Darkness.
It’s all you’ll ever see out here; from horizon to horizon, just empty, dark skies. In the air, you can literally feel the darkness, generations of pain and misfortune collected into something more sickly and gross than any menacing creature from the Everfree. On the ground, there are crumbling towers and piles of rock where proud castles and mansions once stood. You could almost see into the past, gaze into the eyes of merry upperclass ponies, prancing along the streets with their synthetic organs and cybernetic companions, almost completely unaware that their world was almost at an end.
Poor ponies. The apocalypse claimed roughly eighty percent of Equestria’s population, and rendered about half of its land infertile and barren. Nopony really remembers what exactly destroyed everything. Most ponies just know that it happened. That one day, everything was happy and colorful and full of songs, life, and the pleasures of modern technology. The next day, cold, dark wastelands where every other second was spent looking over your shoulder to make sure nothing was out there to rip you to shreds.
If you’re a pony, of course.
I am not a pony.
I am a FF-7 unit, designed to help care for families and maintain a household. I was instead modified into what they call a scavenger; somepony who risks their life just to go into the Ruins to obtain necessities like non-perishables, water, metal scraps, and more. That occupation suits me fine, as my charges need supplies and I myself require magic; which only they can supply. It’s business. I make sure they have trinkets and water to trade to others, and they make sure I remain in operation.
Even if I am, what they so kindly refer to me as, ‘a damned synthetic’. I do not mind, because that is exactly what I am. I am a robot, a synthetic, an equoid. All of those thing can accurately describe me.
And I, the synthetic, am currently digging through the remnants of some estate. The walls of it had collapsed long ago, back when the city was destroyed by some unstoppable force. I believe this city’s name had once been ‘Canterlot’. Although I may be wrong, seeing how I was not yet activated when it was wiped off the maps. Maybe it had been ‘Cantertrot’.
My metal forehooves are flipped and I am balanced precariously on my hindlegs, carefully digging into an unstable pile of stones. Usually, one can find old cloth or maybe even some jewelry from these sorts of mansions. Not that anypony in this cold land wears jewelry, no. They are used to create amulets and to power locomotive engines. They could even power an automation like myself, if only I knew how to utilize them in that way. My charges made it an effort that I should never fully learn how.
I shovel several more scoops of waste. My ocular sensors (eyes, for those of you unaware of proper cybernetic terminology) spotted something that I quickly identified as silk. How peculiar. I merrily pocket my finding, a full dress made from the shimmering substance. Silk may not be useful as an article of clothing, but I could still convert it into strips which could in turn be made into a strong rope. From my brazen torso comes a radar, a boxlike apparatus that could easily detect anymore buried treasures. It unfortunately remains quiet. It looks like today may end up being a slow day.
There is a rustling behind me, which is loud enough that it disturbs my radar as it retracts into my armored body. I turn to face whatever it is that is behind me while my hooves reconvert into what is more suitable for walking, but I see nor sense nothing out of the ordinary. It was possibly just a squirrel. Or maybe a bird. I turn on the lights in my ocular sensors, casting a bright illumination across what remained of tall supporting pillars.
“Hello?” I call. My voice echoes off stone and assorted garbage.
Nopony replies.
“I mean no harm. My name is Relic, I am a scavenger. I can help you, if you should require it.”
Again, I received no reply. However, this time I could detect the sound of something sniffling. I easily identified the noise as that of something crying. Not that was so moronic that I would blunder off to help what could possibly be a mimicry created by some sort of monster, but rather so I could possibly locate the source of the commotion.
“I will be approaching you know. As a precaution, I am to inform you that I am heavily armed.”
That was a lie. My only weapons were my hooves, which doubled as shovels, and the taser built into my chest. I had never actually utilized this minor weapon. Mostly because it was inoperable. Partially because my charges forbid me from ever using it on a pony.
I slowly began my approach, having located the sniffling behind a fallen roof. My motors make loud whirring sounds as I step across the uneven terrain. This place, having been constructed on a mountain, was not the best place for one to kick into a trot. So I remained at my steady pace. The soft crying was getting more clear as I grew nearer. Finally, I was so close that I could almost assume that the crying was coming from the roof itself. Instead, I assumed that it came from beneath the roof, rather than behind it.
“Mister or missus, do not be alarmed. I shall free you.”
Once again, I balance myself on my hindlegs and flattened my forehooves into shovels. This would be quite the heavy weight. I slid the flattened shovels into the underside of the roof fragment and raised my legs. The heavy load groaned as my motors whined and complained. The large red slab rose from the ground, and I directed my lights into the small hole below it.
