//------------------------------//
// First Blood 
// Story: The Legion of Bronze 
// by Sixes_And_Sevens 
//------------------------------//

Twilight had begun to bustle around the lab again, picking up machines and devices only to set them down again, then pick them up again, then set them somewhere else. It was quite plainly a distraction tactic, but Applejack couldn’t blame her. Sunset and her, they might’ve been goddesses, or something dang near, but they’d never seen death quite like that before. Life on the farm was quite a different matter. It was a nasty shock, sure, and she was far from comfortable with the body lying on the table, but Applejack wasn’t a stranger to blood.
Romana, too, seemed remarkably collected. Applejack had to remind herself that the unicorn had been in a war, of course she’d seen blood, but it just didn’t click well with her worldview. The Time Lady had begun to pick over the corpse after she and Applejack had returned it to the table.
“We didn’t kill it,” she said with a detached air.
It took the other two mares a long moment to register what Romana had said. Twilight set down the machine she was holding. It was meant to let out a puff of smoke and then a brilliant flash of light. Instead, it let out a brilliant flash of light and then a puff of smoke. It was a disappointment. “Romana,” Twilight said kindly, though with a quiver in her tone. “I understand why you might want to say that, but we have to face the facts.”
“What’d’ya mean?” Applejack asked, leaning over the blue mare’s withers to peer at the body.
“He’s been dead for ages,” Romana said, a note of sadness in her voice. “Given a cursory inspection, I’d say there was some kind of toxin in his system. But the blood’s gone all congealed, and the muscles are… well, not in rigor mortis, exactly, some kind of lubricant’s seen to that. It’s the last word in ‘the lights are on, but nopony’s home.’ All his vital systems were being machine-run. Massively improved efficiency, of course, but he’s not been alive for some time, at least not by any definition I’d recognize.”
“Huh.” Applejack nodded. “Well, Ah’ll jes’ have ta take yer word fer it. Ah reckon you know more ‘bout this than me.”
Romana gave a grim little grin. “Yes, I think I just might,” she said ironically. “I’m afraid I can’t say how long he’s been dead. The corpse is the very definition of ‘disturbed’. But I can tell you for certain that he wasn’t alive when he attacked us earlier on.”
Twilight had gone pale. “But… if he wasn’t alive…”
“Why?” Applejack asked, frowning deeply. “Why would anypony do this to a body?”
Romana shrugged. “Could be any number of reasons, really. Might be some sort of misguided attempt to hold back death, or keep a loved one around… my bits, though, would be on the traditional ‘super-soldier’ standard. Converting flesh into metal, using machinery to keep vitals working…”
“That sounds incredible,” Twilight said, astonished. “That— it could revolutionize medicine, like some kind of… super-prosthetic!”
“Certainly,” said Romana. “The technology in this could have ramifications for virtually any injury; if it was applied correctly.”
Applejack rubbed at the metal exoskeleton. “Ah take it this ain’t a case of ‘correct’ medicine.”
“No,” Romana said. “It would have cured plenty, there’s no doubt there. But virtually none of the injuries or illness that it would help with are present. Obviously, I’d need much more study to tell for sure, but the muscles seem perfectly healthy, the bones are normal, even the air sacs seem utterly mundane.” She gestured to the revealed piece of pegasus bone at the end of the hoof. Inside of the hollow bone, one could just see the torn pieces of a respiratory system. Twilight felt an unpleasant heave in her stomach, but stifled it. “There are some toxin removal systems, from what I can detect, but they don’t seem to have done much good for the poor blighter.”
“Maybe they don’t cover whatever got ‘im,” Applejack suggested.
Romana flicked an ear, frowning. “Maybe. If I'm reading the symptoms correctly, it’s a very obscure poison, actually. I believe Celestia may even have suppressed knowledge of it. It would’ve been used quite a lot in ancient pegasus and unicorn courts, possibly by the earth pony tribes as well. But no, that doesn’t seem right. It should’ve filtered out the toxin regardless.”
She turned away and began to pace the length of the room. Twilight and Applejack fell into step behind her. “I don’t understand any of this,” Twilight said. “Why would anypony install so much unnecessary junk? Why would they come and attack my castle?”
“How did anything even get past all that armor ta kill him?” Applejack wondered. “Must be two centimeters thick! Come ta that, how’d we manage to shut him off? Ah wouldn't've put an off switch or nothin' on a life support system like that.”
Romana stopped dead in her tracks. “Ah,” she said. “I see.”
Twilight frowned. “See what?”
Applejack glanced back and gulped. “Uh, that, Ah bet.”
Twilight turned around. The creature was rising from the table on its three attached legs, slow but determined, wings outspread menacingly. “Okay,” she said, voice a few octaves higher than normal as she took a step backwards. “Time to leave.”
“I don’t think so,” Romana said grimly.
All three of them looked toward the door. The detached leg was standing there, quivering, sparks occasionally popping from the exposed innards. “Aw, shoot,” Applejack muttered.
“Hey, guys?” Twilight called, voice still pitchy. “Guys? We could really use some help in here~”
Her words, however, fell on no ears at all. The hallway outside the doors was long empty. The silver-armored cyborg observed them coldly from the table before taking a step forward and falling into a glide straight at the trio.




