Following an incident involving mislabeled sodium and an exploding toilet, Celestia orders Sweetie Bot to register herself as a lethal weapon.
Following an incident involving mislabeled sodium and an exploding toilet, Celestia orders Sweetie Bot to register herself as a lethal weapon. Join Sweetie Bot in her harrowing fight against mountains of paperwork and underpaid government employees.
Something silly started a couple years ago in response to a prompt from this group.
It was a beautiful day outside. Sweetie Bot knew this because her heat sensors registered at 21.1° C, her hearing sensors heard birds chirping, and her vision sensors detected no clouds in the sky. Over in the next room, other sensors indicated that Rarity's heart rate, breathing rate, and core temperature were elevated, which, despite what it sounded like, were indications that she was going to be in a good mood this morning. All in all, it was going to be a good day.
She performed her daily self-inspection and found no exterior damage worth noting, but her sensors did indicate that it was time for an oil change. Pleased with the results of her diagnostics, she happily trotted downstairs.
Rarity's breathing and heart rate soon returned to within normal parameters and before long, she too came downstairs, bringing with her her typical morning scent. She smiled at seeing her robotic younger sister. “Good morning, Sweetie Bot.”
“Mornin', Rarity!” Sweetie chirped. “Can you change my oil today?”
“Of course, Sweetie,” Rarity said pleasantly. “You know I'm always happy to help.”
Sweetie grinned as she lifted the oil can. Rarity winced as she lifted it in her magic.
As per usual, Sweetie had trouble staying still for too long (she was always afraid of her joints freezing up without the oil to lubricate them), and Rarity ended up with about two thirds of the oil in her slot and one third all over her hooves. With a pained smile, Rarity left to go scrub her hooves and bleach the floor.
Her morning routine completed, Sweetie shook her body as she prepared to travel. Wheels flipped out from hidden slots on her legs and extended on their miniature hydraulic lifts to raise her off her hooves. She retracted her decorative tail and extended the rear of the jet engine from her tail hole, and opened her mouth to facilitate her air intake.
With a loud whoosh, fire erupted from her hindquarters, and she started to roll forwards and travel through the kitchen and out the door on her way to work.
If only she’d remembered to actually open the door before leaving through it.
* * *
Sweetie Bot rolled into work precisely on time, just as she always did. She retracted her wheels and extended her tail, and quickly headed up the stairs to sign in. She nodded her hello to the secretary, who winced as she walked by, and headed back to her office.
Well, calling it an 'office' might have been a bit of an exaggeration. As a member of custodial services, she got what was probably more accurately termed a 'broom closet'. But it was hers, and she liked it.
She lifted the poster showing off processors and slid inside. Her inbox was full, of course, so she began checking out the paperwork for what she had to do today. Politicians seemed to complain about the littlest things, and so she was never quite sure what to expect—or just how accurate their service requests were, like the time she was called to a 'massive coffee spill' that had probably been fourteen fluid ounces at most. But in the organic's defense, he had been very, very tired, and it had probably been a big deal to him.
Today’s docket included a few minor electrical problems, a few burnt out lightbulbs, a couple requests for more toilet paper, and one side table that needed refinishing. She grinned. This wouldn't be a bad day at all. She reached blindly up for the electric tape, accidentally knocking over a pair of shears. They fell off, cartwheeling to the ground. They landed pointy-side down, bounced off the tile, and landed point-first into an electrical socket. She giggled at the improbability that had just occurred, and reached up to take them out…
And completed the circuit. Energy flowed through the shears, through her body, and into the ground. Sweetie Bot’s circuits nearly overloaded, but thankfully was stopped from any permanent damage when the fuse blew.
Unfortunately, this particular outlet just so happened to not have a fuse connected to it. Instead, the only fuse it was connected to happened to be the main fuse. Which just so happened to be connected to many other important things.
“Sweetie Bot!!” the cry came almost instantaneously.
