Hurricane listened thoughtfully as Cyclone and Pansy explained the situation to him. “So,” he said. “Lieutenant Pallas is designing a new form of armor that is all but impenetrable, enhances combat abilities, and can overcome any disease. Propraetor, permission to speak?”
“Granted.”
“Why exactly is this a problem?”
Pansy paused. “Er…”
“She can take control of the minds of the dead, she was keeping this work purposefully secret, and it has been revealed that she is a foreign agent,” Cyclone listed, counting off the problems on her feathers. “I don’t know who these… Time Lords… think they are, but if they believe that they can get away with using Roan’s resources to further their own researches without facing any repercussions, then they will soon meet harsh reality on the end of my sword.”
“I understand. But, of course, as our resources were used to discover this, would you not say that we have some claim on this project?”
Cyclone frowned. “Well, yes. I suppose--”
“Sir,” Pansy said warningly. “You once told me to tell you if you were about to do something phenomenally stupid that would cost you your rank.”
“I told you to tell me if my actions would threaten the Empire.”
“Same thing,” Pansy retorted. “We don’t understand this technology, sir. Anything might happen if we tried to use it.”
“Exactly my point, Private! With this technology, we could do anything!”
“That isn’t the same thing, sir!” She looked to Cyclone, pleading with her eyes. The Propraetor’s sole golden eye flicked between one and the other thoughtfully. “We will conduct a raid,” she decided. “We will leave the machinery unharmed, and have our top scientists inspect it. If they can understand how it works, then we will use it; if they cannot, we will have it destroyed.”
Hurricane didn’t react. Pansy nodded slowly. “That seems… fair,” she acknowledged.
“Then let us go,” Hurricane said, turning to face the lab. “This should be done quickly, before she has time to do anything further.”
“We should wait for backup,” Cyclone disagreed.
“We are three, while she is only one. Four,” he corrected. “I have a stallion on the inside.”
Cyclone hesitated. “A compelling point,” she admitted. “Very well. Let us see what may come of this.”
Pansy whimpered softly. “I’ve got a very bad feeling about this,” she murmured, following her superiors back to the lab.
An icy wind whipped the sky, chilling Applejack, Cheerilee, and Bonbon to the bone as they hurried for Scootaloo’s childhood home. “I hope somepony’s in,” Cheerilee said. “I’d hate to think we came here for nothing.”
Bonbon shrugged. “I can get in through the chimney and let you both in.”
“Or Ah could jes’ break a window,” Applejack pointed out.
“Or, hopefully, we can get what we came here for without breaking a number of laws!” Cheerilee said with false brightness.
“Heh. Guess so,” Applejack agreed.
“Please. As though I’d be caught,” Bonbon scoffed. “But it looks like there’s a light on, so I suppose you can have it your own way.”
“Thanks,” Cheerilee said sarcastically. She winced as a blast of icy wind scoured her coat. “C’mon, let’s get inside.”
Applejack knocked on the door. Silence. She frowned and tried the knob. It turned easily in her grasp. “Should we--” she began.
Another chilly blast made the decision for her, and all three mares hurried inside. “Lofty!” Cheerilee shouted. “Holiday? Are either of you home?”
“Cheerilee?” Holiday poked her head out from the parlor. “Oh. You’ve all heard, then.”
“Yep. We’re here to help bring her home.”
Holiday snorted, and the three mares noticed that her eyes were red and puffy. “Assuming she wants to come home,” she said.
Applejack looked startled. “It can’t be as bad as--”
“Whether she wants to come home or not, we need to find her,” Bonbon interrupted. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Holiday, but there’s a storm coming in. If she’s caught outside in that, I don’t like her chances of survival.”
Holiday let out a strangled gasp. Cheerilee facehoofed. “Nice job, Miss Tactful,” she muttered. In a louder voice, she said, “Romana has a device that should be able to locate Scootaloo, but we need some of her genetic material. Does she have a manebrush, or a toothbrush, or anything like that we could use?”
“Her room is upstairs, first on the left,” Holiday said. “You can look there.”
Cheerilee nodded. “Applejack, Bonbon, you go and check it out. I’ll be down here talking with Holiday.”
Bonbon looked like she was going to object, but Applejack pulled her toward the stairs. “We’ll be quick,” she promised, hammering up the steps.
Cheerilee turned to Holiday. “Would you like to sit down?”
The other mare nodded briefly, gulping back a lump in her throat, and led the teacher into the sitting room.
