I: Exploration
I awoke to a metallic smell and the the taste of morphine in my cotton-dry mouth. I coughed, winced, and retched, smacking my head against a cold hard surface. Hissing at the pain, I gritted my teeth. They felt... off, as though they weren't quite the right shape.
The metal smell was like copper or iron; I was still too dazed to place what it was exactly. I scrunched up my face as my stomach felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my mouth from the smell. I worked my tongue and jaw, and produced some spit to wet my parched tongue.
Breathing through my mouth, I opened an eye and stared right into a flickering compact fluorescent bulb in a grey ceiling. I still couldn't shake the feeling that everything was off. I shook my head, and my neck moved far too much from what it was used to, as though it was longer. I tried standing up, but the weight I'd use to shift position was spread quite differently. I tried again, and my foot clanged against what I was laying on.
Reflexively, I looked down again, bending my neck at an odd angle. What I saw made my mouth hang open in confusion.
Attached to my body were four grey stumps capped off with... hooves. My head snapped away as I tried looking elsewhere. It couldn't be possible, I'd never even thought of going to a transition clinic before. Well, I had gone to one out of curiosity for a cybernetic implant, but not for morphic catalyst.
Morphic catalyst - or simply 'potion' to people who preferred simpler terms. It had been offered at transition clinics for the last three years. It had caused more than a few companies - and countries - to crap their pants at some of the possible implications. One potion was a one-way ticket to becoming a pony.
Of course I couldn't be a pony; I hadn't taken any potion.
I blinked a few times as I became aware that even though my right shoulder was still pressed against the ground, my head was well raised to take in my surroundings. I looked about, avoiding looking at my arms and legs. There was a slate-grey cabinet with a door ajar. Inside I could see some glassware. To the right of that was a vent. I bent my neck at an angle it shouldn't have and saw a counter with several trays on it. Moving my neck a little more, it reached a point where it finally stopped bending. If I was going to look any further, I was going to have to stand.
Again I flailed about ineffectually, and again my feet clanged on contact with the cold hard steel beneath me.
I looked down again, and a sob caught me. I broke into a coughing fit as I felt moisture gather in my eyes.
"No..." I said. The statement provided some small comfort as I heard my voice. It was unchanged from how it was before. My eyes snapped open as I felt my heart beat a little faster. Who I was before was a fact that eluded me. I gulped for air as I fixated on that point. Was it true? Did potion really erase all memories? That couldn't be it, if it was, the news would have caught onto it in an instant. My mind was probably still hazy from...
"No!" I yelled. In trying to assure that my memories were still there, I had fallen for accepting something else that wasn't true. I looked back down, then winced, letting my head hit back against the table I was on. Four legs, with four hooves.
I couldn't recall my name, or any detail other than I was human at some point in the past, but the memories of other details were starting to fill in. There were a few nutters that had taken to converting anyone they could with stolen potion. I sighed. It must have been what happened to me.
I heard a loud thud in the distance, outside the room, and I looked over to a large, shining-steel door. My ears pointed in the direction of the sound; It was a natural, yet at the same time discomforting action. I had to take account of things.
The table I laid on was smeared with rusty-red blood that had caked onto it. I breathed out quickly through my nose to exhale the odor. None of it was fresh, so I figured I wasn't bleeding. Looking some more, I found the table was fairly low to the ground, and opposite the cabinet and vent in the room, there were some shelves with cardboard boxes on it.
There was another thud from the door, but I focused my eyes on my legs. Even so, my ears twitched to the door again. I could see my sides as well. No wings, just a fine, grey coat like concrete that had been rained on. The coat itself looked fine and thick, like eyebrow-hair, but longer.
I tried moving each of my legs individually, then folded them up and rolled over until they were underneath me. I pushed up with my front legs, and put myself in a sitting position. I did the same with my back legs, and I was standing - albeit a little shakily. Moving one leg at a time, I managed to turn and place my front hooves on the ground under the table. Hobbling forward, I dragged my back hooves off the table.
