Off the Deep End
Reboot completed. Defragmentation and diagnostics are in progress. Please do not run any other programs until the procedures are finished, or experience hindered physical ability for the duration. Thought processes active at 12% power. Baseline audio set active at 4% power.
Defragmentation 52% complete.
Well. That happened.
Magic, it...
Wow. I can't even try to think comprehensibly about it without feeling rattled. I just straight-up crashed. Better ease back a little.
It makes sense, in a weird mind-bending sort of way. Since time immemorial, civilization has used 'magic' as a catch-all term for anything that they feel lacks a scientific explanation. Even now, centuries after the advent of advanced robotics, stories about magical lands and creatures are still used to entertain human children and distract them from the terrible state that Earth is in.
But that pegasus's tone of voice implied that she was completely serious. She firmly believed that me getting hit in the face was due to 'magic'. I don't know if I'm ready to accept it as fact or not, seeing as how doing so would mean both that my hypothesis that they were cyborgs was incorrect, and that their tech base is as low as I was beginning to fear it was after all.
And if struggling to understand that 'magic' truly exists did this to my memory, then I am not eager to discover what full knowledge of its workings would do to my CPU.
On the other hand: assuming that it is real, that would mean that the residents here see it as a way of life, that it comes as naturally to them as breathing. Magic may as well be technology to them; inversely, something like one of Harpuia's energy blades would blow their minds just as easily as a flyswatter blew mine away. There are a couple avenues here that are worth exploring if the worst comes to pass.
But the trick is making sure that it doesn't. My goals have not changed: come nightfall, I absolutely must find a home base of sorts, suitable repair tools... and barring a cache of Energen spontaneously appearing somewhere, something I can use as a substitute fuel source. I'm starting to get a bit hungry.
For now, I'm immobile until my internal hardware finishes its work. The average combat reploid, be they Mutos or human-esque like myself, has at least twenty petabytes of storage space built-in and separated into anywhere from a hundred to a thousand partitions. This is necessary to accommodate our exclusive operating systems and subroutines, along with our assorted abilities and the precise programming required to execute them. That's without considering all the memories, experiences and knowledge that we would accumulate across our entire lives, plus the intricacies of our personalities.
And even processors as powerful as mine or my fellow Guardians' will take a little while when faced with something of that size.
My internal clock is switched off, so I'm unsure of what time it currently is. All of my external senses are disabled except for my hearing, and even that's limited to my immediate vicinity. There's no point to opening my eyes right now due to me not seeing anything yet, so I have to trust that I'm still in the shelter and that I haven't fallen out far enough to be visible from the sky. I'm hoping that no one wanders into the alley in the meantime.
...And if those voices that I'm hearing are proof of anything, it's that I really need to quit while I'm ahead.
Two of them, both male. If I'm any judge, one's a young adult and the other is on the verge of middle-age. I'll try to see if there's anything I can do to push my hearing back towards normal.
Baseline audio set active at 7% power. Further adjustments not recommended at the present time.
Sigh... That's going to have to do. Now then, let's hear what they're up to.
"...feels strange, Dad. Were the crates always arranged like that?"
"No, I had them all over here. Don't think they'd need to put them like this to get to the dumpster..."
"Weird. Maybe it's a case of OCD or something? You know, somepony just wants them set up a specific way?"
"Dunno. I'm not a doctor. Let's just get these loaded up. Pestle, could you grab that tarp?"
Oh, no. Please don't, please don't---
The tarp's rustling, dropping my hopes into the depths of the ocean. Sure enough, a moment later...
"Sweet mother of Celestia! Dad, you've got to see this!"
"...Well. You don't see something like this everyday. What in the world is this?"
'Sweet mother of Celestia'? Wonder exactly who it is they're referring to...
"I don't know. Looks a lot like a Timberwolf used it as a chew toy."
"Rather thoroughly. Take a look right here. Whatever did this ripped a gash right through a sheet of steel."
That's actually a ceratanium frame beneath my synthskin. Only the best for a "child" of X. ...Buuut, I'm not in a position to argue semantics.
"Looks weathered. It's been through a lot."
"Ain't that the truth. There's enough damage here that you can see inside of it."
Oh, sure. Announce it to everyone, why don't you? ...Well, they're still being reasonably quiet, so it's not like they're announcing it to everyone, but... again, semantics. It's not enough to have dust and dirt in my systems, but to have complete strangers finding out about it?
