The mental hospital was not part of any city, or any known district that Toxic Shock was aware of. Being transported without his body, however, had disoriented him heavily. He had no real idea where he had been taken, or who had taken him.
As he moved through the outside district, though, he realized just how well constructed the prison was. The building itself had walls and protections spells and auto-turrets, but that was not to keep inmates in- -it was to keep the Forest out. The entire facility had been placed in the heart of what seemed to have once been a city. It had long-since been overtaken by the plants, though, and the buildings stood gutted and empty, overgrown with immense vines and toxic flowers.
Things were moving in the darkness. Toxic Shock could hear them. Strange animals, ones that had were perhaps not even yet known to science, and worse, plants- -the kinds that slithered and watched, waiting hungrily for their enemies to approach. This forced his mind into hyper-vigilance, a state that was not quite fear. If anything, he felt alive. He had spent so long in a world that was peaceful, where even the strongest of creatures could barely stand against his cybernetic body- -but now he was reminded of the world that had given birth to him, and of his own jungle. Thoughts of the horrors of the Wasteland came to mind, and how he had survived them for so long. The Forest was nothing in comparison.
Yet, somehow, his mind could not focus. It kept drifting to the past- -what for him was a matter of hours ago, but what for the remainder of the world was almost five centuries before. He recalled them, his friends, ones whose bones had long-since collapsed into dust. Sometimes he just wanted to go back- -to once again know the kindness of Fluttershy, or to hear the enchanting voice of Sweetie Belle once more.
There was, of course, no way back. Even if there was, he knew that he could not leave. The past was not meant for him. He was, above all things, a soldier, and a protector. He knew that now- -and knew that he needed to perform his duty to Equestria.
Outside, drones were searching for him, but they would not be able to find him. Toxic Shock had taken refuge in one of the ancient towers, its windows boarded up by ponies long ago against some forgotten disaster. It seemed to have been an office at one point, and the floor was covered in rotting paper amongst the rusted desks and vines. Through the cracks in the molding wood and past the dirty glass, Toxic Shock could see the leafless canopy of the trees, their luminescent tips of their branches swaying in the breeze, almost seeming to watch him.
Based on the computer equipment present at each desk, no living pony had entered the building in at least several decades, if not a century. Like most technology of the prior era, however, they were built with great care, possibly even by ponies whose special talent was computer-making, instead of by the endless factories of the modern world.
Toxic Shock moved through the aisles of the desks, being careful not to disturb the plants too heavily. They had not yet attacked him, at least not severely, but he knew that they were watching, still unsure of his intentions. Being so near them was a huge risk, but risk was his job- -and he knew no sane pony would follow him so deep into such lethal territory.
Most of the computers were badly damaged, their screens smashed in and their surfaces corroded and rusted. The wires on many of them had been chewed through by the numerous small, furry animals- -and some far less furry ones- -that roamed the city, making it their own. A few computers, however, were still hardwired into the central conduit system of the building and, if Toxic Shock was right, the city itself.
Finally, he found one that was still reasonably undamaged. He sought out its power cord, which was stiff with age, and attached it to himself. After a few moments, the computer flickered and actually booted. The interface was ancient- -perhaps even literally- -but not too unlike the kluged computational mainframes he had grown up with.
Luck was also with him. The ponynet connection was still valid. Of course, he had expected that. These cities were designed to withstand atomic blasts, and this one probably had- -that was one reason why the plants had had such an easy time taking it over, using it as Equestria’s largest trellis.
He began to enter the necessary codes, liking himself across the web to the Wastelander networks. In terms of construction, they were a mess. Their software was almost as heterogenous as their hardware, and almost totally incomprehensible, even to him. That, of course, was what he was counting on. Once connected, there was no way he could be traced, not without at least seven Bloodhound AIs on his trail.
It took several hours for him to find what he was looking for, but eventually, he did: the evacuation orders from his last post. To his horror, he realized that the infected had been taken all across Equestria, to independent secured hospitals as well as those in major metropolitan areas.
It got worse. There were several reports of massive destruction- -of entire cities, with millions of fatalities. Most of them were regarded as hoaxes, and ponies did not believe them- -but Toxic Shock knew better. Even after fifteen years, he still could not sleep without seeing that thing in his mind. He knew what it was capable of.
He stepped back and tried to process what was happening. What he thought of as a pathogen- -in his mind, a kind of black, metallic worm- -was not really a disease, but a mutagen. It converted those infected into things. The things themselves were not like the mutants he knew, though. They were not mindless or broken, but intelligent. The one that had taken his original body had used his own cybernetics to break the quarantine- -to spread the disease.
Except that did not make sense. Toxic Shock had taken careful notes on how fast the disease spread. In just several days, it should already have ravaged significant parts of the cities it had been introduced into. It had not, unless the cities were keeping a tight lid on the information.
Toxic Shock leaned back toward the computer. Based on the level of destruction, he guessed that no more than three or four had pupated- -but knew that the others would come soon, and that when they did, the cities they were born into would not survive.
There had to be a pattern, though. For something so intelligent, there had to be a goal.
Toxic Shock disconnected himself from the computer and stood still for a moment, thinking. He knew he would need to act quickly, but he was still missing something. He also was fully aware that he could do little to stop them, not alone.
He slowly approached one of the windows, the only one that he had torn the water-darkened plywood away from. Sitting before it was a device he had constructed long ago with the primitive components he had managed to scrounge in Equestria’s idyllic past. He pointed the transmission dish skyward, toward the firmament, and connected the power supply to his body. He picked up the microphone in his magic and clicked the button.
“This is Avenger. Situation dire. Require backup. Requesting response. Over.”
He released the button, and waited. Nothing came back through the speakers except static.”
“Repeat. This is Avenger. Situation dire. Equestria is in danger…massive outbreak in process. Please. Require backup. Requesting response. Over.”
Once again, no sound returned. No one replied to him. Not in the Wasteland, or otherwise. He waited a moment, even though he knew that almost all of his soldiers had the decryption key for the encoding system he was using.
Nothing came back except static.