There was another thud from the door.
"Hello?" I called. "Can anyone hear me?" I waited, and there was no response.
Taking my time to get to the door. I studied the motions of my legs as I headed for the door. The motion came naturally to me. Unsurprising, I supposed, given that I had seen month-old foals going full kilter.
Reminded of my past, I tried to remember something useful. I thought about it, and I lucked out as I thought my name came back to me. Garrett Billson. Nothing else came to mind at the time, and I explored the rest of the room.
There was some more dried blood on the floor. I walked over to the counter, and pushed off the ground with my front legs. I braced myself against the counter, and looked at the tray's contents. Several surgical tools glinted as the light behind me flickered: bone saw, scalpel, forceps, tourniquets; some of which were covered in blood. The tray on the far right had over a dozen discolored lumps of metal on them.
Before I could make out what they were, I heard another thud from the door: louder, more defined, and accompanied by a scream. I heard another thud, though by then it was clearly the bang of gunfire.
I panicked, losing my balance, and smacking my head on the counter. "Shit!" I hissed, curling up as pain throbbed... a few inches above my forehead? I opened my eyes and looked up, crossing them to see a fluted horn sticking out of my head. Apparently I had become a unicorn. Fat lot of good that was going to do me until I had time to learn magic.
There was another gunshot from outside.
"Fucking race-traitor! We'll kill all of you four-legged zombies and sun-worshipers!"
Shaking my head, I got back up and looked around quickly. Whoever had that gun, they sounded like they weren't going to be happy to see me, regardless of whether or not I had wanted to be a pony. The gunshots sounded close, no way was I risking heading out the front door, even if it was unlocked. That just left the vent, and it was screwed shut.
I braced myself against the counter again, and bent my head towards one of the scalpels. The smell was still disgusting, but I plucked one of them up with my lips, and went to the vent. I jammed the blade into the first screwhead, keeping the scalpel steady with with my teeth. I twisted my neck, and the screw turned with it.
Repositioning, I continued working at the screw until it fell to the ground. I moved onto the next as another gunshot rang out. The second and third screws came out with a little coaxing, and I worked on the fourth and final screw.
The door handle rattled. "Hey, I found a locked door, think this is where they're hiding their supplies?"
My eyes twitched, my teeth ground together, and my back hooves stamped as I tried to get the last screw out. Whoever was outside the door kicked at it as the door shook with another bang.
The last screw fell out. I dropped the scalpel and brushed the grate away from the opening before scuttling inside.
Not looking back, I clambered on as I heard somebody yell, "Damn thing's sealed tight! This must be it, Wells! Get here and hack the lock!"
I crawled through the vents, the metal brushing against my back and sides as I dragged myself through. The vent slanted downwards, and I braced my hooves as I slid down, trying to avoid making too much noise.
I reached another grate. Peering out, I saw a line of shower stalls with white tiles making up the upper walls, and blue tile covering the lower walls and floor. The ceiling was a cobweb of rafters and pipes covered in spray-on insulation. I settled my breathing, and listened. I heard the sound of flowing water in the pipes above, along with a few distant echoes from behind me. I shuddered, breathing through my nose, and took in the faint smell of mildew.
The echoes continued, and I decided that I wasn't in the clear. Contorting and twisting, I faced my rear legs at the grate. I kicked back, slamming my hooves into the metal. It groaned as I kicked again, and then popped out as I exerted myself on the third kick. I backed up into the room and sat.
I stared down at what had once been my hands. Keeping my balance by bracing on my left front leg, I put my former right arm behind my head, and rotated it. The range of motion was acceptable, but the absence of fingers was still going to be a difficulty. My ears twitched again as a gunshot echoed out of the vent, and I stood up.
I walked through what I guessed was the basement of a hotel or apartment, passing by the showers to a room lined with black and chrome washing machines, some of them still tumbling laundry. The color scheme of white and blue times stayed consistent until I exited the laundry room and the floor transitioned to a gritty concrete, and the walls to orange gyprock.
