Habeas Corpus - Part 3
The
CONVERSION
►Bureau
═════════════════════════════════════
Shattered Worlds
Habeas Corpus
Part 3
═════════════════════════════════════
An MLP:FiM Fanfiction by Midnight Shadow
He'd been beaten when he'd tried to run. They'd dragged him to the detention block, then they'd tasered him, used riot-goo and had summarily thrown Joss into the small three-by-five meter cell whilst he was still screaming and half blind. A few buckets of ice-cold, stained water later, and he could sit up and look around. It featured a hole in the floor for the necessary, a bunk-bed with ratty, thin, stained mattresses both on the top and bottom bunks, and two adjacent cells. One of them held Malcolm. The other held a sobbing pony, who'd hidden in the corner and refused to come out.
At first, he'd begged and he'd pleaded. He'd cried and wailed. He'd slammed his fists against the walls and shook the bars. He'd even briefly tried biting said metal bars, but it was no good. Nobody had listened, in fact they'd laughed.
Finally, broken, Joss slumped on the bed in his dripping paper clothes. The thin yet lumpy mattress was plastic-y and uncomfortable, sticking to his skin through the disposable prisoner garb making him even colder and more uncomfortable. He sighed as he lay down on it, staring at the bare metal underside of the bunk above him. He guessed he should be grateful that ponification and swift justice meant he wouldn't have to spend a night with Harry the Bleeder, an overly-large man with an overly-large appetite for non-consensual sex without lubricant. The prisons, in this perfect paradise of plenty, were empty. There were many crimes, but rapidly only one sentence. That sentence was carried out swiftly, and afterwards... well. The cells weren't needed.
Joss looked 'upwards', at the pony in the corner of the other cage. Turning onto his side, the world righted. "What's wrong?" he asked the pony, finally, a twinge of frustration at the incessant sobbing sneaking into his voice.
"I miss Minty. And Trigger. And Biscuit. And Mama Snowbell." The voice was soft, hesitant, and childlike.
"Your... herd?" Joss hazarded a guess.
Somehow, the sound of the pony sniffing conveyed a nod. "Uh huh."
"Why are you in here?" Joss looked up and around at the pokey, dark, dingy building. The lights buzzed and flickered, the ceiling tiles had fallen off in places, there was water damage and mold, and it was all-in-all rather disgusting. It was hard to imagine why a pony would ever need to be locked up. They were obedient to a fault, yet here it was.
"I'll tell you why he's here, Yella." Malcolm spoke up.
Joss looked over at his erstwhile client, who cleared his throat, "He's here to show us what's comin'. They picked on him cos he did summat, and they wanted to make an example of him. They put him here, cos two examples is better'n one."
"Th-they said I was lazy and didn't pull, but I did! I did!"
"There... there." Joss said awkwardly, "I'm sure they'll let you out soon. You're... with us. Safe. Kinda."
There was the clip-clopping of hooves as the pony, red with a yellow mane and tail, moved hesitantly into the light, "You want to be my friends?"
Joss sighed, "Might as well." He hung his head in his hands.
"I knew you were a huggy-hug friendy-friend!" said a cheerful, artificial voice from the corner near the stairs.
Joss looked up and swore, leaping to his feet, "You!" He threw himself against the bars and snatched at the artificial Tell-Me Teddy Bear as it rounded the corner into the room in front of the cell doors. He dragged it back through the bars into his cage. He threw Teddy against the wall, where it bounced off with an adorable squeak. "This is all your fault!"
Teddy scuttled under the bed, "That's being a meanie-meanie, Joshie! You shouldn't be mean!" it called from under the metal platform.
Joss stopped short of hurling himself under the bed, "Mean? Me? Look what you did! Why the fuck would you come all the way over here, after what you did?"
"I'm a Tell-Me Teddy Bear, Joss. I have lots of friends! You're my friend too!" The voice was back to being chirpy and happy. Joss grit his teeth and growled.
The pony gasped, "A teddy?!"
"Hi there!" the bear chirped to the pony, "I'm a Tell-Me Teddy Bear! Do you want to be my friend?" Before he could stop it, the bear toddled out from under Joss' bed and squeezed itself into the pony's cell, conveniently out of reach.
