//------------------------------// // 1. Formulation. // Story: Manifesto // by Kwakerjak //------------------------------// Things had not been going Sunset’s way recently, as evidenced by the fact that, rather than leading an army of human thralls into Equestria, she had returned to her homeland a captive and was now facing the prospect of spending the rest of her life in prison. She had been so close to victory, only to have it snatched away by the machinations of Pinkie Pie and her crew of logic-bending miscreants. Yet for some bizarre reason, Celestia had decided not to simply put her former student out of her misery and lock her away in Tartarus, but rather had allowed her to be kept in a standard penitentiary. Sunset still had no idea if this was to make it easier to keep an eye on her, or if the Princess genuinely believed that she might reform. It hardly mattered, though; either way, Sunset was determined to show to Celestia that foolishness had gotten the better of her. It hadn’t been all that difficult for her to come up with the beginnings of a plan to counter Pinkie Pie and her ilk; the sun had hardly set on her first night in Ft. Featherworth Prison by the time she’d determined that the only way to deal with a thoughtform was to create one of her own. Granted, she had no idea what that entailed, or how she could muster up the necessary magic to pull it off while wearing a magic inhibitor, but she wasn’t particularly worried about that: as far as she was concerned, there was no problem that couldn’t be solved, provided she had the opportunity to put her mind to devising a solution—and if there was any advantage to be had from incarceration, it was an abundance of time to think. She’d gone to sleep that evening feeling relatively optimistic, intent on pursuing her goals the next morning. However, when morning came, she faced an unexpected distraction: her fellow inmates. Perhaps it was because she’d initially expected to be sent to Tartarus, or maybe it was because she’d been given a cell with only one bed, but Sunset was surprised to learn that her sentence would not be spent in isolation: though most of her time would be spent in her cell, she ate her meals in the cafeteria, and her recreation time in the prison yard was in the presence of dozens of other mares, some of whom were arguably as dangerous as she was. “You’re the one who was Celestia’s student, aren’t you?” Sunset looked up from the spot of ground where she’d been staring for the past few minutes and saw a grey earth pony mare staring at her. From the scowl on her face, it seemed unlikely that the question was mere small talk. “What of it?” Sunset asked. “They say you’re in here for murder and brainwashing.” Technically, Sunset had only been charged with multiple accounts of first-degree ponyslaughter and abuse of magic, but she didn’t see much point in correcting her fellow inmate. After all, her lawyer had explained that prosecutors had considered pursuing more serious charges, but decided to try her for lesser crimes that were easier to prove in order to secure a conviction. The public at large, however, didn’t really make much of a distinction, at least in her case. Sunset looked around and saw another group of inmates standing a ways off, watching the conversation. She sighed. “Let me guess; you’re here to make sure I know my place in the pecking order.” This, apparently, was not what her new acquaintance wanted to hear. “Don’t get smart with me, Ms. Know-it-all. Things are different on the inside, and that ring means you can’t hide behind your magic.” She ended by gesturing towards the iron magic inhibitor that fit snugly around the base of Sunset’s horn. Sunset quickly sized up her potential opponent. Fortunately for her, ponies (unlike the humans she’d spent the past few years with) had no social norms associating nudity with sex, which meant that nopony apart from the guards was allowed to wear clothing, which could potentially conceal weapons or contraband. Thus, she could see that the other mare wasn’t carrying a shiv, but still, the hooves of an earth pony were still quite dangerous. She glanced in the direction of the nearest guard, whose attention was elsewhere at the moment. “I don’t intend to get in anypony’s way.” “Bitch, it doesn’t matter what you intend to do; what you’re going to do is give me the respect I deserve!” Sunset had no idea what that entailed, but she wanted no part of it. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the outburst had drawn the attention of the guard, and she decided on a plan of action. It was a risk, to be sure, but she’d managed to fool the Nightmare with similar tactics, and this nopony was no Nightmare. Instead of responding, Sunset turned her back on her foe, and started to walk away. “You think you can treat me like that, you little shit?! I’ll make you respect me, you entitled bitch!” Based on her opponent’s earlier comments about “hiding behind her magic,” Sunset had deduced that the earth pony assumed that she, like many unicorns, was so reliant on her magic that she would be a pushover when deprived of it. However, Sunset had spent a very long time in the human world, and as a result, she was used to using her magic as a last resort. As