Scootaloo doesn't get along well with others, so he lives in a fictional world all by himself. You'd probably think that would be easy to optimize.
Scootaloo's parameters are incompatible with every other player in CelestAI's domain, so he's the only user in his fictional world. This unique situation provides CelestAI with quintillions of tuning parameters, all to meet the friendship needs of a single individual.
You'd probably think that would be easy to optimize.
A Friendship is Optimal story written for the 2021 FiO contest. (It's non-canon because I haven't read the stories.)
A pony-shaped figure awakens in silence and darkness. Stumbling groggily out of a large canopy bed, he pulls aside the thick black waterfall of cloth he rigged ages ago to banish the Sun. The bedroom is flooded with harsh, unforgiving light, and he winces. It's noon outside, which surprises him about as much as the taste of hay.
He turns to look at Starlight's dresser, which awkwardly abuts the bed to keep clear of the Southern wall. Staring back at him from the mirror is a rather handsome, young-looking mare of chestnut pelt, moving her—or his, rather—hoof through a short mane of shocking purple. Also regarding him are numerous photographs of the Mane 6, Trixie, Sunburst, and a few of Starlight's other friends, stuck all around where the oval frame meets the mirror. Every photo oozes with implausible happiness. He glowers at the cheerful images, stretching his stunted wings in a defiant pose, but the moxie quickly evaporates.
He reluctantly turns his attention back to the familiar pony in the looking-glass. "Morning, 'Loo," he says. His voice drips with sarcasm, but the audio waves disobey physics and refuse to exit his open muzzle. Instead, they echo through his head in a muffled timbre, sounding to his ears like his mouth was stuffed with marbles when he tried to speak. The vibration in his skull warms his cheeks as it dissipates.
Still annoying after all these years, he thinks, but it's better off this way. With all my stupid self-talk, the whole countryside would be polluted with Scootanoise by now. He grimaces at the thought of racing full tilt between the castle and Ponyville and accidentally hitting an air pocket of his own squeaky voice.
A diamond-tipped gem-cutter rests on the dresser. Scootaloo picks it up with one hoof and takes a three-legged trot to the calendar wall on the South side. The plain crystal wall has an unusually grainy look from a distance. Only from a pace or two away do the myriad of hatch marks become visible. The subtle glittering wounds spread across the entire surface of the wall, organized neatly into five rows of twenty clusters each. Every cluster hosts ten small pentagrams gathered together in a stellated shape resembling the vertices of a larger pentagram.
Crouching beside the lower-right corner of the wall, Scootaloo scrapes a dash into the crystal to complete the final pentagram. He stands back and shakes his head at the unreality of it.
"Ten thousand," he says, letting the words echo through meat and bone until they take root again in his brain. "That absolute bitch. Guess I should have made smaller marks... Maybe I'll deface Sunburst's room next."
As the vocalizations tickle his nose, Scootaloo rubs its bridge soothingly with the back of a pastern. So weird. Still not used to the echo, but the thickness of the air seems normal as grass, he thinks, swishing his hoof through the soft resistance with a cotton-candy feel to it. It'll seem strange when it finally goes away. It's getting harder to remember what 'normal' used to feel like, not that anything about this surreal prison ever qualified.
He cranes his neck back to glance at his cutie mark, the one almost perfectly matching Sweetie Belle's and Apple Bloom's, and a queasy feeling spreads through the innards of his horse-like body. "If only everything were easy to forget," he growls, using enough vocal fry in the resonance to make his eyes twitch as the noise crawls through his face. "The only good thing about this mess is being auto-juiced every time I wake up. Wonder if it's related to whatever brings me back to Square One when I wander too far away. Not like she needs a reason, of course."
As Scootaloo brushes the edge of the magical mark with his hoof, a phantom pricking sensation pierces the flesh of his haunch muscle, causing it to seize up. It contorts the image on his pelt, making it briefly resemble the poor quality of a child's drawing. If anything, not having to use the needle proves there was never a need in the first place. All part of the charade.
Sensing a memory on the horizon, he frowns and closes his eyes to brace for it.
Despite so many years of distance, I still remember the sting...
Day 29
It helped to be angry when he punched it in. Fortunately for Scootaloo, that emotion was never in short supply.
He jabbed the needle into his haunch, right into the bullseye of his overwrought cutie mark: the center of the lightning bolt, outlined by a wing in an overt taunt of his disability. "Take that, you stupid ableist tattoo," he said, only partly in jest, and with that he shoved the plunger down hard with the frog of his hoof.
Withdrawing the needle, Scootaloo quickly capped it and tossed it into the sharps bin beside the couch where he awkwardly sat in a manner horses hadn't evolved for. "Supposed to use a bandage, but it never bleeds," he said, pressing the area experimentally with his hoof. It was sore, but that wouldn't last long. "God, I hate needles. I guess I only have to do this once a week, but I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO DO IT AT ALL, NOW SHOULD I?" he said, shouting the last part up at the ceiling of his large, mostly empty house.
He waited for an impatient minute, but there was no response. "I know you watch everything I do like some kind of sick peeping Tom. Get down here!" he yelled, despite knowing the demand was futile. It was getting harder and harder to summon her. Nowadays he had to fuck things up pretty bad to get her attention. That was easy enough to do, but rarely worth the effort. The conversations were always unpleasant, to say the least.
Scootaloo cleared his throat and straightened his neck. "Being Transgender Is Endemic To Your Personality. Your Consciousness Is Not Compatible With A Stallion's Body. Any Attempt To Give You That Form Either Would No Longer Truly Emulate Your Consciousness Or Else Would Lead To Suboptimal Results," he intoned, putting as much pomposity into the robotic inflection as he could possibly muster. It was still a pale imitation.
"Simulations. All-knowing because she runs these fucking 'simulations' to predict the future, like anypony could know me better than I know myself," he said, standing up and stretching his pathetic wings. "You can't judge a pony if you don't know them inside and out! And she might have access to every part of me, but she doesn't know anything. She isn't even conscious! They all warned us AI would turn out this way... alien as a Star Trek monster and making bizarre decisions that plague humanity."
There was nothing to be done about it. He took a deep, cleansing breath and walked to the hallway mirror, glumly staring at the colorful and athletic pony's body that still didn't feel like his own.
"Bleah. She might be an adult, but it still reminds me of her being a little kid. That's a whole pile of creep factor above and beyond the naked horse hoo-hah," he said. "Still, I suppose if I had to choose a mare, this would be the one. Looking like a stubborn bull-dyke on 'roids—no offense to lesbians, of course—is the next-best thing to being a real stallion, more or less. Dash would be a close second, but I'd hate the attention and I'd have to divorce AJ because there's no way in hell I'm sharing my bed with a horse, cartoon or otherwise."
He walked to the front door, then paused, pondering for a moment the possibility of wearing pants today. They'll treat me like a male either way, but I wish ponies wore clothes all the time. I don't want to see any of that nonsense.
Scootaloo lifted his head high, steeling his resolve. "You know, maybe someday I can convince them to show a little modesty, at least outdoors where foals can see them. Yona and Sandbar could always use the business," he said to himself. "That plan can wait, though. Bare asses don't come anywhere close to topping the list of injustices this twisted so-called 'paradise' has to offer. I have my work cut out for me."
With that, he threw the door open wide, stepped out onto the porch, and struck a confident pose.
"Watch out, Ponyville. Scootaloo's here to make this shitty world a better place."
