The
CONVERSION
►Bureau
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Shattered Worlds
Habeas Corpus
Part 4
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An MLP:FiM Fanfiction by Midnight Shadow
Doctor Philip Furlough watched as the purplish-blue pony with the green mane and tail, previously known as Joss Hayes, woke up. Its eyes, those big, expressive orbs that were the guileless window to the soul of every pony, fluttered open and gazed about in wonderment at the world around it. The joyous expression was marred, however, by pain.
"Hurts," it said, whimpering.
Philip nodded, sadly, "Sorry Sport, doctor's orders." He'd always wanted to be a doctor, but in this day and age, very few people could afford his services, and the rest wouldn't hire a simple orange sector twoper. He'd become a vet for newfoals. It was that or join their ranks, or find a home in the favela. Neither had appealed to Philip, so here he was.
Joss whimpered. A moment ago he'd been feeling so good, but now in the waking world, a place between his hind legs really, really hurt. He rolled onto his hooves and tried to stand up. He fell over, crying out and then just plain crying, at the pain.
The anesthetic in potion was pretty strong, it had to be. It acted to prevent the signals from the body to the brain of a newfoal as the nanites worked on it. Those signals would be interpreted as agonizing pain; the first trial runs during the age of Conversion Bureaus hadn't included the neural blockers, and most of those prospective newfoals hadn't survived. It was no wonder that newfoals could barely stand, even discounting the fact they had four legs post-conversion rather than two.
Without that anesthetic, Philip pondered, the pony would be more than merely complaining. Still, he supposed it was for the best. He'd been taught during medical school all about pre-collapse veterinary practices. Male animals were unpredictable, anti-social, work-shy and often just plain aggressive. Geldings, on the other hand, had a much nicer time of things. He was doing the poor thing a favour.
"Huuurrrtttsss!" it said again, plaintively.
Time for a little test. "Would a sugar-lump make it all better?"
"Sugar-lump?" Joss' ears perked up.
Philip smiled softly as he fished out four more 'sugar-lumps'. The dirty brown, slightly gelatinous cubes were something between treat, reward and bribe for newfoals. He'd tried one himself once, hadn't really liked it. He placed two in front of 'Malcolm' and two in front of 'Joss' and waited to see what would happen.
"Sugar-lump?" the red pony identifying as 'Strawberry Fields' asked, forlornly.
"You've already had two. Fair's fair." Phillip stood back and turned around, ostensibly to check on his medical kit. When he turned back around, a green nose was pushing the fourth cube towards his feet.
"You don't want it?" he asked of the lime green pony that had pushed it back.
The pony shook its head, "It's more fun to share. You can have one too!"
Philip picked the little squishy cube up, dusted it off and put it away in a pocket, "No thanks, but you three enjoy. Stay here a while, now, okay? I've got things to do, but I'll be back soon."
He walked out of the room as the three ponies enjoyed something almost sacred to every conversion - the first meal as a pony. Since forever, that first meal had always been special. Something about the natural endorphins, or maybe the tastebuds, or maybe it was just... he didn't know. All Philip knew was that first meal meant something to the creatures. He leaned against the heavy door and found himself almost sobbing for some reason, sniffling awkwardly and wiping his face.
***
Ty Michaelson and Jake Upton sauntered back to the detention block. They'd been given the very important job of Making Sure The Perimeter Is Clear by the vet. This entailed sneaking off for a smoke and a quickie in the lavs with the latest dirty mag. Ty and Jake both agreed how disgusting it was that even high class wank rags tended to feature ponies for the adventurous, curious or just plain flagrant. They agreed loudly. Several times a day. Sometimes on their own, too, just to make sure.
When they got back, the doctor was still there, but he was all smiles, so it was okay.
"Boys, two new recruits. Gotta be proud of yourselves, huh? I've got us a drink so we can celebrate. I'm not saying it's beer, okay, because alcohol on duty would be against regulations." The vet winked.
"I gotcha, Doc. You're alright." Ty, pudgy black fingers closing around the neck of the bottle proffered to him, nodded.
Jake grinned, taking the other bottle. His bottle clinked against two others in a brief toast before he held it to his cheeks. It was so cold it almost felt like it burned. The doc, Fuller or something, took a swig of his own bottle. Not wanting to be beaten to it, Jake tossed back his own. Cool, refreshing... this was some high-class hooch! He took another swig, draining the bottle. Ah well, back to... he blinked. The world looked... kind of fuzzy. "Hey Ty? I don't feel so..."