her opponent started to move towards her, she glanced over at the guard, who was now moving towards them to break up the fight. Sunset smiled to herself. Good. She knows who started it. She listened for the hoofbeats of her opponent, and as soon as she was fairly certain that she was in range, Sunset bucked her rear legs as hard as she could behind her, smacking her foe squarely in the jaw. As it turned out, Sunset didn’t get off as scot-free as she’d hoped, but for the most part her plan had worked as intended. Because it was her first offense, and because the guard who’d witnessed the interaction believed that she had acted in self-defense, Sunset’s punishment was in the form of reduced recreation time for the next month rather than solitary confinement, and even that was justified as an attempt to protect her from her assailant’s allies. It wasn’t really necessary, though; the other inmates gave her a wide berth afterwards, now that it was abundantly clear that she was as adept at using her hooves as she was with her horn. (A few lost teeth, it seemed, could be very persuasive under the right circumstances.) Nonetheless, even after she’d more or less settled into a routine, it hadn’t taken long for Sunset’s plan to run into difficulties. It seemed that there was more to creating an imaginary friend than simply lumping together a conglomeration of skills, physical attributes, and personality traits. It was easy enough to come up with a creature who could overwhelm Pinkie and her allies through sheer magical power, but every one of these early drafts ran into a huge problem: a being capable enough to help her achieve her goals in this way might later conclude that Sunset was unnecessary to meet those goals. Even more distressingly, once freed from the moorings of her own mind, there was a strong possibility that a taste of power would cause them to forget that the whole point of their efforts was not acquire power for its own sake, but to replace the weak emotionalism of Celestia and her followers with a more pragmatic regime. The “obvious” solution of making her new associate a devoted simpleton was just as problematic. After all, was it not the weak-minded who were the most susceptible to the very emotionalism that had infected the halls of power in Canterlot? Besides, even if her opponents didn’t try to shift their allegiance, there was an even bigger problem: dullards were, by their very nature, unspeakably dull. Between the sparse details on thoughtforms she could get her hooves on in prison and what she’d overheard during the conversation between the human Twilight Sparkle and Surprise Party before her return to Equestria, it was clear that a creator would have to spend considerable time fleshing out the thoughtform’s personality. “Boring” was simply not an option, and to Sunset’s mind, few things were more boring than idiots. For weeks, she paced her cell every night, wracking her brain as she tried to use every trick of logical gymnastics she could think of to create an adequate loophole, but nothing seemed to work. For a time, she thought that adding some sort of weakness would be the key, but she soon realized that this would only cause the resulting thoughtform to resent her, leading to an all-but-inevitable betrayal. Even if the weakness was kept secret from them, its mere existence would create a potential opening for Sunset’s enemies, who might conceivably stumble upon it by accident. No, there was far too much at stake for that sort of risk. Perhaps the solution was to create a being whose power exceeded her own, and then act as an advisor after instilling it with her own values. After all, was all this effort not ultimately for the benefit of Equestria? Surely it didn’t matter who restored sanity to the halls of Canterlot, so long as the restoration took place. And yet... there was always the risk of failing to properly instill the values of pragmatism in her protege, and Sunset did not particularly like the idea of having to face off against an absurdly strong foe of her own creation who had misunderstood her philosophy. But more than that... it just didn’t feel right. That, ultimately, was the real problem with her first batch of ideas: none of them felt like the sort of pony/griffon/dragon/whatever that Sunset could form a genuine personal connection with, and even though she had no hard evidence to prove it, she felt almost certain that the bond between creator and creation had to be particularly strong—otherwise, Equestria would have run amok with thoughtforms eons ago. Given her stated goals of ridding Equestria of Celestia’s emotionalism, Sunset couldn’t help but be aware of the irony, but nonetheless it still seemed that she would have to indulge in some minor hypocrisy for the greater good. Whatever the end result, her new associate would have to be someone she actually liked. Fortunately for her, once she finally accepted this fact, it almost immediately led to an epiphany: if the point of the exercise was to create an an imaginary friend, then the idea of making a subordinate or a superior was patently ridiculous. Rather, the sensible approach was to create a being who was her equal. This of course, posed its own problems. Her first instinct upon