"I always wanted a bear like you! Can you sing and play games?" the pony asked, hopefully, his ears perking up.
"I love singing! Do you know any songs? I know a song about the sun! The sun'll come out, tomorrow!"
Joss threw himself back onto his bed as the bear entertained the pony in its own obnoxiously cheery way. He clasped his hands to his ears and groaned. Suddenly, the singing stopped. The bear had vanished under the bed as the door to the cellblock had swung open.
Two guards sauntered in, one fat and one mean-looking. They ran their electrified nightsticks along the metal bars. Sparks from the riot-tazers spitting angrily. The pony whimpered as they came to a rest in front of his cell.
"Times up, nag." Fatty said.
"Get over here!" Meanie said.
Joss watched with dark eyes as they opened the cell door and, slamming their nightsticks against the bars as they moved, as if they were pulling themselves along like with pitons on an ice-sheet. They moved threateningly towards the red pony, who whimpered.
"Come 'ere!" Fatty said as he grabbed the pony by the mane and threw him out of the cell with a sudden bodily flick. The pony yelped as its head and foreleg impacted the edge of the doorway. It crumpled into a heap, crying.
Meanie laughed and delivered a swift kick to the creature, "Get up, Useless."
"Stop that at once!" said a new voice. An older man with a close-cropped neat beard adjusted his spectacles as he rounded the corner, "If you damage that creature, it's you who'll be paying for the treatment. They aren't cheap, you idiots."
"Hey doc, we din't mean nothin'" Fatty said.
"That's Doctor Furlough, to you." the doctor said, piercing blue eyes glaring at both guards until they backed away from the pony. Meanie gave the creature another swift kick, and Fatty spat. The pony flinched away, whimpering and choking.
"Michaelson, Upton, go check the perimeter or something. Fucking waste of flesh, the pair of you. Why they make guards yellow sector I'll never know." The doctor glared at the pair until they left. As he walked past the pony, Meanie brandished his nightstick one more time, causing the pony to flinch again, to peals of laughter from both guards. Grumbling under his breath, the doctor took careful hold of the pony's leg, manipulating it, ignoring the whimpers from the gelding. He sighed, fished into a small bag and pulled out a hypodermic, which he deftly injected into the creature's leg, above the knee.
"What're you..! What's that? Don't hurt him!" Joss leaped forwards, grabbing hold of the bars of his cell.
"Relax, Sport, I'm a vet, not a monster. It's painkillers. Those two fools have sprained his leg, just making it easier for the poor thing."
As Joss slumped slightly, moving back, he watched with interest as the doctor fished out a small brown cube from a pocket.
"Here, pony, you hungry?"
The pony sniffed it gingerly, then took it in his lips. Slowly, the pony chewed it. His ears perked up, and he chewed it faster, enjoyment written large across his muzzle, "Another?" the pony asked, hopefully.
The doctor ruffled the mane of the pony and fished another one out. As the pony ate the second one with more relish, the doctor lowered the pony's leg, "Processed fructose substitute. The closest thing to a sugar-cube on the planet. Ponies love 'em, don't they, boy?"
"Another?"
"Two per customer, I'm afraid."
The pony looked downcast, "I'll... I'd be very grateful..." The pony leaned against the doctor and nuzzled the man carefully.
The doctor's mouth cast a thin line as he pushed the blunt muzzle away, "We'll have none of that here, boy. They been teaching you special tricks, huh? Well I'll see about putting a stop to that." The doctor looked over at Joss before standing up, "I'm here to look after your welfare, Sport, both before and after transformation. Times were these beasts were cheap, disposable. Like so many things before them, that time's gone. Demand outstrips supply, even with their hardiness. We just can't get the pony-juice."
"You mean ya care, doc?" Malcolm laughed hollowly, "Bullshit." He lay on his bed, picking at the stickers on the underside of the top bunk.
"I mean those who pay my wages care, since purchasing more of you hits them where it hurts; the wallet. That's all it's ever been, Bub."
The doctor shooed the pony out of his bag, where it was hopefully digging around with a muzzle looking for more pseudo-sugar lumps, before taking out a datapad. "Malcolm Aarne, convicted of theft, sentenced to mandatory, permanent work re-assignment. Computer, record sentence as being carried out... now."
