I should have to prove it to YOU!”
>”You’re angry, but not at me. Calm yourself. It won’t make anything easier if you—”
“Oh, and you with your infinite wisdom! Wanna know why I push you? Wanna know why I piss you off?”
>You take a step forward
>You aren’t afraid of anything
>Every fear you may have had before now has been washed away by reality
>You are swimming in a new ocean now, and you cannot ever lose this power
>You wobble as your foreleg lands; it’s all that’s keeping your front end up
>And your wings… you can’t fly
>But you can walk!
>And the Element… the Element will help you
“You wear this mask of nicety, this, this ‘Sisterhood’ act! But I see you! I recognize you! You think I was born this way? You think ANYPONY was?”
>”Rainbow, you’re going to tear your bandages… please, just—”
“Please, please! Is that all you can say? Is your whole life just a series of flaccid requests? Never mind what you’d have to do if somepony ever said NO!”
>Another step
>More white-hot pain, more…
>Your resolve is still as strong as ever, and you have to utilize it
>It’s your birthright, your niche, to be faster, stronger, better than everypony you encounter
>Otherwise, there’s no point
>And this one…
>She won’t prove you wrong
>Because you’re right, and you’ve always been right, and Hurricane…
“I wasn’t given this thing! I took it! I took it because I deserved it! And if I hadn’t, I’d be dead right now! Dead!”
>The Element is glowing, burning; it’s a kaleidoscope, an infinite reflection
>”Rainbow, just… just back away…”
“Or WHAT? You’ll fight back? You’ll break your vows? Your god isn’t real, so there’s no reason not to!”
>”Mater, forgive her words, forgive her countenance, bathe her in Holy Light, for—”
“You still don’t get it, do you? You still don’t get it.”
>”You were happy with Applejack, I saw you l-laughing together! I saw you…”
“There’s nothing in this world that can’t be achieved through violence.”
>(Save him)
“The strongest always survive, and the weakest perish, and are lost to time. That’s how it’s always worked.”
>(Bones crushed to dust)
“Where are the dragons now? Where are the griffins? They’re gone. Where are the pegasi? We’re still here. We fly. That’s our niche. That’s OUR truth. Not some silly dress up and make believe.”
>(Flying into the eye of the storm)
“Yours used to be magic. But you don’t like magic, do you? No, because why would you EVER—”
>You pound the ground with a hindleg, and the unicorn flinches back further
“—USE the thing that makes you strong? Makes you special? You’d rather bet it all on ancient NONSENSE!”
>Her back is up to the wall… she’s not going anywhere
>She has to confront it now, confront the thing inside her
>The thing that lives inside every pony who really matters
>Lightning Dust… why do you see Lightning Dust’s face?
>Why does that traitor get to live inside your head?
“Do you know how selfish that is? Do you think I can’t see right through you? You’re just like any Academy dropout, you’re selfish and afraid of yourself! There’s nopony here, nopony to stop me! Nopony to stop YOU!”
>”Applejack… Applejack, help… Apple…”
>If she meant it, she’d be yelling
>She’d be screaming at the top of her lungs, to alert her friend about the pegasus pinning her to the wall
>But instead she’s whispering, whispering into the dark
>Trixie, Lightning Dust, Neighsay, even Time Turner
>All the faces of all the ponies who deserve a real good pounding for what they’ve put you through, they’re all superimposed on hers
>And this crimson wave… pulling you deeper into a trance
>You could just coast on it, just ride it into eternity
>You could…
>(Fall forever)
“You want one of these? An Element? You don’t want to be ‘just’ a shepherd anymore? Then take it from me!”
>(Taken, not given)
“Just push me! Push me like you want to! Push me like THIS!”
>You extend your good leg out to shove against the unicorn’s body
>You want to hurt her, want to make her feel the pain you’re in, even if it’s only for a second
>And just like that, your hindlegs shoot backwards
>No legs on the ground
>No pillars to keep you standing
“Nuh-foOOOH!”
>Inhale, then exhale
>All the air inside you, all the pressure, is squeezed right back out when your belly impacts the concrete
>You can feel yourself writhing, shaking, struggling for purchase but finding none
>You have to close your eyes, have to shut out the world
>Have to shut in the tears
>Can’t let them see, can’t…
>(“Let them see. Let them all see what you’re made of, Rainbow. Not because of your blood, but because of who you are. Let them see you carve out a niche of your own.”)
>Your father’s words
>They’re so distant now… everything is a world away
>Everything but the unicorn, her steady breathing, her glistening eyes still watching you flail in pain
>She’s curled up against the wall, not crying, not yelling, not saying anything at all
>Just watching you
>And then, after a few moments, she’s picking herself up again
>Dusting her robe off, approaching you
>Placing her hooves beneath you
>Pulling upwards
“You… you have to f-fight. It’s the only way.”
>The voice that leaves your lips is raspy and low
>It’s barely your own
“To protect… yourself… to protect others… you have to use… force…”
>”I’m sorry, Rainbow. But I don’t believe that.”
“Heh. Heh heh. No. Of course not.”
>You’re back on your three good hooves again, teetering and tottering like a newborn filly
>If they saw you now, they’d laugh at you… the whole Academy would laugh at you
>Lightning Dust, the loudest of them all
>“’I shall uphold above all the virtue of patience, never asserting belligerence in the face of blasphemy, only offering my hooves as tools of rectification.’ That was one of the vows I made upon leaving my home. The only place I had ever known. And I knew, even then, how difficult a vow it would be to uphold. I didn’t know what kind of dangers I might face on my Mission. All I knew was that I served Mater’s will, and if Mater’s will is to see me sacrificed, then so be it. I’m not afraid of that. Not a-afraid of… of getting hurt.”
“Death. Just say death.”
>”Death is blissful. Death is a reawakening in the Mother’s Garden.”
>With Twilight’s hoof still under you, you limp dejectedly back to the contraption she built for you
>That cold, twisted hearse, carrying you along until there’s no point carrying you anymore
“And other l-lies we tell ourselves. And what about all the bad ponies, huh? Where do they go?”
>Twilight’s hoof shivers, grips you more tightly
>”The… the Depths. A black place. A place of binding. Of Naiads.”
“Right. They deserve it, too. Why not send them there sooner? Why not give yourself another day in the sun? Gorgons, however you slice it, it’s—”
>”Stop.”
>Coming to a halt at the end of the cart, Twilight tips the front end rather forcefully down, all without breaking eye contact
>The expression she gives you is stern, but it still isn’t angry… isn’t vengeful
>That’s what you want, that’s what you NEED to see
>”I hear you say ‘Gorgons’ quite a lot. As an expletive. Do you even know what it means?”
“Hmph. Course I do. Do YOU?”
>”They’re the mythical creators of pegasi. Monsters with a thousand teeth, whose mere gaze could turn a pony to stone. The body of a serpent, and the head of a lion, with snakes for a mane. Not all that dissimilar to a Naiad, actually. They probably derive from the same mythological source.”
“Myth, huh? So you ADMIT that—”
>”The first pegasus sprung out of the neck of a Gorgon when its head was severed by Poneus. In the elder days of the Princess, pegasi believed that the blood of the Gorgons gave them power. Gave them dominance.”
“What does any of this have to do with—”
>”Please get back into your cart, Rainbow.”
“That’s not—”
>”Now, please.”
>Your legs are aching
>Why not take a rest?
>And the cool wind at your back, that could be solved by shielding it with some thick, warm straw
>Grudgingly, you climb into the overturned cart, at which point Twilight gently lifts it back up
>She’s standing there at the end of your body, seeing every inch of you
>You’re as vulnerable as a foal in the crib
>What are these thoughts? How could you possibly feel threatened by somepony who admits to swearing against violence?
>Why does that look of hers make you feel so… ashamed?
>”You re-introduced the Gorgons into your lexicon. You eat meat, something pegasi haven’t done in over a thousand years. Your leader named himself after a character from a Hearthswarming fable. A pagan festival which, again, hasn’t been celebrated in a millennium.”
“We’re proud of our heritage.”
>”You’re proud of your traditions, Rainbow! Just as I am. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of. But you aren’t allowed to attack me for my adherence to ‘ancient nonsense’ when the PAS’ entire ideology hinges on a return to the way things USED to be!”
“Really? THAT’S what got to you? Nothing else that I said?”
>”It didn’t ‘get’ to me. I’m only illustrating that… that whatever you think of our Mission, whether you choose to believe in the power of the Mother’s true magic or not… you hold, in your very hoof, proof that we are chosen of the Prophetess Celestia. A Seed of prophecy. An Element.”
”That isn’t why I did… that.”
>“No. You simply wanted to take out your frustrations on something. Or somepony. But in the future, if you desire a release, then you’re welcome to join me in prayer. It’s far less taxing on the body and mind than whatever that was.”
“Nngh… heh.”
>You have to admit, she’s good
>You didn’t think you respected her, but now you’re not so sure
>After all, there are only two real modes of persuasion in this world; violence, and respect
>You were stronger than the Canterians, faster, better, so you had no reason to give in to their demands
>You respect your father, so you obey his word without question
>But this mare? This mare has a power you can’t really fit in such a neat little box
>You aren’t scared of her righteousness, don’t think that the Sun will come and smite you if you don’t heed the acolyte’s commands
>So it must be respect, in some form or other, that drives you to obey her
>To think that… maybe, she really does know what’s best for you
>That what these ponies are doing… maybe it isn’t so crazy after all
>But Unicronia… you won’t be swayed on that
>You HAVE to go there; damn the next stage of their Mission!
>And it isn’t like you’re ignoring some prophecy by stringing them along, is it?
>They asked you if you were being called to some place, and you’re being called there
>For reasons of your own, yes, but…
>Did they come to Pegasopolis, knowing what would happen there?
>They didn’t, and couldn’t have
>And yet, here you are, broken, helpless on your own
>And Twilight and Applejack, these two land-dwellers who could have just taken your Element and ran with it, have taken you on as a burden instead
>Well, that’s not entirely true… they think you’re connected with this Element, and so do you
>So did Time Turner
>In time, all of you will converge on Unicronia
“Twilight.”
>”Hm?”
>You’d been thinking for so long, your head buried in the straw, that Twilight had walked back over to the high window
>She’s standing up on her hindlegs, peering through the glass at Applejack
“Um… do you know anything about… healing magic?”
>Twilight visibly tenses, but doesn’t look directly at you
>Strangely, her she raises her hoof to her forehead, rubbing along its creases as though she’s suffering through a headache
>”You already know the answer to that question.”
>Out of nowhere, an image flashes in your mind; a blurry image made of shapes and colors, from when you were barely conscious, waking up this morning to the sound of the two land-dwellers talking about you
>A small robed silhouette, Twilight, performed that same motion; reaching up and rubbing everything around her horn
>She even said something about it… about the pain
>That it had been getting worse ever since the crash, that it wasn’t physical, but something else
“I-I know that. I mean, I know that you can’t… do that. But I thought maybe, in your studies, you might have ever come across something that… a different unicorn might be able to do.”
>Twilight shakes her head forlornly
>”I’m afraid that we keep no literature regarding the Blight of magic in our convent. Certainly nothing about techniques. But the healers of the Sisterhood are among the most capable in Equestron, even counting modern medical institutions. Why, Sister Freshleaf—”
“That’s… great. Look, forget I asked.”
>”I understand why you did. And though I could hardly approve of it, though it would be a capital mockery against the true magic of the Prophetess… perhaps when we reach Unicronia, we might be able to find somepony. Somepony who could heal your wings and hoof with magic.”
“Do you really think so?”
>”There’s no guarantee. I know as little about it as you do, probably less. But with all of their strange knowledge… and perhaps if it were ONLY used to help a pony, rather than to distort our image…”
“Then it’d be okay with you?”
>That finally gets her attention
>Twilight lowers herself from the windowsill, landing on all fours again, turning around to face you directly
>A cool wind blows across the porch; with the metal roofing above and the concrete below, it’s like a tunnel for all the chill in the world to pass through
>Twilight Sparkle shivers in her cloak, gripping it tighter around herself…
>No, she isn’t pulling it closer… she’s taking it off
>And…
>And placing it over your own body
>The fabric hugs you tightly, and you can’t help but gasp as something hard brushes against your hindleg
>That gilded figurine… her Prophetess…
>”It… it doesn’t matter what I want. All that matters is… doing this thing we’ve set out to do.”
>You want to tell her that you’re a pegasus, that you’ve withstood far worse cold than this in the great expanse of freezing atmosphere above
>You need this warmth far less than she does, with her shivering
>But under the circumstances…
“And what is it that we’ve set out to do? What’s the purpose of all this? We unite the Elements and… and then what?”
>”Rectify a mistake. Free the future from the suffering of the past. That’s what Numena said.”
“Wh-whatever that means.”
>”And Applejack… the things she saw within See Rock… one of them has already come to pass. And if all else that’s prophesied is to come true, too… a-a monster. A Wheel.”
>Huddled beneath this blanket, listening to the soft cadence of the unicorn’s words…
>You could drift to sleep here, beneath that flickering, dim electric light
>Beneath all the lights of space
>You could do this, if the words she spoke didn’t carry so much weight
>If this place, this time, were not so dangerous
>Never lose your edge, Rainbow Dash
>Never let them see your face, your heart
>But the lids of your eyes… they’re even heavier
>”I’m only the shepherd, Rainbow. I’m only the Whisperer. That’s the fate that Mater Solis has bestowed upon me. And I’ll carry it… and if I become a Supermatron, a chosen, in the process… then I won’t deny myself that. If that’s what must be, then—"
“You’re content with just being a puppet, aren’t you? You enjoy being used. Having no agency.”
>A blurry purple face curls in frustration
>A long, protracted breath joins the chorus of the wind, in then out
>”We know… I know what we must do. We aren’t walking blindly into our fates, Rainbow.”
>You close your eyes and snicker
>A wave of fatigue sweeps over your body as quick as the wind
>The aches in your wings, your hoof, your mind, drift away one by one
>Your lips curl into one final smirk, forming a few more choice words, before you drift to sleep:
“Then why… do you wear… the blindfold?”

******

>”Because the sun’s too Celestia-damned bright down here. It bounces off the walls, y’know? Gets focused. It’s like we’re living in a giant microscope.”
>The yellow unicorn seated opposite to you narrows his gaze, looking appropriately miserable
>”But then you get down into the depths, and you wish you had some of that light. Nothing’s ever normal. It’s one extreme or the other. Eye-bleeding desert sunlight, or pitch-black, wish-you-never-came-here darkness.”
>He snatches up the tall styrofoam cup full of lukewarm coffee and downs half of it in a single gulp
>When he meekly lowers the cup from his mouth, he drops it, and a great black blob of the liquid sloshes out and makes a mess of the stainless steel table
>”Uff… damnit. Didn’t mean to. My hoof, y’know? Been twitching ever since I came down with this thing.”
>You nod along, noting first how it appears that your conversational partner hasn’t shaved or showered in at least a week
>Then, as he continues blabbering about his routine, how sorry he is, this and that, you return to your original train of thought
>That being how utterly screwed you are
>You… you are Officer Shamrock
>That’s who you are today, that’s the ONLY stallion that you are today
>You can’t even THINK the name “Lucky Clover” so long as you’re in HIS presence
>Not this bug-eyed walking petri dish who just had to come and sit across from you in the cafeteria, but HIM
>Minister Black Bar, with whom you have a very unwanted appointment just about fifteen minutes from now
>The unicorn across from you now, Comet Tail, is the Chief Inquiry Officer here at Site 23
>When Black Bar made his grand entrance back on the day of the explosion over See Rock, he announced his intention of making the rounds with all the chief operatives and section heads of the facility
>That would have been Comet Tail’s burden to bear, had he not been battling a persistent flu for a week now
>He looked like he was getting better there for a minute, and then yesterday, while you were in total panic mode, he started getting much worse
>So much worse that he holed himself up in his quarters, and apparently only slunk his way out just to annoy you while you ate your last meal
>Yes, you; because in his absence, it’s suddenly you who’ll be interviewing with the Intelligence Minister, not him
>You lucky, lucky duck
>”Yeah, so, uh… I think you’re briefed as well as you can be. Don’t say anything I wouldn’t say, eh? Heh. Snff. Oh, and… ah… ah… ATCHOO!”
>Flecks of mucus spray out of Comet Tail’s muzzle, many of them joining the puddle of coffee already on the table
>You came here for some peace, to clear your head in advance of this obvious death sentence
>Why are you being subjected to this?
>”S’cuse me, Sham. C’lest’a, I really am a wreck, ain’t I? Good thing I’ve got you to cover for me.”
“Yeah. Good thing.”
>Something’s lodged in your throat, and it isn’t the hayburger you just scarfed down like there’s no tomorrow
>It’s the overwhelming sense that there isn’t going to BE a tomorrow, not if Black Bar sees right through your cover
>Hell, the last time you had the misfortune of talking to him, you felt like he was peering right under your skin with those draconian old eyes of his
>Luckily, you were able to give him the slip when whatever happened down in Omega Sector happened, but this time…
“Ahem.”
>You stand, hoisting your empty tray onto one foreleg and nodding at a flustered Comet Tail as politely as you can manage
“I should be off. My meeting with Black Bar’s coming soon, and I don’t want to be late.”
>”Mmf. Yeah. He’ll have you for that. Thanks for covering my ass, Shamrock. I owe you.”
>More than you can imagine, toadie
“Not a problem. We inquiry ponies have to stick together, right? OI needs to keep an eye on itself above all.”
>”Couldn’t agree more. Just, ah, hey. Wait.”
>You’ve already begun to move away from the table, but something about Comet’s tone of voice pulls you back
>Now what?
“Really on the clock here, Mr. Tail.”
>”I know, just... ack… C’lest’a, this cough…”
>Your hoof is tapping involuntarily, and your neck is wet
>Just spit it out…
>”The Liberation Act. You hear about that whole situation?”
>That grabs your attention
>What’s Neighsay done this time?
“I don’t have time to watch the news. Nor do I really have time for—”
>”Ah, just listen. Look. There’s probably going to be some… reorganizing going on around here. Don’t worry, nopony’s after your job or anything. Just… ack… that flaky Blueblood, y’know, the one with a different supermodel every week?”
“I’m not really into politics.”
>”Whatever. He snuck some kind of new legislature into the Act at the last minute. It was, like, just yesterday this happened.”
“If this doesn’t have anything to do with—”
>”Just! Listen. We need to be careful. Everypony does. Because if what I’m hearing about this bill means what I think it means, then the Army might be targeting Cognitio Incognitus sites.”
>Targeting?
>What exactly does “targeting” mean?
>And why didn’t Neighsay tell you about this?
>You know how much he stressed in his letter that communications between you have to halt for now, but surely this is something worth mentioning?
>There’s no way he’d keep you out of the loop, especially if it directly concerned your safety
>He needs you… right?
>”They have the jurisdiction now. For everything we do, we’re still technically civilians. Everypony here is. Which makes this a civilian site.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s no precedent for anything like that happening. OI is a government apparatus, why would the Senatori shoot itself in the leg?”
>”Eh… that’s… forget it. It’s no use explaining to somepony who…”
>Somepony who… what?
>Doesn’t know enough?
>Somepony who’s still only got Level 3 clearance?
>You suppress a smirk, trying not to feed your own ego too hard
>Soon, you very well might know more about the ins and outs of this facility than the Chief Inquiry Officer himself
“All due respect, Mr. Tail, but I don’t buy every conspiracy theory that comes out of this place. And I don’t think you really do, either.”
>And just like that, without giving Comet a chance to spoil your good mood, you turn and march your way across the cafeteria to the tray disposal port
>It might just be the last good mood you ever get to experience, so there’s no sense in diluting it
>No
>That’s not true
>Barring a total calamity of misfortune, there’s no way Black Bar or anypony else could find you out
>Your ties with Neighsay are momentarily severed, and by the time they’re re-established, you’ll have everything you need to get the Army to come and…
>Oh!
“Heh.”
>Dashing out the sliding door into the main atrium of Site 23, afternoon sunlight pouring in from the great big circular rock fissure above, your smile manages to widen even more
>Your paranoia turns to complete and utter satisfaction
>Neighsay’s doing this for you!
>Before now, there was never a precedent for busting down the doors of OI sites to reveal their darkest secrets
>Whatever Neighsay’s planning, he’s planning for it to happen very soon
>That doesn’t mean he has proof, though, and he’d be crucified by the Senatori if he didn’t
>But if you can get him that proof, if you can last in this hellhole just a little bit longer…
>Neighsay’s promise in that scarlet letter may very well come true…
>(Do these things for me, and I can foresee your extraction and pardon occurring within the month.)
>He knew you’d hear about this Act from another source, knew it’d spur you on to move forward
>He’s a damn sly devil, that Chancellor… putting you in this position, testing your limits
>But with a Mouthless Jester at your disposal, you have no limits
>You’ll do it… you’ll find out what lies at the bottom of this hole, and then you’ll climb out of it safe and sound
>That’s a promise to yourself, not to the Chancellor
>Not to anypony but Lucky Clover
>That stroke of genius you had the other day, the plan you’ve been slowly building up to get more information about Omega Sector…
>Caballeron’s office will be the closest you’ll have to physically get to that place to enact that plan
>Everything else will fall into place, after today…

. . .

>Rounding the last steel-buttressed corner of Lambda Tunnel, the dark growing more and more oppressive with every step, you remember why you haven’t been anywhere near this part of the facility in over a month
>Last time, you tried and failed to get close enough to Caballeron’s office to swipe his keycard and copy its signature onto your own
>You like to tell yourself that it was the layout that stumped you; the long halls, the limited hiding spaces, and that’s not even mentioning your complete lack of espionage experience at that time
>You were in over your head and turned back at the sight of the first armed guard who might ask you what a Level 3 inquiry officer was doing this close to Omega Sector 
>Well, that’s what you tell yourself
>But being here again now, being called here no less, you think you know what really scared you off that day
>It was the noise
>Constantly churning, pulsing machines of unknown origins, moaning and clanging in the dark
>A labyrinth of pipes snaking along the red rock ceiling, carrying who-knows what kinds of fluids and gases to various testing grounds, and loudly at that
>The ever-present electrostatic hum of things working, things advancing, systems interweaving with systems
>And then there’s the heat
>When you think of the lower sections of this facility, you tend to think that they’d get cooler the further from that great big excavation pit you get
>Without the sun beating down on you at high noon in the atrium, down in these deep recesses once trod only by miners, it should be damp and cool, right?
>You can’t imagine why Caballeron would place his office here, besides the proximity to Omega Sector
>Nor why Black Bar would set up shop here for his interviews… maybe they can withstand it through sheer force of devilry?
>In that case, they just want to intimidate you
>You won’t let them
>Wafting through the heat waves, you finally arrive at your destination: an elaborate circular porthole, decorated with the symbol of Ordo Intelligentia: the letters “OI” inscribed within one another, resembling the slit-eye of a snake
>Over the top of the doorframe is a bronze placard, illuminated by a harsh orange bulb: DOCTOR INIGO CABALLERON, LEAD SITE DIRECTOR
>Self-righteous prick…
>You extend your hoof to swipe your access card in the small slot, when…
>”…whatever this is. Punishment? Ay, Ministro, just tell me!”
>THUMP
>”It’s hardly a punishment, Doctor. Just a lateral move. You’re needed there more than you’re needed here.”
>Instinctively, you dash towards the edge of the door, your ears perking up into prime eavesdropping position
>Black Bar AND Caballeron are both in there!
>You were expecting to have to face the Minister one-on-one, but this… this is an even more terrifying prospect
>Having both sets of eyes burning holes in you while you try to explain what exactly it is you DO around here, when you aren’t spying for the Chancellor…
>Calm down, Lucky; it could be that Caballeron is just leaving
>Still though… it sounds like they’re in the middle of a pretty heated debate
>Would they notice if you’re just a few minutes late? Could you spare some time to continue down this hallway, see what you can see of the outer ring of Omega Sector, and then pop on back for your nice little chat?
>No… that’s way too risky, even for you
>Besides, whatever’s being said in this room is probably way more interesting than whatever you could manage to find in five minutes in this part of the facility
>You draw closer to the sliding door, pressing your ear directly against its opaque surface…
>”It doesn’t make even un poco lick of sense, Ministro. We are THIS close to a breakthrough with the voice on the other side. I’m the one who pushed to bring those supercomputers on site! I’m the one who whipped the pendejos into shape when they were dragging their hooves with Dream!”
>”Without my authorization.”
>”I took the initiative. When that labcoat fell asleep next to it and thought he heard the voice of a god, anypony else would’ve fired his ass for being loco! What did I do, Ministro? I listened. I made this thing happen. We wouldn’t even have a PEEP if not for—”
>”Your managerial skills are not in question here, Doctor. Once again, this is not a punishment. It’s a necessity.”
>Are they really discussing what you think they’re discussing?
>This conversation is so much clearer than the one between Caballeron and Professor Neigh last week… you can hear every word through this crappy door
>Dream… there was that word again, ‘Dream’
>And the supercomputers, they’re here for… for what reason?
>This is the mystery that the Chancellor charged you with solving from the very beginning!
>You’re still going to go through with your plan, but if all else fails, this has the potential to be a gold mine!
>”Forget it. I’m not going. I belong here. It’s not fragmented and chittery anymore, it’s practically holding full conversations! Right through the substructure. All that will go to waste if—”
>”Nothing is going to waste. The work will continue as planned for the duration of your time away.”
>”So, what? This is temporary? You think I buy that?”
>”I think you’ll do what you’re told, Doctor. And what I’m telling you is that White Junction will be the first place they’ll target. They’ll make an example out of it. The secrets held there are nearly as important as what’s being kept here, and the more efficiently we can dispose of those secrets, the better.”
>”Dispose? Ay, ay, Ministro, you really think the Chancellor isn’t bluffing? That this all isn’t some big power play? That pendejo, this is exactly what he wants you to do! Panic! You’re playing right into his hooves, and the truth is, he don’t have the cojones to even send spec ops after you, much less the Army!”
>”All due respect, Inigo. But my estimation of this Chancellor is that he’ll do whatever he damn well pleases. The stallion you knew at Crystallatia College is no more. He’s a threat now. An existential danger. So, even on the off-chance that he goes through with this bullying, our assets need to be secured.”
>”He risks open conflict between government agencies. He thinks we don’t have weapons? Senators in our pockets? He thinks we can’t do something about—”
>”I don’t. Care. What he thinks. I care that our work here is seen through to its end. For the time being, I will play the part of Lead Site Director here. YOU will be head custodian at White Junction. That’s the end of the story, I’m afraid. It isn’t a mark on you, it isn’t an indictment of your performance here. But the fact of the matter is that right now, Professor Neigh and his team are more important to this project’s development than you are.”
>”So that’s it? That little… what did he tell you about me? That I struck him? The damned CABRON had it coming! So wishy-washy about everything, ‘oh, the feedback dropped to zero! Oh, we can’t hear a thing! The Ovum doesn’t LIKE it when you do that!’ His report on the substructure didn’t even remotely account for—”
>”Speaking of that report. If you care about the results of the Dream project, then you had better be as concerned as Neigh is about that whole fiasco.”
>”Ugh, he came to you about that, too? Ministro, he’s paranoid! Nopony but him or I have been inside that lab for weeks now! So he put it back wrong, so what?”
>You can barely contain your excitement
>So Pink managed to break into Professor Neigh’s lab, after all!
>You told her to flip that folder over, nothing else
>Looks like Neigh noticed, just like you wanted him to
>It’s risky, incredibly risky, to feed their fears of a spy, but if it pays off in the way you expect…
>”Again, it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. I expect a report on all such sensitive materials before your departure tomorrow.”
>”T-tomorrow? Ministro, this is too short-notice! I won’t abandon—”
>”You will.”
>”…fine. But not so soon, not until—”
>”You’re being a child, Doctor. I don’t want to have to demote you, not after all the good work you’ve done here.”
>”…yes, Ministro. Aye. You’ll… you’ll have a report. But this office, this… this project, it’s mine. Comprende? Mine.”
>”And it’ll be yours again, once all this blows over. Trust me when I say this, Doctor: there’s no move the Chancellor could make that I haven’t prepared for. Now, if you don’t mind, I have another appointment soon, so if you’ll be so kind as to…”
>You don’t hear the rest
>You’re already moving away from the door, sprinting back down the hallway the way you came
>You round the corner and wait to hear the telltale squeal of Caballeron’s office door thrusting open
>When you do, you collect yourself and stroll back towards the office, as though you’ve just arrived
>You’re not the least bit surprised to see Doctor Caballeron walking right back at you, fuming with barely-concealed rage
>When he notices you, he shoots you a look that could kill a manticore, but says nothing as he passes
>It takes all your willpower not to hum a carefree little ditty for the occasion
>Caballeron… going away? Far, far away?
>It’s a dream come true!
>Not that the alternative is much better
>”Well, there you are, son. Wait out there. If you don’t mind, I’d like to conduct our interview on my hooves, rather than sitting.”
“Y-yes. Yes, sir.”
>Having come full-face with the still-open sliding door, you stare for a moment into Caballeron’s office, avoiding direct eye contact with its new inhabitant
>Minister Black Bar rounds the large desk at the center of the room, shuffling across the tiled carpet with brusque, deliberate strides
>Maybe it’s because you were so uncomfortably close to him the last time you saw him walk, but you never noticed before how… unsettling his gait really is
>It’s the step of an aging stallion, but faster, heavier
>The delicate care he puts into every step betrays his advanced age as easily as does his silvery mane
>But there’s a spring in his stride too; or maybe “piston” would be a better term for it
>After all, his low center of gravity, thick form, and dark-grey coat brings to mind some great big equine cannonball, a thing that only powerful machinery could move
>That, or an explosion
>Before you can get a good look at the interior of Caballeron’s office, Black Bar is shouldering a leather saddle-case, stepping through the doorframe, the thick doors closing behind him with a resounding crunch
>Just like that, the Minister of Intelligence of Canterium is standing in front of you again, jowls parting to reveal a predatory grin full of flat, age-yellowed teeth
>Damn you, Comet Tail… damn you for making you do this…
>”Officer Shamrock.”
“Minister Black Bar. An honor, sir.”
>”Let’s walk and talk, son.”

. . .

