I don’t know how they did it or why, but one of the guards delivered me a “present” today. Compared to the frilly ball-bras that I refuse to wear and the other lewd items that are shoved between my mattresses, this one is arguably far worse.
It’s an action figure, a small piece of plastic with barely any articulation, almost like a toy from the early 90s back on Earth. In fact, I could have very well confused it for a toy on Earth because of the familiar red helmet and lavender cape. It was certainly an odd experience to see something so human here. During my time as a hero, I didn’t pay much attention to the posters or figures that captured my likeness. But now, now I’m livid at the thought of these cheap toys.
Apparently, I’ve been rebranded as a villain toy, not a surprise considering what I’ve done. Still, will any of that royalty find its way to my pockets? No, of course not.
Legally speaking by this world’s standards, I don’t own the sole rights to my secret identity since doing so would require divulging my real identity. And even now that my name and face are known far and wide, I can’t collect any profits from these cheap products because I’m a criminal, which means that the bare basic of pony rights don’t apply to me anymore. Even murderers on Earth still had human rights, but not here. Criminals are treated as a low class of scum who don’t deserve the liberties and freedoms given to the spineless masses.
At the time, I accepted this answer because I was told that the profits for these simple trinkets would help fund reconstruction efforts for cities that fell victim to some villain’s antics. I didn’t necessarily care for the plights of criminals because they were below me, but now that I sit among them in this boorish prison, I can’t help but sympathize with them. Perhaps I should have jumped straight into villainy when I debuted in society. Villains here are the only ones capable of changing this world, after all. The heroes gush about peace and hope while fighting a battle that they rigged against themselves.
I refuse to play their twisted game, there are only losers perpetually rolling meaningless dice, forcing this world to spin on its heels rather than advance to the next stage of evolution. Not just in physical traits or abilities, but in thoughts and actions. These systems of oppression only serve to hold down society’s advancement, which in turn keeps these corrupt systems in place.
It’s mainly because so few ponies are willing to change. They see the injustices of this world but do nothing to stop them. I was too blinded by the glamour of my fame to notice how little we actually achieved. No matter how many times we stopped or arrested a villain, they would return. Instead of using our powers to solve issues in the homeless community, create equality between the races, or use our influence to Peter the lives of the average creature, we got into glorified slap fights with villains as we threw around boring banter.
I can’t help but to feel disgusted by my past self. I stood idly by and allowed this system to flourish under my own willful ignorance. I could have changed them sooner, but I was happy to stand alongside them and pretend that I was actually making a difference in this world.
Ponies won’t change unless I force them to. They’ve been indoctrinated into a system where common sense is almost nonexistent. Take Timber, for example.
On the drive back to Camp Everfree, I had expected him to unleash hellfire on Gloriosa for running away without us, but all of his anger melted away with a simple apology.
He should have cut ties with her, kicked her out of the campsite and let her fend for herself, but all she had to do was say she was sorry and he acted as if everything was instantly better. I love my family a lot, but it would take more than a single apology for me to forgive them if they left me for dead. Timber and the other ponies in general are far too forgiving, to the point I felt physically sickened at it.
Gloriosa left me to fend for myself, and it was only Timber’s desire to save me that kept me from being taken by that hideous mass of bleeding colors. If I hadn’t been a coward then neither of us would have been in harm’s way. I suppose I’m just as to blame for Timber nearly dying that day, but unlike Gloriosa I actually saved him. Though, I do suppose she’s trying to make up for it now, but it may be too late to do anything for him now.
Back then I didn’t know about the many trials and tribulations I would face, but I wish I did. I wish I could tackle the past with the gift of my present, to change this world in a way that I should have done from the moment I arrived.
Wishing things today won’t change yesterday, sadly, so I may as well continue with my story.
While Timber was more than willing to let bygones be bygones, I held a decent sized grudge against her for leaving us. I spoke to her less, finished work earlier, and tried to stay away from the camp whenever I could. Unbeknownst to the siblings, after using some of the complementary beauty products at the camp to dye my hair brown, I discreetly snuck off with the truck one night after stealing the keys from Gloriosa’s room. It was fun to practice grabbing items from another room and sliding them out of a window, and it was perfect chance to practice my abilities.
