Equestria is gone. Canterlot, Manehattan, Ponyville. All nothing more than piles of rubble. Join Relic, an artificial pony, as he travels across unknown territory to return a lost artifact to an equally lost princess.
Equestria is gone. Canterlot, Manehattan, Ponyville. All nothing more than piles of rubble.
Relic is not a pony.
He is an FF-7 unit, a synthetic pony built hundreds of years ago and modified to scavenge the Ruins of Canterlot for scraps and supplies. One day, he finds a mysterious, red, lightning bolt-shaped gem; triggering the adventure of a lifetime. While battling monsters and maniacs, Relic experiences changes in himself that he never before thought possible.
~CONTRIBUTE TO THE WORLD-BUILDING!~ Every OC featured in the story will be credited in the afterword! Be sure to leave a description of your OC in the official idea page! ALSO LOOKING FOR EDITORS AND PRE-READERS. Editors and Pre-Readers will be credited in the participated chapter's author note. Send me a PM if you are interested.
This is NOT a Fallout: Equestria side story. However, if it suits your fancy, feel free to believe so. But this is not FoE related, and any similarities are merely accidental or simply references. Rated Teen for violence and sexual references. Gore tag for blood and... well... gore.
"I do agree, Flim! And you want to know what's up to the mane with opportunity, my brother?"
*static*
"...at's that, Flam?"
"Putting brand-spankin'-new technology in every home in Equestria! Doesn't that just smell of opportunity? Imagine it, folks! A world where ponies are free from work, war, disharmony! All that and more, right in your hooves! I strongly encourage investors to take stock in our amazing new array of products, just so we can help make the world a better place. Even Princess Twilight approves!"
"Well by golly, Flam! What else could we possibly do to help bring this incredible vision to justice?"
"With our new FF-7 models, only available here at Flim-Flam Tech! A direct upgrade from last year's FF-6s; they can..."
*static*
"...and fully repurposed to meet your everyday needs. All the help you could possibly want, at the push of a button! Limited supplies only, folks. So pick yours up today!"
*static*
"Well you've got op-por-tun-it-y in this very com-mun-it-y! He's Flim! He's Flam! Making the world a better place! Place! Place! Pla-"
*static*
The ancient recording stops, having been repeating itself for eons. Nopony had been listening to it since the cataclysm; nopony had been around to listen. Not for thousands of years.
It's strange how certain things can turn out. How certain things may not be answered.
However, it's not always about the answers; it's about asking the right questions. But to find these, we have to go on a voyage.
It’s all you’ll ever see out here; from horizon to horizon, just empty, dark skies. In the air, you can literally feel the darkness, generations of pain and misfortune collected into something more sickly and gross than any menacing creature from the Everfree. On the ground, there are crumbling towers and piles of rock where proud castles and mansions once stood. You could almost see into the past, gaze into the eyes of merry upperclass ponies, prancing along the streets with their synthetic organs and cybernetic companions, almost completely unaware that their world was almost at an end.
Poor ponies. The apocalypse claimed roughly eighty percent of Equestria’s population, and rendered about half of its land infertile and barren. Nopony really remembers what exactly destroyed everything. Most ponies just know that it happened. That one day, everything was happy and colorful and full of songs, life, and the pleasures of modern technology. The next day, cold, dark wastelands where every other second was spent looking over your shoulder to make sure nothing was out there to rip you to shreds.
If you’re a pony, of course.
I am not a pony.
I am a FF-7 unit, designed to help care for families and maintain a household. I was instead modified into what they call a scavenger; somepony who risks their life just to go into the Ruins to obtain necessities like non-perishables, water, metal scraps, and more. That occupation suits me fine, as my charges need supplies and I myself require magic; which only they can supply. It’s business. I make sure they have trinkets and water to trade to others, and they make sure I remain in operation.
Even if I am, what they so kindly refer to me as, ‘a damned synthetic’. I do not mind, because that is exactly what I am. I am a robot, a synthetic, an equoid. All of those thing can accurately describe me.
And I, the synthetic, am currently digging through the remnants of some estate. The walls of it had collapsed long ago, back when the city was destroyed by some unstoppable force. I believe this city’s name had once been ‘Canterlot’. Although I may be wrong, seeing how I was not yet activated when it was wiped off the maps. Maybe it had been ‘Cantertrot’.
My metal forehooves are flipped and I am balanced precariously on my hindlegs, carefully digging into an unstable pile of stones. Usually, one can find old cloth or maybe even some jewelry from these sorts of mansions. Not that anypony in this cold land wears jewelry, no. They are used to create amulets and to power locomotive engines. They could even power an automation like myself, if only I knew how to utilize them in that way. My charges made it an effort that I should never fully learn how.
I shovel several more scoops of waste. My ocular sensors (eyes, for those of you unaware of proper cybernetic terminology) spotted something that I quickly identified as silk. How peculiar. I merrily pocket my finding, a full dress made from the shimmering substance. Silk may not be useful as an article of clothing, but I could still convert it into strips which could in turn be made into a strong rope. From my brazen torso comes a radar, a boxlike apparatus that could easily detect anymore buried treasures. It unfortunately remains quiet. It looks like today may end up being a slow day.
There is a rustling behind me, which is loud enough that it disturbs my radar as it retracts into my armored body. I turn to face whatever it is that is behind me while my hooves reconvert into what is more suitable for walking, but I see nor sense nothing out of the ordinary. It was possibly just a squirrel. Or maybe a bird. I turn on the lights in my ocular sensors, casting a bright illumination across what remained of tall supporting pillars.
“Hello?” I call. My voice echoes off stone and assorted garbage.
Nopony replies.
“I mean no harm. My name is Relic, I am a scavenger. I can help you, if you should require it.”
Again, I received no reply. However, this time I could detect the sound of something sniffling. I easily identified the noise as that of something crying. Not that was so moronic that I would blunder off to help what could possibly be a mimicry created by some sort of monster, but rather so I could possibly locate the source of the commotion.
“I will be approaching you know. As a precaution, I am to inform you that I am heavily armed.”
That was a lie. My only weapons were my hooves, which doubled as shovels, and the taser built into my chest. I had never actually utilized this minor weapon. Mostly because it was inoperable. Partially because my charges forbid me from ever using it on a pony.
I slowly began my approach, having located the sniffling behind a fallen roof. My motors make loud whirring sounds as I step across the uneven terrain. This place, having been constructed on a mountain, was not the best place for one to kick into a trot. So I remained at my steady pace. The soft crying was getting more clear as I grew nearer. Finally, I was so close that I could almost assume that the crying was coming from the roof itself. Instead, I assumed that it came from beneath the roof, rather than behind it.
“Mister or missus, do not be alarmed. I shall free you.”
Once again, I balance myself on my hindlegs and flattened my forehooves into shovels. This would be quite the heavy weight. I slid the flattened shovels into the underside of the roof fragment and raised my legs. The heavy load groaned as my motors whined and complained. The large red slab rose from the ground, and I directed my lights into the small hole below it.
There, right in the middle of where the roof had been, was a synthetic. A small FF-7a, one of the many prototype models developed by Flim-Flam Tech to simulate the daily functions of a foal. This one had been made into a colt format, deductible from its flat snout and rebellious manestyle. The FF-7a peered up at me with rather oversized eyes. It’s gritty bronze exterior matched my own. Which made sense, considering that we were of the same model.
“P-Papa?”
I shoved away the clump of roofing. After reconverting back from my digging form, I studied the FF-7a. He was about a third the size of me, and probably weighed about a tenth of what I did. He stood up on his rump and stuck out his forelegs.
“Papa?” It repeated, its wide eyes full of gratitude.
“Quite the contrary.” I replied as I stood over it.
Then I smashed its head in with a hoof.
It wasn’t unlike crushing a tin can, except the components in this can were far more valuable that whatever food was within any others. And behold, spare parts galore! I could see several forageable radio-emitters, not to mention those oversized ocular sensors. I wouldn’t be able to use those myself, as my sockets were far too small for them to possibly fit. I could, however, sell them to some other poor FF unit. FF-5s and FF-4s had larger sensors to fit their larger bodies, if I could recall correctly.
Pleased that my rescue had resulted in the salvaging of such useful parts and even the scraps from the robot’s weak armor, I began to make my way out of the Ruins. I had no need to remain in this place. No more than something as weak and unproductive as a FF-7a needed to remain in operation.
That was life in the Ruins. If you’re weak, you die. And by dying, you can possibly help those who are stronger than you. Nopony wanted to take care of a FF-7a, a machine built specifically to be taken care of. It would just be a waste of time and resources. It’d be better to decommission the FF-7a mercifully rather than letting it continue to call out to its mother, who was probably dead and had been for eons.
“A PRETTY LITTLE PRINCESS DRESS AND A FUCKIN’ BUSTED-OFF SEVEN A?! ARE YOU PULLIN’ MY LEGS?!”
I had returned to the home of my charges, two Earth ponies and a Unicorn. Two stallions and a mare, naturally. And one of those stallions, a tall orange fellow named Lionheart, was currently yelling at me upon my return to the compound. The compound being a small collection of tents and a blocky merchant’s cart where we sold our various wares. I had returned more successful than my colleagues, Money Bag the colt and Garter the mare. But Lionheart still had the predisposition to scold me rather than the others.
“I FUCKIN’ PAY TO KEEP YOU ALIVE, YOU STUPID HUNK OF TIN! AND ALL YOU GIVE ME IS SOME STUPID DRESS AND A SEVEN A THAT WE CAN SELL FOR MAYBE FIFTY OR SIXTY BITS.” Lionheart screamed in my face, his own orange one going red with outrage.
“Excuse me, sir.” I interjected, before he could continue on his tirade.
His eyes bulged as a vein popped out of the side of his head, but he silenced himself with a few growls and snarls.
“What.”
“Well you see,” I explained, gesturing towards my goods that were unceremoniously scattered across the ground, “the dress is made of silk, sir. I can weave it into a rope, which is far stronger than the one you are currently using. And FF-7a parts are usable in FF-4 and above, so FF-7a parts are more valuable than FF-7 parts. The overall price for a full FF-7a is fifty hundred or sixty hundred bits, to be more precise.”
Money Bag and Garter looked from me to Lionheart. Money Bag’s face indicated that he was very excited for whatever was to come next. Garter, on the other hoof, was worried about something. I was unsure what of, because Lionheart did raise his voice a lot with me, but he never actually carried out on any of his threats to deplete my battery fully.
“Relic.” Lionheart growled.
“Yes, sir?”
“What have I told you about interrupting me?”
“I did not interrupt you, sir,” I corrected, “I made sure to wait for you to finish before I replied.”
Lionheart went silent. All his growling and various sounds of annoyance ceased, leaving only the shocked gasps of Money Bag and Garter beside me. I chose to ignore them. Whatever it was that they were worked up about could wait. Lionheart had priority over them at the moment.
“You’re lucky I don’t rip your bloody head off.” Lionheart whispered. And with an angry huff, he stormed away. Money Bag let out a groan and left as well, obviously upset that Lionheart had not ripped my head off then and there. Garter chose to stay behind, and tapped my shoulder with a hoof.
“Relic?” Garter whispered, her bright golden mane falling into her eyes.
“Yes, Garter?”
“You know Lion’s serious this time. He really will kill you if you screw up again.”
That statement confused me greatly. It made little sense considering how I did far better scavenging that day than she and Money Bag combined. I made my observation known to her.
“I know, Relic. I know. Trust me. You’re the best scavenger on the team. But Lionheart… He hates synths, you know that. He’d be happy to pop a few spells up your ass if you don’t watch out.” Garter’s forest green coat bristled in irritation. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but you have to humble yourself around him. One more smart comment and it’s over for you, Relic.”
She too turned and began to walk away, her flank swaying with every step. On it was a coiled snake, befitting her name. It was in that moment that finally, after knowing these ponies for years, that I realized something peculiar. Lionheart’s cutie mark was that of heart surrounded by a mane. Money Bag’s was literally a bag of money. And Garter was, of course, a garter snake. Did all ponies have cutie marks identical to their names? It confused me greatly.
Unsurprisingly, I was bemusing over these thoughts for so long that several hours passed before I finally realized that I had to make better use of my time. Gathering up my wares, I prepared myself for the other half of my work day: the utilization of my findings. The dress was easy. Thanks to my micro-measurement programming (the program itself from a disk drive that Garter gave to me some time ago), I easily sliced the dress into hundreds of centimeter-thick strands that soon joined together to form the first few braids of a rope.
The smashed FF-7a was more troublesome. It had been trapped under that rooftop for an unsightly number of years, and that really took its toll on the small synthetic’s body. It’s exoskeleton, like a smaller and thinner version of my own, was rusted beyond repair. The occasional acidic rain had worn it away so that even the metal spine was unsalvageable. The circuitry and memory banks were magically protected, but synths never used replacements of those, seeing that they contained the memories of the previous user. That was worthless. The copper wiring and the ocular sensors could be easily sold to anypony with an FF unit.
I felt no remorse as I gutted the foal-like FF-7a. I never felt remorse. In fact, I had no idea what the word even meant before Garter explained it to me after I snapped the neck of an unruly customer. It wasn’t my fault that a drunken stallion had come barging in and tried to mount her. It was the drunk’s. But even Garter told me that I couldn’t just kill ponies, that it was wrong.
Not that I saw anything wrong with it. Just like how it wasn’t wrong to kill the FF-7a. That is what life was like out here. The weak are destroyed, the strong ones profit. Or, as I once heard Money Bag put it:
“Out here in the Ruins, it’s eat or be eaten.”
The rest of my day was spent assisting Money Bag with sales.
We had made our camp only a few minutes’ walk away from a small settlement called Little Hoofington. Where Big Hoofington was, I am not sure. All I know is that the Little version is, understandably, little. There were only about one thousand ponies still living in the Ruins. And roughly a quarter of them resided in Hoofington, which me and my charges took as a sign that this was the best place for business.
As always, Money Bag and I started business by pulling the wagon full of junk into the small town. Or rather, I pulled the heavy load while Money Bag trotted far ahead, making sure to get a few good pick-up lines in with the pretty mares of Hoofington. I really wished he wouldn’t do that. The last time we came into town together, he flirted with the wrong filly and ended up with a mouthful of teeth kicked in and two black eyes. It would have been far worse had I not used my forbidden taser to bring down the overactive mare.
“How ya doin’, good lookin’?” I heard Money Bag drawl as I caught up to him.
As usual, he was talking to a mare wearing some sort of bonnet and a satchel across her side. She looking incredibly disinterested in anything that Money Bag had to say.
“Aw c’mon, filly! Don’cha wanna at least say hello?”
“Money Bag,” I interrupted, “you may find it beneficial to leave her alone.”
“Oh yeah, Relic?” Money Bag whirled around and shot me a stink eye. “Is tha’ a threat?”
“No. It is a guarantee.”
Money Bag laughed out loud, turning once more to speak sickeningly, sappy, sweet nothings into the poor mare’s ear. Instead, his mouth was met by the mare’s hoof as it slapped him across the face. Money Bag looked horrified.
“You should learn to listen to your synth.” The mare growled. “He’s got twice the brains you have.”
The mare nodded at me and cast one final glare at Money Bag, who’s brown face was getting redder by the minute. Whether by embarrassment or by injury, I was not sure. Of course, even if it was an injury, it was not so severe as that he would be unable to perform any of his duties.
“What are you looking at?” Money Bag snapped as he met me up beside the wagon that I had just finished setting up.
“Your face is red.” I replied, answering truthfully.
“Yeah, well… Your face is ugly! And I ain’t starin’ at you all funny-like.”
“Very good.”
I finished organizing our various spare parts and scraps just as more merchants began to pile into the wide, open market square. This was a weekly occurrence, the gathering of various scavengers and farmers, seeking money and food in exchange for their various products and services. The Ruins themselves may be dead, but business goes on. Soon enough, the market is packed with wagons and stalls. Ponies, synthetics, and even a few griffons mill about the place, looking for deals. Money Bag takes the reigns, and starts to haggle with passerby.
“Get yer synth parts ‘ere! Get ‘em while they’re ‘ere! Cheapest parts in the Ruins!”
I look over Money Bag while he shouts to the crowd. His flaming red and sparkling white mane hardly matches his slight brown coat. But it’s an indication of what he claimed so frequently; that he was the descendant of Flim Skim, twin brother of Flam and one of the most successful entrepreneurs in history. In fact, the FF in my model number comes from Flim-Flam Tech, the corporation that created synths so long ago.
An FF-5b and a stallion trotted over. This was the first FF-5b I had seen in a long time. You see, the 5b models were modified FF-5s designed to look like mares. And even have the sexual properties of a mare. Yes, FF-5bs were prostitutes, in every meaning of the word. It made sense to have sex synths. Synths can’t get pregnant, they don’t carry diseases, and they can do anything that a traditional pony mare could do. Some FF-5bs came with heated power-cores that generated artificial body heat to make them seem more lifelike.
“G’mornin’.” The stallion greeted.
“Well howdy!” Money Bag said with a toothy grin.
I nodded at the FF-5b, who returned my gesture warily. She had probably been programmed with something called the FluttersDrive, a sexual program to make FF-5bs meek and more shy. I never truly understood the kinks of ponies. Then again, I never understood the purpose of mating without reproducing either.
“What can I interest ya in, sir?” Money Bag said slyly.
“Well, I need a new system boot for this useless hunk of crap.” The stallion spat, giving the FF-5b a kick. She let out a noise of dislike. “Third time now she’s broken hers. We wake up every morning and I hafta manually turn her back on.”
“You are in luck, sir! Our own FF-7 just came across a FF-7a system boot! You can take it home today for as little as twenty bits!”
