I’ve found another similarity between Terra and Earth today. If Earth films have taught me anything, it’s that group therapy is just as effective on Terra as they are on Earth, in the sense that they don’t work at all.
I had to sit in a circle of morons discuss their problems for nearly four hours. I believe that therapy could be helpful to people who really needed it, but I was fine without it. I didn’t need their help and I certainly didn’t want it either. I knew what was wrong with me, and I know none of them could fix it.
My problem is that I’m trapped on an alien world full of these living parodies of humans that try to act like everything is normal here. Every single day I am reminded of the differences that keep our worlds apart, the clear clashing of cultures that mocks me with the unfairness of my life.
Any advice they offered was just to try starting a new life or moving on from my past. It took a great deal of effort not to strangle the mare that had suggested that.
I don’t see why they bother trying to reform villains here. As far as I’m aware, Zephyr is the only one who’s actually put any thought into changing his fate. The other villains in this world are too hard set in their ideologies and desires to even think of reforming. And, while some of these villains do have slightly sympathetic origins and beliefs, most of them are evil just for the sake of being a nuisance to society. One such annoyance was High-Heel, otherwise known as Fleur De-Lis.
She was an exceptionally tall unicorn mare, dwarfing even amazons like Day Breaker herself. From what I can understand about her origin, she was a struggling actress who was possessed by a broken enchantment that nearly caused her to go on a colorful killing spree. After she was freed of the enchantment’s control and returned to society, she was raised up in the media as a hero in her own right thanks to the hard work of her lawyers and agents.
But, fame is fleeting, and eventually ponies began to move on to newer and more interesting things. Deciding to reclaim her five minutes of fame, she donned a ridiculous costume in the hopes of convincing others she was being controlled once more.
Unfortunately for her, the courts didn’t believe that her second crime spree could be placed under the Nightmare act, and she was sent to prison. After escaping from the revolving doors that invite their immediate escape, High Heel turned to a life of crime to reclaim some modicum of fame. Though, I personally thought that she was just crazy and left it at that.
Even before she shared it with the group, I knew what her background was, and I had even fought against her not too long after I received my membership for the Harmony League. I knew more about any of them than they could ever know about me thanks to a gossiping seamstress in Trot City. The tight-lipped mare that ran the hero centric boutique was a great source of knowledge when I fully devoted myself to becoming a hero.
Two days after Nightmare Moon broke into my lair, I flew back to Trot City under the cover of night to a carousel themed building. I had called ahead on a payphone earlier, using the alias of Cuddle Fish once again, to inquire about the shop’s hours and costs. I wasn’t too keen on the idea of entrusting even a scrap of cloth of my costume with someone, but disgusting smells called for desperate measures.
Worst case scenario, I left without my cape and I’d buy a book on cleaning armor later. Best case scenario, I would have a clean costume for a little under 200 bits.
Exploring the twin’s old lair had revealed a small untouched fortune hidden below the panels of their floor, which I was able to use to pay Miss Belle later.
It was a bit difficult getting to her shop, after all, bright reds and purples weren’t colors that went unnoticed by a wandering eye. But, the black blanket I took from my room and the pair of fake pegasus wings from an old Nightmare Night costume allowed me to be overlooked by a few tired pegasi.
Apparently, this world has no concept of appropriation, be it in color, culture, or physical traits. Subtle hints of racism and segregation litter their average daily lives, but no one, not even the pegasi or unicorns, would raise an eye brow as another race using their physical traits as costume pieces.
Still, not even my own conscience stopped me from using a questionably racist costume piece to my advantage.
As I slowly descended to the designated landing areas for pegasi, making sure to move the wire in my wings to simulate life, I looked over at the boutique that I had called earlier. Nothing about the building looked as I thought it would. Since her business card had said she worked with hero costumes, I assumed her shop would have looked something more like a comic book store with a display case full of generic skin-tight suits.
Instead, the carousel like building had several display cases showing off dresses and suits that looked like parodies of Earth designs. Most of the dresses were black and white with a few exceptions, while the suits were usually covered in frills or floral patterns that made me want to vomit. The dresses themselves were rather eye-catching to me, but every suit and apparel set for stallions made me want to either laugh or shudder at their bright colors and “unique” choices.
