//------------------------------// // Chapter 4: A Few Weeks in Gearlotte // Story: Twilight Sparkle and the Witch Baby // by Brony_Fife //------------------------------// CHAPTER 4: A Few Weeks in Gearlotte She was having the Dream again. She would be walking down a hall with Celestia. If she remembered correctly, this hall contained paintings of her old students, all of whom lived on to become great sorcerers and sorceresses, talented warriors, intrepid explorers, and leading political voices. She saw herself as a foal, eyes wide in wonder at the many famous and inspiring unicorns, pegasi, and Earth ponies instructed by the hoof of Celestia herself. Then suddenly, there she was, now older. She was walking down another hallway, this time with a foal following her. The foal was pure white, through and through: white enough to make snow seem sludgy black in comparison. The hallway was now sinister, chilling—like a machine built in the lap of a devil. She heard the sound of rushing water. Now they were going up a flight of red stairs that seemed to last a lifetime. The rushing water became a hopeless noise the further she rose. The colt behind her, she noticed, was shackled, the chains in her own teeth. She tried to let go, but no this colt deserved to be punished. Punished, punished, punished. He had been naughty. He was wicked. And he deserved what he was going to get. As they reached the top of the stairs, a new sight came into view, a table. There were leather straps on it, meant as restraints. Up on the ceiling was an ungodly machine, black and sleek as darkness, humming loudly like an expectant, hungry predator. The colt began to protest. He pulled away from her. She fought back. A thump of the front leg to the colt’s face managed to stop his squealing. She laughed at the colt, now on the ground, and stomped him again.  She heard a voice, like a cloud of fire screaming at the bottom of the ocean for her to stop. She froze, obedient, enraptured by the Voice.  Yes, she agreed with the Voice. Yes, it IS time. She picked up the colt, sobbing and defeated, and strapped him onto the table.  She obeyed, stepping away from the table. All at once, the machine began to hum louder as several bright greenish-yellow lights began to open. Drills and pickers and other horrible, sharp utensils began to descend. The colt, terrified, began to scream. He locked eyes with his tormentor… …And suddenly, his tormentor became him. Now she was strapped to that table, helpless. The purple unicorn mare she was looking at grinned like she was watching her favorite show. She looked back up at the machines only it wasn’t a machine anymore, it was a monster, a really big monster with lots of big yellow eyes and long teeth and screaming pony heads jutting out like wriggling pimples and long, black slimy tongues with no mouths and powerful tentacles and it’s getting closer and closer make it go away make it go away don’t let it near me leave me alone leave me alone LEAVE ME Alone. ***** Twilight Sparkle sat up in a start. It was the Dream again. She’d had the same dream over and over again for the past few days. It was almost as if her subconscious were trying to tell her something, something she already knew, but had forgotten. Well, of course, she’d forgotten it—memory erasure was a side-effect of being mind-controlled. But could she have…? Could so many foals have been kidnapped by her hooves? Strapped to those tables? Cut up by those machines? Was she truly responsible? Such developments were wearing on her conscience. It was true one cannot battle against a complete mind control. But that was her, Twilight Sparkle, kidnapping a foal, beating him, strapping him to that nightmarish contraption! How could she…? Was it even a memory? Or was it really just a dream, made up of what she worried she could have done? Twilight was too tired and frazzled to care. She was more disturbed by the fact that she still could not remember her friends. It had been a few days since she came down from the spell, and she still remembered nothing. No faces. No names. Nothing. Disgruntled and groggy, Twilight got out of the trash dumpster she had called her home for the past few nights, and stretched. She looked into a nearby window, which she used as a mirror. Her mane was a horrendous mess by now—it was all frizzly, greasy on one side, and matted all-throughout. Her purple coat of fur had grime and dust caked into it, dulling its natural colors. Twilight sneered. Good gravy, I look like the walking dead, she thought. The undead-looking-but-not-quite-there-yet unicorn went out in search of breakfast. The street was busy this morning; the sun gleamed off the metals and buildings and pipes that made up this mangled metropolis. The people, made of