"The others think they got all those race-traitors, pony and human alike..."
I halted and pressed myself against the wall, ears perked to listen in on the conversation.
"But they're doing one more check in case any of them are hiding."
"This is cutting it close, what if the police catch wind of this? I didn't sign up to shoot at blues."
"Word, but by the time they arrange for Tactics and Rescue to come in here, we'll be long gone."
"Alright, hopefully they find out where the main supply of 'Morph is being kept."
"No sign of it yet, I don't even think this was a main cell, big as it might be. Just stay here until you get the signal, then hightail it back to the meetup."
One of them stomped off, and I heard something hard clack against the wall. I chanced a peek, looking around the corner, and saw a guard leaning against a column, head turned away from me. His chest was covered by a thick green vest, and his arms were exposed to show several tatoos. His face was covered in a ski mask with a grey, digital-pattern camouflage. In his hands was a basic pistol. The mismatch of equipment made me doubt professional training, along with the conversation that worried over the police.
I looked again, and realized there was an elevator right next to him. Sizing him up, I guessed my head reached up to his groin. I looked up at my horn, and my mouth ran dry at my thoughts. I ducked back behind the wall, and took a shuddering breath. Raising a hoof, I swallowed a wad of spit and then brought the hoof down on the concrete with a clack.
"Huh?"
I faced the corner as the footsteps approached.
"Damn hotels, falling apart."
A leg appeared around the corner, the inside of the thigh facing me.
I ran forward, horn digging into muscle, pulled it out, and ran down the hall as the man screamed behind me. "One of them! Basement! Past the laundry! Shit man! I'm bleeding!"
I gagged as gob of red dropped past my left eye. I reared up by the elevator panel, and pressed the call elevator button, the door opened, and I ran in as bullets flew blindly down the hall. I pressed the button for roof access with my horn, leaving a droplet of red on it.
I waited as the elevator ascended. Swatting at my face with my front hooves, they came off covered with red. I wiped them against the stainless steel interior. It was me or him, I rationalized. They were going to kill me! Didn't mean I couldn't feel like crap for doing what I did. I winced as I tried to remove more blood.
The door opened, revealing the gravel covered roof. I walked out, ducking and weaving amongst the air-conditioners and vents on the roof until I reached the edge. I looked over, and saw an empty street below me. I glanced around, looking for a way down, and I saw a fire-escape. Making my way over to it, I kept wiping my head against any surface, trying to get the hot and sticky gore off my face.
I reached the fire escape and stared down it. I turned sideways and crab-walked down the stairs, coordinating one leg at a time to get down without tumbling over and falling six stories. As I reached the first floor, I heard sirens in the distance, followed by an explosion. Clearly they were held up, and the last thing I needed was to get involved in a fire fight. I dropped down to the ground below, hitting the asphalt with a grunt, and walked to an alleyway. A few droplets of water hit my back, and I hid behind a garbage dumpster a few blocks away as the rain grew to a torrential downpour.
I held out my hooves to the rain, washing off the blood as best I could before rubbing vigorously at my face. The cold wet eventually soaked in as I kneeded it into my coat, chilling me slightly. I stood up, sniffed, and followed a flow of run-off. I needed to get home, figure out who I was before I'd been kidnapped and changed, then head to the police when I was certain it was safe to do so. Otherwise, I'd likely be detained for any number of reasons while they investigated for months to just find out I was the victim.
The first order of business was to figure out my home address. With my name, that was as simple as finding a city information terminal, hopefully. I reached a main street and looked up at the brownish night sky as it was lit up by the collective light of the city. A few people huddled outside a pharmacy door, talking on cell phones or smoking cigarettes.
Above the door, a massive screen glowed with orange letters showing the day's headlines and stock prices. The headlines minimized to a box in the bottom left corner as a woman's face dominated the screen. A red stripe extended over the top of the screen, reading that it was forty five minutes until the neighborhood curfew. The woman wore thick mascara and purple eye shadow that extended the lines of her face like an Egyptian pharaoh. Her coif of jet black hair bounced slightly as she nodded at the camera, and spoke.
