//------------------------------//
// Epilogue 
// Story: The Nightmare Parade 
// by Wanderer D 
//------------------------------//





"This will be quite the hefty sum, Miss Label."

"It's of no consequence," Stern Label replied, settling into the chair. "I might not be heading LightnSound anymore, but I have a considerable amount of bits. More than necessary for this procedure."

The medical team glanced at each other, but nodded. They were being paid a lot of money, and were professionals, after all. Without further ado, they went off to prepare their equipment, leaving the mare alone with her companion.

"Well, this is going to be interesting," Neon Clove whispered. She went over to Label and touched her hoof with hers. "I'm sorry you have to go through this, Sweetie."

"I'll need a new name," Label said softly, glancing at Neon Clove. "And a new career. At least I managed to get LightnSound to provide actual medical care for Yumi." She snorted. "Even if it's only a temporary solution to what Megacorps do."

"We'll figure out something." Clove took a deep breath. "I've contacted Gentle Cut. He'll meet us in a few days once this is all done, and we'll work on your new identity."

Label, or rather Sweetie Belle, nodded. "Thank you for sticking with me."

Clove smiled. "Hey. Thank you for trusting me."

"You did say your teacher had some experience with being in a different body…" 

Clove chuckled. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to talk it over with her. Here comes the doc. I'll be just outside."

Sweetie Belle nodded, smiling and closing her eyes. This body was different. And what she had done could be considered monstrous by some. But to her, it was simply her due.

A familiar song played on the screen nearby, where Sweetie Belle danced and sang, a wide smile on her face. The head surgeon turned to give her a wide-eyed look before raising his voice. "Turn that off!"

"No," Sweetie said, raising Label's—no—her hoof. "Leave it on. I've always liked this song."

"Um. If you say so, Miss Label. I just thought after what happened at the parade…"

"I understand." Sweetie used Label's face to smile. "But it's okay, I still like to see how she's doing."





She sang. She sang and danced.

And she raged, tried to stop the spin. Tried to close her mouth. Tried to scream instead of smile.

She raised to her hind legs, the servomotors keeping her impossibly erect as she waved side to side and the crowd reacted, waving in return with lights in their hooves or claws.

Stern Label screamed and screamed inside Sweetie's body, but the automated functions—perfected to continue regardless of how she felt or thought—finished the performance exactly as planned.

She cantered over to sit down next to the show host, who asked her inane questions about her experience and how she still could write songs.

The AI answered it all for them. It didn't care about how she felt about it. It didn't care that she was trapped in a body that wasn't her own.

The AI told the fans what they wanted to hear. It said the things LightnSound wanted to hear. What had been programmed. And nocreature knew she was inside.

That it was not her.

That she had no choice.


The End