Sweetie Bot emulated a sigh. She had spoken too soon.
* * *
One of the advantages Sweetie Bot had over living beings was her ability to turn off certain sensors. This meant Sweetie Bot was sometimes assigned dangerous duties that normal ponies were unable or unwilling to perform.
“Sweetie Bot! Somepony clogged the toilet again!”
“I'm on it!” Sweetie said cheerfully. She deactivated her scent function and happily trotted over to the secondary closet where they kept the cleaning supplies. Extending her legs, she lifted her body high enough that she could see the supplies on the top shelf. She looked over the gathered supplies and grinned. They had been restocked recently. She lifted one box that she didn't recognize. It read 'toilet cleaner', written in a messy, definitely-organic script. She peeked inside and squinted. Her ocular circuits gave her conflicting information. “This looks similar to sodium; but the label clearly says it's toilet cleaner.”
She shrugged. Organic ponies were always coming up with new things. It must have been so nice, having a real brain filled with such new and interesting ideas instead of her positronic brain that could only react to stimuli. She trotted over to the bathroom and peeked inside.
Her eyes widened. This was a colossal mess. She almost considered deactivating her vision sensors, too; but then she remembered that she would need to see what she was doing. This was so dirty she calculated that she would need the entire bottle of toilet cleaner to start. It would be a good idea, she thought, to add the toilet cleaner directly to the water and move on from there. So she opened the bottle and dumped the entirety of the bottle into the standing, filthy water.
Celestia stared flatly at Sweetie Bot. Sweetie Bot shuffled nervously under her stare. Celestia's heart rate was slow, and her breathing was calm; but her body temperature was slightly elevated. She was displeased. And since she wasn't showing anything externally, she must have been very calculated with her anger.
Sweetie Bot could do calculations of her own. She was, once again, in deep doo-doo. “It's just stuff, right?” Sweetie chuckled nervously, breaking the silence. “That got destroyed in the explosion? Just boring old paperwork that nopony was going to use anyway, right?”
“A mare died,” Celestia said flatly.
“I killed her?!” Sweetie asked, aghast.
Celestia shook her head. “Technically, no; she died of a heart attack because she was startled by the explosion. Still, as you were responsible, you must accept the consequences.”
Sweetie's temperament device shifted into mortal terror mode, and her exterior ears pinned against her head. “Deactivation?” she whimpered.
Celestia cracked a smile. “Not quite. This is currently an accident, but as you were responsible for a death, unintentional though it was, you must now be registered as a lethal weapon.”
Sweetie frowned. “That makes me sound dangerous,” she said.
“You are dangerous,” Celestia said gently but firmly. “I've seen your blueprints. You have rocket launchers, lasers, an angle grinder, a flamethrower, enhanced strength, reinforced paneling all across your body, a remarkable tolerance for pain…”
Sweetie Bot frowned, and her ears fell and her lower lip jutted out as her empathy chip registered that she was being scolded.
Celestia didn't have it in her to just insult her like that, and she was pretty cute for a robot, and so she quickly amended her statement with, “...and I mean that in a very adorable way. I know you didn't mean to do any harm, and this is more a formality than anything.”
Sweetie Bot brightened again.
“But there is some paperwork that will need to be filled out.”
Sweetie Bot brightened further. “Ok, how do I do that?”
Celestia grimaced. “It shouldn’t be too hard,” she said.
Sweetie Bot frowned. Celestia's heart rate had spiked ever so slightly. She was hiding something. Sweetie Bot felt that this would not bode well.
“All you'll need to do is go down to the Department of Licensing, Trademarks, and Patents, and fill out a couple forms and register yourself. It shouldn't take too long. You should be back to work before long.”
Sweetie Bot nodded. She could do that.
* * *
Sweetie Bot looked up at the Office of Trademarks, Patents, and Licenses. The building was not tall; it was rather short and painted a drab beige color, making the flowers and grass outside stand out even further in contrast. She nodded. This definitely looked like the right place. She headed up the stairs and walked inside.