"This is Anna Newald, reporting live from San Diego as Hurricane Martinez makes landfall tonight. The storm was fueled by the shallow waters of the now thirty four year old Equus Minor Gulf. Pegasus weather patrols from Equestria, the United States, and Mexico have been working around the clock in an attempt to divert and weaken the storm, but they were delayed when the Equestrian team was held up in Mexican airspace eighteen hours ago. The effects of the storm are reaching as far inland as the Arizona city of Yuma. Measurements indicate that Hurricane Martinez may be the largest hurricane to occur outside of the East coast's hurricane season. Residents of affected areas are advised to stay indoors until weather patterns stabilize."
The face minimized and the rest of the headlines expanded to fill in the space as I headed to the crowd of people by the pharmacy entrance. I walked inside as the automatic doors slid open. I dripped on the rubber mat beneath me for a moment as I looked around. The place smelled like disinfectant - appropriate - and was well lit. There were shelves filled with everything from cosmetics to drugs to toys.
I went around past the magazines to the cash register where a red-haired woman was reading a fashion magazine. She set it to the side and looked down at me. "Good evening sir, how can I help you this evening?"
"I need to look up an address," I answered. "Do you have a terminal I can use?"
The woman pointed down an aisle. Following her finger, I saw a blue pedestal beside a line of refrigerators. It had "INFO" helpfully printed along the side of it in bold white letters.
"Ah, thank you," I said, turning to the terminal.
"No problem at all sir!"
Approaching the terminal, a blue holographic screen projected out of the pedestal, and a stylus poked out of a slot beside it. The projection lowered itself to my height as I sat in front of it. I reached over with a hoof to the 'screen' and it lit up with an enlarged keyboard. Using both of my front hooves, I picked up the stylus and slowly typed in my last name, then my first name. I got three results. I clicked the 'call' function, and tried phoning the first number.
The phone rang for a minute. There was a final tone, and an answering machine with my voice. "Hello, Garrett Billson isn't here to take your call right now. If you'd like to leave a message, wait for the beep, if you need to talk about a work-related incident, you can try me at my office at 928-650-2833."
If that wasn't indication enough that was the place I needed to get to, nothing was. I hung up, committed the address to memory, and walked back to the cashier. "Do you know where the nearest transit station is?" I asked.
She nodded with a smile. "Just down the road to your left, past the transition clinic. Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to purchase?"
"Uh, no thanks, I'm a little strapped for cash right now," I answered, walking out of the door.
The people who had been gathered around the door were gone. Looking to the screen, I saw that curfew was a half hour away. I tried picking up my pace, and broke into a trot. It was surprisingly easy going at the increased clip, I didn't feel all that out of breath, even as I reached the transition clinic. It was covered in glass screens flashing a muted shade of cyan. Several of the screens were filled with images of artificial limbs and eyes, and a few others with images of ponies. Outside was a small decorative garden in the shape of a diamond. At the point closest to the street, two people, a black man and woman, were conversing.
"I mean, I can understand getting an augment if you've been in an accident, but having a limb hacked off to get metal bolted onto flesh? That's so... gruesome."
"You make it sound like they're pulling your brain out and sticking it in a jar."
"And don't think I approve of that morphic catalyst either!"
"Not saying you do, but still, the others should be here soon and we can head to the apartment. I will say one thing about these clinics: they make for one helluva landmark."
I continued walking and reached a stairwell leading to the subway. I walked in, slinking past the gate. One of the few social services that was provided for free, public transit, and I was grateful. Boarding the train, I sat across from the door, ready to disembark the moment the train reached a stop close to my apartment.
Letting out a sigh, I sagged in my seat. I lifted up a hoof until it was at eye level; it tremored slightly. I gulped and turned the hoof over, looking at the underside. The outer, u-shaped edge was the hard part of my hoof, with a dip behind that, and at the far back a triangular piece of rough-looking flesh. I looked at the faint reflection in the glass doors across from me. My coat was still wet-concrete grey, and I could finally see what my - I took another gulp as I faced facts once again - mane looked like. It extended down the length of my neck, and ended just behind my horn, though the bangs covered the base of it. It was another shade of grey, closer to black, like asphalt that had just been poured.