“Is that right?” The stallion asked, eyeing me with mild interest.
“Yes it is.” I answered. “Removed it from the 7a’s chassis myself. It is in prime condition.”
The stallion sauntered over to the parts placed accordingly on the wagon. He and Money Bag began to bargain, so I got myself out of their way and decided to start up a conversation with the FF-5b.
“Greetings.”
The FF-5b jumped slightly, even though she had seen me approach her.
“H-Hello.”
“I am Relic, FF-7. Do you have a name?”
“I’m Kitten. Nice to meet you, Relic.”
“Likewise.” I said, glancing over at Money Bag and the stallion. The two were laughing merrily, which made me think that Money Bag was planning on extorting far more than twenty bits from the poor unsuspecting stallion.
“Your charge is about to be scammed.” I pointed out.
“I know.” Kitten said with an electronic sigh. She brushed a delicate hoof through her artificial mane. “But master told me never to speak out of turn. Doesn’t you master act the same way?”
“No. I have no master; only charges. I have no need to take orders from anypony.”
“I wish it was like that for me.” Kitten commented dreamily. “How in Equestria did you manage to be free? Every other synth I’ve met was under orders from somepony else.”
“It’s a long story. And one I do not feel like telling the entirety of it.”
Kitten looked disappointed. Fortunately, I was spared from the whining of what was obviously a pampered synth when Money Bag called me over. I said my goodbye to the walking sextoy and trotted over to the two Earth pony stallions.
“How may I be of service?”
“Porter here is buyin’ the boot system for the twenty bits, plus he’s buying botha yer spare oculars. Says he likes the color. We were wondering what you wanted to sell them for. I said more like two hundred for the lot. He says half of that. Whaddaya think?”
I looked from the menacing stallion named Porter to my colleague. I was quite unsure of what was happening. Was Money Bag really offering me a chance to determine my price?
“I think we should meet midway. One hundred and fifty bits sounds fair enough. It was a difficult find.” I explained. Money Bag smiled and the stallion happily hoofed over several small bags of coins.
“Have a good day, sir! Come again!”
“Goodbye.”
Kitten waved to me as her charge pulled her along with him. I shook off the small feeling of guilt as I watched her leave. I know she lived a work-free and possibly carefree lifestyle, but I couldn’t help but realize how lucky I was to be free. I shuddered as I thought about what life might be like if I were a FF-5b instead of a FF-7. To have ponies literally walk all over me for their own pleasure.
To never have the opportunity to live life to its fullest.
The next day was not as profitable, unfortunately.
A dust storm had decided to come billowing through the Ruins, so Money Bag and Garter were unable to accompany me as I walked back into the rubble of some ancient monument. I was frequently alone as the three of us travelled into the more dangerous areas of the Ruins; but this was the first time I walked to our scavenging spot by myself. I understood why of course. The blindingly fast sands and debris from the storm would potentially give my comrades various illnesses and disorders.
Pitiful ponies. Oh so susceptible to their many woes, doles, and griefs. At least going out on my own spared me from more of Lionheart’s abuse. One of the many perks of being a synthetic was the fact that we FFs can’t be damaged by some as ordinary as flying garbage.
I scramble over to one of my favorite picking spots, the remnants of some sort of museum. Over two dozen marble pillars stand like monoliths across the vast piles of dark grey boulders. This place is the worst spot for finding anything besides forgotten artifacts and unusable FF-Prototype parts. I have come across several magical containers that proved to be very effective batteries. But that was a one time occurrence, and the probability of it happening again was minimal.
After removing my large satchels and saddle, I extended my radar and did a quick scan. As was expected, the approaching dust storm caused the detector to go haywire. I quickly retracted the device before I somehow damaged it. This dig, I was going in blind.
I revert into my digging phase, with flattened forelegs and balancing hindlegs. The hours pass by quickly, and before too long my battery was halfway depleted. This in itself was a bad thing, considering that I would have to make it home empty-hooved and running on low. I would need Lionheart (or preferably Garter) to refuel me with another amulet.
I reformed myself and gathered up my bags, which were just as empty as when I first came out here. Lionheart would be absolutely livid, but that was the least of my worries at the moment. I had to beat this storm before…
The ground shook beneath my hooves. Small alarms started to rocket across my processor.
“No. It can’t be here already.”
I turned slowly, just in time to see an absolutely colossal black cloud racing towards me. It was less of a small puff of fog and more of a wall of dust, so tall that I could barely tell where it ended and the sky began. It extended infinitely to the sides. I recalled a string of curse words that I learned from Money Bag and considered yelling them.
But it was too late for that, and the thick cloud slammed into me with enough force to knock me on my side. The wind whooshed over my body, and I felt grains of sand work their way beneath my armor and into my circuitry and veins of magic. Alarms continued to flash across my visor.
GYROSCOPE CALIBRATION LOST. COMPASS INOPERABLE. MOTOR MALFUNCTION.
I struggled to lift myself up against the brute force of the wind. I could barely see the ground, much less my own hooves. My battery power detectors began to malfunction along with everything else in my body. I had no way of telling how much energy I had left, and I had much less of an idea of where exactly I was. I tried walking forward, but the wind pushed me back once more with enough force that I went tumbling into a pillar.
The impact on the solid marble was strong enough that the stone itself cracked. I felt my own armor buckle from the damage, and I realized I was adding to my own problems. Now Lionheart would not only have to come fetch me when I drained my power, but he would also have to punch out any dents I placed in my futile attempts to escape the storm that I should have been paying attention to.
This was all my fault. I wouldn’t blame Lionheart for any anger he felt at my foolishness.
I was an idiot, possibly the stupidest synth in the Ruins. Stupider than Kitten, even. And Kitten probably only knew what positions made her partners happy and how to properly maintain herself. And I didn’t even know how to do that. I was-
Out of nowhere, my radar began to blip.
I extended my radar once more and listened closely to the blips among the static. There was something not even five meters away, buried under the rubble. It was a small something, barely the size of my own hoof. It was so small that my radar couldn’t even discern its actual shape. All it looked like to me was some sort of amorphous blob.
I could retrieve this mysterious object, but I had only a few ideas how. Option one; I could simply deactivate until the storm passes. Option two; I could dangerously crawl along the ground just so I could figure out what it was just before my battery went out.
Being the most logical of synths, I chose option two.
I lowered myself down to a crouched position and slowly and carefully made my way towards the blip. I kept my radar trained on the mystery object. I was risking my brass-colored flank for this junk, I wasn’t going to lose it in the static of the dust. My leg spasmed a few times, grains of dust attacking the delicate gears of my motors.
“Almost… There...” I whispered, my words instantly lost in the raging storm.
Suddenly, my battery detectors returned to working order, and it was shooting lines of text over my visor. Warning: Battery Life is less than two minutes. Refuel immediately.
No! I had to get to that scrap. Otherwise, I had wasted all this effort for naught.
Battery Life is less than one minute, forty-five seconds.
I flattened one hoof and began to feebly shovel away at the dirt. The object wasn’t too far below the ground, which was strange considering how often I checked this spot. I should have noticed it far sooner.
Battery Life is less than one minute.
I manage to unearth the mysterious something. Grabbing it in both of my hooves, I bring it closer to my face, trying to make out what exactly it was. What I saw was red, foremost. Like a burning fire, almost as bright as that of the sun. Then I could see a very, very distinctive shape. It was shaped like a lightning bolt, arcing across my hoof. I smile down at the little trinket. I had no idea why, I had no idea what. All I knew was that this had been an absolute waste of time.
Battery Life depleted. Good night.
Darkness.
Nothing but a pitch black. I know what this is, I had felt it several times before. My battery had run out. I was out of magical energy. Before long, I would not be able to even think. I would be basically dead, just another useless scrap of metal in the dusty wasteland we call the Ruins. But something is different.
Usually, I feel out of it. Whenever my battery depletes, I would feel a sudden wash of hopelessness and tire. But this time, even in this empty space, I felt something else.
I thought back to Garter and even Money Bag, both of which were probably worried out of their minds for me. I was trapped out here in the middle of a dust storm. Maybe even Lionheart was concerned. The thought of my charges… No. My friends. My only family out here. The thought of them feeling upset at my loss stirred something inside me. Something that I had never, ever honestly felt before.
Loyalty.
That was my family. Without me, they would have a difficult time scraping a living in the Ruins. Without me, Garter and Money Bag would be risking their lives going out into the heaps of rubble. Lionheart, with his harsh and aggressive personality, would feel the effects of my loss as well. He would be forced to watch the backs of the younger ones. He would have to risk his life as well, saving them from harm.
Lionheart. He was the one who initially found me. Alone in the middle of nowhere, stripped of everything beyond my chassis and my processors. Left out in the Ruins to die. He fixed me, made me whole again and allowed me to work under him. Not as a synthetic slave, but as a co-worker. As an employee, if you will.
Money Bag. As greedy and self-centered as he was, he was the pony who would explain how society works and how to properly interact with others. Without him, I would be completely unaware of how to make friends and how to talk to others without boring them.
And Garter. My best friend. The only one who called herself my friend. Sweet, caring, kind. She was everything that I could only hope to be.
Just then, something odd began to happen.
I was sure it was just some sort of hallucination caused by my depleted battery, but I started to see more ponies, ponies I could not recognize. Six of the to be exact, of all the colors of the spectrum. Orange, white, yellow, blue, pink, and purple. Before I could call out to these ghosts, they all vanished save for the blue one.
I saw that blue pegasus mare, with a colorful mane and tail like a ruffled rainbow. She was beaming at me, her reddish eyes locking with my own green. She flew up to me, soaring across the darkness. She hovered there, right in front of me, smiling all the while.
“What’s up, sport?” She asked in a voice far more gravelly than I had perceived it was going to be. “Stuck in quite the bind, arentcha?”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
“What do you mean, I’ll see? I see nothing. Why am I hallucinating a rainbow pegasus? Are you some sort of pre-programmed feature that I was never aware about?”
The mare shrugged, still hovering.
“Well, I guess it’s time for you to wake up, buddy. What’s your name?”
“Relic, FF-7. Now what is yours?”
“My friends call me Dash. Or Dashie. Either works. Now, it’s time you got back to your family. Whaddaya think, Relic FF-7?”
“It’s just ‘Relic’, miss.”
“Whatever.”
And was when I woke up.
I was covered in a thin layer of silt, lying on my side with the strange red gem glowing between my hooves. Several of the columns had collapsed from the powerful winds of the dust storm. As I flickered back to life, several notifications flashed across my visor. GYROSCOPE RECALIBRATED. COMPASS CALIBRATED. BATTERY RESTORED. BATTERY LIFE: 100%.
What?
I had collapsed during that storm. My battery had died. And yet here I was, fully charged and still holding that gem. The gem! I gazed down at the scarlet bolt. Whatever this thing was, it just saved my life. And the lives of my charges. It was probably some kind of amulet. An amulet that had belonged to this ‘Dashie’ mare. I turned the gem around several times in my hooves, and discovered something attached to the bottom. It was a note, made on some sort of old parchment. On it, there was some sort of chicken-scratch writing.
Dear Twi, Keep this safe for me. Don’t know if I’ll be back. Love, R.D.
I had no idea who this R.D. was, but perhaps she was related to the Dashie from within the amulet. I carefully placed my only find of the day in my satchel. Of the day… What day was it, even? I checked my internal clock, and mentally recoiled in horror. I had been deactivated for an entire forty-eight hours. How was this possible? How could I have spent what seemed like mere moments lying on the ground for two days straight? Lionheart was going to tear me limb from limb.
So I tightened my satchel across my midsection and began to gallop home as fast as I could.
“And where have you been for the past two days?” Lionheart mumbled, so enraged that he could barely speak.
“I was caught in the storm.”
“The storm that ended YESTERDAY?”
“Yes?”
“Is that a QUESTION, synth?”
“Yes, sir. I had been deactivated for the entirety of the ordeal.” I explained.
“If you were deactivated, then who turned you on? Who powered up your battery?” Lionheart squinted at me with suspicion. “Was somepony else with you out there?”
I almost replied with a yes. But thinking back, the Dashie pony had been some sort of hallucination caused by my sudden shutdown. So I simply shook my head no. That was obviously a mistake, because Lionheart’s temples began to throb. I assumed he had burst a blood vessel.
“Sir, you may want to lie down, if you have an aneurism then-”
“I’M NOT HAVIN’ A BUCKIN’ ANEURISM!” Lionheart shouted, poking my chest hard with an angry hoof. “And if you say I’m havin’ an aneurism, I’ll rip off yer damned head and shove it straight up your flank!”
I began to feel frustrated by Lionheart’s aggression when something began to flow through me. I identified the culprit as the peculiar amulet I had picked up during the storm. I glanced over at my satchel and saw that it was dimly flashing from within. It had to be the gem in there. But before I could make some snappy retort, I felt that familiar sensation that I had only a few hours prior. I felt loyalty. Lionheart had a right to be angry; it was my stupidity that almost doomed our little scavenging business.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“Yeah, well I- wait, what?”
“I apologize, sir. I had not been paying attention to the storm’s progress and I came back an utter failure. I admit I felt some degree of worry as I thought about how the three of you would cope without me.” Then I reached over and gave the somewhat shocked Lionheart a small hug. The large stallion said nothing as I nodded one final apology and made my way out of the tent, where I would rest myself for the next day.
But when I began to shut myself down, I realized my battery was still full.
And what’s more, the gem in my bag continued to radiate energy, right beside me.
Over the course of weeks, the amulet quickly became my most prized possession.
I found that I could not possibly separate myself from such an exquisite and amazing novelty. However, the amulet did affect me in strange ways. My armor, supposedly blemish-free and slicked to avoid scratches, had developed an oddly shaped stain on both of my flanks. Garter had giggled and pointed out how similar they were to cutie marks, and it was true. The stains were placed exactly where her own serpentine marks coiled. Beyond the new pair of unsightly blotches, I also discovered that my battery, my core, the place where I store my magical energy, was malfunctioning. That was the only explanation as to how I could run back from the outermost Ruins to camp and back again without even losing the top one-percent of my battery. The amulet was simply radiating so much magic that it replenished my supply as I used it.
Of course, I had yet to tell Lionheart, Money Bag, or Garter about my spectacular find. Mostly because I knew they would confiscate it. A magical gem that enables me to run infinitely without running low on energy? That was something that could make the lot of us rich. Or, and probably more in they way of their thinking, it could be my independance.
For years, I had depended on Garter’s spells and on Money Bag’s crafts to power myself. Now with this small red charm, I could go weeks without so much as a huff of tire (which I had been doing). But my newfound loyalty kept me with them. They needed me more than they realized, and I wasn’t going to abandon them just because I no longer needed their help.
But my sudden incitement of honorability and loyalty was not the only change I was beginning to realize in myself.
Every night for the past six days, I made sure the gem was still wedged beneath my armor, between it and my skeletal chassis. It was compulsive; I barely even thought about my developing obsession with my belonging. It was, after all, my first actual possession. Everything I had was merely lent to me by Lionheart and the others. This amulet was the first thing that I had scavenged that I chose to keep for myself. But it wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
On the few nights I deactivated myself as a courtesy to my friends, I could still feel the magic from the amulet. I saw the rainbow-colored pegasus several more times, but she never spoke to me. Just glided around in my thoughts, performing aerial stunts in my mindspace.
The mornings after were now full of questions, yet not from me. Rather they came from a fairly concerned Garter, who had also began to recognize the changes that were ravaging my circuitry.
“Relic, are you feeling okay?” Garter asked me one day, when the clouds weren’t as thick and you could barely make out the round shape of the sun.
“Yes, miss. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you haven’t been actin’ like yourself lately. Ever since that dust storm. I mean, last night I heard ya talkin’ in yer sleep. I didn’ think that was normal for a synthetic.”
“I would not know what you are talking about, miss. And synths do not sleep, we merely deactivate ourselves for a small period of time. It would be entirely impossible for a synth to vocalize in these moments.”
“I swear I heard ya talkin’ last night.” Garter said, obviously not believing me. “You were sayin this name over an over again. I think it was ‘Dashie’ or somethin’ like that.”
“I… I would not know who that is, miss.” I lied.
I lied! I had just lied to a pony, and for a moment I almost didn’t realize that I had done so. I had never before thought it were possible for a synth to lie. I had seen ponies lie before, especially Money Bag, who probably lied at least ten times a day. But I never lied before in the entirety of my existence. Synthetics had programming to prevent them from lying to ponies unless under direct orders to do so. But I hadn’t been given an order to lie! I just did it, all on my own.
That fact shocked me so much, that even Garter could tell how visibly shaken I was.
“Relic…” She said softly. “You’re worrying me… Are you okay? Did something happen in that storm? I knew we shouldn’t have sent out there by yourself.”
“I worry myself as well sometimes, miss. Do not fret yourself about it. I am fully functioning and still perfectly suitable for service.” I said. This time around, I wasn’t sure if I was lying or not. Was I okay? How could I possibly tell if I was malfunctioning or not if the amulet protected me from damage and magic deficiency.
“If ya say so, Relic…” Garter murmured as she let herself out of the main tent.
I sat there in guilty silence until I once more heard the tent-flaps open. Garter had returned, poking her green head in.
“Oh yeah. I forgot to mention. You’re with Money Bag again at the market. Lionheart’s request.”
“Ah yes. Thank you, Garter.”
She cast me once last, saddened look and gently shook her head. Then she was gone. That was the last time I would ever see my dear friend; having just lied to her and pushed her away when I should have asked for her help. The moment she left the tent to help Lionheart with packing up the wagon, she also left my life. And as she left my life, an unwanted adventure swiftly took her place.