There was a sudden snick-snick-snick as three metallic bands shot out of the bottom bunk and wrapped themselves around the hapless human. The doctor laughed, "We always get one of you like that."
"Mother fucker!" Malcolm spat, snarling, twisting and writhing as he tried to escape.
Joss, for his part, jumped up and moved as quickly as his middle-aged bulk allowed to the far end of his own cell, "What the fuck, doc?"
"You think I'm stupid? None of you ever willingly submit to ponification. My predecessor died because he got careless. One of you crims spat half the pony-juice on him. Half isn't nearly enough for a successful change, especially not when most of it is on your face and the rest is on your clothes. They both died. Regs call for an assistant, but there's never enough to go around. Probably something to do with promotion through a newfoal's curly horse-shoes." the doctor grinned wickedly.
"Let me up, ya bastard!"
"Soon enough, Bub." The doctor pulled out a large syringe, and advanced on his 'patient'. "Times were we'd force this down your throat. I'm glad to say I don't have to do that. I just jab this baby right into your abdomen and inject it direct. I don't even have to hit the stomach."
Joss watched, morbidly fascinated, as the doctor opened the cell door and walked calmly up to Malcolm. The man was in his early thirties, but could easily have been a decade older. Fuzzy whitening hair that had once been black, framed green eyes on a head that was too small for his body. The man's frame was slight, and he was beginning to worm his way free as he fought.
"None of that, now, you'll just hurt yourself. I've had to pull these needles out of a patient, and if I don't get the whole dose in, you'll be left hurting until I do."
The words of Doctor Furlough did no good, and it seemed like the good doctor paid them little heed either. In one quick, practiced motion, he slid the large needle attached to the even larger syringe deep into Malcolm's stomach, and pressed hard on the plunger. Malcolm screamed, foaming spittle flying from his lips, before he fell back, slack.
"Is... is he dead?"
Doctor Furlough shook his head as he felt behind the man's ear. "You've never seen one of these..? Well, I guess not. I tend to forget most of the people I meet only ever see it once, and aren't really awake for most of it at that."
Joss watched, spellbound, as the man's flesh grew mottled and splotchy. The dirty shade of pink changed to a clear white before reforming in a doughy lump.
"Computer, retract restraints. Monitor lifesigns. Inform me of moment of death."
"Death?!" Joss gasped, "I thought you said-"
"Shush, Sport. His heart'll stop beating any minute now. When he does, the man who was Malcolm Aarne will have ceased to be. It makes no difference to me that a pony heart starts beating right after. A legal nicety, not one that particularly bothers me."
"How can you say that?" Joss asked, taking a step back from where he stood gawking.
"Because, Sport, for every pony I convert, I get to look in their eyes and be glad it isn't me."
Joss looked into the man's blue eyes, and shuddered. There was no compassion there, not for humanity. For ponies, maybe. Once on four hooves, their trials had ended. Maybe ponies deserved compassion; in a world that had stripped everything from them, there wasn't anything left to gain by taking more.
Joss sat on the bed for ten long minutes as a man died and a pony was born in the cell next to him. The treacherous bed... he no longer cared whether his was rigged the same or not. He sat with his head hung in his hands, looking alternately at his feet and fingers. He would be losing them both, soon enough, just like Malcolm had. The changes had come swiftly, with fingers seemingly retracting and moving, migrating through doughy, semi-shapless flesh. Hair had been absorbed even as the paper prisoner's uniform had ripped and torn. Eventually a coat of lime green sprouted, and a little tufted tail of emerald emerged to match the thickening mop of a mane.
Joss watched dispassionately as the vet took a strange metal object out of his bag. It looked like a medieval torture device; there was a handle on one end that forced apart forceps at the other, forceps to which Furlough attached a small ring of rubber or plastic. The vet was muttering under his breath before he busied himself between the hind legs of the now-earthpony Malcolm. A tiny whine escaped the muzzle of the new pony, who was otherwise still fast asleep.
Joss winced. There were no unicorns, no pegasi... and no stallions. He'd never had kids, and briefly felt envy for Malcolm, who had. Now he, Joss, never would. Neither would the pony he was to become.
"Up and at 'em, fella." Furlough said to the green earthpony.
