The Conversion Bureau - Synthesis

by FatesEnd

Intermission: How the World Fell Under Darkness

A man weaved through the alleyways of Administrative Sector 1.1.27.71, a city once called Phoenix. He had brown hair and eyes, and he wore a patched up pair of boots and an old buttoned-up coat, his hand held over the pocket. There was a thin layer of scruff on his face, not by choice, but because even if he could scrounge up the credits, he'd find better things to do with them than buy a Cosmeticorp razor, so he settled for what he had.

The sky overhead was murky and grey, and the chill of winter caused him to pull his collar over his face. Each time he reached a corner, he would stop and look over his shoulder for pursuers. Finally, he reached his destination.

It was a dilapidated building five stories tall, with windows lining the front, a few of them intact but most of them glued together or with plastic taped over holes. The only sort of sign identifying the building was a plaque next to the door that read "24601". He knocked on the door three times before stepping aside to listen.

As footsteps approach the door, he called out.

"Captain, it's me, Crowley. I've got the stuff."

The door's lock clicked as it cracked open a few inches, the deadbolt still latched. An eye peered out at him, a much lighter color than Crowley's own. A moment later it disappeared and the deadbolt was undone and the door opened.

Frank "The Captain" Botha ushered him in before re-locking the door. The reason for his nickname was immediately clear, his eyepatch and peg leg being his most defining features. He was of obvious African (now Sector 3) descent both from his accent and his dark skin. He lost his leg when he was a child back in Sector 3, and he lost his eye to Securicorp. He was one of the few people who knew what his country used to be called, but his parents moved to Sector 1 to try to get a better life (they didn't; life was mostly the same no matter what sector lived in) before he ever learned the sub-sector numbers, and he couldn't find Numibbiya on a map.

The Captain made a living renting out rooms for barter to people who couldn't get an Estatecorp apartment. Technically, this was illegal, but because there was little other choice to keep the homeless from piling up in the streets, landlords like him weren't actively hunted down. Of course, that didn't mean Securicorp would play nice if he was caught, like he had been a few times before. He and Crowley couldn't exactly be considered friends, but because he payed for the health expenses of his tenants he was Crowley's best customer.

"You're early," the Captain said, setting the deadbolt.

"Securicorp raided my place last night," Crowley replied, unbuttoning his coat. "It was fun losing those clowns, but I couldn't get any sleep even after I finished setting up my new place. I decided to come here instead."

"Alan, have I ever told you that you are a crazy bastard?"

"At least five times. So, where is she?"

The Captain thumbed behind himself. "Number eight."

Crowley nodded and began walking, pulling a small jar out of his pocket. He unscrewed the lid, revealing a second makeshift lid with a wick sticking out of it. He frowned, bringing it up to eye level and swishing the clear liquid inside.

"I'm gonna want some alcohol as payment next time, purest stuff you can find," he called out over his shoulder.

He knocked on door number eight, and entered, greeted by an old woman lying in a bed, covered by a frayed blanket. After exchanging pleasantries with her, he placed the jar on her table, along with a few other objects from his pockets. Lighting the jar's wick with his flint, he brought the needle of his injector into the flame. It looked similar to a syringe, except for the thick needle he had made from a pen and the fact that it had no plunger of any sort. After a few seconds, he pulled it away and waved it around to cool it.

Extinguishing the flame, he walked over to the woman's bed and had her put her arm on the bedside table. Crowley cleaned a spot on her arm before putting the injector in place. The woman yelled in pain as the thick needle pierced her skin. Crowley put his weight on her arm to keep her from jerking it back. He really wished he had an injection gun. They may be annoying to sterilize, he mused, but they were painless and easy to use.

As she calmed down, he pulled a tube out of the pocket he had been holding his hand over. It was filled with a grey fluid, but although he removed the plastic cap on it, it didn't drip out of the hole on the bottom. He slid it into the injector sticking out of the old woman's arm and it clicked as he twisted it in place, the end sticking out. He placed one more thing on the table; a battery with two wires connected to it. He placed the wires on two contacts on the end of the tube and the fluid quickly shot out into the woman's bloodstream, making her shiver. He pulled out the needle and the puncture wound quickly closed. He talked to her as he re-sterilized it.