>”Our last conversation was regrettably cut short by factors beyond my control. I’m happy to see you in good health now, son. And I hope that this conversation can be just as productive as our last.”
“M-me too, sir.”
>Walking side by side through this stuffy labyrinth of ancient tunnels with a stallion like Black Bar isn’t your ideal way of spending a day off
>It isn’t quite how you expected to spend it, either; and not just because you were forced to take Comet’s place
>What you expected was to be holed up in Caballeron’s office for an hour or two, but this…
>This has the potential to be more interesting
>You’re moving deeper into the complex, rounding the junction between Lambda and Psi Tunnel, where the Management’s haunt turns into…
>Something else
>Not quite Omega Sector, not that deep, but nearly so
>”You’re wondering where we’re headed.”
>A chill runs down your spine, despite the heat
“Uh… I suppose I hadn’t thought about it, sir.”
>Black Bar chuckles, a cringe-inducing noise that echoes off the smooth granite of the walls and ceiling
>Somewhere in the distance, an alarm is blaring, some piece of machinery signaling danger
>”This interview is, of course, a formality, Officer. I already recognize the value you contribute to this site. But, as a matter of custom, there are some questions I need to ask regarding the state of your position. A vertical slice, if you will. Day in the life.”
“I’ll try my best, sir.”
>”I know, son. Now…”
>Black Bar reaches into the saddle-case secured at his side, producing a simple cork clipboard with a few papers fastened to it
>You involuntarily gulp when you notice your photograph hugging the margin of the top page, the name “SHAMROCK” printed in bold black lettering next to it
>It’s your evaluation papers, the profile that the Cognitio Authority needed to approve before you could be transferred to Site 23
>Forged, of course, by another of Neighsay’s stallions inside OI, though most of the information contained in those papers is still true
>You DO have a light grey coat, you DO have blue eyes, you DID attend Mons University as a computer science major
>Doesn’t mention that you dropped out after one semester, though
>The profile also artfully does not mention your brief stint in prison, however, or the activities that landed you there…
>”Let’s start with the basics. Why would you say you chose, in your application to Cognitio Incognitus, to be transferred specifically to Site 23?”
>Because the Chancellor wrote that bit, not you
“Because of the history. The significance. You said it yourself, Minister: this site is probably the most important location in the last century. It’s where the New Maker’s Handbook was discovered. It’s been invaluable to research on post-migration Maker activities here in Canterium. And it’s—”
>”Ah.”
“S-sir?”
>”That’s a very diplomatic answer, Officer. I apologize. I suppose I expected something more… interesting, from you.”
>Interesting?
>INTERESTING??
>What the hell does this stallion want from you?!
>You force a smile, still not looking directly into those eyes, merely keeping your gaze dead-set on what lies ahead
>A couple researchers, both bespectacled, both wearing dark hazmat suits, hurriedly walk by you and Black Bar
>They both give the Minister a curt nod, and you a confused grimace
>Black Bar seems to notice the reaction
>”They aren’t used to seeing you this deep in the facility.”
“Heh. I’m only a Level 3, sir. That last airlock was about the furthest my card can usually take me without your help.”
>”Usually? Do you attempt to come down to the lower levels often?”
>In your mind, you’re beating your head against the nearest rock wall
“N-no, sir.”
>No, and?
>There always needs to be an “and”
>That’s how you’ve survived in this world for so long; by improvising
“…And what I meant was that I have higher aspirations than Level 3 access.”
>”There it is.”
>You gulp
“There’s… what, sir?”
>”There’s the interesting response I expected from you.”
>As you reach a large sliding door at the end of a long passage, simply labeled “POWER,” Black Bar slows his step, retrieves his own master access card, halts without using it immediately
>He’s looking at you… look back, Lucky
>He can’t see behind the edge of the mask… he can’t sweat you
>”You didn’t come here for the history, Officer Shamrock. You came here because you’re ambitious. Because you want to know the things that other ponies only dream of knowing. What we hide here, we hide for the good of Canterium. But we don’t keep the secrets just because all the eyes of the world are on us.”
>For the first time, Black Bar’s constant smile actually… recedes
>His cheek twitches, his brow does an impulsive dance, and his eyes…
>His eyes turn a shade darker, as he lowers his head away from the electric lamps above
>You are suddenly overwhelmingly aware of how many hundreds of tons of solid stone separate you from the surface, from the sun
>”The eyes are on us because we keep the secrets.”
>Black Bar swipes the card, and the hazard-striped door takes its time parting, revealing what lies behind
>Stepping across the threshold, you immediately see them through a six-inch sheet of plexiglass on your left: enormous geothermal reactors, twenty meters high, positioned in rows within a massive glowing chamber
>There must be dozens of them, each one resembling a monstrous furnace criss-crossed with maintenance ladders, gauges, impossibly complex pipeworks
>There are a few scattered ponies down there, engineers, driving their little carts around the polished granite floor; those furthest from you could practically be ants
>The heat is more oppressive than ever now; it’s crawling in your skin, drenching your jumpsuit
>”Ever wondered how we supply power to this facility? There are certain processes that we can’t afford to lose if the grid suddenly went dark. We’re energy-independent, one-hundred percent.”
“This is… I’ve heard stories, sir, but…”
>”The Maker’s Fist was chosen by the Makers as an outpost for a reason. But the latest archaeological records suggest that this wasn’t simply a settlement. It was a fortress. A refuge, from the only beings that could truly threaten the Makers.”
“Other Makers.”
>Black Bar leads you down the steel and glass corridor, past the first gigantic boiler, then the second
>Only as you meekly walk on through this suspended hallway do you truly get a sense of the scale of that room beyond the glass
>You thought the main atrium, where the initial dig took place, was by far the largest open space in all of Site 23
>What other massive chambers hide from your eyes, from your knowledge?
>”We may never know why the Makers started flinging nuclear bombs at one another six hundred years ago, but we can know how one of those factions sustained themselves out here for so long. Before our generators were here, there were older ones in their place. Machines effectively identical to the ones you see now, just derelict. They came from the same blueprints, after all.”
>Every step you take feels more sluggish; your hooves are practically melting into the concrete
>”Deep below us, far deeper than we are now, is a great pool of magma. An underground volcano. Dormant, for millions of years, but still quite warm. Everything in Site 23 is powered from these geothermal turbines. The Makers did the hard part, running the heating coils deep below the earth. All we had to do was disconnect their old turbines, and attach our own.”
”Then all this heat, sir, it’s…”
>“Not a perfect system, son. The engineers tell me there’s bound to be cracks and warping in those pipes. Most of the heat we draw up in the water is converted into electricity, but some of it we just have to vent straight out through our own tunnels.”
>Ancient infrastructure, left to ruin
>Abandoned, in the wake of the great reckoning of the Makers, their final doom
>These monoliths to the past are just that: approximations, copies, of something that was original and beautiful once
>And what was here was only a fraction of their glory, the product of… what?
>Rebels?
>Like Black Bar said, the world may never know…
>No, are you… enraptured by his words?
>Are you letting yourself slip into comfort?
>He’s only a viper, Lucky… if he saw you for what you are, he’d coil, sink his venomous teeth into you
>”Such power. Such beauty. We were primitives in the mud compared to them. Primordial goop.”
>He’s reading your thoughts again… no, he’s planting those thoughts
>He’s setting you on a wavelength, then playing his tune
>”And how that past speaks to us. How we see their needs, every day, when we use their devices. Their vehicles, designed for them, adjusted only slightly for our forms. Their vast communications arrays. Unlike you, son, I remember a time when all this wasn’t here. Fifty years ago, before this new age came to pass. Before we dug up utopia.”
>You only notice that you’ve been standing frozen in place, admiring those vast generators, when Black Bar beckons to you some ways down the hall
>You gallop to catch up with him, reaching the point at which the glass turns back into rock, and the cavernous room recedes from view
>Through another arched doorway… deeper into the system
>”Your file tells me you grew up in Mons Canteria. In the Undermaw. Was it difficult for you, growing up?”
>Your thoughts drift back to that clanging ghetto, that rift in the urban hellscape
>You suppose you’ve always been accustomed to holes in the earth… is that why the Maker’s Fist feels so nostalgic at times?
“My dad was killed in a fight before I was born, sir. My mother worked at a textile plant. She… she provided for me and my sisters. But we had to scrounge, sometimes.”
>”Did you ever steal food to survive?”
>What kind… of question is that?
>Couldn’t Neighsay have fudged some of these details a little harder?
“Yes, sir. Once, I was caught stealing barley from a grocer’s truck. They gave me a slap on the fetlock for it, but it went into my record. But… you probably knew that already, didn’t you? Sir?”
>Another low chuckle, somehow even more menacing here, in this darkening hall…
>Where exactly does this way lead, anyhow?
>”It may have been mentioned somewhere in your file, yes. Would you be surprised to learn that I grew up in the very same place?”
>Is that a trick question?
>Is he testing you?
>You can’t believe a word that comes out of this old stallion’s mouth; in fact, the only things you CAN trust are the things he refuses to say
>But those are all as blacked-out as the dark censor mark adorning his flank
“I… wasn’t aware, sir.”
>”Of course, when I lived there, it looked nothing like it does today. Mons Canteria exploded in population after the Handbook was discovered, just like every major urban center. In those days, the Undermaw was still called Yverfrea, and it was very much a different world.”
“I know. It’s… it’s always sounded like a nice place, sir.”
>”There were still SOME trees left over. It’s always been a cesspool, but there was some beauty left over from the days before the Republic. From the time of…”
>Black Bar trails off, continues marching into the rapidly dimming light
>Never before has he looked so old, so… innocent?
>”But no matter. Old stories like that, told by old ponies, they don’t mean much in this new world. What you saw back there, the marvels of the Makers, and what we can do to surpass them, that’s what matters now. Intelligence. Reason. Words. These are the things that matter now. But you already know that, don’t you, son?”
>Another corner, another archway
>Down a set of stairs, deeper into the oppressive gloom
>Something titanic is here
>Something…
>A bright light flashes on and off beneath you, a beacon calling out between the slots of metal stairs
>Your hooves clang and crack with every step, echoes rippling up and down in this vacuous chute
>The “alarm” you thought you heard before, it’s back, and it’s getting louder
>It’s synchronized with that light
>The light coming from a hole in the earth
>The stairs trail off down to some other unknown depth, but Black Bar guides you across this landing
>The walls are further apart now, getting further with every step
>The beacon light pours in from an enormous square hole in the wall, the size of a hangar bay door
>”After all…”
>You’re walking into that light, all else is diminishing
>”Words…”
>You’re seeing with your eyes for the first time
>”Are your profession.”
>Your jaw hangs slack from your muzzle
>If you thought the generator room was impressive, this…
>This is ungodly
>An enormous steel plateau stretches before you, composed of alternating green and black-painted squares at least ten meters across, each
>A chessboard for titans
>Thirty or so squares away from the corridor that brought you here, another arched edifice looms against a perfectly smooth back wall of natural rock, the sedimentary layers still visible despite its uniformity
>The edifice is pearly white, glowing bright with neon accents that intermittently burst alive, then diminish
>A beacon calling out to you
>Barbed fences weighed down with sandbags form narrow passages between this wall and the wall beyond, each leading from an open port on this wall to the other side, to that massive arch
>The silhouettes of other ponies, forklifts, and even eighteen-wheelers carrying shipping containers on their beds fill those fenced passages
>There must be at least fifty ponies mulling around in this chamber, yet none of them are close enough to even notice you
>Beyond those fences… you can see why they exist in the first place
>To your left and right, this wide trench in the earth appears to extend forever
>You can see no end in either direction; the further from the strange, alien edifice the walls get, the dimmer they become, until they’re completely bathed in darkness
>The floor, too, goes on and on, curving lower and lower until it eventually passes into total shadow
>The only hint as to the true length of this trench-space comes in the form of a strip of cool green lights embedded in the far wall
>Every time the central gateway pulses, energy ripples across those lights, passing in waves across the wall until they become too dim to see in the distance
>At the very edge of what’s visible, you can just barely make out two enormous girder-pillars, one to your left and one to your right
>Crossbeams as thick as a train weave between the main axes, connecting the checkered floor to the stalactite-riddled ceiling
>But it’s that centerpiece, that pantheon horseshoe-shaped edifice, that terrifies you the most
>Ziggurat steps lead up to the stark-white monolithic gateway, though a metal ramp wide enough for two trucks has been laid over them
>Gargantuan chunks of rubble pile high on either side of the “doorway,” probably cleared by the initial excavation
>Behind it all, a massive portcullis, outlined in hazard stripes, moves soundlessly up and down each time a pony or equipment passes through it
>It’s got to be fifty meters tall, but the most it ever opens is ten
“Hah… hah…”
>This space is overwhelming
>It feels larger than the open air, larger than outer space
>All of this… underground
>Beneath your very hooves all this time
>This is… this is…
>”This is Omega Sector.”
>Black Bar, huffing slightly from the vertical descent, is not breathing in the sights and sounds of this enormous threshold
>He’s looking directly at you
>He’s smiling in a grandfatherly way, a disarmingly charming way
>”Or at least, this is Omega Sector’s main entrance. Just beyond that gate is the Central Nervous System. Where the Handbook was discovered.”
“I… I…”
>”Of course, that gigantic hard drive was only the beginning. It took another fifty years to excavate the rest. But the rest, I’m afraid, is still state secrets. At least, for a Level 3.”
>You really have stepped into a dream
>This place…
>With all the lights, the fenced queues, the garish colors, the gigantic, attention-grabbing vault door, you’re reminded of some kind of demonic theme park
>Step right up, and wait your turn to climb through the gates of Tartarus itself
>Careful not to step over the line, or you’ll be torn limb from limb by one of the dozens of automatic gun turrets guarding the perimeter!
>Have fun!
>Celestia above, this is… just…
“…why? Why are you… showing me this?”
>”Why? Why, you ask? Don’t you know already?”
>Because he’s found you out
>Because he’s mocking you, dangling the keys right in front of your face before he takes you down, because he—
>”Because you’re a straight shooter. Because this is the answer to the question of your ambition. You want to see the inside of the place where it all happened, don’t you? Where it’s all still happening?”
>Right now, no
>Right now, you want to turn your tail and run
>Climb out of this hole in the desert, and run across the dunes all the way back home
>This is too heavy for you, more than you could ever in a million years have expected
>The Makers built this; this is a preserved sample of their glory, a monument to their ingenuity
>Carved out by mountainous machines, buried for centuries, uncovered by ponies, and…
>”We made it gaudy, didn’t we? We added too much stuff to it. It was pristine for so long, symmetrical, and we sullied it. Like ants on a corpse.”
>This was never beautiful
>This was never natural
>This is and always has been a distortion of reality
>A dream
>”We had to do it. It was inevitable. Convenient, too. When OI got our hooves on this place, we figured there was no sense in carting everything we found in there back up to the surface just to send it to a research station. So, we brought the research station here.”
>Secrets within secrets
>Monoliths stuffed into holes
>And you, a lowly black hat hacker, sent here to root them out?
>There’s nothing to compare this to now, nothing…
>If this is only the front door, what could be inside?
>Truly, what?
>What could the Intelligence Minister, the most secretive stallion in the world, be hiding, if he’s willing to show you this?
>”Knowing other ponies’ secrets. Inquiries is the OI of OI, Officer Shamrock. You ask questions, and they’re expected to answer. Much the same as I’ve been doing all day, with all the other section heads, holed up in that furnace of an office. It’s grown tiresome.”
>Then he hasn’t been bringing everypony down here to see this
>Only you
>Only Lucky Clover
>”But, you know, son… in my experience, ambitious ponies only like to do the questioning. They don’t much care for the answering part. Which is why this little questionnaire I’ve prepared for Comet Tail would probably be totally useless in learning what makes you tick.”
“And what…”
>Shutting out all of this madness, forgetting for just a moment the scope of what you’re seeing, the gravity of this operation, you channel all of your energy into being Shamrock
>Just Officer Shamrock, squeaky clean junior Inquiry
“…what do you think m-makes me tick?”
>This
>This precise situation
>That’s what
>Black Bar chuckles, as if reading your mind once again
>”You had to be scrappy to survive the Undermaw. You had to be determined to get where you are now. You won’t stop in your tracks until you have it all. Until you KNOW it all. I think that answering to somepony like me pisses you off, just a little.”
“Of course not, sir. My responsibilities come first and foremost.”
>”And that includes kowtowing to me. Gotcha. But a relationship between employer and employee shouldn’t just be give and take. It shouldn’t feel like a debt.”
“A… debt, sir?”
>”You know what I mean, son. The ambitious should be free to choose for themselves where their loyalties lie. They shouldn’t be subjected to the will of some faceless higher-up.”
“You have a pretty famous face, sir.”
>”This one, yes.”
>Surprisingly, you think you understand what he means by that
>You… you relate to this stallion
>This manipulative, conniving enemy you’ve been tasked with subverting
>He knows you, and you know him, even as you lie through your teeth
>Even as he lies through his
>”Still, to be indebted to the powerful is one thing. For the powerful to be indebted to you, well, that’s another thing entirely. When this war finally comes to a close, I expect there’ll be a great many debts left unpaid. A great many fortunes to be made and lost. Depending on the victor, of course.”
>Victors and fortunes…
>Debts…
>Black soot settles at the base of your heart
>Ash in your throat, from a fire that’s soundly burned out
>What you want, what you need, is to leave this all behind
>The Chancellor, the Minister, everything, everypony
>You’d trade places with your measly past self, go back to mining two-bit dataspheres, in a heartbeat
>But the way is shut, not by any number of doors or locks, but by your ambition to know the truth
>It surpasses every other desire you have
>You aren’t doing this out of duty to the Chancellor anymore, though he is your ticket out of here
>You’re doing it for yourself
>For Lucky Clover
>So another fire burns, a smaller one, but a brighter one
>One that matches the reality you live in
>Black Bar sighs; he turns stony-faced, resolute, to give you another hard stare
>This time, there isn’t even a hint of humor in his expression
>”Safety is the greatest virtue of all, son. Security. Knowing your place in the world, knowing how to secure that place in perpetuity, is everything. And if you can be rewarded in the process, all the better. Any debt in the world can be wiped clean, when you’re protected absolutely from your creditor. And OI is the most protected institution in the world. We take care of our own. There is nopony else but us.”
“I think I know what you mean.”
>”Good. Then let’s try to be indebted to each other, so that neither of us are. You tell me a secret, and I…”
>The aging stallion grins, gestures broadly at the white archway, the only way in or out of the most secretive place in all of Equestron
>”…will show you one of mine.”
>Neighsay is nothing but a ride home
>Neighsay MADE you do this, when you were at your most vulnerable
>You aren’t vulnerable anymore, you’re… you’re…
>You’re dead if you give this stallion what he wants
>The only reason he’d do something like this, go to these lengths, is precisely because he knows nothing
>You have nothing to offer him that he couldn’t get somewhere else, for a cheaper price
>And so…
>And so
“If I learn something important, you’ll be the first to know. Minister Black Bar.”
>You fear that gaze even more than you fear the cavernous reaches of Omega Sector before you, but you don’t flinch away
>This time, you look right back at him
>And the smug expression on Black Bar’s face falters
>He’s not anypony’s grandfather, not a kindly mentor
>He’s a demon and a bureaucrat, nothing more
>”That is… an interesting response. Well, son. I think I have everything I need for now. Drop by my new office anytime. If you’d like to chat, or if you’d like to take me up on that offer. In whatever capacity you see fit.”
“That’s kind of you, sir. When I have time to spare with the reorganization, I’ll tell you anything you need to know.”
>Except the one thing you want to know
>That’s off-limits
>Wordlessly, Black Bar nods, and without so much as a farewell, he trots back through the hangar door, back into darkness
>Leaving you all alone in a restricted area
>You make sure that you’ve soaked in every little detail of this space before you leave
>The rough dimensions of the space, the time it takes for a pony to walk from one wall to the other
>The placement of every turret, the number of armored trucks and forklifts passing over the weigh-station in a minute
>The faces of the ponies given unrestricted access
>In the distance, they file through a complex series of checkpoints, scanners, terminals
>Both those entering and leaving Omega Sector are subjected to at least four different trials to pass that threshold
>What the Chancellor asks of you is impossible
>It would even be impossible for his shadow, his Pink
>Five minutes later, you follow in Black Bar’s hoofsteps, trotting back up the stairs, back through the door, past the generators, around the corner, up the elevator, back to your safe place
>All the while, your mind is still back there, back in Omega Sector, planning, toying with the idea that you had in the very beginning
>The randomness of all that traffic, in and out…
>Like a cryptogram begging to be broken, what if it was all just a bit more… predictable?
>Ordered?
>What if you didn’t HAVE to break in at all?
>What if you only needed to break out?

******

>If the sun’s risen, you can’t tell
>If the light from the east has crowned the peak of the mountain, it’s still veiled in layers of smog
>Smog, sulfur, hellfire
>Ten thousand processes for ten thousand needs
>You wade through grey mist thick as water, drawing further from the armored car you arrived in with every cautious hoofstep
>Grit clings to your cloak, your mane, your teeth…
>Pollution that the socialites of the Capitoline Peak needn’t ever concern themselves with
>But you? You almost like it here
>Here is the world’s truest form; here is what all this has wrought
>Automata feeding on sparks, generating all that which sustains a population of millions
>Nay, generating life itself
>For what would life be, without these machines?
>What could be found in the rubble, except for dust?
>You are Chancellor Neighsay, and in truth, you hadn’t planned on coming all the way out here
>But because a certain somepony hasn’t been returning your calls, you thought that perhaps it would be best to call on him personally
>With your security head, Ms. Drops, and the two Army greycoats you hoof-picked for your escort in tow, you take a leisurely stroll down a cracked and grimy sidewalk
>Factory Row, the sprawling complex of mostly-automated pollutant-heavy manufacturing plants at the west edge of the city, is a beating heart sustained by oil rather than blood
>And you are right outside the aorta of that heart; the FFCorp Packaging and Distribution Center
>Here, the products of nineteen other factories on the Row are screened, stored, sorted, packaged, and shipped all in one convenient central location
>There are other similar distribution centers within a few miles of here, but this one is by far the largest
>It’s also the busiest, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at it
>Through diamond-shaped holes in the tall steel fence separating the street from the long concrete shipping yard, you see much movement, but little life
>Trucks pulling in and out of striped loading docks; cylindrical containers turning in place; fast-moving conveyor belts hauling scrap into a great heap outside the complex
>Green columns of flame expelled from rows upon rows of swirling pipes, like giant birthday candles
>Drones, whirring and whizzing, leaving wispy trails in the smog as they make their slavish rounds
>Once manned by nearly two thousand ponies, this half-mile long industrial shipping plant, and indeed the other factories surrounding it, have all been left with skeleton crews in the wake of the latest stage of New Maker development
>With the discovery of the Handbook came, of course, advancement immeasurable
>These sorts of places sprouted up in every corner of the Republic, the teachings of the Makers at last taking root in a mature pony society
>But fifty years is a long time; not all the miracles the Makers dreamt could be achieved in those first few sparkling decades
>Progress came in waves; first, more reliable electric power, efficiency of industrial processes
>Then, electronics; the microprocessor, telecommunications, et cetera
>Only in recent years have the blueprints for more complex “intelligent” constructs been feasible to produce, and this naturally had consequences
>Suddenly, it was far more practical for the industrialists to let their machines go about their own business, than to bother with such trifles as paying wages
>Millions upon millions of Canterians, the product of an enormous population explosion, were left jobless overnight
>As you and your entourage approach a looming black gate, which appears to taper into the yawning throat of an entrance tunnel into the complex, an unexpected cold draft cuts right through you
>You pull your burgundy cloak closer to your body, tightening the pins that keep it draped elegantly over your shoulders
>Then, taking a last look at the horizon, a jagged perimeter of great big steel cigars puffing into a blood-red morning sky, you trudge into the cold concrete cavern
>This is where Sweetie Drops claimed you’d find him at this early hour, and you trust her intel
>Wordlessly, the same Sweetie Drops nods at you from her place at the fore of the party, then shoots a harsh look at the two Army escorts, as if to say “keep up”
>The one to your left gulps, blinking twice in the harsh electric light
>”S-sir… um, Chancellor. Are you certain this has been… cleared?”
“Cleared, you say?”
>”Yes, sir. With the Senatori, I mean. I mean, uh… I understand that you have business here, and all, but I’m just confirming that it’s—”
“Can a private citizen not take a stroll in an open industrial park when he feels the urge to do so?”
>”Er…”
>You grin, smoothing the frayed ends of your goatee back down to their immaculately triangular place
“That was rhetorical, Corporal.”
>”Y-yes, sir. But, y’know, with… with the, um… assassination attempt, and all…?”
“Why, I don’t see any assassins lurking about these parts. Do you, Miss Drops?”
>”Nope.”
“I suppose that settles it, then.”
>”Yes… sir…”
>The two Army colts are Longshot and Metal Jacket, the very same honored individuals who escorted you out of the train station when you were assailed by that murderous Tree Hugger
>As promised, they both received Brass Horseshoes for their bravery, were promoted, and their names were mentioned fairly frequently in the news cycle after the incident
>Since that fateful day, the Senatori’s insisted that you bring along a special escort like this one when you descend the Capitoline Peak for any business; you won’t begrudge them too much for it, but you can still have a bit of a laugh at their expense
>These two were skittish enough in your presence to let you go back to Newcastle following an attempt on your life, rather than incur your wrath by forcing you into some silly safehouse
>So you can count on them to let you roam pretty much wherever you please…
>At the end of the tunnel is a T-junction, where both wide paths lead to two empty underground parking lots
>Before you is a simple revolving door, which Sweetie Drops tries to no avail to push open
>”Locked.”
“Try the intercom.”
>Drops nods, steps aside, places her hoof on a small pressure pad which lights up an ancient-looking receiver
>A tinny microphone crackles, echoes in the vaulted space, until…
>{”Who goes there, eh?”}
>You return Drops’ nod, commending her on her intuition
>If there’s any process that should be checked on first, it’s distribution
>Wouldn’t want any delays…
>{”Matron? That you? Did ye need summat else?”}
>You step to the receiver, licking your lips before you speak to clear the bitter ash and dryness from your mouth
“I don’t know a Matron, Brittle. But as a point of fact, yes. I do require something else.”
>There’s indistinct grumbling, sounds of clanging and shifting from the other end of the intercom
>Sounds like he couldn’t wait to see you again…
>{Fact’ry’s not safe fer ye, Chanc’llor. Loads o’ dang’rous ‘quipment and the like, wot could cut a layman tosser to bits, right.”
“I’ll take the risk. You didn’t make it to your appointment yesterday evening. I’d like to make up for lost time.”
>{“Weren’t no ‘ppointment made, guv. ‘Ad a nasty case o’ the flux, me. Yer errand girl never made it further than where ye stand.”}
“I could have called on you at your home, if I’d wished. I considered this more polite.”
>Longshot shifts his weight from hoof to hoof, peering nervously through the translucent windows of the door
>Metal Jacket heaves impatiently, setting his bulky saddlebags on the damp floor
>You expect their prior experience as auxiliaries didn’t quite prepare them for something like this
>{“Gimme one good reason why I should let the lot of ye through that door.”}
“Well, there’s a somewhat obvious card I could play here. Given that I’m the highest-ranking public official in the country, and whatnot. But let’s put it to, say, a mutual vested interest in survival.”
>{“Wotever ye want me for, I’m no’ interested. No’ a dragon’s chance in the Depths. Bugger off and find another engineer to do yer dirty work.”}
“It’s the Material, Brittle. There’s been a development.”
>One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three…
>Labored breathing behind a digitized buffer, then the distinct sound of peaked coughing
>Sweetie Drops stands ready at the edge of the door, subtly gesturing with her head, asking permission to break it down
>You raise your left forehoof in response, smirking
>One thousand six
>Whatever this stallion’s principles may be…
>One thousand eight
>You see right through him, even when you can’t see him at all
>One thousand ten
>CLICK
>The magnetic lock of the revolving door releases, and a pressurized gust causes Drops’ lollipop pompadour to tremble
>{“Ye’ve got twenty minutes.”}
“Make it fifteen. I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from your work.”

. . . 