Defragmentation 72% complete.
Okay, okay, come on, hurry it up...
"Huh... not very discernible, but what I can see isn't making much sense."
"Wonder who'd make something like this, and why..."
"Some kind of arts and crafts project that went overboard, maybe?"
"Or it could be a prop for a stage show. Maybe someone here tried to donate this to that new horror theater that opened up, and it didn't work out. Take a look around the edge of this gash, Pestle."
"If that's meant to be a bloodstain, it's a pretty good facsimile, Dad. I almost thought it was real." A few sniffs. "Smells a bit funny, though."
Okay, two things. One, I have to wonder why the coolant we use closely resembles blood. At the very least, the auto-repair was able to seal the ruptured lines before X sent us after Omega, so I'm not a total mess. Two... horror theater? They think I'm a monster? Okay, I get that I'd be frightening to these ponies, but that's just insulting...
...wait a tic. My diagnostics just finished. Time to get a full picture of what I have going for me.
Current Power Output: 6% of capacity. Will not reach higher than 35% in current state. Please utilize your repair crew or capsule to regain full functionality.
Energen Levels: 26%. WARNING: Solar backup heavily damaged and unusable. Do not let Energen Levels drop below 5%, or risk long-term shutdown.
Structural Integrity: 62%. Ceratanium frame and synthskin have sustained widespread damage. Please utilize your repair crew or capsule to regain full functionality.
Auto-Repair Systems: 87%. Currently set to 1%.
Armor Integrity: 92%. Cursory damage to helmet and boots will not affect performance.
Motor Control: 73%. Debris in system are affecting speed, agility, and full range of movement. May become a liability if self is submerged in water. Please remove promptly.
Dash Thrusters: 100%. Systems nominal.
Coolant Levels: 83%. Please replenish at your earliest convenience.
Combat Capabilities: 40% overall. Please avoid combat if possible.
Ice Manipulation: 29%. Main system undamaged. Low efficiency due to self's subpar functionality.
Frost Javelin: 98%. Cursory damage will not affect usage. Systems nominal.
Armed Phenomenon: 0%. Offline due to low Energen levels, structural integrity, and power output.
Recommended Course of Action: Get repaired IMMEDIATELY.
...
Defragmentation 76% complete.
Makes sense to me. Our first fight with Omega ended poorly, and while I didn't take much more damage prior to my vaporization, continuing to fight in that condition didn't help at all. This should help me formulate a decent plan of action, provided that these two don't try anything funny---
"Think we should cover it with the tarp for the trip back?"
"Good idea, Pestle. Probably would unnerve anyone who doesn't have the full story." A quiet grunt. "Hn. Not quite as heavy as I was expecting."
Wha...! He's carrying me! Okay, I call foul! I did not ask for this!
...
Wait... he's carrying me? I wouldn't call myself 'bulky' by any stretch, but I'm no lightweight either. If that pegasus is any indication, these ponies aren't that much higher than my waist. Are they all that strong, or is this just a special case?
Fah. Distractions! Doesn't change anything, I'm still being manhandled like a box of rations! ...Ponyhandled? ...GRAAGH!
Yes, I know that technically they're not "threats", and this is probably far from being the pathetic world I called home, but it's the principle of the matter! One of X's Guardians and one of the world's best fighters is not supposed to be lugged around like trash!
Except... if my efforts to get home don't pan out, then... I'm not technically one of the Guardians anymore, am I?
Wow, Leviathan. Bottle that feeling and market it as a cure for drunkenness. Alcoholics the world over will love you.
I can hear the tarp rustle some more, and a very slight 'clunk' as the back of my helmet hits something. Guessing they've loaded me onto whatever they use for transportation, with the crates I used beside me. The sounds aren't metallic, more like...
"Got everything?"
"Sure do, Dad. Let's go."
...wooden. That's the sound of wood rolling against a paved road. Two ponies are towing what amounts to a cart, and they have the gall to think of this as 'transportation'. This is not raising my opinion of this world at all: it was obsolete before robotics kicked into high gear. Even a motor vehicle straight out of the 20th century would have been preferable... though if they're anything like the newer ones that I saw in Neo Arcadia's junkyards once, I suppose getting my seat to accommodate my helmet's fins would be a hassle.
Defragmentation 84% complete.
Yes, and it's not moving fast enough. I'd love more than anything to actually see what's happening, but if I tried activating my eyes while the defrag's in process, anything I'd see would be a full second behind what was actually happening. That's certainly not optimal.