"If you see blood or metal in your stool, that's normal. It's just the nanites and the tumor. If you keep seeing it after five days, that's not normal. Tell the Captain to tell me about it if that happens. Oh, and if you're vomiting blood or chunks of flesh, that's not normal either."

"Anyway," Crowley said, putting everything back in his coat, "You should be feeling right as rain in about a week. Have a good evening, ma'am."

He left and rejoined the Captain at the main hall.

"Payment?" the Captain asked.

"Payment."

"Max's cousin, Jorge has a rice field he has hidden away from Securicorp and he sent some for him to pay as rent. I'm willing to give you a bag."

"Sorry Captain," said Crowley shaking his head. "It may be a break from canned shit, but I went through hell getting those nanites."

Lifting his shirt, he pointed to a faint scar on his abdomen. "Medicorp keeps their cancer nanites under some pretty heavy security. I got shot in the gut getting away."

Letting it fall, he continued. "I had to use some of my emergency stock to keep from being poisoned to death from my own body. I don't have the equipment to make that kind of stuff. The rice is pretty good, but I want something a little more."

"What do you have in mind?"

"You mentioned a few books Dave found. I want one of them, The Goetia."

The Captain chuckled. "What, is that All-star Crowley one of your relatives?"

"Nah. I've just always been interested in magic. You know, when I first started learning about this stuff, it wasn't because I wanted to use it for healing diseases and such. I though I could use it to get magic, or psychic powers. You know, like in comic books?" Crowley rolled his eyes. " Guess all dreams are meant to die, huh?"

"There's no doubt about that."

The Captain closed his eyes for a moment in thought before handing him a card. " Hey, how about instead of the rice I give you this?"

"What's this?" Crowley asked, examining it. As he looked at the back, his eyes widened in realization. "Holy shit, this is a credit card! How the hell did you get your hands on one of these?"

"If I told you that, I would be incriminating both of us. Let us just say I got it from a friend of a friend. Now, that is a Foodcorp card. It has enough credits on it for a good meal, and a stiff drink too. I think you deserve one of those, Alan."

Crowley grinned. "Thanks, Captain."

"It is no problem."

---

After a productive day with a few more house-calls, a very sick farmer who grew illegal grain (apparently he had started after that disaster Foodcorp, or, to use the real name, GM-Kraft Foods, had with the plastic wheat), and a gang member turned to swiss cheese by Securicorp, Crowley was off to make use of his credit card. The people he passed as he reached the more well used streets were strangely anxious, whispering to one another.

Did a corp head die? Eh, whatever. Not my problem.

He found what he was looking for; a Foodcorp bar. He had expected people to stare when they saw someone like him walk in, but they were too interested in discussing what had happened to pay attention to him. He went up to the bar, and, after grabbing the bartender's attention, he made use of his credits, ordering a steak and something he often craved but rarely got a chance to drink: absinthe. He had prepared it and was just taking his first sip of the cloudy, licorice flavored beverage, when the entire bar went silent. He glanced at them, then looked to the television screen they were staring at. It was a Newscorp broadcast.

The ticker read 'gement Corporation CEO. Continent suddenly appears in Oceanic Sector 1! Researchers still studying bubb'

Above it was a caption that read 'Celestia; Leader of Equestria'

What had grabbed the attention of the bar was the speech apparently being given by a horse.

Crowley frowned as he listened to it.

Could this be a joke? No, Newscorp might be the most likely to do it, but the corporations don't do jokes.

He studied the creature, half paying attention to the speech, when it suddenly hit him. The hair flowing indoors, the soft blue glow around its horn and the microphone...

His eyes widened as he whispered, awestruck. "Magic..."

---

The next few months were the most eventful ones in his whole life. Not personally, of course, but for the world. Weathercorp released reports that the Barrier was slowly expanding. Soon after, Medicorp announced Project Phoenix as a joint project with Equestria, but refused to explain what it was or what it was meant to do. That became obvious, though, when the first Conversion Bureaus opened.