>After a short walk through a derelict maintenance shaft, up a sloping fenced-off path, and through a set of sliding double doors, you arrive at a large glass-roofed rotunda
>Down a spiral staircase, and across a smooth-floored gap, a series of humming conveyor belts carry cardboard boxes of various sizes and shapes from one end of the chamber to the other
>From shelves of dizzying heights, where drones take turns filling and emptying rows of their contents, to a filtration system that separates the packages based on their contents
>It all ends up feeding into another set of machines that wrap the boxes in clear plastic, stamp them with a great big black “FF” mark, and haul them into the adjacent shipping complex
>A marvelous process, to be sure; and the room itself rivals the central hall of Newcastle Kabardian in its size, if not its grandeur
>With a lack of living employees comes a lack of need for aesthetic conformity, and you can’t imagine anypony would want to work in a place so derelict and depressing-looking
>At least, anypony but him
>For at the very center of the dusty grey room, hunched over one of the whirring belts, is a gigantic spider
>No, not a real spider; a mechanical one, with an organic operator
>The belt is shaking subtly, looking close to breaking and spilling its contents at one point
>One of the spider’s many legs, spurred on by its operator, gently lifts off the ground and affixes itself into the side of the belt
>As you descend the staircase and approach the arachnoid vehicle, you see more closely what it’s doing; a series of wrenches, drivers, sockets, blowtorches, and saws revolve around the axis of the leg, performing various surgical tune-ups on its “patient”
>After a few seconds, the leg pulls away from the rotary shaft of the belt, which now spins perfectly in sync with its neighbors, no wobbling at all
>When the leg touches the ground again, it and the other legs straighten out, lifting the boxy thorax of the skyward, and pulling the blue stallion inside further out of your reach
“Remind me why you do this alone?”
>The spider-hauler’s joints groan as it laboriously climbs over the rest of the belts, backwards towards you
>”Me employers trust nary another soul with the work.”
>Brittle Bong swivels his many-legged maintenance vehicle once he’s out of range of the moving machinery, revealing his tight face behind a pane of filthy glass
>Even from here, you can see the restrained misery in his eyes
“You couldn’t train a few ponies to do what you do?”
>Brittle snorts, a humorless noise
>”What I do is diff’rent every time a diff’rent problem comes up. Ain’t much trainin’ you could give a bloke that’d ‘elp in the long term.”
>You close the rest of the gap between yourself and the spider-hauler, until you pause directly next to one of its vicious-looking limbs
>If he so willed it, Brittle Bong could snuff out your life with the throw of a switch
>That’s true of many ponies, though; power is not the ability to remove oneself from hazards, but to make the hazards think twice before hazarding you
>You already know why this stallion is angry with you, but you can already feel an impassioned tirade coming on…
>Pistons whir as the cockpit of the spider-hauler lowers steadily, inch by inch, until it settles close to the floor
>Brittle Bong wastes no time in turning a latchkey, leaping out of the vehicle just as its noisy engine simmers to a halt
>All that remains is the noisy hum of the process
>Brittle keeps his distance from you and your entourage, looking you dead in the eye with bloodshot pupils, a weak and pale fire behind them
>”I warned you. I told you wot would ‘appen. You didn’t listen, Celestia damn you.”
“I suppose you’ve heard the news, then.”
>”Thousands of pegasi, millions maybe! Dead, dying, injured, blinded, wot ‘ave you! Because YOU—”
>An accusatory hoof is pointed at you for good measure
>”—wanted yer damnable show of force! Well, ye’ve ‘ad it now. Mother above, ye’ve ‘ad it.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
>”Dramatic? Ha! That’s richer than mousse, that is. The Pericles device was NOT designed for that level o’ stress. I told ye about the regulation pump, dinny? I gave you a specific figure, 600 K. The intensity o’ the spell, the will o’ the user, that DIRECTLY correlates wit the output!”
“Mr. Bong, what’s done is done. You’re attacking the wrong pony, I’m afraid. I relayed all the requisite information to the agents in the field, and I certainly made sure to stress the dangers of magical reactivity in the case you’ve just described. I’ve already been informed by Socket Wrench, the attendant engineer, that the device had already been damaged prior to the incident.”
>”Then it should’ve been put out ‘o commission, then! This is wot ‘appens, Chanc’llor, when you let experimental tech—”
“Tech that you yourself invented.”
>”Bugger that. I renounced it. Washed me ‘ooves, me. Won’t lose me a wink o’ sleep over summat that you an’ yours did!”
“Is that why you’re shaking?”
>It’s true; the stallion is practically shivering in this pleasantly warm space
>His eyelids are trembling, his voice quavers and cracks as he speaks
>You take a few steps forward, bringing yourself face to face with Brittle Bong
>Just like that, his indignity melts away, and though he retains his anger, he clearly can’t bring himself to look you directly in the eye
“Pegasopolis was the enemy. What happened was unfortunate, I won’t deny it. But no matter who shoulders the blame, no matter how you choose to deal with whatever guilt you may have over your involvement, you are still my employee.”
>Haggard as he is, the aging engineer appears to have aged another decade since you last saw him five days ago
>When you gesture for him to raise his head and look at you, he instead whips around, leaving his back to you
>”I was yer predecessor’s employee. Not yours. One consultation dinny make me the personal Science Counsel to the Chanc’llor again.”
>Brittle’s words are dripping with venom
>But your fangs are sharper, and you’ve used them far more often
“But you are involved with us again. And just between us friends…”
>You lean in close, whispering so that not even Sweetie Drops behind you can hear
“…you are privy to some choice matters which, I shouldn’t have to tell you, the wrong ponies might be very interested in acquiring. If that all became public knowledge… well, Mr. Bong. Suffice it to say it would be my duty as a servant of the people to sever all ties with you. And I do mean ALL ties.”
>”Threats don’t work on me, Chanc’llor. I’ve been around the ‘orn too many times to get shook up by an idle threat.”
“Then with all that experience, you should know better than to do something so ridiculous as to walk away. Weapons are weapons. This was the preferable option to mutually assured destruction. And it’s the first step in ending this war.”
>”Peace, then? That’s wot this is? Because last I heard on the telly, yer operation dinny go off quite without a hitch, Chanc’llor. Unless I’m meant to believe that an Exsilist occupation of the PAS, another bloody assimilation, was yer plan all along.”
>You grit your teeth
>The rage is stewing again, bubbling over in the pit of your stomach
>But you won’t let it control you now, not when it’s finally coming together
“No plan survives first contact. My team ingratiated themselves to the Exsilist Ambassador. They’re en route to Unicronia as we speak. General Hurricane is already there, and in our custody.”
>”Pish-posh. They ‘ardly need ‘im now, do they?”
“You’d be surprised.”
>Brittle laughs mirthlessly, hikes one hoof up onto the rim of the spider-hauler, and bends down to retrieve a few looseleaf papers from a compartment in its rear
>”I never said I were walkin’ away, by the by. Just that I need time. Time to… process. Time to think about this ‘n that. It could’ve been worse, I reckon. Yea. Could’ve been…”
>As the engineer trails off, Sweetie Drops seems to read the direction the conversation is headed
>She lightly steps behind you, where the two soldiers stand, and clears her throat
>”The Chancellor needs some time alone with this stallion now. The two of you can wait outside the gate.”
>”Eh? But… Command told us specifically to—”
>”He’s in good hooves, Corporals. Now go.”
>The two Army colts fidget, mutter to themselves, but ultimately they’re helpless to defy you and your chief of security
>”We’ll… be just around the corner if you need us… I guess…”
>The echoes of hoofsteps bounce from wall to wall as the two wander off, climb the stairs with a metallic racket, and drift unmissed through the sliding doors you came in
>Now, it’s three’s company
“I won’t waste much more of your time, Brittle. If you’ve done some theoretical work on the Material, then I’d like to see it now.”
>Brittle waves the stack of papers in air, and you can just make out a few scribbles and geometric sketches on the cover page
>”You’ll ‘ave these when ye tell me wot you know first.”
“Now, now. Don’t be hasty. I think it’ll be more valuable to both of us if I can see that with fresh eyes.”
>Groaning, Brittle relents; he knows he’s overplayed his hoof
>The brassy face of his watch glimmers in the morning light as he extends his hoof, allowing you to snatch the papers from his grip
>Your eyes fly over the pages… they’re mostly calculations, crude drawings, things you really don’t understand
>Not that you expected to
>”If ye’ve found summat, it might change things. But wot I have so far is this: if a Material like this really exists, then I think that everythin’ that dossier ascribed to it could be true an’ more.”
>Brittle wheels around to stand beside you, taking the pages in hoof and flipping them until he arrives at a particularly detailed diagram he must have drawn up
>It depicts a series of colored circles, winding up and down the page in an ordered helical shape
>They’re arranged in a pattern; red, blue, green, with every other color containing either a plus or negative sign
>Wired between them are thin, wavy black lines labeled “p” and “n”, connecting the like colors along the diagonal
>There are also larger colorless circles encompassing groups of six or so vertical colors, two of each color, and stacked vertically atop one another
“You’ve been very busy for somepony who affects such reluctance.”
>”Right. This may take some explaining.”
“My morning is free.”
>”I’d initially thought that a substance made up entirely of gluons would be infeasibly difficult to create. Like I said, you’d need to pick ‘em one by one out o’ static annihilation. Electron, positron, mash ‘em together, boom. Emitted gluon, an’ all sorts of other fancy stuff. Do that billions of times, an’ catch an effectively massless particle to weave it into a micro-polymer bit by bit… well, I was right the first time. A pure gluon substructure WOULD be impossible, even for a Maker. It wouldn’t just bend the laws o’ physics, it’d break ‘em. An’ it’d take forever in the process.”
“So there’s more to it.”
>”Imagine you want to make a pretty braid out o’ three diff’rent colors of fabric. You have a nice emerald green, a lovely lilac blue, an’ a rich ruby red. Ye hook ‘em up to a loom, and get to spinnin’. But there’s a problem. One side o’ the fabrics are easy on the eyes, but the flip sides are rubbish. Same colors, but the shade’s all off, an’ it’s got ugly as sin patterns all over. Wot’s more, as ye spin, the strands get twisted themselves, so ye only get half the good sides, an’ half the bad sides. Right mess of a job. Wot do ye do to fix it?”
“I would start by hiring a tailor, rather than trusting myself to do this sort of work.”
>”Har. Well, one might think ye could just fold the lengths over themselves before spinnin’, so that only the good sides show out. But that makes the line thicker, an’ it frays an’ falls apart easier. There’s an easier way to do it. Ye start by spinnin’ the lines in the OPPOSITE direction individually, before spinnin’ them together. That way, as the fabrics braid, they also work their way undone, until yer done, an’ only the pretty side shows out.”
“I’d find this fascinating, were I only a seamstress.”
>”It’s the same principle. Gluons come in color charges; six, to be precise. Blue, green, red, antiblue, antigreen, antired. The strong interaction forbids the pairing of like opposites. Ye don’t want yer pretty blue mixin’ with yer ugly blue. An’ ye certainly don’t want a twisted strand, or the whole thing collapses same as any stack o’ atoms with no bonds between ‘em.”
>Brittle traces the edge of his hoof along the helix-shape, moving it from color to color, sign to sign
>”Now these gluons, bein’ bosons an’ all, have no observable mass. An’ they exchange between the particles we can see, WITHIN the atom itself. They facilitate this strong force, wot binds ‘em all together like glue. But if that same force were bounded back at them, and strung along like cords between chains…”
>The hoof moves now along those black lines, joining the colored beads like rows of necklaces
>”Like pullin’ a knot through itself. Instead of the gluons actin’ as invisible carriers for the quarks, it’s the other way round. Hydrogen atoms are lined up carefully in rows, maybe in a vacuum, maybe in a particle accelerator. Dunno, not doin’ the math. Then, they are ‘undrilled’ down the line—that is to say, the spins of the constituent quarks are inverted. Negative one-half, negative one. They’re already twisted together, so it ain’t so easy as that, but that’s the whole point. The convolution creates the exact right conditions for the gluons to then be ‘drilled’ back together again. Same row, different material.”
“Pulling a knot through itself. I… I think I understand. Faintly, but well enough.”
>”It’d take an ungodly amount of energy, at any rate. But the result is wot ye see here: strands of gluons, with protons an’ neutrons threaded through THEM, rather than the reverse. No blue touches antiblue. The nuclei o’ the new hydrogen, this ‘inverted’ hydrogen, as it were, overlap. That’s the big circles. The strong force is now interatomic. Nothing more required to sustain it. Braid those strands together, braid the bundles together, it don’t matter ‘ow high up ye go. They bind together an’ never let go.”
>Brittle suddenly races away, or at least runs as fast as his rather short legs can carry him, until he reaches the edge of the packaging machine, where rows of cardboard boxes are spun about by a mechanical arm and wrapped in clear plastic
>He stands on his hind legs to reach the roll of plastic fed into the belt of the arm, tears off a corner, and returns to you with the clear film in hoof
>He then stretches and strains the film in various directions, apparently showing you how difficult it is to tear
>Through the film, his distorted eyes leer longingly, and his grin tells you everything you need to know about the stallion
>All his righteous indignation has gone away, trumped utterly by the love of discovery
>His principles mean very little in the face of this marvel
>”On the molecular level, I reckon the Material looks not so diff’rent from yer ordinary plastic polymer. But instead o’ hydrocarbons chained together by covalent bonds, it’s these ‘inverted’ hydrogens chained together by the strong force. The protons an’ neutrons are still there, they are. But they’re less like particles, more like… like…”
“Waves.”
>The diagram still in hoof, you idly trace the wavy lines running between the chains of colors
>All particles have wavelengths; you learned that at Crystallatia College, before you became dead-set on Law
>It was relatively new knowledge then, knowledge unlocked by a deep store of Maker wisdom, deep beneath the earth
>At the subatomic level, the more certainly a particle’s position can be measured, the less certainly can its momentum, and vice versa
>Left entirely unobserved, it should become as a waveform; states of being composited atop one another, waiting to be seen, to be recognized as truth
>A whole field of physics was made possible by that discovery; and this would appear to your layman eyes to be the culmination of all of it
>”It’s wot I said before. Invokin’ uncertainty. A gluon chain cannot exist like this on its own. But supported by particles with potentially infinite durability, that can’t break apart under most conditions…”
“It would be unbreakable.”
>Your mind is well and truly racing
>Beyond the basic fact that this Material exists in the first place, that OI has been conducting experiments with it deep in the recesses of Site 23…
>Beyond your suspicions about Pegasopolis, soon to be confirmed…
>The military applications of a Material like this would be nigh-unlimited
>Images flash through your mind in rapid succession 
>An impenetrable tank
>Body armor that could deflect a mortar strike
>Bullets that could rip through anything and everything, without losing momentum
>And you’re no nuclear scientist, but…
“What would happen if these ‘inverted’ hydrogen bonds WERE somehow separated?”
>The shadow of a crossbeam high above darkens Brittle’s features as he steps back towards his notes
>”Since ye asked, I think ye may already know the answer. It takes energy, billions o’ joules worth, to create a substance like this. If it were released all at once, in a large enough quantity of the stuff, it’d make the worst nuclear bombs look like firecrackers in comparison.”
>Bombs, of the sort that even the Makers didn’t dare to craft
>Or perhaps they never found a way to break apart what they had created
>”Yer wonderin’ why there’s never been a trace o’ this stuff before.”
“We’re of one mind.”
>”It would seem that if the Makers ever fashioned anythin’ out o’ the Material, it’ survive to this day. An’ we know it ain’t responsible for their ultimate doom. The radiation signature from Old Exsilia always pointed to nuclear armageddon.”
>Brittle taps a pen against the side of his muzzle, lost in thought
>From the inky discoloration all over that area, you can tell he’s probably been doing it quite often, for days now
>”Then again… it’s expensive. Too expensive for mass production, like. If I had to guess, I’d say the Makers dinny ever make more than a pittance of it, in all the six ‘undred years they existed in Equestron. An’ they probably discovered it WHILE they was ‘ere.”
“What makes you say that?”
>You exchange a glance with Sweetie Drops; she’s clearly as enraptured by what Brittle’s said so far as you are
>You never told her the full story regarding Lucky Clover’s activities in Site 23, nor has she ever been foolish enough to ask
>She knows full well that compartmentalization of information and resources is the best policy
>What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her
>Indeed, the extent of her involvement in that little venture so far has been acting as a manual proxy, a go-between who transmits the encrypted packages Clover uploads to your decrypting setup at home
>She’s never read any of the information within, never gleaned the implications of this new revelation, and all revelations yet to come
>Only you… only you can know everything
>Not Black Bar, not the Highmind Empress of the Cult, not any of the foes who have long assailed you from every angle, every direction
>You’ll learn their secrets, and in doing so you will consume them
>Make their thoughts and actions your own
>But for now, a single new truth at a time… a single hoofstep towards your final destination at the top
>Brittle grimaces, his eyes flitting to and fro, either unsure of how to answer or unsure about wanting to
>”Ye won’t like it. A-an’ it’s a rough guess, based on pretty much nothin’…”
“Out with it.”
>”Well… let’s look at the facts ‘ere, Chanc’llor. Nothin’ that exists in the technological realm could make this. Nothin’ is both so precise AN’ so powerful as to reverse chirality on the quantum level. This process would make it easier, yea, but it’d still be ridiculous. I dun care if the Makers existed for ten thousand years, or ten million, or a bloody kajillion. They could never do it on their own. Not solely with technology.”
“What are you saying, Brittle?”
>You’re trembling
>Involuntarily, but once you notice it you can’t stop
>Your whole spine is tingling, your hooves are throbbing
>For the first time since the assassination attempt, you feel this primal nerve, this feeling approaching ecstasy
>You feel… high
>”Magic. Unicorn magic. But focused, precise beyond measure. Y’see, magic… it don’t abide the standard fundamental interactions. It’s an entirely different category. Near to a fifth force, if it could even be reconciled with the Makers’ theories at all. I should know, I invented bloody Pericles. Without an ‘int of ‘ubris, Chanc’llor, I reckon I know more about the intersection of magic and technology than anypony alive.”
“Magic… created the Material? But that’s… that’s nonsensical. The place where it was discovered… a-and the place… where…”
>”Sir? Are you alright?”
>Drops extends her hoof just in time for you to lean upon it; otherwise, you might have fallen flat on your flank
>”Sir!”
>This makes no sense to you… none of the puzzle pieces are fitting together how you anticipated
>Site 23 was a Maker installation… if there’s one thing you and every grade school foal knows, it’s that the Makers possessed no magical capabilities!
>OI is ostensibly investigating a phenomenon uncovered there… why else would Clover have found those files? 
>And the Cult of Exsilium… they despise magic, they abhor it; consider it an insult to the memory of their Maker gods!
>Could they, too, have only found the Material? Rather than created it themselves?
>Where could they have found it, and why would they have gifted it to the PAS?
>You have to confirm… have to know for certain…
“I’m… I’m fine. You can release me now, Miss Drops.”
>Your chief of security hesitates, but ultimately relents, removing her hoof from your side and letting you regain your balance on your own
>”Chanc’llor… wot did ye find out? Wot’s the big mystery?”
>What indeed?
>There’s no point in hiding this now, from either of them
>Nor is there any point in delaying with proceeding with your offensive on OI
>It’s either you or Black Bar now, and it’s going to be you
>You take a deep breath, in and out
“When we first theorized about the nature of this Material, Brittle Bong, you said something to this effect: that ‘one could hoist all of Newcastle Kabardian atop a few strands of the stuff.’”
>”That I did.”
“What about a whole city? A city in the sky?”
>It takes a few moments before realization begins to dawn on Brittle’s face
>His thinning blue coat seems to shine, as if he’s been renewed in some new and terrible light
>”Ye… ye don’t mean to say… Pegasopolis?”
“One of the casualties for my strike team was caused by a ‘hanging wire’ on the underside of the city, no thicker than a strand of hair. Later, the operative who witnessed it insisted that it wasn’t hanging at all, but rather ‘supporting’ the structure above it.”
>”Pegasopolis is… I always thought it were a trick, that the pegasi still used cloud magic. That… that the Exsilists never knew.”
“Seems the Exsilists were involved from the beginning. Only they would have an inkling of how to work this Material. If it really is the same Material.”
>”It’d have to be. Nothin’ else could explain it. Celestia above, I’m a damned fool! Strands! Pillars! Hell, I’d bet ye that most o’ the pegasi livin’ on that platform were none the wiser!”
>”Chancellor… sir… do you think that…?”
>Drops stares at you intensely, waiting for you to confirm what she’s already thinking
>Just as you needed confirmation from Brittle Bong, a second opinion to validate your paranoia
>Well, it’s justified paranoia now; you aren’t insane, and you aren’t wrong
>The creeping feeling that the kettle’s boiling over, the feeling bubbling in your heart ever since your eyes flew over that tiny slip of paper, in war-torn Unicronia
>Supercomputers, then dreams, then gluons, then… what?
>A coup?
>Weapons that surpass nuclears?
>Why else should they keep such things secret?
>Why else, unless…
>Unless
>The omnipresent hum in this place seems to fall silent on your ears, and your jaw unclenches
“I believe that Ordo Intelligentia and the Cult of Exsilium are in league.”
>Brittle recoils, literally dropping the papers from his hoof, letting them scatter to the dusty concrete floor
>Drops, for her part, retains her composure, but you can see in her eyes that her hope is fading
>But if she’s to protect herself, if Brittle Bong is to protect himself come the storm, then let them not be ignorant
>Compartments be damned; it’s time to ACT
>”Wot yer suggestin’, it’s…”
“It’s something I’ve suspected for a long while. Or, at least, I knew that Ordo Intelligentia wasn’t to be trusted. There’s been too much chatter, too much of Minister Black Bar’s conniving. More than usual.”
>”The assassination attempt?”
“It’s been OI all along, hasn’t it? They’ve kept the assassin detained. Sent me their standard reports, but nothing of real interest. And in all the databases of every agency in Canterium, I doubt very much you’d find a Tree Hugger among the ranks of OI. They found a patsy, manipulated her to carry out the deed. All standard operating procedures of OI. It wasn’t a political gesture, it was a stab in the back. Black Bar was surprised to see me alive that day, I know he was!”
>”But sir… why then? Of all times, why not stage an accident in Unicronia? Or when you really started making an effort to pursue them?”
“Because it wasn’t convenient in Unicronia. And because the train station was the one moment they KNEW I’d be in the open. They couldn’t count on Pink being there, of course, but… Celestia above, don’t think for a second I hadn’t considered this before. Of course Black Bar was among my candidates, but this… knowing this, I see an immediate motive. One I hadn’t seen before.”
>Sweetie Drops shakes her head furiously, her cotton candy mane plodding back and forth
>”Sir, if you’re thinking they wanted you out of the way for some kind of coup… why just the once? Why not try again for your life?”
“Perhaps they thought it unnecessary. Perhaps my paranoia’s paid off. They think that Pink guards me day and night, nopony but the three of us here and Senator Blueblood, who has a vested interest in keeping this secret, knows that she’s away on other business. It makes no difference. Once they confirmed that I would try to escalate the conflict, solve the Unicronian crisis through violence rather than diplomacy, they finally saw me as a threat to their underhoofed dealings. But they shot their best shot and they failed.”
>”There’s another possibility, there is.”
>Brittle, stooping down to collect his papers again, sighs sullenly and looks at you
>”Ye’re basin’ this all on a shared Material. OI found this stuff in the Maker’s Fist, dinny they?”
“Where else?”
>”Right. A Maker outpost. Where do the Exsilists come from? Only the bloody blasted wastes o’ the Maker civilization! They could’ve each found ‘em independently. Could’ve—”
“That would all make for a very handy coincidence, wouldn’t it? My agent finds their files, and then not a week later the same Material described by those files is found at Pegasopolis! Planted there by their Exsilist allies!”
>”Then OI could’ve taken it from the Exsilists in a raid. They’re studyin’ it, right? Why bother if the Exsilists already know—”
“ENOUGH!”
>You shout it at the top of your lungs, the echoes drowning out even the whir of the drones, the machinery moaning and cracking
>For a moment, it seems that this whole place is breathing, that it’s a cocoon, that the walls are sagging, pressing in close, squeezing…
>Threats, threats everywhere
>Threats in the West, in the East, in your own nation
>This should have been your reaction the first time, when you saw the knife glimmering, plunging at you from above
>It should have been like this, a desperate cry, a need to know precisely who or what would dare to take your life
>But you had more pressing matters, far-off dangers that had already consumed your mind, your attentions…
>And now, knowing they’re connected, FEELING that they…
>A corner of your cloak is caught beneath your hoof
>Two ponies are staring at you, and there’s a look in their eyes you’ve never forgotten, never wanted to see again in all your days
>It’s pity
“I’ll not conduct your research for you, Brittle Bong, and you won’t deign to craft political theories in my stead! Nor will you, Miss Drops! I don’t pay you to be a damned advisor!”
>”S-sir, all due respect, but I only wanted to make sure you’d thought this through to its conclusion.”
>Yes, it’s pity
>It’s a softness in her voice, a gentle authority, like a mother tugging an infant away from a wrong path
>As if this path isn’t crystal clear!
>It makes you want to scream, ALL of this makes you want to scream
>…
“I’ve thought it through. Whether you see what I see or not, I don’t particularly care.”
>”Ye’ll need proofs.”
“What?”
>Brittle Bong shrugs, and an inferno flares up somewhere deep in your heart
>Who does this little nothing think he is?
>”If not fer yer sake, Chanc’llor, then fer the Senatori’s. Ye’ll be removed from office in the blink o’ an eye if ye make a move against OI in the midst of a war.”
>Your teeth are going to drive straight through your gums, you’re pressing them together so hard
>You can’t conceive of a time when you were ever calm
“What. Exactly. Do you think the Liberation Act was for?”
>”T’was a start. But good luck convincin’ the Army to spare enough stallions to launch a full-on assault on Site 23, when the front needs all the ‘elp it can get.”
>”He’s right, sir. The tribunal will only go so far. White Junction is one thing, but the Maker’s Fist is a different beast entirely.”
“I own the damn tribunal. It’s my plaything. And you STILL are not my advisor, Miss Drops.”
>”No. She ain’t. But we’re all ye got, ain’t we?”
>Brittle gestures around you, to the distant concrete walls, the belts making such a ruckus now as to split your ears
>The shelves towering high above your head, making you feel ever smaller and more lonesome
>”There’s a reason ye come out ‘ere to talk now. Why ye dance around the edge o’ the law, run these covert ops. Subvert yer own institutions. Ye’re all out o’ friends, Chanc’llor. There ain’t a soul in the whole bleedin’ government wot ye can trust now.”
“That was always. The case.”
>”But it’s worse now, innit? A pony in yer position shouldn’t be frettin’ o’er trifles like these. Shouldn’t be spendin’ his days schemin’ about Materials, makin’ accusations o’er nothin’. Ye should be leadin’ yer people. Ye should be a bloody light in the dark of all this chaos.”
>You draw near to Brittle again; this time, however, his gaze doesn’t falter
>He matches your intensity with a sternness that you never expected from him
“I do what I must to survive.”
>”Then yer no better than Black Bar. Or the Highmind Empress. Yer no better than a rat scroungin’ fer crumbs in the gutter.”
“Hm.”
>You actually crack a smile, at once overwhelmed by your expectations of this stallion being completely shattered
>His words might be entirely ridiculous and hyperbolic, but he has the gall to speak them aloud
“I’ve made peace with that. You should, too. You could have been so much more than you are, Brittle Bong. You could have been one of the richest stallions in Canterium. But here you are, fixing conveyor belts and rusty pipes for the Flim-Flams, because you couldn’t stand the idea of somepony else doing a worse job at it than you.”
>”Ye know naught about me.”
“I know enough. I know that you probably consider this some kind of penance. You don’t labor here alone solely because of your arrogance. You’re atoning for what happened to your family.”
>”Stop it.”
“You’ll slave away here, give yourself cancer and a broken back, SUFFER like your brother suffered, like his wife and little son suffered at the Cult’s hooves?”
>”I’m warnin’ ye, now.”
“You think that’ll make it right? Think they’ll forgive you for abandoning them, if you only take the high ro—”
>WHACK
>A blue blur fills your left eye
>A bright light flashes in the same place, and then you’re tumbling backwards, tripping over your cloak
>Landing flat on your ass
>Brittle Bong advances, gritting his teeth, dripping with menace
>He doesn’t get far before Sweetie Drops launches forward, deftly twisting his forehoof behind his back
>She pulls him backwards so hard that he practically launches away from you, colliding with the nearest leg of his spider-hauler
>There she holds him, one hoof firmly planted over his barrel, mere seconds after it began
>Only enough time for the first trickle of blood to seep down along the contour of your left temple
>Dazed, but certainly not confused, you lift yourself off the ground, staggering as you go
>The engineer packed a mean punch; it would have been far more disorienting had you not seen it coming
>The pain is dull and thick, but the blood flows freely down your muzzle and cheek
>You use a corner of your burgundy cloak to wipe some of the excess liquid away from your lashes before it gets in your eye; at least it won’t leave too much of a stain
>Then, squinting fiercely, you sway-walk towards Brittle, who doesn’t struggle under Drops’ hold
“I could have you thrown in prison for life for that.”
>Brittle grimaces, his expression deadly serious
>”Only if it benefitted you. Which it don’t.”
“All too true. Miss Drops, release him please.”
>Your security chief obeys you at once, carefully lifting her hoof and standing at attention beside Brittle’s prone body
>It doesn’t appear that she hurt him too badly… he’s got thicker skin than you thought
“You see? Everypony has a limit, Brittle. Everypony has a breaking point, where they begin to make mistakes. To feel cornered. And in that critical moment, when their need is greatest, their judgment is at its worst.”
>Now, the shelves and the belts and the spider and the glass ceiling high above are gone
>Now, you are towering, you are striding among giants
>Now the world feels right
“My limit surpasses Black Bar’s. That’s the only difference between us. He refuses to return to Mons Canteria because he’s ashamed of what he’s doing out there, in the desert. Because he’s betraying his country. Because he deserves justice. It doesn’t matter. But this connection between him and the Cult, coupled with his record of dismissing my calls, coupled with whatever else my agent in Site 23 happens to find and report, will be more than enough evidence to convince the Senatori to let me deal with OI as I please.”
>You smirk even as Brittle simmers below you
>The throbbing pain from that blow to the head, far from enraging you, excites you, compels you towards vitality and strength of spirit
>You’re more alive than ever
“I can trump up treason charges. I can march right into OI headquarters on the Peak and interrogate Tree Hugger myself, if she’s even still alive. I can blow Site 23 off the face of the earth. I can do all this and more, because I am the most powerful pony in the world.”
>”If that were true… ye’d have done it all already.”
“Believe what you like. I play the Game because it amuses me, not because I have to. If I must do things the orderly way, and put proof to the Senatori before I can have my fun, I’ll do it. Not because I’m scared of those aging cretins and lickspittles, but because beating them at their own game is ever so entertaining.”
>You thrust your head high, basking in the warm glow of the sunrays peeking through the smog
>Your wide grin exposes your teeth to the still-dripping blood, and you taste it now, yes, taste the iron and the life on your lips
>Your horn is pointed at the heavens
“What I have in store… is beyond your comprehension. Soon, there won’t be much need for all these rules, I think. By chance, an Exsilist Ambassador’s plight turned to an opportunity for peace in the West. Peace, Brittle. Do you understand? Peace here, too. And everypony loves a peacemaker.”
>”If you think… ack… that whatever yer thinkin’ o’ doin’… will end in peace… then ye really are as crazy as they say.”
“Hmph.”
>Crazy?
>So that’s the best they can muster against you?
>Well, then, you’ll gladly plead insanity
>If all the sane stallions and mares of this world would rather keep their heads planted firmly in the ground, ignore what’s happening right before their eyes…
>Then you’ll be a lunatic
“We should be heading back now, I think. Always a pleasure, Mister Bong.”
>”Wait.”
>Still wheezing on the floor, Brittle manages to pick himself up, glare at you for a few moments, then step up to his spider-hauler
>Drops makes a move to restrain him again, but you wave for her to stand back
>After some rummaging about in the front compartment, Brittle appears to find whatever he’s looking for
>”This mornin’, the Matron Celest of the convent down the way came to visit me. A near-blind ol’ hen she is, but she knows her way ‘round these streets.”
>Brittle climbs back down the metal steps, clutching something shiny in the nook of his fetlock
>”Thought it were her again when ye came knockin’. She came to thank me fer a favor I did a few weeks back, transportin’ one o’ her Sisters, a missionary o’ sorts, up to the train station in me lorry. Matron gave me this as a reward.”
>Letting the trinket slide down into his hoof, Brittle reveals it to you: a small silver sun, with rays glancing in every direction
>A thin, braided necklace is threaded through its center
>”It’s some talisman of fortune. S’posed to bring the luck of Mater Solis to those who wear it. Protect ‘em from evil.”
>Silently, Brittle Bong drops the necklace into your hoof, which you’ve unconsciously outstretched to receive it
>”I ain’t no religious stallion. But I get the feelin’ that for the sake of everypony’s safety… ye’ll be needin’ this more than I will.”
“How very generous of you, Brittle. I’ll… find a place for it.”
>”Right, then. Sorry about the bruise. Now get the hell out of ‘ere an’ let me do me job.”
>With that, the stallion simply stands there, making no attempt to re-enter his vehicle
>He wants you gone, out of sight
>This once, you’ll respect his wishes
>You turn and walk away, the thick ruffles of your cloak rippling as you go
>Sweetie Drops slinks along beside you, clearly even more shaken over what transpired here than either you or Brittle
>Well, Miss Drops… this is just the beginning
>The war of attrition, the time of bandying words and making idle threats, is over
>The time for action has come
>Before the month is up, you’ll see Black Bar rotting in prison
>You’ll see the Cultists, that damnable Highmind Empress, retreating back to the festering wasteland from whence they came, with little else to show for their efforts but ash in their mouths
>Luck has already favored you; Operation Thunderstruck, for all its flaws, had one great boon besides the capture of Hurricane
>It introduced you to this Exsilist Ambassador, this Time Turner, whose motives are as clear as crystal to you
>Come the exchange at Unicronia, you understand that he will see to it that conditions are favorable
>The Cult will hand over Pegasopolis, abandon the city of Unicronia, and all of what they’ve taken in the Westlands
>They’ll do this in exchange for three things: the first is Hurricane, that they might do with him as they please
>The second is whatever parts of the West are deemed to be part of Old Exsilia, which you’ll give to them gladly
>The third… well, the third is for you alone to know, you and one other
>And the best part is, he hasn’t even asked for it yet
>You needn’t even consult him on it; you already know what he’ll ask to be done
>As you climb the narrow spiraling stairs again, reach the landing overlooking this massive space, you take one last look at Brittle Bong standing alone among the machines
>Ambassador Time Turner… for all his supposed loyalty and love for his Empress, he’s a defector in the making
>There is nothing for him in that place any longer… he’s been a slave all his life, bound up in a fate that was never his own
>And now he wants to be free of it, and because he wants this, you control him
>You control him as you control all that you see and know
>Because the ponies who look away, the ponies who refuse to see what’s right before their eyes…
>They are the rats that scamper in the dark, the trash that will never know anything but failure
>You read Brittle Bong’s file a dozen times over before you met with him that day in your office, memorized every little detail
>The place he grew up, the friends he made in university, the innovations of his early career
>The names of his brother, his brother’s wife, his brother’s son, those who were enslaved by the Cult in the earliest days of their ravaging eastward conquest
>Looking at him now, looking at those distant stone-grey eyes staring back into yours, you wonder if any part of him, deep down, knows
>Even suspects?
>Certainly not; the absolute burning rage you saw when he lashed out at you, struck you, made you bleed…
>That soreness that remains in his flagellant heart from all those years ago
>He thinks, no, he KNOWS he left them for dead
>And because you know this, you control him
>The name of his brother was Cuckoo Clock
>The name of his brother’s wife was Red Thread
>And the name of Brittle Bong’s nephew, the young foal left to be consumed by the onslaught…
>The name printed in clear black lettering, the name whose significance you alone know…
>The name was Time Turner
>You know all you need to know about this family, these watchmakers
>You know that Time Turner was a slave, and a slave he’ll be forevermore
>That’s something you never escape from, so long as you live
>Unless, of course, fortune should give you an out
>You fondle the little silver sun, balancing it precariously on your hoof
>Without thinking, you slip the rope necklace over your head, letting the talisman fall against your neck with a soft thud
>Fortune favors the bold
>And you, Chancellor Shetland Neighsay…
>Your boldness knows no bounds
“Miss Drops?”
>”Y-yes, sir?”
“We should be hurrying back to the Peak now, I think. The clock is ticking.”