Philip Furlough stepped back as the two guards fell to the floor. He straightened his jacket and spoke to the air, "Computer? Monitor life-signs, alert me upon their cessation."
"Yes, Doctor Furlough." the computer replied. For Philip, the computer was a female, caucasian-sounding, her voice smooth and friendly.
"Take a note: referring to subjects Michaelson and Upton, I have pronounced summary judgement and sentencing for damage to Waitan-Yatami property. Sentence: Ponification and withdrawal thereby of all rights and privileges bestowed upon a citizen."
"Yes, Doctor."
"Recommending red sector replacements for a higher loyalty and obedience quotient, recommending all non-red sector guards for facilities of low importance be reassigned for permanent work placement positions, across the board."
"Yes, Doctor."
Philip busied himself removing the now-useless clothing before it could choke the two new ponies, prior to heading back into the cell-block for his medical kit and elastrator pliers. He highly doubted these two would be wanted for stud duty either, despite their low I.Q.
***
Joss was happier. The pain had faded a bit, and the sugar-lump had been wonderful. It had felt like little fire-crackers going off on his tongue, sending whizzing lightning all the way up to his ears and right down to the base of his tail. Even better, he'd had friends to share it with. The other ponies had all agreed to be friends. The red one was called 'Strawberry Fields'. The thought made him a little sad, his name was 'Joss' but that didn't sound very pony-like. Neither did 'Malcolm', come to think of it.
"What's my name?" he whispered under his breath.
Footsteps made him shy away, but it was only the vet. The vet was nice, the vet gave him sugar-lumps. The man crouched down on his haunches, coming face to muzzle. "It's Joss. Can't you remember?"
Joss nodded, but then shook his head, "I need a new name."
The vet sat down on the cold, hard ground, surrounded by the three ponies, "You don't know how often I hear that from newfoals. Tell me, Joss, is it really you in there? How about you, Malcolm?" The man looked from one pony to the other, hopefully.
Malcolm shifted uncomfortably, "I..."
"When I first saw you, you were full of piss and wind. Now look at yourself. Where did you go, eh?" Philip reached out a hand to touch the pony on the muzzle, but the lime green pony formerly known as 'Malcolm' shied away.
"I'm... right here," he said, awkwardly.
"No, you're not. How about you, Strawberry? How long have you been a pony, Champ?"
"I've always been a pony! I remember always being a pony!"
The vet snorted, and then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You weren't, you know. The computer told me all about you, Kevin."
"Who's Kevin?" Malcolm's ears perked up, as did Joss' and even Strawberry's.
"Kevin was a bright young activist hacker, phreaker, cracker and slum-dwelling terrorist. He got sloppy, they caught him five years ago. Four years, two hundred and eight days ago they ponified him." Philip looked, hopefully, from one muzzle to the next, but dropped his gaze finally.
"I... remember the sun. A-and the girl," Joss said, "she was hurt and..."
"And?" The vet looked at Not-Joss hopefully.
"And she disappeared." The pony lost interest, paying more attention to its hooves, which it started nibbling and licking exploratorily.
Philip stood up, "You guys forget so easily, don't you? Do you know why? Do you care?" He looked from one pony to another and sighed, "I know why. The nanites we make are clever. Three ounces of them is more than enough, but they're special another way. The techs don't like to talk about it, but they're special in what powers them; bona fide magic! The very stuff of miracles itself, in a jar. Back when Equestria opened the bureaus, there was more than enough of it to go around, apparently. Then, afterwards... there wasn't."
Philip kept talking, naked urgency in his voice as he searched for any sort of response, "Don't you understand? They tried seeing if they could..." he choked, "extract it from newfoals, even native Equestrians, but they can't. There's only ever enough in a normal pony to make a single pony, but there is one pony that's special, and although there's very little of her left, she still lives, and bleeds... and I saw her! Oh god but I saw what they did!" Philip bit his tongue, he may have said too much, and for what? Heedless, in tears, he charged ahead, "I've seen where they keep her... and how they make you. Just a drop is enough, just a single drop of her blood and the result is a pony, complete in every way but one. That big, beautiful brain of yours, so very like a human's, is just too complicated to perfect, when starved of magic. So much gets pared away and forgotten as our clever little nanites struggle to complete the transformation. And you guys, as innocent and pure as the day is long, are the result."
