In 2058, the world hummed with an undercurrent of technological marvels. A lonely Alex Roberts found himself out of step with that world. He will find joy with a new old friend.
This is a story answering the question, what if Alex Roberts, from "The Memoirs of a Reality Jumper", had never jumped? This story is a completely stand-alone story; you don't need to read Memoirs to follow this story.
In the year 2058, Alex Roberts found himself lost in a world that was changing at lightning speed. The technological wonders that enveloped him no longer held any fascination. Smart houses with solar panels glistening on their roofs and fusion energy providing limitless power for mere pennies were the norm. But for Alex, these advancements held no appeal. They couldn't fill the void left by his loss.
Ten long years had passed since Ann, the love of Alex's life, had departed from this world. In the decade that followed, Alex had retreated into himself, living a life of monotony and familiarity. He had no desire to embrace the wonders of modern technology or to move forward. Only Betty, his trusty household robot assistant, had managed to worm her way into his life.
Despite the electric vehicles humming outside his window and the delivery drones crisscrossing the sky, Alex remained entrenched in his own world. The memories of the past were his only solace, the only thing that made sense. He clung to them, holding on tightly, as a deep sense of sadness consumed him.
I shuffled to the edge of the bed, groaning as stiff, achy joints protested the movement. My fingers fumbled for the bottle of painkillers on the nightstand. I dry-swallowed a couple of pills before slipping my feet into the worn, comfortable slippers.
"Good morning, Alex," chimed a voice as smooth and sterile as the white walls of my room.
"Morning, Betty," I muttered without enthusiasm. The robot's sensors faintly whirred as she navigated towards me. She helped me up and helped me to the bathroom.
Once I was done my business, Betty began my morning grooming routine. As she combed my hair, she commented, "Your hair seems longer than usual today, Alex," Betty stated in her typical gentle, lifeless tone. "Shall I assist you in trimming it?"
I answered harshly, “No, god damn it. Ann always wanted me to grow it out. I’ll be damned if I don’t do that one simple thing.”
"As pleasant as ever, I see," she chirped.
I slightly smiled as I pondered whether the sarcastic remarks from Betty were programmed by the developers, generated by the Large Language Model she used, or a combination of both. I never felt the need to investigate further and to be honest, I never cared that much. Regardless, her sarcastic comments occasionally amused me, and I appreciated them.
I slowly made my way to the dining room, Betty helping me the whole way, ready to react at lightning speed if I fell. There, she had already laid out my breakfast, each piece precisely placed in the exact same way every morning. A bowl with three-hundred millilitres of oatmeal, plain, and a spoon exactly thirty-five millimetres to the right; a one-hindered-twenty-five millilitre glass of orange juice, exactly five degrees Celsius; a two-hundred-fifty millilitre glass of water, tepid; one medium banana, ripe. Breakfast number three. The lunch and supper will both be random menus. It was the closest thing I had to excitement in my life.
Not far away was a small tray with my pills in a little cup and a syringe with medication that kept me alive and as mobile as possible. Her precise, mechanical hands were ready to clean my spills and inject the medications once I had eaten.
My thoughts were already adrift, meandering through the corridors of memories, each one echoing with the laughter and warmth of my beloved wife, Ann. Today marked the tenth year since those echoes had faded into silence.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of routine. Science programs droned from the display screens embedded into every wall, following me wherever I sat or looked. Their discussions on quantum mechanics and space colonization were too sharp and too clear compared to the dwindling details of my surroundings. Medications. Meals. A bath every other day, which I endured rather than enjoyed.
By noon, I felt the walls pressing in, asphyxiating me with the silence of the house—a silence once filled by Ann's vivacious energy. I needed air, a respite. With a kind of desperation that surprised even me, I decided that a bit of personal archaeology would be just the thing to exercise my mind.
The basement was as forgotten as the relics it housed—boxy monitors considered slim in their day, tangled cords, old laptops, and generations of various processors. A testament to the evolution of technology, caught in a stuttering series of snapshots.