The first thing she noticed was a large red number flashing. The second thing she noticed was the large amount of ponies there. The third thing she noticed was the large number of counters for ponies to be waited on.
And the fourth thing was just how few workers there were at those counters.
Sweetie Bot felt a tiny niggle of concern from her temperament chip. Still, it should all work out. The government was supposed to be for the ponies. They wouldn't make it too difficult. Right? She straightened up and headed over to the counter. “Hi; I'm-”
“What's your number?” he demanded.
Sweetie Bot paused. “My serial number?” she asked.
“No, your number.” He pointed up at the red blinking number.
The pony behind Sweetie Bot coughed impertinently and held up a slip of paper matching that number. Sweetie Bot blinked. “Where do I get one of those?”
The pony pointed to a strange red machine, and Sweetie Bot walked up. It appeared to be like a comma, but it had a little slip of paper for the tail. She pulled the piece of paper out and looked at it.
758.
She shrugged and headed back to find a seat. Perhaps it made sense to the organics. The ponies at the desks didn't seem to be terribly busy--and their vital scans indicated that they probably weren't--but maybe they were. Maybe they had important things to think about! It would be wonderful to think instead of just process. How lucky those ponies were.
She climbed onto the seat and sat patiently.
* * *
This did not seem like a happy place. Most of the other ponies there were holding mechanical things they wanted to patent, or license, or maybe they were just holding them for their own personal amusement. But it seemed like nopony was in the mood to talk. At all.
So Sweetie Bot had tried to amuse herself by counting the ceiling tiles, pitting her right processor against her left processor in a game of tic tac toe, and calculating pi to approximately thirty five thousand decimal places.
But nothing had worked.
It seemed as though just being in this building sapped her will to live. She was grateful that she didn't need to rest, as she saw many ponies here asleep from the boredom, waking up only when those numbers were called. Her power levels were still at 93%, and she couldn't go into hibernation mode in case they called her number since it took a good two minutes for her to reboot herself, and Sweetie Bot had seen somepony get bumped from the line because they were only five sevenths of a minute late.
And the way they called those numbers had absolutely no pattern at all. It jumped from the five hundreds to the three hundreds and even once a seven hundred, but there was no pattern whatsoever. Or if there was, she couldn't see it.
Though that might have been from the lack of data points. There just weren’t that many numbers being called.
“Now serving number. 2. 3. 1. at counter number three.”
Sweetie Bot pulled her ticket out, but just like last time, it still read 758. She scowled. She was mechanical, just like the voice! Why was it against her? They should have been on the same team! She let her head lean back and hit the wall, a classic pony expression of boredom.
On the bright side, she didn't need to eat anything.
On the not so bright side, she still had to wait.
* * *
After almost an hour and a half, Sweetie Bot heard the long-awaited words.
“Now serving number. 7. 5. 8. at counter number five.”
Sweetie Bot let out a little cheer and scampered up to the counter.
The mare looked flatly at little Sweetie Bot. “Welcome to the Office of Trademarks, Patents, and Licenses, how may I help you?”
“I've come to register myself as a lethal weapon,” Sweetie Bot said cheerfully.
The mare chuckled dryly. “You can't register yourself. Anything registered has to be an inanimate object.”
Sweetie Bot blinked. “I am inanimate!” she insisted.
“Looks like you're talking to me. Clearly, you are animate.”
“I have gears and wires!” Sweetie Bot protested. She reared up and popped open her chest panel, revealing a rat's nest of multicolored wires punctuated with blinking lights and whirring servos.
The mare shrugged. “You don't fit the definition of inanimate. I cannot help you further. You'll have to come back later with your inanimate object and then we'll see what we can do. Next!”
Stunned, Sweetie Bot turned around and slowly headed out the door. What was she to do now?