There, right in the middle of where the roof had been, was a synthetic. A small FF-7a, one of the many prototype models developed by Flim-Flam Tech to simulate the daily functions of a foal. This one had been made into a colt format, deductible from its flat snout and rebellious manestyle. The FF-7a peered up at me with rather oversized eyes. It’s gritty bronze exterior matched my own. Which made sense, considering that we were of the same model.
“P-Papa?”
I shoved away the clump of roofing. After reconverting back from my digging form, I studied the FF-7a. He was about a third the size of me, and probably weighed about a tenth of what I did. He stood up on his rump and stuck out his forelegs.
“Papa?” It repeated, its wide eyes full of gratitude.
“Quite the contrary.” I replied as I stood over it.
Then I smashed its head in with a hoof.
It wasn’t unlike crushing a tin can, except the components in this can were far more valuable that whatever food was within any others. And behold, spare parts galore! I could see several forageable radio-emitters, not to mention those oversized ocular sensors. I wouldn’t be able to use those myself, as my sockets were far too small for them to possibly fit. I could, however, sell them to some other poor FF unit. FF-5s and FF-4s had larger sensors to fit their larger bodies, if I could recall correctly.
Pleased that my rescue had resulted in the salvaging of such useful parts and even the scraps from the robot’s weak armor, I began to make my way out of the Ruins. I had no need to remain in this place. No more than something as weak and unproductive as a FF-7a needed to remain in operation.
That was life in the Ruins. If you’re weak, you die. And by dying, you can possibly help those who are stronger than you. Nopony wanted to take care of a FF-7a, a machine built specifically to be taken care of. It would just be a waste of time and resources. It’d be better to decommission the FF-7a mercifully rather than letting it continue to call out to its mother, who was probably dead and had been for eons.
“A PRETTY LITTLE PRINCESS DRESS AND A FUCKIN’ BUSTED-OFF SEVEN A?! ARE YOU PULLIN’ MY LEGS?!”
I had returned to the home of my charges, two Earth ponies and a Unicorn. Two stallions and a mare, naturally. And one of those stallions, a tall orange fellow named Lionheart, was currently yelling at me upon my return to the compound. The compound being a small collection of tents and a blocky merchant’s cart where we sold our various wares. I had returned more successful than my colleagues, Money Bag the colt and Garter the mare. But Lionheart still had the predisposition to scold me rather than the others.
“I FUCKIN’ PAY TO KEEP YOU ALIVE, YOU STUPID HUNK OF TIN! AND ALL YOU GIVE ME IS SOME STUPID DRESS AND A SEVEN A THAT WE CAN SELL FOR MAYBE FIFTY OR SIXTY BITS.” Lionheart screamed in my face, his own orange one going red with outrage.
“Excuse me, sir.” I interjected, before he could continue on his tirade.
His eyes bulged as a vein popped out of the side of his head, but he silenced himself with a few growls and snarls.
“What.”
“Well you see,” I explained, gesturing towards my goods that were unceremoniously scattered across the ground, “the dress is made of silk, sir. I can weave it into a rope, which is far stronger than the one you are currently using. And FF-7a parts are usable in FF-4 and above, so FF-7a parts are more valuable than FF-7 parts. The overall price for a full FF-7a is fifty hundred or sixty hundred bits, to be more precise.”
Money Bag and Garter looked from me to Lionheart. Money Bag’s face indicated that he was very excited for whatever was to come next. Garter, on the other hoof, was worried about something. I was unsure what of, because Lionheart did raise his voice a lot with me, but he never actually carried out on any of his threats to deplete my battery fully.
“Relic.” Lionheart growled.
“Yes, sir?”
“What have I told you about interrupting me?”
“I did not interrupt you, sir,” I corrected, “I made sure to wait for you to finish before I replied.”
Lionheart went silent. All his growling and various sounds of annoyance ceased, leaving only the shocked gasps of Money Bag and Garter beside me. I chose to ignore them. Whatever it was that they were worked up about could wait. Lionheart had priority over them at the moment.
“You’re lucky I don’t rip your bloody head off.” Lionheart whispered. And with an angry huff, he stormed away. Money Bag let out a groan and left as well, obviously upset that Lionheart had not ripped my head off then and there. Garter chose to stay behind, and tapped my shoulder with a hoof.
“Relic?” Garter whispered, her bright golden mane falling into her eyes.
“Yes, Garter?”
“You know Lion’s serious this time. He really will kill you if you screw up again.”