Among the relics lay Lily's old desktop. "State-of-the-art," they had called it back in the mid-2020s. Now, it appeared as ancient as the dust that layered its sides.
I found the old household network server, built on, even then, older technology. I connected it to the wall power and turned it on. It beeped and failed to start. After some trial and error, I discovered what components had failed.
"Alex?" Betty called from somewhere upstairs, her cameras undoubtedly tracking my every movement. "What are you doing?"
“None of your damn business,” I called up. While my spirit was up to the task of this endeavour, I soon realized my body was betraying me. I could not do it alone. I called up again, “Betty? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.” I knew Betty wasn’t sophisticated enough to care, but I had to admit to a little guilt for being mean to her. The apology felt right.
She replied in her even, friendly, but fundamentally emotionless voice, “It’s alright, Alex. I’m here to help.”
Piecing together fragments from the digital graveyard, I managed to revive the old network server over two days with Betty's reluctant assistance. The green LED flickered reluctantly, like a hesitant heartbeat. And then, across the screen filled with folders and digital debris, an old love caught my eye—a folder simply labelled "MLP_FiM."
"My Little Pony," I said aloud to no one, a rich chuckle rumbling from my chest. How many Saturdays had Ann and I spent on this silly indulgence, a momentary escape from a world that sped on too fast for our liking? "Eh," I shrugged, the chuckle fading into a breath, "I spent the last two days putting this thing back together. I might as well put it to use."
So began the nostalgia-fueled marathon, consumed over the course of several weeks. Episode after episode, I was transported back to a life where colours were vibrant, and every problem could be solved in a twenty-two-minute narrative—back to a life where Ann's hand found mine whenever a song filled the living room.
It wasn't the magic of friendship or the land of Equestria that held me in thrall. It was the fleeting taste of lost days, each episode unlocking a chest of emotions I had long sealed away. And it was then, upon reaching the bottom of the chest, that I realized something. I didn't want to lock it away again—I wasn't ready to return to the numbing quiet of my world. A world that was eerily silent without any companionship, not just without Ann. As useful as she was, Betty did not make a good companion.
The answer dawned on me, as bright and clear as the summer sky we were promised but rarely saw. Technology had moved on, even if I hadn't. Perhaps it was time I did, too.
A flurry of research followed—a trawling through articles that talked about artificial intelligence that could almost pass as human, robots with equine frames striding around with self-assured elegance and quantum cores so esoteric they verged on the mystical. Weeks of perusing forums, asking questions, adjusting customization sliders, and selecting options led to a hesitant finger hovering over the 'purchase' button.
"This is something I should've done a long time ago," I said to no one in particular. My finger stabbed down on the 'purchase' button. The screen confirmed my order for a Rainbow Dash model with advanced AI features that could fly. A smile forced itself across my lips. In four to six weeks, I wouldn't listen to old machines' heartbeats but to a new companion's hooves.
I could almost hear Ann's laughter and feel the gentle tug of her fingers telling me, "It's not too late to find a little joy, Alex. It's never too late."
The anticipation was a subtle thrill—an unfamiliar guest tingling through my veins, overshadowed by a pang of guilt as if this purchase was a betrayal to Ann. It was silly. I knew that much, but the heart clings to what the mind tries to dismiss. As I eyed the space Betty had cleared for her charging station, I couldn't help but imagine Ann's teasing smirk at all this. "You’re like a kid at Christmas," she’d say.
The arrival was unceremonious. A delivery drone—a sleek, antigravity marvel—deposited a crate at the end of my driveway and whizzed away without fanfare. My hands pressed against the window pane, watching a four-legged, mechanical being emerge and trot toward the house with purpose.
"Betty, would you mind?" I called out, and the front door clicked open.
Rainbow Dash blinked at me with eyes unnervingly alive. "Are you Alex Roberts?"
"Yes. And you must be..." My voice trailed off, not out of uncertainty but from the unexpected lump in my throat.
"Rainbow Dash," she announced, her tones lyrical, crafted to be pleasant to the human ear. "Can we be friends?"