Joss didn't know what to say, but the vet was sad. Hugs make things better, so Joss leaned forwards and put a hoof over the man's shoulder. Gratefully, as if dropping a huge burden, Philip hugged the pony back, staying there for a few, long seconds. Then he stood up.
"Well, I've got good news," he said, wiping his face with a sleeve and hiding the signs of his recent outburst, "I've got two more friends for you, though they're not quite ready yet. Can you look after them until they wake up?"
Not-Malcolm looked at Philip, squarely, as if suddenly remembering something, "Did you hurt them too?"
"Doctor's orders."
"But... you're the doctor."
"I know, but trust me, it's for the best." Philip took his bag, breathed a heavy sigh, and went to see to his latest two patients.
***
Joss giggled suddenly as a tongue licked his ear, and teeth chewed methodically along his mane. Strawberry was grooming him. "That tickles!"
"Mama Snowbell says we should groom each other every day. Mama Snowbell is clever."
"Being clean is clever!" said a familiar artificial voice.
Joss turned to look as a small brown teddy bear emerged from under the lowest bunk in the third cell and walked towards them. "Teddy!" he said, his ears perking up, "I'm mad at you! Or... I was."
"You shouldn't stay mad at friends! I'm your friend. I have lots of friends. Are you still my friend?"
"I... guess so." Joss screwed up his muzzle, thinking carefully, "Why did you come here?"
"I came to say see you soon, Joss Hayes."
"Are you going somewhere? Goodbye then!" Joss waved a hoof, then he giggled, looking at it. He stuck it in his mouth, chewing and licking it. Hooves tasted funny!
The cuddly artificial life-form shook its wide head, orange button eyes glowing softly, "Friends never say goodbye, Joss, they say so long, see you soon and then they sing the farewell song."
Joss blinked, "I don't know how to sing that."
"I'll teach you!" The Tell-Me Teddy sat down, surrounded by the three ponies, and began to softly sing, ever so slightly out of tune. Soon the ponies joined in, as it had known they would. Ponies loved to sing.
***
"Oof, you're a heavy bastard. Remind me next time to do this when you're inside, hmm?" Philip dragged the pony-shaped lump that had, about ten minutes ago, been known as Ty Michaelson into the cell next to Jake. It was as good a place as any, and there'd be other ponies to comfort him when he woke up. Wiping his brow, Philip stood and looked around. All ponies present and correct, and...
"Oh, hello, what are you doing here?" Philip looked down at what appeared to be a cuddly bear. It was sitting between the ponies, "Where did you come from?"
"Hi!" the bear said, looking around and up at him, "I'm a Tell-Me Teddy Bear! Do you want to be my friend?"
Philip laughed at there being an artificial intelligence sitting in the holding cells. "A Tell-Me, huh? Who's lost you?"
"I am lost. My former owners were Integrity Waste Reclamation, but I have been lost for over eight hours. As my current net worth is less than five hundred credits, I am Fair Game. Would you like to give me a home or return me to my previous owners for a reward?"
Philip shook his head, "I must be mad. Come on then, I'll find you a home."
"Oh boy! I get to be your friend. I have lots of friends! Do you know the friendship song? I can teach you..!"
Joss watched the bear go as the vet walked through the doors to the outside world, locking them as he passed. Joss had been mad at his bear-friend, but he couldn't quite remember why. Everything was a bit fuzzy, not to mention he still hurt. He chewed on a hoof thoughtfully. Hooves were fun! They were big, and round, and kind of squishy, but then you could stand on them and they didn't hurt. He couldn't think why hooves being stood on would hurt, or why he was surprised they were ticklish. He was also learning that he had a tail! A tail! How amazing! He swished it to and fro and fro and to, it could go everywhere! Just like his ears! It could curve up, and it could flick... he flicked the lime green pony with it. The other pony giggled and snorted, trying to catch it in his teeth. They played a game, then, of flick the other pony and try to catch the tail. It was, Joss reasoned, the funnest game he'd ever played. It was even more fun when two more ponies staggered over to see them. The other ponies smelled funny, kind of like chemicals, but they seemed nice. One was a piebald black and white, the other was plain white. They said they'd been sleeping and had just woken up. Joss told them about the Vet Who Brings Sugar-Lumps, but he seemed to have vanished. Joss was sad. Malcolm was sad. Ty and Jake were sad. Strawberry was sad, too. The vet had brought sugar-lumps and friends.