Commander Hurricane gave his subordinate a significant glare as she and the proconsul landed beside him in the research sector. “You’re tardy, Pansy,” he said curtly. “You were meant to arrive five minutes ago.”
The blue mare glanced at the blonde beside her, an imploring look in her eyes. “Apologies, Commander,” Cyclone said calmly. “Your aide-de-camp was helping me with a matter of my own. Our lateness is my fault, not hers.”
The commander’s tongue flapped in the air for purchase on a word, but failed. “Humph,” he said instead.
“Permission to speak, Commander Hurricane?” Pansy said, staring straight ahead.
The magenta stallion huffed. “Granted.”
“What is the nature of that box?”
Cyclone nodded. “Indeed. Is this the great development of our lead scientific advisor? If so, I find myself rather disappointed.”
Hurricane let out something that might have been a laugh, or possibly it was gas. “I wouldn’t be,” he said. “No. No, this is a new assignment for her. A small, personal matter, nothing with which I would trouble you, proconsul.”
Cyclone’s brows rose. “A personal matter? You, Hurricane? I didn’t expect it of you.”
He blushed, his face going even more pink and taut than was customary. “Yes, Proconsul. Awaiting disciplinary action, Proconsul.”
“I didn't say I would censure it,” Proconsul Cyclone said, raising a brow. “Merely that it seemed an uncustomary action.”
He stared blankly at her. Pansy nudged the proconsul gently. “You have to punish him. He’ll stand there all day if you don't.”
“Oh, very well,” Cyclone sighed. “Two hundred wing-ups, Hurricane, for… having a personal life?”
Pansy nodded once as the stallion fell to the ground and began his workout with a steady allegro cadence. “Thank you. It means a lot to him.”
Cyclone leaned in. “Exactly what is his problem?” she whispered. “Loyal soldiers are a great boon, but there is a limit…”
The blue mare made a moue with her lips. Cyclone smiled dopily at the adorable expression for the space of a moment before blinking back into focus. “It will go no further,” she promised.
Pansy smiled, slightly bitterly. “It already has,” she murmured. “Not all of it, and not all correct, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a soldier in Roan who didn't know why he’s so, um…”
“Anal-retentive?”
“Serious,” Pansy said smoothly. “It was Bapheus that did it to him.”
“Ah,” said Cyclone. That made a sort of sense. The lost battle with the earth ponies was a sore subject throughout the empire, and it had made her private talks with the advisors of the earth ponies and unicorns that much more awkward. Then, recalling further, she frowned. “Didn't that get him a promotion? He led the vast majority of the troops to safety.”
“It was…” Pansy paused delicately. “An awakening. To lose, and to then be rewarded for it. To fail, and get a promotion. Ever since, he’s been obsessed with it all. I think he thinks that if he relaxes too much, it’ll come down around his ears.”
“It broke the rules, to his mind,” the proconsul mused. “And so, he must follow them perfectly, or else somepony will realize he's not meant to be— mmph!”
Pansy had shoved an entire hoof into the grey mare’s mouth. She quickly removed it. “Sorry, Proconsul. But you mustn't say that where he can hear you.”
Cyclone wiped her mouth. “Yes, I see. Foolish of me. Still, let's have fifty wing-ups from you, Private. Can't go around striking higher-ranking officials.”
Pansy nodded once, then hurled herself to the ground. As she and the Commander continued with their punishment, Cyclone turned to peer down the street. A violet stallion stared back for a second before continuing onwards, turning into a nearby building. The proconsul’s forehead furrowed further as she reflected on the events of the day thus far. Her one eye flicked briefly toward the lab building. Things seemed unlikely to grow any less strange anytime soon.