With a new feeling of reluctance laying over my shoulders, I gently pushed open the door and made my way inside. The shop itself was as eye catching as the clothes on display, for better or worse.
The shop owner heard me enter her store and quickly made her way to the counter as I withdrew the makeshift hood that covered my helmet. She was a unicorn with skin whiter than snow, and a purple mane that tickled a faint memory in my mind, something illusive that could never be caught as it danced on the fringes of my thoughts. Even now, when I think about her, some odd feeling of familiarity plays on my mind. It was enchanting back then, but now I feel as if it’s vexing, like something is taunting me with a secret I can’t hold.
At the time, I simply shoved past those odd feelings and fully removed the blanket and fake wings as Rarity greeted me.
“Good evening, Mr. Magneto, I must say, it’s quite surprising to see you here tonight.
“Oh please, Mr. Magneto was my father. Call me Magneto,” I tried to joke. Just like my other pitiful attempts at humor, it flew right over the mares head as she accepted the ‘truth’.
“Very well, my lord, I must say that I’m absolutely delighted to be working with you, darling.”
“‘My lord?’” I parroted.
“Yes? I’m sorry, do you not like formalities?”
“I’ve never been called a ‘lord’ before,” I said. I had heard that term a few times on television at Camp Everfree, and it was obvious that ‘my lord’ was a stand in for the human phrase, ‘my lady’. It was another strange parody that rubbed me in an uncomfortable way. “So, is it true that you can fix hero costumes, Mrs. Belle?”
“Call me, Rarity, dear, and of course I can. I trust that Fili-Second delivered my card?”
“I wouldn’t have known otherwise. Your store doesn’t really scream ‘super hero costume repair,’” I said, waving a hand around the room as I removed my cape.
“Well that’s the point, dear. It would be bad for business if villains and other dastardly ponies came by. By the way, if you do decide to come back, I would appreciate it if you weren’t wearing your costume, dear.”
“Right, is there a secret entrance, or,” I trailed off, hoping she could finish my thought for me.
“The front door is fine, dear. I just ask that you not wear something as eye-catching as that. Why don’t you take off your helmet, it must be awfully stuffy under that, dear.”
“I’m fine. Besides, it’s to protect my secret identity.”
“Well, there is such a thing as customer confidentiality. I don’t tell anypony about who comes in, and I make it a rule not act unprofessionally in front of clients, even if I am a fan of their work.”
Despite her assurances, I still felt uneasy about the idea of taking off my helmet. It was already enough that Timber and Nightmare Moon knew about my secret identity, I wasn’t about to trust a mare that I had just met.
“I’m sorry, I just don’t feel too comfortable sharing my identity with anypony,” I explained.
“Aww, do I look like a mare who would gossip?”
“It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like taking it off.”
“Well, if you’re that adamant to keep it on then I suppose I can’t argue ay longer. Still, I do hope the next time you come inside you won’t wear your costume. The last thing I need is any rumors about the newest hero in Trot City coming to my little shop.”
“Do all heroes here just walk in without their costumes?”
“Of course,” she said while she examined the gaping hole in my cape. “Goodness, Zapp certainly knows how to ruin clothes. I swear, I need to fix her gloves so many times that I’ve memorized the length of each digit by now. Still, I must say that I adore what you’ve done with this costume, darling, absolutely gorgeous.”
“I actually didn’t make it.”
“Well, if you didn’t, then may I ask who did?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Luckily for you, I do so enjoy a good story, especially long ones.”
“Well, by long, I meant boring,” I tried to deflect.
“A stallion of secrets, I see. Fine, keep them to yourself for now, but just know that I love every type of story, and you seem to have a very interesting one. So, how have you been since the siren incident, dear? It must have been awfully painful.”
I took a seat as Rarity summoned a box of threads, comparing each shade of purple to the one on my cape to find a nice match.
“Well, you know what they say. ‘What doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger’.”
“I actually haven’t heard of that saying.”
Of course, she hadn’t.
“It’s a saying from back home,” I dismissed. “I’m alright. Nothing some bed rest and soup can’t fix. By the way, has there been any news on the Power Ponies. I…” I lingered on that thought, debating whether or not sharing it would earn me the seamstress’ ire. It was all in self-defense, of course, but I did drop a car on one of them. “I may have gone a bit far with one or two of them.”
