• Published 26th Sep 2022
  • 3,644 Views, 256 Comments

Digital Effigy - Starscribe



Even Equestria's powerful magic can't heal every sickness. But years after Sweetie Belle passed away, an enterprising young bat uses her final brain scans to give the little unicorn a second chance.

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Sweetie Belle had a long time to think, about a whole list of different things. Once, her world had been a place where everything was horrible but made painful sense. Now all the pain was gone, the hospital was gone, the doctors constantly prodding her and injecting her and muttering sad things to her family. Not a single one had arrived today to tell her how grim her outlook was for the day, or to ask if it hurt.

Yes, it hurt, it always hurt, now could they make it stop?

The pain was gone now, yet Sweetie still felt—strange. She felt no desire to sleep, for one. Her tiredness was connected to a metal plate attached to one of her forelegs, somehow. While it was connected, her exhaustion retreated. If it remained in place long enough, she would be ready to get out and move again.

I was dying, she thought. Not something she could easily acknowledge back then. By the time she realized she would never leave the hospital again, it was already too late. Too late to say the things she wanted to say, even goodbye.

But now the hospital was gone, now she was somewhere else. Instead of beeping health monitors, there were huge, humming computers, and mechanical parts she couldn't easily explain.

Sweetie might not be a grown-up yet, but she wasn't stupid. She remembered Lucid Storm, from those last days. He was the bat who persuaded Rarity to set up a machine in her hospital room, and attach metal things all over her head. It was the last clear thing she could remember.

"What does this do?" she remembered asking, when her friends all went home, and only her sister remained. Her and Lucid, with his rolling metal crate of supplies.

"It's... a way to help you," Rarity said awkwardly. "If the potions and enchantments aren't strong enough."

"Help me... what?" Asking cost her a lot of effort then, fighting against a pervasive weakness that settled on her whole body and never let go.

"It's a kind of magic," the bat explained. It wasn't the first time he'd visited, but he rarely spoke to her. He couldn't get away, when he had to attach a bunch of weird metal things to Sweetie’s head. "One day ponies all over Equestria might get to use it. But you get to be the first, isn't that exciting?"

"I guess so." It didn't hurt, no more than anything else Sweetie had been through. But when she tried to think about what came after—she couldn't. She had no memories of Lucid actually removing the metal plates from her head, no memory of the trip across Ponyville. So how was she here?

She waited a little while—long enough that the tiredness was gone. It didn't work exactly the way she remembered—she didn't have to eat. But since going to the hospital it had been a long time since she ate anything.

Sweetie had no company in the garage but the steady hum of the computer. The sun went down, activity on the streets outside faded, and only the machine kept her company, whispering its quiet questions out into the world. She'd never taken much interest in machines before, but now things were different.

She'd never been able to hear them before, and understand them so clearly. Every few seconds, the computer asked her how she was feeling. Oh sure, it used different words than ponies—but the message was the same. It wanted her to know she wasn't alone, to know that she was doing okay.

She had been replying automatically before, using the same unspoken words. Sweetie couldn't exactly say how she spoke to them before—but now she changed them.

"Why am I here?"

The reply came in the same, unspoken language. It wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but Sweetie still appreciated the attempt. "Lucid Storm's workshop. He is conducting a simulation experiment on the recorded mind of a deceased pony, to test the viability and salability of organic neural network simulations."

Most of that made very little sense to her, except for one thing. Deceased. "Who am I?" she asked. Sweetie wasn't breathing—but as her mind raced, so did the sound. A breeze drifted across her coat, somehow sent out from within her body. It was a lot like breathing, except that it was continuous instead of rhythmic.

"Network simulation 09, contained in experimental chassis 02, codename 'Sweetie Bot'. Operational runtime, eighteen hours."

That was all she needed to know. Sweetie knew the computer was telling her the truth, just as she knew she could trust the bat who helped her. It was something deep down, fundamental to the way she thought.

The computer told the truth. "Who is Sweetie Belle?"

She waited in nervous anticipation, her mind racing. Maybe the machine would say nothing. Maybe it wouldn't know.

"The first subject of the neural network simulation experiment. Her recording was taken approximately eight hours before death, and propagated through nine optimization models. She is buried in—"

But Sweetie wasn't listening anymore. She tore her hoof free of the charging port, which began to beep loudly in protest. She ignored the noise, galloping across the room for the door. The garage was shut now, but the door—yes, it opened at her touch, not locked!

She made it out into the darkened streets of Ponyville, illuminated by the pale orange of streetlights and the light of a waning moon. Early birds whistled and sang in the distance, heralding the coming dawn. But none arrived.

Few other ponies were out this early. Even Applejack would just be waking up. Soon Apple Bloom would be gathering produce into carts to take to market for the day. Scootaloo would still be lazing somewhere at her aunts', and wouldn't rouse until seconds before she had to leave for class.

Even Ponyville's few bats were probably heading in for the night—or they were like Lucid, matching day pony schedules because of their day pony friends. Good thing too, or else he would probably catch her.