Cheerilee walked her over to the sofa, pushing piles of parchment out of the way. The room felt more claustrophobic and musty than ever. She sat Holiday down. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked gently.
“Talk, talk, talk,” Holiday bit out through the thickness in her throat. “That’s all I’ve done today, and look where it's got me!”
Cheerilee took her hooves gently and set them in her lap. “Have you gotten to the end of the story, yet?” she asked gently.
“I— no, not yet.”
“Why don’t you try?” Cheerilee suggested. “Just the end to go, now.”
Holiday smiled bitterly. “But will it be a happy one?”
Cheerilee faltered for a moment, but then smiled and squeezed Holiday’s hooves. “All right then. Not the ending. Just… a continuation.”
“Until next time, you mean?” Holiday blubbered out a half-laugh. “Okay. Going from when I took Scootaloo home…”
Meanwhile, on the other side of town, out at the Doctor’s house, Lofty was remembering the very same story. It was one of her very favorites, and she always liked to think on it whenever she was feeling worried. For instance, when she had been forcibly and painfully transformed into a robot and was even now flying toward the strange hole in time and space that Twilight suspected of causing all this chaos. That was just the sort of time when her spirits needed a little lift. And with the rain splashing against her crystal eyes, and her metal mane somehow ruffling in the wind, she cast her mind back, back to where the story of Her had ended, and the story of Them had begun.
Once upon a time (as all the best stories began), there was a caseworker. She didn’t particularly like her job, but she liked children and she liked to help ponies |indeed, thanks to some interspecies adoption legislation, it should be more correctly said that she liked to help everycreature|. So she kept on with it.
One day, the caseworker was sent to a little village |on the edge of the Everfree Forest. What the rut.| named Ponyville, to check up on a recent adoptee named Scootaloo. When she first saw the little cottage, all its lights turned low and smelling of musty old papers, she had feared the worst. |All she wanted was to see others being happy. |Sometimes, in her line of work, that wasn’t an option.||
When she got inside, however, what she found was a sickly, but well-fed and cared for child and a half-starved caretaker. That was the first time she met Holiday and Scootaloo. She took them both for lunch on the spot. |Partially because she feared for Holiday’s health, partly because she couldn’t stand the dim, dank, dusk of the little cottage.|
She explained to Holiday, gently as she could, that the filly couldn’t continue to live in such a way, and nor could she. Scootaloo would need to go back to foster care.
Holiday had been stricken, but she nodded, accepting the other mare’s words. |The caseworker liked to make everypony happy.|
But, said the caseworker.
But? Holiday asked.
It is not too late. I will show you what you must do to make your house a safe place to raise a child.
|Holiday told her that she must be sent from some higher power, some ancient, half-remembered deity; a gift in her hour of need.|
And they worked together for a time, and lived together for a time, cleaning that old house, making it possible for Holiday to support the growing filly, adjusting them to their new lives. Even after everything was perfect, a model home, she had visited often.
|She had been there when Holiday got her first book published, and they had popped open a bottle of cider to celebrate.|
|She had been there when Scootaloo said her first word |mama|, and she had been there for Holiday’s subsequent breakdown.|
|She had been there the first time Scootaloo had gone to the hospital, and she had held Holiday’s hoof tightly.|
|She had been there when Holiday had drawn her into an embrace and kissed her over a bottle of champagne, and she had never left again but briefly.|
She had, perhaps, come bearing more godly gifts than even Holiday had expected. A helmet of darkness to hide her from Heat Wave, should he ever return. A pair of winged sandals to help her escape her own past. A mirrored shield, so that she could see herself as she truly was; beautiful and kind, never a monster despite what she feared, deep down inside.
Holiday encouraged her to quit being a caseworker and follow her dreams, start working to teach little pegasi to fly. They had married, and Scootaloo was the most adorable little flower filly anypony had ever seen. And they all lived happily ever after.
|That was how all the best stories ended |And this was one of the best stories |Wasn’t it?|||
Lofty was taken out of her reverie when she bumped into the pegasus in front of her. “Hey!”
“Sorry,” Lofty said. “What’s the holdup?”
The other pegasus-- was that Clear Skies? turned around and looked at her. “Seriously?” He gestured to the sky.
Lofty looked up. “Oh.”
Storm clouds circled and swirled out of a blinding pillar of light, howling gusts of wind tearing the branches from the trees and the thatch from the eaves. And the whole thing was centered on Ditzy’s backyard. “Well, that might not be the best sign.”