"Hurts." not-Malcolm said, whining, unable to sit still or stand. The pony fought to find himself a comfortable spot, and utterly failed.
Furlough nodded, "I know, Bud. It'll fade. How's about you go join your friend, over there?" The vet pointed to where the red earth-pony was lying down in the corner of the room. Joss glared, the stupid pony was free; the door to the stairs was unlocked, the guards were gone, why didn't he...
"Hi!" not-Malcolm said, "Who're you?"
"Strawberry Fields," the red pony replied, "You?"
Joss face-palmed.
***
He didn't resist when the two guards came back. He barely flinched when they sucker-punched him in the gut, doubling him over and winding him. It didn't matter any more.
"I think this one'll take his medicine like a man, won't you?" Fatty said.
Meanie punched him again in the stomach and, as Joss bent over double to suck in what air he could, the vet upended a small vial of purplish liquid down his throat. Joss swallowed, reflexively, and choked. The liquid was strangely warm, with a tinny, metallic taste. It somehow reminded him of grapes, or at least the 'authentic grape soda taste' squash he used to have, with a bitter aftertaste that made him gag. He was out before he hit the floor.
***
Nothingness. It's like blackness, but moreso. Kind of boring, really. Joss found himself moving aimlessly across the face of the deep. He called out for someone, anyone, but nothing replied. Not even an echo.
As he wandered, the blackness... changed. Eventually it gave way to a sandy expanse stretching off to the far horizon. The sky was dark; not just black, but empty of everything, even stars, moon or clouds. There was no sun, yet the scene was lit as bright as day.
"Hello?" he called, but his voice faded away into the dead surroundings. Kneeling down, he ran the fine sand through his fingers. It was silvery and cold, the serene susurrations the only break in the monotony of whatever purgatory he found himself in. Looking back the way he'd come, the blackness was gone, leaving only footsteps in the sand that led away into the distance. Beside them, he noticed with interest, were hoofprints. On a whim, he got down onto his hands and knees and carefully put his ear to the ground. There should have been nothing - the ambient sound of wind, perhaps, whispering softly. Instead, he heard the distant drumming of hoofbeats, like the echo of a billion hooves long past.
There was nothing for it, he would follow these tracks.
The silvery-white sand eventually gave way to scrubland. The odd dead tree, warped bush and shaped rock outcropping broke the monotony. Then the sand ended, replaced with brown and dead grass. He ran his fingers through the blades and they broke off, crumbling to dust.
He kept walking.
A cliff, abruptly sheer and tall, made him stumble. Was he supposed to fly? Off in the middle distance he could see a citadel, now, rising above the tundra. Shaking his head, he looked for a way down.
There was no sun, there was no moon. There were no stars, no clouds. He didn't feel tired, hungry or scared. There was just a complete absence of anything, including the sense of time. So he set off along the cliff-face. There would be a way down, he knew it somehow.
It wasn't like he had anything else to do.
Ruins.
All around him were ruins. They looked like they'd been there for aeons, the stone as grey and dead as the grass and sand. The citadel was silent and cold. Walking through it, Joss felt great sadness, but also a touch of awe. There had been life here, once, so much life. Shops, houses, schools... he could almost hear the last dying echoes of the crowds.
He headed onwards, towards the palace.
He made his way to the throne-room, pushing one of the two double doors open just enough to squeeze through. The carpets here had once been thick and luxurious, the stained windows glorious. Now, they too were grey and broken.
"Hello?" called Joss. He'd been almost entirely silent the whole time he'd spent in this accursed place, however long it had been. He wasn't sure, at times it felt like weeks or months, other times it felt like mere moments. It felt strange to speak, almost heretical, but the hairs on the back of his neck lifted at the sobbing.
"Hello?!" he called again, whirling. It was a girl, in the corner of the great throne-room. She had strangely dark blue eyes, almost violet, and hair that was so golden it seemed to be pink. She wore tattered rags, and limped as she tried to move. She fell over, hot tears staining the ground with a wetness that momentarily brought back shine and luster to the cold flagstones. Joss rushed forward and picked her up, smoothing back her hair from her eyes. "Who... who are you?"
"Please help me," the girl whispered. She lifted an arm, a nasty gash ran up it, poorly bandaged in what looked like robes of some kind.