I directed my attention at the small television screen to the left of the door, playing a few commercials. An elderly man in a business suit was standing in front of a orange backdrop.
"Are you suffering from the effects of cybernetic implant rejection, sometimes called Barick's Syndrome? Headaches, muscle fatigue, temporary loss of bodily functions? Every augmented person goes through it, so you need an anti-rejection drug that fits to your lifestyle. Neophin is the leading product of the market, and has been shown by FDA studies to have the fewest side effects compared to the next top competitor. Now available over the counter at transition clinics, and most pharmacies."
The screen cut to black before featuring a news report. A man in a navy-blue suit, and a well-groomed, light-brown mustache was staring out.
"Good evening everyone, I'm here at the Yuma Gardens Hotel where police are investigating what they believe to be the location of a recent gang war between cells of the Purity for Humanity's Future, and the fringe cult, Celestia's Children. As our viewers are probably aware, the Purity for Humanity's Future is a group opposed to both human augmentation, and the morphic process of transforming a human into a pony. The Celestia's Children cult is the name taken on by anyone, human or pony, who commits the practice of using potion on an unwilling person. Despite the name, Princess Celestia does not support this group, and in fact made the act of forcible transformation punishable with a life sentence in her own country of Equestria."
The screen shifted to show Anna Newald in the left half. "Thank you, Jim," she said. "Have the police released anymore information?"
"No they haven't, Anna, but police have already sent a request asking anyone with information to contact them. Many citizens have complained that the police have been doing far too little to suppress such illegal activities in the past years and that the recent increase in bloodshed is a direct consequence of that. I'll be sure to keep you updated, as things progress."
The train ground to a halt, and I exited it. Sitting in the station, I realized something: I had no keys on me to open my apartment. I tried to shrug, dipping my front closer to the ground before I stood up. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I get there.
I left the station, and crossed the street to my apartment building. Bracing myself against the wall, I pushed the speaker button next to the door with a hoof. "Hello? Garrett Billson," I said. The red light next to the speaker blinked for a few times before it played a tone back and flashed green. The door swung open, and I trudged inside. I looked at the mailboxes for my name, and found it scratched on a little piece of paper taped to box three-thirty-six.
Walking past a second set of doors, I scrunched up my face at the smell of stale upholstery and unwashed carpeting. Making my way to the third floor, I looked at the dingy brown carpet, the yellow-tinted stucco ceiling, and the cracked wood-panel walls. Horrid as the smell was, it felt familiar, and familiarity was something I was in short supply of.
I reached my apartment, room three-thirty-six. I reared up, placed my front hooves on it, and wrapped my teeth around the door handle.
Surprisingly, it was unlocked. When I pushed the door inwards, the reason was clear. Immediately to my left was the kitchen, all the drawers and and cupboards flung open. Cutlery, plates, and glass lay strewn about on the white-and-green linoleum floor. To my right was a closet, three jackets thrown to the ground, and a massive hole punched through the back, exposing wires and pipes.
Investigating the rest of the house, it was clear the place had been ransacked. I must have been taken from my apartment when they took me, I thought. My computer room was missing its namesake, and a few loose papers had been left lying about.
Stepping to my bedroom, I saw fluff and foam sticking haphazardly out of the mattress and sheets, as though a lunatic samurai had gone to town on it with a katana. More of my clothes lay on the floor, and beside my bed, a picture frame lay face-down into the green carpeting.
I flipped the picture over with a hoof and looked at it. One man, with black hair and a rather angular chin, was giving a blonde woman with a bright smile a piggy-back ride. Off to the right, a unicorn, pearl-white with a yellow mane that wrapped itself in a series of curls, was reared up and laughing.