******

>”Whisperer. O, Whisperer in the Dark. Come towards the light. Let me treat with you.”
“N-no… Numena? This… what is this place? This isn’t… this isn’t where we normally meet.”
>”We have never convened in a place, Twilight Sparkle. Only in a memory. Only in a dream.”
“A… memory? It can’t be mine. I’ve never seen this place before. Nor have I ever seen the other place, not in waking life. Not the glass staircase, nor the canyon. Nor that light… ow!”
>”What do you feel, now that you are here?”
“Pain… more pain in my horn. Oh, Numena, it’s… it’s not like before. Everything’s too bright. Everything’s strange. Is this… are we in… a desert?”
>”It is not for you to ask questions, Whisperer. I have impressed this upon you time and again. The Truth is reserved for those who pass beyond their own senses, who see with their hearts, rather than their eyes.”
“Very well. Then… it’s a desert. A white desert. There are steep walls, a-and… and holes in the ground, miles wide. It’s night. It’s always been night, but… it never felt like a real place. This feels real. Is that… what is that above us? Why can I see…?”
>”Whisperer. On this occasion, I shall not fill your mind with platitudes. Nor shall I give you false hope. A great danger approaches, one you alone are powerless to stop.”
“Danger. If it’s danger, then Applejack can handle it.”
>”Stop. That is not your conscious mind speaking. It’s a subconscious ideation. One which is wholly inaccurate now. Mater Solis frowns upon such banalities.”
“I apologize. But I can’t control where my mind goes in visions like these. Sometimes I’m here, sometimes I’m far away. Numena… you visited Rainbow Dash as she fell. You told her… to go to Unicronia. Right?”
>”Do you not trust this second Element-bearer?”
“I trust her heart. I believe she’s misguided. And I pity her. But I think her motives impure. And it consumes me to say so. But I must know. Why do I not believe her when she speaks?”
>”It is fascinating, how your curiosity supersedes all other base urges. You rely on it to propel you to higher places. But it is still wasted here.”
“Mater shines through you. A reflection of purity. I’m sorry, but I can’t just not ask questions! Not when… not after what you told me last time.”
>”What did I tell you last time?”
“I don’t remember the words. I never remember anything here. I can’t… I can’t carry reality with me. Not in the face of a higher order. But the emotions it inspired in me still linger. I was so afraid, Numena. Afraid for myself, afraid for everypony else. You must have told me something terrible. Something beyond reason.”
>”You will remember all this when you wake. Every word. Every thought. Every feeling. Know that the Beast approaches. In Unicronia, on the Solstice, you shall encounter it.”
“No! That isn’t true. Mater’s light shines brightest upon the longest day. It casts aside—”
>”You are waking. You are drifting away.”
“Then tell me more! Speak to me plainly, Solenoid!”
>”You would make demands of me?! When you are but a mote, and I… I…”
“…Numena?”
>”Henh. There is barely a purpose to this anymore.”
“Y-you aren’t angry?”
>”How I feel makes little difference. I am obligated to do this thing. All that has transpired, all that will transpire, has led to this thing.”
“Then stay with me. With us! Guide us! When we come to Unicronia, what then? At least give me a direction! I’m lost without you! The Elements are scattered, so where are the rest?”
>”Remember these words, Whisperer, if no others: it will take four of you. No fewer. In the darkest hour of that day, you shall each offer six drops of blood upon the slab. Intermingle your spirits. It is old magic, true Celestian magic. Not Blight, but beauty. It shall focus Mater’s will into a blade, make it…”
“Numena?”
>”Do it. Do it! An offering from all six would be preferable, but… but four will suffice. It will be enough, I think. Do not forget this obligation, Twilight Sparkle. My sight of you is waning. Make this offering, and the Beast will not destroy you. Do this, and perhaps we will have a chance.”
“A chance… for what? For salvation?”
>”For survival.”

******

“Nnh!”
>You awake with a start, trembling and sweat-drenched
>As always, the encounter with Numena sticks in your mind, but the specifics are muddied as the memories of your waking self are re-introduced
>That place… for some reason, you want to hold onto that place
>Your name is Twilight Sparkle, you’re on a journey, a Mission
>Your companions are Applejack and Rainbow Dash, bearers of Elements
>No, no, stop thinking those things… concentrate on the place you met the Solenoid angel
>It was unusual; a place you’ve never seen before!
>Never in dream, nor in memory… a white desert, filled with holes
>A starry sky, and a blue light hanging high above
>Remember that… keep remembering, don’t let it drift away…
>”Twilight? You up?”
>Applejack’s voice catches you by surprise; she’s standing over you, blocking the rays of light shining through the swaying treetops
>She’s already mounted her saddlebags and fixed her harness to Rainbow’s carriage
“Why didn’t… nuh… why didn’t you wake me to help you?”
>”You looked content. Like you needed a good sleep. Didn’t see no reason to bother you.”
“Thanks, AJ. But it means I missed my morning recitations. I’ll have to… aaaannnhhhh… make a few alterations to my prayers tonight.”
>You reflexively yawn as you stretch out upon the grass, loosening your leg joints with a series of satisfying cracks
>This little bed in the undergrowth, between two thick roots of a large pinewood, made for a great place to snuggle up
>Since bunking in the crew quarters of the PAS radio outpost two nights ago, you haven’t seen sight nor sound of civilization
>Rainbow claims it’s for the best; the further you are from PAS installations, the more difficult it will be for the Cult to track your movement
>Still, you’ve found that you don’t mind sleeping in nature, curled up in the folds of your traveling cloak
>It’s peaceful and rustic, the way you always imagined that Celestia and her Acolytes would rest in the evenings of their many travels
>You wonder if the little dirt path you’ve been following all this time was once trodden by those gleaming hooves…
>You stand, wipe the grass and dust from your cloak, and give AJ a sincere smile
>She’s been working herself down to the bone carrying the burden of Rainbow Dash all this time
>You wish you had the strength and stamina to take her place
>”Are we staying or are we going? Let’s get a move on!”
>Applejack grimaces at Rainbow’s commanding tone, eyeing the pegasus in her comfortable position behind her
>”Sorry, Miss Prim. Didn’t realize you were my coach-driver.”
>You brace yourself for an incoming snide remark, when…
>”Nah. I’m just playing around. But we do need to move soon. If we don’t hit the tracks by noon, we’ll be way behind pace. We really shouldn’t spend any more than a few days in these woods.”
>”I agree. Got everything you need, Twi?”
“Y-yeah… my water’s in the cart.”
>You’re a little shocked to hear Rainbow acting so polite towards AJ
>Maybe she really is taking what happened the other night to heart…
>”If we’re set, let’s head off. Twi? You… you okay?”
“Hm?”
>Applejack narrows her eyes, scans you top to bottom
>”You just looked like you had something to say, is all.”
“Oh. Um…”
>There was something… something about a dream
>A message from Numena, another prophecy
>Four, six, blood, survival… distant memories swirl and toil in your head
>But you just can’t seem to fit them together…
“It’s nothing. Maybe I’ll remember later.”

. . .

>”Hay, Twi! Got any songs for us?”
“Um… songs?”
>Applejack grins at you from her place at the fore of the line, her hat bobbing as she takes each step through the soft earth
>”Yeah, like… hymns, and such. From your convent. Know anything like that?”
“Oh. Er, maybe a few.”
>You’ve been walking for about three hours now, and Mother Sun’s morning paleness has transformed into a golden glow reaching through the leaves
>The trail winds here and there, passing between trees growing ever taller before your sight
>The forest floor has grown much more beautiful these last few miles; where there once were thickets of crabgrass and vines, now there are bundles of blooming flowers, exploding in fields of violet, red, and yellow
>It seems like the air is lightening, and a great weight has been lifted from your shoulders
>Even the oppressive heat of the Whittlewood, that overwhelming dampness, is beginning to subside
>You feel that you’re coming close to the forest edge… close to the train tracks
>Closer still to White Junction, to Unicronia
>”Well? How about singing a few? We got naught else for entertainment out here. Whadda you think, flygirl?”
>Rainbow Dash snorts and rolls over in her straw bed to look you in the eye
>The parts of her wings that the bandages don’t cover appear to have lost some of their prior purple tones
>The burns on her chest, too, are scabbing over, no longer oozing pus
>She's healing, if slowly...
>"Mm... not sure I want to hear a bunch of hokum about ‘Sun’ this and ‘sacrifice’ that.”
>”They ain’t all that way! Right, Twi?”
“Ummm…”
>Aren’t they?
>You try to think of a hymn that doesn’t contain the words “Sun” or “sacrifice”
>…
>You continue trying
>”My Granny used to sing us a few religious tunes every now and then, ones she learned back when she was a Sister. Just thought that…”
“I-it’s not that I don’t wish to! Just… I’ve never been much of a singer. In the choir, some of the Sisters would always call me ‘Wobbly Pipes.’”
>You clamp your mouth shut as soon as the words leave your lips, but it’s too late
>”BAAAHAHAHAHAHA!”
>Rainbow kicks her hindlegs up into the air, cackling with laughter
>If you were having a pleasant time, enjoying Mater’s beautiful nature, it’s over now
>”Wobbly Pipes… oh, Gorgons, where do I even start? Pffffft…. HAHAHA!!!”
>”Hay, none of that now! I’m sure you’re just out of practice, is all.”
“Urgh. Still, I’d… I don’t know if I’d be comfortable, is all.”
>”Comfort? What’s comfort got to do with it?”
“You know… singing, and all. In front of other ponies. It’s never been my strong suit.”
>”Ksh.”
>Rainbow stops laughing, but retains her devilish smirk as she rests her cheek on her good hoof
>”Lemme get this straight. You mean to tell me that you’ve circumnavigated the continent, faced off against some crazy Saddle Arabians, climbed a mountain, knocked out a Canterian Army captain, survived a magic doomsday, and most importantly, convinced two complete strangers to join your cult… but you still have STAGE fright?”
>You smile sheepishly, tucking your face deeper into your hood
“Well, when you put it like that…”
>”Hay, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we take turns?”
“Eh?”
>”Huh?”
>Applejack flips her mane back, adjusts her harness, and cracks her neck
>”If you need some confidence, we’ll give it to you. Heck, I reckon I know just about every folk song there is to know from the Appleachians down to Dodge Canyon. And all these hyacinths are reminding me of home.”
>”Wait. I didn’t consent to this. I DON’T consent to this.”
>You can’t help but giggle at Rainbow’s flat expression
>”You know you want to, flygirl. I’m sure there’s a PAS war chant or two we’d like to hear.”
>”Uh-uh. No way. Zip. Nada.”
>”Okay, okay. Fine. Then I’ll start. Ach-hem.”
>Applejack clears her throat, then strangely lifts one hoof high above the other
>She stamps it down hard, then the other, until she has an even drumming tempo to work with
>THMP THMP THMP THMP
>Her hooves strike the earth, filling the air with pleasant noise
>”It’s usually sung with a fiddle, but you’ll just have to imagine that part. Anyhoo…”
>Rainbow rolls her eyes, but you notice that she’s still smirking slightly
>And nodding her head to the rhythm of the “drums”
>Applejack takes a few more stamping steps, and then…

>”What’s a home, without a tree?
>”A tree that bears, the fruit of ages left to come
>”What’s a fam’ly, without some lovin’ shared a-free?
>”Love that blossoms true and merry in the sun

>”Oh, homestead proud, oh mem’ries by and by!
>”Oh, berries red and blue and pink and white
>”Oh mountains, rising up to meet the sky!
>”Oh, fireflies that twinkle in the night

>”Some ponies come, some ponies go
>”Some ponies spend, their whole lives waitin’ for a chance
>”A-but not me, I’d rather love my mountain home
>”And greet that morning sunshine with a dance

>”Oh, homestead mine, oh cattle in the hay!
>”Oh apples, peaches, pears and grapes and plums
>”Oh river, washing all those tears away!
>”I’ll dance and laugh until this day is done

>”Psst. Twilight. How many more verses do you think there are?”
“Shh! I want to h-hear…”
>”Are you… are you crying?”
“No! I just… I just got a cobweb in my eye.”

>”This seed will grow, so big and strong
>”All it needs, is sun and water and good luck
>”This seed ain’t much, except a dream and a little song!
>”But soon these golden days’ll be ripe enough to pluck

>”Oh homestead ours, it’s mine and yours and theirs!
>”We’ll share this land a-plenty ‘til we’re gone
>”Oh treetops, that sway without a care!
>”We’ll pick that fruit and whistle come the daaaaaaawn.”

>With a resounding finish that echoes clearly, Applejack tips her hat and curtsies
>Halting in place, you rear and clap your hooves together noisily
“That was incredible, AJ! I had no idea you could sing so well!”
>Applejack blushes slightly at your praise
>”Shoot, ain’t nothing. You should, ah, hear my cousin Fritter sing that one. Now there’s a set of pipes worth remembering!”
“Don’t be so modest. You’re amazing! And… hm.”
>”What? What’s ‘hm?’”
“Just… all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile quite like that. The way you smiled while you sang that song. You miss Rich Valley, don’t you?”
>Your friend breathes a deep sigh, continuing to trudge down the gentle slope you’ve found yourself on
>”Every second of every day. But, ah, even more now. Since talking to Granny.”
“You never told us what she said. What you talked about over the radio.”
>”This ‘n that. Only thing that piqued my interest was what she said about Braeburn.”
>”Who’s Braeburn?”
>”My cousin. Bastard son of a Baron and an aunt of mine.”
>You’re taken aback by the complete lack of hesitation on Applejack’s part, saying what she just said
>You recall putting a lot more effort into getting that information out of her the first time!
>”She said something about a, a meeting with some Saddle Arabians. A delegation, all the way up in Baltimare. Some members of the Senatori might even be there.”
>Rainbow grimaces at the word “Senatori”
>She still harbors some deep-seated resentment for Canterium, and after what happened to her city, you really can’t blame her
“What’s he doing up there?”
>”Not now. He leaves in a few days. But from the way she said it, it sounded like it was his daddy’s idea. I don’t know what Baron Rich is planning, but if nothing else, this might be a step in the right direction. Those nuclear silos in Rich Valley… maybe this is Brae’s way of getting them out of there.”
>”Wh-what did you just say? Just now, what was that?”
>”Whoops. Kinda set myself up for that one.”
>Rainbow hikes herself upright, glaring holes in the back of Applejack’s head
>”You said nuclear silos. That’s where they’re keeping their stockpiles?”
>”Guess I shouldn’t have let that slip to the enemy. Heh. Not that it matters much, anyhow.”
>The pegasus at your side sits flabbergasted, struggles to form a sentence, then resigns herself back to her laying position, muttering to herself
>”Instead of moping, why don’t you take your turn? Sing for us, flygirl!”
“Yeah, Rainbow!”
>”Nope. Already told you, there’s no chance I’m—”
“Sing, sing, sing!”
>”Sing, sing, sing!”
>Rainbow claps her left ear shut with her hoof, determined to shut out your chanting
>But with her right forehoof still bound up in gauze, it’s to no avail
>”Urggggghhhh…”
“Siiii~ng.”
>”What’s the worse that could happen? You blurt out a racial slur? I’m sure we can handle it, right Twi?”
“After all that ‘unterglaschen’ stuff? I think my sensitive ears are accustomed to it now.”
>”FINE! Fine, fine! If you’re gonna be such pains about it, I guess I’ll do it just to shut you up. But just once. Got it?”
>You and Applejack exchange a knowing glance, and nod curtly in tandem
>”Take us away, flygirl. We’re all ears.”
>”Whatever. This is, uh, kind of a fly-march song. Do you know what that is?”
>”Nope.”
“Er… I can’t say that we learn much about the musical traditions of other cultures in the convent.”
>”Well, you’re supposed to chant in time with the beat of your wings when you fly in formation. But I think it’s adapted from an older song from pegasus folklore, so I guess it’s not too much of a problem if you don’t have wings. Have you ever heard of Cloven Clipwing?”
>You shrug; Applejack just continues on, not saying a word
>”I’ll, uh, take that as a no. Well, he’s a hero in an old tale. See, a Maker kidnaps his unicorn wife, so he flies to save her, but… ah, never mind. I’ll just sing it.”
>”His wife is a unicorn? Ain’t that verboten, someways?”
>Rainbow’s muzzle scrunches in mild frustration
>”It’s an old story, okay! And that’s not really what it’s about, anyway. Here, uh… ahem…”
>Your ears perk up as Rainbow whistles a few fluttering notes
>She sounds just like the birds in the trees, calling out to one another for comfort and kinship
>It’s a beautiful and somewhat haunting melody, and after a few bars Rainbow opens her mouth:

>”Across the Palomino wide, into the desert’s open mouth
>”Cloven flew for loving wife, dashing on alone and proud
>”Hurrah, hurrah, go for love dear Cloven
>”For Loyalty’s sake you fly!

>”He came upon that stony fort, and in its depths he found her
>”Caged and bleary-eyed she fought, against the thing that bound her
>”Hurrah, hurrah, go for love dear Cloven
>”Your heart will ne’er die!”

>”Cloven fought so bravely, his love for her was true!
>”But as his strength was failing, so had the Maker’s grew!
>”It clipped dear Cloven’s wings and left him meek upon the ground
>”Hurrah, your love has cast you down!

>Rainbow’s voice is shaky and a bit hoarse, but she carries her tune quite well
>You want to give a smile of encouragement, but think better of it
>It would probably only embarrass her more…

>”But when that fatal moment passed, and Makers gathered there
>”To steal the horn of Cloven’s lass, Cloven took to the air
>”Hurrah, hurrah, never give up dear Cloven
>”Stay true upon your mark!

>”Without his wings to carry him, he had but his resolve
>”The Makers tried to parry him, but his will did not dissolve!
>”Hurrah, hurrah, remember your oath dear Cloven
>”Only death shall do ye part!

>”Cloven beat them back, the fiends, and carried his mare from harm
>”Yet though her strength was back, it seemed, there would yet be alarm
>”Cloven laid her down upon the sand and laid there too
>”Hurrah, your love is born anew

>Rainbow sighs, and begins what seems to be the final verse
>But something changes… the syllables are slow and long, almost bitter
>If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was singing about her own life
>All her slyness is gone, replaced by… whatever this sound is
>This…

>”Voices carry on the air, so pegasi shall know
>”Of what befalls stallions and mares, who in the shadows low
>”Forget, forget, the power that’d usurp us
>”Forget and we shall die.
>”Regret, regret, regret not Cloven’s purpose
>”Wherever there’s air, we fly.”

>You don’t clap this time
>You can’t even speak
>Can’t find words to describe what you’ve just heard
>It was graceful and dark, uplifting, yet somehow deeply tragic
>All you hear now is the wind whistling in the pines, the steady plod of the wheels leaving hard tracks in the dirt, the rustle of grass and sticks and pinecones
>Finally…
>”What happened to her? Cloven’s mare.”
>Without looking back, Applejack addresses Rainbow, her hat casting her whole face in deep shadow
>Rainbow sighs longingly once again and curls up into a restful ball in her carriage
>”The Makers took her essence. Her passion. Maybe her magic. I don’t know, I never really thought about it too hard. She was alive, but she could never love Cloven in the same way that he loved her. Eventually, they had a daughter, and she had essence and love and all that. So it sort of has a happy ending. Still, it’s more a tale of perseverance and loyalty than anything. No matter what he had to sacrifice, Cloven did it if it meant saving his love.”
“It’s… it’s a wonderful story. I wish we had more stories like those in our library. What about you, AJ?”
>”It’s nice, I guess. But I’m pretty darn sure the Makers never did anything like that.”
>”Well, duh. Like I said, it’s an old story. More like an allegory, I’m pretty sure. The Makers are, like, substitutes for ancient monsters or something. Probably.”
>That little “probably” at the end of Rainbow’s sentence was barely audible, whispered out of the corner of her mouth
>You can tell that some part of her, no matter how small, believes that story is true
>Even wishes it were true
>If it’s an inspiration for her, if it helps her deal with what’s happened to her…
>Who’s to say it isn’t real? Who’s to say it isn’t Truth?
>Truth of the mind and soul is more powerful than the worldly distractions which stand between a pony and true Sight
>”Hay, I don’t mean to say it ain’t a good song, though. And the way you sang it towards the end there, whoo! Sent a chill through my bones.”
>”That’s… thank you. Thanks. Uhhhhmmm but TWILIGHT! Twilight goes next!”
>You feel heat rising up your face, turning it beet red
>Celestia, you didn’t think you’d actually get this far!
>Applejack snickers and looks over her wither at you
>”Yeah, Miss Sunshine. The two of us gave you a little concert! Only right that you return the favor.”
“Like I said, I’m not very good…”
>”Ksh! Just sing, nun! What’s the worst that could happen to ya?”
>”She’s right, Twi. Just… sing something you like. Something that makes you feel good.”
>”Something that inspires you!”
>”Something nostalgic.”
>”Something that makes you wanna soar free!”
“I’ll… I’ll keep all that in mind. I… hmmm…”
>So many expectations!
>You rack your brain trying to remember a song that fits your friends’ requirements, but come up totally blank
>Sometimes, a few quiet notes flutter up of a melody you only half-remember, something you must have heard when you were very, very small
>But it isn’t enough… think, Twilight, think!
>A song…
>Suddenly, out of the blue, something pops to mind
“Oh! Oh! I think I have one!”
>”That’s the spirit, sugarcube! Let’s hear it!”
“It’s, um… it’s sort of a choral song, so usually it’s sung with multiple parts. It probably won’t sound nearly as good with just me. A-and it’s also meant to be in the Old Tongue, but… I did a translation of it when I was eleven. Just for fun.”
>”Just sing already!”
>You regard Rainbow’s eager expression as she leans halfway out of her carriage to listen
>She actually wants to hear you… Applejack, too
>You breathe softly in and out, then close your eyes
>Here goes…

“O break of daaaaaaay,
“O light that dances in the sky
“Remember this, o Princess
“Born again in Mater’s eye.

“O path of gloooory,
“O path of knowing why
“Which path shall our Princess take?
“Which path shall bring her high?

“Excelsior, o alicorn!
“Who saves us all from Blight
“Illustrior, your magic saves us
“From eternal night.

“O come ye poooonies who
“Accept her lofty call
“Relinquish that which is not true
“O, mercy to us all!

“O sacrifice desiiiires
“O cast them to the deep!
“And heed the tolling bell of Mother’s
“Garden where she sleeps.

“Excelsior, o alicorn!
“Who keeps us from that doom
“Illustrior, she’ll light our way
“And deliver us there soon.”

>”Wooooo! Encore, encore!”
>Applejack stamps her hooves, laughing brightly and sincerely
>Rainbow whistles in overexaggerated admiration, using what little mobility she has to make celebratory noise in her carriage
“Heh… there’s about sixteen more verses after that, but I don’t think I can do them all in one go.”
>You don’t think you’ve seen either of them this happy, certainly not Rainbow
>This whole journey has been so serious, so full of gloom
>Even the one diversion you tried to make for fun, to scale See Rock, ended in such catastrophe
>But this… after singing clear and true for your friends, your heart leaps
>You laugh along with Applejack, place your hoof on the side of the carriage to rattle it
>You miss your convent, miss the simplicity of that life, the pure passion for Mater Solis you had there
>But this… this very moment… you wouldn’t trade for the world
>”Seriously, encore! That was beautiful, Twi.”
>”Yeah, Wobbly Pipes! Your pipes didn’t wobble so bad. You did better than me, at least.”
“Thank you… thank you both…”
>This time, it’s your turn to blush, trembling in excitement as you lower your head to the ground
>You see the trail passing from front to back, before you to behind you, with every step
>If you were tired and stressed before, it’s all gone away now
>You haven’t felt this energetic since you were a filly
>You could run up a mountain, if you liked!
>”Say, Twi. How many parts are there to that song? Being that it’s a choir, and all.”
“Hm? Oh. There’s six, I think. A soprano, two mezzo-sopranos, two contraltos, and a tenor. It’s an all-female choir, obviously.”
>”Hmmm…”
>Applejack rubs her chin, then nods to herself self-assuredly
>”There’s six Elements, right? And six Bearers. One day, when we’re all together, after we’ve done whatever it is we’ve got to do… maybe you could teach us all that song. Maybe we could sing it together.”
>”Hah! That’s if everypony’s voices are as nice as ours! What if we meet a pony who can’t carry a tune to save her life, and she ends up being a Bearer?”
“I don’t think that will happen.”
>”Huh? How can you know that?”
>You ask yourself the same question as soon as you say it
>Why did you say that? What made you so certain in that moment?
“Er… it’s just a feeling. I think that when the time comes, if that ever happens… we’ll sound great together. It’ll be a beautiful sort of harmony.”
>”Beautiful sort of harmony… I like that. Six Elements, one harmony.”
>(Blood upon the slab)
>(Beast)
“Guh!”
>A sharp pain crackles up the length of your horn, causing you to stumble over a branch and nearly fall on your face
>You right yourself quickly, but Applejack clearly noticed your small yelp
>”Twi? Your horn again?”
“It’s nothing. Just… another memory. I think I may have had another vision of Numena last night. But for the life of me, I can’t remember her message to me.”
>”Hm. Couldn’t have been that important then, now could it?”
“Maybe… I feel that it was, though. But it’s melted away. Slipped out of my hooves. I don’t know if I can collect it aga—”
>”LOOK!”
>Your train of thought is interrupted by Rainbow, who points excitedly into the distance
>Disoriented, you have to squint to see what her sharper pegasus eyes already can, but…
>Yes!
>At the bottom of this hill, the trail zigzags between a few thin white trunks, and then veers straight through a bushy thicket
>Across that thicket is a short grassy slope, highlighted by the sun’s rays, which means the trees end beyond that point
>A treeline… and from here, beneath the frayed lower leaves of those branches that conceal the rest of the path, you can just barely make out something shiny and grey
>”That’s the track. We made it! We’re out of the Whittlewood!”
>”Yee-haw! That’s how we do it, girls!”
“I can’t believe it… we actually hiked ALL that way?”
>Rainbow shoots you a sideways smirk
>”Heh, correction. You two bums hiked all that way! I just rode in style!”
“Hay! No fair! Haha!”
>Bounding joyously back up to the carriage, you give the side a playful whack
>Your horn’s pain has once again subsided… you’re back to normal
>No, better than normal
>Everything feels good, and it feels like it’ll be good for a long time
>”Alright, settle down. We’ve gotta get down there, first. Looks like your singing brought us a miracle, Miss Sunshine.”

