//------------------------------// // Blast from the Past // Story: My Little GLaDOS // by TheApexSovereign //------------------------------//         “I came back to tell you that this is the day you turn it all around. You stop eating junk food, you start studying harder, you stay away from drugs and alcohol and you become CEO of your very own time travel company.” -Future Cartman ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------          There are two things the stallion with a defective pituitary gland made me realize. First of all, the only way I’ll be able to move up in the world, this world, is if I play “nice.” Every ounce of logic and good reasoning is practically screaming right in my ear that this is a bad idea, but at this point, I’m willing to try anything. I literally have nothing left to lose. The chances of me receiving both physical and psychological scarring are at a one-hundred percent probability. Secondly, the homunculus was right; I can make a difference in the world. Killing myself won’t change anything. I mean, look at the shape this country is in! If it is running in a parallel timeline with my Earth, then that means it’s the year two-thousand-something and they still use a bartering system! A bartering system! Not to mention, their alcoholic beverages are over two-hundred proof! How is that even possible? With all this laid out on the table, how dare I even consider taking away Equestria’s only hope of emerging from the dark ages?   But no matter. In the words of the great Audrey Hepburn, nothing is impossible. I see it as my duty to shape this world into something a little more... modern. And if that means I have to overthrow these idealistic saintly princesses and their loyalist lackeys, then so be it. But the road to fulfillment is long and arduous, with many obstacles to overcome. The first of which is usually the hardest, and this, right now, is no exception.         “Alright, Miss. Glados. Just sign here... here... and here.”         No one told me that I’d actually have to go to a seminar. I used to believe that humans created these things to ward off immigrants, but now? Jeez...         For the umpteenth time, Glados snuck in a glance at the grandfather clock of the Ponyville mayor’s office. It read two o’clock in the afternoon. She had been here for a grueling three hours, signing papers and such as the mayor went on and on about her “duty” as a Ponyville citizen and the community’s few but strict rules.         That letter opener beside the mayor’s coffee mug is looking particularly enticing right now. God, a lecture on mitosis is more interesting than this. Glados ate up time by lightly percussing her casted foreleg against the chair’s armrest; the alabaster cast was bound to her the day before, and Nurse Redheart said she’ll need to keep it on for another two to allow the Cure-All’s effect to fully repair and mend every obliterated bone in her leg. The other foreleg,with a slit wrist, was wrapped in gauze and was intended to remain that way until sundown. Glados sat adjacent to Mayor Mare, with an oakwood desk being the only obstruction between the two. As the chestnut-colored pony wiped perspiration from her brow, she flipped over to the next page of the bulky packet that lied before her. This was a standard procedure that had to be read from beginning-to-end for every new citizen of Ponyville, which isn’t often, but that didn’t make the whole situation all the more tolerable for either pony. “‘You will now be given a series of tests that will be incorporated with your psychological profile’,” she read, sounding nearly bored to tears. “‘I’m going to say a word, and you say the very first thing that comes to mind’,” she picked up her heavy gaze, and asked, “Ready?” Glados made a stiff nod, shifting the Mayor’s tired, elbow-propped gaze back down to the packet. “Okay, first word: ‘Joy’.” “Trigonometry.” The mayor looked up from her clipboard with a vacant stare. “What? Trigonomics bring me joy.” The mayor shot Glados a crinkled brow-look, then shrugged it off and proceeded with the exam. “Alright, second word: ‘Friend’.” “Expendable.” The mayor swallowed hard, growing disturbed with the Glados’ unnerving responses as indicated by her deteriorating voice. “Third: ‘Chaos’.” “Life.” “‘Magic’?” “Stupid.” “‘Cutie Mark’?” “Communism.” To that, the mayor whipped her head up and grimaced. “What? You told me to say the first thing that comes to mind. I know that this place doesn’t follow communism exactly, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t get some sort of communistic vibe from it.” Amidst her moistened forehead, a vein throbbing with anger had surfaced; the mayor glanced up at her dangling, wavy grey forelock and blew up at it. It briefly flipped about but promptly bounced back into place. “I don’t even know what that is,” she admitted with tension in her output. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Shall we continue?” The mayor pressed on, eager to finish the test and have Glados out of her sight. “‘Darkness’?” “Fluorescent lights.” “Alright, Miss... Glados. Last word,” the mayor ran her hoof along the length of her collar, which suddenly looked a size too small on her, “‘Death’?” “Progress.”         Mayor Mare slammed the bulky packet shut and removed her glasses, breathed on each lense, and wiped them with a handkerchief she picked up from a stack of papers. “Well Miss Glados,” she began, placing the glasses back on the bridge of her nose, “I’m afraid you’ve failed both tests. But, thanks to the case six years ago of “Topsy Turvy vs. Mayor Mare,” Celestia’s ‘No Pony Left Behind’ policy dictates that I must allow you to live here under the watch of the Royal Guard. Not that that should be a problem, considering the princess already issued a pair of guards to stand watch over your current residence.”         “Oh?” cooed Glados with a inquirous brow.         “Mm,” she confirmed. “Your little ‘episode’ created quite a stir the other night. Most of it’s playful harmless gossip, but the princesses and myself have agreed that you should be kept under a more, should we say, ‘watchful eye’.” Despite the staggering news, Glados appeared indifferent to the whole situation, prompting the mayor to rest her folded hooves on top of the desk and form a cocky smile. “You don’t seem bothered by this.” Behind her blank judgmental stare, Glados screamed. God damn it all to Hell! This—! Okay, I can work around this. It’s just a setback. A really big, mile-long setback. I can still work around it, though. I just need to be careful. But... but I wish this filthy democrat would STOP SMILING AT ME! Though she’d never admit it out loud, Glados hates being taunted almost as much as failing. A lack of a response from Glados instigated the Mayor to continue. “Well, as I’ve said, the guards will never leave your side. Not unless proven you are mentally capable of living on your own, or you form-slash-join a Herd.”         