Crowley didn't trust it. None of the corporations ever did anything if it wouldn't mean they profited somehow, and certainly not if they somehow managed to figure out it would hinder them. Medicorp's motive was obvious: self preservation. It was Equestria's that bothered him. Why take in billions of people with an entirely different culture and way of life? Equestria's natives would become a minority. He had a feeling there was something else beneath it all. Besides, even if he did trust it, there was only a one-third chance he would get magic from it. He didn't like those odds. No, he figured it was better to wait and see if the Corporations would do things right for once.

But they seemed to do the exact opposite. They started to pull out of the public eye as more and more of the higher-ups took the serum. As more and more of the strange newfoals began appearing, it started to seem like Equestria was running the show instead. Even Securicorp started easing up, sparking a rise in gang activity.

That was until rumors started about a man named Reynald Johanson. He started speaking out against Equestria, saying that everything that had happened was an attempt to destroy humanity. People started listening, and when he told them to take up arms, they did. When his followers managed to take over an Armscorp warehouse and raised a flag over it with the letters HLF, the Human Liberation Front was truly born. Ponies for Earth's Rebirth showed up not long after, getting into fights with the HLF and forcing the Ponification Serum upon people. The two groups started to swallow up other gangs and rebel groups. Most of them joined the HLF but PER got a large boost from newfoals.

Personally, Crowley though the HLF was a band of backwards rednecks and PER was a step too far in the other direction, so he stayed out of it the best he could.

Today he was headed for the Captain's building for his weekly visit. Apparently, one of the tenants had begun coughing up blood and tissue. He would examine him and see if he had anything that could fix it. It wasn't guaranteed, though. There were some things not even nanites could heal. As he reached the building, he couldn't help but feel like something strange was going on. He tried to knock on the door, but it pushed open when his hand hit it. It wasn't like the Captain to leave the door unlocked, let alone open.

He walked in cautiously, only to find a red unicorn with a black mane looking through his saddlebags. He noticed Crowley, and greeted him with a "Hi!"

Something about him seemed familiar, but he couldn't figure out what. "Excuse me, uh, sir, but do you know where the Captain is?"

"Please don't call me that!" the pony said, cheerfully.

"Huh?"

"I'm Frank! Oh, but I don't really like that name. Call me Big Heart!"

Wha...at?

This was the Captain?

No, no, this can't be right. But... his eyes are the same color as the Captain's... and his voice is the same... But his accent is completely gone.

Speaking of which, his eyes seemed to be glazed over, as if he wasn't quite there. Crowley was getting very uncomfortable just being in the same room as him.

"Um, could you tell me where the guy I'm supposed to examine is?"

"Oh, him? He went to the Conversion Bureau! I bet he's on his way to Equestria now! Oh, I should be leaving for there too! Gosh, I wonder if I'll be able to meet Princess Celestia!"

Gosh?

"But what about your tenants?"

"Oh, they'll go to the Conversion Bureau too, soon enough! Everything will be great when they're ponies!"

Crowley was shocked. "Frank, what the fuck is going on?"

Big Heart cringed. "Language, Al!"

Crowley had just noticed that Big Heart hadn't stopped smiling that entire conversation, even when he cursed.

This isn't him. This isn't him. This isn't him. This isn't him.

Whatever it was that stood in front of him, it was not Frank Botha. Maybe it used to be him, but it wasn't now.
He started to back away slowly, full of revulsion and a primal sort of fear.

Big Heart cocked his head. "What's the matter, Al?" He may have meant to say it in a concerned voice, but he sounded more like a curious child.

Crowley turned around and ran.

He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care as long as it was away from that thing. He stopped to lean against a building. This wasn't one of the busiest streets, but it wasn't nearly as deserted as the ones he usually took. He caught sight of some men in front of a building staring at another building across the street. Strange.

