• Published 18th Apr 2012
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The Adventures of Cyborg Braeburn - totallynotabrony

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Chapter 1

This is a spinoff of my story, A Dream. It’s not required reading.


The Adventures of Cyborg Braeburn

A sudden jolt brought Braeburn awake. He glanced around quickly, taking in the interior of the train car as it rumbled over the tracks towards Ponyville.

The stallion pushed his hat back and kneaded his forehead with a hoof. He’d been having an unpleasant dream.

No, scratch that, it was a certified nightmare. The worst of it was, it was merely a replay of something that had actually happened to him.

“Can I get you anything, sir?” asked the female train attendant.

“Just water, thanks.” Braeburn was trying to detox. The hospital had so many drugs in his system that for a while he didn’t know which way was up. They told him the vertigo was caused by an inner ear problem. No, it wasn’t a problem, it was missing. One of his ears, that is.

The attendant was a professional and didn’t appear to notice his various disabilities. The same could not be said of the little filly sitting with her mother across the aisle. Braeburn turned to look at her, revealing the side of his face that was covered in bandages. She quickly stopped staring at him.

The buffalo hoof that Braeburn caught in the face had peeled the outside layer of his head like an apple. The ear, the eye, and a good portion of the skin had been pulped.

But that wasn’t so bad, really. Loosing half his hearing and vision was something he could deal with. The three broken, ruined legs were what Braeburn really missed.

He could practically hear the questions the little filly would be asking once he was out of earshot. Mommy, what was wrong with that stallion? Is he like a puzzle with pieces missing?

And she would reply, You should pity him. He was butchered once by a raging stampede and again by ridiculous doctors.

Braeburn shook his head. He was either taking too many drugs, or not enough.

“Here you are, sir.” The train attendant came back with a small bottle of water on a tray. Braeburn used his left foreleg to get the bottle into position. He grabbed the neck with his teeth and tilted his head back. It was pretty good water.

In setting the bottle back down, he fumbled and dropped it. “Sorry,” he said.

The attendant picked the bottle up. Braeburn saw her eyes briefly flick to the bandaged stumps of his other three legs.

“It’s no trouble,” she replied. “Where will you be getting off?”

“Ponyville.”

“That’s the next stop. I’ll help you if you need it.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

As she walked away, Braeburn glanced down at his stubby legs in disgust. He looked like some kind of freaky pony-dachshund. He didn’t like being pitied.

Braeburn’s wheelchair had been neatly folded up and stowed in the overhead compartment. The attendant got it down and helped him into it as the train began to slow, approaching the station.

As the train ground to a halt, Braeburn was helped out of the car and deposited on the platform. His cousin Applejack was waiting for him, along with another pony.

“It’s good to see ya,” said Applejack. She smiled, but it looked a bit forced as she saw the extent of his injuries.

“Howdy,” replied Braeburn. “I hope I’m not imposing on your hospitality.”

“Oh, nonsense.” The mare waved a hoof. “You need to recover, and Ah don’t reckon you can do that stuck in that little Appleloosa clinic.”

“Damn, you look like a wreck,” said the other pony. He was a brighter shade of orange than Applejack and had a black mane and tail.

"Hush up, Valiant," said Applejack sternly. Braeburn remembered that the stallion had been with AJ and her friends when they visited Appleloosa shortly before the buffalo overran the town. There was something about him that Braeburn distrusted, but if he was friends with Applejack, he couldn’t be that bad.

“He came to help me fetch you from the train,” explained Applejack. “It’s a little bit of a walk out to Sweet Apple Acres.”

“Well, I offered to give you a ride,” said Valiant.

Applejack shook her head. “Braeburn’s here to relax. Ah don’t think he needs to be exposed to your crazy robots right now.”

Braeburn wanted to ask what a "robot" was, but AJ launched into a different subject before he could open his mouth.

“Ah hope you’re hungry. We outdid ourselves for dinner, if Ah do say so myself.” She and Valiant pushed the wheelchair towards the farm. Applejack provided most of the conversation. Valiant seemed to have fallen into a sullen silence.

Braeburn had visited Sweet Apple Acres once or twice before. The whole orchard was greener and lusher than any in Appleloosa. Actually, there weren’t any orchards in Appleloosa anymore. Bucking buffalo.