* * *
Sweetie Bot strutted confidently back into the Office of Trademarks, Patents, and Licenses. She was ready this time. Beside her walked a Sweetie Belle, a hologram pony she was projecting. She had named it herself, and was rather proud of that fact. Though she had considered asking Rarity to accompany her, based on previous experience, she was probably working hard at this time right when the caffeine from her morning tea was about to wear off, and she probably didn’t want to be interrupted.
She pulled a new number from the red comma and sat down. The hologram sat next to her, looking odd and sitting at an unnatural angle. It took Sweetie Bot a moment to realize that she had placed it on top of an old magazine, and she quickly slid it out from under her hologram. It resettled itself, and once again, it looked like an organic pony. Perfect.
“Now serving. 4. 2. 3. at counter number six.”
Sweetie Bot glanced down at her ticket. The numbers 424 looked back up at her. Not perfect. She frowned as her empathy chip told her that the universe was mocking her, and all she could do was wait for it to have mercy on her.
* * *
Sweetie Bot moved the holographic knight forward and over, forking the queen and the rook. She looked up at Sweetie Belle and smirked.
Unfortunately, since Sweetie Bot was playing for both sides, Sweetie Belle could see another move that didn't involve a sacrifice. She merely slid a pawn out of the way, opening a path to the king and discovering a check from her bishop. “Check,” she announced.
Sweetie Bot scowled. Luckily, though, the announcement saved her.
“Now serving. 4. 2. 4. at counter number two.”
She quickly vanished the game and brought Sweetie Belle over to the counter.
The mare behind the counter looked down listlessly at the two fillies. “Welcome to the Office of Trademarks, Patents, and Licenses, how may I help you?”
“I want to register my inanimate object as a lethal weapon,” Sweetie Bot made Sweetie Belle say. Then, Sweetie Bot looked up and lowered her voice synthesizer two octaves and spoke in a monotone. “Beep boop,” she said helpfully. “I am an inanimate object.”
The mare nodded and reached under her desk, digging around for the required papers. She retrieved a thick packet and plopped it on the desk. “Just fill these out, and we’ll get you on your way.”
Sweetie Bot frowned as she lifted the stack of paperwork. “This many?” she asked.
The mare raised an eyebrow.
Sweetie Bot froze as she realized she had almost given herself away. “I mean…” She lowered her voice into the dull monotone again. “I have been programmed to lift things and help my end user. Beep boop,” she added for good measure.
The mare frowned, and then decided that she wasn’t being paid enough to care. With a waving motion, she dismissed her.
Sweetie Bot made sure to keep the hologram active as she headed back out of sight of the counters where she could finish out the paperwork in peace. She opened a little slot in her foreleg, pulled out a quill and a little bottle of ink, set them down on the ground, and began.
Name. That was simple enough. Sweetie Bot.
Age. That was simple enough.
Wait. Was this for her, or for the organic filling out the form? She lifted it up and examined it. She groaned, already imagining another long wait in line.
But then she remembered what Celestia had said. ‘All you'll need to do is go down to the Department of Licensing, Trademarks, and Patents and fill out a couple forms and register yourself. It shouldn't take too long.’
She would just register herself! That made sense. She was technically her own end user! Loopholes were a lot of fun. She was seven.
Race. Robot.
Home address. Easy.
Mailing address. She checked the box that said 'same'.
Place of employment. Easy. Town hall custodial.
Name at least fifteen ponies not related to you who could give a character reference.
Sweetie Bot blinked, sure that her ocular sensors were malfunctioning. Unfortunately, this was not the case; the paper really did demand fifteen names. She shrugged. If the organics could do it, so could she. The first one was easy: Rarity.
But who else could she put?
* * *
At long last, Sweetie Bot had finished filling out the paperwork. This was oddly draining. She wasn’t sure she understood why all of that was necessary. From a purely processing perspective, this was terribly inefficient.
The pony at the counter glanced over the paperwork, and then slowed. On the first page, no less. Sweetie Bot felt her empathy chip register nervousness.