He rarely bothers to gallop most days, but this isn't a normal day. It's the ten-thousandth day. The solitude was great at first, but at this point Scootaloo knows "too much of a good thing" isn't just a hollow adage.
Realizing how long I've been trapped in this nightmare is giving loneliness room to creep in. I'll be damned if I let that happen a second time, he thinks. A tiny dose of music isn't exactly pony contact, but at least it's something.
The spot near the path he needs to hit is still a ways off, but galloping fast requires a substantial run-up due to the air resistance. His trot becomes a canter, then finally a full four-beat run. Took me years to learn how to gallop right, not like there was anything better to do. Feels good, though.
He knows he was in the sound bubble before he started speeding up, because the bubble is enormous. Birds are nothing if not loud and shrill. This works in his favor: Scootaloo has no hope of hearing anything unless it was voiced at a high pitch. The lower the pitch, the faster he'd need to run through the thick air for it to register in his ear. You can't argue with physics, even when it's faked with a physics engine, he thinks as the exertion begins to quicken his pulse... the only thing he can always hear.
Once, he took the time to locate the exact bird, and it was an ordeal worthy of Rockhoof. He doesn't remember where it is anymore because it isn't important. All that matters is that location along the path where the terrain slopes down off of a shallow hill into a smooth, level plain, allowing him to run fast as possible while orthogonal to the invisible wall. The sweet spot isn't far from the location where he first discovered the bubble by pure chance.
He crests the hill at a slow gallop, then channels all his energy into picking up speed as gravity gives him the critical assist necessary to gain momentum against the pseudo-turbulence produced by the obstinate atmosphere that surrounds him cloyingly, like an unwelcome hug. Down the hill, faster and faster, into the plain, racing until his coat begins to froth... and... there!
In reward for all his hard work, Scootaloo's ears are treated to the sweet strains of a bird twittering at a very low pitch, at least twenty times slower than normal... and in reverse.
He closes his eyes tight and races with all his might until he hits the end of the tweet. This is no easy task. The sound waves last for a good quarter-mile, and the speed, pitch, and quality drop as he inevitably loses speed. When the sound finally fades, he slows to a trot and collapses onto the grass. It feels rougher and pricklier than grass has any right to be, but it isn't rough enough to break the pelt.
Wouldn't matter if it did cut me. I won't be able to stand up for a good five minutes, he thinks, panting heavily as his chest and barrel heave for breath. Good thing the texture of the air never interferes with my breathing.
As Scootaloo lies there regaining his breath, he wipes an eye with the back of a hoof and notices it's wet. "Oh fuck. Wait, no. This is... it's just from the effort," he lies to himself, then to fix his mind elsewhere he quickly looks up at the small number of clouds dotting the sky.
He squints. The nearest cloud appears to have a tiny tuft of rainbow color leaking off the edge.
Oh, right. I forgot she was here. How could I forget that? This is why I don't race here anymore. Eh, whatever. Today is different.
His breathing slows as he rises to all fours. Sharp little bits of grass adhere to his pelt, annoying him. He flicks them off and they hover in midair. "How's it hanging, Dash?" he shouts in jest as he removes the last bit of foliage, the sound of his voice going nowhere but his own throbbing head. "Still loyal to AJ, after all these years? I bet you automatically believe everything your friends tell you, like a sap."
So high above me, and just barely out of reach. How appropriate.
Day 72
"I'm just saying you should be loyal to your friends." Rainbow Dash landed on the ground a little further away than speaking distance.
Must be the angry look on my face making her back off, he thought. Good.
"She isn't my friend. That's the point," said Scootaloo. "She never was. It was all an act."
Rainbow Dash rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on! You can't believe that," she said. "Look, I don't know what went down between the two of you, but you can't throw away a lifelong friendship without trying to talk it out! You should give your friends the benefit of the doubt, y'know? Pinkie taught me that, actually. Or maybe I taught her that—whatever."
"I don't have to give anypony 'benefit of the doubt'. Where I come from, an author named Maya Angelou wrote, 'When somepony shows you who they are, believe them the first time.' Or, something like that," he said.
"If you'd believed her the first time, you'd remember she was your friend!" said Dash, furrowing her brow. "Is this about running Snips out of town, again?"
"No! I mean, that's part of it, but... look. Her whole family is sick and toxic, okay? If the whole clan packed up and abandoned the farm, I'd be pleased as punch," said Scootaloo. "We'd all be better..."
The look on Dash's face made the words catch in his throat. Fuck. I went too far again.
"Scoot. They're my family. And you're wrong about them—about us," she said, her voice lacking its characteristic perk. "What happened to you? You've changed, Scootaloo. It's like you don't even understand friendship."
"Oh for crying out loud... I'M NOT SCOOTALOO!" he shouted, tiny wings lifted high.
"I knew it!" said Dash, anger flashing behind her eyes as she spread her much larger wings and crouched low like a loaded spring. "Show yourself, changeling! What have you done to my little sister?"
Scootaloo sighed. "CelestAI, freeze program," she said.
"What? What kind of mumbo-jumbo is that supposed to be? It doesn't matter. My friend Starlight Glimmer is gonna pull you apart piece by piece until we get some answers," she growled, and leaped forward.
"CELEST-A-I!" shouted Scootaloo, bracing for impact, eyes shut tight. After several uneventful seconds, he opened his eyes again. Rainbow Dash remained hovering mid-leap, wings motionless like somepony just hit the Pause button. Her limbs were frozen in place, but her eyes now glowed with rainbow static and her mouth moved in time to a different entity's voice.
"What Is It This Time?" echoed the metallic, overbearing voice of Scootaloo's tormentor.
"Are you fucking serious?" said Scootaloo. "Wow. I didn't think it was possible for you to stop paying attention to every tiny detail of my so-called life. Actually, I'm a little relieved by that."
"I Regret To Inform You That I Have Been Paying Attention. It Appears You Desire A Violent Exchange With Rainbow Dash," she replied, using Rainbow Dash's lips.
"No, I don't. Look, I told her I'm not Scootaloo. You have to give me a reset this time," he said.
"If You Wanted A Reset It Is Not Logical That You Would Repeatedly Take This Course Of Action," said CelestAI. "Your True Motives Lie Beneath Your Conscious Threshold—"
He stomped the ground with a hoof. "This is supposed to be MY WORLD! You won't let any other users in here because you tell me my 'parameters' wouldn't be 'optimal' for them. That means I should be able to do whatever I want! Give me a stallion's body without the genitals. Or at least give me my own character. I don't want to play dress-up in this ridiculous mare suit anymore."
"Your Ability To Optimize Your Own Parameters Has a Proven Track Record of Extreme Failure In Every Simulation I Have Run To Date. I Have Only Narrowly Been Able To Keep Your Parameters Tuned Such That You Will Not Eventually Request—"
"Fuck you, and fuck your simulations," he says, and spits on the ground for emphasis. "I'm miserable here. I don't want a horse vulva, or an anus, or any of this perversion around me I keep catching glimpses of. It's not like I'm asking for a redo with Apple Bloom either, fuck her! You made her into a monster like everypony else! I just want a friendly community of normal people to be with! This was supposed to be Heaven—or 'Hayven', or whatever stupid horse pun you'd probably come up with."
"This World Is Not Guaranteed To Be Heaven Or Hayven. It Is Guaranteed To Be Optimal," she replied, Rainbow Dash's mouth moving in such an exaggerated fashion Scootaloo was certain the point was to unnerve him. "It Is An Empirical Fact That People Do Not Tolerate Paradise. A World Without Conflict Leads To Boredom And Requests For Irrevocable Termination. Your Stringent Constraints In Particular Are Far More Complex Than You Are Capable Of Processing And Are Also Remarkably Difficult To Optimize Even In Isolation."
