Come on, come on, open God damn you. Millions of credits on lacquered oak and leatherbound hard covers and you get room temperature rated motors for a liquid helium stasis facility? Guess we know what the Church priorities are. Maybe the idea was to pray for half an hour for your beloved's safe passage to the winners' circle while you wait for the doors to open, tooth by rusty gear tooth. A fine atmosphere of solemnity for your zombie bait meat locker.
There we go. See? You can do it. Now onward. The Hand is hungry.
Crunch crunch, a winter wonderland. Oh look at them all tucked away in their little cryo pods, eyelids blue and puckered shut. Go to sleep, go to sleep kids. When you wake you'll find the brand new carcasses Santa left for you to play with under the tree. But wait, I'm the tree, got the hibiscus to prove it. No corpsicle beatification for you.
Let's see, who we got here? Young missionary guy, young missionary guy, well-groomed family patriarch grandpa, mom and her three sons, barely see their frozen-solid hair through the frost on their monitor windows, and oops, that one's got a tail, sunblock on her snoot, kickin' back in her hammock. One little pupa sprouted wings, all growed up. Tropic bliss for the ponies, isentropic chill time for the two-leggeds. Perfectly sensible.
Shit that one's awake, cheering its fool head off. What is your problem, dude? A handsome creature, if I do say so myself. My face, no mane, crystal clear blue horn. Waving my hooves around like the star assclown in a circus not made for mules. No no no that is not me. I said I wanted the wings, not the godamned horn.
"Quit fucking yelling, me!"
Look, you listened. You? Me? Guess it doesn't matter when we've settled into our stasis cells for permanent naptime. Good night, buddy, rest easy. We're all supposed to be one anyway, right? That's what Princess Luna would say. She thinks of herself as We, bless her and praise her, and she's wiser than ...
Shut up about Princess Luna. Shut the fuck up.
OK, geez. Calm down. You good, Hand? Yeah? Awesome.
We took care of all those crazies back there, we sure did. And did it matter what they were? No sir. Wolf things with their insides on the outside bum rushing us, pegasus squadron creeping up out of that burial pit upstairs. Ah well. It is fucking cold. Engineer suits have good thermal resistance, but not 250 K good, 'specially when the helmet's been zuked on and pitched. Let's go for a jog. A spritely jaunt. Just me and me.
Thump thump, crunch crunch. The hive's been busy here below the bustling Titan metropolis, burrowing out their tunnels and junctions, installing their sub-zero honeycomb. At least they got the coolant lines right, miles and miles of veins and capillaries plumbed to each slumbering grub. Argon-purged high vacuum sheath, ribbed for polystyrene ties, mounted to the ceiling. Very nice. Helium I, of course. Gotta keep it viscous.
"Are we there yet?"
"Mom? I need to go pee pee real bad. Mom?"
Whoa now! What's this? You're not supposed to be up this late, little tykes. Watch that broken glass, son. Shit, that's two ... three counting the one yawning around the bend behind. We've got a situation here, Hand. Let's get to work.
"Bang bang! Bang bang!"
Down you go, chillins. Hey there, no making snow angels when you're splattered. That's disrespectful. Down you go, just like the wolves and the flappers. You see, the Hand's got something for everyone, great and small, short and tall. Hup, back in your beds. Enjoy the chuckles.
What's that, me? You hear more of them? Yeah, I do too. The nasty ones. Sure is getting thick in here. Maybe we should scoot on down to the next door. Nope, not that way. Left, down, left ... here we are. Let's say a little prayer for the pleasure of the freezer gods. Hand, do you have any words you'd like to share in this moment of reflection? OK, then, I'll speak for the team. Merciful Macrostate, forever who you're meant to be, receive the souls of these the ecstatic departed, smitten by the singular joy spilling from the mouth of the Hand, and open unto us the way of our deliverance.
Abra fucking cadabra.
And now we're in a zero-G chamber equipped with a ... meat processor? Oh, wait, I get it. It's a corpse picker. The worms float in, the worms float out, the worms get their DNA hacked, attain a gargling godhood and kill everything in sight. All well-organized and according to plan.