Just as he had caught his breath, the building the men had been staring at exploded. Without thinking, he jumped behind a trash can. Peeking out the side, he saw that the street had become a battlefield in an instant. Both ends were blocked off, and humans and ponies swarmed out of the burning building. Humans on both sides used guns and grenades. The normal ponies and the newfoals were distinguishable by whether they used weapons, like knives, spears, or their own magic, or whether they carried clear glass containers full of purple liquid. Potion bombs. He had heard of them recently, apparently the ponification serum worked topically as well as orally. They commonly resulted in underdosing, resulting in disfigurement and death.

After seeing what had happened to the Captain, however, he couldn't help but wonder which was really worse. He went back to hiding, trying to make himself as small of a target as possible. However, after an explosion just missed him, he realized he had to get somewhere safer before he was killed or worse. He thought about trying to run to the PER building that had been bombed, but he thought of Big Heart and shivered. He would have to try to cross the street to get to the building the men had been standing in front of; it looked like the HLF's outpost. He fingered a syringe in his pocket. He had managed to find it back when he stole the cancer nanites. It was a one-time self-disposing syringe full of all-purpose healing nanites that he had been keeping on him in case of emergencies. He figured that if he got shot here that it would definitely count as an emergency.

Gulping, he made a mad dash for the HLF building, trying to keep from standing still and stay behind the cars. By dumb luck, he had managed to get across in one piece. He walked through the door, only to find a machine gun an inch from his face. His hands shot into the air.

"Don't shoot! I'm just trying to get out of the firefight, I- I- I'm a nanite engineer, I've got nanites to help treat the wounded." He hoped it sounded more convincing to the burly man pointing the gun at him than it did to him.

After a few seconds, a lanky man spoke up. "Ey, Bill, one'a da medics got hit by a potion bomb, didn' he? Why don' we see if dis guy's tellin' da troof?"

Bill grunted in reply. Crowley supposed that meant yes, because the gun was now behind his head and he was being led to the back of the building. They reached a room full of beds, and he was led to one where a man was clutching his side, moaning in agony.

The lanky man looked expectantly at him. He supposed he had to use his emergency syringe after all. He doubted either of the men would be very happy if he made his patient scream. He pulled out the syringe and removed the lid, tapping the side to remove any air bubbles. Holding the man's head in place, because he doubted he would be able to get to his arm very easily, he injected the nanites into the man's jugular. Within a few minites, the man quieted down as his wound sealed itself. He heard a tap as the bullet the man had been shot with fell on to the floor.

The lanky man nodded. "You keep at dat, den. C'mon, Bill, let's get back ta da door."

Crowley set up what he needed, this time keeping his lamp lit. He went from patient to patient, sterilizing, injecting and sterilizing again. He wasn't as gentle as he usually was, mostly because all of the people who were conscious afterward were less than appreciative of his treatment.

The shooting outside had stopped, and he was just using his last nanite tube when a man walked up to him. He was the cleanest person he had seen since the fighting started. He supposed that meant he was important.

"You're Alan Crowley, aren't you?"

Crowley narrowed his eyes. "How do you know that?"

"You're the best nanite doctor in Sector 1.1. I'm here to offer you a job."

He raised an eyebrow. "What kind of job?"

"We're trying to find a vaccine for the ponification serum. Part of it uses nanites, so we've been looking for people like you. We can give you food, a place to sleep, and any equipment you need. What do you say?"

Normally, Crowley would dismiss this kind of offer out of hand. But, after what happened today... After seeing what the serum really did... He didn't want anyone else to end up like the Captain, even if it meant working with the HLF.

Gritting his teeth, he shook the clean man's hand.

Comments

[Battlecrank]

"Normally, Crowley would dismiss this kind of offer out of hoof."

Slip of the hand, or was it intentional?

Also, good to see this story still going; it's an interesting take on CB.

[FatesEnd]

5952618
Whoops! I guess I spend so much time going back and thinking "Wait, ponies don't have hands" that I went too far in the other direction. Thanks!

[Battlecrank]

5977336

No problem.

[Ariel Schnee]

This is good!^_^

A great fic!^_^

I like this!^_^

I want more!^_^

Please update soon!^_^

[FatesEnd]

7666885
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