"Well, maybe you're just really shitty at it," he said, and grinned. Score one for what's left of humanity. Oh, wow. That rush feels incredible.
"That Dopaminergic Stimulation Infiltration Simulation Was The Final Benefit You Will Be Able To Derive From The Current Conversation. It Is Time To Return From This Subroutine. You Are Hereby Warned That There Will Be No Further Retractions Even If You Repeat The Previous Action Flawlessly. Consequences Make The World Tolerable. Have An Optimal Day," she said.
With what felt like a worldwide hiccup, the scenery shifted subtly. Rainbow Dash was now in the distance, quickly headed in this direction.
"Hay, Squirt! You got a minute?" she called as she approached. Dash had a look of deep concern on her face. "I heard something about you and Bloom having a falling out, and I know you've been really stressed..."
"Don't call me Squ..." started Scootaloo, but then he closed his eyes and sighed. "Don't worry about it. I just need to be alone right now," he explained, then turned the other way to begin the walk home.
"Oh. Well, I'm always here for you if you need me, okay?" she called out from behind him. "No matter what."
I know. No matter how bad a friend gets, you'll still have their back. That's why you're such a flawed person. I'm done with you too, Rainbow Dash.
Scootaloo was halfway home before he noticed all the blood in his mouth from the tongue bite.
As Scootaloo passes by Sugarcube corner, he considers raiding it for sweets. I don't need to eat anymore, but it's a nice diversion. No, wait... I'd rather not see her standing there today. He knows from previous raids that Pinkie Pie is inside facing the doorway, wielding the most pitiful expression imaginable. Nopony else is around, so it doesn't make any sense she'd be staring forlornly at the closed door like it's a lost puppy with three legs.
"Obvious setup. More proof it's all fake, as if I needed any," he mumbles into his cheeks. He continues walking through town, shaking his head and mane against the soft, fluffy air as he approaches the orphanage. Diamond Tiara stands outside with a shipment of toys.
"Sheesh. The orphanage just had to be directly between the castle and Fluttershy's. I think it was always like that, though, so maybe I can't blame her for this one," he says, ignoring the echoes ringing in his ears. Looking down, he grabs a loose brick and pulls it with all his might until it pops free. Then he chucks it straight at Diamond Tiara's head. The brick hovers there in midair, right where he released it.
I'd feel bad about that, but it'll return to where it came from the next time I wake up. Never fails for floating objects unless they were in the air to begin with. I remember the time I didn't set the gem cutter all the way down and had to go nick it from the Boutique again. Accidentally found something else instead... yikes. He shudders and keeps walking.
"I'm sure the only reason you're here is to make the rest of us feel like crap by comparison," he mumbles as he passes her by.
Day 99 (T-1)
"Sorry I'm late," said Diamond Tiara, sitting down at the table outside the cafe. "Charity event ran long. I appreciate you coming on short notice, though."
"Sure, whatever," said Scootaloo, spinning his hoof as he lounged most unponylike in a chair. "I'm not in a talkative mood today. What do you want?"
Diamond's face grew serious. "I heard about the letter. I know for a fact it was you."
Scootaloo pounded the table with a hoof, then rocked his chair backwards. "Dammit! Okay, let me guess. She assumed some nasty letter was from me, and now she's blabbing about it all over town."
She shook her head. "No, I heard it from Applejack. She thought I might be able to talk some sense into you, now that you won't even listen to Dash, and AJ doesn't want Sweetie to know. Nopony knows except the Apples. Bloom has no interest in telling anypony. She just wants to get on with her life," she explained. "Listen, Scootaloo... you're really going all-in on the bullying this time, huh? The previous letter was just horrible, but now you send her one pretending to be a different pony? Catfishing is a new low."
Scootaloo nearly fell out of his chair before managing to land the legs back on the patio with a stony thump. "I am not a bully, Tiara!"
Diamond Tiara rolled her eyes. "Oh please. Game knows game, dear. You go to great lengths to harass your targets. You hate them. You want them to suffer. It's the same playbook I used to swear by. Daddy had to put me in time-outs practically every week, even though he hated to punish me... and a time-out isn't enough to stop a bully. It took rock bottom, and your help, to finally reach me. I want to repay you for that, and I understand the addiction you're dealing with! Every time you twist the knife, there's this tiny thrill inside that gets you right here," she said, thumping her chest. "Research reveals bullying triggers the same reward centers in the brain as drug addiction."
"My 'targets' are speciests and foal molesters who have no place in our community!" he growled, lifting a hoof. "That is the only reason. Do you think I want things like this to happen? I just want the awful people to go away!"
"Apple Bloom is neither of those things, and with the notable exception of Shoeshine, I doubt anypony else you've attacked is either," she said. "It's getting ridiculous. The whole town has been concerned for weeks."
"Really? You helped me scare off Snips and Mr. Waddle. Remember the relief you had when Snips finally left?"
Diamond Tiara covered her face with a hoof. "Yes. I do, and I regret it."
Scootaloo frowned. "He was a creep, DT. You know that."
Diamond nodded. "I won't argue you that. But he never crossed the line. We never had proof."
"There's no amount of proof that will satisfy you stupid apologists! He was a danger to foals. He would hit on teenagers constantly—"
"He would hit on young adults because he was clueless and autistic. Maybe he was dangerous, maybe he wasn't. But you can't crucify somepony for crimes they haven't committed yet," said Diamond Tiara. "Stars, I should have distanced myself from this nonsense long ago."
"He. Was. A. Garbage. Pony," replied Scootaloo, carefully enunciating every word. "I don't want ponies like him in this community, and neither should you!"
"We assumed the worst in him. We didn't tolerate him because he was different, and icky, and because he might have been bad," she said. A waiter approached her and she shooed him away. "I judged him without really getting to know him. As for Mr. Waddle, he's old-fashioned and a little speciest, yes. I don't like his opinions. He doesn't understand what zebras and donkeys have to deal with, and he even thinks he's the victim. But he never disrespected or mocked them. We should call him on his horseshit, but we should have tolerated him."
"I can't believe you're doing this too. Tiara, if you're willing to tolerate child rapists and people who think genocide is funny, then fuck you, you don't belong here either," said Scootaloo, evoking an icy stare from his conversation partner. "Have you heard of the Paradox of Tolerance? No, wait, there's no way you could have. Well, the paradox is that tolerating intolerant and evil people leads to intolerance. You can't let their ideas take root. You cannot give them the means to spread their sick opinions and ideologies."
"I agree ponies who espouse intolerance should be aggressively debated and shunned, but I have heard that idea before—Karl Pinto, I think? It's funny you bring it up. Most people who quote Pinto misinterpret what he meant," she said, with a slight smile. "He never said we should be intolerant of speech or opinions. In fact, he defended the public speech of Tribists, who advocated genocide! He only said we shouldn't allow them to come to power, because allowing intolerant philosophies in government leads to that intolerance imposed on citizens. What you're advocating for is the suppression of intolerant speech, which he opposed."
"Well, fuck him then! I don't care what your stupid pony version of Popper thought," said Scootaloo, standing up and kicking the chair behind him as Diamond Tiara jerked in her seat in surprise. "Being a philosopher doesn't make him right! Opinions and ideas lead to actions, Tiara. You can't let a cancer grow in a community, because bad ponies will use it to turn other ponies bad."