"I-I-I don't know what to do."
"Kiss it all better? Mommy used to kiss it better." the voice was plaintive and wavering.
"My mommy did that too, sweetie," Joss replied as he held the girl close, "I can-"
With a start, Joss realised the girl was gone, not even a memory remained. She'd faded away like a ghost, and Joss was alone once more. He leaped to his feet, hackles well and truly raised. He wanted to get out of this place!
He whirled and turned, but darkness now reigned the outskirts of the throne-room. The way he'd come in was gone, quite literally. He sobbed, then. He fell down on his knees and sobbed, "I want to go home!" his voice echoed, and finally faded away. Nobody was coming. Maybe nobody ever would. Breathing heavily, he got to his feet once more to examine his prison.
Grey flagstones, dusty, torn and faded carpets. Shattered windows. Two thrones, one dark blue, crumbled into rubble. The other... Joss tilted his head and took a few tentative steps forwards. The other throne was intact; faded and torn, but intact. From somewhere above, a single shaft of sunlight enveloped the dais.
Joss gasped, sunlight! In this nowhere place of grey, the golden light was like a beacon. He ran towards it, stumbling. As he fell, his right hand touch the edge of the ring of light. Breathing slowly, Joss brought his body under control. His hand was a hoof.
Just like that, his hand was a hoof. It melded into his arm perfectly, a tan hide that matched the colour of his skin. Experimentally, he put his other hand in. It, too, changed.
Joss laughed at the absurdity, then stepped fully into the warm ring of sunlight. It... it felt good. It felt as if a weight he hadn't known existed had been lifted from his shoulders. He laughed again, his new voice bubbling with glee.
So silly! He was a pony, just like that! He pranced and jumped and twisted and turned and ran and... and looked up. The sun was up there, now, above him. The sun was warm. The sun made him feel happy. He wanted to be in the sun always, to commune with the earth, and sing in the sun, and sleep under the stars and to run, to run free with his herd.
Not-Joss awoke.
Stats
Page generated in 0.035 seconds
Total duration
994 users online
1,729,624 hits today, 2,244,100 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
The Conversion Dream, with the blasted emptiness of obliterated Equestria, and the tattered, fragile shade of Celestia was superb. Good job there.
HOWEVER the abrupt change to Juniper didn't work as well for me. It skipped too far, too fast - I can only assume Juniper is Newfoal Joss? It's confusing. What I needed to see here was Newfoal Joss coming to terms with his change, joining Strawberry and... Keylime?... and being ushered out to the plantation barn. I would have loved to see inside his head as bits of who he was surfaced vaguely amidst who he had become, and how that felt and worked. I would have loved to have been set up for what amounts to 'ROOTS' for ponies. It felt like you just... petered out. What's up with that? That's twice now. Ambassador's Son ending and now this... and it's a problem because you grab hold of the dragon of lightning, wrestle him into a bottle, light up the whole room with the glory, and then just... let the dragon suffocate in there. Punch some air-holes and keep the story alive. I am... frustrated here, because you are so damn good.
The more I think about it, the more cheated I feel here. I am getting angrier as I type this. This was golden, and then... that. NO. Dammit, BAD AUTHOR. Smack you. You brought me THIS close, I was just about to peak, and then, nothing.
Maybe you need to pick a story, one story, just ONE, and really DO it. All the way. This isn't working for me. You had it all, the teddy, the characters, the world, all the details. It was golden, and then...quick dump to months later, three paragraphs, the end? NO.
I'm sorry, but... that is not how you end a story, especially one that just started to get good. GRRR. I think I will go throw a tantrum now. Frustrated.
You are a vastly better author than this. Vastly, hugely better.
It's impressive how awkward this chapter became to me
In other news... Some of what MAYBE went through Joss' mind: ''This is what I get for helping people.''
BTW I have a feeling that he WILL remember who he was, and then... The excrement WILL strike the ventilation unit.
551535
551549
Okay, you know what? Mea Culpa.
I should know by now when to take a break - in the chapter, at least. Not the narrative.
You saw nothing. The chapter ends with Not-Joss waking up... and the saga continues.