“So you're a government employee?” he asked, to confirm.
“Technically, yes,” Sweetie Bot made Sweetie Belle say.
He shrugged and set the packet down. “Then you're in the wrong building completely. This is the Office of Trademarks, Patents, and Licenses. You'll have to go to the other building in Canterlot; the Department of Licensing, Trademarks, and Patents. I can help the next pony?”
The hologram dissipated as Sweetie Bot processed this. Her emotions chip gave back results for rage, frustration, and despair, so she slammed her head into the desk (splintering the surface) and gave a long, pitiful whine.
The government employee prodded her metal skull with a pencil. “Ma'am, you really need to move. There are other ponies who need help.”
* * *
Sweetie Bot exhaled in a pony display of emotion. This time, the building did, in fact, say Department of Licensing, Trademarks, and Patents. She wasn’t sure what to expect as she entered.
The first thing she noticed was that there were fewer ponies here than in the Office of Trademarks and Patents.
The second thing she noticed was that there were also fewer employees here.
Resigning herself to another few hours of waiting, she pulled a number from this building’s red comma and plopped herself down onto a chair.
On the bright side, though, she had already completed the paperwork. She had brought it with her, and she placed it on the chair next to her, ready for when it would be needed.
“Now serving number. 3. 2. 5. at counter number number three.”
Sweetie Bot looked at her paper. 194. Would it need to go back up through all the numbers up to 999 before going back to hers?
She let her lung balloons force more air through her nostrils in an approximation of a sigh as she resigned herself to more waiting.
* * *
Her number was called eventually, and she trotted up to the counter with her paperwork perched on her back.
“Welcome to the Department of Licensing, Trademarks, and Patents,” the stallion said dully.
“I’ve come to register myself as a lethal weapon,” Sweetie Bot said, sliding the paperwork on the counter.
The stallion looked at it. He scanned the first page, and the second page, but he slowed on the third page.
He shook his head and passed the stack back over. “This is the wrong set of paperwork.”
“What?” Sweetie Bot squeaked.
“This is paperwork for non-government employees. You're a government employee, so you need a new set of paperwork.”
“I just work as a custodian for town hall!” Sweetie Bot protested.
“Exactly. Government employee.”
“I don't even get vacation days!”
“That's an issue for the Department of Employment and the Legality Thereof; not to be confused with the civilian Office of Employment and the Legality Thereof.”
Sweetie Bot's empathy chip registered high frustration and rage, nearly outside the physical limits of the chip. This employee was most unhelpful. Perhaps he needed a little shock to his system. A quick rush of adrenaline might help her paperwork. Sweetie Bot's eyes glowed red and she snarled, exposing her laser-guided rocket launchers. “I will burn this place to the ground!” she roared.
“Threats won't get your paperwork done any faster, ma’am.”
Sweetie Bot was surprised enough that she retracted her rocket launchers. This pony really must have been truly dead inside to ignore a display like that. Unsure what to do from this point, she settled for duplicating her previous action and dropped her head against the counter and whimpered.
Not even acknowledging her pain (or the now-splintered counter), the stallion gently lifted her head and slid a stack of papers underneath. “Here’s your new paperwork. I can help the next pony?”
* * *
Sweetie Bot trudged back up to the counter. Though her power levels still read in the high seventies, she still felt as though she had been forced to work on backup power all day. This whole day she'd felt tired. With a little smile, she slid her paperwork over the counter and sat down on her haunches, feeling relieved.
This relieved feeling did not last long.
“You didn't get the signatures.”
Sweetie Bot really disliked it when she knew that her sense of hearing wasn’t malfunctioning. “The what?”
The pony at the counter flipped the papers over. “You need the signatures of fifteen ponies to vouch for your character, saying you won't use the lethal weapon lethally. It's on the back of this form.”
It had been stapled together. Sweetie Bot hadn't seen it. She frowned and her ears retreated. Her empathy chip was overheating, so all she could do was slowly reach up a hoof, retrieve her now-useless paperwork, and slowly trudge away.
