//------------------------------// // Talks of Old Times // Story: Wired // by canonkiller //------------------------------// Two ponies sat in a dark room. One was undeniably female, her pure white coat unmarked despite the dinginess of the room. Pale wings lay slack at her flanks, feathers spread haphazardly across the floor. Pink hair fell limply around her neck, flowing around the unnatural bulges running down the side of her neck. Three faintly glowing pink dots lay in an inverted triangle between her closed eyes, their light glowing brighter as the lifted lines down her neck began to light up. The light traveled upwards through a messy tangle of wires previously unseen, until the space above the pony was a spire of rose. Feathers began to fall from the pony's sides, carpeting the floor in fluffy white down, until nothing was left but the bare arm of two wings. The rosy light redirected into them, spreading out in a wide fan of insubstantial, immaterial bands. With a bright flash, the pink bands shone full force, creating a wide swath of insubstantial feathers in the real one's place. She opened her eyes, their unmarked pink depths matching the hue of her new wings. Three spires of light lanced out of her forehead, connecting from the dots to form a pyramid on her forehead. She opened her mouth, gaping as she moved her wings. The second pony opened her eyes as well, pale blue lights appearing on her forehead and flanks, expanding and shimmering into her own wings and horn. Her eyes glowed faintly in the dark, edging her limp, matted blue mane in light. She smiled, gently, a small band of white across the dark fur of her face. "Still think you shouldn't have wired your protege?" The white pony frowned, her digital horn sparking as she mentally shoved her sister. "Shut up." ----- Dark blurs raced at the edge of Crescent's vision. Her own hooves smacked relentlessly against the concrete, small stones and sand dust surging behind her half-open wings. She easily leaped a pile of discarded pipes, the nearest of the shadows crashing into the mess and disappearing as it collapsed. She quickly slowed her pace, turning back to see the disturbance. The jumble of pipes had fallen still, and the other shadows paced the edge of the rubble. Cresent trotted over, kicking a few of the rusted pieces herself. One of the shadow walked up to her side, neon green lines crossing it's face before the dust cleared and she could identify her fello Changeling. "Seldom." She chirped. "Cresent." He replied. "I think that was Leeway." "Wouldn't surprise me." The two stood in silence as the rest of the dust settled, revealing the small group of Changelings that had joined to race. Cresent flashed her neon stripes as a signal to the rest that she had won, receiving submissive flashes in return. A surge of pride broke her stoic expression into a smile. Still the fastest Changeling in the pack. A hoof pushed out of the pipes, followed by another, and a head. The red lines below the Changeling's ears flickered, and he grinned. "Oy, Cresent! I almost passed you there!" She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and I almost turned into a Diamond Dog." As Leeway - of course, it had been him - clambered free of the abandoned debris, Crescent glanced around at her fellow racers, summing them up with how they had fared. Wildfire, wired red, orange and yellow, had been close behind Leeway, only having fallen behind because of her bad knee, a side effect of her Wiring. She recognized Crescent's gaze with a curious blink. Seldom, one of the rare darkshell Changelings, was wired green and blue, having a small blue star on his chest to mark his rarity. He was slower in straight races like this one, but could out-turn any other Changeling on the city streets. Leeway, wired red and purple, grinned as she surveyed him, flashing his wings in response. He was fast on the straight-aways, but often had difficulty with avoiding obstacles like piles of trash, other ponies and the occasional lamppost. Raven, wired purple and blue, didn't talk often, and when she did, it wasn't loud. However, she had surpassed any of the others in agility, able to dodge even the swiftest blows and able to gallop across falling bricks if the need ever arose. The last of her opponents was the sole unWired of her pack. His name was Torch, and he was incredibly fast. Fortunately, he was also incredibly modest, and any wins he achieved were accredited to luck, or environmental fault. Crescent found him interesting, in the way that he was a unique specimen among Changelings. Not only unWired, but a darkshell as well. She was proud to have two darkshells in her pack, even if one seemed strange. "Hey!" Crescent snapped out of her stupor, glancing over at Leeway, who had shouted. "Hm?" "I asked you if you wanted to race again." "Well... I think Wildfire's knee is hurting her again." She glanced over at the Changeling, who was sporting a limp. "Tomorrow, city circuit?" He snorted. "Fine." Crescent flicked her tail and flashed her wings, beginning the steady trot back towards the empty factory they called home. ----- A pale white Pegasus lay on her back, the mattress of her bed feeling lumpy against her wings. Her charcoal mane lay tangled across her pillow, the single red stripe in it weaving and wandering through the mess. She blinked, still not awake, and listened to the sound of the city waking around her. She could hear her father slamming the door, the sound of the wind in his old wings as he flew off towards the Entropy Enterprises building, could picture the golden words sown into his company jacket. She could hear her mother yawning, the shower running as she began her morning routine. In exactly one minute and fifty seconds, she would turn off the water. She would take twenty seconds to dry off, she would make it to the kitchen in ten, and toast would be ready in a minute. Thirty seconds after the toast had popped, he mother would call her down, and she would get out of bed. "Redheart, come downstairs! Breakfast!" The mare sat up, blinking pupil-less, blind eyes as she shook her mane into place. "I told you, mom, call me Anastasia." ----- Leagues away from the city and the slums, a spindly colt hung from his knees, high above the dusty ground below. His long legs waved calmly in the soft breeze, and he closed his eyes, short