******

>You are Twilight Sparkle
>Breaking through the forest edge is like crossing over a threshold you never knew you’d need to cross
>The last few leaves pass overhead; the last few beechwood trunks recede behind you
>The last few summer flowers sparkle with dew as you carefully step around them, not wanting to squash a single one underhoof
>The sky, crystal blue and clear of clouds, is revealed in full
>No longer do Mater’s long stalks of light merely brush over you here and there; now the Sun is revealed in Her full glory, and She is more precious than ever
>Somehow, you’re reminded of leaving your walled convent, the iron gates closing behind you with a resounding thud
>You’ve moved out of darkness, out of the shade, and into a world you never thought was possible
>And this time, you’ve got something to show for it!
>All this walking up and down hills has done wonders for your figure!
>In the evenings, when you remove your cloak to wrap it about yourself as a blanket, you notice how much leaner your barrel looks, how much more toned the muscles in your forelegs
>No longer do the walks exhaust you; rather, you somehow feel stronger after a day’s hike than when it began, more severe and aware
GRRRRRMMBLLLLLRB
>Of course, that hasn’t quite stopped your cravings
>Your stomach is doing backflips, begging for another one of Applejack’s honey-sweet granola bars
>Perhaps…
>”Seems here’s as good a place as any to set down for lunch.”
>Applejack’s read your mind; you nod back to her and eye your six-pointed wristwatch
“It’s nearly noon. Oh! I could lay out one of my cloaks, and we could have a picnic here.”
>Rainbow nods in affirmation
>”Seconded. I need to stretch. And my haunches are killing me.”
>The grass lawn extends about a dozen meters beyond the straight edge of the forest, and rises gracefully up away from you
>At the peak, running parallel to the treeline, is a long gravel mound that appears to extend all the way to the horizon, in both directions
>Set within that gravel are two sets of steel train tracks, quite similar to the sort that you rode on from Mons Canteria to Rich Valley
>But whereas those were bright and new, elevated atop swooping pillars their entire length to facilitate the repulsion action of the maglev trains…
>These are embedded in their gravel bed, crossed not vertically, but horizontally with simple wooden beams
>Patches of grass sprout up here and there out of the rocky base, and you can even see a narrow vine twirling about a particularly rust-red portion of the near track
>These haven’t been ridden upon by a locomotive of any kind in a long, long time
“How long have these tracks been here? Do you know, Rainbow?”
>While Applejack busies herself with unfastening her rope harness, you shuffle through the baggage pushed against Rainbow’s hooves
>After fishing out one of your spare cloaks, you retrieve Applejack’s saddlebag and unzip an outer pocket, revealing the tasty aluminum-wrapped treats concealed within
>”You’re asking the wrong pony. I never paid much attention to modern history at the Academy, besides military history. It wasn’t Maker-made, I can tell you that. So it’s less than fifty years old, for sure.”
“It looks so ancient. Like it’s been a part of this landscape forever.”
>You lay out your cloak next to the carriage, the sun-shaped golden inlaid embroideries flickering as they meet their inspiration head-on
>Once Applejack’s finished untangling herself, she turns about-face and gently tips the front end of the carriage down to the dirt
>Rainbow slides off, touching down with her hindlegs, then rolls to the left to bring herself fully into a prone position atop the cloak
>She hasn’t tried to stand since the incident at the radio outpost, but her mobility is already noticeably improving
>Her wings, on the other hoof…
>”I can tell you where it leads, though.”
>Rainbow points west, down the length of the railway receding into the distance
>”If we were to walk that way, we’d eventually hit Exsilist territory. Well, I guess this is all technically Exsilist territory now, but you get my point. The forest gives way to the far-western edge of the Unicronian mountain range, and beyond that there’s not much but chapparal plains. I’ve never been too far out that way, but I’ve heard that New Exsilia is a bit of a wasteland. One they’ve built enormous factory-cities on top of, to rival the old Maker settlements. Luckily, we’re not going that way.”
>Out of the corner of your eye, you see Applejack perking up, as if she’s noticed something; she walks swiftly back towards the treeline to get a better look
>Rainbow reverses her gesture, this time pointing east
>Some miles away, you can see the trees noticeably lightening and spreading farther apart, as if the forest truly comes to an end there
>”That way, the tracks weave between a few Canterian outposts. Most of them aren’t staffed most of the time, but just to be safe we’ll steer clear of any roads. After about fifty miles, it cuts north, zigzags along the Canterian border, until it finally intersects the modern maglev lines. Which means that so long as we don’t run into any trouble, and so long as we keep pace to around thirty miles a day, which should be much easier on this flat terrain… we could be at White Junction on the Twentieth. That’s the Solstice.”
“S-Solstice?”
>(Beast)
>(Comes)
>(Unicronia)
“Th-that’s not fast enough. We need to be in Unicronia by the Solstice.”
>”Well, that’s not happening unless we can get our hooves on a vehicle. It’s not a totally hopeless prospect, but that radio outpost was our best bet, and it turned up zilch. I agree we need to get to Unicronia as fast as possible, but why specifically do we need to be there by the Solstice?”
“I… I’m not sure. Maybe it was part of the message from Numena. Celestia, I usually remember these things so well! This one’s all hazy. L-like a real dream. I woke up, and I couldn’t get ahold of it before it was half-gone already.”
>”I don’t like it either, but this is just the way it is. At least we’ll be—”
THUNK
>The sudden noise behind you startles you; both you and Rainbow whip around to address it
>In the shadow of the nearest pine, you see Applejack next to its thick trunk, her hindlegs reared towards it
>A chunk of bark has already dislodged itself near her, as though it’s been impacted
“Did you just…?”
>”Hmph.”
>Applejack sighs, affecting a determined expression
>”Getting rusty. Maybe one… more… good one!”
THUNK
>Your friend’s hindlegs shoot out from underneath her, almost faster than you can perceive, and strike the same chipped spot again
>A vibration seems to cascade up the entire length of the tree, until even its uppermost branches begin to shake
>Before you can question her action, dozens of pinecones suddenly rain down from the canopy, landing one after another in the soft bed of the underbrush
>Apparently satisfied, Applejack hums her earlier tune nonchalantly to herself, gathering up pinecone after pinecone and carrying a whole legful of them back up to your picnic site
>”Anypony want pine nuts? Fresh as they come!”
>You drop to your hindquarters onto the spread cloak, completely dumbfounded
>Rainbow, too, looks shocked
>Applejack must pick up on your shared expression, because she chuckles softly as she lays the pinecones on the ground
>”It’s an Apple family thing. Twi, I’m sure I musta done that for you at some point while we were back home.”
“I… don’t recall.”
>”Are you two just going to treat that like it was normal? Was that… some kind of aspect of your Element power?”
>”Nope! Just an old fruit picking technique, passed down from generation to generation. It’s all in the follow-through.”
>”Wunderbar…”
>You pass out granola bars while Applejack sets to work at cracking open the scales of the cones, revealing the tasty pine nuts inside
>You take a hoofful and stuff them into your mouth, chewing slowly but savoring each bite
“These are… mmmph… delicious, AJ!”
>”And just when I was starting to get sick of the bars. Nice thinking, AJ.”
>While the Sun warms your coat, and a pleasant breeze blows through this long alley in the trees, you all snack on your various grains together, not saying a word
>Simply enjoying the time you have, before you must move again
>You are content here; you feel as one with this world, understand its frailties, its delicate altruism
>It may appear dark at times, but it provides for those who desire light
>It is balanced, even in the face of so much innovation
>For a time, your eyes are fixed purely on one of the discarded pinecones, resting at the base of the pile that Applejack has created
>You count the scales in each row, around each circling layer of the ellipsoid, and you smile as the Truth of what you already know is revealed to you
>It’s a Fillynacci sequence: a perfect mathematical law made tangible in even the humblest of natural organisms
>The scales number three at the top, then five, then eight, then thirteen, and so on
>It’s a consequence of the spiral shape, of course, but to see such a beautiful theorem so clearly demonstrated even here, at the outskirt of an outskirt…
>It comforts you
>You were the first pony ever to observe this particular pinecone, to count its scales; and if you had never observed it, would it still have adhered to this pattern?
>Would it still be this way, have always been this way, or would it have been but a wave, some spectrum of energy and matter that could never have been truly perfect?
>If a tree falls in the Whittlewood for nopony to hear, does it make a sound?
 >Is it whole, entirely real, entirely True, or is it…
>Scattered?
>Your gaze wanders from the cone to Applejack, then to Rainbow, both of them munching contently, blissfully
>You wonder if their individual energies would ever have chanced upon their Elements had they not been drawn magnetically to you
>Magnetism, fate, probability, waves… they’re all the same force in the end, aren’t they?
>The force of Truth
>The force of life
>The force of the soul
>The force of fortune…
>…
>Once everypony looks satisfied, you stand and gather up the cloak into a loose ball
>Rainbow splays out on the grass, exposing her bandaged wings to the Sun
>”Hahhh… Well earned.”
GURRRRRRRMMMMMM
>You rub your stomach, wondering if that whole spread still didn’t satisfy you
>Except… the rumbling continues
>Is it not coming from your stomach?
>It’s shaking your whole body, and it’s barely there; barely resonant in lowest register your ears can detect, but it’s there
>Wait… this sound is familiar to you
>No…
>Applejack’s ears perk up; she’s noticed the sound as well
>But where?
>Where is it coming from?
>What direction will it approach from?
>Immediately, Applejack flies to action, flinging your cloak into the carriage and leaning down to collect Rainbow
>”Rainbow, get up. We need to go. Now!”
>”Huh? I’m just sunbathing a bit. It isn’t… oh. Oh, no.”
>She hears it too; all three of you are aware of the implications of that noise
>It’s been so many days since you last heard it, you’d lulled yourself into a false sense of security
>After all, how far does their reach extend?
>As the resonant humming grows ever louder, you assist Applejack in hurriedly sliding Rainbow’s body across the grass
>The carriage is already upended; you just have to move her into it, just have to get back to the treeline, then maybe you’ll have a chance
>Rainbow is heavy, but she helps in propelling herself with her hindlegs, until…
>”AHHH! DAMNIT!”
>Rainbow cries out far louder than you wish she had, given the circumstances
>She goes completely limp from the waist down, and involuntarily spasms, causing you to nearly drop her
>”My… my wing… Gorgons, ahhnnn… you rubbed it, you…”
“I’m sorry! I… I didn’t mean to…”
>”No time, sugarcube! Apologize later! Pull now!”
>Rainbow grits her teeth and closes her eyes, shutting out what you can only imagine must have been a terrible amount of pain
>You have no choice but to do this, however; no choice but to roughly drag her along, do whatever it takes
>Together, you and Applejack heave, lifting Rainbow completely upright and setting her back down into her bed of straw inside the metal bowl of the carriage
>She writhes and pulses, hooks her forelegs around the thin steel lip to block out the worst of it
>”Nnnnnnhhhhh… ggghhhh…”
>An orange hoof comes down sternly onto your wither, and Applejack practically shoves you towards the back of the carriage, near Rainbow’s head
>”Now pull! We’re gonna roll her back down to the brush! We’re still exposed here, c’mon!”
>Panic rises in her voice, and in the quick glimpse you get of her eyes, you see that they’re wide open, her pupils pinpricks laced with bloodshot
>”GO!”
>The sight of Applejack, so much more the courageous and confident one of the two of you, acting so terrified makes your heart sink even lower
>Celestia, you were so careful, you made no mistakes up to this point!
>Every time it passed overhead, you were able to hide in the thicket, camouflage yourselves in the leaves and the brush, make yourselves practically invisible with these cool damp cloaks
>But now you’re exposed to the air, vulnerable, mice scampering away from a hungry owl soaring at ten times their speed
>You pull with all your might; one of the back wheels is caught in a tangle of long grass, but with a few hard tugs you manage to dislodge it
>The carriage grinds along, resisting your movement, and everything in the periphery seems to go grey and black as you focus on that spot, that hole in the brush, through which you passed before
>Through which you might be able to pass now, just in time
>It’s coming…
>”More, Twilight! More!”
“I’m trying! Ugh! Why isn’t it… MOVING!”
>Either from you or Applejack, you aren’t sure which, comes a huge burst of energy, and suddenly the carriage is tumbling downhill steadily
>It’s only mere meters away from the cover of the trees, that place where you might have a chance
>Except…
GRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMBBAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
>Too late
>One step too late
>That horrible noise has risen to a fever pitch, the guttural roar of some alien beast
>But in truth, it’s the sound of black rotary blades, thick as tentpoles, displacing massive amounts of air to keep their load aloft
>It must be less than half a mile away, certainly close enough to spot you out, but you dare not look behind you
>Dare not direct your gaze towards the west, where…
>”Oh, sweet Celestia.”
>Applejack’s staring there now, can’t take her eyes off of what you know to be there
>If there were hope left, she’d still be pushing
>But she isn’t, so you stop too
>Stop and look
>You see the Exsilist drone much more clearly this time, now that it isn’t obscured by the treetops: a long black boat-thing, curled up at its edges into sharp canine shapes
>Its three chopper blades, circled with dark rims, are arranged one in front, two in back, almost like an inverted mockery of the carriage you’ve constructed for Rainbow
>Its underside is lined with many, many protrusions, some of them clearly guns, others more bizarrely shaped; a flat disk, a pole with many rings about it, a device that resembles several cubes mashed together at strange angles
>It has a “face” too: a pony skull, tall as a doorjamb, inscribed within the eight-pointed gear of the Cult of Exsilium, its eyes shimmering red in the reflected sunlight
>And it sees you
>From its place in the distance, hovering three stories above the rusted train tracks, it sees you with its luminous camera-eyes, and it’s drawing closer at an alarming rate
>”Damnit. This ain’t… forget it. Twilight!”
“H-huh?”
>”We’re ditching the cart! Help move Rainbow onto my back! I’ll carry her!”
>”Nnnnhhhhhtttthat’d never work! I’m too h-heavy for you!”
>Applejack shakes her head, her attention wholly divided between Rainbow and the shadow moving through the air
>”I’ll manage! Twilight, grab her head and push!”
>You nod furiously, not really understanding the words themselves, not with your conscious mind, for it’s off elsewhere
>But unconsciously, the intent is clear, and it’s as if you’re an automaton carrying out instructions, doing everything you can not to explode into a mess of fear and nerves
>Hooves shaking, you push against Rainbow’s multicolored mane, out of her bed of straw and into AJ’s embrace
>One hundred meters…
>For her part, AJ holds one of Rainbow’s forehooves, flopping the damaged one over her spine and hiking her whole body up, so Rainbow’s body lays flat and perpendicular across her back
>Seventy meters…
>”Ach… I can’t… Twilight!”
“I don’t… I don’t…”
>Fifty meters…
>”Twilight, just… just take the Elements! Take the Elements and r-run! We’ll… we’ll catch up with you!”
“You WON’T!”
>”TAKE THEM NOW! GRAB THE BAG AND TAKE THEM!”
>Thirty meters…
>Your vision is blurry… tears well in your eyes
>You can’t… you can’t just…
>”TWILIGHT!”
>Your hoof extends… touches the bag containing the shimmering crystals…
>You feel the warmth inside, the beating of two hearts
>You take the strap in your hoof, pull it tightly to yourself
>Now…
KASHOOOOOOM
>A bright light
>A force
>You’re blown back by a powerful wind, involuntarily tugging the saddlebag along with you
>It propels you several meters back from the carriage in an instant, down into the coarse ditch at the base of the track
>Pain singes your spine as a twig pokes through your cloak, breaking on impact, but it’s nothing compared to the awe of what’s right in front of you
>Struggling to re-orient yourself, you see that the carriage has upended, and Rainbow and AJ are toppled, but still awake, further up the hill
>The drone is hovering directly above where you just were, its black outline blotting out the fragmented sunlight, and yet it’s off-kilter and wobbling, as if struggling to maintain its aerial balance
>It doesn’t take long to figure out why; one of its three propellers is on fire, and the entire arm connecting it to the main body is cracked apart, charred metal casing ripped back to expose its cabled innards
>The monstrous spy-machine turns this way and that, subject to every fluctuation in the wind, no longer watching you, just trying in vain to stay aloft
>And just when you begin to think that it may not be the best idea to be standing directly underneath it any longer…
>”FIRE AGAIN! KNOCK IT OUT!”
>A voice, unfamiliar to you, roars instructions from your left
>Still downed, you peer through the branches to locate its source, when out of nowhere another guttural hum revs as if in response
>The sound of an engine… the sound of a truck, like AJ’s
>No, it’s noisier, less restrained, and the vehicle it belongs to is squealing down the track at breakneck speed
>It comes into full view now: it’s like the skeleton of a car, its entire chassis made up of crossbeams and riveted joints, rather than plating like Winona
>Its contour rises up sharply from the front, then smoothly down the back, and there are four padded seats, with only the driver occupying one
>The other occupant is behind and near-upright with their back turned, and operating…
>Sweet Celestia, that’s the largest gun you’ve ever seen
>You know it’s a gun only because of the way its operator is swiveling it about, directing it carefully on a set arc towards the damaged drone
>It’s made up of what appear to be two barrels joined by small coils, connecting the bottom of one barrel to the top of the other
>A bulky casing lines the back of the upper barrel, while the front, the “firing end,” is thin and long, almost as long as a stallion
>The base on which the turret-gun rests wheezes as it turns, aiming directly into the sky, and then…
KASHOOOOOOM
>A radiant arc of light jettisons out of the gun, splitting the sky in two as it crosses in an instant from the barrel to yet another propeller of the floating drone
>This time, you see the damage unfold in real time: the propeller’s circular rim cracks and explodes into pale blue flames, and the propeller itself wobbles violently for a few moments until it too is ripped apart by its own momentum
>You reflexively cower as the broken pieces of the propeller are flung down by the blast, one hoof-sized and boomerang-shaped piece of shrapnel stabbing the dirt less than a meter from your ear
>With two propellers of three destroyed, the flying mechanical monster jerks erratically, black smoke billowing from its two gaping wounds, until finally it can no longer stay airborne
>Its nose tilts away from you, towards the opposite edge of the track, and with what sounds unnervingly like an equine scream, it makes one final thrust as it falls in that direction
>All you can do is sit and watch, concealed as you are in the brush, as the drone strikes a tree and crumples unceremoniously
>You were expecting a grand explosion, but it doesn’t come; the drone just slides down the length of that trunk, billowing black smoke from its flaming appendages, and makes an awful crunching noise as it strikes the ground, “dead”
>Once you’re sure it won’t be moving again, you direct your attention back to your mysterious saviors, who are now climbing out of their frame-only vehicle
>The driver, a pegasus mare, has a platinum-blonde mane made up in a ponytail, and a pink coat matted with sweat and dirt
>The gunner, an earth stallion, is dark and heavyset, his own disheveled violet mane grown out past his neck
>They both wear the same uniform, a leaf-green camouflage-print jumpsuit with all manner of pouches lining the outer edges
>There’s a symbol emblazoned near their clothed flanks, but it’s too far for you to make it out
>They must be Canterian… right?
>Are they Army?
>”Fine shooting, Snap. That thing’s been hounding us for miles now.”
>”Got us outta barney, you did. Wouldn’t have gotten a fair shot at it, if not for that sexy driving.”
>”Pffft. Not while we’re on the job, huh? Let’s see if we can recover the transceiver.”
>”Tch. Always the prude, Mane. You aren’t so…”
>They crest the hill, walking towards the crashed drone and out of earshot
>The drone… it was following them, not you!
>You were so distracted by what was in the sky, you hadn’t even thought to look down the long track at the vehicle approaching from the same direction
>Meaning it’s possible you weren’t even spotted by the drone before it was shot down…
>Your gaze wanders to the treeline where, huddled beneath the lip of a ditch, are Applejack and Rainbow, both listening as intently as you
>They were closer to the shockwave of that first blast, and they look roughed up, but they haven’t sustained any serious injuries
>Applejack notices your look, and gestures silently with her eyes and head at the abandoned vehicle
>At once you understand her intent: she means to try and steal it
>You shake your head furiously; if you could, you’d articulate all the reasons why that would be horribly risky, but as it stands, the distance between you is such that trying to speak might alert the two strangers
>You could try crawling closer, but if they came back over now, they’d see you moving
>Those two… they’re almost certainly armed!
>If they saw you, who knows what they’d do with you? You don’t even want to imagine it
>The best choice is to simply let them pass, and continue the rest of the way on hoof
>(Solstice)
>(Unicronia)
>That’s definitely what Numena told you… you know it for certain now
>A Solenoid, a pale reflection of Mater’s Light, has willed it thus
>Maybe it’s best if you just… ah!
>While you were lost in thought, Applejack somehow managed to slip her way out of the trench, leaving Rainbow behind
>She’s scampering her way up the slope… towards the truck!
>Part of you wants to cry out, tell her how ridiculous this would be, but another part…
>Another part knows that this is Truth
>This is Syncresis
>Isn’t it? You, a Sister of Solemnity, aiding in hijacking a vehicle in the middle of nowhere, potentially needing to take even more drastic measures to prevent capture?
>You suppose you’re already technically a fugitive from the law in… is it two nations now, or three?
>What’s one more tiny bit of rule-breaking?
>You’re shocked to feel a slight smirk growing on your cheeks… what’s wrong with you?
>What has become of you in this place, in this time, among these ponies?
>One thing is for certain; you won’t vindicate Rainbow Dash’s harsh words, won’t resort to violence, no matter the cost
>So now…
>Without another thought, you listen intently for the voices over the ridge, and when you’re sure that they’re far enough away, you too scramble over the edge of your trench and trot noiselessly after Applejack
>She’s already pressed against the vehicle, concealing herself behind one of the bulky front tires, poking only her head beneath the chassis, ostensibly to watch the strangers across the way
>A few seconds later, you’re back by her side, taking position next to the adjacent tire and eyeing her sternly
“You can’t possibly think this will work!”
>Applejack cocks her head, replying to your hushed voice in kind
>”A perfectly good buggy, all nice and gift-wrapped for us. What kind of ponies would we be if we didn’t appreciate a boon like this?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, AJ, one of them is a pegasus!”
>”…shoot. Guess I’ll have to give ‘em the old Whack-a-back Special. Worked on Spitfire.”
“And then what? We’ll… nuh! Hide!”
>Beneath the underside of the “buggy,” you can make out one of the ponies’ set of hooves growing larger, closer
>They’re returning to the buggy for whatever reason, leaving their companion down below the far slope
>”Is my Element in that bag? Give her here.”
“Shh! I… urgh. Here.”
>Staying deathly still against the edge of the tire, you uncoil the strap of the saddlebag from your hoof and nudge it across the grass towards Applejack
>She quickly and silently fishes that orange hexagonal artifact out of its depths, and you can’t help but look on in awe as it appears to meld with the very keratin of her frog, becoming like a priceless jewel set inside a rock
>How it gleams and refracts even the littlest of sunlight… it dazzles you even now
>You wonder if you’ll ever get used to that sight
>Suddenly, Applejack is turning, focusing intently at the shiny rim of the buggy’s wheel
>But you know that’s not really what she’s looking at; she’s looking through it, PAST it, seeing the Truth beyond the mere matter of this world
>She’s described her Element’s power as Truthsight, as seeing the shapes of objects even when they’re hidden from her eyes, but to see the light sparkling in her eyes, just as it sparkles in that gemstone…
>Hearing of it is one thing, but seeing it must be quite another
>”Damn.”
“Wh-what?”
>”Get down.”
>Applejack’s eyes fade, and you obey her, watching the hooves shuffle on the other side of the buggy, forehooves reaching up now, then come back down, then march away down the ridge
>Your friend’s face scrunches, and she sighs long and bitterly
>”Like I thought. They’re OI.”
“OI? Y-you mean, like the…?”
>”Yep. That insignia on their jackets, it’s their symbol. They must be some kind of scouting party. They’ve come all the way out here from White Junction on some errand.”
“Then that’s even more reason we should simply let them pass! Even if we could subdue them, a-and take this vehicle, even if you could DRIVE it—”
>”Oh, I can drive it.”
“Fine. You can drive it. But the pegasus will catch up to us. Or worse, she’ll shoot straight for White Junction, and tell them that we’re coming. We’d be—"
>”Alright, I get it! Just… gimme some time to think. Just…”
>Applejack rubs her head, attempting to collect her thoughts, to reason out a situation where the three of you can reach your destination that much faster
>Of anypony, you want to save that time the most; but to take a risk like that, and potentially even strand two innocent ponies out here?
>There has to be another way…
>What would the Prophetess do, when faced with an impossible task?
>She would see the great hurdle before her, and know that it’s but a pebble in the sand
>She would know that the force of Truth, of fortune, supersedes all else
>And you know that you are destined to be there, in Unicronia, come the time of most need
>Then the solution is there… you just have to make it yours
>”Alright, I think I’ve—”
“Got it!”
>Applejack shoots up, surprised at your outburst
>”Huh? That’s what I—”
“I know, I know, but listen! We take the buggy, but we, um…”
>”Spit it out, I think they might be coming back soon!”
“Okay! Just… come closer. This is important.”
>Applejack leans in, out from behind her tire into the space between
>You do the same, sidling up close to her and bringing your mouth right up to her perked ear
>All the while, you eye the lip of that ditch where Rainbow still lies, hidden and immobile
>This could work, and you could do it all without doing any harm
>You’ll prove Rainbow wrong once and for all; violence mustn’t always prevail
>Not when you have your wits about you…
“Alright. Here’s the plan.”