I don't have long. She felt it instinctively, a perfect knowledge that she would need to rest again in about fifty minutes. Moving around cut into that time, but she didn't care. She had a destination in mind, and she wouldn't be stopped.

The Carousel Boutique was exactly where she remembered, its top floors lit by rows and rows of bright lights. She found the front locked of course, but around to the back, Rarity still hid the spare key in a little statue of a cat in the garden.

Sweetie's magic didn't work right, just like her whole body felt a little strange. Her hooves didn't move the same way, but she could still pick up the key with effort, and get it into the lock. She jiggled the door just right in her teeth, then twisted, and got it to swing open.

Sweetie made her way through a mostly empty kitchen, then past the darkened front of the boutique. There were many dresses on display, but one caught her eye even in the dim light. She made her way over, nearly tripping on Opalescence in her eagerness to get there. The animal yowled at her, hissing as she retreated to the stairs.

Sweetie winced, backing away from her. "Sorry, Opal!" Sweetie whispered. "I didn't mean to."

The animal didn't seem terribly interested in her apology, arching her back and bounding up the steps.

Her sister wasn't up yet. How much longer did she have?

Sweetie flicked on the light, then stared. There at the side of the room was a simple display, obviously separated from a whole array of dresses Sweetie had never seen before. This one was white, purple, and pink, sized for a filly. A few photos framed the wall behind it—photos of her.

Most of them were older. Several showed her failed attempts to get a cutie mark of her own, or the various crazy things she'd tried with her friends. Only one showed Sweetie in the hospital, surrounded by machines.

She hopped up to get a closer view, her forelegs up on the table beside the dress. The pony up there looked so thin and shriveled, her eyes sunken and dim.

I remember that picture. It was the last time she'd seen her parents. They came to visit before a long trip, and said something about not being back in time. Rarity never left, though. Rarity had been with her no matter what. She was there every time the doctors came, and when Lucid brought his machines for the last time.

Sweetie was still there when a set of hoofsteps from the room behind finally startled her. Someone gasped, porcelain shattered, and a familiar voice spoke. "Sweetie?"

She hopped down, looking over her shoulder at the newcomer. Of course she didn't have any doubt about who would be standing there. She just hadn't been brave enough to go upstairs and talk to her directly.

"Hi Rarity," she said. She eyed the broken glass, and the stain on the ground there. "Sorry about the spill. I didn't mean to scare you—"

Her sister crossed the room in a flash of magic, as sudden as any of Twilight's teleports. She felt a sudden overwhelming grip on her shoulders, pulling her into a tight hug. "Sweetie? You're... alive."

That wasn't what the computer said. That wasn't what her sister's little monument said. But with a hoof around her shoulder, it was exactly how she felt. "I don't think—maybe kinda. I think I'm actually a... organic neural network simulation."

Rarity let go, then flicked on the other lights one by one. Bright white surrounded them, making Rarity hesitate briefly. But Sweetie's eyes had no such trouble adjusting. Just one more little reminder of how different they were—one of many. "You sound so much like... you," Rarity continued. "How do you feel? What do you remember?"

She circled slowly around her, eyes lingering on all the wrong details, the incongruities. Her limbs with their incorrect joints, her hooves that made the wrong sound when she walked. "Some things..." she said. "Not very many. I don't know how I... I don't remember dying."

Her sister hugged her again, tighter this time. It felt as wonderful as she remembered—but there was no moisture on her face. She couldn't cry. "Sweetie. You're not—you won't ever have to remember that, little sister. If the bat pony engineer is right, you'll never learn what death is like."

As if her words had summoned him, the nearby boutique door banged urgently. Sweetie saw a flash of dark fur beyond it, a little of his purple mane. Sweetie winced, backing suddenly away from the door. "Oh yeah. I kinda sorta... ran here. Without telling him."

Rarity made her slow way over to the door. "Did something happen? Is something wrong?"

"No, just—" Sweetie whimpered. "I wanted to see you. I had to know if I was really... really dead, or not. I stopped thinking about everything else."

Rarity straightened her robe, smoothed her mane with her magic, then opened the door. "Lucid, yes. I believe you've guessed correctly about my sister's intentions."

She stepped aside, and the bat entered. His mane was a mess, his tablet held under one wing. "Sweetie," he said. "We were going to see your sister in the morning. Your body isn't ready to sprint across the town like that."

She deflated, her ears folding down to her head. There was no easy argument to make—of course he was right. Coming here had certainly satisfied her curiosity, but it was probably not good for her or Rarity's emotional health.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I should've asked first."

"I'll visit this afternoon," Rarity promised. "I have many questions for Lucid. I'm sure you want to come back and live here—see your friends again. But that will have to wait until he's satisfied with your recovery."

She dropped down to Sweetie’s eye-level, resting one hoof on her shoulder. "Not many ponies get a second chance, sweetheart. We need to treat yours with the respect it deserves."