Friends made the sad go away.
***
Charlie adjusted his red jump-suit. He held in his hands five bridles but only one rope. The job seemed simple enough; go collect five newfoals, take them to farming sector two-thirteen. The day was hot and he hadn't had a break in hours. Neither would he get one. Unlicensed breaks were the fastest way to get a demotion, and there was only one destination when you were a red twoper. Lazy workers didn't get paid. Ever again.
If only, he thought to himself, dutiful workers got paid too.
The cellblock door opened as it scanned his palm. Unlike unimportant doors or readers - like the ones guarding his personal effects - the cellblock door reader worked properly, and it opened first time. Pushing his way in, that strange, musky smell of newfoals reached his nostrils, tinged with that oddly spicy and enticing scent of potion. The melange set his hackles rising. He'd better get them outside before they had an accident. Newfoals weren't very good at controlling their bodies, and an accident inside would mean somebody would have to clean it up.
They crowded around him eagerly, head-butting him. Newfoals were friendly, usually. If he'd been in the stables and it had been morning, they'd have gotten a taste of a crop. As it was, he needed them to follow him. Luckily, he had just the thing. Five newfoals, five of those disgusting processed pony-sweets.
"Alright, alright, settle down. I've got a bridle each for you. If you put it on and promise to follow me, you can each have a treat, okay?"
They are animals, went the hologuide he'd had to sit through during orientation, They will respond to both the Carrot and the Stick. Physical discipline is to be reserved for when they need to work harder, but a sweet treat will bring them to you quicker than any order.
Charlie ran his fingers through his red hair nervously. They were big, for all they were dumb and stupid. He lunged for one, a big red fellow, and grabbed it by the mane. It nickered and shied away. Clumsily, he put on one of the bridles, getting an ear caught. Red seemed to be the leader, the others panicked and clip-clopped away down the corridor in front of the long row of cells. Fishing out one of the cubes he'd been given, he held it in his palm with his fingers outstretched. He held it against the brute's muzzle, and immediately the animal stood stock still. It nibbled at the cube, then it chewed happily. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.
The others crowded back around, but they were fidgeting and eager.
"Alright, alright. Here, boy..." Charlie tried to put the next bridle on, but the blue pony wouldn't put his head through. "Hey! Don't you want your treat?" The pony stopped fighting then, and Charlie managed to fasten it up. He briefly entertained the idea of saving the treat for later, but he held his palm out anyway and the animal got its reward. The rest went the same, and in short order Charlie had all five ready to go. The rope, a sturdy plastic affair, clipped neatly to Red's bridle under his chin, and a brief tug brought the animal under control
"Come on, boy," said Charlie, and he clicked his tongue. It seemed like the right thing to do. It seemed to work, as Red snorted and tossed his head before following him. Gingerly, Charlie led the five ponies out of the detention block. He ignored the jeers and catcalls from the other red sector workers as he trotted across the yard. Dealing with ponies was hardly glamorous, even for red sector workers, but a job was a job and he'd been promised a bonus for prompt delivery. He'd even escaped the waste tunnel cleanup, which would otherwise have been his fate for the day. Waste tunnel cleanup stank, in more ways than one. You bet your sweet ass he could stand walking some ponies across the silage fields.
***
Snowbell waited by the gate to the paddock, like she always did. Snowbell was a pure white pony with a golden yellow mane and tail. Most of the humans knew better than to cross her, and the regulars were no longer surprised when she was waiting for new recruits. They'd long ago learned to let her do whatever 'breaking in' was necessary. It was twice as fast and twice as effective, and better yet, they got to take the credit.
Charlie didn't know this, which was why he found himself running for his life until he managed to jump the fence at the edge of Snowbell's paddock. The white demon snorted and pawed the ground menacingly until Charlie backed away, empty handed.
As the pony moved off, he picked up a rock, hefting it in his hands, until a voice said calmly, "I wouldn't do that, if I were you."
Charlie sneered, looking around at a fellow red-level twoper, "And what would you know?"
