//------------------------------// // 9: Fracture // Story: Frequencies: To End The Signal // by Lord Destrustor //------------------------------// “please let me go… I’ll do anything you want! Please,-“ “Spike.” “I’m begging you! I-I… I don’t want to die, please…” “Spike!” “’It is quite simple, really: eat one bite, just one, and I will release you. You need only do that which you claim to desire most at this moment. What say you? Do we have an agreement?’" "Test subject 181 begins to whimper and babble incoherently while crying uncontrollably, refusing to-“ “Spike! Stop! Stop it!” Spike’s eyes snapped to the two ponies sitting a few steps away from him, the young orange pegasus huddled in the white unicorn’s arms. He realized he was short of breath, inhaling and exhaling in rapid, shallow succession as tears he hadn’t noticed before soaked the thick cloth he had been reading from. The horror of what he held caught up to him and he threw the canvas away, falling backwards as he stumbled to distance himself from the terrible evidence. The young dragon wrapped his arms around himself, on the edge of nausea, his eyes glued to the rumpled cloth lying before him as if it could suddenly come to life and attack him. Someone had done this on purpose. Willingly and intently. No, no, no. That couldn’t be it. It simply could not be possible for someone to… create the Signal willingly, could it? He must have misread, or failed to translate the words properly or something! He scampered back to the giant scroll, carelessly tugging at it to pull out several lengths, skipping ahead. Flashes of words, blinks of meaning swept across his mind as he skimmed the endless page; test subject, compulsion, crystals, the project, emitters. A succession of damning evidence and plans, of diagrams and blueprints lurked on every new line, in every paragraph. Every word hammering home the fact that this was real; the realization that this was not an accident, a mistake, or a careless force of nature. The Signal was deliberate. Every part of it designed and engineered for the exact purpose of ruining Equestria as efficiently as possible. “How?” The young, raspy, shaking voice echoed in the room, its owner looking up from the tangle of hooves she was encased in. “How can anyone be so… so cruel?” Rarity whispered a quiet statement of ignorance, as Spike simply stared at the scroll. Stared at the large drawing of a pointed spire of mechanisms and crystals. A familiar sight, it seemed. “Who could do something like that? Why?” Scootaloo’s voice drew nearer as she stepped up next to Spike, horrified questions filling her mind all the way until the point where she caught a glimpse of the large blueprint. "Is… Is that…” The orange pegasus simply let her question die in her throat as she looked up to the tower in the center of the room. Rarity followed her gaze, a look of dawning comprehension on her face. “Long range emitter design, final draft.” Spike read out loud, translating the caption next to the drawing. “You mean this is…” Rarity’s unfinished question lingered just long enough to be considered as interrupted by the sound Spike made by rummaging in his bag. The young dragon hastily retrieved the grey detector. “Only way to be sure,” he said, opening the device in plain view. The needle was already pointing straight at the tower by the time the lid flipped fully open. Spike laid the device on the floor and spun it around with a light tap. The needle almost kept up with the rotation, taking less than a second to realign itself once the spinning stopped. As a final precaution, to be absolutely certain, Spike circled around the machine. The needle followed it perfectly; instantly adjusting to every movement, every turn that would force it to point elsewhere. Only a few rhythmic twitches ever let it deviate, synchronously with the silent pulses of the red crystal all the way up above. He looked up from the sporadically shivering needle, nodding slightly as he let his gaze travel up the dreaded contraption. This was indeed the source. The machine from which the Signal emanated. The seconds ticked by in the uneven rumble of the emitter, its crystal pulsing slowly in the half-light of the cavernous room. The three travelers stared at it, unsure of what to do, of just how to react to this; they had finally found it. They now had a name for their culprits, a cause for the madness and death, something at last to blame for the sorrow. A cold, mechanical, crystalline pulsing crimson face to vilify. A step was heard. Rarity walked forward, slinking to the side of a nearby table and grabbing a wrench’s handle hanging slightly over the edge. The oversized tool, although the smallest to be seen in the room, was as long as her body; its weight pulled her head to the side as she kept advancing. Spike and Scootaloo could only see the unicorn’s mane, her face turned away from them as she dragged the instrument in her mouth. Her breathing was strained, though they could not guess whether it was because of the effort, the large piece of metal obstructing her mouth, or something deeper. What was obvious though were the tremors rattling her legs as she walked towards the cursed machine. The two youths glanced at each other, the frenetic feeling of emotions rising high building in their stomachs. They knew they could both easily guess what the mare was about to do, and that it would be an intimidating spectacle. And although some part of him wished to leave the mare alone to her rage, Spike found himself simply unable to object to the core idea of the imminent outburst. The white mare’s pace quickened as she advanced, culminating when she suddenly stopped in front of the tower to let the wrench slide forward from its momentum. Clasping the giant tool in her front hooves, she used it to push herself off the ground, swinging the length of metal cleanly over her head. As soon as the head impacted the stone behind her, the unicorn swung forward with all her might, hitting the machine with a loud and shrill scream of rage. The tool returned to the ground, and the mare repeated the attack once more. And once more. And again; screaming pure, seething