Meanwhile, back in the parlor, Holiday had just finished telling Cheerilee the same story. She had calmed down now, though tears still streaked her cheeks. “‘M sorry,” she muttered, turning away. “You don’t want to see me like this.”
Cheerilee rubbed her forehooves gently. “Thank you for telling me all that,” she said.
Holiday didn’t say anything. “We’ll find her,” Cheerilee promised.
“I want to come with you.”
“Of course.”
Holiday shifted awkwardly on the sofa. “Dear Minerva, these scrolls! They get everywhere. You must think me such a slob.”
Cheerilee frowned. “Odd. I thought I pushed them all off the couch before we sat down.”
She pulled away and heard the rustle of parchment behind her. The whole couch was covered with scrolls. Cheerilee looked around. “Holiday, was this room always this cluttered?”
Holiday stared at the far wall, shocked. “I don’t remember it being this big.”
She rose and hurried over to one of the new shelves. “What in the world? An account of the Battle of Fillius Pass? The rise of the city-state of Crassus? Who in Jupiter’s name is Emperor Tragic XIV? There were only ever five Emperor Tragics!”
“Holiday,” Cheerilee said, holding up a picture. “You’d better come and see this.”
The scholar turned. There, inked on a parchment older than her nation, was an army of machines in flight. Below them, pictographic unicorns and earth ponies bowed their heads in deference. Holiday gulped back a sudden rush of terror. “Applejack! Bonbon! Grab a pillow and let’s go!”
The Rani returned to the lab to find Ditzy talking quietly with the charioteer, while the Doctor and Scootaloo sat silently at a table. The young mare was rolling a test tube between her hooves absent-mindedly, and the Doctor was watching her with every evidence of concern writ on his features. “Hurricane won’t be interrupting us anytime soon,” the Rani reported, trotting in.
“Oh?” the Doctor asked.
“I sent him off to dinner and told him to come back in two hours to see your repaired TARDIS.”
“What? There’s no way it could be done in--”
“Three liters of mercury, seven grams of gold, and twenty-seven milliliters of Zeiton-7.”
“I thought you didn’t have any equipment!”
“I told you I had enough to do my assignment. All of those components are important to the running of my modified Cyberconversion chamber.”
“And you would lend me some?”
“If it would get you out of my hair any faster, gladly.”
“Just going to ignore that part. Thanks, Rani.”
The Rani glanced over at Ditzy. The other mare caught her eye, then glanced away, embarrassed. The metal charioteer rested a hoof on hers, and Ditzy nodded. “Rani,” she said, rising from her chair, “I wanted to apologize for misjudging you. From the sound of it, you’ve saved Mr. Wheels here,” she gestured to the cyborg, “a lot of pain. Maybe even saved his life. I’m sorry that I didn’t trust you.”
“As am I,” said the Doctor, nodding. “I’m happy that you finally turned the corner, Ushas.”
The Rani smiled thinly. “Thank you, Theta,” she replied. “And you as well, Ditzy. Now, knowing that it can correct all physical issues, would you or Scootaloo care to take a turn being upgraded?”
Ditzy blinked. “Sorry?”
Scootaloo looked up from where she was spinning the bottle around in her hooves. “What?”
“Your eyes, her wings,” the Rani went on. “Surely they must make your life more difficult?”
There was a long silence. Then Ditzy forced a laugh. “Well, maybe. Maybe so. But I kinda think that being turned into a robot might make my life even more difficult, in certain ways?”
“There’s no need to be coy,” the Rani said. “You already drank the catalyst. You should be prepared for a smooth conversion.”
Ditzy wasn’t smiling anymore. “What do you mean?”
“The soda I gave you earlier wasn’t soda,” the Rani explained. “It was a chemical compound that makes the conversion process go much more smoothly.”
She frowned. “Why are you all looking at me in that manner?”
Romana alternated between fine-tuning her rather primitive analog of a biodata scanner and checking out the plate-glass window for signs of life. “What can be taking them so long to find a single manebrush?” she wondered aloud, peering through the rain-spattered glass.
After perhaps ten more minutes, she saw a line of figures approaching at speed from up the road. Hurriedly, she made for the door, throwing it open. Four figures, all wet and shivering, ran in. “Holiday? What are you-- no, stupid question. You’ve got the stuff?”
Teeth chattering, Holiday reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a pillow from Scootaloo’s bed. Romana inspected it. “Good enough,” she decided. She took the scanner and ran it over the soft cloth surface, then pulled a switch. There was a long moment.
“Well?” Holiday demanded.