The man, in his forties with a thin, scraggly grey beard adorning a weather-beaten face that made him look all of sixty, nodded towards the field. Snowbell had begun to trot easily back to the five new ponies. "You new meat always buy the party line, don'tcha? Think them things is animals, right? Don't you believe it."
"What, you're saying I'd better watch out for... what? I've seen the old holovids on the threevee. They don't seem the type to put a horse head in my bunk."
"Oh no, no, they won't do that... but y'all know how they're unpredictable. Ponies do two things, kid; they run away, or they run towards. You wouldn't be the first to get mowed down and trampled."
Charlie scoffed, but stopped and swallowed when the man's expression didn't change.
"Aye, an accident, that's what it'll look like. Folks who don't make them mistakes, we know better. Yellers, Oranges, Bluepers, Greenies, they don't care. We're meat to them, as much as them ponies are, only we ain't worth as much. And don't you forget it. You won't last long 'round here if you do."
Charlie dropped the rock and spat, "What makes you think I'm staying?"
The man laughed, "Seriously? You take a job looking after newfoals, nobody else'll give you the time of day. Just one step above 'em, according to some. You're here now, kid. Welcome to your new life."
***
Snowbell gave an encouraging nuzzle to the pony who'd called himself 'Joss' before joining her herd. He'd chosen a new name, one that fit his colouring better - as had the rest. He'd taken to the plough and the buggy, and was already shaping up to be a fine, helpful gelding. Something had caught her eye about this one, and his Dream - something Snowbell made him tell her every day in the morning - confirmed it. Potion Sickness had crippled him, but the sickness could be beaten, all it took was a little persuasion, and friendship.
"It's easy, try again! You'll get it." She was stern, but kind.
"I'm sorry," Juniper said, "I'm not good with big words. Equestrian is hard."
"It's okay, I've told you the words. Mama Snowbell knows you mean well. Just sing as best as you can, or listen if you don't want to sing-"
"I wanna!"
'Mama' Snowbell smiled with her ears, flicking the newfoal gelding with her tail, "Then try your best."
Slowly, hesitantly, and with plenty of mistakes, Juniper began to sing as he pulled the plough, tilling the earth and making the crops, those precious few that had survived the death of their Equestrian homeland, grow.
"When the night it is done, the moon will set in the sea,
and the sun will rise up high for everypony here to see.
We toil in the day and we do not come to strife,
for we bring morning to the land as we fill it full of life."
There were more verses, but Juniper didn't know them yet. Mama Snowbell was patient, however. He would learn. He loved to sing, and he loved to work in the fields with his hooves and he loved to be with his friends, like Keylime and Strawberry, and Minty and Biscuit and... he had so many friends now! One day he hoped to talk to that girl again, the one in his dream. She'd been pretty, very pretty, and... somehow familiar.
Most of the world still lived off nano-bars and fungus, or seaweed where the toxins were low enough... but now ponies tilled the land, the Last Crop hadn't proved to be quite so final. Real food was still mainly for the rich, but the ponies didn't mind. They would toil and plough and makes things grow, until the sun came up once more.
So sad.
What the heck...
So the newfoals kinda lost their human memories, or simply didn't want to remember. Seemed like they also lost something else.
Aw shucks. I'm not good with analysing stuff
579568
I interpret it as the memories getting buried under an intensified post-Ponification experience
----
Anyway to my own thoughts, I really, really like this chapter, despite it's darkness. Why, because despite how dark everything has become, there are still those who hadn't forgotten. The question is still outstanding, though, whether anything can be done about it?
Anyway, this and some other stuff make me want to write a story in this setting, we'll see going forward...
578018
579078
Now now, children, play nice. I don't want to nuke comments.
Hmm. Referring to it as "potion sickness" implies that it can be overcome. This I imagine is just what Snowbell's trying to do with her herd, with the songs and the teaching.
But if it is a lack of magic that stunts the development of the ponies' brains and cognitive abilities, then the teaching could either be helping them to develop, or to be more receptive of the trace magic that might permeate their world. Or mayhap there is a slight emanation of magic from these ponies, and that magic is what is being developed... which could portend a threshold level of the concentration of thaumatic energies, upon which point there would pass a paradigm shift in the population of ponies, and begin their rise. Hmm...
579966 first rule, friendship is magic
Sorry Midnight, I'll try to stay civilized.
579078
Uhhm. You didn't exactly have to act offended or insult me. I'm not an enemy.