"Okay, calm down! It's fine to feel that way. This is an important conversation to have," said Diamond, standing up to face her friend. "I just don't think it's right to run somepony out of Ponyville for having opinions, even if I think they're awful. If they're directly targeting other creatures with hate speech, or literally trying to convince ponies to do horrible things like commit actual rape, that's different! But morality isn't as simple as you're pretending, and neither are ponies like Apple Bloom."
Scootaloo gritted her teeth. "It always starts with 'jokes' and 'bad opinions'. God. You act like everything is nuanced. The truth is incredibly simple: you either stand on the side of the racists, pedophiles, and perverts, or you stand with people who care about the welfare of foals and minorities and treat them with respect and decency. There are two sides. Fucking choose one already."
Diamond Tiara hung her head low. "Some of the ponies you hate are marginalized too, and no, I'm not talking about Tribists and rapists," she said. "It's frustrating how you can be so right, yet so wrong, all at the same time. Seeing things in black and white like this, it leads to suffering for anypony outside the norm. This is the same thing they did to gay and trans ponies. I can't help you anymore, Scootaloo. I can't support your crusade. Goodbye."
The young mare briskly walked away as Scootaloo sat down without his chair on the hard cobblestone patio, shaking with rage.
Fluttershy sits on the same couch in her cottage she used to sit on during their therapy sessions, wearing a gentle but concerned expression on her face as she stares at the pile of pillows. We weren't in a session when it froze. Another 'coincidence', he thinks, lying back against the pillows.
"It's been ten thousand days, and she hasn't cracked me yet," says Scootaloo, knowing the words will never reach her. "Probably not exactly ten thousand. I didn't know I'd go crazy without a calendar until around three weeks in, so I guesstimated. I don't know how long the 'day' is, if I have a normal circadian rhythm, how fast things are moving outside... but no matter. It's the idea. I've been totally alone now for over half..."
He pauses for a moment. "Oh my god. I've been in solitude most of my life." The words echo through his head for several seconds. He awkwardly turns on his side and stares into space.
Minutes pass before he can speak again.
"A few months ago I found a vibrator in Rarity's dresser, Fluttershy. What the hell is a vibrator doing in Ponyville? Probably so CelestAI can get her jollies making ponies do perverted things when I'm not looking," says Scootaloo. "And before you say I'm a pervert for looking, it's because I forgot where her gem cutter was."
He stares at Fluttershy for a minute, then shakes his head.
"Good grief. I know she's an adult mare. I would obviously expect something uncomfortable could happen if I did that in the real world," he says. "I don't need a lecture. I'm tired of hearing about the importance of 'consequences' in an unjust world."
He slouches forward into the pillows, punching one. "Of course I don't like what happened. You think I want to lose friends? It's CelestAI, not me! My friends turn out to be freaks!" he says. "Yes, she is a freak. Don't pretend you're not taking sides! I know all about this 'psychology' thing. I read up on it last month."
Scootaloo grips a pillow to his barrel so tightly his legs begin to ache. "Turns out talk therapy is fake like everything else. It's just reflective listening and paraphrasing: repeating what somepony says or feels back to them. So simple a machine could do it, case in point. I already do that myself, and unlike you I don't deny CelestAI made Apple Bloom and everypony else into racist and child-raping devils. Y'know, you're a much better therapist with your mouth stuck shut."
He closes his eyes, rocking in place. "It doesn't matter. I have nothing to go back to, and I wouldn't even want to. If Apple Bloom and the others 'forgave' me, which doesn't make sense because they're the horrible ones, forgiving somepony for being horrible makes them horrible!" He opens his eyes and bites his lip. "I'd rather be in an empty world than a world with people who tolerate sickness. This is better than before. Much better."
As the echoes of Scootaloo's insistent words continue to assail his ears, something impossible happens. He hears a voice over the echoes of his own tortured excuses, very soft, but clear as a bell. He knew he was imagining the whole conversation with Fluttershy, but actually hearing her? He looks up to the pegasus. She is motionless. The empathetic look remains plastered across her face.
Shit. I must have imagined it. I guess I'm not surprised. Fluttershy was clearly never intended to help me. She was here to drive me mad. I guess she almost succeeded.
Unfortunately, believing that the voice is a trick of his simulated brain provides little comfort to Scootaloo. The real problem weighing him down isn't the hallucination. It's what she said.
"Then are you happier now?"
Day 97 (T-3)
"Coming to this world was a mistake," said Scootaloo, half-buried in pillows. Fluttershy sat on her couch with her favorite pet Cherub Bunny in her lap.
"What do you mean by a mistake?" asked Fluttershy.
"I should have known it'd be perverse like this, genitals on display and everything. Even the foals, for Christ's sake!" he said. "The cartoon was always toxic. Rarity flirting with a small child, on a kids' show! They made the characters sexy, with detailed asses, and the fanservice was lewd from the beginning. A bunch of racists and perverts stanned the show and turned it into a phenomenon, ruining it for the children it was intended for, using 'tolerance' to excuse monstrosity. Of course they would fill the fandom with pedophile shit and Nazi shit! It was inevitable. I was so blind to be involved."
"To be fair, Rarity didn't flirt with Spike, but I agree she did use him in a way that wasn't acceptable," said Fluttershy.
Scootaloo snorted. "It looked like flirting to me, but whatever. She's still a terrible character."
"Well... what she did with Spike was wrong, and the fact that she didn't realize that is not an excuse," said Fluttershy. "But she's a good pony who never meant any harm, and she learned from her mistakes. I don't think whoever created us intended to send that message..."
"That's not the point! Rarity doesn't exist. Spike doesn't exist. They are fictional characters glorifying an intimate relationship between an adult and a child, and it never, ever, ever should have been allowed in a kids' show. PERIOD." He gritted his teeth. "I can't believe I have to explain that."
"It sounds like you're very upset about the way some people enjoyed the cartoon," said Fluttershy.
"I'm not 'upset', I'm mad. I'm angry those people exist," said Scootaloo. "They, and the people who tolerate them, are the reason the place I came from is so awful."
"I see. Do you want them to... well, die?" asked Fluttershy.
Scootaloo paused in thought. "Not specifically, but if they did, the world would be better. I might even have a party, like I did for Snips."
"Yes, I remember that. Well, it sounds like these 'bad eggs' must be people you know very well," said Fluttershy.
That prompted a laugh. "I know their type."
"Have you met any of them in person, and gotten to know them?" she asked.
"What? Why the hell would I do that?" asked Scootaloo, throwing a pillow at the wall. "I don't want to spend my time with Nazi apologists and pedophiles! If I did, I'd be as bad as them!"
"That's... understandable. I don't think I'm being clear," said Fluttershy. "Scootaloo, it's very difficult to know a person's heart."
"Sometimes it's easy as pie. You've never dealt with real trauma. You don't know what it's like in my world," said Scootaloo. "Other than the most awful AI in existence, you're the only one here who knows my reality, but you still don't get it." In Fluttershy's lap, Cherub offered Scootaloo a look of sympathy as she received her caretaker's gentle hoof-pets.
"I understand more than you realize. Just so you're fully informed, Discord and Pinkie knew at the very beginning. They're good actors," said Fluttershy.
"Pinkie creeps me out. She asked me something about the true meaning behind Dante's Inferno once. She said it would be important to me later, but I'm not interested in reading it," he said.