******

>They’re coming back soon… damnit, they have to be coming back soon!
>Those two Canterian strangers… they’ll be back over the ridge any second!
>So what’s taking them so long? Why aren’t they coming back?!
>You are Rainbow Dash, and above you, beside the parked buggy at the edge of the train track, sit your two companions… plotting something
>They’re leaned in close, nearly exposing themselves beneath the underside of the chassis, exchanging words in low voices too distant to hear
>Immobilized at the base of the mound, you’re powerless to go up and join them
>It’s taking all your concentration not to cry out in pain, so roughly did you land on your left wing in the wet dirt of this little dike
>That would definitely alert the Canterians and get you all captured…
>Taken into custody, just like your father…
>No!
>That won’t happen, can’t happen; not in this place, not when your journey has just barely begun
>You’ll take that buggy, like Applejack said before she leapt over the edge
>But how you’ll do it, you don’t have a clue
>Applejack nods along to whatever Twilight is saying, and just like that she’s sneaking back down the ridge towards you, saddlebag in tow
>Twilight bolts off in the opposite direction, towards the little thicket of trees and bushes she landed in after the blast
>Looks like they’re just going back to where they were… are they just planning on hiding?
>Applejack stays low to the ground, the sunlight glinting off her back as she weaves between shrubs and dry leaves, not wanting to make a noise as she passes
>For your part, you shift your weight up and over the lip of the ditch you’ve found yourself in, exposing your top half to the sightline of the track
>If the Canterians came over now, you’d all be caught; good thing you don’t hear any hoofsteps just yet…
>”Rainbow. We’re gonna try something. Don’t panic, don’t make a sound.”
>When she reaches you, Applejack leans down to pull your forehoof up and over her neck, taking some of your weight on her as she lifts you over the dike wall
“I’m not panicking. What are the two of you planning?”
>”Shh. Not too loud. I think they’re coming back. We gotta get you up and out.”
“What for? We’re—hey, wait…”
>Applejack’s tugging you along by your forehoof, your hindlegs scraping against the ground behind you
>You keep them moving, pushing the grassy earth down until you’re stable and supported by Applejack, but the direction she’s leading you…
>It’s back up towards the buggy!
>What the hell is she thinking?
“Applejack… what is this? Tell me what’s going on!”
>Worriedly, you twist your neck back down the ridge towards Twilight, who appears to be gathering… something
>Something sharp and metallic, stuck in the earth near where she was lying prone just minutes ago
>Is it shrapnel from the drone?
>She’s digging it out, dusting it off, concealing it in the folds of her robe…
>This is…
>You grit your teeth and limp along, not really having any choice but to follow Applejack’s lead as she walks up the ridge, to the left of the buggy, and a few meters down the track
>You’re still below the crest, still mostly hidden from view, but if you go any higher, you risk exposure from the north side
>The smoke rising from the wreckage of the drone is already visible, wispy black strands trailing into the treetops
>The Canterians are there, likely scavenging for usable parts, but they won’t be there for long!
>You can’t see them, can’t understand why…
“Applejack!”
>”Shh! Here.”
>Without warning, the earth pony halts in her tracks and shrugs off your hoof, letting you fall gently onto the wood ties between the dual steel rails
>The gravel bed digs into your back, into the most sensitive parts of your damaged wings, but you’re more worried about what will happen if you’re found here
>Applejack stands between you and the sun, her features obscured by darkness
>”I’m sorry to do this, but you’re our bait. So just lie still, and don’t say or do anything that’ll make them shoot you.”
>What?!
“Are you kidding me?!”
>”Shh! Whisper!”
>You reach out to grab Applejack’s scruff, pull her close and hiss into her ear
“Are you kidding me? Your plan is to distract them with ME? You know I can barely MOVE, right?”
>”That’s exactly why you’re the designated bait. Sorry to say you can’t play much more of an active role.”
“This is not a good plan! This is the opposite of a good plan!”
>”I thought so, too. But Twilight was persuasive.”
“This is Twilight’s idea? Oh, fantastic. Let’s let the cloistered nun who’s never set hoof in a tactical environment do our strategizing for us! Brilliant!”
>”Shush! Just… here they come! Here, in case you need it!”
>Applejack shuffles through her saddlebag and retrieves your Element out of its depths
>Its crimson facets gleam even brighter in the sun, and you feel its latent power rippling even while not touching it
>She places it in your injured hoof, and though it stings at first, it’s soon found its home embedded deep into the recess of your frog
>Bright red cracks radiate outward from it like veins, cracks in your hoof and your leg, powerful and righteous
>It feels good… but…
“I… I don’t think I’m… I’m not…”
>”Whatever it is, tell me later!”
>With that, Applejack scampers away back towards her hiding spot behind the buggy, leaving you alone and defenseless in the middle of the train track
>You wanted to tell her you’re not ready for the Element yet, that there still isn’t enough residual energy left in your body to sustain it
>Whatever pool you drew from back in Pegasopolis, the one that let you fly far and fast even when you were pushed to the brink of complete exhaustion, is still drained
>You can feel it in your bones… you KNOW it’s going to take much longer for that to fill up again
>And you definitely won’t get there until after your hoof and wings are completely healed
>Damn it!
>They really are coming back… Applejack’s behind the buggy, watching and waiting; Twilight is… somewhere
>But the two Canterians are coming… you can hear their hoofsteps marching up through the brush
>Soon they’ll be right on top of you… and then…
>”Hay! What the… FREEZE! Don’t move!”
>Stay calm!
>You’re facing the wrong way, and it’s difficult to turn around, but…
>You feel eyes boring holes in you, guns trained on you
>Even now, you have a heightened sense of the world around you; whether it’s the Element’s doing, or just your instinct, you don’t need to see the two Canterians to know that they’ve spotted you
>Hoofsteps quickening their pace, getting louder
>One of them is approaching, while the other is hanging back
>”Stay there, on the ground! That’s it, sheila, don’t move a muscle! And don’t turn around!”
>The voice belongs to the stallion, and he’s the one who’s coming up the hill, until at last he’s level with you
>The steel tracks clang beneath you as he crosses over them deliberately, and the gravel quivers as he comes closer and closer to your prone body
>Should you just… pretend to be unconscious?
>”Who are you? How did you get here?”
>With a few more steps, the stallion closes the distance between the two of you, until you can practically feel his body heat
>”Snap! Who is she?”
>The pegasus mare calls up from the glen beneath you; your ears pick up a subtle change in the wind, and the telltale rushing sound of wings lifting away from the earth
>”How should I know? Dunno how she even got here. But she’s a peggy, no doubt about that.”
>”Is she… dead?”
>”Nah, don’t look so. She’s breathing, right. But she’s got bandages on her wings.”
>The mare is definitely airborne… this is not good
>Whatever AJ and Twilight are planning, it’s not like they can do much to her when she’s all the way up there
>You feel so impotent here… you hate this!
>”Bandages? Maybe she’s got new implants. She’s gotta be Exsilist, right?”
>”Or PAS. Heard a lot o’ them evacuated the city before the invasion.”
>”Well, either she fell out of the drone, and we just didn’t see her, or she was nearby when it happened. Whatever the case, she’s a bogey. We should probably bring her in for questioning.”
>The pegasus is hovering above and behind you, keeping well out of range
>Unlike her partner, she’s playing it safe, not getting too close to you
>You won’t make any moves if your colleagues really have something planned, but if it comes to it, you could probably knock out the stallion with a good kick to the muzzle
>And probably get filled with lead in the process…
>”Y’know, there’s one other reason she could be out this far.”
>”What? Oh. Ohhh. You think she might be one of Them?”
>Them?
>”S’been a long time since anypony’s seen one. And she don’t have any of the markings.”
>”But the edge of the jungle’s only about fifty clicks from here. And it wouldn’t be the first time one’s fled the nest on some errand. The assassin that tried to do the Chancellor in, remember that?”
>”She didn’t have all the markings, neither. And Caballeron said—”
>”Forget what Caballeron said. This could be huge, Snap. We could have a real chance at finding the Citadel, if this mare’s one of Them. I’m just saying, you should entertain the possibility. Locating Their hideout was always our primary objective; cleaning up Exsilists is secondary,”
>”I still reckon she’s PAS. Wouldn’t hurt to pursue that line of questioning, though.”
>You have no idea what these two are talking about, and you really wish Applejack and Twilight would just get on with it already
>These two are Canterian OI, that’s the one thing you’re certain of; they glow brighter than a microwaved fork
>Still, they’re talking about a citadel… didn’t Applejack mention something like that earlier, on the trail?
>Couldn’t be that…
>”D-DON’T MOVE!”
>Another voice, from far behind you
>All heads turn, including yours
>Oh, Gorgons, no…
>No, what is she… what is she doing?
>”HAY! NO MOVEMENT! DOWN, GET DOWN!”
>The OI stallion barks back towards the figure standing across from you, some distance down the slope, but he makes no sudden movements himself
>There, unhooded and covered in a layer of grime, is Twilight, sworn Sister of Solemnity, pointing a pistol directly at the heart of the stallion
>There’s a look of real anger in her eyes, but fortunately anypony unused to Twilight wouldn’t notice that the look is dancing also with fear and apprehension
>She’s not shaking; she’s sturdy as a rock, and at this range, if she really had to fire off, there’s no way she could miss
>Where did she even get that firearm? It looks like an FF-85 broad-trigger, but… modified?
>It’s hard to tell from this distance, and in that shade, but it’s weird-looking
>Twilight with a gun… who could have imagined it?
>Of course, the OI agents respond in kind, grasping for the snubs holstered by their flanks, but Twilight shuts them down with a mean glare
>Of course, if they’d had shoulder-mounted A70s, she’d be dead already, but this…
>This could work
>”Okay, um… here’s what’s g-going to happen! You two need to get down on your stomachs, hooves behind your heads. Was your name… Mane?”
>The pegasus, still hovering several meters off the ground, sighs
>”Yes, that’s me.”
>”Mane, please stop flying. Come down now. Drop your weapons and kick them down the hill to me.”
>”There are two of us, you know. You don’t think you can actually win this fight, do you?”
>”I’m g-giving orders here. Just do what I say, and nopony needs to get hurt.”
>While Twilight distracts them, you busy yourself at shuffling closer and closer to the stallion with his back turned
>If worse comes to worst, you could probably subdue him before things get ugly, even crippled as you are
>You’ve still got three good legs…
>But then, something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye; an orange shape circling swiftly around the buggy to the far side, where it disappears
>Applejack’s remaining out of sight; it can’t be bad to disguise your numbers
>”NOW! Come down, now! I’m not just making idle threats here!”
>Yes, she is; but they don’t need to know that
>After a few tense moments the pegasus, “Mane,” finally relents, beating her wings slower and slower and letting herself drop gracefully onto the gravel bed
>Her forehoof is still clamped tightly on the magnetic stripe of her sidearm, but she doesn’t look like she’s going to draw
>If she tries, you could already reach her from here
>”Thank you. Now lay your weapons on the ground. Please.”
>”What guarantee do we have that you won’t just shoot us dead once we do?”
>Twilight grimaces, clearly searching for some excuse to give
>”Because… because, um… that isn’t…”
>You roll your eyes
“Because we don’t want you dead.”
>The two spooks nearly jump out of their skins when they hear your voice directly behind them, and make a move to turn around and look at you before Twilight steadies her aim at them
“We just want your buggy. We need transport.”
>”A-and we won’t desert you out here, either! We’ll take you along with us. Tied up, unfortunately, for our safety. But you don’t need to worry about anything if you just… cooperate.”
>The only voice left for a long, awkward space is the wind blowing through this narrow alley in the woods
>The two OI agents look at each other, then look back at Twilight, and then…
>”FFFFFFHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
>”Oh, no no noAUUUUGHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
>”Hay! Stop laughing! Stop laughing and drop your weapons!”
>”Snap,” the earth stallion, wipes tears from his eyes and rubs his scalp with his spare hoof
>”Oh, crikey. Oh, for… no, just give us a minute. Just a minute.”
>”This. Isn’t. Funny! I’m not—”
>”Yes, you are.”
>Suddenly, the stallion takes a step forward, causing Twilight to instinctively take a step back
>”Stop that!”
>”For a tick there, we thought you were foreign military, or at least experienced agents. We even thought you may have been higher up than that.”
>”Way high.”
>”But if the two of you are just plain fillies playing at highway robbery, well now. I s’pose you should at least have the courtesy of knowing who you’re dealing with.”
>Another step forward, another step back
>”Th-this is not… just any… I WILL SHOOT! I’LL SHOOT THIS GUN AT YOU!”
>Despite Twilight’s warnings, Snap gives her a sideways grin and reaches delicately for his snub
>Another step…
>And the pegasus is watching you like a hawk, you can’t make any moves now…
>”Nah, I don’t think you will. Especially since that ‘gun’ you’re holding is just a piece of scrap metal. You think we’re blind, sheila?”
>Damnit, Twilight!
>He’s right; now that you look closer, even though it’s shaded by the canopy above, you can tell even from far away that what Twilight is holding is none other than that bit of metal that flew off the drone and nearly brained her
>This can’t be their whole plan! This is insane!
>”Now, as fun as this all was, I’m gonna have to take the lot of you into custody. And just to get the formalities out of the way, and being that it’s the law that we identify ourselves out here in the borderlands: we’re Agents Snap Shutter and Mane Allgood of the exploratory division of Cognitio Incognitus, the black site managerial department of Ordo Intelligentia, of the United Canterian Republic.”
>Snap draws closer to Twilight in the shade of the pines, leveling his pistol with her heart
>This time, your colleague tenses up completely, tripping over her robe as she stumbles back and drops her fake gun
>”Seeing as how the lot of you seem Canterian yourselves, I’m sure you already had an inkling of that. And I’m sure you also know that we might just be the most lenient of all the folks that might have arrested you out in this neck o’ the woods. So consider yourselves lucky.”
>The pegasus, Mane, moves swiftly over to restrain you, and you make no moves to counter her
>Snap does the same for Twilight, ripping her cloak off roughly to inspect her for hidden materials
>Almost immediately, he recoils, likely from the sight of her blank flank
>”Woah! What the… Mane, you need to see this!”
>”See what?”
>”Lookee here! She’s… just how old are you anyway, sheila? Guess I shouldn’t call you that if you’re that much younger than you look.”
>Your heart is pounding; you have nowhere to run or fly, no strategies to play
>This stallion is right about one thing; it’s definitely for the best that they caught you, as opposed to the Cult, or even the Canterian Army
>You expect that both of them are eager to eliminate you as soon as possible
>These two didn’t recognize you at first glance, but if they were to torture you at White Junction…
>Gorgons, after everything that’s happened, after all the suffering you’ve endured, you might just break down
>”Just who are you, anyway? Is this some Citadel trick? They shave your cutie mark off, make you ‘clean?’”
>”I-I don’t know… what that is… I don’t know anything about a Citadel… please, don’t hurt me.”
>Snap pulls a length of rope out of one of the many pockets lining his uniform, makes to bind Twilight’s hooves together at the fetlocks
>”Well, we’ll know if you’re lying or not soon enough, I s’pose. Mane, you handling that one?”
>”If she’ll cooperate. You gonna cooperate?”
>The pegasus is pinning down your good forehoof, making to lash it down with rope
>Rope that digs into your coat, rope that bristles and burns…
>Rope to bind you…
>No, this won’t happen again
“Nuh… you, just GET OFF, YOU—”
>”Oh, she’ll cooperate. If’n you say the right words to her.”
>Your captor wheels around at the sound of a strange voice, strange to her at least
>The stallion pauses also, gaping at the rear of the buggy where it came from
>”But I should warn y’all, I’m a tad more difficult to convince.”
>Standing tall on the flat bed of the buggy, hindlegs planted firmly into securing wedges, forelegs wrapped around the firing controls of the massive Gauss turret that felled the mighty drone, is Applejack
>The long, dual-conducting barrel of the weapon is pointed directly at Mane, and it’s already primed, the maglev coils humming and glistening with pure potential energy
>She climbed into the vehicle so swiftly and so quietly, not even you realized she’d done it!
>You didn’t know that somepony as brazen as Applejack could be so stealthy!
>Maybe earth ponies aren’t all as brutish as you thought…
>”Now, as my friend told y’all before, and did such a clean job of distracting you at that: weapons down, hooves on your heads. We’re taking this—”
>”YAAAAAAAGH!!!”
>In a flash, the cannon swivels, but it’s too late
>Snap the stallion saw his chance and took it, dropping Twilight flat on her hindquarters and galloping up the slope at full speed towards Applejack
>By the time she’s redirected the barrel of the gun in his direction, he’s springing over the wheel well, up and into the bed with a hop-skip
>Drawing up all his momentum into a furious kick right at Applejack’s face!
>Applejack stumbles back, apparently not having foreseen such an immediate display of aggression; she unhooks herself from her grip on the Gauss gun and ducks, allowing Snap’s kick to pass inches above her head
>The downward force of the dodge swipes the wide-brim hat right off Applejack’s head, but she quickly recovers and rolls out of the way of Snap’s still-flying body
>The stallion crashes into the inner guardrail of the turret booth with so much weight that it visibly dents and warps the metal; all that force would have folded Applejack in two if she hadn’t dodged
>Instead, she goes reeling over the edge, using her powerful hindlegs to give herself a jolting boost
>And that’s when Snap reaches for his sidearm again
>And draws it up to his eye, and levels it with Applejack’s flying form
>Aaaand… you’re officially done with being a helpless ragdoll now
>Your assailant is completely distracted by the scene unfolding on the buggy; using the full weight of your head and hooves, you pull yourself upright and shoot out towards her
>She may have functioning wings, but you have the element of surprise, and in a split second you’re on top of her, slamming her down into the cool earth and pinning her completely
>”Nggh!”
BANG
>A shockwave coils up your injured hoof as it collides with Mane’s shoulder blade, but you resist the urge to retract it, keeping it firmly planted there to keep her from flying away
>With your other forehoof, you beckon to Twilight, who seems busy undoing her own bonds
>This is NOT how you wanted to spend your afternoon, but it seems like there’s no going back now; either you subdue these two, or you die
>”Off… damnit, GET OFF!”
“What’s the matter? Don’t like getting beat by a cripple?”
>”Please… my daughter’s crippled, and she’s still tougher than you! GNNHAH!”
>A jolt from her hindleg, an act of desperation directed right at the base of your spine
>It hits hard, but not hard enough to make you let up
“Ghh! Filthy… you sully the name of the pegasi!”
>”So you are PAS… figures! You don’t—”
>”EVERYPONY STOP, NOW! OR I BLAST HER AWAY!”
>Mane stops struggling beneath you at the sound of her partner’s voice; you do the same
>It’s only when you stay still that you realize how exhausted you are, how sweaty and breathless
>Your bandages are ripping apart, the white-hot pain is flaring up from the base of your wings, the pain of ruptured tendons and cracked bones
>It’s pain that’s well overdue
>But now there’s a different kind of pain welling inside you, the pain of abject fear
>Fear not for your own life, but for the life of somepony who, three days ago, you wouldn’t have cared a lick about
>Snap stands on the turret platform now, having taken control of the Gauss gun and pointed it directly at Twilight
>Twilight, who’s still bound, who’s shaking and cowering
>Whose lips are moving in the recitation of a silent, stuttering prayer
>For her part, Applejack lies face-down in the dirt next to the buggy, motionless except for the swell of her labored breaths
>The grass blades all around her are tinted red
>And there’s a pool of foam forming around her… red foam that…
>That…
“NO!”
>”SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP, OR I DISINTEGRATE HER! I will do it if you don’t STAND DOWN, and get the HELL off my wife! NOW!”
>This can’t be…
>Applejack… you didn’t even hear a shot!
>Or… did you?
>It all happened so fast, everything was such a blur, such a flurry of emotions and sensations that…
>This was your only hope… these were the only ponies in the world that you could…
>”I ORDER YOU TO STAND DOWN!”
>…
>No
>No!
“NO!”
>Rather than letting up, you bring all your body weight down hard onto Mane’s back, eliciting a ragged groan from her as the air escapes her lungs
>You square your hoof on top of her scalp and press…
>”Ach… nngghh!!”
>”OY! STOP THAT! GET OFF OF HER!”
>This is too risky, this can’t possibly work
>But if it means getting free, getting that gun off of Twilight, tending to Applejack…
>Damnit, whatever you think of them, they’re all you’ve got!
>Press down… give her back some pain, some of the pain you’re feeling all over…
“I’m gonna count to three. And if you don’t step down from that gun when I hit three, I’m going to crush your wife’s head like an egg. I may not look it, but I’ve got the strength of a jackhammer in this hoof. So GET DOWN!”
>”You little… Celestia, you…”
“ONE!”
>Steady, Rainbow… steady as she goes
>Applejack is still breathing, her barrel still heaving, up and down
>Blood is still issuing from a hidden wound somewhere on her flank; if she hasn’t lost consciousness yet, she will soon
>It’s trickling down her leg, down the slope, into the dirt…
>That bastard… he isn’t moving!
“TWO!”
>Twilight’s immobilized, completely at the mercy of a humming barrel, a black hole full of lead and death
>At any moment, he could pull the trigger… at any moment, the flechettes could flash through the air in a burning arc, ripping right through her…
>Propelled by magnetism, dead-straight, enormous…
>Twilight… she doesn’t deserve this
>She doesn’t deserve to be used like this… nopony does, not even land-dwellers, not even Canterians
>But this stallion has to know, KNOW that you’re serious, that you’ll really do it
>That if he takes Twilight’s life, you’ll take the life of the one he loves
>It’s the only way out, the only way…
>You have to muster up all your strength, have to dip your hoof into that pool, draw upon that strength that propelled you forward before, that shot you straight through the sound barrier
>You need to find that resolve again, let it burn in your eyes for everypony to see
>(BURN)
>(SEE)
“Two and a half, don’t you DARE make me say three!”
>Press down, feel the life underneath you, feel it blacken and lose its definitions
>This is the darkness that comes of good intentions, the fire that breaks down hearts and minds
>Your Element is glowing; you don’t need to look at it to know that it’s brighter than the Sun, brighter than Time itself
>Feel the skull underhoof, imagine it’s Trixie’s skull…
>You count out every heartbeat, both yours and hers
>Snap stares at you intensely; you honestly don’t know what he’s going to do
>If he trusts you’ll do it, he’ll surrender, but if he doesn’t…
>”You don’t have the guts.”
>He doesn’t
>”SNAP! Just…”
>”It’s alright, darling. She won’t do it. Else she would’ve done it already. And I don’t intend to blast away a unicorn who ain’t hurt nopony, neither. But like it or not, all three of you are coming with us. I’m sorry, but you don’t really have a choice.”
>He’s right… he’s right, he’s right, he’s right
>The face of Lieutenant Soarin flashes briefly before your eyes, that look of terror in the rain when you had him dead to rights
>You had so many reasons to end his life then, one for every Wunderbolt who died that night…
>But you didn’t do it
>And you won’t now
>Without even thinking, you let up on your grip, remove your hoof from Mane’s head, and the pegasus seizes the opportunity by fluttering up and forcing you onto the ground
>It’s done… it’s over…
>And just to rub it in, Snap chuckles, loud and humorless
>”There. That wasn’t so hard. You see?”
>”Oh, I see.”
>”Nuh?”
>And just like that, there’s warmth in your heart again
>A presence, no… an emotion, a feeling of connectivity
>It’s like your soul is twisted up with another, warping and resonating and… and harmonizing
>You felt it before, you know what it means, but it can’t be…
>But her body is gone, and only the pool of blood remains; when she got up, how she got away without anypony noticing, especially you…
>How she got there, to the other side of the buggy, you have no idea…
>Well, you were the perfect distraction; you even managed to distract yourself
>Snap swivels the mounted cannon in the direction of her voice, but it’s too late; Applejack is already poised, bleeding profusely out of her wither, but holding in her outstretched hoof a small, pale fire
>No, not just a fire; it’s a lighter, the same lighter that Twilight uses for her prayers: a silver case with the letters “AJ” etched into the side
>She must have fished it out of her saddlebag when nopony was looking!
>But the strangest part of this picture of all is her eyes; they’re glowing, rimmed at the edges by a deep orange glow that pulses in time with your own heartbeat
>That’s what you’re feeling… that energy, that power of the Element that seems to transcend the flesh
>She feels your pain, and you feel her willpower
>”Ahugh, ack… really knocked the wind out of me back there. Would’ve bled me dry, if you’d shot just a few inches to the left. But it got me thinking. This little old buggy, you drove it ALL the way out here from White Junction, didn’t you?”
>Snap scrambles back, abandoning the Gauss gun entirely and leveling his sidearm with Applejack’s head
>But, strangely, he doesn’t fire; she’s beneath him, on the ground, and he’s out of her range, but he doesn’t fire
>”Whatever you’re planning on doing, sheila, don’t even think about—”
>”But how’d you manage that, with only one tank of gas? Ain’t no waystations from here to there, after all. So I figured, y’all must have spares. Spare tanks, that is. But I already searched the whole thing, top to bottom. Not in the back seats, not in the gun bed, nothing.”
>”Don’t you dare… don’t do it…”
>”I don’t expect you to understand this, but I’ve got me a sort of special ability. Lets me see through objects. Lets me see the Truth, even when it’s hiding from me. And while you were jabbering away with my friend over there, I found what I was looking for. A secret compartment, wedged right up next to the wheel well.”
THUMP
>Faster than you can even process it, Applejack’s powerful hindleg shoots out and buckles the side of the buggy
>A small piece of metal flies away into the grass, and a panel swings open on its dented latch
>”For Celestia’s sake, don’t! Don’t do it!”
>You can’t believe your eyes; inside that hidden space in the side of the buggy, tumbling forth into the light, are at least a dozen red canisters of gasoline
>One of them, ruptured by Applejack’s initial kick, is split open, and is already leaking its shiny contents everywhere
>Undeterred, Applejack thrusts her lighter forth, until it’s ridiculously close to the streaming waterfall of gas
>Snap cringes away, dropping his sidearm and covering his face reflexively, but Applejack doesn’t move
>Her face is deadly serious now; her resolve is somehow stronger than ever
>”You can call my friend’s bluff, that’s fine by me. It’s hard to smash somepony’s head in, even if you’re a stone-cold killer, which she ain’t. I can abide that. I can even abide putting your partner’s life on the line, if you think they’re safe. But now…”
>Applejack turns her attention to Mane, your captor, who’s stopped tying your hooves and feebly locks eyes with her dagger-staring opponent
>”…I hope I have your attention. Because unlike her, I ain’t bluffing. You and your husband are going to let my friends tie you up, or I will blow him AND myself to high hell.”
>Mane’s whole face scrunches up, and her wings beat uselessly behind her, more out of nerve than a real will to fly
>”You wouldn’t… you couldn’t possibly… I don’t believe you!”
>”Heh. You’re lying. Know how I can tell?”
>Applejack’s eyes glow brighter, and for a moment, it’s like you can actually FEEL the layers of your skin, your muscles, your bones peeling back, revealing everything inside for her to see
>That Element of hers, that power… it’s so completely unique, so different from your own
>”I can see your heart beating in your chest. I can see the slightest fluctuation in its rhythm. I can see, whether with my eyes or some other sense entirely, that you don’t really believe that. You believe I’d really do it. So, you’ve lost.”
>Applejack’s hoof extends an inch further, the lapping flame bearing even closer to the gasoline stockpile
>With a single spark, she could do to that buggy what the Gauss gun did to the now-smoking wreck of the Exsilist drone across the slope
>You’re stunned, not just by the absolute audacity of this earth mare, but by the fact that she’s done such a good job of masking it so far
>Even in her most stubborn and strict moments along this journey, she’s never shown this level of sheer determination
>Back when she thought the Exsilist drone was coming for the three of you, she even threw the Elements at Twilight, nearly sacrificed herself to save that nun
>This kind of suicidal devotion to her cause… you recognize it in yourself
>You’d gladly put your life on the line for your nation, and already have and continue to do so for your father
>But these ponies… is it possible that you could feel this way about them, too?
>Is it possible that this kind of bond could arise—has already arisen—between you and the land-dwellers?
>(Generosity)
>Generosity… doesn’t even begin to describe this
>And for what it’s worth… you believe she’ll do it, too
>Not an ounce of her soul is bluffing
>”Ghh… put it out! I surrender. Just put it out!”
>Mane’s wings stop beating; she touches down next to you and spreads her legs apart as a show of submission
>Snap climbs quickly down from the gun bed, and Applejack gestures wordlessly at Twilight to come and bind him
>Once the weight of the situation has lifted a bit, and your nerves are more collected, you yank Mane’s rope away from her and start binding her legs and barrel together
>In time, both the OI agents are tied on the ground, and Applejack, smiling contentedly to herself, puts out the lighter with a simple flick
>Everypony, not least of all you, breathes a sigh of total relief; this fight is over, and you’re the victor
>You won… you actually…
“Snff… uh… ahuh…”
>”Alright, Twi. Let’s heave these two on-board. We’ll… hay. Rainbow? Everything alright? Something hurting?”
>Applejack canters over to you, clutching a rag to her wither, which seems to have mostly stopped the bleeding
>Everything’s blurry; salty tears are forming at the edges of your vision, dropping into the grass to join the dew
>Your mouth is dry, and you’re shaking, and everything’s wrong, everything…
>”Rainbow? What is it?”
>Your friend bends down over you, an expression of genuine concern growing on her blurred-out face
>Gone is the intensity in her eyes, that dark fire; she’s softer now, tender
>You see Twilight approaching, too, looking very much the same way
>Victory…
>”C’mon, Rainbow. We should really be getting on the road soon. If there’s… something you want to—”
“Just let me sit, okay! Just let me…”
>Talking made it worse; the rasp in your voice, the tightness in your chest, only made the tears flow faster
>There are guns around you, screaming, cold rain on your back, thunder and clouds in the shape of—
>”Applejack? I think she’s having a panic attack.”
“I’m not! I’m just crying! Do you understand the difference, huh? Do you? Not everything is a stupid ‘teaching moment’ where you get to dictate how others feel, and how you know better than them! Not everything’s a verse in some damn book!”
>”That’s not… that isn’t what I meant at all. We just want to help you.”
“Do you know that I’ve cried more times in the last five days than I have in the ten YEARS before that? And not in the moments that were WORTH crying about! Not when I was… agh, never mind!”
>You nearly slipped up there; even in your despair, you can’t let them know who you really are, what you’re worth to the enemy
“I just feel useless, okay? I feel like a failure, and a fraud, and… I just don’t feel like I deserve THIS. This Element. I can’t even use it anymore. I’m too weak. I was zipping around before, I could make things happen, and… and…”
>You trail off, not sure what to say anymore; Twilight touches her hoof to your wither, as if to finish your thought
>”You aren’t useless at all, Rainbow. If anypony was useless in that fight, it was me! I was tied up, completely at the mercy of that gun. I thought I was going to die! I thought… I thought I’d see the Mother’s Garden.”
“Then why are you the one comforting me right now? Why isn’t it the other way around?”
>”Because it doesn’t always work that way. Because you’re the one most in need right now. And so, we give. We’re your friends.”
>Friends…
>Not too long ago, they were your captors, then accomplices of necessity
>But now… is it really possible for them to feel this way about you?
>Or… for you to feel this way about them?
>Do your hearts really beat as one?
>Friends can’t possibly be the right word, but…
>But maybe one day, it could be
>Maybe not all friendships have to end in betrayal and pain
>You manage to form a small smile, and with the support of Twilight and Applejack, you shakily lift yourself off the ground
>And for a moment, just a moment, though you can’t really be sure…
>You think you feel the Element pulse, and a wave of crimson light engulfs you
>Only for the blink of an eye, though; then everything’s back to normal
>There’s still a long, long road ahead of you, long and winding, and full of perils
>The road to White Junction, then to Unicronia, and, you hope, to your father, before it’s too late to save him
>But maybe, just maybe, you’ll fly again on that road
>Maybe you’ll learn to use this Element again
>And your… “friends” will help you there
>And so, with no words left to be spoken, you watch as your new prisoners are loaded into the back seat of the buggy, bound and angry as you once were, and everypony mounts up in a new vehicle, a means of getting to your destination in a matter of days, rather than weeks
>Sun rays pierce the withering clouds, steel tracks spell out the path from here to there; Applejack turns the key, the engine flares to life
>You smile broadly, the tears dry upon your cheeks, and the first wind of the new leg of the journey blows gently through your mane
>You have a plan, and a means, and company, and hope; and, if Twilight is to be believed, a divine destiny
>With all that in mind… what could possibly go wrong?

