My love,

The cultures you suggested were right on the money. They’re integrating flawlessly with the perfluorodecalin. Their antioxidant properties have tested far beyond projected measurements. Hopefully this will work with the endocrine system implants. If all goes according to research, subjects should see rapid maturity plateauing around late adolescence.

Speaking of adolescence, Dr. Jaysong learned the combination to Dr. Hoffpferd’s private filing cabinets. So when the old curmudgeon went through his files he found a cryptic, wild goose chase instead. This landed him outside Dr. Jaysong’s office whereupon he stepped in a little puddle of butyl seleno-mercaptan! He stunk like a skunk for three whole weeks! It was glorious!

But I digress.

Nothing is the same without you here. I know we never got close enough, but I wake up sometimes at night swearing you were there. I don’t know how a bed I never shared could be emptier, but somehow it barely feels like I am even there.

Still going through that time in the morning when I wake up and have to remind myself our country is gone. That you aren’t there, and you’ll never be. I know it must seem selfish of me, but I’m relieved to know you survived. Hopefully the fallout isn’t treating you as terribly as theorized. If our designs for the future go through, the lab should open up to the outside world in just a few years. If anypony could thrive in that new, irradiated desert it’s you. Please stay safe.

Yours, always and forever,

-Quadrille

Fate massaged her bleary eyes. For as many times as she had read them, the love letters between the two doctors still riled her fantasies. Images of two lovers, torn apart by war and time, swirled and vanished like clouds of rouge in her mind.

She leaned against the wall. The room was still. No soul passed this far south of the Acre.

Looking up at the ceiling, she imagined the stars. Luna’s mane wrapped snug yet chill about her. Her perfect freedom from true darkness in the dim night filled Fate’s heart. There was time for one more story before bed. When she woke it would be the day she could finally meet this Dr. Stroma Pop.

The next file flickered on her PipBuck.

Dear Q.,

Would have spent entire life savings to see Dr. Hoffpferd humiliated. Would still have been not many bits. Principle of the thing.

Had to move from the lab I found. Now at a Starlight Spanner’s Roadside Repair in south Withershire. Air is toxic. Plenty of RadSafe and Rad-away.

No good news. Balefire consumed civilization. Some ponies left. Sickness. Rad sores. Have them too.

Please continue without me. Cannot be there lonely nights. Only in spirit. Robotics are wave of the future. Research is poor substitute for a child. Have both. Live full life.

-SP

Mrs. Sandmare shoveled her trademark into Fate’s eyes. The herald of Luna arrived with a nice, long yawn. Fate groaned her protest against the tide of sleep, skipping several years of back-and-forth messaging just to finish the story again.

SP,

I never understood how the animals did it: walking around full preggo. Now that I’m about ready to pop I understand it even less. My back feels like a wet noodle that somehow speared a meatball and is now paying for it. Even going to the bathroom is nearing the apex of difficulty, which is a shame because I have to go all the time!

I wish you could see what our research has become. Photo Finish would be pleased. To tell you the truth, it’s still unbelievable to me that a fashion photographer would have been so qualified. That will teach me to judge.

And my water just broke.

Your friend,

Quadr;lhdcj bn

Q.,

Amazing. Hoof to mouth. Cannot wait to hear more. Please write soon. Tell Jaysong congratulations. Wish I was there.

-SP

Fate slowly succumbed to sleep, but her memory of the final messages was complete. They played and replayed in her mind throughout the night.

Dr. Stroma Pop,

Dr. Quadrille has been admitted to the medical center. She gave birth to a lovely filly named Crista. Named after your family, no doubt. I wanted to name her Thrushsong, but obviously being married comes with some compromises, right?

I will update you on the situation as it unfolds, but as for right now I need to go support my wife.

-Dr. Jaysong

Dr. J.,

Happy for you and Dr. Quadrille. Hope all is well with foal. Exciting week so far. Keep updating.

-Dr. SP

Dr. Q.,

No updates for so long. Status? Healthy? Happy? Please respond.

-SP

Dr. Stroma Pop,

It is with a heavy heart that I inform you Dr. Quadrille is deceased as of 12:35 AM two weeks from last Tuesday after she proved unresponsive to therapy. I assure you we did everything in our power to save her.

If it is any consolation, her filly is strong and alert. Also, your suggestions and research over the years have been valuable. It can, perhaps help rebuild Equestria, assuming what you say of the world outside of the stable lab is true.

We are deeply sorry for your loss,

Dr. Hoffpferd MD, PhD
Dir. North Applewood MWT Cybernetic Div.

No. Did NOT try everything. Unacceptable. Did not do enough. Even doctors?

Cloning. Cybernetics. Early maturation. Miracle can be accomplished. Even have magic. Keep forgetting.

Can create semi-artificial life. Cannot sustain natural life? Poor excuse for doctors/scientists.

Dr. Stroma Pop

Please do not mistake our failure as a lackadaisical effort. I assure you we tried everything short of cloning. She was a real pony, not an experiment. It would do you well to honor her as such.

She is living on, however, through our continuing research. Portions of her DNA are resistant to several viruses and diseases. We have created a new version of recombinant DNA for the project from these chains. In a way she still lives on.

Dr. Hoffpferd MD, PhD
Dir. North Applewood MWT Cybernetic Div.