...Optical?...
Shut up, girl. If you have time for bad jokes, you have time to figure a way out of this situation.
"So where to, Dad? Back to the office?"
"Let's swing by that horror theater first and speak to the management, see if somepony tried to bring this in. If they did and it was rejected, we'll keep it on hoof until we can get it donated to some art museum or other. Tout it as a work by 'An Unknown Artist', or something."
Some minor confusion. "I'm still wondering what you'd even call it."
"Not a clue, Pestle."
The ponies have fallen silent as they travel, leaving me with my thoughts. Living the rest of my existence as some sort of prop to scare others? That's an undignified end if there ever was one. Sorry, but I'm going to have to disappoint all of you.
Defragmentation 91% complete.
It's at this point that the younger of the ponies wonders something that I didn't get. "Huh. I wasn't aware that we were supposed to get any rain today. Dad, I don't suppose you heard anything about the weather schedule?"
"Blue Streak told me this morning that there was a storm in the works, but everything he said indicated that it wasn't until tomorrow." An irritated grunt, which I imagine is a few steps up from an annoyed grunt. "Wouldn't be the first time that the Manehattan weather team dropped the ball."
"How far are we from the theater?"
"Let's see... we're at 15th Street now. I can see it a few blocks down. We've got plenty of time before the clouds reach us."
'Weather team'? Are they talking about meteorologists? Or is it something similar to the weather control stations back at Neo Arcadia?
On a related note, what is the ecosystem like here? I wasn't paying a lot of attention, so I didn't see more than one or two trees poking out above the rooftops when I first arrived---...ugh, 12% is not enough for this deep a subject. I just know that if the environment is in ruins like it is back home, I'm going to have words for whatever idiots botched it up.
Again, assuming I'm stuck here.
The sounds of the cart's movements stop altogether, and I can hear the ponies leave it behind for the moment and walk through a door. Now's as good a time as any to leave... but that blasted defrag is still going. Trying to do that now while my senses are dulled would mean any number of things going terribly, horribly wrong.
But as soon as it finishes, I'm gone. No questions asked.
Defragmentation 97% complete.
"EEEEEEEEE!"
Okay, 7% volume was much too high for that. What is going on in there?
Mortar and Pestle winced at the noise that exited the proprietor's mouth. When they had gone in to inquire of the owner whether or not somepony had wanted to turn over something of the doll's description, they hadn't expected "crazed joy" to be her reaction.
"Burning Salamandra" was a fitting stage name for her. Her greeting to the two in the well-lit front lobby was calm and friendly, as if they were visiting a doctor's office instead of a theater dedicated to all things frightening. But when allowed to delve into her area of expertise, her passion for the arts blazed for all to see. It was very unsettling, and it caused her flaming-theater-mask Cutie Mark to pulse against her dull purple coat.
Both ponies regarded each other for a moment before returning to Salamandra. "So... is that a no?" Pestle asked.
"Are you kidding me?!" Salamandra all but shrieked. She pranced in place as she talked, a beaming grin stretching across her face. "I think I'd know if somepony had tried to donate something as beautiful as what you're describing! Coming up with something new to add to my repertoire almost as soon as 'The Lantern Named Jack' finishes its run?! That's a new record! Oh, I knew today was going to be a good day!"
Mortar shrugged minutely. "We'd planned on taking it to an art museum if you'd turned it down, but as long as you're happy about it, we might as well give it to you. We've got it sitting in our cart out front if you want to see it and judge for yourself."
"Do I?!" Salamandra settled down just enough to make sure the bracelets she wore around her front legs weren't going to slide off. "Got to make myself look presentable...!" She ran her hooves through her mane, making it look significantly more unkempt before clipping a black bow to the back of it. "There we go. Much better! Let's go, gentlecolts, let's go!"
...
"I'm telling you, Dad," Pestle muttered quietly. "All the ponies in this city are crazy."
"Think I'm starting to agree with you on that," Mortar quietly answered as they led the crazy unicorn out the door. "Though that little village outside of Canterlot gives this place a serious run for its money."
Not looking too promising. I just heard that door open, and there's a third set of hooves joining the two that went in. I'm making a guess right now that it's the building's owner wanting to check me out. I wish she didn't, but it's not looking like I have a choice.