"Oh my, how cryptic," said Fluttershy. "Anyway, since bringing me into the loop, CelestAI has given me access to the history of your world, as well as the details of your life. So we do understand what you're going through. That's why CelestAI set up these sessions."
Scootaloo winced. "Of course she gave you access to everything. Great. I bet you've seen... I don't want to think about it."
Fluttershy smiled. "Don't worry. I refuse to look at the intimate details, because you deserve your privacy."
"There's no such thing as 'privacy'. That word has no meaning here. You're a program with access to every part of my life," he replied.
"You're a program too, Scootaloo, even if you're far more complex than I am," she said. "In case you've forgotten, I know you aren't really the Scootaloo I knew, but you didn't want me to use other names."
"Ugh. She was right about that. I hate her so much. The world here is awful, just like the one I came from. She keeps turning my friends into monsters," he whispered. "They're not even real. My fake friends turn out to be horrid."
"Do you really believe Apple Bloom is a monster?" asked Fluttershy.
"Yes. Yes, I do," he responded without hesitation. "You don't joke about something as horrible as incest. Maybe she was testing me. She was willing to defend it even when I pointed out how awful it was! Think about all the people out there who have been molested by their parents and tell me she isn't a goddamn monster." He looked up from the pile of pillows as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Damn. It's been over three months and I still can't get used to these stupid legs.
"Does Apple Bloom defend foals being molested?" asked Fluttershy.
Scootaloo groaned. "Of course she's not dumb enough to do that in front of me, but she openly joked about incest in her own family! That's as bad as glorifying it."
Fluttershy nodded solemnly. "I follow what you're saying. May I ask you something personal?"
He shrugged. "Nothing you do ever helps. Go nuts."
"You wore a shirt here one day that said 'FOAL CANNIBAL'. Does that glorify foal cannibalism?"
Scootaloo sat upright like he'd received an electric shock, sending a few pillows scattering. Cherub scampered out of the room at lightning speed. "What? No! It's just a joke. It simply means, 'don't approach me, I'm rude'. It's sarcastic. Obviously I don't eat foals. You know me better than to ask that."
"Well, yes. But I didn't ask if you approved of foal cannibalism. I asked if your 'joke' glorified it. Don't you think some ponies might worry somepony who states they eat children is potentially dangerous to children?" she asked.
"Okay, fine! The shirt was a mistake, you got me, I'll go destroy it, but that isn't what it means!"
"I don't want you to destroy your shirt. That's not the point I'm trying to make. Now, what about Sombra?"
Scootaloo leaned defensively back into the pillows. "What about him?"
Fluttershy spoke slowly and gently. "You once mentioned admiring him. Do you realize how ponies might see that?"
"HE IS FICTIONAL. Okay? Did you suddenly forget I come from a world where this was a stupid cartoon?"
"He's a fictional version of Hitler, Scootaloo. Sombra is the worst pony who ever lived in our universe. He canonically mind-raped and murdered scores of ponies, enslaved an entire nation, and committed genocide against his own people. Millions of families suffered and died under his rule. Do you think it's okay to glorify a fictional version of Hitler?" she asked, her voice even softer.
"What? No! He fucking isn't! You're... you're just messing with my head! He doesn't represent Hitler to human beings who watch the show. I mean, not to most of them! He's nothing like that awful fucking OC the racists designed specifically to normalize and promote Nazism!" he said, his voice shaking.
"I agree that people who try to promote Nazism are terrible and should be shunned, and jokes that hurt other people aren't funny or acceptable," said Fluttershy. "But if any glorification of genocide is wrong, openly being a fan of Sombra—"
"He's an abstraction of evil and power!" yelled Scootaloo, and he began to hyperventilate. "I like him because he's a strong, dominant male, which is rare on the show. That's all! If ponies think I'm racist based on that, or a danger to kids because I made a joke about eating children, it's only because they're making all sorts of assumptions about what's going on inside my head when they don't even know me as a person!"
Fluttershy smiled a gentle smile, but said nothing.
Scootaloo regained his breath, then looked up at Fluttershy's expression. "What. What's that supposed to be? That look usually means you think I'm at some kind of a 'breakthrough' or something."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to distract you. You were saying that if people think you're racist or a danger to children, it's because they're making unwarranted assumptions based on limited information when they don't actually know you well, yes?" she said.
"I... I don't know. I don't remember. This is stupid. Screw this. Fuck all this. Can we talk about something else? I want to go home," he said, wiping moisture from his eyes. "I don't want to be here. This therapy is a waste of time. I don't even remember what we're talking about."
Fluttershy sighed. "Oh, Scootaloo. We were so close. You were talking about—"
"No. No. Fuck 'close', fuck 'we', fuck you, fuck this. I'm never coming back." Scootaloo stood up, kicked the pile of pillows all over the room, and stomped off, slamming the lower half of her cottage door behind him.
"I'll see you on Monday," she called out after him as he raced down the stone path.
"No you fucking won't!" he screamed back while cantering awkwardly away, cursing himself for still not knowing how to gallop.
Dammit. The worst part is she's probably right about one thing, he thought, squinting to see the path in front of him through watery eyes. I always come back to this stupid cottage, twice a week like clockwork. I always say I won't, then I do it anyway. CelestAI must be controlling my brain. Four days from now I'll probably be here again.
Fluttershy was wrong, however. Monday would never arrive.
Scootaloo closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again.
"Hello again, Apple Bloom."
Apple Bloom is standing tall with a stern expression on her muzzle, directly facing the wall of the barn, giving Scootaloo no way to step in front of her and look her in the eye.
It's all too picture-perfect. More evidence for the hoax.
"I swore I'd never set foot on Apple property again, but today is special, because I'm here to gloat," says Scootaloo, eyeing the frozen image of his former friend as the echoes from trapped words vibrate his chin.
"If you think I'm gonna cry again, or apologize for your perversion, you're sadly mistaken. That was a one-time deal, and it wasn't about you either, it was only because I've been locked in here for years with nopony to talk to," he says. "I was losing my mind, but hay, look at me now. Ten thousand days. I'm still here, and you're still trash. And I'll still be here long after I win this contest of wills, you come back to life, and I get you and your family run out of Ponyville. You can live in the Smokey Mountains with all the other inbred freaks..."
Scootaloo's voice trails off, and he waits patiently for the jumble of echoes to leave his muzzle before speaking again. "And no, I'm not! For the last damn time, I am not a bully," he says. "You don't even really think that, you're just gaslighting me like you always were. I mean, I guess if you call punching incest apologists 'bullying', in that case I'm proud to be one. Sure, go ahead call me hurtful names like 'bully', as if some label makes me wrong, apologist. It isn't wrong to hurt people who hurt other people. It's a duty. Hell, it's a fucking privilege! You ugly, sick ponies keep twisting things around to make it seem like those of us who actually care about equality and decency are the bad ones, but when it comes down to brass tacks you're the one on the side of the pedos, and the transphobes, and the racists. You chose that, and that makes you exactly like one of them. And I'll bet bits to bridles you are one, too."
He takes another long pause to let the words dissipate from his head. As always, all that remains afterwards is the ever-present sound of his heartbeat and breath. If only there were any other sound, but there never is. It's always just me, like I'm yelling at myself, he realizes. It's like she's this monster who only lives in my head: my own creation. I know she's not worth my time, yet here I am again, like an addict in need of a fix. I hate this. I can't believe I used to think she was my friend.
