//------------------------------//
// Assuming Direct Control 
// Story: The Compendium of Darkness 
// by Craine 
//------------------------------//


Assuming Direct Control

By Craine


Synopsis: For years, I've watched. For months, I've planned. For weeks, I've waited. For days, I've prepared. For hours, I've laughed. These ponies thought they could have harmony? Thought they're actions, will, and even their lives were there own? No, no, no. I will educate them--I will show them the truth. And I will direct this personally.





Your name is Rainbow Dash. And today will be like no other.
 
But you already knew this. From the moment you awoke on your cumulus, coated with sweat, lips pulled behind your gums, you knew. 

As it occurs to you that there is no escape, that what you’re about to do is inevitable, your muscles ache with reluctance. Your hooves swim fiercely in your colorful mane, begging it to stop, begging that this all go away.
 
But it won’t go away. And you smile widely, the morning sky blurred by unexplained tears. 

You leap from your cloud, teeth unbrushed, body unbathed. And you take flight without hesitation. In seconds, Cloudsdale is but a spec behind you. Your tears break into the trail left by you, and you whisper solemnly, desperately.
 
“Please...”
 
No one hears you. But deep down, you knew no one would hear you. And worse, no one would understand. You knew that too. But it didn’t stop you, oh no—it accelerated you, in fact. It fueled the beat of your wings with all the terrible things you planned to do. 

As a library all too familiar comes into view, growing closer than you wish it would, your wide grin returns. And there, your grin would stay. Even as you crash rather spectacularly through one of the windows, your grin doesn’t fall.
 
You stand tall and proud among the shattered glass littering the wood floor. Then a pained groan catches your ear, and your gaze uncaringly upon the unicorn beneath you. Twilight, her name was. A name you spat off your tongue. 

You turn your nose away from the screeching protests of this little banshee. With a decidedly harsh and vulgar demand for silence, your smile sharpens at the offended mare.
 
Then, despite your foolishness for the attempt, you apologize. Profusely, in fact. But you lied. Just as you knew you would. As Twilight softens her face to you, you tell her that. Coldly. 

You turn your flank to the unicorn, lashing her nose with the whip of your tail. And just as you turn to leave, a quiet, whiny sob assaults you. You turn a breakneck turn, and you run to Twilight with pleas for forgiveness.
 
You know it’s useless, you know every attempt to even speak of your reasons would turn the eyes and ears of all who heard. Yet, there you were, tearfully justifying your actions by blaming voices that simply don’t exist. Voices that nopony else could hear. 

You reel back with a stinging cheek, a stumble or two keeping you afoot. When it all sunk in, your jaw ached as your teeth ground together. You were... livid. Enraged that such a weakling had the gastric fortitude to slap you.
 
Then to lecture you.
 
Be it from your sudden itch to fly, or the very sight of this horned wench, you turn on your forelegs... and smile as your hind-hooves collide with something soft. You’re back on all fours now, huffing and heaving behind a white-hot glare. And only the squeals snap you back to the present. You turn to her, eyes wide, mouth agape.
 
You shudder at the unicorn sprawled on the floor, shielding her bleeding face with shaking hooves. Every sniveling sob beats into your chest, guiding your hoof over it. And then you have to escape. You have to fly.
 
And you do. Before you know it, you’re tearing into the Great Blue, never quite recalling the last time you wanted to leave the library so badly. And then you smile again, as the curses of a certain dragon fade behind you.
 
And as your mane is lashed into the wind, you realize you wanted him to see that.
 
No matter how loudly you curse your imaginary puppeteer, no matter how much you pretend your actions aren’t your own.
 
You are a monster. And you knew it as well as Twilight.
 
Your name is Rainbow Dash. And you are of no more use to me.
 
____
 
I take my pen across the list, severing the name with a thin red line. And then, slowly, deliberately, I draw a checkmark beside another.

“Assuming Direct Control.”