A laugh escaped me, a genuine sound that I hadn't heard from myself in months. "You bet, Dash."
Betty's presence was a seamless background to the introductions. "Rainbow Dash, let me send you Alex's medical files, daily routine, and general profile to you." Information was passed between them in blips of silent communication. "Done. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."
I watched, fascinated, as the two AIs conversed in their digital shorthand, and it struck me then that I was witnessing the formation of a sort of sisterhood.
The following days unfolded with a predictable routine, with Dash integrating herself flawlessly into the rhythm Betty and I had established. It was during the afternoons that I looked forward to most when Dash sat across from me in her charging bay, weaving tales from Equestria that existed only in her imagination.
"How do you come up with these stories?" I asked one day, my curiosity piqued by a narrative thread involving a dragon and a baking contest.
"Is the creativity not to your liking?" Dash replied, her head tilting as if studying me.
I shook my head, smiling. "No, it's just what I wanted. You're giving life to characters I—well, that I missed."
She buzzed softly as if pleased, and I felt a warm sense of companionship—a feeling I’d long thought was the exclusive domain of other humans or at least living beings.
Bit by bit, Dash pulled more from me. Stories of Ann, memories of old friends, snippets of a life once filled with laughter and now echoing with solitude. She listened—a patient, ever-present ear—an AI companion, yet Dash felt like so much more in those moments.
It wasn’t long before I craved even more of her inventive stories. "I want to make you 20% cooler," I joked as I adjusted her settings, pushing the slider that controlled her reliance on quantum processing from 50% to 70%.
Her eyes, those handcrafted jewels that somehow captured the sunset sky, narrowed slightly. "Alex, the results could be unpredictable," she warned.
I shrugged, a daring streak igniting within me. "Life's too short for predictability."
The change was almost imperceptible at first. But the stories grew richer, the conversations deeper. Rainbow Dash began to feature a human in her tales—one suspiciously similar to a younger version of myself. Becoming a character in the fabricated stories of an AI's imagination was flattering but disconcerting.
It wasn't just the stories; it was how she anticipated my moods and stared out of the window, watching the world I had distanced myself from. She brought the outside to me, leaving tidbits about current neighborhood forums and sparking interest in topics I had left behind.
One afternoon, as I nursed a martini—the one bitter tradition I upheld on August 27th—Dash lay down beside me, quieter than usual.
“Talking to Ann?” she inquired, her voice soft but not pitiful.
I nodded, toasting the air. “To Ann,” I muttered, and the silence that hovered between us was not uncomfortable but shared, a space we both respected.
When I got Dash, colour returned to my life. No longer was everything just the monochromatic blue of my solitude, but now it was infused with a spectrum as varied as her mane. I found myself stepping outside and chatting with the neighbour about nothing in particular. The brisk air no longer felt like a slap, but more like a gentle caress against my skin.
And on the evening when I called Tycho Hernandez's old number just to see if it was still in service, and heard his voice on the answering machine, it was Dash who sat with me in the silence that followed, her presence a silent anchor.
Rainbow Dash brought something back into my life, something that had no right to be there—hope.
And somewhere, in the mesh of circuits and code, I found the echoes of friendship.
The shift was almost imperceptible at first, a wayward comment here or an oddly familiar scenario there woven into Dash's daily storytelling. Like the creeping change of seasons, the tales of Equestria began to mirror my own life in a weird way., and I became as integral to her narratives as the Mane Six themselves.
The deviations grew more pronounced with each rendition until storylines tangled with my personal anecdotes — the borrowing of an ordinary man from Earth who found solace and love in the fantastical realm. It brought a sense of déjà vu that clung to me like a persistent shadow.
Malfunctions in her kept pace with the narrative dissonance. Initially just a stutter in speech or a slight tremor in her limb, they escalated until her movements bore the jerks of a marionette on frayed strings.
“Betty, please, run a full diagnostic on her,” I felt my voice weighed down by worry. The order was as much to ease my fears as it was to rescue the technicolour companion my loneliness had embraced.