The two pegasus mares sat side-by-side on the wall. “Are you alright?” Ditzy asked.
Scootaloo failed to respond, her eyes glazed. “Uh?”
“Okay, I’m taking that as a ‘no,’” Ditzy said, placing a hoof against the orange mare’s forehead. “You aren’t warm, but you might want to lie down, anyway. Your aunts—”
“So, what about this ‘Rani’?” Scootaloo interrupted. “Do you trust her?”
That stopped Ditzy short. “Well, I don’t really know,” she said. “She knows the Doctor. That should count for something.”
Scootaloo’s lip curled. “So did that ice thing that nearly dropped him and Dinky off a cloud. I don’t think ‘knowing the Doctor’ says much about anypony.”
“She knows the Doctor… and she hasn’t tried to kill us?” Ditzy tried.
The younger mare thought about that. “Okay, yeah, that’s a point her way,” she conceded. “Sweet Celestia. We actually use things like ‘they haven’t tried to kill us’ to determine whether we should trust somepony. What are our lives?”
Ditzy didn’t reply. Scootaloo glanced over and saw that the mare was crying. “Uh, Ditzy?”
“I worry about him,” Ditzy said quietly. “Or… them? He always seems to go for ‘him’ now, but he didn’t always, I think. And that's the thing. I don't really know what he is, or what he's seen or done beyond what he talks about which is… so little. He’s my best friend, and I don’t know a tenth of who he is, what he’s done. He talks and he talks, but sometimes it seems like he doesn't say anything at all. And maybe it's silly worrying about somepony that's literal centuries older than you, but I do.”
She took a deep breath. Scootaloo stared at her, silent. “Sometimes, when we're snuggled up in bed, I can see his dreams,” the grey mare murmured. “I don't remember much about them, but they're beautiful and terrible and sometimes I wake up smiling and laughing, and other times I’m so sad and afraid I can’t even open my eyes. And then I ask about it, and he just laughs it off, but…”
She let out a sigh of irritation. “I just want to help him,” she said plaintively. “But how can I, when he won't even admit there's a problem?”
Scootaloo worried at her lower lip. “I dunno,” she admitted. “Maybe this is just something he has to get through alone.”
The grey mare’s face scrunched into a scowl. “You're as bad as he is,” she said indignantly, crossing her hooves. “Problems only get lighter once you’ve shared them with somepony.”
“Ah, yes, but then you’ve just dumped a bunch of weight on another pony,” Scootaloo said, raising a hoof. “Not very nice.”
“I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you, Scootaloo!”
“Yeah, well I’m trying to subtly avoid it, and look at how well that's working out!” Scootaloo sprang to her hooves, wings buzzing, and glared at the older mare.
“I want to help you!”
“You wanna help the Doctor!”
“I want to help both of you! It's a metaphor or something!” Ditzy shouted.
There was a sharp rap at the door, and both pegasi turned. A gleaming silver eye gazed dispassionately back at them. “I think we’re being asked to pipe down,” Scootaloo muttered, sitting down once more.
“I think you’re right,” Ditzy agreed, calmer now. “That inspection team must have arrived.”
They sat in silence for a long moment.
“I will never be able to fly.”
Ditzy glanced at Scootaloo, but made no further comment. “There’s this… disease,” she went on. “You knew about that, yeah? My bones aren’t as hard as they should be, my wings are tiny, and my immune system is lousy. I thought I could beat it. I thought I would be the one. I was wrong. It killed my mom, and it’s grounded me for life.”
Ditzy frowned. “What are you talking about? Holiday and Lofty are both still alive.”
“Yeah.” Scootaloo didn’t look away from the door. “But my mom isn’t.”