That statement confused me greatly. It made little sense considering how I did far better scavenging that day than she and Money Bag combined. I made my observation known to her.
“I know, Relic. I know. Trust me. You’re the best scavenger on the team. But Lionheart… He hates synths, you know that. He’d be happy to pop a few spells up your ass if you don’t watch out.” Garter’s forest green coat bristled in irritation. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you have to humble yourself around him. One more smart comment and it’s over for you, Relic.”
She too turned and began to walk away, her flank swaying with every step. On it was a coiled snake, befitting her name. It was in that moment that finally, after knowing these ponies for years, that I realized something peculiar. Lionheart’s cutie mark was that of heart surrounded by a mane. Money Bag’s was literally a bag of money. And Garter was, of course, a garter snake. Did all ponies have cutie marks identical to their names? It confused me greatly.
Unsurprisingly, I was bemusing over these thoughts for so long that several hours passed before I finally realized that I had to make better use of my time. Gathering up my wares, I prepared myself for the other half of my work day: the utilization of my findings. The dress was easy. Thanks to my micro-measurement programming (the program itself from a disk drive that Garter gave to me some time ago), I easily sliced the dress into hundreds of centimeter-thick strands that soon joined together to form the first few braids of a rope.
The smashed FF-7a was more troublesome. It had been trapped under that rooftop for an unsightly number of years, and that really took its toll on the small synthetic’s body. It’s exoskeleton, like a smaller and thinner version of my own, was rusted beyond repair. The occasional acidic rain had worn it away so that even the metal spine was unsalvageable. The circuitry and memory banks were magically protected, but synths never used replacements of those, seeing that they contained the memories of the previous user. That was worthless. The copper wiring and the ocular sensors could be easily sold to anypony with an FF unit.
I felt no remorse as I gutted the foal-like FF-7a. I never felt remorse. In fact, I had no idea what the word even meant before Garter explained it to me after I snapped the neck of an unruly customer. It wasn’t my fault that a drunken stallion had come barging in and tried to mount her. It was the drunk’s. But even Garter told me that I couldn’t just kill ponies, that it was wrong.
Not that I saw anything wrong with it. Just like how it wasn’t wrong to kill the FF-7a. That is what life was like out here. The weak are destroyed, the strong ones profit. Or, as I once heard Money Bag put it:
“Out here in the Ruins, it’s eat or be eaten.”
The rest of my day was spent assisting Money Bag with sales.
We had made our camp only a few minutes’ walk away from a small settlement called Little Hoofington. Where Big Hoofington was, I am not sure. All I know is that the Little version is, understandably, little. There were only about one thousand ponies still living in the Ruins. And roughly a quarter of them resided in Hoofington, which me and my charges took as a sign that this was the best place for business.
As always, Money Bag and I started business by pulling the wagon full of junk into the small town. Or rather, I pulled the heavy load while Money Bag trotted far ahead, making sure to get a few good pick-up lines in with the pretty mares of Hoofington. I really wished he wouldn’t do that. The last time we came into town together, he flirted with the wrong filly and ended up with a mouthful of teeth kicked in and two black eyes. It would have been far worse had I not used my forbidden taser to bring down the overactive mare.
“How ya doin’, good lookin’?” I heard Money Bag drawl as I caught up to him.
As usual, he was talking to a mare wearing some sort of bonnet and a satchel across her side. She looking incredibly disinterested in anything that Money Bag had to say.
“Aw c’mon, filly! Don’cha wanna at least say hello?”
“Money Bag,” I interrupted, “you may find it beneficial to leave her alone.”
“Oh yeah, Relic?” Money Bag whirled around and shot me a stink eye. “Is tha’ a threat?”
“No. It is a guarantee.”
Money Bag laughed out loud, turning once more to speak sickeningly, sappy, sweet nothings into the poor mare’s ear. Instead, his mouth was met by the mare’s hoof as it slapped him across the face. Money Bag looked horrified.
“You should learn to listen to your synth.” The mare growled. “He’s got twice the brains you have.”
The mare nodded at me and cast one final glare at Money Bag, who’s brown face was getting redder by the minute. Whether by embarrassment or by injury, I was not sure. Of course, even if it was an injury, it was not so severe as that he would be unable to perform any of his duties.
“What are you looking at?” Money Bag snapped as he met me up beside the wagon that I had just finished setting up.
“Your face is red.” I replied, answering truthfully.
“Yeah, well… Your face is ugly! And I ain’t starin’ at you all funny-like.”
“Very good.”