clockworks, steam-powered contraptions, and a few who were diesel-fueled (She could tell; the diesel-fuels were the ones in the shiniest, sleekest looking metal bodies) were bustling about. It was rare to see them not heckling each other. What she had learned in the past few days was that there was a bit of class envy/warfare going on in Gearlotte. Diesel was a fairly recently-discovered source of power for the Machina, and only the richest Machina in town could afford them, along with all the upgrades necessary. So the Diesels (As they were known) looked down upon those who still used steam (known as “Steamers”) to even move. Things were worse if you were still powered by clockwork: gears that constantly squealed as they moved, joints that occasionally refused to move, primitive thinking power (In comparison to Steamers and Diesels), and the fact that most part shops had upped the prices on whatever clock parts they had left made being a Clockwork pretty tough. They were outdated, outnumbered, and out of luck. Even though they could be categorized in those three groups, they still had enough variation in their appearances that Twilight Sparkle enjoyed watching them go about their daily business. The one walking by her right now was a Steamer: his round, bronze body was perched atop a pair of steam-powered legs, his head sticking out of the middle instead of resting on top of his torso. A mess of pipes rose from his back, belching a white smoke with each step. As he stopped and conversed with another Steamer, she noticed several arms coming out of hidden compartments all around his body. Just one example, out of many, really. A Diesel walked by her, taking a second to drink in the uncommon sight of a purple unicorn on the street. He had a thin body, round head on top. His legs and arms were very long, and his shoulders—which were quite broad—apparently housed his engines since Twilight could see a few pipes crawling about the back of them. His chassis was a handsome chrome, a red stripe painted horizontally down his arms and legs. She looked into his eyes a second—they glowed a bright purple. Twilight attempted to say hello, but thought better of it. Of all the classes in Gearlotte, Diesels were the best-looking and least-noisy—but they were also the least friendly. Twilight had attempted to make friends with these people once or twice, only to be met with violence or paranoia. It seemed as though this was a town where everyone had a horrible secret everyone else knew about. And the fact that she was a flesh-and-blood pony in the midst of metal-and-oil robots probably didn’t help. She had nearly escaped a beatdown just yesterday when asking someone for some spare change. Not nearly expecting such a reaction, Twilight had attempted to use her magic (Which was verrrrry sloooowly coming back to her) to teleport—an attempt that failed. The Machina (a Steamer) grabbed her and shook her about, yelling CHANGE?! Ya want CHANGE?! Aw come on, what’ya think I am, a vending machine?! Of course, he had used some choice language that Twilight Sparkle, as an intelligent pony, cared not to hear or use. She apologized, which only seemed to make him madder. If he weren’t interrupted by a Diesel making a smart remark about how all the Choo-Choo’s (which was a derogatory slur against Steamers) go around acting tough when their opponent is a little defenseless animal, she probably wouldn’t even be alive right now. The fist-fight that ensued was a terrible thing to watch and Twilight had crawled away before she could find out who was the victor. After the tall, thin Diesel had gone away, Twilight walked over to a convenience store. Inside, she looked about on the shelves. What she noticed right away was that the Machina didn’t have much in the way of food—in fact, what they had didn’t quite count as food at all. No, what she was here for was water. They sold them in large jugs for Steamers to buy—in case their inner coals were causing them to overheat. The only food Twilight would ever see would be sold in a floral shop, and the flowers and plants there were expensive. She kind of expected it since with an environment like Gearlotte, it was probably difficult to cultivate any sort of flora. In fact, flowers seemed to be a niche interest for hobbyists more than anything else. Whatever the reason was, water was cheap and tasted greasy, flowers were tasty but expensive. She had bought only one bundle of flowers, and was currently trying to make them last. She found some cheap water, paid for it with some change she had managed to scrounge up, left the store and headed back to her alley. No alley was ever safe, especially at night. But Twilight had discovered a nice little hiding spot in the dumpster—which, stationed outside a