“Hurry it up, Relic! We ain’t got all day!” Money Bag called to me, once again leading the way into town. “Visitors are comin’ from some village out East!”
I knew this already. Lionheart had briefed me on the exact same subject just before we left camp. Camp was only a few hours trot away from the town, but Money Bag seemed to think there was more time than that to educate me on the subject of the villagers. I chose to tune out his unceasing banter. I took half a second to raise a hoof and rub at my armor, where the gem was safely tucked away. That’s when Money Bag caught me rubbing at my chest.
“What’s wrong, gearhead?” He teased. “A little heartburn?”
“Something of the sort.”
“Ya know, if you’re havin’ any problems you should stick behind. I’m sure the villagers won’t want to see some broken down synth getting in the way and makin’ a mess of everything.”
“I’ll be fine.” I said, figuratively brushing off his fairly poor logic. The villagers weren’t going to be gods here to judge us for our deeds and crimes. They were just ponies, like anypony else in the Ruins and beyond. Maybe a griffon or dragon hatchling every so often, but beyond that only the most normal of ponies came to the town.
“Money Bag?”
“Yea?”
“I’ve never thought about this, but what is the name of our town?”
“Uhhhh…” Money Bag looked suddenly deep in thought. “I think it’s just Ruin Town. Or maybe it’s Runeton. I’ve heard Lion say the name once, but I never really remembered.”
In my mind, I began to draw a map of sorts. So we were based approximately sixteen miles away from Ruin Town or Runeton. The Ruins themselves were far larger, wrapping around the side of an entire mountain. Beyond the ruins, I knew there was a small mountain range. And past that was what last patches of fertile land were left, where the villagers came from. From what I could recall, the small amount of land was called Sweet Apple Acres. Except I knew for a fact that nopony had grown an apple there for generations.
“Why have we never bothered to remember the name of our town?”
“Dunno, Relly. Maybe we just didn’t want to. Pretty sure we were always expectin’ to go to a new town after this one.”
“How many towns are there in the Ruins?”
“Gee, I dunno. What’s with all these questions? What do I look like, a thesaurus?” Money Bag snided, grinning at his clever comment.
“I believe the expression goes ‘what do I look like, a dictionary?’” I corrected. Money Bag’s smile slid off his face and was quickly replaced by a hurt scowl.
“C’mon.” Money Bag grumbled, pointing a hoof at the nearing shacks and huts of the trading town. “We’re almost there. And I bet the villagers are, too.”
The two of us pulled into our usual spot in the market square. I recognized familiar faces in the crowd. I saw Kitten practically draped across the shoulders of her owner, that tall imposing figure of Mr. Porter. I saw a cousin of Money Bag’s, Doubloons I think her name was. And then I saw countless more ponies and synths of the Ruins. It was surprising exactly how many lived in this desolate area. And the fact that over three quarters of them scavenged as we did was impressive. I wondered to myself about how much buried resources there were beneath the Ruin’s lone mountain.
We set up shop as usual, and waited there in an almost eerie silence with the other ponies. Minutes passed. Nopony spoke. Nopony even looked at each other. All of us were busy scouring the horizon, well prepared to start selling as much of our wares as possible.
“There!” A mare, whom I knew as Quickwits, shouted. She pointed a hoof eastward.
I zoomed in on the area and that there was indeed the characteristic cloud of dust that normally followed large groups of ponies.
“It looks like there’s a lot less this year.” Quickwits said. Everypony in the crowd groaned; there went our chances of leaving with full wallets. “A whole lot less… Wait, what in Tartarus is going on? I think they’re being followed! There’s some sorta monsters! An’ tha bleedin’ idiots are leadin’ them right to us!”
Once again everypony in the crowd looked to the horizon with bated breath as we watched the approaching band of ponies be repeatedly attacked by flying somethings. Most of the ponies in our crowd began to panic. I couldn’t exactly make out what the flying beasts were, but they were far too large to just be some breed of bird. And they were far too fast to be dragons or griffons.
“EVERYPONY!” Mr. Porter suddenly bellowed. “We gotta get ready fer a fight!”
Several mares, fillies, and colts squealed and started stampeding towards the shacks and cabins. The stallions meanwhile started digging through their wagons. Unicorn stallions simply levitated menacing clubs and swords, while several Earth ponies pulled out antiquated magical weapons. Laser rifles and pistols, and one stallion even tugged out an entire light cannon out from his wagon. We were well armed, yes. But it seemed that there was over a dozen of those flying creatures.
“Relic! Charge up yer taser! Let’s show these varmint how scavengers tussle.”
Oh right. I allowed energy to surge into my only defense mechanism. As I did so, I felt my little trinket instantly refuel any energy I spent. Money Bag started shuffling through our wares, looking for any sort of weapon. I knew we didn’t have one, but maybe another stallion would lend him a gun or-
“THEY’RE HERE!”
First, the villagers poured in. There was only about two dozen of them, a lot less stallions than we had expected. The majority of them were foals. I saw Kitten, weak and delicate little Kitten, come galloping over and led the young ones away into the cabins. Porter meanwhile ushered over mares and handed small weapons to the five or six stallions that had come along from the village. I was pleased to see that Money Bag was not left out in this dispersal of firearms.
Next came the creatures. They were enormous, each one of them. Their faces were terrible muzzles holding mouthfuls of long, cruel fangs. Behind the glaring yellow eyes were thick manes of fur, and behind the manes were a pair of long wicked wings, like those on the bats I occasionally came across while scavenging. The creatures’ muscular legs ended in hooked claws. And the entirety of the monster was completed by a tail like that from a scorpion. I recognized this beast, it was one I often heard from stories of travellers who pass by.
“MANTICORES!”
Hell broke loose. Ponies immediately began to fire upon the Manticores. Unfortunately, the majority of laser bolts seemed to deflect piteously off their thick fur. Several Manticores simply swooped down and lifted hollering ponies up into the sky to tear into shreds. The light cannon would hum and fire enormous explosions of energy into the air, evaporating one or two of the monsters before it had to recharge. I saw out of the corner of my vision, Money Bag aim with a pistol attached to his ankle. Before he could fire at the beasts, one of the larger specimens gave barreling down from the sky towards him.
A pang struck me in my circuitry. I felt the magical aura of my amulet suddenly swell, and a red light began to flow through me. Big adventure, I thought at random.
I immediately stopped my own struggle with the monsters and galloped to Money Bag’s aid. The Manticore had Money Bag’s head in its powerful jaws, chewing while I heard my friend inside scream on the top of his lungs. I fired my taser directly into the creature’s back, and blasted it with so much raw magic that the beast’s fur grew charred where the taser connected. It dropped Money Bag, who collapsed upon the ground, bleeding heavily.
I retracted my still-sparkling taser and ran to him, a puddle of scarlet blood already pooling. He was in bad shape. One of his eyes had been gouged out, and there were deep cuts all over his face and scalp. His mane was nothing more than tatters. And I could see the white of his skull beneath some of his wounds.
“Money Bag? Are you okay?”
“Ya saved me, Relic.”
“Of course I did. Now give me a shred of cloth from your bag. I need to close your wounds.”
“Relic.” Money Bag said, raising a hoof to my chest. “Help the others.”
“But, sir-”
“No. Help them other folk, they’re more important. They’ve always been more important. Go help ‘em, an’ that’s an order.”
I immediately stopped grabbing at his satchel upon hearing that dreadful word. My own ocular sensors locked with his one remaining eye. It was a stunning blue color. I’d never noticed how colorful his eyes had been.
“Go.”
I stood up, giving him one last look, before I ran over to assist in any way I could. The light cannon had been overwhelmed, and his remains were strewn about the town square. I galloped over his decapitated head and shoved aside the rest of his corpse. Taking the light cannon controls, I saw the charge meter was once more at 100%.
I swiveled the cannon to face a large pack of the creatures, who were busy devouring some screaming pony who had come in from Sweet Apple Acres.
I pulled the trigger with my hoof, and the cannon exploded into the group. The majority were evaporated, while others were left without heads, legs, wings or rears. They scattered; all the while letting out ghostly howls that chorused with the screams of dying stallions. The cannon now read 20% and was still charging. Even if it was the most effective weapon, I would have to find something else. I abandoned my post and made a mad dash for one of several abandoned lasers on the ground.
A Manticore (or rather, half a Manticore; the cannon had done a great deal of damage) lunged for me. I felt myself knocked back as the massive heap of burning muscle and fur started to claw at my armor. I knew I could withstand dust storms and angry mares, but I wasn’t so sure I could stand up to a Manticore, even if it was on the brink of its life. The Manticore used a clawed paw to grip at my chestplate, and began to pull. Alarms and warnings flashed across my visor, but I was pinned.
It ripped off my chest plate, leaving bare wires and circuits exposed. But I didn’t care about that. To my horror, I watched as the red gem fell from the chestplate, clinking as it landed on the ground beside me. This is the moment I die, I thought, I’m powerless.
I closed the shutters over my ocular sensors and prepared myself for the fatal blow.
“WHO’S READY FOR A PARTY CANNON?!”
I opened my eyes once more and looked just in time to see rose-colored mare from Sweet Apple Acres standing boldly, holding a blue mortar cannon that I was almost positively certain that I had not seen come in with the villagers.
KA-WHUMP! A blast of confetti and air knocked the giant Manticore off of me. I clambered up and grabbed my amulet, careful not to drop it once again. The note on the back had fallen off, but that was okay by me. As long as I still had the gem itself.
“Hey!” The mare said excitedly, waving from her position behind the cannon.
“You-”
KA-WHUMP! Another Manticore came crashing to the ground.
“-have-”
KA-WHUMP! This time a stallion fell to the ground with a sickening splat. I winced just before the Manticore that had been holding it tumbled down as well, falling on the already dead pony.
“-one of those-”
KA-WHUMP!
“-amulets, too!”
The Earth pony mare left the cannon and bounced over towards me, oblivious to the massacre happening around her. Her ridiculously poofy mane jiggled with each skip, like a purple bush perched on her head. I would have found it comical had I not just witnessed the death of one of my friends and of so many more innocent ponies.
“I’m Mica Pie! Mica for short! From Sweet Apple Acres!” She reached a hoof into her bulbous mane and produced a glimmering round gem, colored pink. “Lemme see yours!”
As I flashed her the red lightning bolt, another Manticore swooped down towards us. Before I could even think to launch my taser, the mare’s mortar cannon that had been well over three yards away was suddenly in Mica’s hooves. With another characteristic KA-WHUMP the Manticore fell to the ground, splashing in the mud made of dust and blood.
“That’s really funny. Yours is a different color than mine. And it’s a different shape! Mine looks more like a balloon.”
“What is a balloon?” I asked, genuinely confused. This mare was absolutely chaotic, in every sense of the word. “How did that cannon teleport to your side? You’re not a unicorn, you’re an Earth pony. Earth ponies can’t teleport objects!”
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A BALLOON IS?!” Mica shrieked. She ignored my other questions, stuffing her gem back into her mane and removing several colored strips of rubber. She began to spit into the balloons while I made my way back to the light cannon. By now, it had surely recharged.
There were only half a dozen Manticores left. I was confident that I could exterminate the last ones before they realized there was even more food in the wooden shelters.
“Hey, you two!” A harsh voice hollered. It was Porter, his hat and coat both torn in several places. “Where’s yer master, synth?”
I paused, slowly turning around to face Porter. The dark stallion’s face was grimy and soaked in blood. Hatred burned in his eyes, boring into me. I knew he was trying to intimidate me. But I wasn’t his synth, Kitten. I was an independant synth, who needed no master.
“Dead.” I replied. My core grew cold. I knew it was true; Money Bag would have surely bled out by now. Now with double the effort, I dragged the cannon to aim directly at the final horde of Manticores. “And now so are they.”
I pulled the trigger, and the last of the beasts dissipated, its individual molecules redispersed into the air.
Thirty-five dead.
Countless more left behind when Sweet Apple Acres was attacked. Nopony knew how many Manticores attacked, nopony knew how many were still at the Acres. And I was the only one asking where they all came from. Nopony cared about where the devils came from. They cared about themselves. In fact, most of the merchants were more upset to find that their wares had been destroyed in the firefight than to discover the corpses of their friends littering the ground.
Kitten was praised for her quick thinking. Many were surprised that a FF-5b, a prostitute synth, could save the lives of so many foals. Mothers and foals blessed Kitten, who was as clueless as ever as she accepted their hugs and appraisals. At least until she informed them of her rates. That’s when the families began to edge themselves away from her.
Porter, of course, immediately began to take credit for killing all of the Manticores. Not that I cared. He could take the credit if he wanted, I just wanted to find a way to delete my memories.
And as for Money Bag?
I came to find him as I suspected. Dead, cold and lifeless on the ground. But he was smiling, and I had an idea as to why. He had sacrificed himself, basically. He knew that in allowing himself to die, he’d in turn save the lives of all those mares and foals. Money Bag died a hero; in his own, unique way.
I reached down a hoof to brush his matted mane out of his face.
Looking at the smiling pony, I realized that I no longer wanted to be in the Ruins. I had my amulet. I was independent now. I could leave this place, be whatever I wanted. That fact was horrifying. What else was there to life than scavenging and overcharging for your finds?
“Hey.”
I whirled around and came face to face with the rose-colored mare from before.
“I’m sorry about your friend.” Mica Pie said, kicking one of her hooves at the ground.
“It is fine,” I answered. It wasn’t.
“I really, really, really needa know about your jewel, though.”
Bemused, I reached into my chestplate and extracted the shining gem.
“This?” I asked. “I picked it up a few weeks ago. And what was it you said earlier? You have another one? But I thought the one I saw was different looking. How do you know they are the same?”
She produced the pink gem and held it out for me to hold. We swapped, her receiving my gem and me receiving hers. As soon as I felt hers, an extremely inappropriate feeling of happiness and pleasure flowed through my body. The feeling was unnatural in this environment, with blood literally on my hooves and corpses of ponies being dragged away for a mass cremation. I tossed the gem to the ground in disgust, but quickly realized my mistake. This too was a gem of power much like my own.
“Whaddaya think?” Mica asked, picking up hers off the ground before tossing me mine.
“They are the same… But different.” I answered as I caught the gem. “Do you know what they are?”
“No, but I’m sure my Granny Pie knows. She knows a whole bunch about this sorta thing.”
“Is that so? Where is she?”
“Back at Sweet Apple Acres.” Mica said with a smile. Probably dead, I thought to myself. “Wanna go meet her? It’s only a days walk away!”
“I’m not sure, Mica…”
“What? Didn’t you want to leave anyways?”
I stopped trying to make an excuse and gazed at the mare. I didn’t recall telling her that information.
“How did you know that.”
She merely shrugged.
“I know alotta things that I shouldn’t know about anyways. I know about Porter’s kink-slave and I know about rock farming and I know about this one author pony who’s a skeleton and I know about all sorts of funny things! Like jokes! Wanna hear a knock knock joke?”
Nopony so much as noticed us leaving, and I doubt they would have cared. They were concerned about the state of their homes and wares, and of the already festering remains of the stallions who tried their best and succeeded in saving everypony from harm.
From what Mica had said, her relatively small family had been outcasts in the Sweet Apple community ever since an accident that had occurred years before she was born. And I myself was nothing more than a synth to those of the Ruins, and when the ponies of this small trading-post became aware that it was I who allowed Money Bag to die, there would be hell to pay. Money Bag may have been greatly disliked by mares; but he was close friends with practically every stallion and customer in the Ruins. I didn’t necessarily want to induce a mob of angry ponies to disassemble me and put me out of commission.
My remaining charges, Garter and Lionheart, were a long ways away and both completely unaware of everything that had happened, I was sure. Garter would probably want to leave the Ruins as well after Money Bag’s death and Lionheart himself would be infuriated by my sudden departure. So nopony left in the Ruins would be terribly upset at the departure of a lunatic and an equally crazed synthetic. No pony, I should emphasize. Unfortunately for me, Kitten the FF-5b noticed us packing up our things and decided to see what we were up to.
“Hiya, Relic! Haven’t talked to you in a while!” She chirped in a voice was was more feminine and electronic than my own. “Whatcha doin’? Who’s your friend?”
“She is not my friend. Merely an acquaintance.” I corrected. “And we are leaving, Kitten.”
“Leaving the market? No surprise there.” Kitten whispered with a visible shudder. “So many dead ponies… It’s tragic, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is. But no, not the market. We are leaving the Ruins.”
Kitten gasped, her eyes widening. I restrained the urge to roll my own at her over-exaggerated expressions.
“You’re leaving! Why?! It’s a dangerous world out there for a little synth like you or me. There’s monsters out there! And theives! And poisonous plants and evil spirits and-”
“And there’s more to life than just serving ponies, Kitten.” I sighed as Kitten looked incredulous. “Of course, you wouldn’t know that. You’ve pleasured ponies for your entire life. Let me put it this way: I have something important to do. Something important that requires me to leave the Ruins and possibly never return. I have to find out more about something. You understand this?”
Kitten nodded.
“So you’re on a quest!”
“Sure. A quest.” I replied, with a roll of my eyes. “Let’s call it that.”
“And… You’re not coming back?”
“Possibly.” I replied, placing my amulet carefully in its own steel box that would join the several spare parts in my saddle bags. I felt a little spark on my cheek, and turned my head to see that Kitten had just nuzzled me, like how a pony would kiss another on the cheek. I raised an eyebrow expectantly. I’d never been shown any sign of love nor had I ever given any; especially to a prostitute synth like Kitten.
“What was that for?”
“That was for luck. Please do come back when you can. I’d miss you if you got yourself destroyed, Relic. Everypony here pretends to like me, but they never really talk to me as an equal. They just chat with me so they can rut me afterwards. It’d get pretty lonely without you around… Please come back as soon as you can.”