Glados repelled the natural urge to let out a dismissive groan. To her, a “Herd” was just another word for “possible cooperative testing initiative.” With boorishly fake interest, she asked, “And a ‘Herd’ is obviously a...?”         The mayor, picking up on Glados’ heavy sarcasm with a disgruntled sigh, explained: “Well, Herds are tight-knit groups of ponies that live in or within close proximity of one-another. Some are made of family, others close friends, and sometimes both. There’s the Cake Herd, consisting of Cup and Carrot, their children and Pinkie Pie. Some spread out across Equestria, such as the Apple Herd, and so on. Sadly, they don’t always last,” she remarked with a sad glint in her eye. “I’m sure you’ve heard about Ditzy Doo’s Herd.”          “No.”          Mayor Mare wasn’t taken aback with Glados’ supposed ignorance. “Well, I’m sure anypony in town would tell you.”         “But I don’t care. And neither should you.”         The mayor frowned, her face contorted with anger; her face turned such a vibrant plum pigmentation that Glados was sure she would burst into a raging tirade. Instead, she exhaled deeply and calmly asked, “Do you have no sympathy? What made you into such a brutal and insensitive pony?         Glados leaned back in her chair and gave a casual reply: “Well, a lot of things, really. Life, humans, my godlike intelligence, western civilization but enough about that. You said these ‘Herds’ are made up of close friends, correct?” The mayor nodded. “Sometimes.” Glados silently weighed in the pros and cons of both options behind a bored facade: Let’s see... I can be followed around for the rest of my life by two pieces of drywall (because these morons will never see my geniusness as sanity), or I could join a Herd. Well, the Apples will probably take me in, but then I’d have to do yard work. Don’t want that, don’t need that. How about Vinyl’s family? No. God no. Octavia is living proof that I’d most likely bash my head against the wall within the first night. That leaves Ditzy... Well, she has been helpful. And she’s certainly one of the dumber equines in town; she has proven her loyalty so far, and is probably willing to do whatever I ask without question because she’s just that naive. On the downside... It’s Ditzy Doo. Emotional Ditzy Doo. Touchy Ditzy Doo. The one with the dead kid Ditzy Doo. “I’d prefer the guards.”           The mayor nodded, either in agreement or just common courtesy, and removed a turquoise quill from a jar of ink. As she scribbled several signatures on a stained parchment, she asked Glados, “Forgive me for asking, but I must know: is it all true?”         Glados, whom was hypnotized by a drinking bird set up on the window sill behind the mayor, gave a mere grunt of recognition.          “I asked you if it was all true,” repeated the mayor, sternly, never breaking her concentration while writing.         “What do you mean?” asked Glados.         “The other night, all those things you said? Different world? Trapped here forever? Someone named “Wheatley,” if I’m not mistaken?”         Glados’ eyes continued following the drinking bird’s head rhythmically dipping its beak into a glass of water as she gave the mayor a sketchy answer. “Huh? Oh, yes. Right.”         “Really? Splendid. Because you’ll be addressing that to the townsfolk!”         “Wait, what?!” Her attention suddenly gained, Glados shot up from the chair and slammed her forehooves on the mayor’s desk to prevent falling. Glaring through charcoal bangs with a mad glint in her eye, Glados slowly asked, “When?”         The mayor placed her quill back in its jar and replied with a familiar cocky grin, “Right now.” She rolled up the parchment and fastened it with a teal ribbon. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------         “I can’t do this.” Glados planted her hooves into the hardwood floor. The mayor and a Royal Guard, in turn, placed their hooves on her rump and tried forcing her onstage.         The Royal Guard was Ironsides. He had the common traits shared amongst his equals: a white coat and strong build emblazoned in polished gold armor. His tail and helmet-clad mane were a dark, almost black, purple hue; his eyes were akin to steel with a hardened look that was always present. Another guard, stationed by the curtains, was quite different. For one, it was a female; one look would at her would let anyone know that she was one of Princess Luna’s distinguished Shadow Guards. She looked almost identical to any Night Guard: bat-like wings, dark coat and serpentine amber eyes with narrow black slits for pupils. Her only distinctive feature was unkempt midnight-blue hair creeping out from under her helmet. The ferocity of the Luna’s night was encased in dark glossy armor; her name was Dewmist. She took a peek behind the curtain and looked out into the vast crowd that had gathered before the Town Hall Theatre. “It looks like everypony in town is out there!” she called over her shoulder. Glados’ eyes dilated. She took a deep breath, and flat-out said, “No, I’m not doing this.”         “Princesses’... orders!” hissed Ironside, teeth gnashed together.         “I’m not making a public apology! I apologize to no one! Especially a podunk of whiny redneck hay-chewers!” Glados’ tone grew increasingly hostile as the mayor ceased her pushing, prompting Ironside to push harder.         The mayor stood in front of Glados; so close, in fact, that her forelock brushed against the pony’s quivering face, whom was struggling to solidify a stance on the waxed hardwood floor. “We can do this all night, Glados,” she uttered, coolly. “Everypony’s out there. Just go out, explain your actions, and leave. And when you’re done,” she hastily added, “I’d like a quick word before you return home.” Milliseconds of contemplating her options led Glados to finally say, “Alright! I’ll do it! Just leave me alone and get your hands off my ass!” Without warning, she eased her stance and fluently swung the back-half of her body aside, causing Ironsides to fall flat on his face.          Glados slowly made her way onstage, receiving a harsh shove from Dewmist, who remained stationed by the curtain. “That’s for slandering the princess,” she muttered, loud enough for Glados to hear.         “Hey, that tyrannical blowhard had it coming for a long time! And you’re just another drone that’s willing to lick the dirt off her boots, you adherent little—!” With a loud “ping,” a stage light turned on overhead and placed Glados in the spotlight.         As this particular event was being held indoors, the crowd itself seemed far larger than it really was, regardless of the fact that it held the entire town’s populace. Throngs of ponies were stationed in balconies along the walls with their forelegs dangling over the railings in blithe anticipation. The entire indoor setup, with ponies standing before the stage and others in balconies, reminded Glados of the Globe Theatre. She stood in blundering silence, not a sweat to be found on her brow. She wasn’t nervous; she never felt nervous. Just, as of now, really stupid. Hundreds upon hundreds of hungry eyes were locked on her in anticipation, with a majority of the room obscured by a shroud of darkness that blanketed the whole room.         