No. You See. Clone. Memory engrams. Can be revived. Years til lab opens. Can wait. No need for sleep/food. Radiation distorts. Changes nucleotide. Necrotizes. Does not fail. Magic. Can revive. Can wait. Preserve body. Continue research. Can wait.

Dr. Stroma Pop,

I have been patient, but have grown weary of your incoherent ramblings. Any further pointless correspondence will be sent to my junk mail folder. Do not contact me again without either groundbreaking research or news.

Dr. Hoffpferd MD, PhD
Dir. North Applewood MWT Cybernetic Div.

Other than several radcrickets, the journey to south Withershire proved uneventful. Being so close to the borders of the BP-16, Fate expected to see guard posts or at least a merchant. There was only the baking, fall breeze from the desert.

The quiet streets allowed her time to project the conversation she would have with Dr. Stroma Pop. Hi, Dr. Stroma Pop, she spoke in her mind. My name is Fate. I’m your great-great-great or something granddaughter… -ish person. Gah! No.

She was running through the fifth iteration by the time she stood before the Starlight Spanner sign. The self-satisfied, fruit punch-colored mare on the sign seemed to say, “It’s about time you got here, missy.” Fate stared at the sign, willing it to say more. Anything that would make the meeting easier. Maybe even some answers.

After not receiving any life-changing information from a billboard, Fate crept towards the small, horizontal windows on the garage doors. Any window that could withstand a blast of balefire was intriguing enough, but these were even mostly clean. Fate peered through one of the slit windows. A dark form wandered here and there inside the garage without much purpose.

Fate’s heart sank. A ghoul’s feral end, just like anypony’s, could happen at any time. Was he still able to talk? Oh, please let him be lucid, she hoped. Fate had set out looking for answers. Why was she the way she was? What did they hope to achieve? What kept her awake at night, however, was a possible answer to the question “am I real?” and its sister “do I have a soul?”.

She shook the thought and concentrated on the task at hoof. Businesses, just like any fortress, tended to lock doors from the inside. Fate decided to break and enter the much less sturdy front door.

Unlike the garage doors this one was missing its glass and instead sported the ever-popular “boarded up” fashion. She focused her weak telekinesis on floating her homespun lockpick to the door. The deadbolt slid easily.

A gentle push on the door revealed a possible tripwire-based trap. Her PipBuck owned no spell for x-ray vision or scrying. She sighed, shaking her head. Dr. Stroma Pop’s history as a biological chemist didn’t bode well for her survival against any improvised trap set by him.

Fate strode to the other side of the street, taking cover behind the corner of a concrete building. She unslung her rifle, took aim and fired. The resulting explosion of liquid was big enough to be impressive, but quiet enough to be anticlimactic. The sizzle and stench wafting from its contact with every surface it touched, however, clobbered her senses.

That’s all I need, she thought. To smell like Dr. Hoffpferd.

Hustling through the noxious fumes, Fate set hoof in the waiting room. The light licked the white flooring near the front door. The remaining area lingered in the dark.

The door to the garage thudded, accompanied by muffled moans. Fate’s heart sank further. There would be no truth today. Only secrets and lies.

The door to the garage had no lock and needed little persuasion to open. A ghoulified pony donning a shredded lab coat collapsed into the room. Its breath rattled like a bag of cans and its stench overpowered the acidic bloom from the trap, making her retch.

Fate sped to the other side of the room and hopped the counter. Taking cover, she whipped her rifle around and awaited the truth of Dr. Stroma Pop’s doom.

The old doctor struggled to his hooves. His voice crackled with directionless rage. His eyes were glazed in a grey film, his face locked in a permanent scowl.

When he got close enough to steal a good look of Fate’s face his scowl disappeared and his rattling turned to cooing. Fate could see the hooves in his mind grasping blindly at memories long since turned to sand.

He reached for her. Mouthed something like a word. For a moment it looked as if he could reclaim himself, but that fell away just as surely as his memories.

It took one shot to end his tired torment.

The garage was a disaster of broken beakers, clipboards and diagrams, little of it comprehensible to Fate. Drafts of cybernetic implants mingled with treatises on biological chemistry. Sepia colored photographs stared up at her from every angle. The majority were of honors awarded the old doctor. In each one he stood awkwardly near a stuffed shirt while holding a plaque or framed document. Never so much as a smile.

One framed picture stood out. Heart-shaped balloons and streamers popped out from every direction. As Fate brought it closer she noticed the name tag stickers on the two ponies' cardigans. “Hello, my name is Dr. Stroma Pop” and “Hello, my name is Dr. Quadrille.”

Dr. Quadrille exploded with happiness and warmth, kissing Dr. Stroma Pop's sallow cheeks. Dr. Stroma Pop's stance was still rigid and awkward, but the contentment in his eyes rallied with his crooked mouth to betray his excitement.

Fate pocketed the picture and turned her attention to the flickering terminal.

Dr. J.,

You gone. Dr. H. gone. Q and I live in project. Cell meet cell, but more. Love. To eachother. To the project. Daughter. Real as yours. Sisters.

Q.,

Late. Sorry.

To whomever cures me,

Files saved in several locations. Ethics violations. Lives wasted. Don’t waste research.

Moreover, reunited hereafter. Finally see daughters. Thank you.

-Dr. SP

Fate’s chest quivered as her eyes welled. She looked over to where Dr. Stroma Pop’s body lie. Celestia, sister of mercy, may he find eternal peace and joy in your garden, she prayed.

“Happy Hearts and Hooves day, mom and dad.”