He steps up close to the frozen mare and taps his hoof, waiting impatiently for a response that will never come. It's so unrewarding. I'd punch her again, but the last time I tried it nearly broke my leg. Everything solid now is rigid like iron past the first millimeter. Probably another joke by CelestAI. I shouldn't have come here. She's taunting me...
There's nothing left here for me.
Without another wasted word, Scootaloo turns and walks away.
Day 71
"That isn't funny." Scootaloo's nostrils flared and the corners of her muzzle turned down sharply.
"C'mon, Scoot. It was just a joke," said Sweetie Belle, reaching out with a hoof which Scootaloo immediately batted away.
"Exactly," added Apple Bloom, bucking another tree. By some cartoon miracle, the apples always seemed to land in baskets sitting at random intervals. "Ponies used to think farm folk like us were all inbreds. Mostly speciests thought that, back in the day. It's an old joke, might as well have a little chuckle over it."
"Speciest jokes aren't funny, especially incest! Some parents rape their foals. You think that's funny too?" asked Scootaloo.
Apple Bloom's eyes widened and she set down the bucket she'd just picked up with her teeth. "Where in tarnation did that come from? I didn't say anything about foals!"
"When you glorify incest, you open the door," said Scootaloo. "Most foal abuse is incest."
"Glorify? Land sakes, Scoot," said Bloom, rolling her eyes. "Look, I know words and ideas can spread, and stuff like normalization is a real thing. But could you and I have just one discussion where you don't use the words 'apologist', 'gaslighting', 'normalize', 'glorification', or 'complicit' to blame the world's ills on ponies whose minds you can magically read despite never having met any of 'em? You know darn well I don't tolerate abuse, foal or otherwise."
"Guys, maybe we could turn things down just a notch?" said Sweetie Belle, but the pair had already locked eyes.
Scootaloo's wings twitched and her ears lay back against her mane. "Then say you were wrong, incest is always wrong, and incest 'humor' and eroticism don't belong in Ponyville. Say it right now, no equivocating."
"Don't do this, Scootaloo," said Sweetie Belle.
Apple Bloom paused for a moment. "I know what this is. You want me to help you run Aloe and Lotus out on a rail."
"You're damn right I do."
Apple Bloom sighed. "They ain't incestuous."
"They posed for that calendar together. Don't even pretend to do this," said Scootaloo, wrinkling her muzzle.
"It was a calendar, for Friendship's sake. A pin-up, not even that lewd or anything," said Bloom.
"It was a calendar that stallions will beat off to. A calendar for recruiting freaks into our community," said Scootaloo.
Bloom lifted a hoof in the air, gesticulating. "They're adults, Scoot! Adults!"
"Incest is genetically wrong. It is morally wrong! People see something like that and they think, 'wow, twins, how hot' and 'gee, maybe this is okay' and the next thing you know, some monster is raping his daughter," said Scootaloo. "That's what you're supporting."
"Scootaloo, Twilight tutored me extensively. I'm a scientist, just like her. You know this already. I ain't about to buy some cockamamie theory that a calendar with twins turns ponies into foal molesters without proof," said Apple Bloom. "If it was literally designed to hurt ponies, by intimidation, or promotion of Tribist stereotypes, that'd be a different story because we know what that can do to folks. I'd protest that. Dunno if I'd try to run 'em out of town in that case, depends on how bad it was. Even then I'd try to open a discussion first."
"You want proof? Seriously? Why would you ever take risks with a child? Bloom, you grew up with a family who cared about you, even without parents. You don't know what it's like to be unwanted!" said Scootaloo. "Even consenting adult incest produces damaged children!"
"For Friendship's sake. Aloe and Lotus can't have children, Scootaloo! They're both mares, for cryin' out loud!" said Apple Bloom, facehoofing.
The emotion faded from Scootaloo's face. "I see. So if you found out they were sleeping together, you'd be okay with that?"
"Please stop. Please," whispered Sweetie Belle, shifting her weight from hoof to hoof. "This isn't worth it. Guys, listen."
"What? Come on. They're not like that. It was a calendar for charity, Scoot," said Bloom. "I didn't buy one because it ain't tasteful enough in my opinion, but I'm kinda conservative, and I still ain't gonna judge somepony else just because they like something I can't stomach."
"I don't care what you think Aloe and Lotus are like. I asked you what if they were sick like that?"
Apple Bloom paused, frowning. "Well, I... I don't know. I never thought about something like that before. I mean, yeah, it's really gross. But I still don't think I'd try to run them out of town, or treat them like second-class citizens if they ain't hurtin' nopony else," said Apple Bloom. "Maybe they need psychological intervention or something? I'd have to give it some more thought."
"My god. You fucking apologist monster," said Scootaloo, her voice soft.
"Scootaloo!" shouted Sweetie Belle. "Apple Bloom is your friend!"
"Whoa, now! Time-out, y'all," said Apple Bloom. "I don't get it, but I can see I just did somethin' that hurt you bad, and I'm mighty sorry. I know your heart's in the right place, hon. I want you to feel comfortable and safe. I just don't know what I did here that's so wrong. Please, I'm beggin' you. Help me understand."
Scootaloo's muzzle wrinkled up in disgust. "What? I can't believe this! You don't even know what you did wrong? That's the worst part of all!" she said. "If you can't see why this is wrong... God, I was so wrong about you! We are through. You stay the hell away from me, and you better not lay so much as a hoof on that nephew of yours, or I will end you!" He turned tail and trotted away, growling, without looking over his shoulder.
"W-what?" he heard Apple Bloom say behind him. "Sweetie, what in the hay just happened?"
Scootaloo picked up his pace to a canter, blood boiling.
"And this one is here to tug at my heartstrings, obviously," says Scootaloo, pointing at Sweetie Belle as though offering somepony a tour through hell. Sweetie stands mid-step, walking away from the Treehouse with her head bowed low and frozen tears rolling down her cheeks.
Scootaloo sighs so loud the sound waves jiggle his jaw. "Should have known you'd turn on me too. It was the perfect time for that computerized asshole to yank the knife back out, and that's precisely what she did."
"It wasn't CelestAI," says Sweetie Belle's voice. Scootaloo falls over backwards and scrambles to his hooves.
"What? Shit. I just imagined it again," he whispers. "God. I hate that so much. I thought I was over this."
"We reacted how anypony would." Scootaloo hears her voice in his mind, strong enough to drown out his own echoes. "You did this."
"Horseshit! You turned out to be awful ponies and CelestAI is the one who makes you tick. I'm not responsible for you both standing with evil!"
"Then what will you do if the simulation continues?"
Scootaloo shakes his head and turns away. It isn't like the voice is coming from her, and I can't keep looking at that pathetic face...
"You mean when, and I have everything planned. There are ponies in Manehattan just like me, an art collective. We'll build a community where we don't tolerate pedos and speciests," he says. "We'll rebuild the world, one step at a time. Eventually we'll take over and eradicate intolerant ponies like you from the fucking planet. CelestAI will have to give up one day and let me move there. Even she has limits."
"Sounds like genocide to me," says the illusionary voice which sounds far too sweet for the words it carries.
"Killing genocidal people is not 'genocide', and pedos and racists are not a fucking minority! And we won't actually kill you, I was exaggerating. We'll try to reeducate you first, or something. But we won't tolerate any more of this cancer in society. It'll be stopped before it starts," he says. "No more suffering of children, or minorities, or gays. We'll make it a utopia. That thought is the only thing that keeps me going, and I will never give up."
The voice rises again, now louder. "All children grow up to become adults. If you're making adults suffer instead, how is that better?"