closed-down restaurant, hadn’t seen a whole lot of use. She climbed back inside, water jug in her teeth. She left the door on top open. Inside her dumpster was a lump of leather thrown away by some Diesel. (Leather gloves and other accessories were considered very becoming fashion statements to Diesels, but apparently, some disagreed.) This, she used as a pillow. A half-empty jug of water with her flowers stuck in it was in one corner. She tried to allow as much sunshine as she could for the flowers, but if she left the dumpster lid open for too long, Twilight feared that her hiding spot would be given away. Once in her makeshift home, Twilight Sparkle looked over her flowers, picked out juuuust one, pulled it from its fellows, and set it before her. She unscrewed the cap to the water jug. She closed her eyes and focused. Her telekinesis had been faulty at best since it came back. She tried to lift the jug, could feel its mass, its weight in the grip of her still-shaky mind. It was quite heavy, and shook as if losing balance. Twilight regained composure, trying to focus on bringing the jug to her mouth. She opened her mouth, felt the jug’s lip on the tip of her tongue. Suddenly, her face was splashed by the water. This sudden sensation caused her to lose focus, dropping the jug and spilling the whole thing on her dumpster floor. She cursed—not a kind of language for a mare of her education—grabbed the jug, and screwed the cap back on with her teeth. She cursed again. Her home was now wet, which would only cause the smell to get worse than it already was. She picked up the flower she had set aside and bit into it hungrily, angry at her failure to lift a jug—a bucking jug—with her telekinesis. Telekinesis! The simplest form of magic for any unicorn of any age! Foals understood fully how to do it when they turned four months old! Four months! And here she was, at the bottom of a dumpster—Celestia’s mane, a bucking dumpster!!—failing to lift a jug of water, chewing on a stupid flower, covered head-to-hoof in filth. Twilight Sparkle began to cry. Was this her life from now on? Personal isolation, ostracized by a civilization that was already intolerant of its own classes, forced to beg just to live? Celestia’s most faithful student, living the life of a bum. What a joke. What a cruel, senseless, stupid, pointless joke. She sighed, choked back her tears, and swallowed her modest meal. Working the jug with her hooves was a pain in the plot, but she managed, somehow, and drank what remained of the hideous water until her thirst was slaked. As she finished her miserable breakfast, Twilight heard something going on outside. Shouting, cursing. A thump. She poked her head out of her dumpster momentarily, and saw two Steamers picking on a Clockwork. The Clockwork was much smaller than the other two robots: his appearance was somewhat clownish, with mismatching parts of various sizes, colors, and metals. Twilight wondered how his body never fell apart. She took particular note of one of his eyes—his right one—since it seemed to be a large black mirror of some kind. “P-Please, guh, guys,” said the Clockwork, “I j-j-I juh-just got you the p-parts you ask-asssked for!” His voice contained the tinny echo Machina always had, but at a higher pitch. The two Steamers moved in closer. The bigger one, a guy with four arms, all big and powerful, grinned (Which was a disturbing thing to see, metal forming a smile). “Parts?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble. “What parts?” The other Steamer, a wiry looking punk, held a small, tube-shaped thing in his hand. “You mean THIS part?” He held it before the Clockwork’s nose, only to crush it in front of him with a sickening grin. The Clockwork seemed horrified. “Guys,” he said, “Th-That par-part was f-f-for your b-boss; why—why’d you…?” The wiry Steamer dropped the part before the Clockwork. He jabbed his long finger into the Clockwork’s left shoulder—which was a large, round, rust-red shoulder in comparison to his thin and modest right shoulder. “You know the rules, Tick-Tock!” (Tick-Tock was a slur against the Clockworks, Twilight remembered.) “You want the best protection, we want the best parts! This is dreck, Tick-Tock! Dreck!!” He leaned in to the Clockwork’s face menacingly close. “Don’t you think we deserve better?” The Clockwork tried to be defiant despite obviously being intimidated. “Wh-When you start actually pr-protecting me, you’ll-you’ll get the bet-better parts!” “Oh, so we’re not doing a good job! Is that it, Tick-Tock?” The Clockwork seemed to think over his answer. Twilight figured that if this protection racket (Which, like all protection rackets, was a scam anyway) goes bust, he’d get killed by this hostile town either way. It was all a matter of when he would get torn apart. Having had enough of this garbage, Twilight jumped out of her dumpster. The three Machina heard her approach and turned to face her. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing, but she couldn’t just stand by while some innocent got tormented by the people he paid to protect him from his enemies. “No,” she stated, “in fact, you’re not doing any kind of job at all.” The rounder Steamer asked her who she thought she was (Using the kind of coarse language Twilight disliked). OK, Twilight, she thought. How are you going to get out of this one? After thinking for a few seconds, she remembered an old mares’ tale regarding how the rest of the non-Pony world saw unicorns. She stood up straight and delivered her introduction like a theatre actor. “I am a unicorn,” she said with a sly grin. “And only virgins can see me.” The wiry Steamer laughed at his cohort. “So, all those brothels you hit up didn’t help at all, did it, brah?” The rounder Steamer growled. “Yet for some reason, it seems YOU can see her too.” They scowled at each other. Twilight’s plan seemed to be working. (She could always count on testosterone to be confrontational when it came to contesting each other’s sexual conquest!) “Hey, I could get laid if I wanted!” “‘Could’ being the key word!” Insults came to shouts, shouts came to blows, and blows came to knockdowns. By the time the Steamers came to, both unicorn and Clockwork were long gone. ***** The apartment owned by the Clockwork (Whose name was Bang-Twerp; Twilight noted that Machina seemed to be named after sounds) was a ruin. No doubt about it. The walls were in such a sorry shape that his three room apartment got a second door in the shape of a hole. The kitchen area was so blackened with grime that it took Twilight three tries to guess which corner that was supposed to be. The metals used to make this room were horrendously rusty—Twilight had a hard time trying to breathe through all the dust, fungus, and mold. Those things were probably seen as minor inconveniences for Machina, but for flesh-and-blood creatures, this was a big deal. It was probably the reason his apartment had a “No Pets” rule. (Raising flesh-and-blood creatures also seemed to be more of a niche interest here in Gearlotte.) “I’m s-sorry f-for the mess,” Bang-Twerp apologized. “My liv-living s-space isn’t exactly… animal…f-friendly.” Twilight had before believed Bang-Twerp’s stutter to be a side-effect of his terrifying confrontation, but it seemed it was a natural disorder for him. It wasn’t a big surprise, since his mismatching parts seemed to be a constant problem to him: she noted his difficulty in walking as well. His mouth-pieces probably just didn’t match right, or weren’t level. Twilight coughed. “That’s OK.” “Where d-d—where do you want me to put your things?” Bang-Twerp, ever the gentleclock, had offered not only to allow Twilight to live in his apartment, but also to carry her things for her. She hated having to bother him, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t do it, and it wasn’t as if her telekinesis was up to snuff right now either. “Just set them down wherever you can, I can take care of them.” He set them on what appeared to be a coffee table. One of its legs had been replaced with what looked like a megaphone. “Um, I don’t kn-know where you can s-sleep…” Twilight coughed again. She was getting a headache—likely from inhaling all of the mold in the air. “Anywhere I can breathe fresh air.” She paused. “I-I didn’t mean to be rude! I’m sorry!” “Th-That’s OK,” Bang-Twerp said. “Like, like I s-said, not anim-animal f-friendly.” He opened a window and motioned for Twilight to step outside. She looked outside, taking in the view: a catwalk beneath her hooves, the entire city before her. Tall, metal buildings with smokestacks and rounded dome tops; buildings that seemed to touch the sky; short, round, huge buildings; clouds that were of a dusty color… “It’s beautiful.” “I th-thought… you m-might like it,” Bang-Twerp said. He explained that she should sleep out here, where she could breathe more easily. He went into his closet and brought out a round metal pan (Probably a wash tub… although what a machine wanted with a wash tub wasn’t clear) and set it on his balcony. He didn’t have any blankets, for machines could not feel temperature—even though joints could freeze during the colder months. Twilight was pleased nonetheless. She nuzzled Bang-Twerp’s hand as a gesture of thanks. “You really didn’t have to do this,” she reminded him. “I kn-know,” he said. He smiled. Twilight was never sure she could get used to seeing a metal smile, but she could tell the smile Bang-Twerp possessed was warm and genuine. She joined in and smiled herself, for the first time in