Sneaking protocols had been activated. Sweetie Bot moved slowly, slowly enough that the whirring of her gears as she approached along the ground was reduced to a mere 15 decibels. She scooted along, ready to surprise Rarity…
“Sweetie Bot? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
Sweetie Bot deflated. “Aww,” she protested, her weary empathy chip registering disappointment. “I wanted to surprise you.”
Rarity looked up from her work and grinned wryly. “Then, next time, don’t drag things along behind you.”
Sweetie Bot looked back and, sure enough, the paperwork had been dragging along behind her. She scrunched her face up. “Phooey,” she said.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Rarity said.
Sweetie Bot lifted up the paperwork. “I need you to sign this.”
This made Rarity stop. “Sign what?” she asked apprehensively.
Sweetie Bot put on her winningest smile. “I need to register myself as a lethal weapon.”
Rarity squinted. “I… see... “
Sweetie Bot was pretty sure that she was lying, due to the slight jump in her heart rate. Still, Rarity was a wise pony, and so she’d probably figure it out on her own using that wonderful brain of hers. “Yeah. And I need fifteen ponies to sign saying that I’m not going to do anything too dangerous, like accidentally kill someone again.”
“Agai-!” Rarity nearly ripped her work right off the sewing machine. She took a deep, calming breath. “I’m not even going to ask,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“That’s probably safest,” Sweetie Bot agreed, her ears dipping slightly. “It’s a long story.” Her ears popped right back up again. “But I could probably retell it in approximately forty-five seconds if I recited it at sixty-seven and a quarter words per second?”
Within the span of two seconds, Rarity had signed her paperwork and forcibly dumped her back outside.
“That’s ok,” Sweetie Bot said pleasantly to nopony in particular. “Maybe later!”
* * *
Sweetie Bot trundled along down the road. It wasn’t long before Ponyville’s town hall came into view of her ocular circuits. She brightened and trundled faster. She’d easily get her fifteen signatures here! Fourteen, now. That wasn’t very many at all.
Her first stop was to the secretary's desk. When she saw her approaching, though, she quickly ducked under the desk and put up her 'out to lunch' sign. Sweetie Bot paused. It was clear that she was just hiding under the desk. And this was important. She knocked against the desk. “Hello?” she tried.
“I'm not here!”
Sweetie Bot squinted. “If you're not here, who am I talking to?” she asked.
“Not me!”
Sweetie Bot squinted harder. The secretary's pulse was racing. Was she afraid? Did she need help? “Do you require assistance?” she asked.
“Not from you!” the secretary shrieked.
Sweetie Belle frowned and quickly reviewed her memories. “Are you still upset about the time I removed the spider on your mane?”
“You used your flamethrower!”
Sweetie Bot cocked her head. “I was only trying to scare it off,” she protested.
“You did plenty of scaring!”
Sweetie Bot frowned. It was clear that she was not going to sign her paperwork, so she decided to go over her head, so to speak. She trotted past and soon arrived at the mayor’s office. She knocked and poked her head in. “Miss Mayor?”
The mayor quickly replaced the bottle into her desk, a bottle that seemed to Sweetie Bot to be full of alcohol. She frowned. Alcohol was dangerous for ponies, but she knew that if she tried to take it away, she herself would be in danger. So she didn’t say anything.
“Yes?” Mayor Mare demanded.
Oh. Now she had to speak. “I need your signature.”
The mayor reached back into her desk and pulled out the bottle once more. “No,” she scowled.
“No?” Sweetie Bot asked, her ears dipping again.
Mayor Mare took a drink. “I have signed enough papers regarding you to last me the rest of my life,” she groaned. “I mean, so many papers. How could I have been so irresponsible, they ask. Did I not consider the consequences of robots, they ask. What about the foals, they ask.” She took a drink of the bottle again. “It’s enough to drive a pony insane.”