“They’re all fine, dear, rest assured. Why, Marevelous was in here just yesterday getting her suit stitched up. I also heard that you met with Matter Horn at the Ponice station. Didn’t you speak with her about the others?”
“I didn’t get the chance to,” I replied, stripping off my boots and gloves and placing them on the counter. “I should have asked over the phone, but how much would it cost for a full costume wash?”
“It should be charged to the Harmony League if you brought your card, dear,” she answered.
I made a move to pull out my Harmony League card but stopped as an idle thought struck me.
“How did you know I had a card?”
“Intuition, dear. Since Matter Horn spoke with you, I assumed that she offered you a recruitment for the League. So, if you have your card o you, I’d be happy to charge this to the Harmony League.”
Thinking it over, I nodded my head in silent agreement as I pulled out my Id, making sure to cover my name with my thumb while the seamstress attempted to pluck it out of my grasp. When I refused to let go, she cleared her throat politely and glanced down at the card.
“Dear, would you mind letting it go?”
“I would, but I don’t eat you to see my name. Secret identity, and all that.”
“You really are new to this, aren’t you? The name on your card should be enchanted so that only you can see it, dear. It wouldn’t do good for any hero if some cretin could look at your id and just find out your identity, now would it?”
Not even five minutes in her shop and I had learned more about the industry than I intended to.
“Sorry,” I apologized, earning a light chuckle from the mare as she swiped it through a card reader. I had seen a few of those machines littered about libraries and other stores, but I had never heard of any creature in Terra owning a debit or credit card. Later, I found out about how some heroes would use their ID’s at those stores for work expenses, though I fail to see how a pastry shop could be considered a work expense.
“If you’re ever needed for a mission, that image will start to vibrate and direct you to where you’re needed most,” she told me, handing back the card as she placed my gloves and boots next to my cape with her magic. “You can use the changing room behind the counter, dear. Did you bring a set of spare clothes?”
“I did. Thank you, ma’am,” I answered, making my way to the aforementioned changing room and drawing the curtains behind me. I already had a light tan shirt and black pants in my satchel, along with a pair of steel tipped boots that I was able to find in the camp’s old lost and found. It wasn’t enough metal to fly me back, and without my costume I’d need to call a taxi service and see how much it would cost to drive me back to Camp Everfree.
If only Gloriosa hadn’t been so stingy on gas, then I could have just driven to Rarity’s shop instead. I am a bit proud of what I ended up doing to her truck later on. Even now, I can’t help but giggle at the memory of turning it into a firework.
Anyway, after changing out of my costume and once more securing the helmet to my head, I walked out of the changing room and handed them to Rarity.
“Are you certain that you won’t take off that helmet, dear? It must be dreadfully awful for your hair.”
“I prefer keeping my identity a secret, Mrs. Belle.”
“I can assure you, I wouldn’t tell a soul.”
“Can your promise prevent telepaths from reading your mind?” I argued, fixing the buttons on my cuffs as Rarity gave me an odd look.
“Where exactly are you from, dear?”
“Smallville,” I replied jokingly, which failed to come across to the alien mare.
“I can’t say I’m familiar with Smallville. It must be far away considering that you don’t know about the ban on telepath enchantments.”
“Really? Why is that?”
“Because the first, and last, telepath was confined to an institute before all telepathic enchantments were hunted down.”
“Oh? I hadn’t heard of that,” I commented idly, suppressing my sheer surprise at her claim. As far as I was aware, Telepathy was one of the original Magneto’s only weaknesses. Aside from being overpowered by an army of super powered individuals, nothing could harm the mutant supremest.
“Well, I suppose not many ponies outside of the Harmony League know that story. I only know because most of my clients are from the League. But I thought everypony knew about enchanted telepathy being illegal.”
“Not much happens in Smallville. I doubt anypony,” I always hated saying that word, “even knew how to spell ‘telepathy’ let alone what it was. So, what happened to the telepath?”
“The story goes that there was once a talented mare named Sunset Shimmer, a unicorn who graduated from the Faust Home for Gifted Ponies. Professor Shimmer was a prodigy in the field of enchantments, and she created an enchantment that would allow ponies to take a peek into somepony else’s mind. Police interrogations would last only a second, the crime rate would fall drastically.”
“That’s seems like an invasion of privacy, though,” I hesitantly remarked.