rage at the machine as she pummeled every part of it that she could reach. “You horrible, cursed machine! You damnable monster! You deserve worse than this! You deserve to burn in the pits of tartarus! You took my horn! You took my friends! You took my heavens-damned family! I will destroy you, you worthless pile of junk! You are the worst thing to have ever existed in this world you damned… You accursed… You miserable… You… You UTTER PIECE OF SHIT! AAAAAH!” Her blows slowed down, her breath labored and difficult. She leaned on the handle of her improvised club, tears flowing down from her eyes. She collapsed, wracked with sobs. “You ruined everything! You destroyed so many lives, you horrible thing. You ruined my… sister’s… mind, my … family… You…” Rarity’s word became muffled by her hooves, scrambled by her heaving breaths and the sobs and tremors of her sorrow. The machine continued its humming, undeterred by the insignificant marks upon its metallic frame. Spike, by the mare’s side in an instant, reached his hand to offer what little comfort he could. As she sensed her righteous anger about to be appeased by a friendly touch, the white mare loosed one final attack, launching into a sudden spin to throw the wrench as high as she could into the machine. The tool bounced nearly harmlessly on a length of copper tubing before landing head-first in the midst of the three spinning crystals near the bottom of the tower. The pony and the dragon stayed there for a few moments, the mare crying as softly as her breathlessness would allow, the young drake patting her awkwardly on the back as if it could make her pain go away. Scootaloo watched in silent respect, feeling like an intruder and unsure of what she could or should say at the time. Her eyes wandered around in her discomfort, something quickly catching her attention. “Uh, Guys? I think you should look.” The others reluctantly glanced at the young pegasus, then at what she herself was pointing at: the wrench had gotten stuck between two of the crystals, preventing their usual rotation. The third component of the trio seemed to be picking up speed for some reason, its constant grinding hum noticeably turning into a screeching whine. Sporadic arcs of electricity flashed at random between the various parts, moving or otherwise, producing a worrisome crackle as they gained in intensity and frequency. Smoke wafted faintly from the apparatus. The three travelers began to back away, their eyes fixed fearfully on the intimidating display of lightning and smoke as the machine kept accelerating in its obvious malfunction. The three crystals were by then rattling furiously, smoke pouring out of their every crack as they fissured in unison and sent violent bolts of electricity shooting up the shaft of the intruding tool. The one unhindered crystal was just a blur by that point, its screech so high-pitched that it was barely audible anymore. A cog from somewhere up above was shaken loose, and fell to the ground. After a brief moment of intimidating stability, of a proverbial calm before the storm, the generator exploded. The loose crystal shattered into an outward shower of shards, taking out a significant portion of one of the machine’s three legs in its proximity. Through the smoke the other two crystals could be seen falling to the floor, freed from the frame in which they had been held only to shatter in turn on the stone. The wrench fell on their fragments, crushing them further as smoke emanated from its scorched surface. The sound, trapped in a circular and confined room, had been deafening more than once as it reverberated in the echo-prone chamber. The numerous impacts of the shattered crystal fragments shook the walls with their rattle, and the machine groaned in the returning silence. The three looked up fearfully from the relative safety they had found under the large tables, all of them fortunate enough to have chosen a hiding spot far from the shrapnel’s path. Peering through the smoke, they could see the tower gently swaying back and forth on its two remaining legs, groaning as it did so. Another cog fell onto another part of the machine only to hit one of the legs as it bounced. The freed debris punched a dent in the hollow tubular support, just enough to let it bend under the weight it held aloft. The whole machine buckled over, almost freefalling until the partially severed leg connected with the ground, stopping the fall abruptly. Unrestrained in its socket, the large red crystal was jerked loose and fell to the sound of three voices shouting as their owners shielded themselves from the shards of its less-than-gentle landing on the hard stone floor. Then all was quiet, save for the gentle sizzling of the crystal shards scattered around the room, and the distant hollow whistle of the wind filtering through the skylight’s cloth. The black smoke drifted lazily down the entrance tunnel. “Is it over?” Scootaloo’s whisper broke the tense silence carefully, as if any louder tone would make the settling mass of the tower collapse fully. “I think so.” The trio slowly made their way out from under the giant tables, carefully picking their way through the bed of razor-sharp rubble covering the floor. Spike walked to the pile of red pieces, noting the very faint and still-weakening glow dissipate. Scootaloo began the slow trek to return to her companions, having taken refuge under a different and more distant table than them. Rarity stayed where she stood, observing the wrecked machine as one would observe a sleeping beast. The persistent thought that the cloth scroll contained more than scenes of pointless torture brought Spike to its side again. There had to be more to this, perhaps a way to reverse it all or some useful technical information of some sort. He found the point where he had left off and resumed his read. …brains don’t usually have a dedicated way of forgetting information that we could scry. I don’t think that we could order them to forget, and the only other option I can think of right now is to brute-force counter the imprinted compulsions with their polar opposite, and… The occasional crunch of hooves stepping on the debris did not distract him from the words, nor did the short gasp from Scootaloo. She had probably walked on the shards wrong, and pricked her hoof or something. “Guys, look at that! Is it broken or something?” Spike glanced up for a moment, shifting his attention to the object of Scootaloo’s inquiry; the detector sitting in the debris, halfway between himself and the filly. He could immediately see what she meant, and what it actually meant for their quest. The needle was spinning wildly, in any and all directions, in the exact way a compass locked inside an insulating steel box would if it received no other influence. The Signal, at least in this very room, was no more. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said. “I think this thing is, though,” he added, pointing at the crumpled tower. The smiles brought to the ponies’ faces were the most radiant he had seen them wear for as far as he could clearly remember, and their shouts of joy were infectious. Spike returned to reading the archives, his smile waning as he immersed himself in the chronicled conversations. He hoped to find a clue or a method, a way to reverse the effects of the Signal. A bit of morbid curiosity might also have been involved, in truth. The seconds passed as he read, finding nothing more about a possible cure, only more despicable reports of experimentation on ponies. One thing caught his attention nonetheless. “I think there’s only two more of those machines out there,” he said. “This Ahrkalzahn guy mentioned that this emitter model could cover Equestria with as little as three, and from what I can read here, these three bastards each built only one.” “Are you sure about this, Spike? Couldn’t there be more?” The young dragon shook his head in response to the unicorn’s question. “He wanted them to be able to keep an eye on them for his ‘security reasons’, didn’t he? Besides, I don’t see any mention of them making any more than those three, or hiring help to watch them. I’m pretty sure there aren’t any more. We’ll find out eventually anyway, won’t we? We still have to shut those down too if we want to get rid of the Signal once and for all.” Scootaloo chimed in as she looked around, suddenly a bit more nervous. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t those security reasons mean having a big scary dragon right in here with us?” Two other pairs of eyes widened at the filly’s extremely pertinent question, and her disquieted mood spread to the whole group almost instantly. “We should leave. All that ruckus would certainly have alerted him to our presence if he was here. That means he’s not, and that means he could come back at any moment.” “Yep, I vote for leaving too.” Spike looked at the ponies for a moment before glancing at the scroll briefly. He repeated the actions once more, his mouth opening slightly as he did. “Hold on. I think I want to try something. Can you help me out with this?” He pulled on the scroll with all his might, unfurling what little of it he had yet to read until the stretch of fabric detached from the machine’s cylinders. He pulled harder, ripping it out from where it exited the machine; a point where it was held firmly in place for the printing process. The two ponies made their way to him as he painstakingly rolled the gigantic scroll back up, helping with the dragon’s efforts as best they could. They ended up with a loose and rather ugly bale, roughly the size of a cart. “What are you going to do with this? We can’t just take it with us if that’s what you’re thinking; it’s way too large for any of us to carry.” “You’re right, Rarity; it’s too big to carry, but we don’t have to. Look.” The little dragon made a show of taking as large a breath as possible before spitting green flames at the scroll, circling it as he did to engulf it equally from all sides. He returned to his starting position to watch the magical flames consume the cloth with an alacrity normal fire would never match. His breathlessness could not fully suppress the chuckle he let out as he observed the nearly-frightening column of smoke rise to the ceiling and escape through the skylight. “Oh, clever.” Spike saw Scootaloo’s hoof extended towards him and returned her compliment with a bump from his fist. “Thanks.” The small dragon then rummaged through his bag in order to take a piece of parchment and his quill. Fluttershy, this huge scroll is very important. Keep it safe, I’ll need it later. After a moment of hesitation, he added; Dragons did it. His hand slowed and lingered on the page as he stared at the words he had just written, suddenly and terrifyingly aware of just what he was. He stood frozen, his eyes tearing up, just long enough for Rarity to put a hoof to his shoulder. “Spike, are you-“ “I’m fine! I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” He looked away, wiping his eyes and sniffing back the tears. His sending fire took their place in his nostrils as he sent the message to Ponyville. It took the same path as the previous missive. “Let’s go now. I’m done with this place.” He gathered his belongings back in his pack and headed for the entrance tunnel. The two ponies followed the dragon, Rarity taking the time to grab a piece of metal she found on a table and throw it at the wreckage of the emitter for good measure. As he knew stealth wasn’t strictly necessary, Spike took the liberty of lighting the way back with occasional bursts of flame. With his light, the three travelers made their way to the massive door in about half the time. They saw that it had closed by itself in the time they had used to explore the lair, and Spike opened it once more with his flames. Once the sandy threshold had settled again, they stepped out at last, into the dusty haze. The sun’s obscured rays were almost blinding after the penumbra of the dragon’s halls, making them squint against its glare for the first few moments of their return to the edge of the monstrous bowl of sand and dust. As he looked back from the rim, Spike could only think that the events that had taken place here were far more monstrous than the dimensions of their setting. And that the creatures responsible were far worse still.