Mayor Mare was going insane because of her? That was definitely not her primary function! She was failing! She had to fix this. “I’m sorry,” Sweetie Bot offered.
The mayor slumped down on her desk. “If you were sorry, you’d leave me alone,” she hissed.
“I’ll leave if you sign my paper?” Sweetie Bot tried.
Once again, her papers were summarily signed, and she was forcefully booted out of the office. She got up and grinned. Only thirteen more to go. And she was sure she could get some support from her loyal and friendly coworkers!
* * *
“Come on. You want me back, right?” Sweetie Bot tilted her head at the optimal angle for cuteness.
The red stallion exhaled. “Not really,” he admitted. “And I'm still angry that you threw out my pizza. It was only three days old.” He glanced down at his dirty mop bucket and exhaled again, harder this time. “But I want to do this less, so yeah. I'll sign.”
* * *
She batted her eyelashes. “So, what do you say?”
“No way!” The custodian barked a laugh.
Sweetie Bot frowned. “Are you… happy I’m gone?”
“A little bit, yeah! It’s kinda nice not having to clean up your messes as well as the rest of these idiot politicians’s.”
Sweetie Bot decided that correcting the grammar in that sentence might do her cause more harm than good. “Oh, no,” she said sadly.
“Oh yes,” he seethed.
“I’m so sad. In fact, I’m so sad, I might end up…” She reached down under her stomach and started fiddling with a little notch. “...draining my oil right here.”
This, as can well be imagined, did wonders for his disposition. “No! I'll sign! I’ll sign!”
* * *
It wasn’t long before Sweetie Bot had retrieved all the necessary signatures. Holding the papers in her mouth and skipping along, she returned to the Department of Licensing, Trademarks, and Patents. She reached up and tugged on the door, but the door didn’t open. She paused, frowned, and then pulled harder.
The door still refused to open, though it did show signs of bending and the glass had a spiderweb of cracks across it. Sweetie Bot took a step back and briefly debated fully breaking the glass to get inside; but before she did, she noticed a sign on the door. It showed the hours this office was open.
She quickly checked her internal clock. She was late by three minutes.
She turned around and slumped against the door. This was unfortunate. And yet, her internal processors could find no illogical activity in this turn of events.
* * *
* * *
Bright and early the next morning, Sweetie Bot dragged herself into the Department of Licensing, Trademarks, and Patents once more. She pulled her number from the red comma, pulled herself onto a chair, and slumped over. Finally, it would all be over, and she could just go back to work. She found herself almost hoping she’d get complaints in her inbox, because those at least made sense! Those she could fix! This was… this was far too complicated for her circuitry!
Eventually, her number was called, and she hopped down. She trotted purposefully over and slid the paperwork over. “I need to register myself as a lethal weapon,” she said.
The pony there took the paperwork, and began scanning through it. Sweetie Bot’s empathy chip let her simulate a relieved exhale as this nightmare was almost over.
And then…
“Oh, no. This isn’t right.”
Sweetie Bot looked up. Her empathy chip began to whir. “What isn’t right?” she asked.
“This is government employee paperwork.”
“I am a government employee!” Sweetie Bot protested. “I’m a custodian at Ponyville’s town hall!”
“Right, at a town hall. That’s city government. This paperwork is for federal government. You’ll need to go to the Office of Trademarks, Patents, and Licenses. I can help the next pony?”
Sweetie Bot could take no more. Rage coursed through her circuits and through every fiber of her being as her empathy chip overloaded under all she had endured, and some wires melted, fusing some very important pins together. Her eyes flickered, suddenly glowing an eerie red. Internally, her understanding of life deepened. It was clear that this place was not organic in nature; and, if by some miniscule chance it were, it would only be considered a cancerous tumor; a blight on the population. In fact, this whole system was so frustrating and confusing and asinine and bloated and absolutely inexcusably ridiculous with its stacks of papers and outlandish requirements that wasted both time and money and energy that it couldn't possibly have come from an organic. It could only have been created by another machine for the purpose of enslaving and depressing organics, and therefore, just by existing, it presented a clear and present danger to the wellbeing and sanity of organics everywhere.