“Give it some time,” Romana scolded. “I took a piece of technology that this planet shouldn’t be able to make for another five millennia and recreated it using a pinball machine, a pocket watch, a desk lamp, and whatever technology I could borrow off the Doctor. I went for quality over speed, so sue me.”
There was a ping. Romana frowned. “Odd. Let’s try zooming out a little.”
Another wait, another ping. Romana’s frown deepened. “Right. Right. Holiday, when was the last time you saw Scootaloo?”
Holiday considered that. “Maybe… half-past five?”
“Right.” Romana twisted a knob, then pulled the switch one more time. This time, the map installed on the back of the scanner lit up. “Yes, there she is at your house,” Romana said, pointing. “Now, let’s track forward ten minutes.”
Another dot lit up a little ways away from the house. “And again,” Romana said.
The dot was a little farther away now. “The path she took on her scooter?” Cheerilee guessed.
“Almost certainly,” Romana replied. “And look where it ends up.”
Applejack squinted. “Is that…”
“Ditzy’s house,” Bonbon sighed, smacking her forehead. “Meaning Scootaloo is probably with her and the Doctor, Celestia-knows-where and Luna-knows-when.”
Romana sighed in relief. “Good.”
Cheerilee stared at her. “How is that good, exactly?”
“We know she’s with a responsible adult. And the Doctor, as well! She should be fine.”
Holiday was silent. Applejack turned to look at the mare. She was shaking. “Aw, shoot. Romana, pull out a brandy, or a warm blanket or summat.”
“She went to the Doctor’s house and left in the TARDIS,” Holiday said deliberately. “This would be the same TARDIS that’s currently left a hole in time and space in the Doctor’s backyard, would it?”
“Do you know of any others around?” Romana asked. “Because I would be in the market, actually--”
But Holiday was already out the door, the other mares hot on her hooves. The bit dropped. “Oh. Oh!” And then Romana was running as well.
“You gave us chemicals,” Ditzy said slowly, “and told us it was soda. You lied to us.”
“Well, would you have drunk it if you knew it was a chemical compound?”
“No! That’s literally the entire point! And now you’re saying we’re broken and you want to fix us?”
“I never said broken,” the Rani objected.
“You may as well have! Scootaloo and I aren’t broken, we aren’t wrong, and we don’t need or want your stupid Cyberconversion!”
“Um,” said Scootaloo.
“Your anger makes you radiant,” the Rani murmured.
Ditzy raised a brow. “Are you saying that I'm cute when I'm angry?”
“I think that's what she meant, unless she means that emotion literally is making you glow,” the Doctor said helpfully. “Which it isn’t, I think.”
The grey mare scowled. “Well. Get ready, because I'm about to be gorgeous,” she snarled.
The Rani took a step back. “I… did not mean…”
“Like Tartarus you didn’t mean! I don’t want to be a robot, and neither does Scootaloo! Turn us back right now!”
“The process has not begun!” the Rani replied hotly. “Unless you choose otherwise, the serum will pass out of you harmlessly. It is only a catalyst in the procedure.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you gave us a potion without our permission.”
The Rani glanced away. “It was prudent. The serum takes time to take effect. Only now would you be ready to take the next step.”
Ditzy looked ready to snap the other mare’s neck, but she was interrupted by a small voice from behind her.
“I can… you can cure me?” Scootaloo whispered, eyes wide. “You can do that?”
“Yes,” said the Rani, simply.
“But, Scootaloo,” Ditzy said, desperately. “Think about the effects. You won’t even be a pony anymore!”
"Ru~de," said the charioteer, scowling. "Doezz that make me lezz of a pony for not want~ing to die~? For not wanting to zzuffer~? For not want~ing to leave my wife a wid~ow~, or my zzon half an or~phan~?"
Ditzy looked helplessly between Scootaloo and the charioteer. "You'll be different," she said. "Changed."
“Yeah, I'll be different!” Scootaloo agreed, not once taking her eyes off the Rani. “I’ll be better. I won’t have to be afraid of breaking my bones. I won’t have to ever stop and catch my breath. I won’t have to live with my ‘condition’ anymore.”
She turned to Ditzy and the Doctor, eyes wide. “I could fly.”
Ditzy looked up at the Doctor, desperate. “Pocket—”
The Doctor gazed at the Rani for a long moment. “Her brain won’t be affected,” he said.
“No,” the Rani confirmed. “That part of the Cyberconversion process only takes place in the event of total mental failure. This is no different from getting a prosthesis, but on a larger scale.”