We slipped away sometime during noon, carrying all the supplies that we could without attracting the wrong sort of attention. I do not wish to say that we stole our supplies, but we stole our supplies.
I carried a large saddlebag holding my amulet and a few meager spare parts that I could take from our supplies at the wagon. I wasn’t going to haul the wagon along with me. Besides, when Garter and Lionheart became aware of my absence, they would need it. I did nab several cans of oil and other lubricants, in case I developed a rust problem. Beyond normal wear and tear, rust was like a disease to synthetics. A synth with rust could easily end up being decommissioned.
My new pony companion, Mica, carried several bags of food for herself along with the pre-existing assortment of clutter stuffed inside her enormous mane of pink curls. I still had no perfect explanation as to how she kept balloons, a fully-loaded cannon, supplies of all kinds, and more in her poofy mane and matching tail. She claimed that everypony in her family had been able to do so, but I had serious doubts that breaking the laws of physics was hereditary.
The trail to her family’s home would be long; a little over a day. Which would mean a lot of walking as well as a certain about of time devoted to letting Mica sleep, whereas I could (with the help of my amulet) remain fully functional for the entirety of the trip.
Mica Pie and I had been walking for well over four hours when we suddenly encountered our first obstacle. That obstacle was not a Manticore, it wasn’t a band of thieves, it wasn’t poisonous plants nor was it an evil spirit. Rather, it was a small brown beetle with a shining carapace and silvery wings. Several of the insects had made themselves comfortable on my armor, but I took nothing of it. They were simply resting themselves on my warm exterior, they too emitting some sort of harmless tingling sensation.
Or so I believed.
“Hey, Relic.” Mica said. I was momentarily shocked; for the first time since I met her, she sounded genuinely concerned about something.
“Yes?”
“You realize that those are bore beetles, right?” She said, pointing a hoof at the bugs covering my back. “They’re not just any Ruin bugs.”
“Bore beetles?”
“Yeah. They… Um… Ya see... They eat metal. They melt it down with their spit and then slurp it up like soup. A whole buncha them ate one of Granny Pie’s wheelbarrows. Just bored it full of holes until it fell apart. I also heard a story that they once ate a pony’s metal house while he was sleeping. He woke up to find scraps instead of walls.”
It took several moments for that to sink in. Beetles that eat metal? I was about to panic, until I realized who I was speaking to. Mica Pie had an amulet that filled her with perpetual happiness. So why should I assume that this is not just some prank? I decided to prove her wrong, swivelling around my head to face my rear, ready to tell her off.
“Forgive me, miss, but I don’t think that these beetles are-”
A beetle on my back made a retching sound and spat a green liquid onto my brazen loin. The liquid sizzled a bit as I felt the same tingling sensation that I had been feeling for the past half an hour. I watched in horror as the beetle dipped its head back into the melting brass drank greedily. Beetles that eat metal. They could have eaten anything else: ponies, other beetles, magic. But they just had to eat metal, of which was about ninety percent of my composition.
“Relic! Don’t panic! Just calm down and think rationally. I gotta try remember how to get rid of those things.”
I squeaked in fear, frozen in place as the disgusting little creatures continued to spit onto me. Just then, a beetle finished boring a large hole into my exterior and was now dripping its acidic saliva on my circuitry. Every time the deadly elixir touched the delicate energy reservoirs, a jolt of pain would arch up and down my back. The feeling reminded me of when a repair pony had used a soldering iron on me when I hadn’t yet shut down yet.
I realized that if the beetles did any further damage, I could end up crippled. Or worse.
“GET THEM OFF!” I shouted, throwing myself to the ground.
Alarms began to flash across my visor, alerting me to the damage the insects were doing to my structural systems. Apparently, the spine of my skeletal structure was already at half integrity. I could literally split in half at any moment. Mica shook her head, standing over me.
“Relic, ya gotta listen to me.” Mica said. “Just this once. Mmkay?”
I allowed myself to calm down, despite the rapidly declining integrity of my chassis. Mica inspected the various cavities in my armor and the small brown beetles milling about said holes. Finally reaching some sort of conclusion, she let out a soft nicker of amusement.
“Alrighty. So whatcha gotta do is play some music.”
“Music?” I asked as panic once again consumed me. “What in Equestria is music going to do about these things that are eating me?!”
“Just do it!”
I was about to abandon all hope then and there. I had only been on my little escapade for little over four hours and already I was about to start falling apart. I realized that I didn’t really have anything to lose at this point, that I was a dead stallion walking either way. I turned on the radio located in the barrel of my torso. It had been years since I used it last and it still worked just as well as before. Which is to say, terribly. Among the static and crackling, one could barely make out the rhythm of whatever song was playing on whatever station on the other side.
“I think that’ll work. We just need noise! Turn up the volume.”
I complied and immediately the pain attacking my insides halted. The static from the radio was loud enough that I could barely hear anything that was occurring within me; I couldn’t hear the hissing or spitting of the beetles and I couldn’t hear the sizzling of their corrosive mucus. I did, however, hear the victorious cries of Mica, who was now dancing haphazardly to the rhythm of the staticky music.
“Relic! It’s working!”
Relief and gratitude flowed through me, easing the pain of the holes that the bore beetles had punctured on my back. Not only could I see the various alarms and warnings flashing across my HUD, but I could actually feel the spine on my chassis splitting into two. Mica stopped dancing as soon as I shut off the radio and gazed down at my fallen form.
“Relic? Ya okay?”
“I need help getting up.” I admitted. She complied, hoisting me carefully back onto my hooves. “The beetles have damaged me. I’m going to have to walk carefully for now. Otherwise, I could cause the damage to be permanent.”
“Aye aye, cap’n Relic! So what do you need me to do?”
“Nothing. Please.”
“Mmkay!” Mica chirped, sounding suspiciously like Kitten. Perhaps the two knew each other. It would make sense, considering how simple-minded the two of them were. But I had to admit, without Mica’s idea of scaring off the beetles with my radio, I would not be operational. I spotted one of the many culprits skittering along the ground, and I smashed it angrily with my hoof.
“Where are we?” I asked in a sudden bout of curiosity.
“Still in the Ruins, silly. We got another hour’s walking before we actually get outta here.”
“No. I meant, where are we in comparison to everything else?” I said, as we continued on our way. “There can’t just be Sweet Apple, the Ruins, and then wasteland. I want to know more about the outside world.”
“Well… Uh… There’s the Boneyard, that’s just east of Sweet Apple Acres. There’s the Old Castle, up north. Ummmm… I haven’t exactly done any exploring. Y’know? It’s just stories.”
“I would still like to know. Maybe one day I will visit these places, if I can manage to not be eaten by a horde of disgusting insects.”
“Oh. Okay! Well, I know the Boneyard sounds like it has bones all over it, right? But it doesn’t! It’s actually a really, really, reeeeeaaaally big dump. They call it the Boneyard because everypony who goes in there never comes back. Granny used to tell me that all the time whenever I started going too far east.” Mica babbled. I half-listened, filtering out the nonsense and remembering the important information. So far, stay away from the Boneyard was high on my list of things to do in the desolate wastes. “And nopony really knows what’s in the Old Castle. Whenever anypony goes up there, it’s locked up and they can’t get inside. Lots of ponies say there’s TREASURE in there!”
“What else do they say?”
“Well, my Granny just thinks that it’s just empty and ponies shouldn’t get their hopes up.”
“What do you think, Mica?”
“Hmmmmm… I think it might be empty. Or it might have treasure. Or… maybe it’s where ponies go when they bite the dust. I mean, that’s just what I think. You never know what’s on the other side, right, Relic?”
“What are you referring to?”
“The other side! Don’t you know? Heaven? Tartarus? Any of that?”
“Synths do not have souls.” I explained. “So we don’t go to such places.”
“Not have souls?!” Mica looked flabbergasted. “How could you think that? You feel pain! You get angry, you get scared, you feel sad…”
“... All just part of my programming. Mica, I can tell you haven’t known many synths.”
She shook her head, confirming my suspicions.
“Mica, I can tell you right now that synths are just robots. WE are just robots. I am just a robot. Nothing can ever possibly change the fact that I am a nonliving things built by ponies to serve ponies. Even now, as a free synth, I slip up and accidentally call others ‘sir’ or ‘miss’. So remember that I am nothing more than a machine without an owner.”
“But-”
“No buts, please. Let’s keep walking. We have a long ways ahead of us, according to you.”
Night fell swiftly, the skies darkening further that the dull grey of daylight.
Stars twinkled up above, barely illuminating the ground below, where Mica and I had set up a disposable campsite. She needed the sleep more than I did. Despite her claims that she too could run forever on the magic from her amulet, I doubted that any pony could manage a full day without sleep. So now she slept in a makeshift tent, simply a blanket propped up on a pair of flimsy twigs. I promised to the hyperactive mare that I would keep watch over her while she slept, and I was also forced to promise that I would not abandon her in the night.
Now I remained standing, too afraid to sit or lay down for fear that my chassis would collapse on itself. Instead, I gazed up at the stars, memorizing the individual constellations. It was another gift from Garter; a special program she picked up cheap that would enable me to pinpoint the location of various stars in the night sky.
I could see Taurus… Scorpio… Orion… Dashie… Libra... Wait a minute. Dashie?
My eyes furrowed as I focused on the quickly approaching streak of rainbow color. They quickly widened as I realized that it was indeed the dream pegasus zooming towards me. I gave in to fear and ducked, letting the pegasus mare soar right over my head. I felt a strong breeze kick in as Dashie came to a stop, striking a proud pose not too far away from where I stood. Carefully, I approached what I had taken as my imaginary friend. Did synthetics have imaginary friends? I was not one to think that synths could hallucinate either. But here I was staring expectantly at a mare that I had seen several times before in my dreams.
“What’s up, guy?”
“Relic.”
“Whatever.” She said, rolling her eyes, and tossing herself onto a pile of rocks. She stretched out ,pulled a pair of sunglasses out from nowhere, and put them on despite the fact that it was almost midnight.
“Is this a hallucination?” I asked.
She tipped the sunglasses down her muzzle, exposing a pair of bright magenta irises. Dashie shrugged and laid back down once more.
“I dunno. Is it? I can never tell. Anyways, how’s the Element holdin’ up?”
“Element?”
“The shiny red rock, dolt. It’s called an Element. The Element of Loyalty, if you wanna get technical. Which I’m sure you do.”
I blinked at her for several minutes before she let out an aggravated groan and sat up, glaring at me.
“Of all the ponies to be Loyalty, it just had to be you. You don’t even respond to any of my insults! How am I supposed to have fun with this bullhonky if all you do is stare at me like you’re some sort of pony who got their head dropped as a foal?”
“I am not a pony, miss. I am an FF-7 synthetic worker’s unit-”
“Oh yeah, how could I possibly forget?,” she interrupted, throwing her forelegs into the air in exasperation, “You’re not even a pony. Just a dumb robot. How am I supposed to do this Obi-Wan Force Ghost stuff if you can’t even understand half the things I tell you?”
“Obi-What?”
Dashie face-hoofed.
“Yeah. Okay. You’re hopeless.”
“Please,” I begged, “I need information. What is my amulet? What is Mica’s amulet? What do we do with them?”
“First of all, you gotta start buddying up with that Pinkie Pie clone. You’re gonna be stuck with her for a while. And all that stuff about the Element? Isn’t that why you’re going to her grandma’s for?” Dashie asked, gesturing towards the small ten a few yards away. “Why waste your time going exploring then? Nah, I think you should keep going on your little vaycay. Meanwhile, I’m always at your service. Funny thing, too. Since you’re the one supposed to be serving me.”
“I told ya that already.” She squinted at me through her shades. “You got that short of a memory? I mean, I thought those new robots the Flim-Flam brothers made were dim-witted, but by Celestia’s flank, you’re definitely not the brightest.”
“You only said your name was Dashie. I want to know more. What is your full name? Where do you come from? Are you programming built into the amulet or are you some sort of magical entity?”
“Alright, one. I’m flattered you’d call me a magical entity. Two, my name is Rainbow Dash, and I was the best, most awesome, coolest flier, and wickedest pony in all of Equestria. And honorary member of none other than the Wonderbolts themselves. Three, I come from Cloudsdale. Don’t you know all that? I’m sure at whatever time you live in you’ve all heard plenty of awesome stories about all the awesome things that I’ve done. Which were awesome.”
I shook my head. “I’ve never heard of you, Rainbow Dash.”
She visibly wilted, then immediately went stony and apathetic.
“Yeah. The future is for eggheads anyways. Have fun going to grandma’s. Make sure to ask for milk and cookies.” And with that, she vanished. Just wasn’t there anymore. I looked around, expecting to see her pop into view again. Seeing that she had truly left, I quietly approached the small tent. Inside, Mica was snoring softly, hugging the pink gem closely to her chest. It reminded me a lot of the many times I watched Garter sleep.
I remembered what Rainbow Dash said to me, about befriending her. To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t even tried to get to know Mica. I’d only asked about our surroundings, about Equestria, and about the dangers of the wastes. Maybe I was coming off as rude because of this. I promised myself then and there that I would try my best to get to know this rather ridiculous pony.
I gently sat on my haunches and removed my saddlebags. Digging around in the scraps for a bit, I pulled out my own sparkling gemstone. This ‘Element of Loyalty’ as my hallucination had called it. I turned it over, and just then began to mourn the loss of the little note that had been on the back. It probably wasn’t important anyways. But then I froze.
R.D.
Rainbow Dash.
Dashie was related to R.D. She had signed the note on the back of the amulet, which means that she had been a real pony. She wasn’t some holographic projection and she wasn’t a hallucination triggered by whatever magical energy was stored in the amulet. Rainbow Dash had been a real pony. This realization was sudden and incredible, but it was soon enshrouded in yet another mystery.
Morning called for a small breakfast of canned rations for Mica and a full battery recharge for myself. Of course, the contents of the can and the powerful amulet at my disposal reduced the time for our ‘breakfast’ to nothing more than about two minutes.
“Hey, Relic.” Mica said as she dug into her brownish-grey meal.
“Yes, Mica?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever asked a synth this, but do any of you robot thingies eat?” She said, smacking her lips. I considered the question for several moments. “I don’t think I’ve seen you eat yet.”
“My model, the FF-7, has never had the ability to consume food. I’ve heard that FF-3’s sometimes came with experimental steam combustion engines that could simulate a stomach. But I believe that they were so useless in obtaining energy that the resulting mush could be eaten all over again and still provide the exact same amount of energy. So no, I do not believe any synths can eat. FF-3’s could eat somewhat, but Flim-Flam Tech scrapped the idea when they built the FF-4. It was too costly and inefficient.”
“Aw,” Mica huffed, finishing her meal. “So you’ve never had a cupcake? I mean, since you’re a 7.”
“A cup-cake? What is a cup-cake?”
Mica gasped, her eyes going wide and her hooves clutching her ears in panic. She pulled herself clumsily to her hooves, tossing the empty mush can aside. It was quite obvious that she was horrified by this new information.
“First you don’t know what a balloon is, and now you don’t know what a cupcake is?!”
I felt annoyed already by this clearly over-exaggerated display. But I recalled what Rainbow Dash had told me the night prior about forging a friendship with Mica. So I smiled at Mica; instead of rolling my eyes and walking away. Which I very much felt like doing.
“Then miss, excuse my, er… Ignorance. You will have to tell me what they are. Perhaps when we get to your home, you could even show me one of these ‘cupcakes’.”
“Okie dokie lokie!” Mica laughed, helping me up. “Cupcakes are only the greatest thing ever! They’re like cakes, but super-duper small and cute! They can be all of these amazing flavors and colors and-”
We continued on our way, her babbling on about her favorite pastries. Apparently the Pie family had had a long history as bakers. Which would help make sense out of Mica’s behavior, since anypony raised on a diet of sugar and dairy products would obviously be trapped with the mind of a foal.
But it helped, getting to know Mica on a personal level. From what I could gather through her blabbering, her parent had died from some accident, leaving her to the care of her grandmother. She took up an apprenticeship as a baker, but never truly succeeded in making plain foods like bread. Apparently, she had accidentally contributed to the fall of the Pie family bakery, since her penchant for creating pastries severely depleted their source of sugar. Now, according to Mica, her grandmother only brewed alcohol; using yeast and grains left over from their baking.
Eventually, we reached the edge of the Ruins. It was surprising to see the actual ground. The Ruins were, in fact, simply a very large pile of rocks and rubble situated on the side of a mountain. The brown dirt that actually made up the ground contrasted greatly with the grey stone that I had walked on for the majority of my existence. Another thing was the sharp change in angle. My life had always been crooked; on this same mountain. To walk on a flat surface, to walk on dirt rather than pebbles… It was going to be a big transition for me. Mica continued walking, prancing along into the flat dirt. I stood at the edge of the Ruins, looking down at the dirt.
“Relic!” Mica called, already several yards away. “Arntcha comin’?”
She bounced back, and smiled at me.
“Let’s go already! We’re already halfway there!”
“This is the first time I’ve set hoof off the Ruins,” I admitted, “Just… give me a moment. It may take some adjustment.”
I clasped my mouth shut and sent one last glance over my shoulder. From the bottom of the mountain, I could see tall monolithic piles of rock towering around the very distant Runeton; it was barely a speck among the ancient stones. With a nod of my head, I took a cautious step onto the ground. The actual ground, not just remnants of some walled city.
I kicked at the dirt, feeling small grains of the stuff on my hooves. It was pleasant. I did not have to constantly adjust my balance nor did I have to worry about shifting stones. Mica smiled at and I smiled back, genuinely this time. It was exciting. This was the point where I could actually feel the adventure; going off into the unknown without a care in the world.