/me waves hooves about
I'll be going back to the world as it should be done next week.
yeah not to pile on, but this does feel very 'bad end to an already depressing video game'
I know this world doesn't have many avenues for sunshine and rainbows but, I dunno, I just wasn't feeling it after the Conversion Dream
We will see what happens going forward though
I still don't get it though. His former self is just completely DELETED? Nothing left? (Sorry for possible retarded question, I didn't read Conversion Bureau.)
551759 Not deleted. Changed, modified, zapped silly... you'll see. I can only apologize for being overtired when writing in failing to deliver on the previous incarnation of this chapter, and promise to make it up to you with a deeper look into this world in the next one.
551655 YOU SAW NOTHING
Darn, I wasn't in time to join the mob. And I brought my own pitchfork and everything...
Well, at least I can kick your writing into shape, now that you've requested my editing services. Mu ha ha haa...
Fuck. Did they really milk the blood out of Celestia head in here? She's gotta be bleeding a massive one
I like the way you described the dream. So... empty. All those grandeur was tattered in ruin, with only a sobbing girl and the last ray of the sun.
INB4Celly
556090 If you read Chatoyance's original short (look in the comments here) you'll find that the premise is that Mankind won the war. Using essence of powdered god of chaos, they blasted Equestria into its component subatomic particles with a hypernuclear weapon. As they did, Celestia was standing half in and half out of the shield. It sheared her head off at the neck when the nuclear weapon detonated. The humans recovered it and placed it in confinement inside a case lined with more essence of powdered god of discord. Being a goddess, she is trapped, forever, in the dark, bleeding but unable to die. As magic is extropic in nature, there will always be more of it, so they need to "vent" the case regularly. This provides them with magic enough to power ponification potion, which can only now create earth ponies. Docile ones.
That is your intro to my take on what I'm calling "Shattered Worlds".
556130
But still... That's a lot of blood to supply the worldwide demand of potion
By the way - if pony workforce is in high demand, why bother gelding the stallions? Why not let them, uhhh, reproduce the natural way?
556390 I addressed that, and it's multifaceted. Mostly, it's power and control, but there are practical reasons.
The workers aren't in short supply, but they are in restricted supply. This keeps their demand high, and keeps them pricey, which suits those with the ability to make potion just fine. Additionally, you'll find on a working farm that there are never many fully "male" animals. Males are often aggressive, work-shy and anti-social, and make much better beasts of burden when castrated.
In my own little nightmare take on the shattered worlds of Equestria and Earth post-destruction, the powers that be see value in artificial scarcity, population control (both of the herds and of man), in keeping their captive workforce docile and in keeping them working. If the females are going to get pregnant, then they're not going to be much use for a good section of the time - plus a female animal is rather ornery towards those who would interfere with their young. In essence, there is more value in a captive workforce that cannot breed. If they couldn't make potion, or it were truly in short supply, then they would of course change their ways.
Besides, just like in real life, there are (I haven't shown them to you yet) studs kept for just that purpose. One stallion can make thousands of mares pregnant, after all. Why mess with a slow yet sure method of genetic manipulation? If it's given us cows that can be milked for a gallon, then I'm pretty sure it can work towards a dumb-as-two-bricks earthpony, given time, should such a worker be required. The potion-made ones are dumbed down, but there's no guarantee that naturally-born ones would be too, or that strange things may happen, so playing it safe is cheaper and proven effective.
556159 Tales of gods and goddesses and their bodily fluids don't tend to let little things like physical laws get in their way. If a god bleeds, a god will bleed forever unless it can heal itself. Unlike a human, if a wound on a god or goddess is one that would cause blood to gush out, then it will carry on gushing out in a neverending tide. I believe there are stories to that effect telling how the oceans came to be.
556529
>Besides, just like in real life, there are (I haven't shown them to you yet) studs kept for just that purpose.
Okay! It's just that for now, it has been stated 100% of ponies are former humans. So, turns out there might be some studs and actually some naturally-born ponies, but they're part of classified breeding experiments.
557962 natural terran ponies are considered extinct, along with most larger animals in the terran biome (I think thats the right word). The ponies that are the captured workforce are mostly ex-humans, but there are some natural-born Equestrians and their foals (plus newfoal-foals).
I'm not saying they are classified breeding experiments (though there probably are), it's just that the population is tightly controlled for many reasons.