The rest of Braeburn’s family in Ponyville waited on the front porch of the house. Granny Smith sat up straighter in her rocking chair, squinting at Braeburn and the other two as they approached.

Big Macintosh, Applejack’s brother, stepped off the porch and met them halfway across the lawn. Trailing in his wake was Apple Bloom, the younger sister.

“Howdy,” said Big Mac.

“Hey cousin Braeburn,” said Apple Bloom.

Valiant stepped out from behind the wheelchair. “I need to talk to you for a minute, kid,” he said to the filly. He and Apple Bloom walked a few steps away. Braeburn heard the phrase “your giant robot” come up in their conversation.

Macintosh took over pushing the wheelchair. “Are things good around here?” asked Braeburn.

“Eeyup," answered Mac, who was a stallion of few words.

“Well, it’s the beginning of cider season,” said Applejack, walking beside the wheelchair. “A couple of high-falutin' showponies came by earlier today and challenged us to a cider makin’ competition. They got this fancy machine they think can whip us.”

“When’s the competition?” asked Braeburn.

“Tomorrow. Don’t you worry, we’re going to win!”

“My stars,” said Granny Smith as the wheelchair approached the house. “It’s good to see you, Braeburn. Come inside, and let’s get you comfortable.”

Valiant was apparently not invited to dinner.

“Ah guess we wouldn't have turned him down if he asked,” said Applejack, “but it’s probably for the better. There’s somethin’ wrong with that pony.”

"He ain't so bad," said Apple Bloom.

Big Macintosh's face showed that he agreed with AJ, but he said nothing.

The meal was excellent. Most members of the Apple family were good cooks, but all the stops had been pulled out for Braeburn’s visit. Good family and good eats put him in a happy mood. He went to sleep that night on a spare bed, feeling better than he had in a long time.

Some small noise come to Braeburn, and his good eye slid open sleepily. There was a bare light bulb above him, hanging from a roughly finished ceiling.

He tried to turn his head to have a look around. This wasn’t the same room that he’d fallen asleep in. Something restrained him. It felt like a strap across his forehead.

His good leg was strapped down too, and it seemed like the rest of his body was being held firmly to the hard surface that he was lying on. Braeburn began to panic.

A pink pony with a fluffy mane pranced into view. “He’s awake!” she called, giggling.

The stallion named Valiant appeared. “Well Braeburn, are you ready to get started?”

“Get started with what?”

“It’s an experimental medical procedure that’s never been tried before.”

“What the hay is that supposed to mean?” Braeburn had had enough of doctors, thank you very much.

“Hang on.” Valiant disappeared for a moment, and returned dragging a collection of steel and machinery.

“This,” he said, pointing a hoof at the pile, “is going inside you."

“Oh Celestia! Get me out of here!” screamed Braeburn. He began struggling to get free.

“Whoa, relax,” said Valiant. “We’re here to help. Pinkie, do you have the knife?”

“Sure do.” The pink pony produced a large cleaver.

“What the—where did you even get this?” demanded Valiant.

Pinkie shrugged. “Just something I had around.”

“This is not what I asked for, Pinkie! I wanted a small precise scalpel, not a freaking meat cleaver! This is for chopping stuff. He’s already been chopped!”

“Please don’t kill me,” squeaked Braeburn.

“Shut up.” Valiant tossed the knife into a shallow metal pan that contained a few other tools. He picked up a glass jug filled with clear liquid and jammed the spout into Braeburn’s mouth.

The liquid burned as it flowed down his throat. Braeburn choked, not able to drink it all. Valiant pulled the container away and let the stricken pony catch his breath.

“What—what is that stuff?”

“I’m not sure. I think about one hundred sixty proof.” Valiant took a swig from the jug, grimacing slightly at the taste. He poured the rest over the tools, giving Braeburn a wink. “Got to sterilize everything.”

He tossed the now-empty container over his shoulder. Pinkie jammed a gag in Braeburn’s mouth as Valiant picked up the knife.

Mercifully, Braeburn passed out.

To his great surprise, he woke up later to the smell of fresh baked goods.