Glados found herself looking up to the spotlight’s source and having to squint to make out the rigid silhouette of Vinyl Scratch’s mane. “‘Sup, Glados?” she called down. “I’m a part time maintenance mare! How cool is that?”         The pony below let out an agonizing sigh before addressing the crowd of Ponyville. “Greetings dewlickers,” she began pleasantly. “I’m sure you’ve all heard of my astronomically embarrassing meltdown the other night, in which I cursed your ruler’s name, verbally abused her student and friends, then proceeded to destroy an irreplaceable artifact of both religious and historical importance. But you see... back where I come from, making fun of your friends was a common custom among many--”         “No more lies, Glados!” Twilight Sparkle called from an unseen location in the audience. “Tell the truth or leave Ponyville forever!”         “FOR-EV-ER!”         “Where’d she come from!?”         An influx of murmurs and whispers erupted from the left side of the crowd, which led Glados to believe that that’s where Twilight and her friends were. “Do we have a problem, Ms. Barkle?” she asked, sternly.         “Don’t call me that!” she yelled back, incidentally turning the discordant whispers into roaring laughter.         “ENOUGH!” Glados bellowed over the hysterical ponies. They all fell into fearful silence, like a talkative class that was just scolded by their teacher. “I mean it,” she added with a growl, ensuring the crowed to be lulled for the remainder of the assembly. It was so quiet that the trees can be heard rustling in the wind; even Vinyl Scratch didn’t have a jocular comment to add. “Alright then,” Glados began with a small nod. “Alright. I know you all want to get home as much as I do, so I’ll make this brief: Truth is, you all probably think I’m crazy. To be quite frank, I think I am crazy and that this is all just some sort of big crazy dream. At least, I hope it is. But the fact of the matter is... it’s not. This, right here, is real, and there’s really nothing I can do about it except... move on.” Glados scanned the visible faces up front and found that they were all entranced by her story. Before continuing, she painstakingly thought to herself, Be nice. I have to be nice. I can do this. I can do this... “I come from another universe—” Glados stopped herself, positive that there would be a few giggles peppered throughout the audience at the ridiculousness of the concept. There was not, which led her to the logical conclusion that this was perhaps a common occurrence. “Yes, another universe. One you can’t even hope to understand. War, death, hunger, murder and rape are a part of everyday society, and it was ruled by these barbaric monsters called ‘humans’.” There were several murmurs within the crowd, which Glados genuinely understood. That is, until, one voice piped up from the center of the audience. “But... But I thought humans were nice! I thought most of them loved each other, and only a hoof-full of them made war!”         Glados shook her head and forced out a small laugh. “Ignorance is bliss, I guess. No, humans were always brutal and warlike. The ones who were smart, the ones that built me, abused their gifts to create more conflict.”         More hushed whispers erupted from the crowd. Glados gave them a moment to die down before continuing. “Yes, I was built in a lab. And yes, I killed them. I was built to make their already cushioned lives easier. Through trickery and deceit, I fooled them all and gassed the entire science facility.”         The way Glados seemed so calm and collected while reminiscing a mass murder she herself committed put everyone on edge. Glados sensed this, so she made an attempt to quell their fears. “I hope, from what I’ve told you all, you could understand why I did it. Humans are evil. Their world is dying because of this,” she claimed, her voice beginning to deteriorate.  Glados’ forced voice-break caused the ponies in the crowd to take up falsely earned sympathy for her; they initiated in a sitcom-like “aww” of amity. Needless to say, they were melting in Glados’ hooves like butter. “After I murdered my creators,” she spoke with regained clarity; there was still some unease in the crowd at the term ‘murder’ and the speaker’s apathy towards it, “Complications still led me to obey protocol and continue running the facility. Not that I complained, as you may know, since I already loved science.” Finding it harder to keep up the “weak and tortured” act, Glados began pacing around the stage, switching between hooves to hold the mic. “I’ll be honest with you guys. Back where I come from, your rulers would be laughed at and ridiculed. That’s kind of how I feel.” She practically waged war with the urge to horribly insult the princesses; Glados felt sweat beginning to drip from her brow, which added effect for the audience, but was like torture for her. “Imagine this, everybody, just imagine this: Imagine if your Princess... uh, Lola, Lulu, whatever. Imagine if Princess Moona—” “It’s Luna, you narcissist!” yelled Dewmist from the sidelines. A small wave of laughter passed through the audience. “Yes. Luna. Thank you, dirt-licker.” Glados could feel the death stare Dewmist was sending her way. “Moving swiftly along, imagine if Princess Luna was sent to my Earth, and her ideals were laughed at and ridiculed because they weren’t the norm.” She paused a spell to let the words to soak in. “That’s how I feel,” said Glados with a sparkling glint in her eye. Speaking with heart-wrenching emotion guiding her tone, she addressed the audience, “You people, you’re all so... alien to me. It’s not just your way of... ‘life,’ really. It’s the smell, the names, cultures and even the colors are unappealing to some profound extent.” In an occurrence that truly baffled Glados, the majority of the audience laughed, taking it as a joke. I insult them, and they laugh. Damn freaks, I hate it here. Glados forced a small chortle and nodded. “Yes, yes, I apologize. That was a bad joke. But in all seriousness,” she said with a straight face, immediately lulling the audience into silence, “over time, there’s the unlikely yet likely possibility that I get used to you. A few years later, and I may even consider calling you ‘tolerable’.” A few ponies in the crowd had a crestfallen look about them, appearing tied up in knots over Glados’ bleak predictions of the future. “You have no reason to fear me, docile mutants of nature,” she assured, her commandeering tonality refreshed and forceful. “I have no intention of hurting you, and I have no quarrel with your hierarchy.” Lying came as naturally as quantum physics to Glados, as did falling for blatant lies to the ponies of Equestria; she spoke with such clarity and believability that even the cunning Iago would fall victim