I flipped the picture back over, used my lips to unfasten the pegs, and removed the back of the frame. Written on the back, behind each person on the picture, including the unicorn, was a name: Garrett, Rebecca and Angie. Below the name Angie was a phone number, 928-650-4473.
I used the soft triangle of flesh on the bottom of my hoof to slide the picture out of the frame. I stepped out to my living room, where they couches has also been eviscerated. Two degrees hung from the wall: criminology and computer science.
I walked to my phone. A bright red number one shone prominently on the display. I pressed play on the answering machine, and listened to a stuffy-sounding male voice.
"Garrett? Shit, if you can hear this, get out of your apartment right now. Don't ask me how I know, but the PHF are coming for you! I have a place you can lay low, but you gotta get moving right now! Once you're out, I'll find you, just give me time." The tone played and the message ended. The person hadn't even given their name.
I picked up the phone in my mouth and carried it back to my room. I flipped the photo back over, and looked at my picture. I wasn't a pony, and I didn't have any augments, so why they hell would the PHF have gone after me?
In desperate need of answers, I put the phone on the ground, and used my tongue to press in the number. It ringed a few times, and then I heard someone on the other line pick up.
"Hello? Angela here, who is it?"
"Angela..." I said, working the name in my mind to see if it brought anything up.
"Um... Garrett?"
"Yeah!" I said. Shaking my head as I realized I was just breathing heavily into the phone.
"Holy cow! Garrett! I haven't heard from you in the last year! How are you?" she asked.
"I'm doing... well, I'm still doing stuff." I answered, lying on the floor and pressing my ear closer to the phone.
"Aren't we all?" she chuckled. "Gosh, I didn't think you still... Why are you calling?"
My planted itself firmly into a wall as my face planted itself in my hoof. "I uh... I'm not going to lie to you, I need help putting some pieces of my life back together."
"I-I understand. Rebecca leaving was a big thing for you. Where do you want to meet?"
"Actually, I was hoping you'd have a place in mind? And a time?" I stared intently at the phone, waiting for an answer.
"Well... we both live outside of the curfew zone, so we could meet tonight. As for where, you know The Fields Lounge?"
"You'll probably have to give me an address for that," I replied. I scooped up the phone with my forehooves, resting it in the crook of a joint that had once been my wrist. I hobbled three-legged to the computer room, where I found a pen and paper.
"Okay, it's just on forty-second street, past the the bank. Number 11273. You get that?"
Pulling the cap off the pen with my mouth, I put the pen in the crook of my other wrist joint, and scrawled a note like a ham-fisted child trying to color. "Four-two street, past bank, 11273, got it. Thanks, Angela."
"No problem, Garrett. Oh, and you can just call me Angie, just because my sister and you aren't married, doesn't mean you lost the privilege to use my nickname." She hanged up, and I was left to stare at the wall. Sister? Married? Just how much of my memories had I lost?
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I much appreciate all of you who have taken the time to read this far, and I hope you choose to comment, regardless of whether or not you intend to stay and see how the rest of this story unfolds.
Also, for the veteran writers out there who may be shaking their heads, I'm perfectly aware of how cliche it is to have a character with amnesia, but there is also an in-universe explanation - and lampshade of the fact - coming up in the next chapter.
Wait you write TCB?! I thought you never left the shipping lane.
Your worldbuilding could do with a little more fleshing out, I think. Very vague.
EDIT: Now that I'm not a) working or b) falling asleep, I've had a read, and here's a more detailed review.
Upshot: This is like, third-draft material. Good enough that it's coherent and mostly there, but it still needs polish. But since you've gone ahead and posted it as such, I'll judge it by "fully edited" criteria.
Grammar's pretty much spot on, save for a few dropped balls with typos and missed dialog tags. Which means the things I did not like about the story are actually part of the meat.