The three soldiers regarded the mare with varying degrees of concern. Cyclone observed her with a weather eye, as if sizing up who might win in a fight. It might come to that. The possibility was remote, but present. Pansy eyed her warily. It had always been her fate to be a natural prey animal, and the scientist was throwing off alpha-predator vibes like ozone off a lightning strike. Hurricane was the only one, unusually enough, to greet the scientist with a grim, but honest, smile. “Lieutenant Pallas.”
“Sir.” Her bearing was as straight and polished as a pike as she gave a sharp salute.
“At ease.”
Her wing snapped back to her side with mechanical precision. With her silvered coat and unnaturally crystalline eyes, the propraetor briefly entertained the idea that there might be some truth to the old legends of pony-made warriors of metal. The bronze griffon giant Talons would be scarcely a stretch. “Propraetor. It is an honor to make your acquaintance at last.”
“Indeed.” Cyclone said no more, and the lieutenant turned her attention to the other mare.
“Which makes you Private Pansy.”
“Ma’am.”
Pallas might have lowered her head in recognition, or else she might have blinked. “Let us waste no more time,” she said, opening the door to her laboratory.
Cyclone raised her one visible brow and seemed ready to deliver a biting remark, but she stifled it at the last moment. “I do hope that what you have for us is impressive, Lieutenant,” she said instead.
“You need not worry, proconsul.” She paused, eyeing the big blue box appraisingly. “There are things in this lab which you never dreamed possible.”
“Lieutenant, about this box—”
“Leave it for now,” she said, turning away. “I will have my assistants bring it inside momentarily. The old fool’s run aground again, then.”
Hurricane’s mouth flapped for a moment before resealing into its usual grim, hard line. “It would appear so. You have met before, then?”
“You might say that,” Pallas said drily, trotting back into the building. 
Hurricane made to follow her, but a hoof fell on his withers. He turned around to meet the propraetor’s sole golden eye. “Commander. I do not like having secrets kept from me. However, I will tolerate it on grounds that you swear to me that this box poses no threat to the safety of this city or its people.”
Hurricane nodded. “On my ancestors,” he said.
She knew what she had to say, for her people, for her city. That didn’t mean she had to like it. “On your rank, Commander.”
A beat. “I swear, Proconsul, that this box and its contents will not harm the empire.”
One golden eye scrutinized his face. “Very well, Commander. I will trust your judgement on this.”
“Thank you, Proconsul.”
She watched him trot inside. She prayed to Jupiter and Mars that her trust was not placed in vain.




The inside of the lab was much tidier than the streets outside. Proconsul Cyclone approved. She liked when things were neat and tidy. She watched with mild interest as the Lieutenant walked the three of them through prototypes of corrugated armor designed to be less brittle and lighter, as well as plans for mechanized projectile launchers. She demonstrated chemicals that could repel blood and resist corrosion. She explained her idea for a collapsible spear.
Cyclone glanced at her two companions to see what they thought of all this. Unsurprisingly, Pansy looked slightly terrified. Hurricane’s reaction was more than a little unexpected, though. The Commander looked impatient. Were he a little less rigid, he might even be scowling. “Commander,” Cyclone said sharply. “Have you a comment to make?”
“The box,” Hurricane said at last. “It is vital to the success of my mission that you help repair the box.”
Both of Pallas’ eyebrows shot up. “Vital to the success? Is that what he told you?” She let out a contemptuous laugh. 	 “He wishes.”
Cyclone scowled. “Right. I want one or the other of you to tell me exactly—”
“Um, Lieutenant Pallas? I’m here for that test you mentioned…” Siege Warfare trailed off when he saw not only the Lieutenant, but also the Proconsul, Commander Hurricane, and some other soldier staring back at him. “Not a good time?” he guessed weakly.
The Lieutenant sighed, poisonous green eyes narrowing. “Wait for me in room twenty-three. I will arrive for the test with all due speed.”
Hurricane crinkled his muzzle. “You are to finish your demonstration of the present projects first, Lieutenant. After which, there is still the matter of the blue box…”
“What is this test?” Cyclone asked, frowning.
Silver Pallas frowned. “It is… a step forward in a process which is already well known. If it succeeds, that could be potentially interesting for science and useful for armorsmiths, but if it fails then it will be swept aside.”
“I should like to watch this test,” Cyclone said.
“That would be inadvisable.”
“Do you refuse your leader, Lieutenant?”
“Not at all, propraetor. I merely advise caution. You are, as you say, the leader of this city, and among the most influential pegasi alive today. I run the risk of serious injury or even death in this experiment. 	There is no reason for you to face those same risks, and I cannot in good conscience allow you to do so.”
Propraetor Cyclone started to speak but stopped herself. “I understand,” she said simply. “Very well, Lieutenant. Proceed with your demonstration, and once you have completed it, you are free to continue with your experiments in whatever order you see fit.”
“Thank you, Propraetor.”
And I, Cyclone thought to herself, will continue my observations in a less official capacity.