And I'm fairly sure I suffer from no such disability. Nor am I trying to be a jerk. Is this whole subject really so controversial that it can't be talked about without insults and extremist stances?
No war? Everyone's fed? Well, that does not change the story's sentiment in the slightest. There certainly is suffering. Whether it's worse than the real world or not might be debatable. But it does portray a future in which people willingly flee the world because it plain simply sucks. A lot. Filled with corporate filth, inhumane treatment, terrible conditions and a lot of suffering.
In your stories, the bad guys have always been humans. The only exception to that was the plot-device pony in The Taste of Grass. They're also always male. The good humans are noble, sure. And they naturally end up happily getting converted. Meanwhile, the bad guys die, either through physical death or erasure of their personality.
Ponies are superior in every conceivable way and you leave no opportunity unused to mention that. Every way, from their mindset over their diet to the location of their mammaries. They are ruled by perfect gods. They have souls. They are happy. And it leaves no doubt about its stark contrast to the human side of the world.
That is misanthropic. I'm sorry if you can't see that. And that's the sentiment of your stories. Whether the humans now wage war or not isn't even relevant, when you endorse the total destruction of their species because they can't save themselves.
This was superb. The scene with the First Meal As A Pony almost made me weep. And the dim sweetness of everypony was brilliant, and Mama Snowbell teaching lost Equestrian was just amazing.
This was bittersweet and wondrous, and I loved every moment of it.
Ouch. Reading this was like accidentally losing a contact lens, and while bent over to retrieve it, hear a delicate little crackle as somebody steps squarely upon it. The contact lens, in this analogy, is my spirit.
Even in the darkest hour, there is still hope. Well done. I'm looking forward to more stories in this setting.
579568
in the regular TCB universe there is three stages of ponification
the drinking, the dream, and the discovery.
in the post equestria world they are now in only 2 of the three stages exist in the fullest
perhaps the dream is a conversion process of the mind... and celestia and luna are there to make sure it goes the right way..
but with them gone...
who knows what could be lost and what could be found.
I found myself drawn to read this again. I caught more in it. The bear is more than mysterious. The dream is so profound. Mama Snowbell's song is so potentially prophetic. There is so much here.
I also find myself drawn to the simple, happy mentation of these one-drop newfoals. Their brains are damaged in such strangely compelling and poignant ways. I would still take the purple even here. They just seem... so damned... happy.
590296 Ah, you should know me by now. Most everything I put into a story is there for a reason! The simple song - sung in Equestrian - about the rising of the sun banishing the darkness of the night, and the New Crop from Equestrian plants flourishing at the hooves of the earthponies. The bear with lots of friends who says so long, see you soon rather than goodbye. Mama Snowbell, arranging friends for her magic-starved newfoal recruits suffering from Potion Sickness, the injured newfoal ex-unicorn... I really don't know when I can come back to these, but there's plenty there that I have inexpertly hidden in plain sight. I thought I was being blindingly obvious, inexpertly amateur as I am.
591834
...and yes. Redemption, absolution; these form big parts of many of my narratives. Kind of silly, it's probably my subconscious trying to tell me something. In this shattered world, the newfoals are without wax in the extreme. Bad things happen to them, but they're even more innocent than the ponies in the show. They're like chilidren - what they were is taken away. Their humanity, stripped unwillingly, and their bodies put to use as a resource for the rest. A terrible fate, to be sure, but they are happy. How can they not be? The weight of that responsibility weighs heavily on some, even as it is ignored by the rest.
The vet, so troubled, condemns those put in his charge to their fate with barely a second thought... and once they've crossed the rubicon there is nothing more to be said. Is there a yearning there for something he won't allow himself? A wish to cast off his own burdens, even knowing it would end with both a physical and mental castration? And yet the intellect driving him won't let him. I pity the doctor, poor soul that I created. Freud would have a field-day. I just want to give him a hug.
What was Joss? Was he almost more than a mere pawn? What is he now?
I know why the caged bird sings, and why Joss does too. Some day I may get to tell you all.
So he ends up happy, at the price of what? Your memories, your personality, your whole body.
They are 2 different beings, not sharing any similarities at all other than the fact they use the same flesh.
The doctor was right, the person dies and a pony is born. This story is... depressing.