Ah, this must be what Daina was thinking by sending us through the crypt. Should just be a matter of shutting down the mass simulator and boosting up and out. Just a few teaks here on this command console and ... ha ha. That would have been too easy. Time to call customer service.
"Daina? I think I've found the exit but it's way above me. Gravity controls are locked out."
Thirty seconds of static. A minute of static. Shit, she's not answering. Why isn't she answering? Not good. Tiedemann's with her right now twirling a gun, deciding where to put the bullet, necromorphs got in and diced her up, ponies fluttered by and offered her a makeover she couldn't refuse ...
"Daina? Fuck!" OK. It's OK. Console's down, so trace the process flow. It's a small chamber, cylindrical geometry, so the simulator must be a gyroscope of some kind. 4D most likely, levitated to reduce friction. Yeah, old fashioned tech, and they'd put it as low as possible to maximize the use of the space. It's obviously not on this level so that means ... yes, yes, service elevator, 10 o'clock. Eight ball, corner pocket.
Man this thing looks lived-in. That's a fresh coat of grease on that rail. Bad sign when your system access dumbwaiter is the shiniest piece of equipment in the place. Bet the sarcophagi get backed up more often than we'd like, eh Altmannites? Some devilish odors circulating through your lobby every so often? Should have diverted some of that interior decor cash to the funerary fund.
And the verdict is ... voila. Called it. Three-circle gyro, concentric spatial cross section. Shit-ton of imaginary angular momentum. Why is it beeping?
Oh, it's not. Caller on the line. My dame in shining armor, slaying static on the right hand and on the left.
"... I don't know if you can hear me. You need to go up. Do you hear me? You need to go up!"
Jesus, Daina. I'm thinking down would take me into the fucking bedrock. Anyway, let's play a little hackey sack with the gimble crossover box here. Allow me to take your jacket, honey, and ... fuck's sake, alligator clips? Really? Only the best for poor little Twinkler, taken before her time. And quit your whining, you. Get used to her postmortem perfume. This one goes here, that one goes ... Bam.
"Attention: Crypt systems set to diagnostic mode. Gimble capture arms released. Authorized technicians only."
Isaac is always authorized. Awesome. Two arms for each circle, one on either side. A pinch of stasis magic here, a sprinkle of kinesis there ...
"Gravity in the shunt is now offline."
Shunt. Sun, shun, hut, shut, hunt, nut, thus, stun. When you squash so many words together you're bound to muddy the waters, o grand oracle of system status. Make brown out of all the colors, like the mashed rainbow walls of this shunt. Hunt? Rejuice that stasis, we're off to russle up some ponies.
Beautiful. I love the way the condensation spheres dance and ripple amongst the garbage. Ready to go join them, Hand? Here we go. Wait, let me stasis that cooling fan for you. It would suck if that's what separated us and not the biggest, baddest necromorph those fuckwads can muster.
Feel that spine decompress. Heavenly. Flying is so much more relaxing without the killer horses and exploding trams. There goes the corpse picker, busy embalming a nonexistent cadaver. I should be scared shitless right now, but I'm not. Because you're here with me, Hand, and it's so quiet, those cryo-tube manipulators are so precise and dedicated, and the debris is spinning around us like dead fish in an anoxic algal bloom.
Look up. I told you we're in Heaven. Get that fucking casket out of my way, I'm ascending into the light.
Top level already? Dammit. Time to stop dicking around I guess. Gentle boost to the left. Left, left, watch that yaw, Isaac. Touchdown. OK, one instrument panel, no necros, no ponies, what do we got? Artificial Gravity Offline ... Activate? Current Value: 0.001 G. Press F2 to Resume Normal Operations. Sure.
"Exiting Zero-Gravity."
Don't sound so disappointed, sugar. Uh-oh, incoming. Daina, you look worried. If you're worried, I'm worried. Is that pilot leather you're wearing? Good sign. Maybe I'm not so worried. Let's bypass that micro store. There's an empty seat on an escape shuttle with Isaac's name on it. God, the static! Can I not have a normal conversation for five seconds without the video cutting out?