a while. ***** The next few weeks kind of flew by. Bang-Twerp had managed to find enough cloth product to line Twilight’s “bed”, and he earned enough money at his job (Which was a floral shop, nonetheless!) to help support the both of them. At the same time, Twilight had managed to bathe and clean herself up. Her magic was becoming stronger, and she could use her telekinesis almost perfectly by the third or fourth day. Bang-Twerp admitted to not being much of a reader, even though he had a library card. Not wanting to be a bad host, he would go borrow books from the library and allow her to read them. They were mostly works of fiction by authors Twilight had never heard of, but they were at least entertaining reads. She would sit and read for hours each day, and often was done with her current novel by the time Bang-Twerp returned home from work. She eventually asked Bang-Twerp if there were any books at his library about magic. After he did some searching, he came across a volume of Advanced Magickal Studies. Twilight took note of the “old-timey” spelling of the word “Magic”, and wondered what kind of spells it contained. Upon reading it, she had opened a door into a world of magic she had never before encountered. She began to study this bizarre magic, her mind gobbling up new spells. These spells weren’t like anything she had studied before in Equestria. Equestrian magic relied only on one’s “inner magic” in order to perform them, but this arcane magick-with-a-k not only relied on one’s inner magic, but called upon a cosmic force as well. These cosmic forces all had names, too: Ulyaoth, Ch’atturga, Mantorok, Xhellotath… there were a slew of others, but those four stuck out to her for some reason. They all seemed to represent an element of the universe, with each spell taking a slightly different effect depending upon which cosmic force was called. Anyway, basically, the idea was to call upon the cosmic force in question in order to be allowed a favor (In this case a spell). Most of these spells could do things that unicorns could normally do using Equestrian magic, but it seemed these spells were more for non-ponies anyway. Twilight wondered for a moment if Equestrian magic was somehow derived from these arcane spells. Then she came across a section discussing spells she never thought unicorns could do: inverting one’s own gravitational pull in order to walk on ceilings (which was more like creating a gravity-less field over one’s body), placing objects within a “hammerspace” (Like a cosmic purse, kind of), and… … mind control. Or rather, advanced mind control. Twilight remembered that such magic had been illegal in Equestria ever since Celestia began ruling the country, so the study for mind control never got that far, but here… No. Just no. Nope, nope, nope. Twilight had the urge to just close the book, right then and there. This ancient magick stuff was dangerous. Practicing it was illegal for an Equestrian citizen. And what would Celestia think? Her own pupil getting mixed up in something like mind-control? Something that Celestia actually hanged its practitioners for using? Just out of lazy curiosity, she flipped ahead in the book, until she came across some kind of magick zoology section, stopping on an entry about “witches.” For some reason, the word stuck on her. She began to read it. “Witches” are beings afflicted with a mutation of the normal anatomy, twisted into creatures only vaguely resembling what they were originally, and gain possession of great and strange natural magickal ability. They are created when their mothers are bitten by the Twelve-legged Devil Spider and infected with its poison while they are still with-child. Only a few have ever been registered to actually exist, all of them becoming insane killers with natural gifted magickal abilities—and are able to perform some feats not recorded in this book. Advanced studies indicate that Witches are far more sensitive to the universal force of the cosmos, which explains why magick is as natural to them as eating and sleeping. This quirk is also theorized to explain why they often go mad—by being in such close proximity to the center of the Twelve Cosmic Forces, it causes their grip on reality to gradually shrink. Physical appearance includes complete whiteness of the flesh and body hair, complete blackness of the subject’s bones and bodily fluids, bodies that are larger than they should be normally, eyes as dark as storm clouds with irises a bright red… Twilight’s eyes widened. That pony from the church, the Judge… A Witch? If he was, he was a lot more powerful than she previously thought. He could have very easily killed her! She had the feeling there would come a time in which they would meet again. So Twilight Sparkle decided