I was kinda hoping he would not change and lead a resistance but ah well, i still really like this story.
561440 Very few corporations rule the world, yes. Kind of like today. It's not so much of a stretch, sadly. Right now, for example, just four companies handle around 80% of the american meat market. The lobbyists working for big agro, big pharma, big oil and so on currently sit on the committees or run the government departments or have a place on the staff in charge of the departments that are supposed to protect the rights of the consumers against the might of the worryingly few companies that make up big agro, big pharma, big oil and so on.
Read fast food nation, it's real eye-opener. It kind of explains why a dollar hamburger costs next to nothing, whilst a simple cabbage costs four or five times that in some places, and why you can die from e.coli... Welcome to our world, not quite as bad as the one I'm writing about.
562265 I am aware that corporations do rule in secrecy, the get people in the senate, they vote for laws and acts that benefit the company, after they retire they live the rest of their live a rich man supported by the company the helped. same with the pretty much anybody with power. also i have read fast food nation.
564608 They don't rule in secrecy, it's all pretty much above board and entirely legal. it's worse in the USA but it's pretty bad everywhere. in the USA, the companies that test for food safety or other adherence to necessary safety laws are paid for by the companies that are being tested. Anywhere else and this would be called a conflict of interest. You could argue it's working, but to me it's broken by design. I also understand the need for lobbying, but the way it currently works, special interest groups get the almost undivided ear of the government because they have to money to put into the effort. That means laws get written by those groups (sometimes those groups are corporations) which, of course, means those groups are who the law is for and it is those groups they benefit, to the detriment of everyone else.
That's why the world in this story (and Chatoyance's in general) is often so disturbing: it is our world, just tweaked a surprisingly small amount (ignore magic and ponies, and this is an exploration of capitalism taken not much further than today).
565960 yay! sociological discussions on fimfic!!!!
565960 this is strange because i just started reading a book by karl mark like 2 days ago... coincidence? it doesnt really seem to apply to today anymore though.
I'm liking this so far. It's... interesting. New.
And also so very over-the-top that it's funny! :) It's like every possible dystopian idea crammed into a single, satiric story, sprinkled with ponies that are both happy and sad at the same time. Wow.
So far, history has shown that when you treat your people like dirt, eventually, they get fed up. I don't know where you're planning to take this Midnight, but I've got a feeling it'll be interesting.
578018
In my stories, humans consistently act in brave, courageous, generous, kind and noble ways that are often missing in our own, real world. My future history -even with a destroyed ecology- is manifestly kinder and less severe than the real world currently is right now. In my future, everyone is fed, watered, and has shelter. In my future the Worldgovernment is genuinely working to save the spirit of Mankind. There is no more war in my human future - did you notice that? No, you did not.
Because you don't actually read, or if you do read, you don't retain or comprehend what you read. I consistently show the most noble qualities of humanity in my works. It's the basis of everything I do.
You are either being an ass, or you have a reading disability, or you are just plain stupid. Or you have made up an opinion based on nothing and are willfully sticking to it arbitrarily. Which would make you a stupid ass.
I would like to believe you just have some reading disability, if I have the choice.
If I am misanthropic, then the word has changed to mean "Celebrating the human spirit despite acknowledging its flaws." Of that, I am guilty, with my consistent portrayal of humanity being vastly better than it observably is in the real world.
Reading disability. You just have a disability. You aren't trying to be a jerk. Not deliberately. I hope.
Maybe... there is help in your community for your comprehension issues. Please seek it.
How could I be so ignorant to speak as if I'd ever see a show of morality. Hell, I've seen it. Those cold dead eyes without hope, remorse, nor care for future actions. Sometimes, I myself bare those yes. When I lose hope. Even now, a few years after "waking up", I have trouble dealing with this place. Maybe I'm looking at it too bluntly, too grimly. But that is just in the eyes of the beholder I suppose. And for cold, dead eyes, they only see the cold, desolate emotions that reverberate across these lands. Wow, didn't think this story'd evoke my philosophical bullshit this early. Now then, my anger should boil down, for next comes pity. Pity to the soul, lost to those that lack morality. Y'know what, I think this story just inspired me to write a poem. And so I shall. Just before this next chapter, or perhaps afterwards. Tomorrow.