***

Ditzy narrowed her eyes at Scootaloo. She was a clever filly, and a worthy opponent in this game. It would take all of her guile to defeat her in this round. “I spy with my little eye,” she began, glancing around the room, “something beginning with ‘c’.”
Scootaloo didn’t even look up from where she lay on the floor, head resting on her forehooves. “Clouds.”
Ditzy smacked the ground. “Darn. You’re too good at this game.”
“There’s nothing here but clouds,” Scootaloo pointed out. “Clouds and a door. That’s literally it.”
“...That’s true,” Ditzy sighed, sitting back. “We could play ‘I’m going to Canterlot’.”
Scootaloo flopped over on her back and let out a loud, long, low groan.
There was a sharp rap at the door, and a guard glared in at them both. Ditzy raised a hoof, grinning sheepishly, and mouthed ‘sorry’. The robot guard turned away again.
“Look, we can either play games or talk about your feelings. You pick.”
“Can I just die instead?”
“No.”
“Ugh. I’ve told you everything I know, everything Aunt Holiday told me. There’s no more.”
“There’s no more that you were told,” Ditzy corrected. “But what about you? What did you take from all of this?”
Scootaloo squeezed her eyes shut. “Why did you run, Scootaloo?”


***

I couldn’t face them (Scootaloo said). Maybe it was stupid, or selfish, or both, but I had to do it. 
(Medusa had betrayed the trust of her goddess (defiled her temple with a rival god, not Jupiter for a change, but his brother, Neptune).) 
They had just told me that I had been living a lie, told me what my dad was really like, who my mom really was, and I just-- couldn’t take it. So I ran away, as far and as fast as I could.
(Medusa had snakes for a mane, and tusks like a boar, and a face that could turn any living thing to stone (Was that how Scootaloo looked now?) (It’s how she felt).)
And I came to you. And the Doctor. Because I wanted, I needed to go back. I needed to see it for myself, see the truth this time. (Make sure that it was the truth this time.)
(Reflection was a dangerous thing, be it through mirrors or the mind. The last thing Medusa would have seen was her own face, gruesome(ly surprised), staring back at her before a great big sword whacked it off.)
And I wanted to go and warn her, maybe, to not fall for him. I wanted to chase him out of town, show his wife the monster he really was.
(Medusa’s head had been raised up in front of a wicked king and his courtiers, who all were turned to stone. The hero saved his mother from the clutches of the king. (Medusa didn’t care. She was like, super dead))
But then I thought about Aunt Holiday and all the time she spent studying here, and how much she loved it here, and how she gave up so much to come to Ponyville and raise me instead of keeping her position at the university. How much more did she love me, then? What have I done?
(But out of Medusa’s body, two new lives were created; one was a seapony made of gold, and the other was Pegasus (who earned the capital letter and no shakes about it)(Did they ever weep over their mother’s death? Did they ever curse the name of he who slew her?(Did they ever get their revenge?)). Reflection can be a terrible thing, but it can also birth great wonders)




“And that’s what caused all of this,” Scootaloo said. “I got distracted and got us lost in time and space. So, uh, my bad.”
Ditzy nodded thoughtfully. “So, what now?”
“...I dunno,” Scootaloo admitted. “I love Aunt Holiday and Auntie Lofty, but knowing that they lied to me like this? I…” she broke off as the door opened. 
A bronze mare entered, holding a long spear and a large rectangular shield. She gestured to indicate that the two mares should go sit in the corner.
Ditzy had to drag Scootaloo up on her hooves first, but both pegasi eventually did as they were told.
Then, four more soldiers entered, walking in a rectangular formation. Held aloft like a sedan chair by their combined efforts was the TARDIS, tipped on its back. The four bearers set it down, and all five hippodroids left abruptly.