to her trickery. She was surprised herself that her hammy acting was actually winning over some of the town; they were physically answering through subtle nods of acknowledgement. Some even started clapping their hooves on the ground, and others followed. Soon, nearly the whole town joined in. This is too damn easy, Glados thought, finding it hard not to laugh out loud. Let’s wrap this up. I can’t stand to have these things looking at me any longer. “Townsfolk, hay-chewers and hayseeds alike, I ask of you one thing...” she paused for dramatic effect; several ponies in the front row leaned in expectantly, “...Leave me alone. Three rules, that’s all you gotta follow. Rule one: Don’t look at me. Rule two: Don’t talk to me. Rule three: Don’t even think about me. Pretend I’m not even here. I am,” she paused, exhaling a grievous sigh, “I am one of you, now. I am... I am a citizen... a citizen of, eugh, Ponyville.” Glados felt as though she’d vomit on the spot. With that closing statement, the audience burst into cheers of joyful tidings. Glados begrudgingly accepted their best wishes with the usual “smile and wave.” Mayor Mare came running onstage with Ironsides and Dewmist in tow. She wrapped a foreleg around Glados’ neck and waved to the audience. “Yes, yes! Isn’t she something? There you have it, folks! Let’s all give, ah, Glados a warm and proper welcome to Ponyville on a later date, as we both have important business to discuss!” “We do?” she asked, floored. “Yes, we do,” replied the mayor in a harsh whisper, then directed her attention back to the applauding ponies. “So long and have a wonderful evening!” With no warning, the Mayor dragged Glados backstage, tightening her hold around her brittle throat. “Ack! What’re you doin’!?” Glados choked. “Shut up!” hissed the Mayor. She slammed Glados against the pale turquoise wall; Ironsides and Dewmist pinned her forelegs against it, not that she was resisting in any way. “Filthy democrat,” muttered Glados, then addressing the guards directly, “Easy there, you two. I bruise like a banana.” The Mayor bitterly slammed a hoof against Glados’ chest, forcing a small gasp to escape from her throat. To ensure that none of the townsfolk would hear her “roughing up” the new pony, she spoke in a low, grim tone of voice, “I have no idea what you were trying to pull out there, Glados, but I don’t believe even half the things you said. But none of that matters; whatever helps you sleep at night is fine by me. But for your sake, I just want to make one thing abundantly clear: You’re living in my town, now. I’ve heard about the things you said and the things you did. My ponies aren’t here for you to experiment on, do you understand me?” She drove her hoof even deeper into Glados’ chest, who in turn bit down on her tongue and fought against the pain. “If I even so much as hear about you experimenting on my ponies, your flank’s ending up in Tartarus. Do I make myself clear?” Glados merely smiled, even with the burning pain drilling into her sternum. “I said: Do I make myself clear?” “No,” she chuckled. “Could you repeat that?” The mayor smiled. “Gladly. If you so much as scratch a pony, you’ll be answering to the Princesses. Is that clear enough for you, science pony?” “Yes, Mrs. Mayor,” replied Glados, pitiful in tone. “Please don’t send me to Stallestia and MussoLuna. I’ll be a good little psychopath.” With that, the Mayor ordered the guards to release their hold through a single nod; they complied allowing Glados to fall to the ground with a painful “thud”. As she departed from the trio, she was heard grumbling under under her breath phrases such as “maniac” and “sociopath.” “Well, she’s pretty angry,” Glados remarked with a hint of amusement. “I’d be too if I had that face.” She attempted to stand, only to stagger a bit before falling once more. “Here,” said Ironsides, “Lemme help you with that.” He wrapped a foreleg around Glados’ and hoisted her up. “Thanks,” she said. “You didn’t seem too keen on helping me when reducing my bone to meal just a few seconds ago.” Dewmist came prowling in from the shadows, glaring at the pair with mischievous serpentine eyes. “We’re your’s, now, Glados. We go where you go.” Within crouch and a leap, the bat-pony was hovering a couple feet off the ground. “But don’t take our loyalty as weakness. We’ll protect you if the need arises, but only that. We’re not your maids.” “Great,” Glados muttered with her typical sarcasm, “I got a brick and a mutant protecting me. I feel so much better.” Ironsides lightly bumped his elbow against her side until she turned to him. “Mind you that we’re only here because you have suicidal tendencies.” “Beautiful. May we go now?”         Dewmist landed beside Ironside and both saluted to their new “master.” “Lead on,” she said. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------         Glados couldn’t walk ten feet without a someone calling her name. “Glados! Ms. Glados!” a familiar beige pony called from her portable candy booth, stationed by the fountain where Celestia’s statue once proudly stood. Glados made an audible groan of annoyance.         “You should go talk to her,” suggested Ironsides, to which Glados promptly said, “Bricks can’t talk.”         “As you wish, ma’am.”                  “Hey, what’d I just say about bricks?”         “Please, Glados! I implore you come over here!” the pony said with urgency, now with her hooves propped up on the sweet cart’s counter.         “Ooh, ‘implore.’ Big boy word. I’d better go over there,” mused Glados. She and her guards trotted over to the carnival confectionary stand; its proprietor smiled and gave her pink-and-blue tail a little flick.         As they got closer, the air around the sweets vendor grew sickeningly balmy, enough to make Glados’ stomach turn and reconsider this meeting. But she pressed on, gazing upon the vendor’s admittedly interesting design. Its appearance was unlike anything found in Ponyville’s Marketplace. The top was like a circus tent, striped pink and blue with identically-colored flags lined up along the top. Riveted to this unique overhanging was an old-timey wooden sign that read in faded, archaic print: “Bon Bons Delightful Sweets.” The name did not discriminate; nearly every tooth-rotting treat Glados could think of was stuffed into the dozen or so display racks situated around the cart’s perimeter.         Glados quickly found herself unsure on how to proceed. Due to the bizarre nature of pony names, and the sign’s apparent poor punctuation, she couldn’t decide whether or not this pony’s name was “Bon Bons” or “Delightful Sweets”.         They’re both stupid enough to be her name, but which one? Oh, what do I care? It’s just a stupid equine. Not like I’m going to see her ever again. Standing before the cart, Glados gave a slight bow and said with slight uncertainty, “Salutations... Delightful Sweets. Why have you--”         “It’s Bon Bon,” she stopped, much to her customer’s grievance. “Glados, don’t you remember?”         “I try not to.”         “After you saved Sweetie Belle from that horrible Cockatrice? I came up to you and offered a discount the next time you were at my store?”         “Yeah, I remember,” recalled Glados. “You’re the one with that... that, uh, irritating voice.” A mellow silence fell between the two as Ironsides went fishing for bits in his armor pockets. “By the way, your voice changed.” A distinct indifference presented in her tone made the manner-minded Bon Bon twitch in displeasure.         She shrugged it off with a soft chuckle and explained, “Yes, this is my normal voice. Apologies. I was, uh, should I say, a little nervous, at the time? I’m not good with new faces, and I only have a very small, close group of friends.” Though Glados hardly gave it any thought, Bon Bon’s “normal voice” sounded very plain. Almost annoyingly plain. It was so void of any definable characteristics that she literally couldn’t find the words to describe it, other than it sounded “motherly,” or like a sister that would scold her disobedient little brother, but even that was involved with quite a bit of conjecture on her part. “I just, well, I guess I just have a natural ability to change my voice,” she explained. “It sometimes happens randomly, usually when I’m excited or angry.”         “How unfortunate,” said Glados; her usual blatant lack of interest failed to pass over Bon Bon’s head.         Swallowing the wad of cotton in her throat, she replied with a gentle smile and a little shake of her head. “No, no. It... It’s actually quite a bit of fun,” she said with a soft quiver to her voice. For most ponies, that would most likely go unnoticed, but not to the astute Glados; her ears perked up at the slightest fluster in Bon Bon’s speech. She gave a timid laugh, and followed up with, “I can mimic almost anypony’s voice, if I wanted too. Here, I can even do you!”         This’ll be good, Glados thought with a mental eyeroll.         Bon Bon rose a hoof to her mouth and coughed into it. She noticed the crooked brow Glados was sending her way, and she said with a nervous giggle, “Heh, just priming my instrument.”         She cleared her throat once more, and sighed. “Okay, here we go: ‘Well, that was a colossal waste of time,” she said in an eerily well-defined impression of the pony that stood before her. It was as if she had ripped Glados’ vocal chords straight out of her throat. Dewmist and Ironside, who were splitting a candy bar the size of a boogie board, were heard yukking it up behind her; Glados’ expression remained unchanged.         “I guess I’ll go home and recite the photosynthetic nature of photosynthesis. Because... I like... science? I’m sorry, Glados,” she confessed with a lighthearted giggle. “I’m not quite sure how you ‘talk,’ per se. But I sure would like too!”         Glados’ ears fell against the sides of her head. “Um, you mean becoming--?”         “Yes, friends,” she confirmed with a smile. Before Glados could interject, Bon Bon explained, “I don’t know what it is about you, Glados, but there’s something special about you I can’t quite put my hoof on. Yes, a little rough around the edges, but, you know what the old saying, ‘a diamond in the rough’.” Glados replied through a slow, tedious blink. “So you’re saying I’m a lump of compressed coal buried under mounds of century-old grimy dirt? You’re quite the wordsmith, candy peddler.”   Bon Bon recovered with a shrieking, “No! No, that’s not what I meant at all!” Knowing she was losing her, Bon Bon began to sweat; her face grew hot, quickly turning from warm and welcoming to one stricken of barely-contained horror. ‘Oh, no!’ she thought,  ‘I’m starting to sweat! Now I’ll sweat even more and start to stink, and if I start to stink then she’ll point it out! And if she points it out, then I’ll get even more nervous and my voice will start changing. And if my voice starts changing, then she’ll think I’m a freak and I’ll lose the one opportunity to make a friend!’ “You’re starting to perspire,” Glados pointed out with her tired look remaining unchanged; this lulled a small gasp from Bon Bon. ‘Luna dammit! Alright, Bon. Just play it cool.’ “Heh-heh... heh,” she laughed, its inept force raised Glados’ brow and forced a chocolatey spit-filled laugh from Ironsides. ‘Horseradish!’ cursed Bon Bon underneath a farce smile; she removed her forelegs from the countertop and sat on her rump, then started to nervously stroke her long, crimped mane. Glados hardly gave this action in particular any thought, assuming it was just some strange Equestrian behavior. Must be in heat, she thought. “So, uh, Glados,” she began, swallowing what felt like a lump of hot coal in her throat, “just let me to explain.” “No, allow me to explain,” Glados adjourned, raising a hoof and silencing the bumbling Bon Bon. “I see what you’re trying to do here. You’re making a pathetic attempt at gaining my acquaintance through some hilariously poor phrasings and metaphors that are nothing more than sad whacks at achieving my respect because I’d, supposedly, see you as my congruent equal. But your complete lack of confidence and self-esteem are what severely hurts your efforts. And now that I found you out, you’re sweating more than a fat man in the party escort submission position, and your lovely toxic bodily odor is wafting all the way over here. Even now I am struggling not to keel over. Am I right, or am I right?” Bon Bon would’ve passed out then and there, had it not been for the steady thump of her heart suddenly going off at a frantic rate. Her mouth opened, but nothing more than a pathetic little shrill came out; her sharp turquoise eyes were locked with the narrowed quince-colored pair of Glados. “Speechless. That’s your defense mechanism?” Her accusation was so sudden it made Bon Bon nod out of impulsive worry; Glados’ lips formed a cold, sinister smile. “When someone asks you a question that makes you feel uncomfortable, or when you’re unsure of how to respond or carry on a conversation, you keep silent. Like a doormat. Like Fluttershy.” Bon Bon shuddered at the mentioned name. “Oh?” uttered Glados. “You don’t like being called a doormat?” Bon Bon mumbled unintelligible drivel under her breath. “Speak up, equine,” demanded Glados. She mumbled again, a little louder with the only discernable word being “Fluttershy.” “Candy horse, did I stutter? Am I a stutterer like you? Speak up!” “I... I don’t really like Fluttershy, or her friends,” Bon Bon mumbled, voice trembling frantically. Glados’ smiled beamed like no other. “Really?” she asked, uncertainty lingering within her upbeat tone. “You hate Fluttershy and her annoying friends?” Struggling to keep her anxiety-ridden voice leveled, Bon Bon explained, “We-Well, I don’t necessarily hate them, per-per se. I just-I just don’t like the breaks they’ve gotten, you know? I mean, every we-week our town is torn up by some g-g-giant monster or old revenge-seeking rival, and we’re always paying the-the pi-piper for it, you know?” Glados gave a slow nod, and