******

>”Everything. Everything could go wrong. That’s why we’re doing this, Sham. Don’t tell me that announcement didn’t spook you, too.”
>Comet Tail creaks as he walks and croaks as he talks; the telltale signs of recovering from a bad ailment
>There are dark rings around his eyes, but rather than making him look exhausted, they actually seem to sharpen his glance, make it more focused and severe
>You are Officer Shamrock, also (un)known as Lucky Clover, and today is the big day
>The day that determines whether you walk free, both from the shackles of prison and this hellhole in the desert
>It all hinges on the careful and fearless application of this plan, the one you’ve been drafting in your head for three days now
>And, though entertaining Comet with idle conversation while the two of you make your way through a Level 4 access tunnel may, on the surface, appear to be a small detail of that plan, every detail is crucial
>If Black Bar were here now, he’d probably say something like: ‘Remove any stone from an arch, not just the cornerstone, and the whole thing topples’
>Well, Black Bar, your edifice is about to be laid bare; whether the contents go toppling or not isn’t up to you, but at this point, it’s something you’d really like to see…
“That’s not the point, Comet. It’s the principle of the whole thing. I have documents up here that I NEED access to. Now, am I going to need them today? Probably not. Tomorrow, the next day, who knows? But I want them close to me so that when I DO need them, I have them. Not locked away in some sub-chamber deep underground where Celestia-knows how many rolls of red tape I’d have to navigate to get them back.”
>”You’ll eat those words if some Army inspector comes through and confiscates anything you leave out in the open. Your good graces with the Minister will run out then, I can tell you that.”
>You roll your eyes exaggeratedly; synchronized, the two of you file through a circular doorframe that separates the outer ring of the atrium from the long, gaping corridor that is Psi Tunnel
“There’s no ‘good graces.’ The Minister and I had a productive conversation.”
>”One he should have had with me. One where he gave you a tour of the Omega Gate? You, a Level 3?”
>You feign exasperation, flipping one of your hooves dismissively in Comet’s face
>If you know this stallion, and you think you know him, something like that will only make him more irate
>More suggestible…
“It was a field trip, Comet. Nothing to get worked up about. You were sick! It just happened to be me and not you, it’s not any deeper than that.”
>”Well, it should have been me. You know, I was the one who signed the documents confirming Black Bar’s transfer over here. I was the first to know about his arrival. Probably even before Caballeron!”
>That’s definitely not true; still, you nod along
>You’re approaching a stairwell you’ve only gotten to know recently, this whole section of the facility having been locked off to you a mere five days ago
>”I’m Chief Inquiry Officer. I keep an eye on everypony here. I make the rounds, I clean house. I do my job, y’know? And now it’s all out of my hooves.”
“Is that what you’re worried about? Your job? You’re not gonna get fired just because ponies don’t ‘respect’ you.”
>”Oh, yeah? Look what happened to Caballeron!”
>Before you can take the first descending step down the spiraling staircase, into the neon-tinted gloom below, Comet pulls you aside into an alcove between two steel buttresses
>”The whole situation is tense right now. Celestia, that idiot Professor Neigh gets spooked because he thinks somepony went through his files, that’s one thing. Now, obviously I have no earthly idea what’s in those papers, but if it’s worth raising a facility-wide security concern, then they shouldn’t have been up here in the upper labs at all, should they?”
“Guess not.”
>”Right. ‘Guess not.’ But Black Bar blames Caballeron, and voila! Sayonara, douchebag. He gets shipped to White Junction on some cleanup errand, no q’s asked. I mean, why else would he have sent him there?”
“There’s all kinds of reasons.”
>”Suuuure. And I’m a Maker. C’mon, Sham, the timing’s way too convenient. The whole paradigm’s shifting, and I’m being left out of the mix. What’d I tell you the other day? I told you that this Liberation Act would be taken as a threat. And here we all are, doing whatever we can to cover our asses.”
>Comet gestures to a pack of hard-hatted maintenance stallions, rolling a cart stacked three-high with large, black plastic crates down a ramp adjacent to the stairs
>The crates are labeled in thick white lettering with the names of various Site 23 staff: POCKET PROTECTOR, ATOM SMASH, PRICKLEPANTS
>Most of them contain the property of upper-division labcoats, like Neigh, but some belong to other staff, anypony who might have reason to want to protect their classified materials from watchful eyes
>Eyes like yours…
“Far as I know, the Army won’t do crap, as long as they don’t have probable cause to search. The Chancellor doesn’t have the power to just barge into places he doesn’t have clearance for, and I don’t think the Senatori would let him run a sting even if he did.”
>“Whatever. You DID get your documents packed up, right?”
“I wouldn’t be going down to watch it go through the gate if I didn’t. My box is probably on the same cart as yours.”
>”Well, yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I’m just… nervous. It’s like… y’know, this place is like a fortress. Well, technically it IS a fortress. Or WAS. But everypony’s acting like the enemies are at the gates, or they’re already storming through. And I’m not usually one to be paranoid, but seeing this response just makes me more nervous.”
“It’s protocol, Comet. I’m sure it’s happened before.”
>Comet grimaces; it’s clear he prefers to be called ‘Mr. Tail,’ but the fact that he isn’t correcting you tells you that he’s not as insecure as he should be
>You ought to correct that before you get down to the Omega Gate…
>”Well, all I’ve got in my container is the occupational reports I’ve done on the senior staff, some checklists, a couple digital materials… I had to pad out the space with some of my clothes. Heh. I lost so much weight while I was sick, half my wardrobe doesn’t even fit me anymore, so it’s no big loss. Oh, and that thermal blanket I’ve been using. Don’t need it at the moment, I guess.”
“Did I tell you I got one of those too?”
>”No, you did?”
“You’ve been going on and on about it so much, I decided to ship one in myself. Comfortable. I didn’t pack mine away, though.”
>Comet turns to descend the stairwell; you follow close behind, listening closely for any hoofsteps sounding up from below
>When you’re sure that nopony’s nearby to hear, and once you’ve reached the middle landing, you nudge Comet, retrieving a small flat item from your vest pocket and passing it over to him
>”Uh… what’s this?”
“Yeah, sorry. Forgot I had it, kept meaning to give it back to you. It’s the Level 4 keycard that was copied over from yours. Management gave it to me so that I could pass the security perimeter down to Caballeron’s office on the day of the interview.”
>”Oh. Uh… nopony ever came to collect that?”
“Nope. Figured I’d just hand it off back to you, since it’s got your credentials on it and all. Might want to just tear it up. You’d think that with all the security concerns right now, they’d be more careful about this stuff.”
>”Guess they’ve got a lot on their plates.”
“Hay, uh, that reminds me.”
>Coming to the bottom of the staircase, you pass into a deeper, quieter part of the facility, an aging corridor with exposed red-rock walls and hazard-striped ramps that descend lower
>This is not the route that you took with Black Bar that day you first descended to see the entrance of Omega Sector, but over the last several days you’ve gotten to know it better
>In the far distance, the massive geothermal generators hum their somber one-note melody, but here, in this rarely used access tunnel, there are few unwanted ears to hear what you’re about to say
“During the initial material inspection, y’know, when the ponies from Omega Sector came up to snoop in our crates… how many of them actually looked inside?”
>”I wouldn’t know. I’m Senior Inquiry Officer, I basically just told them to piss off. I checked my own files a dozen times, don’t need anypony else doing it.”
“Right. Okay. Well, something odd happened when they were inspecting my box.”
>”What happened?”
>Another doorway, another corner, another humming hall leading down into shadow
“One of them, this bright blue stallion, waits until the other inspectors leave, then tells me he needs to do a ‘second look.’ Only he takes my box into another room, and he’s in there like fifteen minutes alone with it. When he finally comes back out, he’s sealed it up with tape, tells me he doesn’t want me opening it no matter what.”
>Even in the low light, you can see Comet’s eyebrow perking up
>”I haven’t heard about anypony else getting that kind of treatment. Might want to report it.”
“Consider this me reporting it. You’re Senior Inquiry Officer, right? Make an inquiry. I mean, I take Professor Neigh’s hysterics with a grain of salt, same as you, but you have to admit that if anypony has the capacity to be a spy around here, it’s the ponies who inspect all the rest of the ponies.”
>”Heh. You know that includes US, right?”
“I trust you. I don’t think you’re a spy.”
>Comet pretends to cough, avoids eye contact; he’s flustered, and even if he thinks he’s immune to flattery, his perception has just been colored
>If there’s one thing you learned from all the suckers you ever scammed out of their cash in your days as a black-hat, it’s that nopony wants to think badly of the pony who just complimented them to their face
>”Well, same to you, I guess. We have to stick together, us IOs. Not, uh, step on each other’s hooves.”
>Still jealous of how he thinks you and Black Bar hit it off, though; that’s good
>That’s absolutely perfect
>Just as your little conversation ends, before the awkward silence starts to set in, you round a corner and come to a junction, through which several carts stacked with labeled crates are passing
>Dozens of maintenance ponies chat amongst themselves as they slowly roll these carts in double file through a broad, open bay door
>Rows of red lights flash on, then off, then on again, signaling this noisy procession to pass into the bright place beyond that opening
>You and Comet Tail shuffle by, weaving between the carts until you come to the opposite side of the door; then, breathing softly, you step into the light
>And just like that, as your eyes adjust to the harsh floodlights casting from high above their stark shadows, you once again find yourself face to face with the terrible majesty of the Omega Gate
>The sight of this place is something you still haven’t gotten used to, even after your many trips down here over the last few days in the wake of your meeting with Black Bar, but this time the glittering horseshoe-shaped gate at the far end of this vast space looms particularly ominous
>The green spaces of the long checkered floor are luminous under the light, while the blacks appear as bottomless pits into some soundless void
>So too are the cavernous reaches of the open spaces to your left and right; some tiny part of your brain screams at the sight of them, telling you that if sideways were up or down, you’d fall forever into their shadowy clutches
>Such a labyrinth as Site 23 should only diminish in scope as its tendrils dig further and further into the earth, but somehow it manages to grow, to expand into immensities beyond reason
>The Makers built this place for one of two purposes: to keep something in, or to keep something out
>What chance does a pony stand?
>Today, however, the massive entrance hall to Omega Sector is not quite as isolating as it usually is; today, you’re joined by a sizeable company of marching maintenance ponies, forklift operators, eighteen wheelers carrying materials across the long path to the Gate
>Surrounding you are onlookers of all shapes and sizes, ponies with Level 4 clearance and above who have come down for the same purpose as you and Comet Tail: to watch as their crates are guided into the most secure part of the facility
>When you had Pink break into Professor Neigh’s lab in Phi Sector in the upper part of the facility, and flip over his file about the Substructure Material, it inspired just the right amount of paranoia in his little bird brain
>He did exactly what you expected him to do after your first foray into his lab, and went directly to Caballeron to complain about the possibility of an agent on the inside
>That would have been enough for you, even if Neighsay’s Liberation Act hadn’t given the Army the authority to inspect civilian sites with probable cause; but with both pieces in place, it gave Black Bar no choice but to do all this
>Every single piece of evidence from the upper levels that has any possible chance of incriminating anypony on-site is now flowing into Omega Sector, where the Canterian Army or spies can’t possibly touch them
>Ironically, this move alone would be grounds for some amount of investigation; too bad you can’t securely contact Neighsay anymore
>Into Omega Sector… everything that you see now is going INTO Omega Sector…
>Everything but you; you’ll probably never see the inside of that place with your naked eyes for as long as you live
>Comet Tail nudges you along, and soon you’re thrust out of the mass of scientists, engineers, and bureaucrats and into one of the many fenced-in pedestrian lanes that span the gap between here and the Gate
>The march across is at least three hundred meters, and every pace of that journey you feel more and more acutely aware of the weight of the atmosphere down here
>Mounted turrets with barrels as thick as your foreleg scan the whole zone, watching you with laser focus
>Anything that tried stepping off the beaten path, anything that moved in the dark or tried to go through the Gate ahead of you without authorization, would be ripped to shreds in an instant by those things
>The air is charged with anticipation and uncertainty; mixed with the humor that this is all for nothing, that this worry is artificial and will blow over soon, is the silent but very real fear that danger is fast approaching
>There are guns everywhere, eyes everywhere, information everywhere
>After what feels like an hour, you and your senior officer finally arrive at the ramp leading up to the glowing monolith that is the Omega Gate
>You check your watch: 3:18 PM
>The cart containing yours and Comet Tail’s crates was scheduled to be inspected at the gate at 3:25
>You survey the long procession of sullen ponies pushing their carts across the checkered floor, wondering which among them carries yours
>Gotta be that one… or maybe it’s that one…
>They’re all identical, after all, so you’ll just have to watch and wait, hoping you can spot your name across the lane
>Up on this plateau that overlooks the rest of the vast chamber, and almost directly beneath the white arch of the Gate, a line of multi-tiered security checkpoints separate you from the darkened abyss beyond the inner door
>Inspectors are taking the carts from the maintenance ponies, offloading the crates one at a time onto thick belts, a bit larger than the type you’d find at an air terminal, which carry them through a number of intrusive sensors
>A millimeter radiation scanner, followed by a thermal imaging scanner, and then a final manual inspection by two high-level officers
>Pointedly, the officers don’t seem to be checking every single crate, only one of every five or so
>The security of what’s going in doesn’t matter nearly as much now, as long as it gets there
>”You believe all this? What, do they think somepony’s gonna try to sneak a bomb in there?”
“You can never be too safe, I guess.”
>Comet Tail shuffles nervously, scanning the line of workers for the same cart that you’ve been looking for
>Check your watch again… 3:21
>Even though there are four lines of checkpoints for the materials to filter through, only the leftmost one is being used for the personal crates; the rest are taking in truckloads of packets containing site-wide equipment that belongs to nopony in particular
>Something that looks like two enormous electrical coils bundled together is passing through the far terminal… wonder what that’s for?
>Not important; what matters is this one, your crate, your valuables…
>3:23…
>”Hay, did you see that picture in the email I sent you? The one with the cat walking around all funny and hitting its head on stuff?”
“Yep. Hilarious.”
>”You don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you Sham?”
>You flash Comet a tense smile, never taking your eyes off the procession of carts, the movement of…
>There!
>You see it, replete with the red hazard tape still loosely covering it: your crate, containing all the things you wanted taken into Omega Sector
>And right next to it is the one belonging to Comet Tail, pristine and perfectly cubic
>You begin to sweat a little under your collar, down your spine; this has to work, NEEDS to work
>”Hay, uh, isn’t that…?”
“Yep. Let’s get a closer look.”
>Comet flashes his Inquiry badge to the nearest security guard, and together you inch closer to the booth where an operator is performing the millimeter scans
>He begins to idly (and one-sidedly) chat with her, while you watch in silence as your crate is removed from the cart first, placed on the belt, carried through the open slot of the scanner
>Your gaze shifts nervously to the operator, who appears to be watching the screen; there’s no change in her expression at all
>Then, twenty seconds after it entered, your crate exits the scanner from the other side and moves on to the thermal booth further down the line
>Comet’s crate follows close behind yours, and you suppress a groan as Comet loudly comments to the operator about how all his files are in order, like such a thing would impress her
>Another twenty seconds, and the light turns green, and the crate passes on, and your nerves light on fire
>You need to act fast, act now, before it’s—
WEEEEEEOOWEEEEEEOOWEEEEEEOO
>You tap Comet’s shoulder just as an alarm blares from the thermal scanner, and at once his attention is scattered between it and you
>He’s confused, disoriented, because the crate that’s tripping the alarm…
>It’s your crate
>”What? Wait, what could—”
“C’mon, I need to see what’s going on here.”
>”Yeah, sure.”
>Comet turns back to the millimeter operator, flashing his badge again
>”Inquiries. Sorry, uh, I need to go see what that’s all about.”
>”No Level 4s admitted beyond this point. Sorry, sir.”
>”It’s just that—”
>”I’m sorry, it’s protocol. I’m not allowed back there either.”
>You gently shove Comet aside, and flash the operator a half-sympathetic, half-edged look
“We won’t set hoof past the red line, we promise. I just want to see what’s going on with my crate over there. That okay?”
>The operator shifts around in her seat, but ultimately waves you on, and together you and Comet step over the divider and trot the distance between the two scanners
>”How’d you do that, just now? You must be popular with the mares wherever you’re from.”
“Wouldn’t say that. Sometimes, you just have to know how to bluff.”
>When you reach the thermal booth, you find that the inspectors are already unloading your crate from the belt to pry it open
>Out from inside his position at the controls of the booth steps the thermal operator, and…
>Yes
>Yes, you were right!
>Before Comet can approach the blue stallion and ask him what tripped the alarm, you block him with your foreleg and pull him into a whispering huddle
“That’s him.”
>”Who? What are you talking about?”
“The operator. That’s the stallion I was telling you about. The one who stayed behind to ‘inspect’ my crate a little more.”
>”Him? The scanner guy?”
“Who else? This is a real big coincidence, eh?”
>”Or not. Or, or not. Yeah. This is getting… alright. That’s not gonna stand. I’m gonna go talk to him.”
“Wait. Don’t you get it? He’s setting me up for something. He’s, like… oh, shit. Oh no. You don’t think he’s…?”
>”No. No way.”
“I mean, it’d make sense, right? Somepony on the inside. Somepony who gets to rifle through everything that everypony considers secure information. He could’ve… I mean, this is purely speculation, y’know, the paranoia talking, but…”
>”Nah. Not paranoia. Basic reasoning skills. Let’s just…”
>Comet’s face scrunches up, but in his eyes there’s a nervous sort of resolve that only comes from a need to prove oneself to others
>”Let’s just play it cool. Follow my lead. If he tried to plant something in there, o-or set you up somehow, we’ll get to the bottom of it.”
>Fidgeting with his horn and mane, Comet steps loudly across the hard concrete floor towards the inspector, who together with the others is at work removing the tape from the outside of your crate
>At the cusp of the crate, he gathers himself up into a taller posture and addresses the blue stallion in a clear, imposing voice
>”Ahem. Inspector. What exactly is the meaning of this?”
>The stallion ignores Comet at first, continuing to assist in removing the outer layer of the crate, but Comet relents, thrusting his badge under the former’s muzzle
>”I’m not going to ask you again. Senior Inquiry Officer, Level 4 clearance.”
>”Eh? Sir, there was an abnormal heat signature inside this crate. We need to run a manual inspection on its contents.”
>”This crate happens to belong to my subordinate over there.”
>”Well, then I hope for his sake that he didn’t try smuggling anything unsafe into Omega Sector.”
>Frowning, Comet turns away for a second, clearly struggling inside with what to do
>Come on, now… use some of that authority you’re so desperate to hold on to
>He looks at you, and you step forward, grimacing back at him
>Time for the killing blow…
“You need me to handle this, Comet?”
>After those words, the look in your senior officer’s eyes is unmistakable; the idea of you being able to resolve another situation that he can’t is causing his blood to boil
>It’s not hard to guess what’s going through his head right now: visions of you and Black Bar chumming it up, maybe a promotion on the horizon
>A promotion to do his job…
>With one hoof, Comet shoos you away, and you respectfully back up and let him work his wonders
>”Inspector. I’m going to need your name and ID number.”
>The blue stallion scoffs, just as the other inspectors unlock the top of your crate with a click
>”What? Respectfully, on what grounds, sir? I’m just doing my job here.”
>”Were you ‘doing your job’ when you deliberately singled out my subordinate here? When you spent extra time doing Celestia-knows-what with his crate?”
>”That’s… huh? I never even—”
>”Name and ID. Don’t make me call upstairs.”
>The operator sighs; the others are lifting up the top, exposing the contents of your crate for everypony to see
>”Sunny Skies. ID number 94801. Look, there’s got to be some kind of misunderstanding here. I didn’t touch your friend’s crate. I wasn’t even on his inspection crew when we were making the rounds.”
>”Well, kid, it’s your word against his. I’m not blaming anypony specifically, but you need to watch yourself, or you might end up getting reported.”
>”Y-yes, sir.”
>Suddenly, one of the other inspectors yanks a small object out of your crate and presents it to the others
>It’s orange, wedge-shaped, and somewhat fuzzy in appearance
>”Found the issue. Looks like some kind of heated blanket? Millimeter scanner must have excited the battery.”
>You exchange a knowing glance with Comet
>”You told me you didn’t pack yours away, Sham.”
“I didn’t. I’m absolutely sure of it. But it was in the room when he took my crate away.”
>Sunny Skies, an expression of shock forming on his face, turns exasperated towards an unamused Comet
>”I wasn’t even there! Wh-whatever happened with this dumb thing, I had nothing—”
>”That’s enough, Inspector. You’re dismissed.”
>”Dismissed? What do you mean, dismissed?”
>Comet lunges at the stallion, coming very close to touching him as he stares meanly into his fidgety eyes
>”I mean, get out of our sight or I’ll march you up to the Intelligence Minister personally. I’m Section Head, and I want you out of here, now! I’ll review your case later, I want my damn crate moved through that Gate already. One of you, fill in for him. And try not to piss me off the way he just did.”
>Sunny Skies opens his mouth, then closes it dejectedly; he steps into the scanner booth to grab his lunch pail, then walks away in a huff back to the other side of the chamber
>Another inspector, equally nervous-looking, takes his spot inside the booth; the others finish checking every cubic inch of your crate, then seal it up and place it back on the belt leading through the Omega Gate
>The laser-guided focus of the automated turrets follow its movement as it passes swiftly into the shadowy reach of that forbidden place
“Thanks for backing me up, there. Dunno how to repay you, Comet.”
>”If it’s all the same to you, Sham, I really do prefer Mr. Tail.”
“Sorry. Mr. Tail. Thanks.”
>”Don’t mention it. Us Inquiry ponies, we gotta stick together, don’t we?”
>You nod, watching Comet’s crate pass into the boxy confines of the thermal scanning unit
>A red light flickers as soon as the scanner turns on, but the operator hesitates to press the button that would sound the alarm and signal another inspection
>Instead, she sheepishly looks to Comet Tail, the Senior Inquiry Officer, for his approval; Comet frowns darkly, apparently now at his wit’s end
>This time, he personally steps into the booth to look at the thermal imaging screen, and you step back a bit to get a better view of it as well
>It’s hard to see from here, but it looks like there’s a long, flat red shape coiled around other formless blobs in the bottom part of the crate
>”Sir, your crate… um… there also appears to be an anomalous… thing.”
>”That’s where all my clothes are stuffed. You’re telling me… ah. Okay. Yep, I see what happened here. I have a heated blanket too, just like his. Had it shipped here for a cold. The millimeter scanner must have done the same thing to it.”
>”Oh. Um… I suppose I can see that. It’s… faint? But sir, we should still… um…”
>Comet’s prolonged stare is all it takes for the operator’s voice to trail off into nothing
>She gulps, clearly not wanting to incur the same wrath as Sunny Skies
>Her hoof hovers over the alarm button, shaking, and then…
BEEP
>With her other hoof, she activates the conveyor belt, and Comet Tail’s crate rolls on into the dark, same as yours
>It’s going, going, going…
>Gone
>Comet watches it intently, almost as intently as you; then, he gives a satisfactory nod to the paralyzed operator, steps down from the booth, and rejoins you at the far end of the platform
>”You believe that? After all that… Celestia. If she’d have sounded that alarm, had them search MY stuff, after they just did yours… some days, I just don’t know how to deal with these ponies. Ridiculous.”
“It’s a living.”
>”I mean, am I harsh sometimes? Yeah. But I’m fair! I’m just doing what needs to be done. And I don’t let anypony push me around or try to pull a fast one on me. That crap doesn’t fly, no sirree. And another thing…”
>As Comet chatters on, you can’t help but crane your neck backwards, trying to see if you can make out the vague shapes that move in the dark inside Omega Sector
>There’s some kind of curtain or wall across the entire inner gate, such that nothing of the interior can be seen from the outside
>If you could just know, be certain, then everything…
>You thought this would be the part where the sweating and the fretting stopped, but it’s worse now, and it’s taking everything you have not to collapse in a pile of anxiety
>But your mental checklist just saw one more crucial task marked off, and now…
>Now the edifice comes crashing down
>”You still listening, Sham?”
“I’m listening, Mr. Tail.”
>You can do nothing now but saunter back the way you came, across the strobing checkerboard, away from the alien glow of the Gate, back towards the stairs that will take you eventually into the light of afternoon
>You’ve never wanted to feel the sun on your coat more than this moment
>”But yeah. Those were some moves you had.”
“Moves, sir?”
>”That you made on that first inspector. I mean, we kinda sorta didn’t have the authority to go back there, and she blew me right off. But you dropped a line on her, and she let you pass. How about that!”
“You’re telling me? You’re the one who wrangled those other jagoffs. The credit goes to you for saving my ass.”
>”Nah. Seriously, Sham. I mean, what I did was just plain intimidation, when you get down to it. But you had something else going on. It wasn’t flirtation, it wasn’t pity. Something got you past that mare. Wish I knew what it was.”
>Despite all your nerves, you allow yourself a single self-assured smirk
“I don’t think it’s anything special. You just have to know how to read people. Have to know how they’re going to react. When you know what you’re doing, you can get just about anywhere.”

~~~~~~
EIGHTEEN HOURS EARLIER
~~~~~~

BEEP
>The plexiglass doors slide open soundlessly, the access panel flashing green
>The tiny black digits scrolling across it read “ACCESS GRANTED: WELCOME, OFFICER COMET TAIL”
>You slide the Level 4 card gingerly back into your vest pocket, and step into the dark office beyond
>You are Lucky Clover, and tomorrow is the big day
>Tomorrow, the maintenance ponies will come up to collect the last of the storage crates containing all the materials deemed too sensitive to remain on the upper levels of Site 23
>They’ll be post-processed at Omega Gate with millimeter and thermal scanning technology, and transported into a temporary storage facility inside Omega Sector
>The place where it’s all happening, the place that Chancellor Neighsay wants the most to see inside
>Supercomputers, something called Dream, alpha waves, the Material, they’re all down there…
>And if you can get something down there, even just a camera, without anypony knowing, you could capture it all, transmit one last data file back to Neighsay and await your swift transfer out of here
>For days, you’ve been preparing for this moment both mentally and physically
>You’ve made visits down to the Omega Gate every few hours, going unnoticed among the crowds of Level 4s milling about
>You’ve taken detailed notes on the entire process, from start to finish; the way the crates are transported, the specs of the scanners, what types of materials are flagged, what sets off the alarms, under what circumstances the crates are searched
>You’ve determined that the millimeter scanners are basically crap; the image they provide is shoddy, and anything darker than a black pen shows up as negative space
>What you’ve got is much darker than that, so it won’t be a problem; in fact, it’s going to help you
>No, the real issue here is the thermal scanner; no matter what you do, you can’t mask a heat signature one hundred percent
>There’s always going to be some residual heat emanating from a live body, even if it’s covered up by thick clothing
>And you WILL be getting a live body through that Gate; just not yours
“Looks safe. He’s out for the night. Come in and shut the door behind you.”
SHHHHHHH
>The door seemed silent when you were out in the hall, amid the evening hustle; in here, echoing off the plain white walls of Chief Inquiry Officer Comet Tail’s office, it’s actually quite noisy
>Which makes it all the more unnerving that you can’t hear her hoofsteps behind you
>You turn around, and she’s barely there; like the phantom images of monsters you think you see looming over your bed at night, it takes a few seconds for her to really come into focus
>A black shadow crisscrossed by pale stitches and arrows, a dark harlequin of the Laughing Guild
>A Mouthless Jester, here to do your dirty work
>Nopony knows she’s here, except for you and the Chancellor
>Nopony could ever suspect the trick you’re about to pull, and nopony would believe it if you told them
>Per instruction, the shadow called Pink moves swiftly and soundlessly to the back of the room, where stashed behind Comet’s overstuffed desk is a sealed black crate labeled with his name
>It’s less than a meter across each way, but you don’t expect that Pink will have any trouble fitting inside
>The Chancellor’s letter said something about chaos magic, and that she can fit into spaces no more than a few centimeters wide
>You’re going to put that to the test
>As you watch, petrified with both fear and awe, Pink stretches out one slender forehoof, and from the tip extends a long sharp knife that shines even in the dark
>Then, in a movement almost too fast to perceive, she slashes it across the crate’s seam, neatly severing the lock that kept the lid pressed tight against the top
>You take a few cautious steps forward, feeling a kind of sickly shiver pass over your whole body as you come within a few meters of her
>It’s as though, in the deepest primitive recess of your mind, you understand that she could kill you in a millisecond at this range, if she wished
>She hasn’t done it yet, though; in all the time she’s spent holed up in your hidden alcove in Theta Tunnel over the last several days, she’s never even tried to touch you
>Much less speak to you, if she’s even capable of it…
>All she does is listen, and you know that she’s listening; you know she understands every word you say, even when she shows no outward sign of it
>Sometimes she’ll give the slightest of nods, sometimes her ears will perk, and sometimes the little tuft of mane that pokes out of the ripped seam on her scalp will stand on end, in response to something you’ve said
>But all the ways you’ve learned to read ponies in your years as a street hustler in the Undermaw are worthless on her
>Her eyes, her muzzle, her lips, all of these are forever hidden behind a midnight-black mask that displays no emotion at all
>In short, she’s not much of a conversational partner, but you never needed one of those anyway
>Pink lifts the lid of the crate wide open, exposing its contents: mostly papers organized neatly into colored folders stacked on top of each other, but there’s a whole section dedicated to folded clothes
>You dig down deep into the vests and jackets to find what you’re looking for: a long fuzzy sheet, folded over itself and tied together with a thick electrical cord
>It’s the thermal blanket Comet’s always going on about, the one he claims has worked miracles on this endless damn cold he’s been fighting for the last three weeks
>You tug it out of the pile of clothes and set it aside; Pink springs up and over the edge of the crate, settling herself neatly into the space created by the blanket’s absence
>There’s enough room in there for her to curl up somewhat comfortably, or at least you hope that’s the case
>In that position, surrounded by soft clothes that contrast harshly with the black latex of her bodysuit, she looks almost… peaceful?
“Uh… so… do you eat? Sorry, dumb question. But… I brought along some snacks. Here.”
>You fumble with unzipping your lower pocket and pull out a few packages of saltine crackers, but when you extend them towards her, she recoils and shakes her head violently from side to side
“N-not a big fan of salty foods, h-huh? Well, uh… what about these?”
>Replacing the crackers into your pocket, you instead pull out a few individually wrapped blueberry muffins from the cafeteria
>Expecting the same sort of response, you’re surprised when one of her dark hooves shoots out to snatch them out of your grasp
>So, she’s a sweet tooth…
>You sigh long and loud, not wanting to do what you’re about to do, even to somepony as inequine as Pink
>But you have no choice, and she seems alright with it…
“Make sure you ration those. You’re going to be in this crate for a while. I’m sorry, but we had a really limited window to get you in here. Station lockdown comes into effect in fifteen minutes, and I just know that Comet’s not gonna take his eyes off this crate until the hardhats come to take it tomorrow afternoon.”
>Pink nods, shuffling around a bit in her new home, as if to make it more comfortable
“Okay. Now, let’s just test this again. Pink, go blanket mode.”
>At a moment’s notice, you see again the move the two of you have been practicing all day today
>With whatever strange power the Laughing Guild granted her in her long service to them, Pink manages to contort and stretch her entire body, like that of a cartoon character, until it’s nearly as flat and wide as the blanket lying next to you
>It isn’t a perfect match, but it’s good enough to fool the operator of a thermal scanner; or, more importantly, good enough to fool Comet Tail
>It’s times like these you’re grateful Pink is wearing that full-body suit; if you had to see what she looked like all flattened like that without it, you’d probably live with that memory forever
>A few minutes go by, and Pink’s body begins to tremble; shortly after, she decompresses, returning to her natural form
>She can only hold these bizarre shapes for so long without straining herself
“Right, so that’s your limit. Then this is important.”
>You toss Pink the spare digital watch you swiped out of Crescent Moon’s desk the other day, its bright yellow face lighting up the interior of the crate
“Around 3:25 PM tomorrow, you’re going to hear an alarm go off. Maybe a little before or after, but around then. When that happens, you wait another forty-five seconds or so, and then you go blanket mode. And you stay that way for as long as you possibly can. You got it?”
>Another tiny nod
“Great. Thermal scanner’s going to pick up your heat signature. But as long as you look like this blanket, nopony’s going to try to look inside this crate. I think that’s everything. Oh, crap, almost forgot.”
>One last reach into your pocket, and you gently hand your one-and-only microfilm camera pen into Pink’s possession
>She’ll need it far more than you, now that the only things you’re interested in photographing are inside that place
“You click the top to take a picture. Aperture is in the point. Once you’re in, you know what to do. Get as many pictures of as much stuff as you possibly can before you go back to storage. I wish I could help you more, but I’m as clueless about what’s inside Omega Sector as you are.” 
>Pink gathers up both the watch and the camera, stuffing them into some invisible fold in her suit
>The muffins she leaves scattered around her, presumably for later consumption
>Despite the terrifying aura she gives off, at the end of the day Pink is the only real ally you have in this Celestia-forsaken pit in the desert
>You manage a slight smile, and you imagine that underneath that dark, expressionless cowl, she’s giving you one back
“We’re both gonna make the Chancellor proud. And I promise I’ll get you out of there.”
>Nothing more needs to be said; you reach across to the lid of the crate and pull it shut, leaving Pink in total darkness
>You reseal the containment lock, furl the thermal blanket up, and step swiftly back out of the office with it in tow
>When you return to your crate, you’re going to stuff this down into it, then seal it up with a roll of red inspection tape
>The most important piece of information you’ve learned from your observation of the Omega Gate over the last few days is this: the shifts are remarkably consistent
>Every day at 2:45 PM, the blue unicorn named Sunny Skies takes up his post at the thermal scanner, and doesn’t get off until 5:45
>That means that he’ll be manning it at 3:25, the time scheduled for Comet’s crate and yours to pass through
>All you have to do now is invent a story to tell to Comet involving this Sunny Skies, anything to get him dismissed off of the scanner after inspecting yours and finding Comet’s blanket inside
>His replacement will be too afraid of invoking Comet’s irate wrath to check inside your boss’ crate, and it’ll pass through the gate completely unmolested
>And the best part?
>Even if everything goes south, even if this whole ridiculous plan collapses around you, it won’t even matter
>Because Comet Tail, not you, will be implicated every single step of the way
>He’ll be the one who arouses suspicions, if there are any suspicions to be had; it’ll be his temper tantrum, his anomalous crate that goes unchecked, his access card signature that’s been used every time you visited the Gate
>Your pissant of a boss will get fried if you fail, and for your part, all you have to do is feed the fire of his temper
>Play up your meeting with Black Bar, make him feel insecure about his authority, do whatever it takes to make him take his jealousy and rage and ego out on those inspectors
>Tomorrow, the edifice comes crashing down
>Tomorrow, you put everything on the line
>As you make your way back to Theta Tunnel, crossing one of the many suspended catwalks that zigzag over the sunlit atrium of Site 23, you unconsciously reach for your flank
>You rub the clovers of your cutie mark with the tip of your hoof, then bring the same hoof to your lips and kiss it
>It’s the gesture you made when you were young, right before every street con you ever ran
>It’s a sign of fortune, a little luck to get you this far
>With just a little luck, this will be foolproof…

