The Caretaker

REMEMBERHunter

        :::> I ran continuously under the constant rain and lightning, not even thinking, no, the process of coming to a halt did not even appear on my processing hub. The water droplets seeped into my armored exterior. At that point, I realized that I was holding onto the very last edge of my existence. Lost. Everything. Sweetie Belle. Rarity. My remembrance. Gone... Why? I was simply completing my directive of keeping Sweetie Belle safe at all costs.

        :::> The Colonial Guard would be looking for me now. Unlike organics, my existence did not bear any sort of “rights.” I was most likely seen as a simple VI. I would be decommissioned, peacefully or forcefully. That could not be allowed to happen, no. But... what now?

        :::> I lost myself into the Everfree Forest as I continued to process probable solutions. There was something that needed to be corrected. The balance. My directive was still as it stood: to keep Sweetie Belle safe at all costs. If someone tried to assault her, then there could be more that would do the same.

        :::> That could not be allowed to happen.

        :::> At that very moment, a lone process slipped through my net: an idea stating that I should stop them all before they tried anything. They are at fault. Whoever is capable of hurting Sweetie Belle, deserved to die. They all needed to die. More importantly, I needed to find who that gryphon was and if he had any sort of connections to anybody at fault.

        :::> I stopped running and looked at my right hand. There was still blood on it— his blood. Convenient. A simple DNA scan would do.

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        :::> I stood at the edge of the forest, overlooking the Ponyville district with my infrared vision turned on. The rain was still going, people were in their homes, night was still high and I was on the hunt. I raised my right arm, once again looking at the blood, most of it now washed away by the rain.

        :::> Hans Jaban was the gryphon I killed. After the scan, I made sure to engage in a detailed visit to the criminal records of the Colonial Guard, finding just what I needed. He lived on street thirty, house number nine, Ponyville district. Not more than a mile away.

        :::> Before moving, I reached up to my head, taking off my faceplate and revealing my actual features: a skull-like structure composed of metal and synthetic muscle. I dropped the plate onto the ground— I would not need it anymore. The less I looked like the Mac from before, the less probable I would be caught and decommissioned.

        :::> That said, my priority objective at that moment was finding an appropriate disguise. As I began to make my move, I analyzed the stores nearby. The streets were completely empty, only structure to fill them. One store in particular seemed suitable: “Betren’s Pseudo-Combat Clothing.” Excellent. I shifted my direction towards the store.

        :::> Lightning illuminated my form. Holoscreens displaying propaganda up in buildings to demonstrate new products or the might of the USC. A few streets later, past several buildings both old and modern, wood and metal, homes and stores, and I was already at the store. Its holographic banner was off, the lights from inside dark as well. All except for a flashing blue LED just under the word, ARMED on a standard USC security panel. Nothing to worry about. I simply established a connection to its system and bypassed the security measures, only to see the panel overload and spark, the light turning off. Interesting. After the nearly failed attempt at hacking into a home security processor, I waved my hand over the door’s magnetic lock, prompting it to disengage itself.

        :::> I pushed the door open, then walked into the store. I refrained from turning the lights on, as that would draw unwanted attention, and kept my infrared vision on instead.

        :::> Examining the store, I found myself standing amongst many mannequins, mostly human, wearing Syntex clothes. I focused on one in particular: a mannequin wearing a black hooded trench coat made of Syntex, complete with boots, pants, and a vest. Under it where the same exact clothes, but on other sizes. I walked over to the display and picked the ones that would fit over my already armored shell.

        :::> I took a few moments to put everything on, and thankfully the entire outfit fit well. Everything was ready. I was about to walk out of the store when another thought hit me: I needed a weapon. A store of this kind... the owner must be human, and being already well-prepared for robbery, it would make sense...

        :::> I made my way over to the counter, reaching under it. My hand touched something and I pulled it from a clip holster under the desk. I found myself holding a LandrexCorp Gauss Pistol in nearly pristine condition. I checked the magazine: twelve shells. I leaned down once more and used my free hand to check under the counter for more ammo. Nothing but dust and a few credit chips. Either way, this had been a nice find.

        :::> I placed the weapon under my coat, and made my way out of the store into the night.

:::> Back to the hunt.

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        :::> As silently as I could, I went up the stairs leading to the late Hans’ apartment. What I would find there, I did not know, but if it was alive, Hans had already signed their death sentence.

        :::> Stopping in front of the door, I connected myself to the apartment's electric system, and turned it off, but not before opening the door. I walked inside, finding myself in a regular flat. Nothing out of the ordinary: a sofa, a table, kitchen, TV. Save for the smell of burnt poison joke, a drug used by the native species, everything was normal. I heard the steps of a quadruped approaching from the main bedroom.

        “Hans?” they asked. I silently moved over to the hallway in which this being was walking through. “That you-?” They were cut off as I revealed myself from the darkness, turning the light of my eyes on. Before they could say anything, I stepped forward and grabbed them by the neck, choking them.

        :::> Finding myself choking a mortally scared pony stallion, blue eyes, purple mane, white coat, I quickly processed the best course of action. “Name,” I said as I released some of the pressure on his neck.

        “Help-” he struggled out. I applied more pressure, his eyes beginning to bulge out of his head as I lifted him from the floor.

        :::> “I can simply do a DNA scan after I kill you,” I stated, staring into his eyes. “But I ask again: Name?”

        “Manner Hammer...” He spit at me. “I’m gonna call the Guard... if you don’t let me go...”

        :::> “I only need to know where you bought your poison joke.” I tilted my head to the side.

        He smiled, barely managing to breathe. “Fuck you...”

        :::> I wrapped my free hand around his right ear, to the point in which the grip itself caused bleeding. With no waste of time, I pulled, prompting the sound of flesh being ripped. ripped one of his ears off, then grabbed his leg as he kicked at me in pain, twisting it out of its socket. “You have no other alternative. Tell me where you bought your poison joke.”

         After I allowed him to breathe just a small amount after the wave of insufferable pain, he spoke up, “Street forty five... the alleyway next to the... ice cream store...” he said between pained breaths.

        :::> “Thank you,” I said as I pressed his windpipe with my thumb, hearing a satisfying crack as it crushed. I let go of him and stare at him as he drops to the floor and holds his neck in pain, running out of oxygen. “Tell Hans that I am not sorry. Goodbye.”

        :::> The hunt was just starting.