After successfully pulling off my first super powered “heist”, I rolled the truck a good distance away before turning on the ignition, making sure that neither of the sleeping siblings could hear the roar of the rusty engine as it came to life. With a thermos of coffee acting as my only companion, I drove off to the city with a plan for my next step into heroism.
Three days had passed after my first run in with Prismia, and I had a lot of time to think about what I needed to do to be a super hero. First and foremost was picking a name for myself. At first, I wanted something to distinguish myself from the mutant terrorist. But, considering that the most original name I could think of was “Magnet Man,” I think it was the right choice to stick with Magneto.
The original Magneto also flew by manipulating the electromagnetic field of his armor, so I decided to keep the villain’s iconic red and purple look instead of trying to follow Peter Parker’s footsteps, and make a costume from scratch. I would have been completely ready to dive into the world of heroism if it weren’t for one major flaw in my plan.
There was a glaring when it came to using Magneto’s alias and costume, and it laid in the design of his helmet. While it would protect me from anyone who could use psychic abilities, it did nothing to hide my identity from the public, no doubt an intentional part of the design on my original’s part. There was one solution for this problem, but it was expensive.
One of the villains in, “An Idiot’s Guide to Surviving Super Powered Ponies and Other Creatures,” listed a villain named Stygian, one of the few male super villains who gained recognition for his powers. At the beginning of his evil career, Stygian had an enchanted cloak that would hide his face and disguise his voice, allowing most of his adversaries to believe he was a mare instead of a stallion. I didn’t know why he would do something like that, but I didn’t care about the reasons for it as much as I did the results.
An enchantment to conceal my face in a shroud of darkness, only allowing others to see a pair of beady white eyes peering through the shadows that hid my identity, it was perfect. It would intimidate my foes and keep my personal life separate from my work as a hero. Sadly, without modern utilities like cell phones and computers which were still a few years away by this world’s standards, I had to find an enchantment shop the tried and true way of looking at a map of the city.
It took a bit longer than I was hoping, but I was finally able to find the store I was looking for. Moon Dancer’s Dream Emporium was a small shop on the edge of town and was surprisingly still open at 1 A.M.
Stepping into the shop, I was instantly struck with the familiar smell of weed tickling my nose. I never smoked weed because of personal reasons, but I had a few friends back home who would occasionally smoke it.
Aside from the smell, the shop was almost exactly how I expected it to look. Rows of shelves filled with ancient tomes, which were actually props as I would later realize. In fact, everything from the creepy statues to the different colored candles were nothing more than cheap tricks to impress idiots who didn’t understand even the most basic elements of unicorn magic. So, they were pretty effective on me.
Walking past the almost lovecraftian statue of a tentacled monster with ruby eyes, I made my way to the glass desk at the back and rang the service bell.
“Mittins! Bad kitty!” A voice from another room called out.
I looked around in a confused panic for the owner of the voice. There was only one door into the shop, and there wasn’t a visible door or curtain behind the counter. It was something I should have noticed before ringing the service bell, but I was too distracted by a jar of eyeballs that was staring at me.
Throwing a bit of caution to the wind, I rang the bell once more and earned an agitated shout from the unseen mare. “Mittens! Stop playing with the bell!”
“Um… Hello?” I called out. It was if the ambient sound of the shop died at my voice, causing a bit of panic to race through me as I debated hightailing it out of the shop.
I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I shrieked when a tan unicorn mares head suddenly poked through the wall. After taking a few fearful steps away from the counter, the mare quickly walked through the wall and tried to console me.
“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t know there was a customer tonight, especially a,” she paused for a moment as she looked me up and down. “a stallion. Um, welcome to Moon Dancer’s Dream Emporium, how can I help you tonight.”
“I’m here for an enchantment,” I explained.
“Oh, perfect. Is it a defensive enchantment, an alarm, or uh, a cosmetic enchantment?”