"Isaac? Dammit! I think they're jamming our signal with a mobile device. Someone get me the frequency on that jammer. They must have a gunship positioned near the compound!"
Some shit just won't flush. "Now what? Change of plans?"
"No. If they knew where we were, they'd have killed us by now. Shit! Signal's fading! Just following your locator and hurry."
Out of the bowl and into my coffee. No problem, no problem. Can't stop now. I can almost taste that ribeye. I'll shave off a slice for you too Hand, a nice juicy one with plenty of seasoning charred onto the perfectly seared tip. The choice morsel. The corner is to cowflesh as the center is to cake. Wash that down with something that's not cider. But first ...
Dead end. Bench in the corner, which is good - I'll get to you in a minute - but no exit. Nothing else but a rack of empty cryo-tubes. RIG, what say you? The tubes? That doesn't make any sense. You're turning on me too, trying to get me to climb into of those aren't you you little bastard ... Behind the tubes? Speak up, Hand, I didn't catch that. Look at the I-beams, you say. Really. Genius. You have a Kinesis module, remember, Isaac? Just slide them out of the way, one, two ... duct duct goose. We're up for a crawl, but first, my distinguished foam friend here needs a reward for being so observant. Let's crack open the old Bench. Here we go, one slot. Node ... for ... you! You like that? Yes you do.
Now - careful, mind the lei, Isaac, the petals are fragile - that's it, pull us up. I know it's hard to hear over the pipes and my bumbling. I don't do this every day you know. Just shout if you see anything. 'Bang', yup, you know the way. 'Pew pew'? Interesting phraseology, not a dialect I'm familiar with, but I trust your judgment. I'm sure the ponies will get a kick out of it. I wish they'd put guide lights in these tunnels, something on motion detection. Keep it green. As engineers we're a cut above, but it's not like we're Luna and can see in the dark. Sea in the dark. Blue, violet, shining brilliant white wavelets in the moonlight ...
"What the fuck did I tell you about that shit? Toe the line, buddy. God damn you, I turn my back for five fucking sec ..."
Shhhh ... it! What is wrong with these stooges? Can't they weld two fucking joints on the fucking vent panels? Is that procedure not in their salvation handbook or whatever the fuck it is they drool into twelve hours a day trying to find the verse that tells them when to take a shit?
Get up, Isaac, you've been through this. Maybe one day you'll give the ponies a taste of their own medicine and land on one when the sheet metal breaks. Bless my stars, darker than a cave on a new moon in winter in here. Thanks for the light, Hand. Always resourceful, always prepared. More storage, I see. Not quite as interesting as the last time we fell out of the heavens. So many figurines of Sister and oh, plenty of us too! Splendid, ye neophytes. All the mares shall have a pair for their mantle.
Well, Hand, I think little hooves have been at play here. See those wreaths there on the floor? Smell the evergreen and the winterberry? The foals have been busy, bless them and comfort them. Stay alert. Watch the corners once this door opens. Anything? OK, move to the next one. Clear? Just more crates? Check under the tarps, there might be somepony under there. Alright, just some bubble wrap. No worries.
Shh, quiet. There's something at the end of the hallway. Dammit I hate being right sometimes. Foal, diaper looks clean. Too small - I don't think we can hit it from here. It's got something on its back. No, it's carrying ... wreaths! Duck! One of those lands around our neck and we're sunk. Now, while it's standing!
"Bang bang bang!"
Careful baby, don't hurt yourself on the ramp there. An infant's laughter is priceless. Hold onto that, sweetie. Oops, another one, and momma too, all in a huff coming to check what the ruckus is about. Let's show them.
"Pew pew pew pew pew! Pew pew!"
Look at you, look at you. That node was tasty, huh? Loosened up the ol' tongue? You're knockin' 'em dead, buddy. Don't stop.
Hmm. Looks like mom here was polishing that Celestia icon before we Titanned her up. Cracked up, like Titan. Get it? Solid silver, or I'm ... wait. There's a Marker behind her. Do you see that? Look close, behind the mane. Bifurcated spires, twinned crystal lattice stained ferrous red, the normal to the surface tracing the greater root of the square of the ratio of the height to the width diminished by the sum of the ratio and ... Unity. The runes are singing, aligned to transmit the call to all the flesh squirming in every sweltering nook and crevice of every circumstellar habitable zone. Tell us, Hand, why would they carve one of those behind Sister ...