“Ready to go now?”
Well… Maybe I cared, just a little bit.
“Yes.”
And so we walked. Across the dusty plain, the source of all the dust storms that had long plagued the ponies of the Ruins. And, of course, the force that indirectly led to
“You might want to watch out around these parts.” Mica said after a few hours of walking.
I didn’t understand what was so different about ‘these parts’. The area was the same, although there were now considerably more hills than before; not to mention the trail that had been trodden on earlier by frightened ponies running from a pack of Manticores, and laid down by years of travelling caravans. I could still see hoofprints in the dust, as well as the occasional pool of blood left over from the attack.
“Why’s that? Are there more Manticores?”
“No no, Manticores only live in the Everfree, over by Sweet Apple Acres. You just don’t wanna accidentally step on a Carcolh tentacle. They’re EVERYWHERE here.”
I looked under my left hoof instinctively. Then immediately grimaced. Yet I had learned my lesson last time when Mica had warned me about the bore beetles (of which I had also stomped several of over the course of several hours), and this time I did not shrug it off as a prank. I immediately grew more alert, scanning the ground for any sign of possibly malignant life.
“What is a Carcolh? Is it like those beetles?”
“Kinda, it’s a bug. It’s kinda like a snail… But bigger. Much bigger. And with slimy tentacles that’ll grab you and never let go. Not until you’ve been gobbled up. And they’ll eat anything. Even each other! Here… Lemme go find one so I can show ya. They’re only dangerous if you step on their wigglies.”
Mica looked away from me, continuing on her way, although less carelessly as before. If this was a prank, it was a fairly well executed one. But I refused to let my guard down once more. I followed her example, walking as carefully as my servos and motors would allow me. Again, one of the cons of being synthetic. I could sneak, but I couldn’t be as silent as Mica currently was. She suddenly stopped moving and I did as well, over a yard away from her. She looked straight at me with fearful eyes and gestured for me to come closer.
I made my way over, looking down at what she was so scared of.
There, on the ground, was a rope.
Or at least I assumed it was a rope. However, this rope was solid, not like it was braided. But it was almost the same color at the dirt. A little bit lighter, but the contrast was just enough to make it visible. I was about to point out the foolishness of Mica’s worrying when I realized that the rope was throbbing. Pulsating every so often, like it was having a hard time sitting so still.
“Watch this.” She whispered, pulling one of those rubber balloons out from her mane.
I watched as she plopped it gently onto the long tentacle. In a split second, the long appendage whipped up into the sky, wrapping tightly around the deflated balloon. I admit that I was terrified by the sheer length of the tentacle. It had to be a dozen yards in length, if not longer. After it had gotten a grip on the slick balloon, the tentacle retracted into a small hole not too far away. I looked to Mica, who nodded. Together, we approached the hole, wide enough for three ponies to fall into. We stood right at the edge, making sure to avoid the many tentacles still radiating away from the crevice in the dirt. I peered over the edge and saw nothing but black. I switched on the lights in my visor and gasped as I saw what was quite possibly the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.
It was obviously blind, to start with. There were no visible eyes and the monster didn’t seem to react to the light shining in its face. If you could call that a face. It had about six tentacles branching off of its head, with a single gaping maw in the center. The mouth held an innumerable amount of tiny, needle-like teeth that immediately began to tear at the rubbery balloon. The monster’s body itself was large, twice the size of any pony, and was a bright brownish-orange. Upon its back was a massive shell as big as the body itself, which was covered in spikes that appeared to anchor the beast into the ground.
The Carcolh was far more terrifying than the Manticores, and from what Mica had said, it was far more dangerous. Lightning-fast tentacles and the ability to eat anything? At least a Manticore couldn’t devour a metal synthetic.
We tiptoed away from the creature and got as far away from the beast as possible. It wasn’t for some time after that that I spoke.
“How many creatures like that exist out here?” I asked. First Manticores that ate ponies whole, then ferrovorous beetles that left me partially crippled, and now a giant tendriled beast that could snap me up should I take the wrong step. “Or rather, how many could destroy me?”
“I dunno.” Mica said with a shrug. “I thought I’ve told you already that I haven’t ever really gone out exploring. It’s just too dangerous. I know about Carcolhes, Manticores, bore beetles, vultures, and gnats. But that’s it.”
“Are you positive?”
“Prrretty sure this time. But that's only around Sweet Apple. I dunno if there’s any other ghostie goos hanging out around here. But I’m sure they’re everywhere out there! And then there’s also robbers and ponies who kidnap others and make them slaves! And then there’s rogue synths that go around mauling everypony and anypony who gets too close.”
“Terrific.” I muttered, mulling over this. I couldn’t rely on Mica to guide me along after passing through Sweet Apple. I would probably have to hire somepony else to help me along. But of course, that would require bits. Which I had absolutely none of.
“Are there any weapon shops at the Acres, Mica?” I asked.
“Well, Granny has a few crossbows. Why?”
I pointed at the taser on my chest.
“This is no weapon. Maybe a defense as a last resort, but it would be ineffective against one of those Carcorals.”
“Carcolhes.”
“Thank you. But I do not think I would be able to fend off anything larger than a pony. I’ll need something to fight with.”
Mica thought for a moment.
“You could prolly buy one of the crossbows from Granny. But I thought you didn’t have any money.”
“I don’t.”
“Well… Maybe she’ll give you one! Or you could do a few chores for her! She’s a really nice old mare, she’d be happy to help anypony in need.” She then leapt up, pointing into the distance. I looked as well, and saw a very distant green hill. The only vibrant green hill among the dull brown ocean surrounding it. “Oh! Oh! There it is! Sweet Apple Acres!”
There on the top of the hill was a brilliant red building. Not like those little huts in the shantytown that made up Runeton. It was sound, and tall. I imagined it had to have several floors; and it took up most of what I saw of Sweet Apple. Around it, there were several cabins, built from felled logs. And then trees. Trees! I had only seen the naked scraggly branches of the dead Ruin flora for decades. These trees were green and waving gently in the cool breeze, as if welcoming us. But of course, the illusionary oasis that I had seen from a distance became more gruesome as we approached.
I saw the dead.
Ponies littering the ground, their corpses already setting into many varying levels of decay. There were stallions holding busted laser rifles and mares hunched over foals. All of them had gaping wounds gouged in their sides and necks. Like the Manticores that had caused the attack had simply abandoned their meals. Or rather, they had simply been killing for sport. It was odd, imagining anything besides a pony or rare griffon having the mental capacity to hunt just for fun. To have any sort of concept of entertainment. Even I, an artificial creation, who shouldn’t even associate myself with ponies, felt a tug at my innards when I saw the dead foals in their mothers’ embraces.
It would be a miracle if Granny Pie was alive.
We trotted into the thick grass of the Acres. Some of the green and yellow was stained scarlet. Some of the puddles had congealed, leaving ugly black splotches on what should have been a beautiful landscape. All was silent, matching that dour tone of the air.
Then I heard the hoarse screaming.
“YA BETTER LEARN TA BUCKIN’ USE A RUDDY SHOVEL IF YA WANNA GET RID O’ THEM THERE REEKIN’ PILES O’ SHIT OUTSIDE!” A gravelly mare’s voice shrieked from inside the red barn. Mica immediately perked up, turning her attention away from the exposed dead.
“Granny’s okay!” Mica cheered, dashing over towards the vast red doors. I stood back as she threw open the door and ran inside. My eyes widened in horror as I realized that the screaming mare inside was indeed Mica’s grandmother.
I followed behind Mica. I reached the large doors, which I was surprised to find were made of wood. The entire building was made from the same material as the cabins, but painted to appear like a beacon.
I slowly opened the door and stepped inside. But I was immediately blown away once more, forgetting the rotting bodies just a few steps away. The entire building was hollow, except for a giant loft reaching down from the ceiling. There were candles everywhere, as well as books and spare parts. Litter was strewn about, left in piles below the many tables lining the walls. Rusted farm equipment and primitive weaponry sat in the center, tended to by several ponies. There were about fourteen in all. Some were walking with a limp, others were visibly bleeding.
And one, a graying old mare with a thinning out mane, was hugging Mica tightly, speaking loud enough that everypony for a half mile radius could hear her.
“CLOSE THE DAMNED DOOR, I COULD GET PNEUMONIA. YA WANT THAT, YA FAT LARDS?”
I complied, worried that the zombie-like mare would lunge for me and start shrieking even louder. She reminded me an awful lot of the banshee, a horrifyingly loud ghost that I had heard about in traveller’s tales.
“Mica! By Celestia’s mighty white arse, I thought ya were dead! And who’s this Relic? A coltfriend? I told ya, missy! ‘Don’ be silly, wrap his willy!’” The mare hollered, sweeping her head about the room. The mare’s eyes were clouded over; she was obviously blind.
“Granny!” Mica giggled. “That isn’t who Relic is! Relic doesn’t even have a willy!”
I was greatly confused. Who was Willy and why was everypony talking about him?
“Wha?” Granny Pie’s unseeing eyes bugged out. “Are ya a damned fillyfooler?”
“No! Relic’s a synth!”
Granny Pie went quiet. Everypony, and I mean everypony, in the barn looked at the elder with concern. It was very apparent that Granny Pie was never quiet for longer than a few seconds. They were possibly looking to see if she had died mid-conversation.
“RELIC!” Granny Pie shouted, making me jump and the other ponies groan in disappointment. “GET YER METAL ARSE OVER ‘ERE!”
I slowly made my way over. As soon as I got close enough that she could hear my servos and motors whirring away, she reached out her cracked hooves and felt my exterior. I stood still, allowing her to feel my face and sides.
“Thank ya fer bringin’ me girlie home, Mr. Relic.” She said, her voice suddenly transitioning into something calmer and more sweet.
“You’re welcome, madam.”
“Please,” the blind mare scoffed, “call me Granite. I’m only madam to the damned fuckers who don’t know how to bury some damned bodies. They can fix up a three-thousand year old tractor but they ain’t gonna touch a shovel.”
She finished patting me down and sat back, satisfied.
“They’re repair ponies?” I asked, gesturing towards the other inhabitants of the building. I then realized my error. “The… Ones standing with those machines?”
“Aye. Ruddy good ones, too. But they can’t use a shovel, can’t use a hoe, can’t use a basket even. Only reason those ruddy bastards are alive is ‘cause they’re our engineers. All the farmers were outside workin’, they were inside with me. Them beasties outside munched up everypony outside but didn’t set hoof in the barn. Prolly knew I’d tear ‘em a new arse.”
I suppressed the humorous image of Granite Pie battling off a horde of Manticores.
“Now.” Granite said, a bit more serious this time. “Tell me about what happened in Runeton. All I know is Regent, the village leader, decided it was a good idea to lead ‘em all up ta tha’ mountain.”
“What?!” I gasped. How could a pony do such a thing?
“Tha’s what I said. Damned fool said there’d be more weapons down there. I told Mica to go up there, too. She’s a smart cookie. Mica would talk some sense into him. But then they ran and me an’ these numbnuts-” she waved over in the general direction of the engineers, who glared back at me “-holed up in ‘ere. Everypony left outside died. Or at least from what I can tell. Them bodies are rottin’ an’ it smells like shit in ‘ere.”
I considered this. Perhaps this was what I could do, I could exchange my labor for a weapon or two and maybe some repairs to my chassis. I proposed my plan to Granite, who nodded. It was agreed that a pegasus mare named First Spark would fix my spine and mount a crossbow in my side. In return, I would bury countless corpses.
“Ya sure? Didn’ think the 7s could handle that much work.”
“I have modifications, Granite. I’m a scavenger.”
“Alrighty then.” Granite croaked. “SPARK! Get yer wee lil’ hide over ‘ere an’ help this gentlecolt, will ya? He’s gotta busted back and some singed circuits.”
A silvery mare trotted over, looking irritable. Her bright blue eyes matched her electric mane. One of her traits that I immediately noticed was her prosthetic wing, a flimsy bat-like wing made with navy cloth. She gave me a quick glance over and shrugged.
“I’ll see what I can do.” She said. “Been awhile since I worked on a synth.”
“Alrighty then. Relic, you go with ‘er an’ then get to buryin’.”
First Spark was not the most gentle pony I’d ever had working on me. She had unceremoniously clipped off the back plates of my armor and immediately dug into my innards, pulling out damaged circuit boards that would momentarily render me blind, deaf, or both. It felt strange, even after having it done so many times before, to have a pony open you up and perform crucial repairs to your body while you were awake. It was mildly disorienting.
She eventually ripped out the melted segment of spine, replacing it with a far fancier version made from titanium. Even those bore beetles would have a rough time eating through that. After replacing my spine, First Spark got to work attaching a special metal crossbow to my side.
It had been modified by the trigger so I would not have to wrap my ankle around it. Instead, it would be attached to my left side, and a basic targeting program applied to my visor. The crossbow itself could fold and flatten up against my shoulder, then swing out and open should I require it. It was a fascinating device, designed by Spark herself. Unfortunately, it would have to be reloaded manually. Not that I minded, it felt good to at least have some sort of weapon. Not just a flimsy taser that would have to charge after each use. First Spark gave me a short crash course on how to aim and fire the device, which I was proficient at.
After my repairs, I was escorted outside to perform my half of the deal.
Burying their dead.
It wasn’t so bad for those few ponies that had been decapitated or mauled in the face. That way, I wouldn’t have to look into their cold, glazed eyes. It was, in a word, nightmarish. Maggots and molds had already began to set in many of them, and the rigor mortis was beginning wear away, leaving the ponies as giant sacks of flesh. Granite had told me that anything of value that I found would be mine to keep, and I did in fact find several objects that I could use.
I found some spare parts, a crudely drawn map of Equestria, some rags, and a bottle of alcohol.
Bits were common. They littered the ground around several merchant ponies who had obviously tried to escape with their fortunes. Their greed now led to my wealth, with what I estimated was about four hundred bits. But the fact that they had chosen to save their money rather than their family evoked something in me. Perhaps it was the influence of the Element of Loyalty tucked safely in my chestplate, but I felt anger at the cowards who ran. I simply dug a giant mass grave where I would put the greedy, the traitors. The others I buried separately. Other than the foals, who I had left in their mothers’ embraces. I figured that that is what the ponies would have wanted, to be left together as a family. I thought back to my own family back at Runeton as I dug the graves with my own hooves.
Lionheart and Garter had probably learned about Money Bag by now. And they probably knew about me leaving as well. Garter would understand why I left. But Lionheart? He may not be so forgiving. The angry stallion himself might follow me, but I doubted it would come to that. He wasn’t the young colt he once was. If he really hated me that much for leaving, he’d simply hire somepony to come after me.
After an hour or so, the job was done. All of them buried at the foot of the hill, stone markers showing the location of families and lone stallions who had clearly fought to protect the others.
The loyal ones.
Back inside the barn, Mica and the engineers had prepared a small dinner for themselves. Granite, however, had beckoned for me from a small room in the back of the building. Inside was a pair of rocking chairs, a table, and the pink amulet that Mica had carried earlier. I decided to place my amulet on the table as well. And when Granite took a seat in a chair, I followed suit.
“So Mica tells me ya got a few questions about yer amulet.”
“Yes, I do, miss.”
“Alrighty. I can give ya a lil’ summary. Now ya see, the Pie family goes wayyyyy back. And ever since my ancestor Pinkamena Diane Pie, we’ve had that.” Granite said, pointing a hoof at the pink gem sparkling on the table. “It’s called an Element of Harmony. Now history says alotta things ‘bout these Elements. There was six in all; Generosity, Honesty, Laughter, Loyalty, Kindness, and Magic. The Pie family got Laughter a long, long time ago. It’s been a family heirloom o’ sorts. With one interestin’ trait.”
She picked up the gem, and to my surprise, color began to return to her mane, a vivid pink color. It thickened out into a consistency like that of a cloud. The old mare smiled at me, hearing my noise of alarm, and nodded her head slowly.
“Whoever held the gem was blessed with infinite happiness and magic. Everypony in the Pie family, even me, had access to this power for a time.”
She put down the gem and once more, her mane fell flat and dead on her head. Then she pointed at my red gem, placed right beside the pink one. How she knew where it was, I was not sure.
“Now tha’s Loyalty, if I’m right. From what you’ve said, Loyalty is a wee bit different than Laughter. The holder will be loyal and all that, yeah. And you’d have magical power. But you’re a synth. Synths can’t use magic, an’ ya only have the emotions that ponies program into ya.”
“There’s also the hallucinations.” I added.
Granite looked confused.
“I’ve been seeing visions of a pony that calls herself ‘Rainbow Dash’. She’s spoken to me twice, but appeared to me about once every other day.” I explained. “You haven’t mentioned any visions, so it may be a synth-restricted symptom.”
“Makes sense,” Granite said.
“And one more question, miss.”
“Yea?”
“Where are the other Elements? Why did I find this Element? Who do they belong to?”
“Ah. I dunno where the others are. Could be anywhere, carried by anypony. As for why you found the element, that’s simple. That element chose you, Relic. It stayed buried and hidden for thousands o’ years. ‘Cause it was waitin’ for YOU.”
I looked down at the red gem. It glimmered in the lamplight, and I could feel the magic radiating off of it, pouring into my battery.
“Who does it belong to? Rightfully, I mean?”
Granite grinned, rocking away in her chair.
“Ya ever ‘eard the story o’ Princess Twilight Sparkle?”
"C'mon, Twilight! Imagine the possibilities! Flim and Flam are taking over with those robot things. Not that it's a bad thing, but what if we didn't need machines? What if we had ALICORNS instead? Hundreds of alicorns, all perfectly happy to help us do everyday tasks!"