that now was the time to practice her magic—both the ones she was rusty with, and these new “magicks” she had discovered, just in case she needed them. (She hoped that she would never need to use them, and hoped Celestia would understand if she had to.) When she attempted to practice them however, her own internal magic acted up (resulting in some unpleasant vomiting). She had forgotten that her magic was still very weak from the mind-control hangover, and decided it was probably better to simply read more about each spell before practicing it. ***** She became used to Bang-Twerp’s behavior, as it was as socially awkward as her own. The bizarre body language was probably a result of his mismatching parts, although she felt Bang-Twerp himself had something to do with it, too. He would often talk to himself when he thought she wasn’t there (something Twilight Sparkle admitted doing herself when she was studying), pace about his apartment, start moving his furniture around when it wasn’t necessary… he was totally restless sometimes, but completely lethargic other times. Many evenings, they would go do what Bang-Twerp referred to as “Dumpster-diving”, in which they would go from dumpster to dumpster, trash can to trash can, looking for anything salvageable. Some nights yielded close to nothing, and other nights were a real treasure haul. Because Twilight’s magic was slowly becoming stronger, she was able to mend damaged parts as soon as they found them. The next morning, they would go out together before he went to work and she went for her walk and hit up the parts shop, selling what they’d found. These were great bonding times for the both of them. By the end of the first week, Twilight knew about Bang-Twerp’s first kiss (Only to feel embarrassed when he asked her how hers had gone, only for him to learn she’d never been kissed). By the end of the second, she’d told him all about her childhood. Strangely, she still couldn’t remember her friends. Bang-Twerp reassured her that if she and her friends were real close, she’d remember them. “Y-You don’t ev-ever f-forget people who are k-kind to you,” he explained. This lifted her hopes. I think it might have been the third or fourth (but no later than the sixth) night that she learned why he was being harassed by those Steamers. He told her they, like she assumed, were running a protection racket against a rival gang—and since he lived on their turf, he was considered a tenant, and tenants needed to pay up or they’d let the rival gangs pound them. Or pound payment-dodgers themselves. Twilight asked him if that was why they were dumpster-diving. He told her that was part of the reason, the other being he needed the extra cash himself, especially since he now had a “tenant” of his own. She had wondered why he didn’t sell the best parts they found (and she fixed), and why they hadn’t been harassed by any local gang members, and now she knew why. Once during a dumpster dive, she heard him swear by “The Great Inventor”, so she asked him who that was. He told her that, before there were Machina, there was man—or rather, A man. The story went that he was the last living man on earth, and in a final act of preservation, he created machines that could reproduce and behave like people. He succeeded, and the machines, which he called Machina, worshipped him as their creator. She asked him if any Machina still worshipped the Great Inventor. He told her many claimed to. Few really did. She then asked him if he worshipped the Great Inventor. He smiled and said, “I l-like to think we d-didn’t f-find each other b-by acci-accident.” ***** A few nights she would wake up and find Bang-Twerp still awake, trying to make his parts fit more comfortably. Two of those nights, though, she noticed he was crying. It was an odd sound, hearing metal cry: it was echoey and haunting, kind of like hearing a lost child sob in the windy air of a large valley. She was curious, but didn’t want to impose on him, so she went back to sleep, thinking she could ask him during the day—only to forget by the next morning. Twilight didn’t exactly want to go outside, especially not after causing two thugs to beat each other up. It helped that she was naturally always an introvert and disliked spending too much time outdoors. But at Bang-Twerp’s insistence that she should exercise, she would go for a walk around the block. She didn’t seem to draw too much attention (Only virgins could see her, she guessed), and she enjoyed the sights. It was a strange paradox: she was constantly enamored by her mechanical surroundings, and at the same time she was constantly terrified by how cruel many of the people were. She noticed a Diesel street merchant swindling another Diesel out of better parts, a Steamer punching