Bon Bon started stroking her hair even faster, splitting ends and tousling its perfect comb. “We’re-We’re always the ones stuck cleaning up the mess, and the pony who caused the mess, whether it’d be Pinkie or Twilight, gets a pat on the back from the Princess Ce-Celestia. Sure, they help. Al-Always! But that doesn’t mean we like it any less! My family has been living here since the Apple Family first claimed the land, and Po-Ponyville’s been a peaceful little place up until the prodigy student from C-C-Canterlot came and lived here!” Nearing the end of her rambling, Bon Bon was starting to rip navy-blue hairs from her mane. Glados rubbed her chin and smirked. “Interesting. Very interesting.” Bon Bon looked up with confused exasperation. Even after that humiliating tirade of her’s, Glados didn’t give it even a modicum of attention. With a resounding exhale, Bon Bon stood up; her mane and posture in complete disarray, yet she managed put on a little smile. “I hope for our sake, mine and the town’s, that your presence here can help prevent some of those little accidents.” “I think it will,” Glados confirmed, as if it were a fact and not a speculation. Glancing up at the cart’s sign, she looked back at Bon Bon and asked, “Do you have a pen, or something along those lines?” Bon Bon smiled, wordlessly opening a little cabinet in the undercarriage and pulling out a jelly donut. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish grin, “it’s the closest thing I have to something that squirts stuff.” Taking the pastry, Glados said, “I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that. Ironsides?” The requested stallion, mouth caked with, and full of, chocolate, uttered a garbled ‘Yes ma’am?’. “I request a boost.” “We’re not your maids,” said Dewmist. Bon Bon’s eyes and smile brightened at the sudden opportunity to impress her new friend. “I’ll help, Glados!” she said, trotting around the counter and lowering her torso for her friend to climb up. “Much appreciated,” said Glados, glancing back at the guards and saying, “Unlike the diabetic duo behind me.” They chose to ignore her snide remark.          With the jelly donut in her mouth, Glados effortlessly, and carelessly, climbed up the living stepping stool; Bon Bon successfully quelled the urge to cry out when her friend, unbeknownst to her, purposely beat a hoof into her taut shoulderblade. Standing upright with her forehooves pressed against the sign, Glados squeezed the donut and allowed its filling to create an apostrophe in between the “s” and “n” in “Bon Bons.” Glados hopped off Bon Bon and spat the donut into the fountain behind her. The candy salespony ogled her improved sign with a smile. “I appreciate your assistance, Glados. I honestly, truly do.” “I can’t stand a simple punctuation error,” she said, plainly. “Perhaps you’ll want to go over that with some paint. Yes, the sugary teeth-rotting jam will coagulate and stay there for a decent amount of time, but it’s highly unlikely that it’d be able to withstand the rain.” “I will,” said Bon Bon, softly. Turning back to Glados, she said, “If it’s not too much trouble, there’s somepony I’d like you to meet.”         “It is too much trouble, but you’re going to show me anyway.”         “Yeah, pretty much.” Bon Bon turned and faced the fountain; Glados’ bodyguards approached either side of her, stone cold eyes locked on the candy peddler.         Bon Bon drew in a large intake of air through her nose and softly whistled a brief four-note tune, then stood perfectly still with a great big smile on her face. Glados and the guards exchanged puzzled looks, equally confused over this awkward pony and her offbeat behavior.         Slowly, a large area of the fountain’s surface began to softly foam and bubble. It gradually evolved into a violent undertow, splashing some water out onto the small grassy area encircling its base. Ironsides and Dewmist stepped in front of Glados, who in turn gave them an icy stare; the earth stallion rolled his shoulders counterclockwise, extending an iron sword from his peytral and giving him an appearance akin to a jouster. Dewmist simply flared her aged leathery wings open, adopting a hunched combat stance, and baring her long sharpened fangs.         They can’t be serious. Then again, better safe than sorry. Just as Glados was about to walk away, the head of a turquoise unicorn emerged from the water. Her moistened form gave off a brilliant gleam against the moonlight above; her teal mane remained plastered to her forehead, with a few strands falling over copper eyes that were both bright and mischievous, seeming to have a direct link with her devious smile.          Without warning or explanation, the pony started to sing: “Shoo-bee-doo! Shoo-shoo-bee-d--!” She cut herself off; her smile and seemingly optimistic persona were dropped when she saw her audience composed of just Bon Bon and three complete strangers.         “Oh. Hey, Bon,” she said, her beautiful voice’s jubilance replaced with one that was laid-back, almost delinquent-sounding. “Thank the fat ass of Celestia it’s just you. If I had to sing that stupid song one more time...”         “Good evening, Lyra,” she replied with a bow. Bon Bon looked back to the gaping wide-eyed trio and explained, “Friends, this is Lyra Heartstrings. You could say we’re... close.” Her hesitance wasn’t one of embarrassment, but more of a childlike playfulness, to which Lyra snuffed a little chortle.         Glados was the first to speak: “What? Like lovers?”         “No! Oh, by the soiled grave of Artemis, NO!” Lyra cried, burying her face in, not two hooves, but a pair of webbed, pale-green fins.         “Jesus H. Christ!” shrieked Glados, taking a wide two steps away from the group. “What nuclear testing site did you worm your way out of!?”         “Glados!” Bon Bon scolded, raising her voice in a way that didn’t seem possible moments ago.         Lyra placed a calming fin on her friend’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Bon. The kid’s new here.” She then turned her attention to Glados. “I’m unlike anything you’ve ever seen before,” she said with a cocky grin, propping a fin up on the rim of the fountain like a human would with their elbow. “Hey, most ponies living outside of Ponyville don’t even live to see my kind in their lifetime.” To prove her point, she dove back into the water. What came back up was the lower-half of what Glados believed to be the very death of her own sanity.         From the water, stretching into the sky, was a tail; the actual tail of a seahorse, curling and unfurling like a slime-laminated snake. Like all ponies, her cutie mark was present around the pelvic region, in the form of a lyre. Unlike ponies, however, Lyra’s body was covered, not with fur, but with scales. Hundreds upon hundreds of oozy turquoise scales. She even had a dorsal fin; spinous, and it stretched along the length of her back, but the fringe wasn’t particularly lofty; it was rather short, at least to Glados.         