“I suppose it would be cosmetic in a sense,” I guessed, causing the mare to wince at my choice.
“Ah. Well, I can’t make your hair smell nice for long stretches of time, or do anything that would make you look prettier. Not that you’re not pretty, it’s just that I don’t know a lot of spells or enchantments that are only for making ponies look pretty and—”
“I need a disguise enchantment,” I interrupted.
That certainly earned her attention.
“Oh, may I ask what for?”
Stealing a glance around myself for a suitable excuse, I noticed a box labeled Ogres and Oblietes sitting on the shelf behind her. Catching an idea, I adopted a more nervous stance as I came up with a reasonable lie.
“Well, it’s a bit embarrassing but… Have you ever heard of role-playing games?” I asked, making sure to mutter the last piece to sell my lie.
“Role playing? Like… Like Ogres and Oblietes?”
“Yeah, you know it?”
“Of course, I do! I-I mean yeah, my sister plays it sometimes and I hear her talk about it.”
“Ah, right. ‘my sister plays it too,’” I told her, shooting her an understanding wink as I went on with my new lie in a lie. “My ‘sister’ needs it for her campaign and while I-er-she is usually fine at leading the party, she thinks this would really add something more to the campaign. If we had something like, for example, a disguise spell that could make us look more like Stygian, then she would be able to play the part of the all knowing director of dice, dragging the party into horrible peril at every turn of their adventure.”
“That seems really excessive for a one-off game.”
“Oh please, with how rowdy those murder hobos get, making a one-off is almost impossible. You try to make a cohesive story, but there’s always that one party member who wants to run into a swarm of undead with only a sword and a prayer. Or, so my ‘sister’ tells me.”
“W-well yeah, I heard that those games can get really hectic too, heh,” Moon Dancer said with a nervous giggle as she pawed at the tattered cuffs of her swearer. “So-so you uh, you need something to make you look more sinister, then?”
“Yup, I want to be completely unrecognizable. My sister! My sister wants to be unrecognizable,” I lied. I never knew that over-acting could be so much fun before, though it helped when you had a wonderfully gullible audience as well.
“Well, a long-lasting enchantment like that would require a-a lot time. Um, it’d probably be around two hundred to three hundred dollars?”
I hid a grimace at that number. “That’s a bit out of my reach for now, but I’ll come back later with the money. How quickly could you make one if I had enough to pay you?”
“The-the better part of a week o-or so, I think. Are you sure about this, three hundred bits is really a lot for a cusstom enchantment like this.”
“Perfect. Game night is going to be amazing! For my sister that is,” I quickly corrected with faux worry as I left the shop and waved goodbye.
Turning on the ignition of Glory’s truck, I sat in the front seat as I pondered the best way to get three hundred bits, or dollars as I know them, for the enchantment. As I was debating and knocking away a few ideas, one idle thought wormed into my brain as I passed by the post office on my way back to Camp Everfree.
While a custom enchantment was costly, the atm a few blocks away had more than enough money for it, and a simple wave of my hand was more than enough to ensure that I could afford it.
It wasn’t easy for me to break it open. Physically, it was child’s play with my abilities, but the act itself weighed heavily on my mind. It was something I wouldn’t even give a second thought today, but back then it was a struggle. I thought of a few alternatives, like a ski mask under my helmet or s simple piece of bent metal to guard my mouth, but either option would impair my hearing and my voice respectively.
Besides, either of those could be easily ripped off of my face, while an enchantment was, as I believed, intangible and more durable than some raggedy piece of cloth. Though, in fairness, I will admit most of it was because I thought an enchantment was "cooler" then a normal mask. My pride wouldn't allow for me to simply go with the easiest route, but my pockets weren't big enough to match my rather large dreams of granger.
While it was tempting, and would have been incredibly easy, I decided to not start my heroic journey off with a rather serious crime. I was always governed by my own silly rules back then. A code that I alone followed, morals that only I believed in, thoughts that would gradually change as this world turned me into a force of nature.