"But Starlight... I-I'd have to ask Celestia. This is slavery you're talking about."
"It's not slavery if they like working for us. You're your own princess, Twilight! You never see Cadence going to them whenever she has a plan! What we need is independence. This could WORK."
"..."
"Come on, Twi. Creating a pony from scratch, how hard could it be? Ponies do it all the time, how do you think you popped up? And even if we don't use impregnation, we could make a homunculus! Those things used to be all over the place back when Starswirl was around. We could reinvent the homunculus to carry ALL traits of ALL races of pony."
"..."
"An artificial alicorn, Twilight. And you could be the one to create it. WE could be the ones to create it."
The bolt whistled through the air and struck the crudely painted target with a loud, resonating thud. It was three o’clock in the morning, and I was outside doing some crossbow practice; using a target made by Mica. She was asleep, as were all the other survivors of Sweet Apple Acres. That did not necessarily mean that I was alone.
“Eh.” Rainbow Dash grunted with a shrug, hovering just slightly over my head. “It wasn’t a bull’s-eye. Maybe you just need to be about twenty-percent cooler.”
My imaginary friend had appeared to me earlier in the night, when I was mulling over my future with the Element of Loyalty. She had initially just sat back, shades over her eyes, watching me from afar. Later, around midnight, she had found a suitable spot watching me from over my shoulder.
“I am sorry, miss, I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. But perhaps you would rather take a shot?” I asked, knowing fully well that she couldn’t carry anything physical. I was satisfied to see her scowl in irritation. With her now visibly frustrated, I reloaded the crossbow and fired once more at the target.
Thwunk!
“That’s more like it!” She cried.
This time, the bolt struck the target dead-center. I clopped over to admire my aim while retrieving the bolts. Granite Pie had a sizable stock of ammunitions in barn’s loft, but she had only lent me about twenty crossbow bolts. Five of which were explosives, one-time use. Granite and the few remaining engineers would unfortunately need the other ammo and weapons to trade for labor once I left Sweet Apple Acres. I was one of the only reliable sources of work available in the fertile town.
“Betcha can’t do it again.”
Thwunk!
“... Oh.”
All the farmers had been killed by the Manticore attack about a week ago, literally every single one. And the runaway survivors had shacked up in Runeton and now refused to come back. Occasionally, some traveller from elsewhere would settle down and get to work, but so far only two or three ponies actually did any manual labor. The many engineers had fixed up almost all of the damage from the attack. With so little work to do and so little money to be made, a few of the engineers simply got up and left. First Spark, the mare who had repaired my chassis, was one of those who did so. So in all, there was only about eleven ponies out of what used to be one hundred and fifty left. And everyday, I would hear some other horror about what had happened during the attack.
‘They just tore through everypony! Weaseled into them cabins an’ ripped them inside out!’ One engineer, a stallion named Steam Willie said. ‘They were so coordinated. Like they was lookin’ fer somethin’. I coulda sworn they checked the cabins one by one.’
‘Were hellbent on gettin in ‘ere. Then when Granite sent out Mica, they vanished real quick. Don’ blame ‘em. That filly can lift fifty stone widdout breakin’ a sweat!’ Another added. “Think I’m pullin’ yer leg? Ask ‘er yerself!”
‘All dem out there kept on knockin’ on the door, beggin’ ta be let in. But Granite done said we ain’t ta let anypony in fer nothin’. Cuz Manticores can mimic the voices of tha last thing they done killed, ya know. Ah swear on me mum I could hear their lil’ bones snappin’ like twigs out there.’
The stories had gotten progressively worse and far more brutal, so I had simply requested that they not tell me any more of those tales. Of course, they didn’t listen, but that didn’t mean I tried my best to ignore them. As much as I appreciate acceptance in a community, I didn’t want to stand around and chatter about the massacre that had happened not too long ago. Especially when I could so vividly remember burying each and every one of the dead. It was nice making new friends, though. And Steam Willie seemed to like talking to a machine and having it talk back.
Occasionally I wondered if my new friend was senile.
Thwunk!
The bolt went soaring once more, and it struck the target with a resonating thud.
“Ya missed again, nuts and bolts.” Rainbow Dash commented with a yawn. “Why can’t you be good at anything?”
“Why can’t you shut up?” I said, quietly. She may have been merely a hologram or a hallucination, but I was still bound my faulty programming to treat ponies with respect. Rainbow Dash chuckled victoriously and faded into the dusty air. The air was dusty because another storm was inbound, one obviously less powerful than the one several months ago, but it was still something to worry about.
I was just reloading my crossbow for another shot at the target when I realized that I was no longer alone. Standing sleepily outside the slightly ajar barn door was Mica, rubbing her eyes with her hoof and letting out a squeaky yawn. Her mane was as poofy as ever, an obvious bedhead.
“Good morning, Relic!” She chirped, her bright blue eyes staring into my own glowing ones.
“Good morning.” I greeted with a curt nod. “You’re up early. Several hours early, at that.”
“Yeah, well… I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?” I asked, taking aim once more with my crossbow. I was beginning to really like my latest modification. I wished that I could compliment First Spark’s work.
“I wanted to ask you where you planned on going next.” Mica said.
I stopped aiming and looked back at her. Realizing that she actually desired a conversation, I respectfully removed the bolt from the crossbow and let the new weapon fold up into my left leg. Then I directed my full attention to the sleep-deprived pink mare staring expectantly at me.
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
“Well,” she elaborated, “you’re obviously not staying in Sweet Apple Acres for much longer. You’ve been here for awhile already. So I was wondering where you were going to go now. There’s not that much that I know about out there. There’s a few cities, from what I heard. Some of them are even inhabitable. But it’s really dangerous out there, Relic! If you thought the Carcolhes were bad, there’s bogeys hundreds of times more deadly than those out there! Patchworks! Bandits! Secret societies! Diamond Dogs! Dragons!”
“I don’t know what I plan to do beyond what I desire to do, if you can understand that. Your grandmother had told me about the Princess, that Twilight Sparkle pony? I figured that I could try my hoof at finding her, and return the Element to her. From what I understand, she’d need it more than I do.”
Mica looked aghast.
“Y-You’re not keeping the Element?!”
“Of course not. What if it was stolen? Or destroyed? I was already thousands of years old when I was activated, and I’ve been active for a few decades. My central processor due to fully break down eventually, and once that happens, I’ll be unrepairable and useless. I need to return this gem to its rightful owner. I’ve procrastinated long enough.”
“You could just keep it! It’s so useful to you, you never having to recharge your battery. I mean, c’mon! The Pie family’s had ours since before the cataclysm! Surely you can keep yours a little while longer.”
“Maybe you should consider returning that Element as well. From what Granite said, they’re important to the Princess. They’ve defeated a god of chaos three times and they’ve saved Equestria double that, back when the land wasn’t quite like this. They probably could have saved Equestria from this ‘cataclysm’ everypony speaks of, had they have all been together. Hopefully, the Princess will have the others. Maybe she could even do something about all this… Death. Destruction. These monsters and such.”
Mica was silent, staring at the ground.
“Maybe you’re right.” She admitted.
“I know I am. It would be the best, to return them to her. She would know how to properly utilize them, anyways.”
She bounced up, smiling. “So when do we go?”
“We? Go?”
“Yeah! You did say I should return it, too. So let’s go together! It’ll be fun, like a road trip!”
Before I could stop her, she had already galloped inside at full speed. I let out an electronic sigh and followed her. All the while I felt like I could faintly hear Rainbow Dash laughing at me. I followed Mica back inside, and immediately bumped into Steam Willie.
He was an older Earth pony stallion, not as old as Granite, but his mane was already salt-and-peppery with age. It contrasted greatly with his tan coat, with a greasy wrench on his flank. He was apparently just a handystallion, and former assistant to First Spark before she left. He smiled at me, and I returned the gesture. We were friendly, considering he was the only engineer who seemed to think that synthetics were more than just mindless slaves. The other engineers had taken to asking me to cook them meals and serve them beverages. Which I obliged to do, but only because they asked nicely.
“So ya headin’ off then Relic?” Steam grinned. “Mica said y’all were headin’ out. We’ll miss ya here at the Acres. Been a long time since we had a synth workin’ for us.”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure just yet. I just have a little something that I have to do out there.”
Steam Willie gave me a knowing look and nodded his head, tugging a hoof through the little white beard on his chin.
“Well, y’all be careful, aight? It’s a dangerous place out there.”
“I’ve heard.”
Granite Pie was unfortunately quite open to the idea of returning the Elements to the Princess. If we were able to find her, of course. Yet there were many pros and cons to joining this journey, on our noble quest to find Princess Twilight Sparkle.
Let us go over them.
The pros were decent. I would be given a nice supply of spare parts, for starters. A grand total of six replacement servos, three motor refinement kits, an emergency battery, armor panels, armor patches, lubricants, and more. It was, of course, packed into a brand-new saddle bag, along with my twenty crossbolts (plus fifteen more that Granite threw in). Not to mention the bulbous bag of bits that the elderly, blind mare had bestowed upon me. It was all that I would ever possibly need on my trip into the unknown.
As for the cons? Mica Pie was to accompany me. And if a living pony were to join me on my travels, I would have to also pack rations, water, purification tablets, a tent, various medicines and bandages… Ponies required a lot more maintenance than a synth. Besides the rather talkative mare, I would also be given an equally complicated map detailing everything that I would need to know about everything in the dusty wastes. I had desired a pony guide, yes. But Mica and a map was not exactly what I had imagined.
Granite had told us that we were to first go to a place called Fillydelphia. From there, an airtram could fly us up to New Cloudsdale, where we could ask the Pegasi for assistance. The Pegasi, having control over the skies, would surely know where the Princess could be.
In all, it would be about a month of trotting. Not to count the time I would have to spend waiting for Mica to get some sleep and to feed herself. And this time, we didn’t have any preserved Guard rations. Instead, we had spoilable foods like lettuce heads and apples. Yes, the fruits and vegetables were much lighter than cans, but there’s a reason why they’re called ‘spoilable’.
But from what the map in my hooves said, the Boneyard stood directly between Sweet Apple and Fillydelphia. The Boneyard was only an hour away, and I could even see parts of it from the distance; towering piles of garbage and a tall chain link fence. Mica had said something about Patchworks residing in the Boneyard, but I figured that going through there could save us more time than just going around it. The reason it was such an obstacle was the fact that it stretched sideways across the map, extending all the way from Sweet Apple to the mountain range of the Ruins and the icy wastes up north. For some reason the north was scribbled over with various symbols, and the few discernable words read ‘DANGER: SOMBRA.’ So rather than going North to whatever this Sombra was, we could simply skip through the Boneyard and face off the Patchworks. And not only could we be taking less of a risk, but it would require less time and packing.
I did not relay my plans to Mica or Granite, mostly because I knew that my idea would be shot down and trampled upon. So when the day came that we would be leaving for Fillydelphia, I led Mica out into the wasteland after she and Granite had exchanged a tearful goodbye. Unfortunately, Mica was more observant than I had hoped.
“Relic? Why are going that way? We should be heading North.” Mica asked with a knowing look.
“I have a shortcut.” I replied. “Just straight through that old garbage dump and we’ll be there in a matter of days.”
“NO!” Mica shouted in protest, sitting on her haunches with a face full of horror. “Ponies don’t go in the Boneyard! The Patchworks! They’ll kill us!”
“Mica.” I said. “I have this crossbow now. You have that magical cannon. I’m sure we’ll be okay.”
She continued to cower, staring straight into my eyes with defiance and fear. I realized that she was possibly afraid that I would drag her all the way through the place. Whatever these Patchworks looked like, they seemed to terrify the ponies of Sweet Apple Acres. But I’ve handled myself well against Manticores. And Mica knew how to avoid a Carcolh attack. So I was confident that we could hold off a few rogue synths. Especially myself. I was an FF-7! The Patchworks sounded like FF-4s at the most; I was superior to them in quality and performance. I told all this to Mica, and slowly, she began to come to my side.
“If you’re sure, Relic…”
“I am positive.” I said, with a smile. “Trust me, Mica. As long as you listen to me, you’ll be okay.”
“Okie dokie lokie! But, you have to Pinkie Promise.”
“Pinkie Promise?”
Mica took a deep breath.
“Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye!” And then, like an absolute madmare, she smashed her own hoof into her eye socket. “Now you do it!”
“... Why?”
“Just do it! Everypony in Sweet Apple Acres does it. It’s traditional.”
“Very well. Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.” I placed my hoof over one of my sensors. Mica smiled in satisfaction.
And together, we approached the Boneyard, just as the sky began to darken.
The Boneyard was surrounded by an enormous chain link fence, as before mentioned.
It was a long and tall and fairly impressive fence, but due to age and its close proximity to various chemicals and rusting metals, the fence was riddled with several gaps and holes along its mile upon mile of length. The fence itself was tall, possibly around five yards tall, and topped with an additional yard of curled barbwire. And beyond the fence? I saw hills of garbage, as well as stacks of rusted metal and even a few disassembled synths. I would have to forage for even more spare parts to add to my collection.
Beyond that, I saw antiquated appliances and even a few vehicles; ancient chariots and carts, even a few less primitive self-drawn carriages. Perhaps one of them was still operable? If we could get one of them to work, that would save us quite a bit of walking. And even if we couldn’t, I could possibly rebuild one from scratch. There were so many possibilities among all this scrap, that I had almost completely disregarded the fact that there was danger here. To me, a scavenger, this was not a place to be feared. This was practically heaven.
But Mica seemed to fear it anyways. Her blue eyes darted about, surveying the grand expanse. I wanted to know what it was that she feared of this place. It seemed harmless enough, but if she was that afraid of these ‘Patchworks’, then I was going to remain on guard.
Mica and I trotted into the Boneyard together, pushing ourselves through a sizable crevice in the fence. We both were in silent awe of the sight before us; walls of forgotten and unwanted machines, crumpled remains of FF-3 and FF-5 models, even the occasional limb or head of a more recent series. One residual framework struck me on a deep level; an FF-7, almost a complete replica of myself, laid by the walls. It had been decapitated and its torso ripped open. When I did a quick scan of it, I was shocked to find that the FF-7’s remains were completely hollowed out. I realized with horror that that is what I would become once I had broken down or succumbed to some terrible beast; I was nothing but salvageable spare parts.
After that, I made sure to load my crossbow.
Just in case.
“Remember,” Mica whispered as we walked between two separate walls of junk, “something could be watching us.”
I nodded as we delve further and further into the Boneyard. Eventually, the fence and the horizon with it vanished. And we were now completely surrounded by trash. Not only that, but the sky was darkening even more.
“Wait.” I said. Mica stopped in her tracks and looked back at me.
“What’s wrong, Relic?”
“This… This is almost like a maze.”
It was true. The winding path we were exploring? The tall, steep walls that didn’t let you see the horizon nor allow you to climb up over them. The way it seemed to twist and turn and branch off at random points where you would expect a single exit. The metallic walls of the Boneyard were composed of scrap metal and sheets of pure rust. None of it appeared salvageable, and even the items I did see that could be useful, I did not pick up. This was due in part to the sinking feeling in my circuitry. Something that told me that whatever it was that resided in this labyrinth would not appreciate having its collection stolen.
“If it’s a maze, how do we get out?” Mica asked, concerned. “All we gotta do is follow it, right? Aren’t mazes like puzzles?”
I pulled out the maps once more and gave them a look over.
“The maps say nothing about there being a maze. They don’t say how to pass through! We have no choice but to walk the maze and hope we get out by daybreak.”
“Why don’t we just climb up the walls?” Mica asked. Before I could answer, she leapt up onto one of the walls and attempted to scramble up the side. Several loose bolts and screws fell to the ground with a soft clatter, but Mica could only climb up so high before her hooves lost their grip and she came tumbling down. I walked up to her, lying on her back. She smiled up at me sheepishly. “No, we can’t climb the walls. So we have to go through the maze?”
“I don’t think we have a choice.” I shrugged. “Let’s hope it isn’t that complex of one.”
And so we walked.
Nightfall was swift, and we tried to be swifter. Every so often, I would get readings from my radar or either one of us would hear something almost like hoofsteps surrounding us. There was absolutely no doubt that we were being watched. I wasn’t sure if it was these Patchworks that everypony had been warning me about. If it was, then I didn’t want to meet them.
Mica didn’t make so much as a peep as we trudged through this metallic hellscape. I could understand why. The decapitated bodies of FF series synths littered the ground, some of them reminding me far too much of myself. I avoided looking closely at any FF-7 bodies, but all other series were subjected to a thorough scavenge for spare parts. Beyond these bodies strewn about, nothing of value could be seen. I wanted to continue looking. This was, after all, a scavenger’s wet dream. But Mica seemed to want to get as far away from this place as possible, so I made sure to keep up and not spend to long marvelling at artifacts that I could pilfer with ease.
Several hours passed. At around midnight, Mica visibly began to tire. I suggested setting up camp in the next clearing. Of course, Mica was as opposed to that idea as I had expected.
“Relic, no! We can’t just SLEEP in here! This is probably the most dangerous part of the Boneyard!” Mica protested, slouching and struggling to keep her eyes open. Her mane was a little less puffy than usual, something I found odd.
“When you pass out, I will have to carry you, and I don’t think that I could outrun any monsters while carrying you, your possessions, and my own. Element of Harmony or not. You can pitch a tent and I can keep watch.”
“But what if something happens?!”
I flicked out my crossbow, checking to make sure it was loaded. I looked to Mica and nodded; “I think I could handle a few broken down robots.”
I helped her set up a tent. Basically a blanket draped over two twigs, but it was the only one that Granite had provided for us and it would at least shelter her from the winds and cold. The simple tent might even hide her from any creatures looking for a snack. Considering how the blanket still reeked of rotten apples and vegetables.