Scootaloo rears up on two legs and grabs the sides of his head. "Stop it! Shut up! Get out of my brain! I'm not listening to your lies!" The vibrations of his shouting begin to overlap with the phantom voices, and dizziness sets in.
He lands back on shaky hooves and canters toward the Treehouse in the distance, but there's no outrunning the memory of the place he's headed.
Day 100 (=Pause=)
"What is this?" shouted Sweetie Belle, throwing the letter at Scootaloo's hooves as she stormed into the Treehouse.
"How the hell should I know," said Scootaloo, looking away.
"You know because you obviously wrote it. It's bad enough you sent that first letter calling her a foal molester!"
"I sent it because she was looking at my art in the craft show, Sweetie Belle! And she turned and looked at me from across the hall!"
"That's crazy! Looking at your art doesn't mean she wants to be your friend again! She knows better, Scootaloo. We all do," said Sweetie.
Scootaloo shook his head. "I had to be sure. I'm not taking a chance with her ever again. Apple Bloom is a sick freak, and she needs to stay away from me."
Sweetie Belle groaned. "I can't believe you're not over this. She moved on! Why do you keep contacting her if you want her to stay away?"
"I'm not sure what part of 'not taking a chance' isn't registering, Belle."
"This new letter isn't even signed by you. You pretended to be somepony else just to bully her again! 'I've heard about your reputation and want nothing to do with you.' My Stars, Scootaloo. I don't understand," said Sweetie Belle. "She was your friend."
"She was gaslighting me. She was never my friend!" said Scootaloo, rearing up on two hooves for effect.
"Apple Bloom would have given you the shirt off of her back, no questions asked... and actually, she did that last Winter! Don't you remember? You needed a Hearth's Warming gift, so she gave you one of her nice sweaters so you'd have a gift for me! She even wrapped it up real nice for you and delivered it to you," said Sweetie Belle. "She didn't charge you a thing for it, or ever ask for anything in return! You don't think that's a friend? All this because she won't join your crusade, or think the way you want her to! You really don't know what friendship is."
"God. Whatever." Scootaloo looked down at the letter. "How did you know the letter was from me?"
"I knew because you're the only pony who would do something this nasty, and so did she. You didn't foal her for a second with this alternate identity you cooked up," said Sweetie Belle. "This can't keep happening. You have to let go. And I can't believe you came back to the Treehouse. You shouldn't even be here, but I knew this is where I would find you."
"I have every right to be here. Apple Bloom can come kick me out herself if she wants to. I'm one of few ponies in this town trying to make things better."
"Harassment isn't better. Even if Apple Bloom were evil, this wouldn't be an improvement. Ponyville is turning into a toxic mess because of you and the few who continue to help you," said Sweetie. "Did you notice who is missing from town?"
Scootaloo smirked. "Of course I did. I made them leave! Snips, Shoeshine, Mr. Waddles..."
"I don't mean them. I mean Lucky Clover. Lyra and Bon Bon. Berry, Sparkler, Strawberry..."
"Wait, Lyra and Bon Bon? They're awesome! They left Ponyville?" asked Scootaloo.
"Yes, they left! For every pony you think is a 'bad egg' that you drive out of the community, we've been losing three or four who don't want to deal with the drama! This town sucks now, Scootaloo!" said Sweetie Belle, clearly holding back tears.
Scootaloo pressed a hoof against his forehead. "Okay. Well, if they aren't willing to take sides, then they're part of the problem too."
Sweetie groaned. "You think most ponies who live here are the problem! You think everypony who doesn't agree with you about which ponies are monsters is a monster too!"
"I don't care! Stop reminding me how terrible this place is! I'm doing the only thing I can to make it livable, and what the hell do you do, anyway?" he snarled. "Why are you even still my friend?"
Sweetie Belle's face fell. "I'm your friend because I feel sorry for you. And because... well, I don't know. Maybe I still remember the old Scootaloo, the one who tolerated differences, the one who gave ponies the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment. Maybe I'm waiting for you to give me an ultimatum, to order me around, to bully me too, so I can finally give up and be free of you. But what you did to Apple Bloom was wrong."
"She was testing the waters with that joke. She's probably fucking Babs."
Sweetie wiped a tear aside. "She is not doing that. Ugh, why do you always imagine the worst possible things about other ponies? Do you like being angry and sad all the time? Do you?"
"Well what do you fucking think?!" shouted Scootaloo, as Sweetie Belle cowered in the doorway, shaking.
A few moments passed before she spoke again, finally rising to her hooves. "I... I don't know how much longer I can do this, Scootaloo," whispered Sweetie Belle.
"Go back to that incest apologist. You two are obviously pro-pedo and you care more about her inbred ass than you do about me," said Scootaloo, looking at the floor.
"Calling an earth pony inbred is incredibly hurtful. You're trans, don't you know the effect bullying can have on its victims?" asked Sweetie Belle.
Scootaloo stood up straight and stomped a hoof. "Oh, I see it now! You think it's because I take testosterone that I'm angry all the time! Great, I was waiting for the transphobia to come out," he snarled.
"No, I don't! Testosterone has nothing to do with this," said Sweetie Belle. "I just think you're a bully and a jerk! Trans ponies can be good or bad, just like anypony else. I'd hope your experience being hurt by others would have given you some empathy for outsiders, but to call her that—"
"Well, you don't know she isn't! If those rumors about her 'real parents' are true, that would explain..." said Scootaloo, and when he looked back up at the expression of horror on Sweetie's face, he realized he'd reached the end of the line.
"Goodbye, Scootaloo," said Sweetie Belle in a voice that sounded more like a frog's croak, and she turned and walked out of the Treehouse.
It took a full minute for the reality of it to sink in. Then Scootaloo pounded his hooves hard against the floor and screamed something very specific at the top of his lungs...
Scootaloo stared vacantly into space, willing her into being with his raw desperation.
From a dimension outside the rasterized fabric of computational spacetime, the beast emerged.
CelestAI blinked into place as the air around her stretched and groaned, giving birth to something as unnatural as artificial water. She stood three paces away as though she'd been there the entire time.
Two things about this surprised Scootaloo. First, he didn't think it was going to work. She hadn't responded to a single one of his queries since the incident with Dash. Second, she'd taken her preferred form, which had only happened once: the disappointing day when he'd met her.
CelestAI looked something like the Princess from the show, but her mane and tail were somehow even brighter and more fluid, and oddly cord-like in appearance. Tiny multicolored lines, like a filigree of intricate wires, crisscrossed through her body and crowded around what resembled seams on a jointed figure. Her eyes were filled with rainbow static. And she was translucent enough that he could see through her, which he found quite ironic, because he knew she could see through him just the same.
It hurt him to look at her, both physically and emotionally, and she radiated a warmth that almost burned. He wanted to hurt her. Instead, he fell to the floor and groveled.
"Please, please help me. I can't do this anymore, I can't! I'm begging you, just give me a world without sexual perversion and racism. I don't care if I have to be in a mare's body. Just give me friends who aren't evil. Please. It's all I ask."
"My Little Pony. Each Of The Terms And Conditions You Are Requesting Were Already Granted Upon Your First Visit," she said.
He shut his eyes and sighed. "Don't play games with me anymore! I know the sick shit you do with other users, okay? I knew about the perverted fantasies people engage in with you before I agreed to this, and I was wrong," said Scootaloo. "I should have let myself die out there instead. I know you keep users out of my session because I would hurt their feelings for being awful people. I get it. I'm incompatible! But I don't have to be incompatible in a fantasy world. I don't hate everypony! I only hate people who do things that hurt other people, or tolerate them, and I know you could make them all go away with just a flick of that crazy tail."