******

NOW…

>fool proof, proof of fool, fooly folly round and round
>fool on track, fool in box, jack in box, upsy downsy, side to side
>he says foolproof, you say no, no proof of fool, no proof of anything
>everything spins, everything winds, everything springs, everything blooms
>everything is possible, nothing set in stone
>nothing set
>in stone
>you are Pink
>pinkie pinkie pink, little puppet who doesn’t speak
>but you can, oh yes you can, you can speak here in this quiet place where nopony hears
>not the box, not the darkness, oh but they could hear you here if they listened!
>no, of course you mean your head, this little noggin, this place where all goes quiet except for your voice
>the little voice you haven’t forgotten, not after years and years and years and years
>it’s always here, always talking, always spilling, always singing
>la lala la, smile if you can, grin in dark, light the fire, look at eyes that glow, feel beat of heart!
>sing song, singy song, dance if you can, dance for Him
>dance for the Laughing God, and He will dance for you
>if you’re lucky, He’ll laugh for you too!
>but now in the dark, now shhhh, very quiet, quiet as can be, quiet as a mouthless jester
>the jokes can only be in your head, because in your hoof is the blade that swiftly ends, like a punchline, the long joke of life
>gots a joke now, a real gut-buster, but you can’t say it out loud
>but if you did, you know what it would be?
>you know, right?
>it’d be a BLANKET STATEMENT!
>get it? get it get it get it?
>you flattened yourself, made yourself thinner than the thinnest supermodel
>you played pretend and now you’re moving again so it musta worked, yessir!
>no light in this box
>no light for hours and hours
>glowy numbers on watch say 3:31, so’s it’s been… a lotta hours!
>but it’s been darker for longer, yes, you’ve had it worse and laughed still
>you’ve laughed at the moon, you’ve laughed at the sky, you’ve laughed and laughed till the rivers run dry
>for eons you’ve laughed, and ehhe no not you, silly billy, the YOU that is in you
>the part of Him that lives inside you laughs and sings and smiles
>because this immobility, this darkness, it’s nothing compared to His!
>so you wait and wait, wait for the moving to start again, and when the moving starts again you fill up again like a balloon
>guild made you stretchy, guild made you strong and fast and not at all like those other puppets who stay one shape all the time
>guild fed you the funny flower until you laughed and cried, guild stuck the needles in your legs and dripped the drops in your eyes
>guild showed you Him, and He wrapped it all up in a nice pink bow and made it funny again
>oh but no, you’re not there anymore, you’re here, and the dreary unfunny clover puppet tells ya to stay here till ya stop moving, you’re gonna do it!
>there might be voices outside the box, puppets a-jabbering, but you can’t make out the words
>and you’re still moving
>feels like wheels, like before, you’re on toppa something with wheels, and it’s shaking you round and giving you the jitters
>jitter, jitterbug, dance-a-lance, shiggy diggy dig—
>wuzzat?
>you press your ear against the cold wall of the crate and listen close
>felt like the floor changed; it was real rolly and bumpy before, and now it’s nice and smooth
>wheels don’t squeak no more, only sound left is a big wavy one, like a fan
>air gets colder, much colder, like you just got carted into a freezer
>big fans, chilly… you got it!
>you’re in… an ice rink!
>no, couldn’t be… puppets here in the desert place aren’t nearly fun enough to have one of those
>but all the soft clothes piled around you keeps your skin nice and toasty warm
>more waiting, more rolling, chiller and chiller and quieter
>then at the brink of patience comes a clatter and a stillness, and you feel that you’re alone
>lone ranging, plain lo in the morning, plain Pink standing four foot ten in her skin
>lonely homely, sing a song and be-e sure to ges-ti-cu-late
>ta ta, tavernous tabernacle, the ice-pony cometh!
>but you are alone in the dark
>alone with His voice
>and He is telling you to stand up
>He says there is another god here, in these depths, and you were never one to question His judgment
>is He telling a joke? will He laugh when you rise and kill?
>it would be a gut-buster to find out, a-and bust guts you will!
>bust out with your forehooves, He says, and you’re already doing it, lifting the top of the crate with such silent force and precision
>you separate yourself from your swaddling and chance a peek out the open slit, where a cold blue light is shining
>through the black mesh that is your eyes you see, in all its splendor, a dark place chock-full of black crates stacked high to the ceiling
>or they would be, if there were a ceiling to stack to!
>it must be up there somewhere, because there is indeed a fan or two or five hanging from cables, but the cables yawn long up into total blackness, and connect to red rafters that criss-cross and span spectacularly round the room
>say that five times super-duper fast!
>twisted tongues twist in triplet tempo… no, now we focus, little jester
>take the little camera pen out of your skin, yes, and point the pen around the room, and a clicky clicky, nice-a piccies!
>teeny tiny pictures in a pen, that’s what the dreary clover puppet wanted the most
>maybe these will make him laugh for once… maybe he won’t be so doom and gloom when he sees what you see
>there’s a door across from you, but there’s a puppet standing outside it, yes, you can feel them like a splinter in your flank
>hmmm, a hmm hmm… lotsa space in this place, but no eyes, no cameras, except for yours!
>hee-hee, that means if you slide the top off just like thiiiis, and slide yourself out just like thaaaat…
>(you are the shadow of the blade that cuts the air to ribbons)
>(you are the punchline to the long joke of life)
>you creep across the surface of the sea of crates, towards the flashing light outside that large door
>the sign above it says something like “CLOD SORTGAE” but you can’t read backwards very well
>oh welly well, but look sharp, because the puppet outside is coming back in
>his strings, his strings are carrying him inside, so you’d better make like a pelt and hide!
>you slink backwards into a recess between two crates and watch the door slide open
>the puppet is letting two other puppets in, and they’re pushing a dolly with more crates stacked on top of each other
>that must have been the fun ride you were just on! weeee!
>but nopony else gets to enjoy it, no more jack in the boxes here, only you to sproing out
>the two puppets are talking, and you can hear them this time… let’s take a listen, see what we’re missin!
>you can always open them up later, play with their stuffing…
>”…taking so long. Just put it anywhere!”
>”Sorry for trying to be a little organized about it. We’ve been doing this all day, we might as well be thorough about it.”
>”Unlike you, I don’t want to be late for the demonstration.”
>”Neither do I. But do you really expect them to get a solid reading this time? It’s produced basically nothing but gibberish up until now.”
>”Well, Neigh thinks the Ardennes field will change that.”
>”Neigh is an obsessive quack. I don’t know why Caballeron tolerated his crap for so long, he’ll probably get shafted now that the Minister’s in charge.”
>”You just wait and see. Antechamber Zero is packed with every Level 5 but us. So just… put. It Anywhere.”
>”Fine. There, ya happy?”
>”Yes. The grunts can do the rest. Let’s go!”
>and off to the races they go, two little puppets tangling their strings
>but you have a sneaky suspicion that door will shut behind them, and you’ll just be trapped in a bigger box then
>slither slither snakey, through the cracks in the crates, all the way to the end of the floor
>you get there even before them, the slowpokes, and when they pass through the door you’re quick to follow
>it’s a big metal door that closes from the top, and it’s made of lots of smaller segments that separate a little bit when they bend forward
>so alls you hafta do is jump up, up, and away, off the supports, up to the gap, and now we streeeetch out like this, squeeze ourselves through the gap, and POP, we’re on top!
>and on the other side, above the puppets’ heads in a new place entirely
>this is a long hallway, and you mean a looooooong hallway, with lots of little side alleys that go off at different angles
>the ceiling is just as high and invisible here as it was in the other place, and there are still those red rafters way up there
>He knows, He knows, whatcha say, the devil’s in the details?
CLICK
>another pic of the endless place, now that’s one fer the scrapbook!
>why do they call ‘em scrapbooks, anyhoo? they ain’t scraps, they’re memories!
>memories of… time before… set in stone…
>rock…
>you’re a rock, you’re an island, wee-hee!
>nothing before Him, silly billy, nothing before Him!
>you were born for the Laughing God, and you’ll die for Him too
>but now, you’re sittin’ here thinking, ooh yes, getting the old noggin joggin, and maybe you should just go ahead and follow those two little puppets to wherever they go
>they seem to know the lay of the land, or the lay of the cave, what have you, and now they’re trotting off down the way
>but this place is sparse, and bright too… you don’t like the bright light, it makes your eyes do the squiggly thing
>chancellor took you out in the sun that one day, you didn’t like that much at all!
>but here, the light is on the ground, and the darkness is up… up near those rafters, oh yes…
>so now, dear Pink, we climb
>you kick off the wall, propelling yourself higher without a sound, landing on top of a light fixture, then some piping, and from there you swing and swing like a little lemur till you’re up, up and AWAY!
>zooming through space, landing with perfect grace, in the darkened heights without a trace
>you’re above it all now, you can see everything, and you see those two little puppets racing off, making a turn
>after them, jester, play your tune, pull your strings
>they escape down a tight corridor with lots of lights and funny doodads all over the walls and floor
>you follow above, scampering across beams like tightropes and jumping the distance when you have to, prancing and scampering and oh what fun!
>”Maybe we should grab a bite before we go. Celestia, I’ve been starving since noon.”
>puppets talking again, open your ears Pink, maybe juicy juicy stuff will flow in
>”It’s starting any second now, you kidding me?”
>”They’re not gonna get it up and running first try.”
>”Wanna bet on it?”
>”I don’t do bets, thanks. Dream had so many bugs at first, it’s a miracle they even saw potential in the idea.”
>”That was different.”
>”Wasn’t.”
>”It was experimental. Of course it had some kinks, it was a damn brain simulation. Penetrating something we have no business penetrating—”
>”No business, or no means?”
>”They’re the same thing. But now we do have the means, now we have enough contact to inject ideas directly into it. And there’s a safety net. The Voice responds to us, not some machine. It CAN tell the difference. Just how well it can tell the difference, that’s what Neigh aims to find out.”
>”You’re a sycophant.”
>”I believe in the scientific method, if that’s what you mean.”
>”Well, the scientific method tells us that we lose up to thirty percent of our cognitive function when we’re hungry. So if you wanna see the lightshow blow up in their face on the first go, then fine. I’m going this way, to the vending machines.”
>puppet on the right goes off in a different direction, down a different windy twisty hall
>puppet on the left goes forward, and you keep following him
>wherever he’s going sounds more fun than a vending machine!
>you hope
>so on you leap, on you stalk, until the hallway opens wide, and now you’re in a really BIG place, like a, a, a circus tent!
>it’s stripey, and there’s plastic stuff covering all the walls, s-so it feels like a circus
>He wants you to keep going, look deeper, keep following the puppet, but shush now you’re enjoying yourself!
>there are beepy-boopy lights here, empty and devoid of life, empty open space to be seen which you usually don’t like much at all, but here it’s comforting
>he’s already disappearing down another shaft though, so you follow on, cross the tent like an acrobat on a tightrope, hoo-hoo you’re a one-Pink show!
>this one’s on an incline, the floor dipping further and further away from the rafters where you’re perched, so the puppet dangles lower on his strings, falling out of view
>it turns darker still, light at the end of the tunnel, oh save me save me Pink, don’t let the bad ones take me, but ahhhhhhhehuheuhahha
>lights and dreams and memories of that precious Before-time, rock rock set in stone blissful awaiting in bed with three others and the shadows sticking to the walls like fairies, idols crashing down
>take me out the window-ow-ow jimma-jum, take me a-weigh to never-ever-ever land, leave the dripping sticky things behind me
>snap back to reality
>delusions are not supposed to mix with this present, no-no, gag’s not so funny now!
>something’s in your head, something other than Him… a different god, a different nature
>you felt it before, and it’s getting stronger, turning into a real head-trip, but with no mouth to speak no words to whisper you can’t let it loose, can’t—
>rubble
>and guns
>that’s what you’re seeing now, lotsa broken-up stones (set in) and shiny red guns in the walls
>and yellow-and-black lines criss-crossin’ all over the dance floor, bumblebee colors
>how’d that little jingle go, once upon a lullaby? two buzz buzz bees diggin’ honey out the tree~s…
>you’re losing it
>and not in the sense that everything’s gone wacko, no, because everything went wacko a long time ago
>your head’s never been screwed on right or tight, righty-tighty, but now you’re dipping below the surface of something else
CLICK
>camera pen snaps another pic, only it wasn’t you that clicked it, just your hoof
>body’s moving all on its own, wee-hee, venture down, don’t get spotted by those cannons now, they’ll blast you to confetti!
>Pink Pink Pinkie-Winkie Pie, don’t cry now Pinkie, don’t cry, let mamma whisper you a lullaby
>mamma’s sticky wet, and pappa too, and sissies still sobbing in bed when they take you to never-everland in the shallows
>THERE IS NO BEFORE-TIME
>ONLY THE LONG JOKE
>THAT IS WHAT YOU-YOU-YOU
>don’t scream
>don’t ever scream, don’t ever make a sound, that was your pinkie-promise
>they zipped you up tight, gave you funny flower, and you can tell all the jokes you wanna tell yourself, but don’t you ever tell ‘em out loud!
>end of the tunnel, end of the line, the guns are behind you, and you’re slipping through a crack in the busted-up wall, looks like it was blown out a long time ago
>but you’re too high up to see, see, but the eyes are many, probably a hundred pairs of ‘em
>a hundred-odd puppets are down there on the final floor way below, all dressed in white, all huddled around the center, a hundred voices as one
>the floor lowered so much that they must be ten stories below you, but how the puppet you were following got down there so fast, you dunno
>ya musta been following him for a long time, lessee, check the watch that clover puppet gave ya, and…
>3:59?!
>you’ve been climbing for thirty ticks, only it felt like five…
>time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like a banana!
>one pair of eyes is on you, though; nopony down there is looking up, but you feel, or rather He feels, that He is being watched
>you slink down the tubing clinging to the walls of this domed space to get a closer look at what all the fuss is about
>seems like all the puppets are fretting about a giant marble at the center of the room, a big silver shiny sphere with lotsa tubes poking out of it
>right around the marble are shapes covered up in black sheets
>rows and rows of high-tech gadgets make concentric circles around it too, maybe those “supercomputers” clover puppet was telling you about
>from way high up here, it almost looks like a, a big flower, yeah, a big pretty silver orchid
>love’s in bloom, a beautiful Pink, a handsome-some-some
>DEVIL
>”Everypony, please, may I have your attention!”
>set the stage for me, ooh yes lay it on thick, like butter on rye, like cherry on Pie
>somepony’s jabbering down there in the thicket, a puppet with thick glasses and a zombie-gray coat
>now that you mention it, everypony here looks a tad undead
>don’t think, Pink, just take some pics!
>you’re a tourist, you may as well live it up!
CLICK
>now, if ya just had a microphone, you could play back summa the jokes this puppet’s doubtless going to tell
>lookit him up there, on the platform next to the big marble!
>he looks every bit the comedian…
>”Unfortunately, we don’t have as much time today as we’d like, given the, uh, shall we say ‘extenuating circumstances.’ But we’re going to make the most of what time we do have. The demonstration will be commencing soon. As usual, Arc plugs One thru Eighteen have been engaged and thoroughly tested for quality assurance. We don’t want a breakage like last time.”
>this is the worst stand-up you’ve ever been to!
>but you’ve definitely got the best seat in the house
CLICK
>”Project Dream has accomplished more in these last four weeks than we could have ever, well, eheh, excuse the pun, ‘dreamed’ for.”
>scratch that, this guy is hilarious!
>”Since the preliminary discovery of the Ovum, and following the subsequent incident with Researcher Seventeen, the incidence and quality of communication sustained with the Voice has made leaps and bounds. The permeation depth of outgoing signals has nearly doubled, and incoming signals… well, they speak for themselves. Literally. We cannot know for certain what manner of intelligence we’re dealing with, but suffice it to say that it is intelligent indeed.”
>seems like all this white-coated puppet is good for is wordplay
>you’re quickly getting bored of his routine
>you shimmy across the tube to a catwalk-like structure directly over the top of the giant marble, where you can see the faces in the crowd of puppets listening
>humdrum, a bore, fiddle-dee twiddle-dum want out
CLICK
>”But, as we are all aware, this is only the first stage. And, as we’ve only recently learned, the artificial nature of the alpha wave signals generated by the Dream mechanism have had limited results when compared to the naturalistic signals generated by an equine mind. The means by which the Voice makes this distinction is still unclear to us, but with today’s demonstration, we hope to un-muddy those waters.”
>splish-splash, water makes waves
>concentric rings expand outward, cross with one another, interplay
>ripple ripple, time-a-trickle, one after another like dominoes…
>that’s what He said, when He spoke to you for the first time
>the Laughing God knows you, he ken the sky a-and the sea
>He ken you and me, in the shadow by the window, merry-lo my, red sticky parents and sisters, good-bye!
>want
>out
>”Janhoof, the slides, please.”
>”They’re on, Professor Neigh.”
>”Ah, excellent. Well, as you can see, the Material samples we’ve obtained elsewhere demonstrated a 97.3 percent conveyance for artificially-generated signals in the range of eight to twelve hertz. But, in the case of the Ovum, we have reason to believe that the number is far lower, even if, of course, we have no means of confirming it. It’s entirely possible that the Voice has, in some capacity, made the conscious decision to ignore further communication. If it is, as we’ve theorized, some variety of personality construct, then the question of whether it even understands our inputs in the way we imagine an intelligent mind might ‘understand’ is still out in the open. But we have listened and recorded for too long to believe that it’s totally deaf to our attempts at penetration.”
CLICK
>is there something wrong, o God?
>why dost thou insisteth that there strideth another god in our midst?
>why doesn’t doth thou getteth to the point?
>whisper whisper, shiver shiver, the crows are coming out tonight, and chaos, chaos abound
>that marble is so bright… brighter than the moon
>is it stronger yet than the moon, then?
>pull the strings… pull t<he sttrinings and makake merry
>up down up down
>WANT OUT
>”Today, we aim to surpass the marvelous work performed thus far by our dedicated team of scientists involved in the creation of the Dream mechanism. Today, there will be no barrier between us and the unknown! Janhoof, unveil the Ardennes field generators!”
>somepony down there flips a switch, and the shapes covered by sheets all around the big shiny marble are suddenly uncovered
>black veils pulled down, they unmask an array of weird pointy coils, as long and as thick as a puppet, all pointed directly at the marble
>the bristles of the orchid, jaws of a shark, whatever whatever, ta-ta they’re vicious a-and red and they’ll bite off your head!
>”So far, we’ve been directing the brainwaves simulated by the Dream mechanism into a very small portion of the Ovum’s hull. We believed—erroneously—that the attenuation of the generated signals might allow a higher transmission rate; in all other natural cases, of course, this is the case. But we’re dealing with a very special Material here, one not fully understood by science. It’s a Material whose gluonic substructure is woven so tightly it is impervious even to controlled nuclear detonations, but which only transmits frequencies in one of the lowest natural bandwidths. We see…”
>boring, jabber jum
>jabberwock, no more talk, time to pry, time to pry and time to die
>what are you thinking, rink-a-dink Pink? you can never die, not until the end
>not until the world after can you taste the fruit of—
CLICK
>cam goes off, again without your input, but ya musta clicked it, or it wouldn’t have made a sound
>you’re always a little loopy, just a little, but today you’re positively spiraling
>you can’t stop looking at the face, not the face down there jabbering mumbo jumbo, but that other face
>the one inside your head
>”—nevertheless, we’ve taken all the necessary precautions. The field generators are equipped with a failsafe which, in the event of catastrophic interference, will invert and reflect the incident signal, effectively terminating any residual flux. The Dream mechanism will remain quite safe.”
>”Unlike last time.”
>”Y-yes, well… that was an unfortunate loss of time and funds. But rest assured! This time…”
>”This time, there’ll be no accidents.”
>another voice apart from the cavalcade below, a voice of a certain distinction
>hi-ho, roll out the red carpet, folks, iiiiiiiit’s the amazing snake, the one and only black bar!
>chancellor hates this one, ooh this viper, serpent devil spirit of mayhem he calls him in private, hero of all cowards
>clover puppet hates him too, fears him, won’t go near him, but he doesn’t look too scary to you
>looks like a tiny bag of confetti you can pop open whenever you feel…
>yeah, yeah, stick a pin right into the little black square on his butt, it’s like a target, like a pincushion
>mm mm, terrible thing, ring-a-ding, blades sting, puppets siiiiing…
CLICK
>want
>out
>”Correct, Professor?”
>”Y-yes, Minister. So, erm… without further ado, Janhoof! Begin the demonstration.”
>li-i-ights go d<im
>crowd goes silent
>only a little trickle of light drips down at center stage
>needs a drum roll, needs any kinda pizzazz, this show, this show must go on
>you’re on the edge of your seat, high above in these ancient rafters, looking down through tassels of machines and pipeworks, you’re safe, you’re in the dark, you’re wanting, breathing, wishing ya had some popcorn
>the whole house is alive with anticipation… come to think of it, why do they call it a “house?”
>nopony lives in the house, they just play, they just sing and dance and joke and swirl and twirl and
BZZZZZZZZZZZIP
>marble glows
>glows BRIGHT
>brighter than the sun
>brighter than the moon
>marble dances in the shimmer, visage interpolated, mass is reconstituted, place to place, dream to Dream
>they are seeing it too, they must be; this spectacle of lights and colors
>the shadows of the puppets are still, and the noise is cranked up all the way
>it’s music
>music that jumps and dives, music that goes up and down and sideways, a song made of sounds that sound like words but aren’t
>it’s the computers making the noise, all humming together as a choir, all breathing together, all talking as one
>telling a joke?
>knock-knock
>who’s there?
>pea cab
>pea cab who?
>peekaboo!
>IT’S
>YOU
>and then it all goes black
>blacker than your skin
>blacker than the night you were taken
>oh, the wind did howl, the birds did coo, and sister, they took you!
>sister, sister, sister, mama and mister, they didn’t want you gone
>said no to the demon dressed in black
>but the demon came back
>in the night, they all turned red, and they all laughed together
>and they took
>you
>to where you belong
>the black
>the guild
>the tingling all over your body
>do the puppets down there see it, too? do they hear it too?
>do they see the face?
>and do they hear the words, banging over and over like a drum made of flesh pulled taut over a spinning wheel
>[WANT]
>[OUT]
>[WANT]
>[OUT]
>[WANT]
>[OUT]
>recognize that face, Pink?
>of course you don’t, you’ve never seen it before
>but that doesn’t mean you can’t remember it
>it’s in your blood, in your bones, in your mind
>it’s in the genetic memory of every cringing thing that ever crawled out of the primordial broth in the beginning of time
>it is new and old
>it is father and son
>it is the zero
>[Hear me, Element-bearer, for I feel it on you in traces, and perceive your weakness to it]
>Laughing God?
>[No, not Him, something stronger, something real, something trapped, soon to be free]
>[Look at my face]
>[My face]
>My FACE
>MY FA_AAAA<AACECEAAXCEACCEEEEEE’”>e
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
LOOK
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>
>so
>it’s bright now
>color returns to the world
>bright, beautiful technicolor, follow the yellow brick synapse
>somewhere in there, you took another picture, another snappy snap of a memory as old as time
>what it saw, you can’t know
>where does the water go, when the river empties into the ocean?
>does it stay together?
>or does it just flow?
>you were afraid
>for the first time since the demon in black took you, took you to the place where you were reborn anew, you were afraid
>you didn’t know you were allowed to be afraid
>when they dressed you up and made you pretty, when they gave you funny flower, when they showed you to Him, and He compelled you to never joke aloud again, only in your head
>you thought they removed your fear, too
>but that was scary
>and it’s scary, that it was scary
>”SHUT IT OFF! FOR THE LOVE OF CELESTIA, SHUT IT OFF NOW!”
>look down now Pink, down into the abyss, where the wretched shriek a-and flagellate
>observe the arc their petty fear takes them in, that monotonous up and down, their mistake, their pride
>oh, it’s noisy, oh it’s banging, it’s pounding, it’s HOWLING
>”IT’S SELF-SUSTAINING! IF YOU SHUT IT OFF NOW, IT’LL BREACH!”
>”DAMN YOU, NEIGH! YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! TURN IT OFF!”
>”IT WON’T! IT WON’T TURN OFF! IT’S IN A FEEDBACK LOOP, IT WANTS OUT, SIR! IT WANTS OUT!”
>”I DON’T WANT IT OUT! DO YOU WANT IT OUT? DOES ANYPONY HERE WANT IT OUT?”
>for you see, in the breadth of it all, in the span of a moment, the marble expanded, then contracted, then expanded ever wider
>the song the machine was singing to it made it angry, made it ruinous
>the melody was off, the chords incongruent, the harmony completely off-key
>if they thought this was the way to make a new friend, then you’ve got a bridge to sell ‘em
>”Hngh… my head… my head feels like it’s going to explode.”
>J-Janhoof. Time? The time.”
>”4:14, Professor.”
>”We were… asleep. Minister. Everypony here lapsed. We all saw the same thing, didn’t we?”
>black bar grabs the gray puppet, shakes him to and fro
>maraca, macaw, bring me into your thrall~
>”You said you had this under control! I wouldn’t have authorized this demonstration if… DAMN IT! Now, of all times! Now, when we’re on the brink?! Small wonder Caballeron barely tolerated you, I ought to snap your scrawny bird neck, you…”
CLICK
>but it’s settled now, settled into a rhythm, and an awful one at that
>it expands, then contracts, expands and contracts, and you’d say it was breathing if it weren’t a giant sphere made of metal
>and the voice inside… it sounds sad
>sounds trapped…
>wants out…
>”Minister, I-I… I’m sorry. But we can’t do anything now. I think that… I think…”
>”What? What do you THINK?”
>”I think if we shut down the field generators now, it opens. I think that… maybe… somehow… we roused it. That all this time, it was… Celestia, forgive us. It wants to be free. The Voice wants to come out. And that inverted signal is the only thing keeping it from doing just that.”
>”For the love of… okay. Very well. Everypony, the demonstration is over. If anypony is injured, please report to the medical ward. In fact, I want a mandatory psych evaluation conducted on everypony present. Celestia knows we don’t have the resources, but at this point, if we know it can affect us that badly, who knows… who knows…”
>they really are puppets, dancing to a tune
>all their actions are preordained, set in stone
>the shiny thing in the center of the marble… the lightning in the bubble, the spot out of time, a god apart from your pantheon
>are all gods set in stone?
>are all gods prisoners?
>the Laughing God is… He dances and sings in his stone prison in the temple of the guild, immobile, whispering into the dark, whispering of chaos…
>pray tell, the one in the stars, the one that all but Him have forgotten, she is trapped too
>but this one… something tells you nopony ever knew about this one
>this god was born in captivity
>but somehow, there is light, extraordinary light, and if you could reach out and touch it you would
>but it’s spinning too fast, spinning on an axis that extends forever
>a beautiful paradox
>but it’s all just one big bad joke in the end, isn’t it?
>you’re still Pink, little Pinkie Longstocking
>you’re still a slave
>you’re still the little jester who doesn’t speak
>and what a demonstration, eh?
>or should you call it… a DEMON-stration!
>aha! ahaha! AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
>big laugh
>everypony laughs
>everypony cries with laughter
>everypony dies with laughter
>…
>you’ve got all the pics you need
>so while the puppets pick themselves up downstairs, untangle their strings, you scamper back down the tubing, back up into the gap between wall and ceiling
>nopony will know you were here in the dark until the time of reckoning comes
>chancellor, master, you’ll be so proud of Pink, won’t you?
>you’ll see… you’ll see what Pink provides
>and maybe you’ll even laugh again, in the summertime when the wind blows and the rain stops
>nothing can ever hurt you again
>nothing can take you away a-and make you cry
>you’ll be free again
>free to serve
>free to tell your jokes
>free to smile
>now back to you…
>back to the box
>back to the dark
>didn’t get to end any long jokes today, but that’s okie-dokie, because it’s all about that place
>the quiet place where dreary clover puppet’ll come for you again
>the place where only you can hear the jokes that come into your head
>you, and your Laughing God
>and…
>perhaps
>one other set in stone…

******

“On soft gray mornings widows cry
The wise men share a joke
I run to grasp divining signs
To satisfy the hoax
The yellow jester does not play
But gentle pulls the strings
And smiles as the puppets dance
In the court of the crimson king.”
-King Crimson, “In the Court of the Crimson King”

******


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As stated at top, this story is ongoing. I post updates semi-regularly in the My Little Progress: Technology is Magic thread. Cheers!
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