The moon rose, an ivory beam shifting its way through the dense cloud cover. But that too was quickly snuffed out. The darkness fell like a blanket, and the many shadows of towering walls didn't help our situation any more. I had the foresight to not use my ocular flashlights. I had no idea what else lived here besides these ‘Patchworks’. And I did not necessarily want to find out. I had my radar out, and every so often it would let out a plaintive blip, one that came from all directions; almost as if the walls of the Boneyard were moving. But that was impossible, wasn't it? Giant multi-story walls of garbage didn't just get up and walk around in the night.
That sounded more like something from an old mare’s tale. A campfire story, like the ones we scavengers would have late at night in the Ruins. I figured that if I ever willingly returned home in one piece, I would have quite the story to tell my peers.
As Mica snored away, I couldn't help but hear tinkling sounds. Garbage shifting over some unseen creature. The distant sound of gears clicking away. Occasionally, I would hear a disembodied moan from somewhere past the thick fortifications of scrap. The sounds were just my delirium, I would argue to myself. Mica and I were alone here in the Boneyard.
I was scared.
I don't know why, but I was. I had never truly felt fear before. Just worry and angst, but never something as primal and internal as fear. Fear was something ponies had, and I was a synth. Synths were built not to have fear, they were built to be selfless and capable of doing the more terrible and horrific of duties. But I was afraid regardless. Everything leading up to this moment was suddenly a very bad idea. Why had we come trotting into this obviously forbidden land? Where the broken bodies of dead synths cry out and sing to the night? These questions swirled through my already overheating processors. I found myself suddenly cowering beside the tent, my crossbow flicked out and already loaded. I couldn't recall when exactly I had moved to such close proximity to Mica, but I decided that this was possibly the best place for me to sit in safety. And having her close to me was oddly comforting in a way.
Between the high mounds of trash, I began to see glowing dots. Several pairs of them, all glaring at our little camp. I shuddered and glanced down at the sleeping form of Mica. She was snoring softly, her breath making small clouds of vapor in the frigid air. All I could see was Garter sleeping in that tent. Then I sat up straight and decided that I would do absolutely everything in my power to keep this pony safe.
I turned on my flashlights, turning my head to focus the beams on the glimmering eyes.
I was relieved, though still partially unnerved, to see a few ancient FF models. They had obviously undergone some sort of repairs. The work on them was sloppy. I could see bubbling melted edges where somepony had shoddily torched the rear half of a FF-5 onto an FF-3. The incompatible halves made the entire synth appear disheveled. I could see why. Even though it was standing up on all four of its legs, each of its hooves were from some other model of synth. Like whoever had tossed it together could have give less of a damn about whether it worked or not.
I shook my head and scolded myself for being so easily frightened by remains. I flicked off my lights and turned down to study the map under the dimmer glow of the Element of Loyalty.
It appeared that after we made our way out of the Boneyard, there was nothing but desert between here and Fillydelphia. Although a small annotation read ‘Beware the Talon’. I didn’t quite understand that. Could it be that a few rogue griffons had taken to their primal instincts and were not attacking ponies? It was impossible to tell. I had been living secluded in the Ruins for so long…
There was a creaking sound behind me. Startled, I whirled around and flashed my slight on.
The synth was gone.
I swirled my head around, rapidly scanning with my ocular sensors and my radar. There were blips coming from all around our camp. Encircling us… trapping us…
“Mica! Get up, now.”
She snorted and murmured in her sleep. Something about parties.
“Mica!” I hissed, giving the tent a kick. “Mica! Hurry up! Something’s got us surrounded!”
The mare sat up, smacking her lips and rubbing her eyes.
“What is it, Relic?” She groaned.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s caught us in its trap. I’m getting all sorts of readings and… and I saw one, Mica. A Patchwork. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but when I looked away, it just vanished. It’s been watching us this whole time. We need to get out of here. My radar says there could be dozens of them, waiting to pounce.”
Mica gazed around, all signs of sleep deprivation gone. She gulped audibly.
“Get the tent packed up.” I whispered. She nodded, and quickly began to do so. I flicked out my crossbow and notched a bolt, ready to attack. Nothing pounced on us, but I could hear the junk around us shift and stir. Mica tossed the rolled up tent over her shoulders and looked to me. Together, we slowly stepped back into the maze, this time very much alert to every small sound.
Every so often I would hear gears whirring away. I could also hear whispering.
I nodded and pulled out my radar once again into my HUD. The blips weren’t surrounding us now, but they were following us. Little specks of yellow that could easily become frighteningly real if they got any closer. And it was dark. Besides the faint glow coming from my core and from the Element dangling from my neck, there was absolutely no light. It would be hard to tell what was attacking us when it actually did.
Then we both heard a loud creak coming from directly behind us.
I knew that Mica heard it as well, because she tensed up and stopped moving. I turned around and I saw a glowing pair of red dots, glaring at me through the thick, inky darkness. I did the only thing that I could think of: I turned on my flashlights.
Standing there was something skeletal and almost otherworldly. It was just a chassis of some FF model, no armor, though it was stained with blood and a hardened crust of gore. Over its face, the synth wore a pony’s skull. The skull mandible had been attached to were its own had fallen off, giving the synth an appearance of being undead. Its long legs ended in hooves fitted with toothed blades. From the synth’s body, I could see loose wires and hunks of trash jutting out at odd angles. Besides the blades, the synth had no visible weapons. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. This was a Patchwork.
“State your business.” I shouted, hoping that the loud noise would startle the creature. Mica whimpered from her hiding place behind me. Surprisingly, the creature didn’t so much as flinch at my amplified words. Instead, it spoke.
“Bizzzz-nisssss?” The Patchwork snarled, nearly animalistic. “Mmmm… Nee’ parzzzz… Prit-e synth have parzzzz…” I shuddered, and when I did the Patchwork smiled cruelly. It let out a giggle, a staticky noise like a barehoof on a chalkboard. “Bizzznisss time!”
“Mica, run!” I shouted. I didn’t have to ask twice.
As she galloped away, I took aim with my crossbow. Thwunk! A bolt was now affixed in its left eye socket. The synth grunted in mild annoyance and snarled once again. Then it took a few threatening steps forward and let out a howl.
And to my dismay, I could hear several other creatures howl in reply.
Patchworks were terrifyingly, hideously, alarmingly real.
And unfortunately for us, the horror that had pounced on us was far from the only one in the Boneyard. I could hear them everywhere, ticking and creaking and squealing into the otherwise silent dump. In the distance, I could hear the oncoming roar of another dust storm, which only added to our anxiety.
Every corner we turned was another mechanical menace, sloppily tossed together with parts that they themselves had torn from the still-functioning bodies of synths. Some had even taken pony body parts and attached it to themselves. Like the skull and mandible from the first Patchwork. One even had a pair of decaying eyes shoved into its ocular sockets, rendering it blind but no less terrifying. Yet another had replaced its own hooves with the organic ones from a pony, still oozing blood. It must have been a fresh kill. That made me wonder exactly how many ponies and synths ventured into the Boneyard, only to meet their fate at the blades of the Patchworks.
One of the Patchworks had somehow gotten on top of the maze’s walls. It leapt down, slashing at my side with sword-like talons that were protruding from its hooves, almost like a griffon’s claws. I felt the hit connect, and when I glanced over I immediately felt faint. There were now three clean gashes in my armor, revealing my glowing innards. Several wires had been sliced as well; although what the wires were for, I was unsure. But it was warning enough. There was no hoof-to-hoof combat with these things, they could dice me up in seconds and integrate myself into them in less time.
Mica was hyperventilating, and I could hear her panicking next to me. She was obviously having a hard time with keeping herself from fainting. Considering how anxious she had been previously, it was understandable that meeting her fillyhood bogey-stallions would cause her incredible amounts of stress and fear.
Every so often, I would turn about and fire another bolt at the Patchworks. But that was to no avail. The crazed synthetics had completely jumbled innards, so it was impossible to land a crippling shot. One of the many Patchworks, who was faster than the others and therefore took the most hits, was now stuck full of bolts, looking less like a pony and more like a porcupine. It was the one leering at us while we were being chased, knowing as well as I did that Mica would tire at any given moment.
I didn’t stop shooting, however. Bolt after bolt flew through the darkness, sometimes colliding with a mechanical menace, sometimes missing entirely. Soon enough, I had fired off every single bolt at my disposal. And yet I had not stopped a single Patchwork. Mica was several yards ahead of me, but that was okay. At least if the Patchworks attacked me, Mica would be able to escape.
She was my number one concern.
“Relic!”
I looked up to see Mica standing a few yards away from a gaping hole, with some oddly familiar lines radiating from it. She was pointing at it with an eager hoof. A Carcolh. I immediately understood what to do. Leaping over several dusty tentacles, I proceeded to lead the Patchworks closer and closer to the hole.
“Use your explodey arrows!” Mica shrieked.
I remembered that I still had about a dozen thermite-tipped bolts in my pack. I quickly shoved one into my crossbow and random aim behind me. I triggered the drawstring, and the bolt went flying behind me. A wave of heat and a rumbling boom told me that it had collided with something. Most likely a wall, but that was okay. I hadn’t been aiming for a Patchwork, I was only trying to keep them at bay.
Immediately, several Patchworks who had been hot on my tail stumbled. A few of them trampled on the dust-covered tentacles. I couldn’t help but feel a wave of happiness. The first emotion other than revulsion I’ve ever felt towards a Carcolh.
The Carcolh roared to life, its many appendages whipping about, grabbing at several of the Patchworks. I felt a tentacle rake at my damaged side, but I stepped out of reach just in time. Thankfully, the other Patchworks were distracted by the colossal snail that was destroying their brethren. Had they not been chasing after us while covered in rotting body parts, I would have felt a bit sorry for them.
“Haha!” Mica laughed, dancing about on her hind legs. “We got ‘em, Relic!”
I would have partaken in the celebration as well, but the Carcolh suddenly let out a shriek. I looked and was appalled to see that only a few Patchworks had been destroyed. The others had overtaken the Carcolh and torn it to shreds. Shining blue blood coated the bodies of the stumbling Patchworks. They had been damaged, but not so much as shaken.
The Patchwork that had initially attacked us glared at us through its skull mask, leering as if it knew that a dart of terror suddenly shot through my innards. I held up the crossbow, loaded with another exploding bolt. But at this distance, an explosion would toss shrapnel at us. Mica didn’t have armor like I did, and she could end up severely injured.
I stepped between Mica and the oncoming horde.
“Mica...” I said, mustering all the bravery that I could, “You need to go. I can probably hold them off for a few minutes. That’s enough of a head start to get you out of here.” She gasped.
“Relic, no! We gotta give the Princess the Elements together!”
I ripped the dangling charm off of my neck. Giving it one last glance, I tossed it over to Mica. She caught it and stared down at it; as if she couldn’t believe that she was holding it.
“Take it to Twilight Sparkle.” She nodded her head, tears in her eyes. I have a feeling that if I had been a pony, I would probably be crying as well. “Make sure it stays safe if I… don’t make it. If I do make it, I’ll meet up with you at FIllydelphia. Now go. We can’t be too far from an exit.”
Mica nodded and looked away. Then at the last second she turned back towards me and leapt forward, giving me a hug.
No words were spoken, but I understood the gesture completely. Pushing her gently away, I gave her a reassuring pat on the nape. And then she kicked into a gallop and vanished into the misty corners of the Boneyard. I faced my foes, the oncoming Patchworks. I was well prepared for a fight. I’d survived countless sandstorms, multiple tussles with Rune raiders, a Manticore attack, bore beetles, and Carcolhes; these were nothing but psychotic machines. I admit I felt significantly weaker without the Element of Loyalty in my grasp, but the desire to protect Mica was strong enough.
I began to fire bolt after bolt at the horde. The explosions would rip off appendages and even tear apart their sloppy armor, but the Patchworks weren’t fazed at all. They hissed and snarled and growled. Blood and oil dripped from their wounds, but that didn’t matter much considering that they had already been doing so from their bladed maws.
One Patchwork, which had been missing half of its face, thanks to a explosion, lunged at me. I gave it a good kick with my right hoof, right in the exposed circuitry. Sparks and small flakes of metal scattered from the Patchwork’s head, and the finally decommissioned synth collapsed on the ground, its circuits giving up on it.
The others looked warily at their fallen brethren then back up to me. I could see the monsters contemplating a fight. Especially since I realized that they could be killed by excessive damage to the head. Which was odd, since most synths were powered and controlled via a central processor in their abdomens, not their heads. The Patchworks must have seen their pony victims and then foolishly placed their central processors in their heads, where a pony’s brain would be. The Patchworks weren’t trying to preserve themselves, I realized. They were trying to become living ponies.
The Patchworks stopped their approach and gazed at their fallen comrade. At first, I thought they might run to its aide. But when they all leapt towards the broken synth, I was horrified to see that they were ripping it apart. Blades and hooves stretched out and violently tore wires and metal frames from the dishevelled chassis. The fallen Patchwork let out a soft whine before shutting down completely, leaving the others to tear at its remains like vultures on a carcass.
This was the perfect time for me to make my escape. I started to sneak away, but before I could, something grabbed my flank. It was the skull-headed Patchwork. It sneered at me before casting its glowing scarlet eyes at the gashes on my side. It had completely ignored the fallen Patchwork, seeking out me over some rusted garbage. This thing was obviously intelligent. The creature smiled at me, and I shuddered involuntarily.
“Where do youzzzz tink yer g-going?” The Patchwork sizzled, its mashed and very malformed mouth spitting out equally shredded words. It made a slurping sound as it drew back in its oily slobber.
“Leave me alone.” I answered, trying to sound as bold as possible. It was hard to remain calm knowing that a creature that had the capabilities of speech wanted you dead.
“Buh Skullzy likesss youzzzz. Be frrrrieeeend?” It giggled, sending globs of unidentifiable liquids splattering onto me. “Me gonna make youzzzz MINE!”
It leapt towards me, blades ready to shred the face off of my head. But just before the Patchwork flew into me, a rainbow explosion of color washed over us, then all I saw was red. Once again, for what felt like the hundredth time, I was cast into the realm of unconsciousness.
“Geez, Nuts-n-Bolts. We can’t keep meeting like this.”
A familiar, snarky, multicolored Pegasus floated towards me. All around us was nothingness, and, to my surprise, the Patchwork was here as well. The monster was looking around, his glowing red eyes wide with fear. I felt absolutely nothing towards the creature. In fact, I felt my spirits rise just seeing the beast squirm. It deserved to feel weak.
“Rainbow Dash? Did you do this?”
“Yup. Couldn’t let that… beast dice up the brand new Element of Loyalty. But just so ya know, you guys are still lying in that hellhole, so don’t think you’re off the hook yet. Time’ll go by a little bit slower, but you still need to wake up as soon as possible.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“How are you here? With me? I gave the Element to Mica!”
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, and that was really dumb, too. The Element could have saved you from that ugly bag of scrap. But no, give it to the crazy mare and send her on her way. Now you’re basically defenseless and all. You don’t wanna ask how you can get outta this situation, but you do wanna ask why I’m here in the first place. Relic, I’m a PART of you now. Why do you think you’ve grown cutie marks? Because I’m inside you now. Some kinda weirdo wonko Relic-Dash thingy.”
“I have… Cutie marks?”
Rainbow Dash slapped herself in the face in exasperation.
“C’mon, numbnuts! Identical markings on your butt, right where a pony’s markings would be? I mean, you’re walking around with a pony with balloons on her butt, I would have expected you to realize that you have cutie marks, too.”
I suddenly turned to marvel at the markings on my rear, a pair of storm clouds. As Rainbow Dash had said, I had assumed them to be merely grease stains from my armor polishing. But now I could clearly see that the dark splotches on my sides mirrored Rainbow Dash’s colorful lightning mark. While I admired my cutie marks, the Pegasus addressed the Patchwork.
“Hey, you.” She snapped, giving the Patchwork a kick. It yelped and gazed up at Rainbow Dash with awe.
“P-Pony flyyy?”
“Brilliant observation, numbnuts. What’s your name?”
“Skullzy!”
“Haha! No.” Rainbow Dash snarled. “That’s too cool of a name for the likes of you. Your name is Brainrot. Cuz that’s all that I feel when I look at something as nasty as you. Got it? Brainrot, not something that’s twenty-percent cooler like Skullzy. What are you, Brainrot?”
“Skullzy am… er, Brainrot am pony!”
I could tell from the retch of disgust coming from their conversation that Rainbow Dash was appalled that it had just referred to itself as a pony.
“It’s a Patchwork,” I corrected, still not taking my eyes off of my cutie marks. “They used to be synths, but after decimating their morality programs, they kill ponies and other synths just to add to themselves and make themselves look less robotic and more natural. They’re not very good at it, as you can tell.”
“Uh huh.” Rainbow Dash grunted, rubbing her chin. “Tell ya what, Brainrot the Patchwork. Are you strong?”
“Yesssss! Sk-... Brainrot am very sssstrongz. Keel many monstores an’ poniessss.” The newly christened Brainrot hissed proudly. “Couldz keel youzzzz, flying pony. Come down an’ plaayyyyy…”
I looked up in concern, afraid that the spiritual pegasus would accept the Patchwork’s invitation. I was relieved to see her grimace in disgust. She must have been shocked to discover that the thing killed ponies. Of course, seeing its brethren was enough to dull the impact of that knowledge on myself, so I wasn’t quite as disgusted as the Patchwork began to ramble, recounting each and every pony it had ever killed. Since synths have largely permanent memories, there was quite the list. And it could recall exactly how and why he killed every pony.