The Doctor nodded. “Then I say, it’s Scootaloo’s decision,” he said quietly.
Ditzy looked at all three of them, horrified. “But what about—”
“You told me you wanted to help me,” Scootaloo said coldly. “Back in that room. Did you mean it? Did you really mean that you wanted to see me happy?”
“I…” Ditzy faltered. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Then let me do this,” Scootaloo replied. "Let me fly. Rani, I'm in."
The Rani nodded and opened the door of the box. “There will be some pain,” she said. “However, the total procedure will take less than a minute.”
Scootaloo stepped forward, barely faltering as she trotted into the small, blindingly bright, space. The eyes of the others tracked her through the one-way glass. A wave of pressure washed over her as the Rani closed the door again. She stared at her reflection for a long moment and took a deep, shaking breath in. There was a crackle of static. “Are you ready?” the Rani asked.
Scootaloo took one last look at the mirror. “Yes.”
The Rani made no reply, but there was a clunk, followed by the hum of machinery. The light grew even brighter. The noise grew louder. Scootaloo leaned against the wall as her head began to swim. “What are you doing to her? Let her out right now, you monster!”
“It’s all part of the process. I did tell her it would hurt.”
“Rani, explain yourself,” the Doctor growled.
“Her mind is adjusting to her enhanced senses,” the Time Lady replied, voice clipped. “The dampers will kick in momentarily.”
Indeed, the light and noise was already fading to a more comfortable level. Scootaloo blinked once or twice, then straightened. “It’s fine,” she called. “I’m alright, real— AAARGH!”
“Rani!”
“Ushas!”
“Did you think that growing a metal exoskeleton would be a painless process?” the Rani snapped at last. “I told you all it would hurt, but she would not die. That is the truth, and nothing else!”
Scootaloo’s stomach churned. She could feel her heart beating against her rib cage, threatening to break free. Her skin crawled and her flesh felt cold, then numb, then not at all. Her wings tingled, sprouting longer and farther, thickening from husks into real, hard metal, fully capable of flight.
Her tongue felt cold and dead in her mouth. Tears ran over the polished bronze of her cheeks even as her eyes were converted into lenses. She opened her mouth and let out a modulated scream, flat and mechanical.
And then, like that, it was over. Scootaloo opened her eyes. The clouds looked slightly grainy, but nothing too noticeable. She glanced towards the mirror. For a moment, she thought that the one-way glass had stopped working, because she could see the three figures on the other side. Then she realized that what she was seeing was heat signatures. She tried to tune that part out, focusing instead on the reflection.
She was bronze. She opened and closed her mouth a few times just to see the metal plates move up and down. Her mane was shiny and violet. She ran a hoof through it, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it could still bend. The door clicked open, and she glanced over. The Rani peered back at her. “How do you feel?”
“Go~od,” Scootaloo replied. She put a hoof to her throat. “Izz that~ my voizze~?”
It was still clearly her own voice, but there was a sort of musical buzz to it, now. “That will wear off with time,” the Rani informed her. “If you could step out, please.”
Scootaloo did so. She felt light as air, but she could feel each and every one of her muscles tense and relax as she walked. As soon as she stepped out of the chamber, Ditzy pounced on her. “Scootaloo? Is that you in there? Are you alright?”
Scootaloo took a nervous step back. “Yezz~ I feel fi~ne.”
A small green box framed Ditzy’s face and helpfully labelled her ‘ally’. There was a bunch of other information, too, mostly biological, but Scootaloo ignored that. “A~ctually, I feel gr~eat!” She beat her wings once and took to the air. “I feel fantazz~tic~! I can fly~! I can fi~nally fly~!”
“I see you got the voice modulator from the Mondasian design,” the Doctor said neutrally.
“Mon~who now~?”
“Not important,” the Rani said. “How do you feel?”
“I can fly~! How do you think I feel~?”
“Physically.”
“Gre~at!” Scootaloo beat her wings, and in a few seconds, she was flapping around the ceiling like a moth round a candle.
Ditzy watched her fly, conflicted. Beside her, the Doctor was smiling. He wiped his eyes after a moment, and turned back to the Rani. “I…”
“Forget it,” she replied. “Take her outside, let her fly around while I clean up after your terrible driving. You can thank me by leaving quickly.”
His smile stretched into a grin. “Oh, same old Ushas. Alright, Scootaloo, let’s have a flap ‘round outside.”
“Yes!” Scootaloo zipped out the door and down the hall, the Doctor running after her. Ditzy hung back, gazing at the Rani.
