The Mechanic

by NightInk

The Deceased

“Daddy! Lookit me!”

Grease Hoof laughed as he watched the little filly hang upside-down from the tree in their yard. She was the most beautiful filly he had ever seen. She was still young, only six years old. She was blue, just like her mother, with a shining gold blonde tail and mane. Just like her father. She had a bad leg, her left front. The leg was just a little bit under formed, so she didn’t run well and couldn’t walk straight. It never slowed her down, though. She always managed to do everything that the other fillies did, especially climb trees. She didn’t have her cutie mark yet, but she didn’t get any flak from the others at school about it yet. He twisted the rag he was holding in his hooves around, trying to get some of the grease off. “Be careful, Gasket! You don’t want to fall and get hurt!”

“I will, daddy!”

He chuckled and turned to go back into the house. As he saw it, he stopped for a moment and looked. It was a pretty sight. Just a simple little place, a little ways outside Ponyville. It was just far enough away that they were given their privacy, but close enough that it was easy to go into town to go shopping or pick up supplies. It was a small wooden home, built to last. There was a small attachment on the side of the house that looked like it was some sort of workshop. There was a chimney on both the main house and the workshop, though smoke came out of the workshop chimney more often than the main house’s.

A beautiful mare stood at the door, leaning up against the frame. She was a unicorn, though she didn’t use her magic all the time. At this moment, though, she was mixing a bowl of something. Grease Hoof’s mouth watered, thinking of her cooking. She made the best home-cooked meals he had ever eaten. He trotted up to her, tossing the rag onto his back with a flick of his head. He kissed her quickly on the cheek and peered into the bowl.

“Ooh, what are you making?” he asked, hoping it was one of her hay casseroles.

She smiled and levitated a tiny bit up to him to taste. Just before the morsel touched his tongue, she stopped it in midair and looked into his eyes. “Please, sir. Don’t die!”
He stumbled back, startled. “What did you say?”

“Smithy! I don’t know what happened! He just collapsed! Help him!”
Grease Hoof looked at his wife. Suddenly, with those words, nothing felt right. “Who are you?” he asked the pony next to him. “Where am I?”

“Hey! Stranger! You don’t get to die! Come on, Teacup, help me get him onto the table.”
Looking around, everything began to fall apart around him. Not fall apart, really. Everything began to turn to ash, though there were no flames. He looked as his wife, saw her starting to fade. Gasket ran up to him, jumping up onto his back. “Daddy, where are you going?”

He spun, looking frantically for something… stable. “I-I-I don’t know, sweetie. What’s happening?”

His wife turned her head and smiled at him eerily. “Don’t you remember? That pretty little waitress got hurt.”

A surge of pain ran through his left leg. “Gah! What…! What’s happening?!”

“Hey! Buddy! You awake?!”

The world came flooding back to him in a rainbow of pain. Smithy stood over him, trying to work on his leg. “And yer back. Think you can tell me a little something about this leg of yours?”

He opened his mouth to explain the equipment to him, but no sound came out. It didn’t appear as though he had been unconscious very long, but his mouth was already dry. He licked his lips to try and moisten them, but that didn’t help either. He cleared his throat and whispered to the two worried looking ponies. “Battery dry… using too much… bioelectricity.”

The smith and the waitress looked at each other like they had heard him say he was Celestia’s brother. “Uh, don’t… don’t ambi-tech limbs… I mean, aren’t they supposed to draw electricity from the body?” the waitress asked.

“And I didn’t think they had batteries,” the smith added.

“Special limb… extra power… Open hoof…”

The smith did as he was asked. He reached inside the tiny space and pulled out a cord and a locket. Though small, small enough to be kept in the hoof, the locket appeared too big for a man to wear it comfortably, so he didn’t think it strange that it was kept in the hoof. It was a little strange in that most lockets he had seen were heart shaped or had a design on them. This, however, was a simple thing, gold plated without any engravings or designs on it. It was a perfectly circular around the edge where it opened. It was flat otherwise, about an inch and a half, nearly two inches thick. The waitress popped up, looking over the smith’s shoulder. “Huh. I didn’t think men carried lockets.”

“Open,” Grease Hoof growled. He was feeling a little better, just enough to growl like he did. “Open it. Plug in with the cord…”

The smith looked around the pony’s chest, looking for someplace to plug into the locket. He found it on the side, masterfully worked into the hinge, but what he couldn’t find was a place to plug it into the strange pony’s chest. “Uh, where does this go? I don’t see a place to put it.”

“Chest… fourth rib down… under muscle…”

“Oh. Well, I’ll be damned.” The smith found it in the middle of the rib, underneath the muscle like he had been told. He quickly stuck both ends of the cords where they belonged, but nothing happened. He wasn’t sure if it was working at all. “Is anything supposed to happen? Little lights or something?”

“Open it!” he grunted again. “I said open it!”

The smith quickly remembered that he had, indeed, been told to open the locket. When he did, music began to play from inside. It started quietly, the music sounding like it was being played much, much more slowly than it had been when recorded. The longer the locket was open, the stronger and faster it played, finally smoothing out into an easy, jazzy tune. There were no words, just the brassy music of the instruments. The smith closed his eyes and looked to the ceiling, smiling. “Oh, yeah. That’s a real sweet tune. Real easy.” He opened his eyes again, looking into the locket-slash-music box. He saw two pictures inside, one of a mare and one of a teenaged filly. The mare was beautiful, entirely blue. She was the color of the shirt the stranger was wearing. Had been wearing. Before it had been stained with the blood of the barmaid. The woman’s face was drawn in a smile, but a sad, weak smile. She looked like she was sick. But even sick, and even through a picture the smith could see that she was one of the most beautiful ponies he had ever seen. The filly was the same color blue, but had a brilliant golden mane. She was smiling broadly, like she was laughing at the camera. She smiled a little bit crooked, the teeth on the left half of her mouth showing brilliant white through her lips. The mare on the right half of the locket was beautiful, but the fill on the right was her rival.