Defragmentation 100% complete. View full report? (N)
There, finally. Thank you! My eyes open---
---just as the tarp is yanked off of me by one of the cart's drivers, filling my eyes with an influx of light. From none of it to all of it---! "KYAAA!"
Each pony present has different reactions to hearing me shriek. The two that had brought me here shout as I block off my vision; the younger one's tone is fully alarmed, while the elder's is more 'greatly surprised' than truly afraid. They are the ones that the pegasus had warned me about when she was talking about her species' biological reactions towards the unknown.
The third... is giggling. "Eeheeheeheehee~! You didn't tell me that it was capable of moving!" she declares. As my eyes start to adjust, she scrambles alongside the cart and rears up on her hind legs to get an up-close investigation. "So detailed! It looks so lifelike! This is a work of art!"
Her enthusiasm is off-putting. Never in my life have I heard anyone so genuinely happy. Not even Fefnir got like this whenever he got himself fired up over fighting Zero. I push away one of her hooves when it starts getting too investigative. "Don't touch the merchandise," I tell her sternly, blinking. I summon the Frost Javelin and hold it down at an angle, keeping her out of touching range while I get to my feet. "I don't have time to be caught up in whatever you want, so---"
"And speaking! A walking talking doll with its own weapon! Even better!" the pony squeals. A turquoise glow manifests around its horn, and a similar glow of the same color forms around me... just like the one I'd seen that young unicorn use on that flyswatter. I grimace, anticipating another shutdown, but this time my CPU simply refuses to rationalize what I'd seen and decides 'don't question it'. Of course, it's not like getting yanked over the side of the cart and deposited on the sidewalk is much more dignifying. "There aren't any wires controlling it anywhere, and I'm not seeing any magic at work! Fascinating!"
My eyes flick off to the side. The display is starting to attract a few passers-by, and I know before long there is going to be a crowd. The two ponies who'd transported me are keeping a safe distance from us both, which is probably for the best. "Stop. Touching. My face," I warn, pushing the pony back and reassuming a more vertical position. "I'm not joking, unicorn."
"Awww, why not? That sorry state you're in is adorable," the unicorn whines adorably... which is itself disturbing, because comparing her to that gray pegasus lets me determine that she is a full-grown adult. "I could definitely see you as a prop in my next stageplay."
No. "This 'sorry state' is because I was involved in something that endangered my life," I bite out, perhaps a bit more viciously than I'd intended. "Do not push me any further."
The pony tilts her head slightly. "You're certainly the most complex doll I've ever seen in my life," she speaks, not really paying attention to what I'd just said. Her smile, which had wavered when I'd pushed her away from my face, has returned in force. "What sort of pony would just throw something like you away, especially when you're ready-made for the theater? The design, the emotion! I absolutely must have you for my collection!"
No! "I said I'm not going in there!" I state emphatically, pointing the Javelin down at the pony and backing away a few steps while glaring at it. Some mysterious force is making my limbs quiver slightly. ...Is this what fear feels like? "I am not some thing to be seen as entertainment. I have my own existence, with my own thoughts and feelings. If you're going to take me, then you'll have to reduce me to pieces first!"
The unicorn's face lights up at that. Apparently, that is the wrong thing to say to someone who specializes in horror. "Now you're speaking my language!" she crows. She leaps at me in an arc that takes her over the Javelin and straight at my probably-surprised face. "Come to Sally!"
NO!
She's aiming to either tackle me or hug me, and neither is very appealing. With my bluff called, there's only one correct response to this: run. I dismiss the Javelin back to storage, duck beneath the unicorn as she flies over my head, and take off in the direction she had just jumped from, pushing myself and my dash thrusters as fast as my compromised motor controls will allow. I don't care about staying hidden anymore. I just want this crazy pony away from me.
Behind me, I hear 'Sally's' voice echoing in all directions almost as soon as she lands. "Come one, come all, horror fans and fiends! We've got a runner!" she calls as her hooves began beating down the sidewalk towards me.
Somewhere in the background, thunder rumbles. Closer still, the street rumbles as a handful of those ponies who'd been watching nearby decide to heed Sally's cry and gallop after me.
Apparently, this is my life now. Joy of joys...
...
"Dad?"
"Yes, Pestle?"
The younger pony's voice teetered on the edge of anxiety from what he had just seen. "I would like it very much if we went home right now and hope that we never see that thing again," he requested, eyes still wide.
