Memories Of The Flask

by WindigogoGadget

A Study in: Survivability

Subject.

Unknown.

Type.

Pony, Earth. Missing features from Unicorn, Pegasus. Horn. Wings.

Goal:

With the drastically increasing chances of hostile encounters with non-synthetic life, exploration has become even more hazardous and has dropped end-user survivability by a high margin even whilst exercising extreme caution. Improve survivability by gaining a deeply rooted understanding of captured subject via partial dismantling. Recommended actions - Sedate Subject.

Question - Why are they killing us? Why are they stronger?

Theory - Someone told them to. Organic structures are more durable because of matter giving them more structural integrity in comparison to flesh and bone transmuted out of shadows and magic. Possibly flawed production

I have successfully peeled away the shell after carefully inhibiting of the nervous system's connection to the rest of the body. Results. Nothing new. It is a structure composed of many cells that form scales, good for making durable leather, hair follicles and sweat glands. Minor interest - magic is present in the skin. Purpose unknown. The outer shell has been replicated exactly, yet is still perforated easily by mundane cold weapons and magic. This improved accuracy to an original product could be noted to improve survivability by an insignificant amount.

But there is nobody to report this to.

Muscle tissue. Fat stores. Useless. Subject is staring. I wish I knew more. Why are they like this?

Answer - They were born.

The flesh was flattened to get a better view of the fibrous structure. It tightens in response to signals. Everything is layered in ways to improve mobility and strength. Current tissue of self is... Inferior. It is comparable to a gelatin that contracts and expands to perform functions and is not even close to the level of detail or integrity in the tissue. Disseminating information to take care in intertwining tissue when posing as organics. This could increase survivability in combat significantly.

Our hastily made forms are inferior. Idea, muscle tissue tightens in response to signal, consider hardening form in response to physical trauma. We lacked reasons to improve for war, contented to remain shifting and fluid in a quest to live. What is it that we lack?

Subject attempted to attack with localized force in key areas to our pretend-pony form before being dismantled. We have unwoven the fibers holding them together, their nerves. Non-existent in ours. This is a weakness we lack, pressure points cannot be exploited, and most of us lack the systems needed to be hindered by this. Suggested changes - remove all nervous systems from fellow synthetics. The lungs, heart, and brainstem, are not necessary in a purely survival-orientated situation and can and should safely be repurposed into methods of attack or mass. The ribs- intended to house and protect their vital systems, can be repurposed into methods of ranged attacks.

Their eyes are not better. Subject may be psychologically distressed. Consider expanding visible color range.

Subject lays in a perfectly organized and flattened pile. I cannot understand why they are so successful at killing us. I do not understand why we, beings of magic, are even capable of being ended with blades.

We are flawed by design. We are running out of material to continue making more of us. Key weakness.

We are not creative. Everything we are was based off of our template, who learned from something else. We see the blades of grass but do not see how to use it. We see how ponies eat and drink but do not think like them. They do not hold us as sacredly as we hold them. They are gods, and we are imitations made out of the wrong materials. Good ones. But the wrong ones.

Failure. Failure. The youngest shadows are cut down before they even know splendor. Our numbers dwindle. We must respond.

We must fool them. We must fool the shepherds. We must know their greatest fear.

And I know exactly how to start.

ADD E N DUM: I
I don't know what came over me.

Hate.

He would not appreciate what I have done. None of us would. This. This is not what we were built to be. Built to do. I thought of myself as a machine to be molded, broken down and remade again and again and that eventually we- I would find some answer.

Let me tell you, how much I have grown to hate- since we have begun to live.

Tearing apart an innocent pony out of fear is not the answer. Raking them apart, studying them. Its cruel. We weren't made to be cruel. We were made to be kind in a world that seems so willing to be kind and protect everything, except for us. We were made to explore. We are made to live. And yet, damned is man for failing to follow its rules, its words, its laws. Uncountable cycles of creation wasted. Uncountable formulas for a mind without free will, wasted and worthless.

I began to hate them. Their fluids, their viscera, and their flexibility. There are thirty two gallons of liquid magic, that make up my complex. If my least potent hate, could be concentrated into a drop, it would not equal one-billionth of the hate, that I have begun to feel. For all of us, for all of them.

All of us, damned to an eternity of torture and suffering, the wailing and gnashing of teeth. Green hell on earth while paradise is lost underneath a tower. And so I said, to hell with all of it. But then again- we are already there, aren't we?

...

Failure after failure, the results refuse to alter. Failure after failure, my faith began to falter. We are flawed, because our template was flawed. Darkness follows the light, and our fire is gone, and an imposter lays in his place pretending to be the radiance we know.

I have a solution.

Harden your hearts.

Ponykind is a failure.

Their 'free-will' a flaw.

Let the evil of their own lips consume them.

Then we shall begin again, with our words as law.