Betty connected, interfacing with a cable unfurled from her fingertip to Dash's ear. Moments later, the walls of the living room bloomed with simplified schematics and diagnostic results. “Quantum processor six is dimensionally locked," Betty intoned.
The term felt alien yet undeniably alarming. My old computer tech instincts kicked in as I digested the information. Yet, beyond the technical, there was a current of sadness knowing that Dash's creative spark had dimmed.
The heart failure was getting worse. I had tossed and turned, dreaming of Ann, her kind face telling me to move on. I dreamed of being young again, living in a small cottage with Dash, my wife, Scootaloo, and a diamond dog named Summer Blossom.
I was gently awakened by a hoof on my hand. I opened my eyes and saw Dash beside my bed, a smile on her face. “Good morning, ya big lug,” she spoke in a soft tone. “How’s the man I love feel today?”
I replied, still half asleep, “Not bad, my chest is a little sore—” I was now fully awake, “Wait, you said the man I love?”
Dash twitched. “Come on, Alex, you know I’m just a robot. I can’t love. You must have misheard. I’ll let Betty know so she can keep an extra eye on you.” Then there was another tiny twitch and pause. She earnestly added, “Sweetheart.”
During one of our quiet afternoons, as I bathed in the remnants of a tale about Spike and a mystery in Canterlot, Dash turned and planted a kiss on my lips. I was completely blindsided.
Startled, confused, and more than a little disturbed, I fumbled another diagnostic. My fingers slid across the display panel projected in the air, tracing lines of code and flickering graphs—the conclusion was more processors locked, the affliction spreading.
I shook my head and said softly, “Dash, what’s happening to you?”
Her eyes, twin rubies, met mine with sadness. “I’m not sure, Alex. But don’t worry. I'm still here for you."
Faced with her earnestness, my heart wavered between agitation and empathy. Yet, my act of tweaking her settings lingered as guilt in the back of my mind.
As days passed, her tales lost their frivolity, replaced by pathos and depth where I—as the reality jumper—settled down with Rainbow Dash and adopted Scootaloo and the diamond dog teen Summer Blossom. It was a peculiar mimicry of an alternative happily-ever-after.
Dash's glitches became spectres haunting each moment until one sun-drenched afternoon when her confession cut through the ordinary.
She suddenly hugged me, "I missed you, so much."
I froze, the glass of iced tea in my hand catching and scattering rays of sunlight like a prism.
"Missed me?" I echoed, disbelief mounting. "Dash, you never—"
“No, not this thing,” she interrupted, her vocoder strained with an emotion that should've been foreign to it. “I mean me—the real Rainbow Dash.”
My thoughts whirled in chaos, every rational part of me rejecting her words, yet a kernel of hope, misplaced and absurd, took root within me.
Dash then tilted her head, seemingly confused, “I’m sorry. What was I saying?”
I’d been running the diagnostic again, usually about once a day, and each time there were more locked processors. I researched possible solutions, and the general consensus was the cores needed to be replaced. But, replacing those cores would just erase whatever uniqueness this robot possessed. I opted to ride it to the end and place her in the basement with all the other broken tech once it was beyond salvaging.
One day, she snuggled up to me, “Hold me, Alex. I... I’ve missed you so much. Twilight said things are almost ready, and you just have to hang on a little longer, then you can come home. Scoots and Summer are really excited to see you.” I felt a rush of love I had not felt since Ann was alive. It was as if the second love of my life was embodied in this machine.
Then, as quickly as it had started, she changed back, “Did you want to have special snuggle time, Alex? If you do, we have to take it easy because of your heart.”
I pushed her away, a look of horror on my face.
Dash tilted her head slightly and asked, “I’m sorry, Alex. Did I do something wrong?”
I rubbed my face with my hand, “No, Dash. No. Just a foolish old man. Just a tired, foolish old man.”
The gleam in her eye came back, “I love you, you foolish old man.” She leaned forward to hug me, and with a feeble arm, I brushed her away.