his girlfriend for arguing with him, a Diesel ripping through the street with no attention given to pedestrians… The city was in a sorry state. One evening, she asked Bang-Twerp how things got so bad. He claimed that most folks seemed to think it was their governor’s doing. Ten years ago, Gearlotte had elected a new governor, and his name was Rip-Roar. He ran the city as if he were an emperor instead of a governor, and his politics ended up causing high unemployment, class warfare, gang activity, and other horrible social conditions. Twilight asked how an elected official could get away with such behavior. Bang-Twerp told her that, ever since Rip-Roar and his political party took both governance and the senate, it was the Diesels who were making the rules, and it just so happened that the Steamers hated them but did as they were told because of the power and money the Diesels promised them. The Clockworks, once the leading machines, were now seen as obsolete by both parties and moves were made to “out-mode” them, and phase them out of production entirely. “Even if the Diesels were knocked out of power,” Bang-Twerp finished, “the Steamers would still continue in much the same fashion and Clockworks would still be treated like outcasts and would still be moved to their horrible fate.” Twilight looked into Bang-Twerp’s face, reading his emotions (And there was a surprising amount of it in a face made of metals). “You know,” she told him, “where I come from, any hostilities between pony classes was abolished long ago.” “You guys are flesh and blood creatures, though,” he argued. “You guys only live for as long as your bodies can, and it’s a very short time. You understood, eventually, that your lives were too short to waste on pointless hatred. We’re machines. We can live forever if we constantly upgrade our parts. Many of those Steamers and Diesels out there used to be Clockworks at one point. They’ve just forgotten what it was like to be all gears and cogs.” Twilight nodded. Then she noticed something. “Hey,” she said, “you didn’t stutter at all during your story.” Bang-Twerp seemed surprised. She smiled and giggled. “I guess you’re just very passionate about politics.” Bang-Twerp laughed nervously, and his stutter began to return. “I s-suppose. I just hope I didn’t, uh… bore you.” “Oh, not at all! Gearlotte’s scary, but it’s interesting!” Twilight yawned, then rested her head on her pillow of leather scraps. Bang-Twerp, sitting by on the catwalk, looked over to her. “Are you t-tired, Twilight?” “A little. It IS getting late.” “Yeah, g-guess so.” They both sat there on the balcony as the dusty sky became a raspberry haze. Even though it was acidic and ugly, it was also strangely a beautiful sight: the setting sun caused the buildings to go from a bronze-brown to a deep purple, with yellow sunlight bouncing off the other side. Twilight enjoyed sunsets like this one—even the pollution in the air didn’t seem to be enough to ruin it. She looked over to Bang-Twerp and noticed he had outstretched his thin right arm to her. “Bang? What are you doing?” “I was, uh…” He withdrew his hand and let it fall in his lap. He looked away shyly. “I’m s-sorry.” Twilight yawned again. The raspberry colors in the sky slowly blackened as if being burnt. Her eyelids began to grow very heavy. “Hey, Bang?” “Yes?” She tried to ask the question she’d wanted to ask all evening. “I saw you crying some nights ago. And the night before. Is something wrong?” Bang-Twerp looked at her curiously. “Oh. You s-saw th-that?” She nodded. “Do you s-see my eye?” he motioned to his big, black, mirror-like eye. She nodded again. “It, uh… I-It was… my mother’s,” he explained. “She was a good lady, but, uh… a-an-anyway, b-before she… you kn-you know… sh-she gave me her eye… and sh-she told me th-that her eye c-could see the f-future.” Twilight sat up suddenly, interested. “You can SEE THE FUTURE?!” she gushed. “Wha—there are all these wizards and sorcerers and unicorns researching a spell to foresee the future, but there are all these variables in the way and stuff, because, you know, the future hasn’t happened or been set in stone yet, not like gazing into events in the past, since the past has already happened, and time-travel is kind of possible but only for a few seconds at a time, and you can only go into the past, but only a few days into the past, and…” She stopped in her spiel and noticed Bang-Twerp smiling at her. “Oh, I’m sorry, keep going.” “Anyway, so, a f—a few n-nights ago, I try looking into the f-future. And I see… m-my future.” His smile evaporated. Twilight Sparkle looked into his eyes, her face wearing worry. He continued. “And last night, I tried looking into the f-future again… and, um… I saw…” He choked. “… I saw… yours too.”