Lyra swam back up to the surface, levitating a soggy jelly donut encased within a dark orange glow that matched the one enveloping her horn. “You gonna eat this?” she asked.         “You’re... you’re a seahorse,” breathed Glados, eyes wide and breath still.          “Seapony, actually,” she corrected, shoveling the donut into her maw, much to Dewmist’s visible disgust. Glados opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something, then brushed it off. “Cute,” she said, flatly. “‘Seapony’ instead of ‘seahorse’. That’s cute. And why do you live in the fountain like some sort of bird?” “Oh, I don’t live in the fountain, really. My house is way out there, in the Everfree Lake” she explained, gesturing to an arbitrary direction in the horizon with a fin; it still managed to give Glados chills. “This fountain is connected to the sewer system, which is connected to my lake.” “That’s disgusting.” “Eh, it’s not all bad. You’d be surprised at the things some ponies flush down the toilet.” “Spare me the details. Please.” Lyra looked as if she was about to make a nasty comment, but one look at Bon Bon’s stank eye was enough to silence her. “But getting back on track,” resumed Glados, “what’s the deal with you two?” Her unease skyrocketed when Bon Bon took a napkin and wiped some donut jelly sliding down the corner of Lyra’s mouth. “Please tell me,” she begged, firmly. “This is getting a really weird, really fast.” “Much to my dismay,” said Bon Bon, “Lyra Heartstrings is my stepsister.” “Okay,” Glados affirmed. “My dad married her mom,” Lyra explained, doing laps around the fountain. “It’s a weird story, but they managed to make it work.” “I said ‘okay’.” “They’re entering year nine of their thirty year honeymoon in Malapaloosa. And I get to stay here with Bon Bon and Twist!” Lyra patted her stepsister on the back, leaving behind a gleaming trail of slime she didn’t seem too fazed by. “Leaving me to clean up her messes,” sighed Bon Bon, preparing to close shop by taking the racks of candy and putting them in the mobile stands’ undercarriage. “And Twist is my biological sister. You’ll probably run into her one of these days.” “I said ‘okay’,” repeated Glados, sounding slightly more irritated each time she spoke. Lyra stuck her tongue out, levitating a lollipop from its’ rack when her stepsister wasn’t looking. “Aw, come on...” she said, pausing to draw a long lick from her candy, “...you know you love me.” She jammed the frisbee-sized lollipop into her mouth, receiving a sough of annoyance from Bon Bon.         “I said ‘okay!’ Damn, I was just asking how you two knew each other! I wasn’t asking for your whole life story.” Glados rubbed her temple, trying to subdue the migraine that was building up in front her head.         Bon Bon, who began scrubbing down the counter, said, “I apologize, Glados. Lyra just likes to... tell stories.”         “Yeah,” she said, “and didn’t you see me in the audience? I was the one who asked you questions about humans.”         Glados gave a hesitant, “Ah, yes,” not giving Lyra’s drivel much attention and instead was delved in her own thoughts.           “Well, that’s fifteen years of anthropological studies down the drain.” “I told you it was a waste of time,” nagged Bon Bon, sounding like they had a similar  conversation well over a dozen times in the past. “Yeah, it’s only my entire fryhood wasted. No biggie.” From underneath the fountain, Lyra levitated a rolled up piece of paper into her mouth. With a pop of magic from her horn, the end of it briefly caught on fire, then subsided into a thin tower of smoke made blue in the moonlight. “Serves me right for thinking that humans were kind, peace-loving creatures like in the storybooks.” Twin-puffs of smoke were exhaled from Lyra’s nostrils; her mouth curved into a dopey grin. “Aw, yeah. I feel better already.”         Bon Bon instinctively slammed a container of toffee squares into the cabinet and swatted the door closed. “Lyra!” she scolded, her “plain” voice ablaze with anger. “Are you joking? Again!?”         Lyra lifted a fin up to her mouth and ripped the joint out of her mouth. “You’re not the boss of me! I can quit when I want!”         “What the hell? Is the seahorse really smoking marijuana?” Four pairs of eyes turned to the speaker with their faces contorted into looks of bewilderment. “What’s ‘marawana’?” asked Lyra. She held the blunt up in front of her face for Glados to see, then frowning at once when she realized it was soaking wet. “Oh, great. Smooth, Lyra. Real smooth.” She rolled her eyes with a disdained groan and dropped the blunt into the grass below. “That was a ‘dreamstick,’ Glados. Ponyville’s own resident shaman, a zebra named Zecora, makes these for anypony who asks using a sacred recipe she learned from her people way out in Zebrica. All’s I know is that it’s made from crushed Poison Joke, Fire Lilies and some weed found only in the Pride Savannah. Basically, it sets the user’s mind at ease if they’re ever stressed. Get it?” Glados nodded, genuinely intrigued. “But is it addictive?” “No, not really.” “Do you suffer from any health problems?” “Nope! I’m as healthy as a horse!” Lyra’s smile stretched from ear to ear, and no one, especially Glados, cracked a smile. “Never say that again,” she said. “But if this ‘dreamstick’ has no negative effect on the user, then what’s her problem?” She tilted her head to Bon Bon. The aforementioned pony slammed a jar of licorice whips onto the countertop and stormed over to Glados. “Her problem,” she began, towering over the straight-faced pony, “is that she turns into a bumbling moron whenever she starts ‘joking!’ And if she’s babysitting Twist, and I come home, the house ends up either burned down, or smelling like week-old fish wrapped in newspaper!” She glared daggers back at Lyra, who put on a sheepish grin and placed her fins behind her back. “That smell. The dreamstick’s horrible horrible smell! Do you know how much I had to wash that sofa in order to get the stink out?” “Oh, c’mon, Bon! No one wants to see that!” Lyra turned her back, disgusted by what would allegedly take place. Sitting on the fountain, Bon Bon raised her left hoof and wrapped the other around it. With little effort, she pulled it off, revealing it to be a prosthetic hoof. Barely surpassing her elbow,  Bon Bon’s entire left foreleg was almost nothing more than a beige stump. “Holy cannoli!” Ironsides boomed with a hearty laugh. Dewmist gazed upon the severed limb, not with disgust, but with wonder. “That’s beautiful,” she cooed. Given the comment, and the way she was looking at it, Glados herself was given the sudden impression that Dewmist is “into” amputees. Bon Bon waved her stump in the seapony’s direction. “You worked me to the bone, Lyra!” “Fascinating,” Glados proclaimed. “Your entire hoof got whittled down just by scrubbing down your sofa? How?” “She used dragon blood to get it out!” Lyra called over her shoulder, her back still turned on the group. “It’s very, uh, potent,” said a blushing Bon