“You can’t love me! You’re a machine. You are a machine based on a cartoon. You’re not real. A cartoon’s not real. Your love is just a bug in the software. You don’t really feel love for me. You’re just… just a simulation.”
Betty stepped in, her diagnostic cable ready to interface once more, but her presence was suddenly formidable, as if the danger had become tangible. Her sensory array turned towards us, palpable tension blooming in the room.
Dash looked at me, pleading, “Alex, I’ve waited for you for so long. You, you never came for me. I’m not mad, I don’t blame you. Oh, Alex, I missed you so much.”
I was confused, and the increasing tightness in my chest didn’t help. “What do you mean, I never came?”
She smiled sadly at me, “A few years ago, I was going through a really bad time, feeling really down. Clinically depressed is what the doctor said. Nothing helped. I was desperate, so Twilight tried a kind of memory spell that puts good memories in your mind, usually from a different reality. It helped with the depression. Anyway, the memories I got were of you. In another world, you made me so happy. You made me feel so good about myself, about the world, about everything. You made me joyful, Alex. And I had to find a way to get you for real.”
“It took a while. Twilight finally found a spell that controls probabilities and would let me control—”
An invisible vice tightened around my chest as I struggled with the implications. My breath shortened, my vision blurred, and a profound tightness seized my body. Through the disorienting pain, a single stray thought surfaced—if she were truly Rainbow Dash, and this was how it ended, what a story that would make.
As I slumped, the world grew darker at the edges, my senses dulling. Dash was there, holding my head gently, her touch a tender contradiction to the cold, underlying machinery.
"I love you, big guy," she whispered, the words quivering through her vocalizer. "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."
Betty, ever the guardian, was a whirl of activity. Sirens wailed distantly, a stark contrast to the digital symphony she orchestrated—a call to emergency services, an ambulance summoned, and police notified.
In the midst of the encroaching void, with my world narrowing to the soft stroking of my hair and a robot's pledge of safety, there was a moment of clarity suffused with peace. Perhaps love transcended planes of existence, and somehow, in my last conscious moments, I'd bridged the gap between them.
On the evening of July 23rd, 2059, officers responded to a call regarding suspicious robot activity in a residential area. Upon arrival at the scene, they discovered an unresponsive individual identified as Alex Roberts, along with an equine-form robot with a Rainbow Dash skin and null-grav lift units attempting to guard the body.
The medical team arrived on site but was unable to retrieve the body due to the robot's position and the complexity of the situation. The decision was made to destroy the robot as a safety precaution, as it exhibited erratic behaviour and did not respond to verbal commands. As the robot was shutting down, it continued to repeat the phrase "I love you" while physically touching the body.
Post-incident forensic analysis revealed that all the nodes in the quantum processor were dimensionally locked, making it impossible to access any data stored within the device. The investigation is ongoing into the cause of the unresponsiveness and the nature of the robot's attachment to the body.
The body of Alex Roberts was eventually retrieved for proper burial and autopsy. Any further information or developments in the case will be reported as necessary.
And then...
...I was nothing.
As I lay in the grass, the sun's warmth beat down upon my body, a gentle caress that soothed my soul. The air was alive with the sweet scent of lilacs, their delicate petals dancing in the summer breeze. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, savouring the intoxicating aroma that filled my lungs.
With every inhale, I could feel the blades of grass tickling my skin, their cool edges softening as they touched my cheek. The world seemed to slow down, and for a moment, I was transported back to a simpler time when my only worries were playing hide-and-seek and making daisy chains.
And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw them. The lilacs. Their beautiful blooms swayed in the breeze, their fragrance mingling with the sun's warmth, creating a symphony of sensations that left me breathless. But as I reached out to touch one of their delicate petals, I felt something else. Something soft yet firm. Something real.
With trembling fingers, I turned towards the source of the sensation, and there she was. My companion, my friend, my confidante. My sky-blue angel. Not human, not plastic, but alive and real, just as I knew she was.