Pacing links to worldbuilding. You've given us a great macroview of the world, but no micro. We don't know where the story takes place, the overall state of the city. Other stories at least go so far to say "megadome/city" or set the story in roughly-modern times. At least then, we have an idea of what to expect, and how to react to news that Hurricane Martinez is fucking up San Diego. (If the city's set in NZ, we can safely write off that information as "fucking useless", because we're miles away from San Diego). We don't even have a name for the city - even if amnesia has stolen it, the lady at the pharmacy would probably refer to the pharmacy as [pharmacy franchise] [city name]. ("NanoMed Chicago", for example)
Also linked to this, your hamhanded grasp of said worldbuilding. You're forcing information in crude and unnatural ways, making people say things that make no sense for them to say, just to convey knowledge to the reader which doesn't matter to us or apply at present. Relevant information first. Setting. Then talk about shit like Barick's Syndrome by name when it becomes possibly relevant or in passing. Those people the protagonist passed - they were a golden opportunity to name-drop Barick's Syndrome and you fudged it.
The way you implemented it, via the advertisement, was hamfisted and leads me to believe that you've never seen an advert before. Here's my take on the advert.
Same job, different execution, better flow.
Another note that springs to mind: For a street thug, the guy who got shanked in the groin was surprisingly coherent and capable. Most people, you stab them in the thigh with a horn or knife, they fall over, scream a lot, and maybe, if you're lucky, they'll convey useful information. The first thing your thug says is "One of them! Basement! Past the laundry!" before screaming about how he's bleeding. My advice: Reverse that. He screams in pain, about how he's bleeding, about how one of the little fuckers just shanked him. That'll call allies pretty fast. Then they'll see protag, and bang bang, here comes the gunfire.
Tangential issue: PER, if they're slated to show up as themselves or under an alternative name, have no motive. Their goal was to turn all humans to ponies, so Celestia could go ahead, expand the barrier without wiping out billions of humans, and create a new, fresh world, thereby saving the Earth. Ponification for the Earth's Rebirth, yeah? No dome threat means this can never happen.
With regards to the new universe - conversion isn't necessary. Humans can walk freely in Equestria, from what I can tell, and by your own word of god, the barrier is not a threat. The only benefits are that a) you can compete with man-machines dependant on Neophin, and... that's it. Celestia offering free refuge to converts was never brought up, which leads me to assume she won't in this universe - ponification is a purely elective choice, which would not warrant wide-spread distribution of "transition clinics". Not to mention such excessive transhumanism would not go down well with most of humanity. Getting a robo-arm is one thing, changing from humanoid to equine is another. They need a damned good reason, or it isn't happening.
Which links to the next thing that bugs me. I'm loathe to even acknowledge the existience of the "pony wank" classification that SpaceBattlers and ACB like to bandy about, but I'm going to firmly stick one of those labels on this story. Ponies with a lifespan that shits all over human lifespan, and strength/agility/utility to compete with augmented humans? You're pushing it, sunshine.
And lastly, the world just needs more flavor overall. The receptionist in the pharmacy. All I got out of it was a face, and a capitalistic one at that, expecting a pony with nothing on him to buy something. But that's a cold action, at odds with how much care she appears to project. Fixable with some flavor - perhaps she's reading a newspaper/tablet when protag first arrives, and doesn't bother to look up when he asks, just operating on bored reflex?
The PHF guys hunting protag in the hotel? Organized stormtroopers, or inbred fucks with scatterguns, looking to paint the hotel red? Why were they even there? Scatter a few pony corpses around, maybe some augmented humans, and this all seems like just a case of super-bad luck. Even if the circumstances behind protag's conversion are the big plot twist, just saying that there's other corpses around or whimpers of pain echoing through the corridors before being silenced with a gunshot or a meaty whack can do wonders for my suspension of disbelief.
Overall: Middling. Details that I deem critical are missing, and excessive in places that I do not deem even relevant. Execution could use work. The logic exhibited by characters in this story doesn't make any sense to me, and so the story suffers.
The first chapter was alright. Some of the news articles set the scene, and the chess game was alright. But pretty much everything else, I found issue with at least somewhere along the line.