I finished organizing our various spare parts and scraps just as more merchants began to pile into the wide, open market square. This was a weekly occurrence, the gathering of various scavengers and farmers, seeking money and food in exchange for their various products and services. The Ruins themselves may be dead, but business goes on. Soon enough, the market is packed with wagons and stalls. Ponies, synthetics, and even a few griffons mill about the place, looking for deals. Money Bag takes the reigns, and starts to haggle with passerby.
“Get yer synth parts ‘ere! Get ‘em while they’re ‘ere! Cheapest parts in the Ruins!”
I look over Money Bag while he shouts to the crowd. His flaming red and sparkling white mane hardly matches his slight brown coat. But it’s an indication of what he claimed so frequently; that he was the descendant of Flim Skim, twin brother of Flam and one of the most successful entrepreneurs in history. In fact, the FF in my model number comes from Flim-Flam Tech, the corporation that created synths so long ago.
An FF-5b and a stallion trotted over. This was the first FF-5b I had seen in a long time. You see, the 5b models were modified FF-5s designed to look like mares. And even have the sexual properties of a mare. Yes, FF-5bs were prostitutes, in every meaning of the word. It made sense to have sex synths. Synths can’t get pregnant, they don’t carry diseases, and they can do anything that a traditional pony mare could do. Some FF-5bs came with heated power-cores that generated artificial body heat to make them seem more lifelike.
“G’mornin’.” The stallion greeted.
“Well howdy!” Money Bag said with a toothy grin.
I nodded at the FF-5b, who returned my gesture warily. She had probably been programmed with something called the FluttersDrive, a sexual program to make FF-5bs meek and more shy. I never truly understood the kinks of ponies. Then again, I never understood the purpose of mating without reproducing either.
“What can I interest ya in, sir?” Money Bag said slyly.
“Well, I need a new system boot for this useless hunk of crap.” The stallion spat, giving the FF-5b a kick. She let out a noise of dislike. “Third time now she’s broken hers. We wake up every morning and I hafta manually turn her back on.”
“You are in luck, sir! Our own FF-7 just came across a FF-7a system boot! You can take it home today for as little as twenty bits!”
“Is that right?” The stallion asked, eyeing me with mild interest.
“Yes it is.” I answered. “Removed it from the 7a’s chassis myself. It is in prime condition.”
The stallion sauntered over to the parts placed accordingly on the wagon. He and Money Bag began to bargain, so I got myself out of their way and decided to start up a conversation with the FF-5b.
“Greetings.”
The FF-5b jumped slightly, even though she had seen me approach her.
“H-Hello.”
“I am Relic, FF-7. Do you have a name?”
“I’m Kitten. Nice to meet you, Relic.”
“Likewise.” I said, glancing over at Money Bag and the stallion. The two were laughing merrily, which made me think that Money Bag was planning on extorting far more than twenty bits from the poor unsuspecting stallion.
“Your charge is about to be scammed.” I pointed out.
“I know.” Kitten said with an electronic sigh. She brushed a delicate hoof through her artificial mane. “But master told me never to speak out of turn. Doesn’t you master act the same way?”
“No. I have no master; only charges. I have no need to take orders from anypony.”
“I wish it was like that for me.” Kitten commented dreamily. “How in Equestria did you manage to be free? Every other synth I’ve met was under orders from somepony else.”
“It’s a long story. And one I do not feel like telling the entirety of it.”
Kitten looked disappointed. Fortunately, I was spared from the whining of what was obviously a pampered synth when Money Bag called me over. I said my goodbye to the walking sextoy and trotted over to the two Earth pony stallions.
“How may I be of service?”
“Porter here is buyin’ the boot system for the twenty bits, plus he’s buying botha yer spare oculars. Says he likes the color. We were wondering what you wanted to sell them for. I said more like two hundred for the lot. He says half of that. Whaddaya think?”
I looked from the menacing stallion named Porter to my colleague. I was quite unsure of what was happening. Was Money Bag really offering me a chance to determine my price?
“I think we should meet midway. One hundred and fifty bits sounds fair enough. It was a difficult find.” I explained. Money Bag smiled and the stallion happily hoofed over several small bags of coins.
“Have a good day, sir! Come again!”
“Goodbye.”
Kitten waved to me as her charge pulled her along with him. I shook off the small feeling of guilt as I watched her leave. I know she lived a work-free and possibly carefree lifestyle, but I couldn’t help but realize how lucky I was to be free. I shuddered as I thought about what life might be like if I were a FF-5b instead of a FF-7. To have ponies literally walk all over me for their own pleasure.
To never have the opportunity to live life to its fullest.