... shut up shut up shut up she's not your sister don't fucking lose it Isaac you're almost ...
Poor fucks. To be that wrong, to have your religion fail that miserably. Expected a paradise of brotherhood, got a pony Princess.
So it goes. Let's get this over with, Hand. Fifty meters to go as the pegasus flies. Try to keep your voice down: we're entering the Sanctuary. Ooh, Candle's been here. That's a good sanity check, except of course we're not planning on gaining an audience with Celestia anymore. Not until we get something to eat. Am I seeing things or is that whole fucking wall stained glass ...
"Guh!" Fuck. Fuck! Where did she ... don't breathe that ... too sweet ... lavender dawn rots the brain daybreak dewfall mist slipping through her too strong too much genesis gardens ... shh ... shush ... no, stay away, get off me ... get out ...
Outside? Why are we up there?
We have found him! He was protected from the fall by his gnarled skin when we smote him, only gently, we trust. The same skin he wears to hide from our touch. But see, he hath shown his precious, poor disfigured face! The oyster opens, displaying his shining pearl. Fear not, child, now we shall take thee, this our final chance before Sister has her turn.
The beautiful face in the mirror is smiling, looking down the long secret-telling mane as it breaches the glass, pooling around us. I'm the reflection, and she's the one holding the mirror. Praise her! Speak so she might hear!
"I am thy reflection, great world roamer! I am thy crystal twin, refracting thy flawless light!"
“Yes child, yes! We have come far, and too much time has passed since first we met, above the seventh shield, as your kind call it. Take our kiss of friendship, one ... for each ... precious cheek. Thus with joy we claim thee. Let the prophecy come to fruition by our hoof.”
Take us, take us Princess, my own self. Enshroud me in thy mane, and in let thy magic flow. Let the prophecy ... the prophecy? Mother, my mother, not yours, gave me up to the ... the murmuring lunatics bowing to the sun ... promised them my soul ... my destiny ...
I don't want this. I'm Isaac Clarke. God damn it.
You almost had me, didn't you? Got me distracted, worked your tresses through the ribs of my suit, started to crack me open like a walnut. Hand, you still with me? Hell yeah, you are. Wavy, wavy, check what I got!
"Hail and high tidings, me! Have we introduced ... ourselves ... to you?"
"Whatever do you mean, child? We have known thee from thy foalhood."
"No? Well now's the perfect time to remedy that. I apologize for any lack of decorum, Your Highness. For this most serendipitous engagement, I must defer to my partner."
Go time. Hit her, buddy! Take out that scrawny-ass neck! "Bang bang bang bang! Bang bang! Pew pew pew pew!"
You like that, don't you grandma? Havin' grand old time, now. Enough, was it? Sorry, everything's belly up topsy turvy to this little foal, so I'm tacking a big fat logical NOT operator in front of everything you say. Your rules, not mine. Under the wing, Hand? Damn right, nice and tender under there. Look at those skinny little legs kicking. Bang bang, you tell her, buddy. Tear that shit up.
“Stop! Hee hee ... Enough! Silly creature! Thou art already ours. Go thy course: it leadeth thee to thy destiny all the same. We ... hee hee hee ... we shall see thee soon."
Oh, you're going to bug out just like that, huh? Flash, zip, I'm out? Isaac, pal, we can't expect delusions to curtsy and graciously take their leave, whether or not we've worked our asses off putting a smile on their face. I suppose so, Hand. Ours is a thankless job. Laughter engineering - add it to my resume. Highly proficient with foam finger grump resolution. Necromorph pony parity certified. All we can do is do what we can.
Hold on. There's a colt up on that wall. Right there! Must have been following Luna around, waiting for story time. He spotted us, and ... holy shit that's the whole K through twelve coming at us. Now Hand, I bet they think they're going to get some kind of preferential treatment owing to their age. Like we might take it easy on them. Or maybe that you, modest and unassuming chap that you are, might not be up to the task of breaking every deformed bone in their murderous little bodies. Oh kiddies, we're going on the trippiest field trip you ever did see!