2593841
2593901 And previously I've been told that I put in too much for the first bit. I have an entire fiction to give out information as it becomes relevant, or for purposes of foreshadowing.
Not bad i will be watching oh and please don't go full on TCB on us
And i am getting a very Deus ex vibe from this
2593912
Is that the pinkie murder face or the pinkie is happy face?
Cyberpunk and ponies together? Hints of transhumanism? Me gusta!
Carry on.
Dues Ex! The augmentations, the gangs, the anti-rejection drugs, they all originally came from that game, correct? If I am, then I must congratulate you on how well you fitted that into your plot. Getting all the details from a game, and fitting all of that into a story isn't an easy thing to do, you know. Unless...
2594894
While they were in that game, Deus Ex didn't originate those concepts. Deus Ex is pretty standard by-the-book cyberpunk fare. That's part of what makes it a great game. Cyberpunk, if you didn't know (and if you did, just ignore me) as a genre has been around since 1980, but was popularized primarily by, for example, the film Bladerunner in 1982 and the book Neuromancer in 1984. Ghost in the Shell is also often looked upon an epitome of the genre.
2595215, cewl, a history lesson
Edit: Now I'm definitely going to add this to my read laters..
2595215 don't forget shadowrun
2595215 Ghost in the shell is more post-cyberpunk
2595372
True enough.
2595384 On a side note what do you think of the upcoming ghost in the shell arise
2595389
EDIT: the hell? Fimfic ate like half my post.
To tell you the truth, I didn't know it was coming until I posted earlier. I googled GitS to see what year the manga started and was surprised to find they were making these new films. I'm excited for it, even though Stand Alone Complex is my favorite version of the franchise. What was jarring was seeing the poster with all of the characters withe their new designs, particular the Major and especially Aramaki. What made me chuckle though, was seeing that everyone had was changed a little and had at least a little change up to their design, all except Togusa. Guy looks EXACTLY the same.
2595420 the manga is what ever i dont read it the show is good
Oh and do you mean this guy
static.midboss.com/batou.png
2595434
No that's Batou, as you can see in the address of your picture. In the picture below, Togusa is the one on the right, with the long hair and suit.
upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/a/a2/GITSARISE.jpg
2595465 I didn't not know witch one you were talking about so i just thought you meant Batou. They all look the same as they did in the show and i do like that i am ok with how the major looks i mean it is a prequel
2593921 2594894 Deus Ex was one of my inspirations, and there are a few other science-fiction works that I've been drawing upon for this story. And there will be supportive cast and enemies from humans (augmented and not) and ponies.
Thank you for the vote of confidence, 2594219
2594030 It was happy Pinkie.
2595508 It looks like it will turn out to be a good story.
Oh and if a human can be turned into a pony can they turn a pony into a human because that would be really cool.
2595551 At this point in the time-line, transforming a pony into a human - whether they were a pony at birth or not - can't be done, but it's something that's being researched.
I need to have some gravity to the situation of the character being changed, and to the decision in its entirety for the rest of the world. To be fair though, getting augmentations removed results in being crippled, as one is left only with basic prosthetics that don't integrate with the nervous system, so it too is, at that point, difficult to go back on.
2595651 I do hope to see more worldbuilding in the next chapter
A TCB-influenced thriller that takes nothing for granted?
Despite my eternal dislike for forced-context news article exposition this is a well-written, well-paced, and well-balanced start. A bonus point for the juicy chess scene.
o man celestia what were you thinking making that kind of potion!? you just gave the crazies of all kinds fuel to try new heights of madness birth of a new kind of terrorists big whoops on her part no? she really didn't think this out to well... and to think there no barrier no convert or die! she should of waited till there was a human potion to go with that pony one...
wouldn't it be just horrible and sick if the crazies take the potion concept and twist it to make bio weapons out of all kind of sentients and other creature's equastria and earth just for there goals? dark thought and fuel for a anti pony group.
3270782 Indeed, it's good to know that my story is piquing your interest so.
In 2020, Equestria appeared in the Pacific Ocean. Looks at date well i sure hope so