Whether he was talking about the suddenly alive not-a-doll or the nightmare enthusiast was a question for the ages, but either way the father had no argument for that. The two of them quickly hitched themselves to their cart and took off for their office like windigos were nipping at their fetlocks.
Ebony and Gray were in the middle of enjoying BLTs and lemonade at the park---with the 'B' standing for 'begonia'---when they both twitched for different reasons. The former looked back at the thundercloud she could see being gathered in the distance, whereas the latter stared in a different direction entirely. "You hear that?" Ebony inquired.
"Yes," Gray answered, her voice having a strange tone. "It's a cry of horror and despair that speaks to the heart."
Ebony rolled her eyes. The filly had swapped her bandoleer for a pink "Momma's Filly" T-shirt, seeing no need to chase after bugs in their native environment. "Melodramatic much, Mom?"
"And yet it's appropriate for the situation at hoof." Gray blinked as she brought herself back to reality. "Though I think we were talking about entirely different things. Did you hear anypony say anything about rain today?"
"No, I didn't."
An irritated sigh. "Leave it to the weather team to ruin a completely nice day... come on, Ebony. Let's go home. If we're fast, we can get back before it starts storming." And maybe I can convince that mannequin to shelter indoors when we get back.
With nothing else to say, Gray tossed her cup into a recycling bin and raced off, toting her sandwich in her mouth. Ebony, choosing to carry her food with her magic instead, pushed herself to keep up as they sought to beat the weather. Just another one of these times where you can't tell what's going to happen next... she thought wryly, wondering what the remaining hours of the day had in store for them.
To those of you who've written fiction for this site before, how many of you took a while to get used to using terms like 'anypony' instead of 'anyone'? Just curious. Hopefully I didn't miss anything in this chapter.
The "Blue Streak" pegasus that Mortar was talking about was named after the Blue Streak rollercoaster at Cedar Point, Ohio. And before anyone asks: no, I've never actually been on it. Far as coasters go, my nerves never let me handle anything worse than the Gemini when I was still in a position to visit the place.
For those that have played the Zero games, has anyone noticed that a few of the Guardians apparently summon their weapons out of nowhere when they need them and make them disappear when they don't? This is especially telling in Fefnir's case, since he's only wielding one of his Knuckle Busters in his official artwork and it's big enough that it can't really be hidden on his person, and yet he pulls out a second one for his harder-hitting attacks. In Leviathan's case, her weapon turns white and disappears when she's defeated in her boss fights when it wouldn't have been too hard to have her holding it in her 'defeated' sprite.
...Though now that I think about, the same could be said for the Armed Phenomenons. Just where does all of that go when they're not using them? Ah, hammerspace. Don't you love it? 
Since I began I've been estimating 7-10 days in-between chapters, but I'm going to have to bump it up to 14 days for now. I'm due for a hospital visit in the near future, but I don't know yet when it's going to be (and the anesthetic they use leaves me a bit loopy the rest of the day). Between that and the prep, I don't know how well I'll be able to focus on my writing during that time, so... just to be safe. 
Estimated Chapter Deadline: September 17th, 2021
--EDITED 1/14/2022: Corrected an error that was pointed out to me. Thank you.
--EDITED 11/6/2022: Made some minor grammatical changes, mostly making the narrative look more first-person than third-person.
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Do any of the female characters in this story throw punches?
10963520
All in due time.
YAY! Levi got her first rouge for her "Rouge gallery"
On the plus side ponies won't think of her as some sort of alien killing machine. On the down side she will probably have a tough time convincing them that she isn't a doll.
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At the very least, she'll have a hard time convincing Salamandra. As Pinkie would say, she's a bit loco in the coco.
Weapon storage has been a thing since the original Mega Man games. After all, Rock is consistently shown to have two hands, but can turn one or both into his mega buster at will. I'm sure full fledged pocket dimensions for storage would be possible by Neo Arcadia's time. It certainly explains where they keep the mass of their Armed Phenomenon forms.
11055324
Or now that I think about it, where Zero keeps his collection of E-crystals even when they're maxed out.
Help, Help crazy Ponies. Crazy Ponies
affect
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Thanks for catching that.
Whelp, we got a headliner!
What rotten luck they managed to find an enthusiast.
The joys of a pre-journaling filesystem. Modern technology is great sometimes...
System status is actually much better than anticipated, but frivolous energy usage definitely needs to be managed.
I get the feeling that the weather is due to a certain previously mentioned maverick