Bon, reattaching her prosthetic hoof and jumping down from her perch on the fountain. These two are quite the characters, thought Glados, physically rubbing her chin. The candy horse seems to be a complete wreck around others she hardly knows. But when paired with someone as close as her sister, then she turns into, well, a complete psychopath. No wonder she hardly has any friends. And I think this very psychopath is just what I need for “readjusting” Equestria. “But let us not dwell on the past,” Bon Bon said with an eased sigh. She locked down the cart and handed Glados a giant rainbow-swirl lollipop, who accepted it with a farce grin and a lurch in her stomach. “Here, Glados. It’s on the house.” She said her final goodbyes before departing from the group, making the long journey home on her hind legs with the cart being pushed forward. Lyra waved goodbye to Glados, who still grew queasy at the sight of webbed hands. “Later, Glados! Maybe we can hang out sometime!” She dunked her head under the water, only to quickly came back up again and say, “Oh, and you’ve gotta see how I travel on land! It’s hilarious!” “I’ll, uh, look forward to that?” she replied, her overall tone being an uneducated form of friendliness that sounded more like confusion. Lyra naturally accepted it, though, and dove back into the water without another word. With her guards at her sides, Glados looked down at the giant, color-patterned treat she held in her hooves. “Yummy.” She coldly chucked the lollipop into the darkness before her, hearing it shatter into a thousand sticky pieces against the beaten cobblestone path. “I hate candy.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------         It was well after midnight when the trio finally made it to Glados’ residence, and still carrying on a conversation they’ve been having for almost the whole duration of the walk. “Tell me again how your people were created, Dewmist,” asked a bemused and slightly amused Glados. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this.” With a sigh, the bat-pony blandly explained, “My kind were created thirteen-hundred years ago when Equestria’s first attempt at widely-distributed energy horribly backfired. It nearly wiped Germaneigh off the map and took out a decent portion of The Griffin Kingdoms as well. Since then, neither country has even made an attempt at contacting Celestia, but that’s for another time. But the ponies caught in the blast weren’t killed. Instead, the magical synergy morphed our bodies into creatures that were part pony, and part bat. To this day, we don’t even know why. But there have been no negative side effect, aside from looking uglier than a changeling’s grandmother.” Ironsides and Glados were both drawn into a lighthearted chuckle, though for obvious different reasons. “It’s funny cuz it’s true!” snorted Ironsides, receiving a playful jab in the side from his partner. I don’t even know what a “Changeling” is, Glados thought, still laughing on the inside. I just find it amusing that the legit mutant freak admits that she’s ugly. Her laughter subsiding, Dewmist continued, “Most bat-ponies reside in what’s left of Germaneigh, but others, like myself, that are born here are trained to be Princess Luna’s elite Shadow Guards. Even during her banishment, we were trained to guard the night.” Before making her way up the path to her house, Glados turned to the guards and asked, “So, you guys are just going to stand out here all night?”         Dewmist nodded. “Mm-hm. Rest easy, Glados. If we hear any commotion, we’ll be there in the blink of an eye.”         “Your life is in our hooves, Glados,” said Ironsides, to which Glados said, “And that’s what worries me.” Without a single “goodnight,” the science pony made her way up the beaten path leading to her front door. It was already unlocked, not that she gave it much thought, as sleep and thoughts of a warm bed were far more compelling than a busted lock. But fear managed to slowly creep up her spine when she entered her darkened home, as Glados didn’t remember leaving the kitchen light on; it’s alluring glow splayed out into the living room, illuminating the fireplace on the opposite wall. What chilled Glados to the bone, however, was the creaking of an occupied chair coming from the kitchen. I’m not letting those two buffoons help me. Even with a potentially dangerous intruder in her home, Glados refused to call for help like a coward. Instead, she stealthily crept across the wooden floorboards of her ancient house, being immensely careful as to not give away her presence. Nearing the lit doorway, she heard the sound of a bottle uncorking, a beverage being poured, and then someone taking a sip. She could tell it wasn’t a graceful sip; it was noisy, messy; some of its contents were heard spilling onto the table. Glados pressed her back flat against the wall, stealing a glimpse of her intruder. It was a mare, she could tell, with a washed out gray coat covered in soot and dirt. Her mane, black, was ironically tied up in a ponytail. She was drinking from a bottle of champagne, not one Glados remembered having. In an unanticipated action, the stranger’s ears perked up as soon as Glados held her breath. Positive she was caught, Glados dove from her hiding spot, across the kitchen, and lunged towards the chef knife driven into the cutting board from the night she was making salad; the same night Pinkie Pie came over and told her that she was going home. Able to steady and restrain her tremorous hoof, Glados pointed her knife at the intruder while slowly backing up against the wall. “Who are you?” she asked, clear and crisp. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing in my house?” The pony calmly put down her emptied shot glass and pushed her seat back, away from the table; she got up, and looked right at Glados. Her devious smirk seemed inherently familiar, as did the gloomy yellow eyes. Well, one eye in this case. Her right eye was replaced with cybernetics; wires and metal plating splayed around and under her face like the roots of a plant. The yellow light in its center reminded Glados of her brief time as a potato battery. She spoke only a single sentence. One sentence was all Glados needed to be convinced of who was standing before her: “I could ask you the same thing, but that would be a little cliched, and it wouldn’t make much sense from a time traveling perspective.”                  Eyes wide and mouth agape, Glados dropped the knife; it noisily clattered against the tiled floor. “Alright,” said Glados, prudently peeling herself from the wall, “time travel. I can live with that.”         The stranger cracked a grin and took a swig from her glass. “Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction. Nothing can really surprise us, I mean, you, anymore, can it?” Next Time: Forward to the Past - Glados' future self explains her reasoning for going back in time. Meanwhile, Twilight hatches a plot that will undoubtedly benefit both Glados and Ponyville.