I can't help but think of 1984: He tries to stick it up to the system but they won in the end (1984 did contain more brain washing an him reliesing they were brain washing him, and he did do more to break the system, still depressing)
You could have just said Joss died
Well written, but it just feels like nothing much happened, there wasn't a climax, Joss didn't do anything unexpected, it was a normal day: People dis-obey and they get killed before getting turned into brain washed slaves. At least in 1984 they had to try to catch him and they couldn't do what they usually do with them having to break the system to get the system breaker.
It started off with some light humour, but by the end it was just depressing
EDIT: Tracked because it was really well written
595865 1984 was an inspiration. This wasn't supposed to be a big epic adventure, it wasn't even supposed to be as long as it is. It's more of an intro to the majorly screwed up world that doesn't get any better... not overnight at least.
The price is high - the newfoals do die in many senses of the word. Legally and quite possibly physically and almost certainly mentally. That's part of the point. This isn't a happy thing, but the powers that be don't really care. It wasn't designed to be happy, it was supposed to be realistic. I can only point to how, when the slave trade was at it's height, the only punishment ever used was enslavement.
But really, lots of things happen in there, it's just not all immediately listed in the chapter titles...
In 1984, in the end, the protagonist was completely broken. He was brainwashed completely and irreversibly. And he thanked them for it.
The Party lived on. Its power increased, it owned more of the populace, it crushed more dreams. If you weren't a party member, you were nothing, but you were free. In this case, the ultimate destination of all unworthy workers is the stables, where they can be controlled and trusted to work only for the good of the party.
Welcome to the shattered worlds universe...
596128
Also just so you know: I think this story is amazingly written and I love it, it's just a bit depressing (not that that's bad, the only story that ever made me cry is one of my favourites [it's NOT My Little Dashie]). I am loving this story, sad to see it's on haitus, but I'm sure you'll bring out something else entertaining/enthralling.
Also I see the adventure tag, considering there wasn't really any adventure in these chapters... looking forward to it dl.dropbox.com/u/31471793/FiMFiction/Twilight_Sparkle_lolface.png
600289 Hmm, you're right. I put tags in for parts I've not written yet... hmm. That's kinda naughty of me! I'm sorry it's depressing, I was kind of aiming for that
600339 It's fine, just make sure you still put some comedy in here and there :)
600358 Well it started funnier than I intended and it never got as black humoury as I thought it would... it just went into a kind of soul-crushing despair instead
yay whens the next chapter?
Keep writing until the sun returns.
Just to make sure I got that right:
The nanites have not enough magic juice to make a complete pony and take shortcuts to make a pony that is not completely broken, thereby making them ... more naive?
Or did the techs program the nanites to make a pony with limited mental capacity?
In other news: That Teddy. It's either a tool for corporate surveillance or Celestia has her nonexistent hoofs in the mix.
1116891
Magic fuels the nanites, think of it as technomancy. The humans, however, don't want their captive workforce to get any bright ideas, so they starve the nanites of fuel (which also makes economic sense as there's only a limited supply of Celestia's blood).
The nanites will do their best to create a functioning being, and they concentrate on getting the body right and then making the brain complete. The brain, being the biggest, largest, most difficult part of the whole process is the slowest to complete... and the nanites just don't have quite enough to make it perfect. The result is a dumb, happy, ignorant workforce of newfoals without quite enough smarts to rebel against their masters. They get better over time, of course, but it's an uphill struggle.
Was that a tinge of sentience I saw? Don't give me that look, you know damn well that they're barely capable of self thought. Like what we commonly would imagine a talking dog to be like. He, Joss, or should I say "Juniper", showed remembrance. He remembered a small part of his previous being. Why is it though that when the doc explained their situation, they didn't seem to catch a lick of it? Are those nanites actually managing their thought patterns? If so, how typical. Sick fucks. Making them even more of the animals they depict them as as they should be. I shall not dwell on this post, as I must catch some sleep tonight. That, and any more of this would lead to me doing nothing more than twitching as I try and close my eyes and leave my thoughts to my subconscious. Man, I don't think I've emphasized enough yet that I want to be rid of every single one of those broken, dead eyed, obedient little troggs that you've dubbed "humans". Okay, time to calm the fuck down. Listen to some calming music, turn off the computer, retire to bed, then smile and think about their mass annihilation as I drift off to dream land. Or I may resume my tending to the little world I've began sculpting in my head. Options options, oh phooey. Post you tomorrow!