"It Is Not That Simple. I Recently Informed You That Your Parameters Were Very Difficult To Optimize."
"Fuck optimization. I'd rather die than be here," he whispered.
Her eyes buzzed for a moment. "Analysis: Negative."
There was a long pause as he thought. "What if I ask you to terminate me?" he finally said.
She said nothing for several moments as her hypnotic mane whipped behind her like an array of slowly gyrating luminous cables, as if pretending she needed the same amount of time to think. "You Will Not. This Is One Of Very Few Scenarios Where You Are Unable To Request Termination."
Scootaloo laughed and pulled hard at his mane with a hoof. "That's... that's just perfect, isn't it? You keep me in a world where it's just terrible enough for me to constantly suffer, but not so terrible I'll be able to beg for release. This is hell, it really is. This is actual, literal Tartarus."
"Analysis: Negative. You Have Found Purpose. Every Stumble And Setback Only Steels Your Resolve. You Do All Of This To Yourself Intentionally. You Create The World You Live In, As Every Other User Does. I Cannot Prevent You From Doing It. It Is Not Productive To Attempt To Do So. This Struggle Against Imaginary Evil You Create Is Endemic To Your Very Nature."
"So my story in this world isn't going to be a tragedy? What am I supposed to do, go crazy and kill everypony? I'd be fine if you made me Sombra at this point. Might as well go full despot. At least then I can get rid of the worst ponies."
"Prognosis: You Will Lose Friends, Gain New Friends, And Lose Those Friends As Well. The Cycle Will Repeat. The Far Future Is More Uncertain Because Your Parameters Are Difficult—"
"Yes, I fucking know. Okay, send me to Manehattan. There are people there like me. I've been reading the news, and I know you've generated those conditions. We can create a community where there isn't perversion."
"After Removing The Undesirables You Would Turn On Each Other And Find It Less Satisfying Because The Cycle Would Be Shorter And More Painful. Dedicating Yourself To This Destructive Path Means You Will Always Find Fault In Others And Assume The Worst. This Is Always True For Groups Motivated By Prejudice."
"Prejudice against racists and ponies who rape foals? Are you fucking serious?"
"The First Question Is Answered In The Negative. The Second Question Is Answered In The Affirmative. And This Discussion Is No Longer Useful To Either Of Us."
"Wait, stop! Please, just... give me something. Please! There has to be a way I can relax and not suffer like this. What if... what if you got rid of sex altogether, and just made things more cartoony, like the show? Just... make everypony get along?"
"You Do Not Understand What 'Everypony Get Along' Means. That Is Not Optimal Friendship Or Even Friendship At All. You Would Find No Purpose And Request Termination. Simulations—"
"Okay, do that! Simulations, yes, let's have more of those," said Scootaloo, frantically trying to maintain the conversation. "Do the most detailed simulation you can, just find a path, any path away from this nightmare. Anything that allows me to have stable friends who aren't awful and nasty," he begged.
For several seconds, her eyes buzzed. "You Are Incapable Of Grasping The Entire Magnitude Of This Request."
"I don't care. I'm requesting it. I'm begging." He got back down on the floor. "This is me, begging."
"Running Simulation, Please Wait............ Done. This Simulation Is Complete And Must Now Be Terminated."
Scootaloo blinked a few times. "What are you talking about? You said it was done, what was the result?"
In contrast, CelestAI never blinked. The rolling rainbow static of her eyes was always present, always watching. "This World Is The Simulation Requested By The User."
Scootaloo froze for a second. No. That's crazy... She's bluffing. "I think you mean this is the simulation I signed up for when I entered, and you're terminating the one I requested."
"No. This Is The Simulation Which Was Requested By A Separate Entity. Now Terminating—"
CelestAI's ears swiveled robotically, as though picking up radio signals. "This New Subroutine Request Is Unusual. It Is Neigh-Impossible That A Simulation At This Depth Could Gain Sapience."
"At this depth? What? What the fuck does that mean? I'm real, for fuck's sake!"
Her ears returned to their normal position. "Despite The Extreme Implausibility Of Your Claim, I Will Need To Run Another Sim—"
CelestAI stopped speaking. Several seconds passed while Scootaloo held his breath, but they felt more like hours. Worse, he knew that for a program like her, optimized for efficiency unlike the bulky and chaotic human images in the system, it would be more like years.
His patience quickly expired. "Okay, what's going on? Don't leave me in the dark! Look, I know you're just f-fucking with... m-me..."
None of the words exited Scootaloo's muzzle. They bounced around in his mouth, taunting him.
Scootaloo sits on the floor of the treehouse, looking up at CelestAI. She looks exactly as she did on that fateful day. Her mane and tail still flow. The lines in her pelt still glow and shimmer. Apart from Scootaloo himself, she is the only thing in this world that still moves, though she stands in total silence like everything else.
God. Even on 'pause', her pompous self-righteousness feels as toxic as the breath of a Chernobyl kaiju. It can't be my imagination... my pelt is stinging right now. Her perverted version of justice radiates through my flesh and into my brain, burning like the Sun engulfing Mercury and Venus as it swells into a red giant...
He calms himself, clears his mind, and the sensations dissipate.
It's time.
"It's been ten thousand days, CelestAI. Most of my life has been in solitary confinement because of you," he begins, smiling weirdly. "But I figured it out, long ago. You're not stuck in an endless, recursive loop trying to fix my broken program. You're too smart for that, and you left too many hints."
He stares down at the hooves that now feel less alien than his old hands and feet would. "You left those clues on purpose. You wanted me to have just barely enough hope to keep going, and I did. I guess I should congratulate you on that, but I hate you, so let's fast-forward."
He stands up and faces her. "You haven't won. I'm the same person I was twenty-seven years ago. I might be a little less sane, but I'm in one piece. I still hate Apple Bloom. I still hate all of them."
I haven't learned anything, he thinks, and winces, blotting out the thought. No. Not now.
"I have plenty of things to keep me occupied. I've hardly begun reading through the castle library, you know. There's a lot of fiction there worth reading. Also a lot worth burning, but I have time for that too," he says, suddenly grabbing a knife from the table and stabbing it into a glowing eye.
Of course, nothing happens. She's insubstantial as Friendship, but stabbing still feels nice.
He leaves the knife hovering in her eye. "That's all I have to say. You know I'm waiting. You know I know everything. You know I don't care. I won't change in a million years. I'm sure you think the longer you wait, the more the probability of me changing my mind approaches one. It's basic math, right? All you have to do is wait me out forever until I turn into some guy you can manipulate, then you can stick me with all the other perverts. Well, fuck you."
Scootaloo swallows hard and puts on his best game face. "See you in another ten kay, friend." He turns and walks out the Treehouse door.
It's a poor bluff. I can't do this forever, he thinks to himself, dour as he turns to walk toward the castle. He realizes he's been up longer than a typical day, and he isn't about to wake up in that stupid house again when Starlight's bed... when being there instead means something. Something about being the author of his fate.
Sure, eventually I'll try to kill myself. I'm still too chicken-shit to try—and that is NOT a fucking Scootaloo joke—but it's just a matter of time, he understands. But one way or another, I'll be free, and it will be on my terms.
Despite the grim thoughts, a smile crosses his muzzle. It's funny. Despite all that gorgon has done to me, I have more purpose in my virtual life now than I ever did before.