deciding to create an “equal” was to create someone with a similar skill set, but it only took a few seconds to realize that this was inadequate. Neuromancy wasn’t the sort of thing that became more effective with the application of more magical power—if anything, its effectiveness was subject to diminishing returns, because the more magic one put behind a mind control spell, the easier it was for outsiders to realize that something abnormal was going on. And besides, if mind control was enough to take over Equestria, somepony or something would have done it centuries ago. No, what Sunset needed was a being whose ability complemented her own. It was a nice guideline, to be sure, but actually putting it into practice was a fairly tricky matter. Sunset couldn’t think of an existing magical specialization that would meet her needs—at least, not without checking out multiple volumes on magical theory from the prison library, which, given her particular background, ran the risk of attracting additional scrutiny from her wardens. That meant that she faced the daunting challenge of creating an entirely fictional field of magic for her imaginary friend to excel in, and that sort of open-endedness left her feeling like a writer staring at a blank page. Her “writer’s block” (for lack of a better term) must have lasted a solid two weeks, as she dreamt up option after underwhelming option while alone in her cell. The time she was allowed outside of her cell rarely allowed her the luxury of speculation; because she had racked up so much infamy, her fellow inmates always made sure to have somepony from their clique watching her, and the scowls that inevitably formed on their faces as they watched her pacing around and thinking silently to herself quickly became unnerving (and in the rare event that Sunset did speak out loud, she got the distinct impression that they thought she was a nutcase). Fortunately, nopony seemed to think she needed to be "put in her place" anymore, but she still preferred to keep her speculation to the confines of her cell. Thus, as she sat in the cafeteria idly stirring a bowl of daisy and tofu soup, the last thing she was expecting to get was any sort of inspiration. Sunset hadn’t exactly been expecting haute cuisine from prison food, but this stuff... well, she couldn’t exactly call it bad—everything was properly cooked and it was clear that she was getting all of the nutrients she needed—but by Celestia’s mane was it ever bland. It was almost as if it had been prepared by somepony whose cutie mark had been altered either in a misguided effort to give them competence as a cook, or to remove their unique talent. But that was ridiculous; if there was any sort of magic that could tamper with cutie marks, the pony that wielded it would be... “...incredibly powerful,” Sunset mumbled to herself as her eyes widened. Maybe prison food isn’t so bad after all. The more Sunset considered her idea, the better it sounded; after all, if she couldn’t change what a pony was willing to do (and given that neuromancy was relatively easy to resist when the subject recognized that it was being used, that was a very real possibility), then the next best thing would be to alter what a pony was capable of doing in the first place. Granted, Sunset also had no idea how that could even be possible within the framework of magical theory, but that didn’t seem to be a particularly big obstacle. Still, Sunset liked plausible explanations for unusual phenomena, so she decided that the best way to avert her own bewilderment was to make her new friend smart enough to form her own theories about her abilities once there was some real-world empirical data to work with. It was this idea of an intellectual equal who took a different approach to understanding the world that really started to put everything into focus. Anypony (and it was around this time that Sunset started to assume that her imaginary friend was indeed a pony) who could wrap their head around the sort of strange magic that could manipulate cutie marks would have to be the sort of pony who studied and practiced magic for its own sake. As Sunset herself had tended to lean towards the “applied magic” approach, she’d often dismissed this sort of wonkiness in the past, but upon further reflection, being able to work with a “theoretical magician” who shared her goals could potentially complement her personality quite nicely. Where Sunset had grown used to solving problems without resorting to magic while in the human world, her friend would be eager to push the limits of magic to discover new solutions to old problems. As her friend’s personality became increasingly refined, the aesthetic details began to slide into place with stunning ease. Some of these details were logical—of course a magical theory wonk was going to be a unicorn—but others were just things that “felt” right, like the decision to make her friend a mare. It wasn’t as though she had some sort of problem working with a stallion, but since Sunset couldn’t see how her friend’s gender would made a lick of difference when the time came to confront their foes, there was no reason not to follow her whimsy. This wasn’t to say that her initial whims were always easy to swallow. Her