“Others argued that too. Still, you can’t deny the possible benefits of telepathy. Sadly, even if everypony agreed that it could be useful, there was an unforeseen issue with the enchantments she made. Reading a pony’s mind isn’t like reading a book. It’s… Well, my friend could describe it better, but from what I understand, Professor Shimmer carried a great number of other personalities inside her head when looking into somepony’s mind.
“It started out small, picking up habits like snapping her fingers more to accentuate her point, rolling a shoulder, rubbing her hands together. Then it moved on to new appetites, different tastes in fashion, odd preferences for comfort. Soon, it became too much for the poor dear, and she ended up hosting too many opposing memories and thoughts inside her mind.
“Since then, she’s been treated by the best of doctors in the hopes of making her thoughts more coherent. Of course, only a few select ponies, such as myself, are privy to this information, so please make sure to keep this hush hush, would you?”
“Of course, ma’am,” I replied as I thought over her tale.
My only exploitable weakness, locked away in a facility where she could never peer into my mind. It was sad to think about the nightmares that mare had to suffer, sharing a mind with dozens, perhaps hundreds of others as she drowns in a sea of voices. Still, despite feeling pity for the mare, I couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved at the thought.
Even now, as I write this, I count my small blessings while lamenting her suffering. If she or anyone had found a way around the terrible side-effects of this world’s telepathy, then I would likely never see the light of day again. I’d be locked away in a prison made of glass and plastic, buried below Terra’s crust as the world moved on without me. And unlike the original Magneto, I wouldn’t have any allies outside to help me escape my incarceration.
I burnt every bridge I had with the heroes, and I doubt any of them would help me, or give me a second cha
Rarity was one of my most helpful allies back then. After already sharing so much with me, she imparted one last piece of crucial knowledge that would help me later on.
As I accepted the piece of paper that confirmed my costume number, (She gave me an odd look for chuckling at 420) I looked at the date to confirm when it would be ready.
“So, I’ll come back two nights from now, and it’ll be all set?”
“Yes, but if you’re called to action before then, I’m sure I can wrap it up more quickly.”
“Called to action? How is the Harmony League supposed to call me?”
It was a reasonable question in my opinion. My idea of a superhero was someone who sat in on a rooftop with a police dispatch radio, flipping through frequencies as they waited for something exciting to catch their attention. In hindsight, it was a really stupid thought back then.
Just as she had done so frequently that night, Rarity gave me another strange look as she shook her head and chuckled.
“I’m shouldn’t be surprised. Take out your card again,” she instructed. Once I did so, she pointed at the small emblem of my helmet, tapping on the picture as she explained the significance of my card. “Among the many innovations made from Professor Shimmer’s experiments with telepathy, she created an artificial sentient being that could analyze police reports and predict possibilities. If the Harmony Table, as most of them call it, thinks you’re well suited for a mission then this image will light up and Harmony will begin to glow and she’ll speak with you.
“Harmony is a Hero’s best friend, as they say. Why, if it weren’t for her then this world would have been set ablaze a long time ago.”
“So, everyponny just waits for ‘Harmony’ to tell them where to go?” I asked as I rubbed my thumb against the image.
“Oh, yes, dear. Why, could you imagine what would have happened if, say, somepony like Day Breaker had been the one to respond to the Siren’s threat? I doubt you and I would be having this lovely chat if that were the case, dear.”
I felt my stomach drop at that thought. I had barely held my own against the Power Ponies, and that was because they were uncoordinated and sloppy thanks to the Sirens. Even now, at the peak of my powers, I can’t imagine fighting Day Breaker. The only time I had come close to that was in the Everfree Forest some time before my incarceration, and even then, I had to run away to survive.
Looking back on it, the table gave me everything I needed to escape Day Breaker back then. If that were truly the case, then that would mean the table would have known about me before anyone else. If so, did it ‘know’ that I would become an outcast for my morals? After all, I wouldn’t have been at the museum if it weren’t for the table.
Questions for another time, I suppose.
With that, I thanked the mare and left the building, all the while thinking about my new life as I slipped my helmet inside my satchel and walked towards a payphone. I didn’t know it at the time, but being a “hero” was much different than what the comics and movies back in my world would have led me to believe. Matter Horn may not have been right about everything, but she was certainly on the right track when she warned me that heroism wouldn't be as glamorous as I imagined it would.