“Let me see,” Teacup said, bumping into him to try and get a better look. “Oooh,” she cooed. “What a beautiful family. They yours?”

He nodded. The locket was a music box, yes, but it was also little generator. A miracle of modern engineering, he couldn’t have possibly made something so incredible. He reached out his real hoof and took the locket from them, looking at the two pictures. He was careful not to pull it out of place, to unplug it. It was a little thing, but it was powerful. He was feeling better already, feeling recharged. He shouldn’t have gone so long without recharging. She would have been upset at him for not taking care of himself. “My wife. My little girl.”

Smithy moved to look over his shoulder and see the pictures again. “They’re beautiful. You are a lucky pony.”

He coughed and carefully sat up. “Was. I was a lucky pony.”

Smithy frowned. Teacup scratched her head uncomfortably. Neither knew what to say to the pessimistic pony. “Um, I’m sorry,” Smithy groaned. “But I never got yer name.”

He sighed. “I suppose I owe you that much. I’ve caused you so much trouble. I’m Grease Hoof.”

The smith lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously? Huh. Ok. And… can I see your face?”

“No.” Grease Hoof even pulled his hood a little bit further over his head. The movement finally pulled the back end of the garment up enough to reveal his cutie mark. It depicted a wrench crossing over a leg like they were swords. It caught the eye of both the ponies standing over him, and the smith was the one to make the connection.

“Yer cutie mark is in ambi-tech?”

He groaned. “Ah, shit.” He threw back his hood and looked at the pair. They both jumped at the sudden movement, then drew in closer to look at his eyes. His eyes were a bright silver, a shimmering kind of silver that neither had seen before. His left eye was bloodshot as well, giving him a somewhat frightening appearance. His face was otherwise unremarkable, though handsome. Smithy didn’t take so much notice of the face, but Teacup thought that if his eye wasn’t bloodshot he would be one of the more attractive ponies she’d seen. Actually, with the eye, he had a sort of sexy mystery about him. Like the kind of mystery stallion who would sweep a woman off her feet for a night and then disappear into the darkness…

Her increasingly heated musings were interrupted by the stranger swearing at himself. “Ah! Damn it! Hand me the wrench next to your hoof?” he asked the smith.

“Maybe once you explain yourself.” He glared at the big pony, not saying a word. Now that his hood was off, one could appreciate the ferocity of his hateful glare. The smith stood strong for only a moment before crumbling like a cupcake in a child’s lunchbox. “Um… ok,” he muttered, sheepishly. He was getting a lot of practice at being humble with this strange pony.

“And the part I asked for?” The smith, suddenly remembering the piece, moved across the room and picked it up. He handed it to Grease Hoof, who promptly reached into his chest and tore out one of his ribs. There was no electrical surge this time, as there seemed to be with most sudden movements he made. He picked up the locket again, which he had put down, and looked sadly at it. “Ok,” he sighed. “One for the money.” He kissed the pictures in the locket, first the mare, then the filly. Then he positioned the rib closely to where it was supposed to be positioned. “Two for the show.” He shoved the rib into his chest and cried out as it locked itself into place. “Gar! Shit! Three to get ready.” He grinned at the waitress, who he had surprised on two earlier. “You’re never ready. Ever. Not for ambi-tech procedures.”

She frowned, touching her shoulder. Grease Hoof looked back at the locket, and a tear formed in his eye.
“Daddy! What about this? Could this work?”

“Hmm… What… How did you come up with this?”

“Pony bodies carry more similarities with metal than it seems anypony has ever realized. If we were to treat the metal kind of like this… then move these wires here, and add a few more here, here, and here,” she explained, pointing at the diagrams she was showing her father. “We can re-make the sensory nerves and give back feeling to ponies! We can do it!”

Grease Hoof smiled at his daughter. “You really never give up, do you?”

She smiled back at him. Her eyes shimmered with the thrill of inventive progress. “I had the best teacher ever. They told you it was impossible too, didn’t they?”

He laughed. “Yes, they did. But you are far more brilliant than I am, my dear.” His smile turned sad. “Your mother would be so proud.”

Gasket put a hoof over his shoulder. “She is proud of us, dad. I know it.”

“Smithy!”

A sudden, violent pounding came at the door, bringing Grease Hoof out of his reflection. “Who is that?” he asked, recognizing the voice but not quite placing it.

Smithy shrugged. “I dunno,” he offered helpfully.

He started to move to answer the door, but didn’t make it far before Grease Hoof grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back with a surprising amount of strength for somepony who was just unconscious. “Ask who it is,” he ordered.

“But why-“

“Just do it.”

The smith frowned and considered disobeying, but there was something about this pony that made him keep thinking that doing as he asked was the best for all parties involved. “Who’s there?” he bellowed. “It’s late! We’re closing up shop!”

“Please, sir. This will only take a minute. I simply have to ask you about the whereabouts of a certain pony.”

He was suddenly had a terrible feeling about everything that had happened that night. “Who wants to know?” he pressed.

“I’m here on behalf of The Insurgence,” came the reply.

Both the waitress and the smith’s heads snapped to look at the strange pony. “The Insurgence?!” they both whispered frantically.

The stranger groaned, frowned, and hurriedly snapped the ornately decorated cover plate back into place on his chest. “Well… Shit.”