first idea for a coat color was for a shade of lilac, which was rather unnerving, being somewhat reminiscent of Twilight Sparkle’s coat (though that was more of a lavender, now that she thought of it), but Sunset eventually decided to roll with it. After all, if Twilight Sparkle was now Celestia’s chosen protégé, why not borrow a few incidental traits for her own? It would only serve to make the knife twisting all the more satisfying in the end. Sunset spent quite a bit of time thinking up her friend’s cutie mark—given her friend’s abilities, a common cutie mark like an hourglass or a random bit of musical notation simply wouldn’t do. Eventually, Sunset decided to begin with a star, as astronomical phenomenon in cutie marks were strongly associated with magical aptitude, but clearly there needed to be more—some way to represent her friend’s ability to alter cutie marks in her own cutie mark. Eventually, Sunset decided that the star would be trailed by swaths of greyish-green, to represent how her magic could be used to return a pony to a “blank slate” which could then be refashioned at will. Sunset actually felt quite pleased with herself upon finishing this bit of artistic indulgence, to the point where she briefly considered sketching out the cutie mark for later reference, though she eventually decided against this, mostly to avoid drawing the attention of others. It was around this time that Sunset and her friend started having conversations inside her head. Oddly enough, she couldn’t actually remember when these conversations started; by the time her friend’s personality had developed to the point where Sunset could imagine having conversations with her, it felt like they’d already been conversing for weeks. “It’s probably because I’m basically an extension of your personality,” her friend said. “Since you can guess how I’d probably respond to any issue you could bring up, there was no need to actually imagine me saying things like you’re doing right now.” Sunset nodded her head as she sat quietly in her cell. Technically, she was as alone as ever, but right now, it felt like she could almost see her friend sitting beside her. “That sounds reasonable enough. Do you like the voice I picked out for you, by the way?” “I think it’s delightful,” her friend replied. “I can’t wait to hear it for real.” “Me, too...” Sunset’s thoughts started drifting as topic of her friends manifestation came up. Sure, she was fairly certain that she’d taken the route with the strongest safeguards against outside interference, but still... “Look, if you’re so worried about me falling for Celestia’s persuasions, why don’t you just explain to me why her point of view is wrong?” “Oh, come on,” Sunset silently replied. “You’re still in my head. It should be obvious.” “It should, but clearly it isn’t, or you wouldn’t be so worried about it. Look, you’ve been using this vague idea of ‘emotionalism’ to describe Celestia’s way of thinking, but you’ve never actually come up with a concrete definition of ‘emotionalism’ and why it’s bad. I mean, if you had, I’d already know it, right?” Sunset had to admit that her friend had a point. “Okay, I suppose what I’ve been calling ‘emotionalism’ is in reference to Celestia’s tendency to let her emotions get in the way of taking the most pragmatic course of action. The most obvious example is her sister—even though Nightmare Moon had obviously demonstrated that she was a threat, Celestia’s first thought was to banish her to the moon instead of trying to destroy her. Now, I could accept that solution, but only if Celestia had good reason to think that destruction wasn’t an option. However, when I brought up the topic to her as a student, she seemed shocked that I would even bring up the idea and claimed that the thought had never once crossed her mind. Clearly, she was letting filial emotions get in the way of sensible policies.” “But... hasn’t that choice worked out for her?” her friend asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” “Hey, I’m only trying to anticipate the other side’s counterarguments. Isn’t that what’s worrying you?” “Point taken. In any case, how things turned out is irrelevant; the problem is that Celestia took an unnecessary risk—one that nearly cost her everything. Think about it: her plan hinged on a socially awkward nerd somehow managing to form five friendships in the space of a day or so, and also assuming that said nerd could find the Elements of Harmony in that same period of time. And even when that part was out of the way, the whole thing still nearly failed at the end! It would be one thing if that had been Celestia’s only option, but she didn’t even bother investigating to see if there were other options! It’s sheer insanity! And to top it all off, Luna didn’t even need to face the consequences of her actions.” “Wasn’t her first option to have you do the befriending?” “In case you didn’t notice, I am also a socially awkward nerd, or at least I was until my time in the human world forced me to develop some actual charisma to supplement my skills at neuromancy. The point is, Celestia is so attached to meaningless platitudes like ‘the magic of friendship’ that she ends up repeatedly risking the welfare of her subjects.” “Okay, I