“Brainrot keelz leetle whiny pony, teensy tiny! Den Brainrot keelz big nasty pony. Try keel me herd! Keelz him. Got nice shiny head from big nasty pony.” Brainrot rapped a clawed hoof on his skull-covered head. “Brainrot be bestest pony everrrr…”
“No!” Rainbow Dash shouted. “You’re not a pony! You’re a monster! Killing a foal? That’s something a monster does! A pony helps others, a pony doesn’t try to be what its not! You’re nothing like any of us! RELIC is more of a pony than you are, and he doesn’t have gross stuff slapped all over himself!”
Brainrot hushed up and looked at the two of us with wide, red eyes. I realized his eyes composed of several glowing rings of pink, which that and the black between these rings melded to appear darker and redder from afar. I had no previous recollection of having seen eyes like that. Even my internal knowledge of all things Flim-Flam couldn’t inform me on the origins of those eyes. I could literally hear him thinking away, since he was whispering his every thought aloud.
“No am pony? Iz stoopid, course am pony, haff pony face an’ pony hoovies an’ pony… pony…” It looked at itself, really looked at itself. Probably for the first time in its miserable existence. “Buh… Buh…”
“See. You’re a monster.” Rainbow Dash turned away from the monstrosity and looked back at me, with a notably ravenous demeanor. I didn’t want to get on my savior’s bad side, so I stood up straight, immediately at attention. “So what’s the plan, Nuts-n-Bolts? You gonna run after your marefriend and get back my… I mean, OUR Element?”
“I suppose so. I have no idea where she went or if she even made her way out of the Boneyard herself.”
“Ya’know, just going around this hole woulda saved you alotta grief.” Rainbow Dash scolded. I had to agree.
Brainrot whistled and glared up at me. I looked to him in apprehension. I honestly wanted nothing to do with it, and wanted wake up as soon as possible so I could get as far away from it as possible.
“You.”
I pointed at myself, confused.
“Me?”
“Youz gonna teach Brainrot to bez pony. You knowz how ta bez pony. Brainrot gon’ halp youzzz geet outta trashy-land. K-k-kay? Brainrot knows lotzzzz ‘bout outsidies.”
I looked to Rainbow Dash. The cyan mare smiled down at me knowingly. Here was the guide that I had been looking for.
Brainrot proved a much more efficient, if not more unorthodox, guide than the useless map.
Despite the fact that he had possibly not set hoof outside the Boneyard in decades, he was very well-versed in the cultures and geography of Equestria. From the little I could gather in his ramblings, he used to be an FF-3. But when he and his master foolishly wandered into the Boneyard, the Patchworks had murdered his master in cold blood then turned their sights on him. He had fought back, only to succumb to the same madness that the other Patchworks suffered from. He himself would go on to kill dozens in the fruitless quest to make himself into a living, breathing pony. That was all that I could gather, and from what I could tell, it was all that I would want to hear.
When we had first woken up from the slumber that Rainbow Dash had brought us into, Brainrot’s comrades were busy still fighting over scraps. Brainrot had simply stumbled over and used the blades on his forelegs to decapitate them all as they weren’t paying attention. At first I was horrified by his brutality, but then I quickly saw his logic. If we were going to escape, we might as well kill them while they were caught unawares.
He sliced their heads off, right at the necks. The bodies crumpled to the ground, sparking and twitching occasionally. But none of them got back up, all of them had housed their processors in their heads. Brainrot would then rip them apart, picking off parts that he would coo over. Every so often he would leer in my direction, rip out a gore-spattered hunk of whatever and offer it towards me.
Disgusted, I would shake my head and turn down what he possibly took as a generous offering.
“Brainrot hazzzz friendsy! Meester…?” It looked confused, staring off into space. Then it snapped back into reality and smiled at me. “What’s youzzz name, meester?”
“My name is Relic. Can we move along, please? I need to meet up with somepony.”
Brainrot sniggered.
“Bleh. Pretty pinky pony? Youzzzz haff Brainrot nao. No nee’ pretty pink pony.” He continued to laugh, standing atop his dead comrades in a gruesome manner. I felt myself become angered at the way he so nonchalantly suggested replacing Mica. I walked up to his and struck him in the face with a hoof.
Brainrot looked shocked, staring up at me from his newfound place on the ground.
“Meester Relic, Brainrot thought wezzzz friends?”
“You’re disgusting and horrible. I’ll never be friends with you, you monster. Never. Never ever. Now get up and take me out of this place. I have to find Mica before she puts herself in danger. All you’re doing is wasting my time when you should be helping me.” I snapped. I absolutely hated this thing, and wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. But I had promised it lessons in ponyhood in exchange for its help.
Brainrot obediently scrambled to his hooves. He kicked into a gallop and ran off towards a distant branch in the maze. I followed, not wanting to waste any more valuable time. Knowing Mica’s zany unpredictability, she could be anywhere by now.
The sky was now a distinct shade of purple. Daylight was finally beginning to poke through the heavy cloud cover. With every passing minute, Brainrot would whimper and wince against the bright light beaming through the clouds.
“What’s your problem?” I asked.
Brainrot cast a hateful look at the sky and shook his filthy head.
“Big baww hurtz eyesies…”
“Well, actual ponies have no problem with the Sun.” I scoffed. “In fact, they like the Sun. Maybe you don’t like the Sun because you’re a Patchwork, not a pony.”
Brainrot cocked his head, still squinting against the early morning sunlight.
“What am Patchyworks?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and ignored the Brainrot’s question.
“Just take me out of here. I need to find Mica.”
“Okaysies, friend! Follow Brainrot!”
Then Brainrot began chanting some morbid song about the Sun, having friends, finding a Mica, and killing ponies.
Despite being absolutely repulsive in nature, Brainrot did his job and he did it well.
Of course, that meant that he was suddenly full of himself and found the capacity to gloat about properly leading me through the maze and into the wasteland before noon. I didn’t listen to him, of course. My mind was on other things. With the Sun at its peak, I could clearly see a trail of hoofprints in the dust before us. It was obviously Mica’s, though how she made her way out of the Boneyard without help was beyond me.
Brainrot seemed excited by the prospect of a hunt. Judging from his behavior, it must have been ages since he had last participated in the search for a living pony. And possibly his first meeting with one in what could have been decades.
I had to make sure to warn the Patchwork that we weren’t going to kill Mica, and that I only wanted to find her and my Element of Harmony. But Brainrot continued his macabre chant about catching ponies and forcing them into some brutal friendship that always ended in some gory fantasy. I tried to explain to Brainrot that friendships were not formed by force or violence, but rather with conversation and time; unfortunately, he seemed to be satisfied in his own little imaginary world.
Spending several hours travelling with Brainrot was not unlike being with a foal.
A foal coated in putrefying gore.
I had taken to picking off bits of the stuff with my hooves when I believed Brainrot to be too enamored with his song to notice. He had no actual armor like I did. Just layers of decaying meat and slabs of tin slapped against his skeletal chassis. He (or somepony else) had stripped him of his exterior. It was somewhat fascinating.
Not the gore part, of course, but the fact that I could see his every servo and motor whirring away was amazing. But something else I noticed about Brainrot’s innards was that it wasn’t a jumbled mess like with the other Patchworks.
He had put some actual thought into how his body would work. His central processor was in his head, of course, from what I could tell. But he had several memory disks and additional processors around his neck region. If his head was destroyed, he would not be decommissioned. He would have his personality and memories stored. So if any poor pony came across his remains, they could end up repairing him without knowing what really lied in those circuits. It was horrifyingly clever.
I was so engrossed in his composition that I barely noticed that he was speaking to me.
“Youzzz tell mezzz about p-p-pony now?” He chirped.
I looked up in surprise. He swivelled his head one hundred eighty degrees to look at me in the eyes. I flinched at his gaze. It was a horrible sight to behold, with his skull mask and his burning eyes. I still had no idea where his eyes could have come from. His ocular sensors were unlike any other that I had ever seen before. I would assume that they had been custom-built, but how he collected something of those caliber was beyond me. I was beginning to assume that they were heat sensors, due to the fact that he squinted whilst in the burning sunlight.
“What is it that you want to know?”
“What am ponies like?” Brainrot asked.
“Can you elaborate on that?”
Brainrot hummed softly, whirling his head back around.
“Hmmmmmm… How do ponies actz?”
“Ponies are… Unique. No two ponies are the same. I guess the same can be said of synths like, er- us. But Ponies don’t need upgrades or modifications. And they especially don’t need parts from other ponies, unless they’ve been injured. Now, I’d like to ask you something, if you don’t mind.”
“Brainrot listen!” He chirruped.
“How do you know where we are going? Have you left the Boneyard before you became… you?”
Brainrot shook his head, swinging it side-to-side madly.
“How, then?”
“Brainrot comez from Fillydelph. Am good p-p-pony. Masterrr take… Brainrot… into Bonesy-yard. Brainrot no want to, b-but Masterrr no lisssseeeenn! Nasties eatsies Masterrr an’ Brainrot decide become pony… an’... an’...” The stressed Patchwork trailed off, and I could hear a whirring sound coming from him. It was possible that he was overheating from performing such a memory recall. As I had mentioned before, synths can recall every single detail from a certain point in time. But Brainrot must have neglected his memories for so long that using them would cause his systems to overheat. It was the same with many computers.
After a while, the fans stopped and Brainrot fell silent; simply walking a few paces in front of me. I was concerned. Less because I was worried for his well-being and more because I was worried for my own safety. What if he had a short-circuit and forgot his experience with me and Rainbow Dash?
“Brainrot?”
“...”
For a second, I thought the Patchwork’s central processor had finally completely deteriorated. As an FF-3, he was far older than I was. He might have even been in operation around the time of the Cataclysm.
“Brainrot? Brainrot? Patchwork, are you still in there?” I asked again, giving his rump a quick rap with my hoof. The Patchwork jumped and swivelled his head around to stare me in the eye. I winced at the sudden harshness but I did not look away. “Are you okay there, Brainrot?”
“Brainrotz am fine.”
“Are you positive? As much as I despise you, I somewhat still somewhat require your services.”
“Yesh. Brainrot take you to pony town now.”
We caught no sign of Mica for hours.
But her trail was still fresh, or so Brainrot said. It had been some time since her hoofprints finally faded into the sandy ground. All I was depending on now was Brainrot’s tracking ability and the faint glimmer of hope that he had been able to remember where Fillydelphia was. Of course, I could now see a tiny speck of a town in the distance. Zooming in did no good, because of the billowing layer of sand coming from the approaching dust storm.
The city of course wasn’t the first thing I noticed. Rather, it was the thin plumes of smoke coming from pipes and chimneys. The tall constructs were shooting waves of soot into the air. As Brainrot and I approached Fillydelphia, I noticed that the ground was slowly darkening into a stained black layer of grime.
I had expected Fillydelphia to be a bustling metropolis, with friendly ponies ready to come to my aid. Instead, there was a town practically built out of ash. We approached, and I saw ponies at work outside the misshapen buildings. Several workers stopped what they were doing to watch us. It was slightly unnerving to have so many eyes focused on me. But I traced their gaze and realized that they were staring at Brainrot. The Patchwork was still snuffling about, his red eyes taking in familiar terrain.
“Brainrot, maybe you should take off your… mask.” I suggested.
Brainrot didn’t look concerned.
“No eez mask. Eez pony face, make me look more pony.”
“Well, you don’t look all that friendly wearing a pony’s skull. Could you at least take it off until we get indoors?”
“No!” Brainrot snapped in defiance.
“Please, Brainrot…” I said quietly as we came within earshot of the ponies. Several bulky stallions and a beefy-looking mare cracked their necks menacingly. It was too late, they had already noticed us, and six ponies were now walking in our direction.
“State your business, synth. And tell me why you have a Patchwork.” The mare hissed. The three of them snarled at Brainrot, who did not hesitate to buzzingly snarl back.
“Ahem,” I said aloud, directing their attention towards me. The silvery unicorn mare’s burning yellow eyes looked right through me. “I am Relic, model FF-7. Modifications for scavenging. My acquaintance here is a Patchwork yes, although I have him in line and he is no threat to anypony. I’m sure.”
“Did I ask who you are? No. Stupid fuckin’ robot. I want to know what you’re doing here. But go ahead and explain why your friend there has a bloody PONY’S SKULL on his face.”
“We are looking for somepony. A mare, dark pink coat, light pink mane? Balloon cutie mark? She’s very hard to miss.” I stated. The worker mare didn’t look interested.
“As for the skull?”
“Ah.” I looked to Brainrot, who was staring at the stallions with curiosity. He had toddled over to the largest of the bunch, a big brown earth pony. The stallion looked at Brainrot apprehensively as the latter pressed his face closer and closer to the former’s. I grabbed Brainrot roughly by the shoulder and spun him around to my side.
“He’s, ahem… delusional.” I explained. “Seems to think he’s a living pony. Quite the fanatic. But he’s harmless, even if he is a grave-robbing scoundrel.”
“I no Delusional. I am Brainrot. Pretty rainbow pony say so.”
I gestured towards Brainrot. Thank goodness for our rather ludicrous experiences. The mare gave Brainrot a look of disgust that I wished I could share. Just having my forehoof on his shoulder was enough to make me feel defective. I’d have to give myself a good washing after all this.
“Alright. We’ll let you in. But keep an eye on your pet there, synth. I don’t like him. And I bet nopony else in Fillydelphia would like him either.”
“Neither do I.” I grumbled, as I tugged Brainrot away from the ponies. The Patchwork kept looking back over his shoulder excitedly.
“Relic! Those arezzzz ponies!” The Patchwork bubbled like a foal in a candystore.
“I noticed.”
“Go play?”
“No. We are not murdering ponies for fun.”
“Awwwwww…”
We passed several more ponies, though these were notably less aggressive. Every time, I would have to pull of Brainrot to the point to where I worried that I would rip him apart. Or myself apart, considering how I still had a large gash in my side from my little confrontation in the Boneyard.
There were shops, there were inns, there were restaurants, and there were what I could only assume to be factories. Although what these factories would be making, I wasn’t sure. I noticed on every single doorframe there was a peculiar symbol of sorts, although I took no further notice of them. It was possible that they were merely unrecognizable letters. The symbols did look rather like a large Y with a line slashed through it.
Y
Every shop and bar had some sort of sign out in front identifying the property. Again, simple bars, inns, butcheries, scrap shops, and the like. I did not think that Mica would have gone shopping or partying after making her way across a desert alone. But knowing her, anything was possible. Even the complete disregard for her companion.
The two of us checked every open door, often getting scolded by the drunken patrons inside. One stallion even drew a blaster rifle, ready to destroy Brainrot. Fortunately, he was too intoxicated to act out his threats, and he ended up unconscious on the floor before taking a single step.
After an hour, our task began to seem futile.
It was getting dark out once again; and from what my visor was telling me, I was in desperate need of a magical recharge.
“Come on, Brainrot.” I said, pulling him away from the door of a butcher shop.
He trailed behind, still looking at the rows of meat on hooks. Then he followed, hanging his head low. His small display of sadness was immediately replaced by one of excitement when I caught his attention once more. I had already determined that Brainrot was reliable, but this would be the final factor that told me whether or not Brainrot could be trusted.
“Now Brainrot, I will be needing a recharge soon. I’m running very low on battery power. How is your battery holding up?”
“Eez good.”
“That’s good news. If I conk out, Brainrot, I need you to find me some source of power. And make sure nopony runs off with any parts of mine. But do NOT kill anypony in order to do so? Unarm or detain at the most. Got it?”
“Mmhmm!”
“You sure?”
“Mmmmmhmm!”
I gave him a quick glance-over. He was studying the behaviors of the many ponies crowding the bars and motels. Every time he discovered a new gait or gander, the Patchwork would imitate the pony almost perfectly.
“Are you even listening to me?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer was going to be.
Brainrot glanced up, in the middle of some sort of moon walk. He smiled hideously and nodded. I highly doubted that he knew what he was confirming.
Shaking my head, I looked up to see an interesting sign. It clearly read ‘SOLAR PANELS AVAILABLE’. That was very convenient. As I led Brainrot closer to the establishment, I wasn’t surprised to see what strange symbol once again. The building had no name besides the Y, and there wasn’t as much chatter coming from behind the swinging saloon doors. Something told me that Mica was there. Mica and my Element.
Now I don’t know why or how, but it was almost like I could feel my Element. Calling out to me from the darkness, just as eager to return to my grasp as I was to return to its own.
“We go in therez?”
I looked at Brainrot, who looked at the building with unexpected anticipation.
“Affirmative.”
“Me no likezzz it… No wan’ go in therez.”
“You can stay out here if you want.” I sighed. “But I need to find Mica, AND I need a recharge too. Hope she still has some bits for charging money.”
After warning Brainrot several more times about not hurting ponies and leaving strangers alone, I finally walked towards the peculiar doors. It was odd how little I could see beyond the frame of the door, like the room inside was nothing but blackness.
I stepped up and gave the doors a little nudge. They swung open, then slowly creaked back shut. From inside, I heard absolutely no response. Perhaps they were closed for the evening? I gave a quick look at the symbol on the side of the building, just to make sure I hadn’t missed any valuable information.
Nothing but the symbol.
Y
“Hello?” I called into the abyss.
No reply came back, but I was getting used to not being answered when I called. I glanced behind me at Brainrot. The Patchwork was still watching me. Making eye contact, the fiend goofily raised a hoof to wave ecstatically.
“Hello?” I repeated, walking into what I could now clearly see was an antiquated bar of sorts. The saloon doors swung closed behind me. I was about to call out again when I heard a sudden crash behind me. I turned around to see a fanged pony with snake-like eyes lash out at me from nowhere, striking me in the side of the head.