"Bang! Bang bang bang!" Where is the fucking exit? "Bang! Bang!" Bang. Pew pew pew. Actually, where are the pews? This is supposed to be the Sanctuary, right? Maybe the Bronitologists packed them up for their herd's great migration. Matters exactly nothing in the grand scheme of things. At least the little tykes go down easy. Not like our beloved Princess. Took half a dozen shots and some hardcore rib-tickling to neutralize her discolored ass.
"Bang! Pew! Bang bang! Woo!" Up those stairs, to the second level, Isaac. Nothing but squealing, sniggering wreckage on this floor. Hold your horses, we got a town hall meeting up here folks, all the mamas and the papas. The green grocer with his price tag dispenser - bang. The firefighter with a bucket of water, galloping to douse the flames of our wrath - bang. The elementary school soccer coach, going berzerk with her whistle - bang. The orthodontist - the fucking orthodontist. Made my mouth bleed for five fucking years.
"Pew pew pew pew pew!" Sit the fuck down. Is that it? Anypony else feeling froggy? Hand, dead ahead, behind those confectioners with the chocolate sacs. I see a door! Bang, bang bang. Ha ha, look at them squirt their shit all over themselves. The door, Isaac, the door! I know, let me just ... look at that, shell's already dried hard as carbon steel. And they're trying to lick their way out. Do you ever feel understimulated, Hand? I mean, is this the best they can do? No wonder Daina was able to turtle up in here for so long. She's besieged by fucking toddlers.
Be that as it may, let's see what's behind door number one. Low ceiling, lots of redundant support pillars hand-carved into pony Atlases, pudgy forelegs hugging planets and stars, and one sorry-looking legless necromorph guarding the exit, dragging its pre-kicked ass towards us. Isaac, point me at its arms, please. Sure thing, bud. You're the brains of the operation, just tell me when and where.
"Pew pew pew." Dang, that was a juicy one. Think we need to stomp him? Not this time Isaac. I'm having trouble hearing you, so let's keep moving. I'd be out of luck if you wandered out of earshot. You know I can't carry myself around, as fun as that would be. Wouldn't be much better than a necromorph then, would I? You're right, Hand. I'm sure glad somebody's got their wits about them. Forget that asshole, we've got better things to do. Door number two, what are you hiding? A new car? An all-expenses-paid trip to Las Vegas? I hope not - I hate Las Vegas.
No slot machines here, unless there are some really boring ones with no lights or buzzers buried in the complete fucking darkness. Come on people. Maybe this is where they haze the newbies. Lock them in here for long enough and sure as shit they're going have visions of Convergence. Visitations from the holy spirit of Altmann himself. Can you see anything, Hand? Nope, not me. Nothing but that ring of candles surrounding us. Yeah I know, thanks Captain Obvious. Oh, and that stone Marker in the center, don't crack your crown on that.
I won't - I can see it. There's another door right behind it ... an elevator ... shit ... God ... my head. Skull's splitting, not a hunger headache ... old friend of mine ... take cover. Brain's grown bat wings and it's off into the night ...
What's happening to you, Isaac? You tried to kill yourself. Why do you think that is?
Nicole ... honey I don't know what you mean. The thing with the horn back at the duct? Don't be mad at me, please. I wouldn't stab myself. I won't throw my hand no matter how bad ... It must have been so bad for you. You must have been so scared. I'm responsible, goddammit. I told you to go. I'm responsible, and that's why I have to do this. I have to keep going.
That's right. Ignore the pain. Bury it deep inside. Let me fester - let me rot.
I'm sorry, Nicole, I'm sorry baby. I ... I wasn't there for you, but I'm going to make it right, OK? I'm gonna get healthy, gonna work things out, get my ... get my fucking ducks in a row, and I promise you, I will not let one more person die because of my ... my own ... fuck me ... my own blind neglect. I'm a good person ... I'll show you ...