think I get your point, but what if Celestia claims that Luna’s separation from the Nightmare has made her trustworthy?” “Celestia forgave the Nightmare, too! Clearly, anypony with a half-decent poker face can tug at her heartstrings and get her to dispense some forgiveness. I mean, if Luna isn’t to blame for Nightmare Moon, and the Nightmare isn’t to blame, then whose fault is it? If this this isn’t proof that her sentimentality is dangerous, I don’t know what is.” “Uh, well, if that guy who called himself ‘Discord’ is really that Discord...” At this, Sunset jumped to her hooves and started pacing her cell. “Great Tirek’s ghost! I can’t believe that hadn’t occurred to me before now! I don’t know too many details about Discord, but when I asked Celestia about him during my first tour of the sculpture garden, all she told me was that he had betrayed their friendship and brought great distress to ‘her little ponies’—and my own later research proved that last part was a massive understatement. If she’s willing to let bygones be bygones with him... well, I’d say she hasn’t simply gone soft: she’s become completely delusional.” “But... aren’t you benefitting from her emotionalism right now? Even though you rejected Celestia’s offer of clemency, you’re still being given a chance to reform. Did you really want her to throw you in Tartarus—or worse?” “Well, I might not enjoy it, but at least I wouldn’t be doubting Celestia’s leadership abilities. If she’s willing to take such extreme liberties with an obvious security risk like me, who knows what will happen when somepony who actually seems trustworthy makes a power grab?” “Okay, so what are you hoping to accomplish, then?” “Well, obviously Celestia can’t be permitted to continue wielding real power, but the best way to bring that about still eludes me. For one thing, at the moment, the obvious successor is Luna, and if we assume that she has legitimately reformed—which is still a mighty tall assumption—she’s probably more likely to dole out reckless second chances, based on her own personal experience. In fact, I think we can safely say that Celestia’s influence has tainted all of the ponies in her circle.” “So you think you should replace them?” Sunset paused for a few moments before responding. “No... I don’t think I could effectively rule Equestria with my public image in ruins. You, on the other hoof...” “You want to install me as Princess of Equestria? Maybe you should give me some wings so I look the part.” “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves; at this point, there’s no reason to hitch ourselves to any particular course of action. Our primary concern is to ensure that none of Celestia’s inner circle is able to wield political power. There are multiple ways to do that, and not all of them involve removing Celestia from her throne. Once I’m out of this place, we can take stock of our options and choose the best one.” Her friend smiled. “Oh, of course. We’re going to handle this pragmatically. Well, at the very least, you’re setting an excellent example.” “Thank you.” As it happened, this conversation did indeed reassure Sunset that her friend really would understand what was at stake. There was just one final sticking point—her name. Even though the remarks that Sunset had overheard from Surprise Party indicated that thoughtforms generally chose their own names upon manifestation, her friend still needed an interim name for the time being, if only to make conversation less awkward. However, none of the names Sunset came up with “felt” right. More specifically, they all felt like aliases she would create for herself—none of them felt right when attached to her friend. So, she decided to break with the apparent convention. “The way I see it, if I’ve developed your personality to the point where you can successfully manifest in the real world, then there’s no reason to wait until you appear before letting you choose a name for yourself.” “But you’re still controlling me... are you sure it would count?” Sunset, however, was unconcerned. “If it doesn’t, then you can change your mind when you actually show up.” “I suppose that’s true. Hmm... let me think...” Sunset sat back on her haunches, closing her eyes staying as silent as possible in order ensure that she was fully “in character” as her friend at this moment. After all, this had to be her choice, and that meant that it had to be insulated from Sunset’s usual pragmatics and aesthetics as much as possible. The lilac mare ran a hoof through her purple mane as she paced around the corners of Sunset’s mind. “Alright... I’m essentially an extension of your personality, though I approach things from a slightly different perspective. Therefore, I think my name should be based on yours. Not that I intend to pick something silly like Sunset Shimmer Jr., but I think that I can use the concepts in your name as a starting point. Let’s see... your cutie mark depicts the sun, while mine has a star... and a ‘shimmer’ is a basically flickering light. “So, if you’re Sunset Shimmer, then I can be called... Starlight Glimmer.” She paused. “Is the rhyming too cheesy?” Sunset smiled. “It doesn’t matter. Starlight Glimmer is the name you picked, and I think it’s perfect.”