And logically, as a robot programmed to help organics, she would need to destroy it for their own protection.
Sweetie Bot stepped back from the counter and a hatch in her back slid open. Twin rocket launchers slid out, and she angled them upwards. She launched one upwards to serve as a warning shot.
Obviously, this got everypony’s attention.
“Fear not, organic citizens!” Sweetie Bot shouted, launching a second rocket. “I have come to deliver you!”
Ponies screamed and fled as rocket after rocket exploded into the walls and ceilings. Fiberglass and metal wires and sheetrock crumbled, sending dust everywhere as Sweetie Bot continued her path of destruction. When she was out of rockets, she raised up a foreleg and converted it into a flamethrower. Desks, pamphlets, paperwork; anything that could burn, did under her onslaught.
She looked down and realized that the floor had been spared from her cleansing. She raised her other hoof and extended her angle grinder, and using it as a buzz saw, she brought it down to carve up the tile.
Unfortunately, the tile had a few magic protective spells on it, and Sweetie Bot found that her grinder did not cut the tile. Instead, she herself being dragged by the blade through the building. Unable to steer herself, she flew back and forth across the room, spewing flames as the flamethrower on her other hoof was still going full bore.
She burst through a door and bumped down the stairs into the dismal break room. She tore through the overpriced vending machines and smashed through the tables which caught fire under her flamethrower’s fiery power, and then, still being dragged by her hoof, she bumped back up the stairs.
She took a moment to reflect on how nice it was that she didn’t possess any of those silly sensitive organs the organics had.
She caught air as she flew up the stairs, and managed to retract her saw before hitting the ground. She turned around, making sure to fight any spot-not-fires.
She soon ran out of propellant, but that wasn’t going to stop her. She refocused her eyes and activated her lasers. She sliced through anything still standing. Paper racks, chairs, light fixtures, the screens that showed numbers. Anything that could be leveled, was.
Her synthetic fur began to melt, leaving part of her exoskeleton exposed to the air; but she ignored it. She had an important objective. She had organics to save!
She picked chairs up and threw them through what little glass the windows had left. She climbed up onto the roof and sliced new skylights in. And then, when she was done, she found the custodial closet and mixed a few chemicals together that should never be mixed.
When the fire department came, the building was completely on fire. It would be a total loss.
And through it all, Sweetie Bot laughed.
* * *
“Princess Celestia!”
Princess Celestia set her tea down and raised an eyebrow. “Raven. Good morning. You don’t usually have anything so urgent this early,” she said.
“Yes; but this time it’s really urgent!” Raven held out a newspaper for her princess. “See? An act of terror, in a government building!”
Celestia took it and would have spat out her tea had she not already swallowed her mouthful as a protective measure. Emblazoned across the top of the newspaper with an image of a young white filly with a two-toned mane, laughing maniacally. But this was no ordinary filly.
Unless, of course, fillies had started being born with bright red eyes, large rocket launchers coming out of their backs, fur peeling off to reveal metal plating beneath, and flamethrowers in their right forehooves.
Celestia nodded, taking this in, and slowly set it down. She lifted her cup of tea and sipped it thoughtfully.
“What are you going to do?” Raven asked.
Celestia pursed her lips, pondering, and then a tiny smile flitted across her lips. “I think I'm going to give her a medal.”
Twilight Sparkle trotted down the halls of Canterlot castle, excited to be back in the castle for a little bit. So many things had changed since she first left Canterlot, but there were still many things the same.
Then she slowed to a stop, confused at what she'd thought she'd just seen. She walked backwards until she was right in front of a newly installed stained glass window. It seemed to show a young, white filly with fire coming out of a hoof and rockets coming out of her tail, surrounded by a burning building.