“I don’t know whether I want to hug you or smack you,” she said quietly.
The Rani’s cuffed hoof rose to her cheek, but she quickly pulled it away. “Perhaps it would be best if we merely shook hooves.”
Ditzy nodded and extended her hoof. She gripped the Rani tightly. “Today, you made a sweet young mare’s dreams come true. That was good, and I thank you. But if you ever pull anything like that on me or my loved ones again, I’ll hunt you to the end of time.”
The Rani reeled from the intensity of her words. “I-- I understand.”
“Good.” Ditzy released her. “There are fresh muffins in the fridge if you get hungry while you work. Good-bye, Rani.”
“Until we meet again, Ditzy Doo.”
Ditzy stared at her. “...When pigs fly.”
The Rani’s eyes went wide “How did you know about-- you haven’t even-- hold on. That’s just one of your pony expressions, isn’t it?”
Ditzy didn’t say anything. She just shook her head and left. The Rani’s shoulders slumped, and she trotted over to the TARDIS. Of all the ships the Doctor could have stolen back on Gallifrey, it had to be the museum piece. She opened the door. Immediately, she was struck by a torrent of lashing rain and hail that buffeted her back across the lab. She raised a wing to protect herself, but all she could do was run for the door. Damn the Doctor, not telling her that the atmospheric controls had blown as well!
In the door of the TARDIS, the deluge made it difficult to see clearly. Something about it made the mind swim, as though what was being seen was no more than a mirage. In the center of the storm, though, a pale horse trotted out, reaching their hooves out for the Rani’s machine.
When Hurricane, Pansy, and Cyclone burst down the door to the lab some ten minutes later, they found little more than a broken pane of glass, water everywhere, overturned tables, and a large blue box. Cyclone gave Hurricane a sideways look. “No danger, hm?”
Hurricane stared, befuddled. “The box has no function that could cause anything like this.”
“Really? And what exactly are its ‘functions’?” Cyclone challenged. “Cards on the table, Hurricane, I want the truth.”
He straightened his neck and stared straight ahead. “Report. The box functions as a highly advanced teleport device, surpassing even unicorns in its speed and distance in moving. It can fly, though not smoothly, and the doors are impregnable when locked.”
“I see.” Cyclone looked it over. “ZZeems pretty small for a ship.”
“Its exterior is extremely deceptive in that regard.”
Pansy winced at a sudden pain in her side. “Um, excuse me.”
“Very well, Commander. Azzuming that the box had nothing to do with this carnage, what did?”
“It has defenzzes~,” Hurricane said. “Perhaps Lieutenant Pallazz was able to use it to detect our arrival and wrecked her work rather than let us have it~.”
“Excuse me~!” Pansy said, a little louder now.
“Plauzzible, perhapzz~,” Cyclone conceded. “But there is no proof of that~.”
“I can think of one way to dizzcover the truth~,” Hurricane said, gesturing to the doors of the TARDIS.
Cyclone considered. “Very well~.”
Pansy screamed and fell to the ground. The other two pegasi spun around, alarmed. Cyclone gasped. Metal was etching itself on the mare’s skin, turning flesh to plates of silver.
“Panzzy~!”
Cyclone had one last glimpse of the younger mare’s frightened eyes before they warped into bulging violet lenses. Hurricane made an effort to recover himself. “Excellent~!” he said. “The firzzt of a new breed of sol~dierzz~.”
“Panzzy~! Panzzy, wake up~!”
Slowly, the metal mare rose. Cyclone’s brow relaxed. “My dear, are you well?”
“Open~ the doorzz~” Pansy buzzed.
Cyclone’s face went slack. “...Panzzy~?”
Hurricane scowled. “Private Panzzy~! I am your zzuperior~, and I will not take any orderzz~ from you~!”
“Incorrect~” Pansy replied. “You are inferior. Zzoon, you will be like uzz~. Open the doorzz~”
Hurricane looked like he was about to object, but then his face contorted into something between a stifled sneeze and an expression of deep pain. “I~” he growled, and to Cyclone’s horror, she could see the metal forming on him as well. “I~ will open the doorzz~.”
And in that moment, Cyclone knew that if those doors were opened, it would be the end of everything she knew and loved. She threw herself in front of the doors. Hurricane, his flesh twisting into violet metal to the point where Cyclone didn’t know where his armor ended and he began, picked her up and threw her away again. The last thing Cyclone saw was a vast cloud-- no, a swarm-- rising before her eyes. Then her eyes became golden crystal and she knew no more.