tail twitching to ensure his balance. Without a cue, he hooked one hoof around the bar he was hanging from, pulling himself up on top of it completely before swinging down again, upside-down by his elbows. He sighed, glancing forlornly at the ground below, and spun again, standing on top of the bar, all four hooves arranged neatly across it. He could almost hear the cheering of a phantom crowd, echoed by a single filly in the dusty, abandoned stands below. "Hey, Pumpernickel! Didn't hear you come in!" He swung to face her, hanging from his knees like he preferred. "That's 'cause I was sneakin'!" She replied, grinning. "You're mighty fine on that trapeze, Spider." He smiled, trying to figure out just how much sneaking a filly with that orange a coat could do. "I aim to please." "Ah're ya gonna come down, Spida'wick?" Pumpernickel questioned. "I hafta look up high enough when yer on the ground, and now yer way up there." "Oh, yeah. Right away." Spider swung up to his wrists, taking the short drop to the ripped overhang below, sliding down the threadbare curtain and grabbing the tassel to slow the last few feet of his fall. Pumpernickel grinned, galloping over. "How do ya do that so easy-like?" She frowned. Spider rubbed her forehead, spiking her messy green mane with static. "It's just practice, nothing more." She pouted, fussing her hair back into place. "It's more than practice, Spida'wick! It's yer spechsul talent!" "Well, yeah. But I got my special talent through practice." "Ah want my Cutie Mark now, Spida! Ah don' wanna..." she scrunched up her nose, as if something vile was nearby, "...practice." Spiderwick began his steady walk towards the exit of the old tent, the filly tagging along beside him out of habit. "You have to practice, Pumpernickel. That's just how it works." "Why can't it work some other way?!" ----- Two stallions sat side-by-side, steam rising from one's mouth as he exhaled into the cold winter air. Snow billowed around them, wildly serene, and neither flinched as the wind rose and bit around them. The first to move was the smaller one, a charcoal Earth Pony with gray-white hair. His eyes flashed blue under his waving mane, and his front hooves were wrapped in golden boots. He had lifted a foot to shift it, a set of metal claws hanging from the boot gouging the snow below them. He flinched again as they clanged together, and looked up fearfully at his companion. The second stallion was a Kirin, his bat-like wings folded tight against his sided to keep warm. The tufts on his ears tilted with the wind, though his gaze never faltered from straight ahead. Despite his unwavering vision, he snorted, another bout of steam rising into the air. "Don't worry, Lone, They aren't that close yet." Lone Wolf rolled his eyes, ears pinning back at the horrid drawl his companion used solely on his name. "It's not 'Lawn', for daylight's sake! It's lone! Low-ne! Lone!" "That's good," the Kirin grinned, "Lawn." "Nox, if you say that one more time, I swear I'll- WHOOF" Whatever statement Lone had been making, it was cut off as Nox shoved him into the snow. He went to get up and protest, only to be pinned down by Nox's wing, the owner quickly dropping into the snow as well. "Sh." As if I was going to talk. Lone hissed to himself, ears lifting to try and detect what the Kirin did. Nothing appeared to him out of the storm, until a white, pony-like shape ambled towards them through the snow. It was a robot, something not abnormal in the city. With a pony-shaped 'skull' to attempt to assimilate it, it walked more like a lion than a pony, wide swaths of black cable between every piece of white shell. Two inset red light blinked where it's eyes should be, casting a beam of bright light through the storm. The beams fell on Nox's semi-exposed back, and it walked over. Static crackled from a hidden speaker. "And what time is it, Mister Wolf?" "Cut to the chase, Cinnamon." Nox growled, shaking the snow from his back. "Don't have time for your games." "I think you do." The voice replied, and the robot hissed, the small blades in its' mouth extending in a grimace. "Do you like my newest design? I call it a Reaver. Wait 'til you see it out of the snow, this baby runs like lightning." Cinnamon laughed through the speaker. Nox flapped his wings angrily, and Lone slowly lifted himself from the snow. "Tell us why we're out in this sun-forsaken wasteland already!" The 'Reaver' retracted its' teeth, but the speaker remained silent for a few moments. "I suppose you've secured the perimeter." "Of what?!" Lone exclaimed. "There's nothing out here for miles!" "That's where you're wrong, Wolfy!" The Reaver tilted back until it recoiled on its' haunches, whip-like tail wrapping around its' feet. "You're standing in the direct center of the Arctic Wastes!" "And your point is?" Lone realized he was conversing alone, as Nox had seemingly vanished into the storm. Damn Kirin, he's too quiet. "It means that the Crystal Empire is directly beneath you!" "Crystal Empire. Really." Sarcasm dripped from every word, but if Cinnamon noticed, she didn't show it. "No, after Sombra's second return, the Empire was trapped under the ice! If my calculations are correct, there's a tunnel within fifty miles of here that leads to the Empire. You'll need Nox's wings, because it's kind of a big dome..." Lone stopped listening as Cinnamon rambled on, punctuated by the occasional shuffle of paper or scratch of pencil. Nox was still nowhere to be seen, but Lone no longer needed him for warmth. The spark of adventure - accented by treasure - had begun to burn, and he was more than ready to go hunting. "...and you should always stay close when in the Ice Caves, because..." The riches he could find in a place called the Crystal Empire! The very roads, the bricks, all crystal, refined and pure! His back itched with the lack of saddlebags, and he realized Nox had taken those too. "...and the structure of the dome might be compromised by your presence, so you might want to hurry, especially if..." "You should listen to her." Lone flinched and tumbled into the snow, once again unaware of his friend's travel. Nox grinned down at him, hoofing him his saddlebags. "And where were you?" "Bathroom break." He replied. "Why'd you take my stuff?" "'Cause you wouldn't notice." Lone snorted, actually focusing on Cinnamon. Damn Kirin.