Source

~~~~~~~~~
It didn't give her amazing healing powers either.
~~~~~~~~~

Bleep.

All vitals nominal.

The monitor blurred and settled. I regarded flashing blue words with my crusted eyes; strewn under crumpled hospital sheets on a sterile plastic mattress. What I wasn't was a shredded mess in a subterranean storeroom. Small victories.

The room was small and dimly lit, containing my bed, two chairs, a small table, and a row of three humming and beeping machines. No blinds. No windows. No second bed. On the table were a few baskets of flowers. My ears picked up faint chatter framed in static buzz, and I realized I wasn't alone.

Two pegasi in gold-trimmed black uniforms sat in a chair on either side of the door, facing away from me. A good sign. They were primarily keeping others out, not me in. A music player sat on the floor between them. Droning, bass-heavy music crackled out.

To bring my hooves
Party to these who brought the snow
Names
Of clouds and haven's afterglow...

"Please change it," one said. The other clicked a remote with his hoof.

Come on everypony, Smile, Smile, Smile!
Fill my heart up with sunshine, sunshine.

"Really? Ugh. Not in the mood for old folk music right now. Next."

"You don't like anything," the second one admonished.

"Put on something... alternative. C'mon."

"Hrm. Here. This is new."

Hope is named, in the absence of light
Dragging Honesty across the heat of night
To frame your memories
In fire

I raised my head suddenly, and my neck throbbed in response, "What is that?"

They turned to me; startled.

"You're awake."

"That song; what is it?" I pressed. My voice was hoarse and terrible. My throat burned.

"Uh, it's the new song by The Static Ponies. Burning Honesty," the second replied, leveling his startled tone.

I flopped heavily back to the mattress. My neck was atrociously sore. I reached a hoof up and felt a metallic, rectangular break in my skin. It was one of those boxes, in the same place as the one on Doctor Needleminder.

"Yeah, she's responsive," the first continued into a device on the lapel of his jacket.

The second one assured me everything was fine, that someone from the Church was here to see me, and that I should just relax and wait. I barely paid attention. Where did he think I was going? I felt like I should be dead.

A yellow unicorn nurse came in and gave me a once-over, followed by a much-appreciated injection. Laughter Plus; 25 HCMs. The two pegasi labored to creatively position their music player to look as if it belonged to me.

I was starting to feel pretty good. A smile crept across my face. It felt foreign, but welcome, like a long-lost relative. Eventually, a cream-colored earth pony mare in a pressed business jacket sauntered through the door. She held another flower basket in her teeth.

"These were sent by the head of the Apothecary herself," she smiled after setting it next to the others.

I didn't want the flowers. There were six of them. I had a deep-seated aversion to that number. I couldn't quite put my hoof on why, but a cloud of abhorrence lingered about it. Six was bad. Still, I felt pretty great. It felt like somepony was trying to make me smile. Smile, smile, smile.

"That's nice," I rasped.

She stepped closer and seemed surprised. I gave her a curious look. She picked up on it and returned a cordial one.

"Sorry, it's rare to see ponies cloned from our same gene stock. I get spoiled sometimes," she winked conspiratorially, "Your parents must have been pretty important to have access to such a high level progenitor bank."

"I... I guess so. I don't remember."

She was good-looking in a sturdy, straightforward kind of way; a little bit thicker than your average mare, with a welcoming face and big, blue eyes. Her mane and tail were solid dark-blue with a thick pink stripe running down the center. Her cutie mark was a bottle of blue liquid, and her demeanor seemed genuinely magnanimous. Seeming didn't equate to trust.

"Your memory loss is that extensive, huh? Gentlecolts, if you'll please excuse us."

The pegasi shared an irritated look and shuffled out.

She was used to talking. She also had the habit of vacillating between personable and all-business subject matter and tone in the same breath. I tried to keep track of the important parts as my mind swam laps between mental joy and bodily discomfort. Her name was Blueberry Syrup. She was going to be my personal liaison with the Church while I got back on my hooves and re-acclimated to my duties. I shouldn't hesitate to contact her as soon as I remember anything. We should hang out some time.

"...take a full report of what happened surrounding the incidents in the hospital sub-levels," she concluded.

My mind scraped across a reef.

Blood.

"Could I... get some water," I said meekly.

I lingered on my third glass as long as possible, hoping she would forget why she came.

"I'm sorry, Lozenge, but I need the information now."

I hesitated, "What... was that whole thing about?"

"It was an attack by zebra separatists. The ultimate aim of it is still under investigation, but it was most likely a terrorist action. Making the news and instilling fear. There were several staff and patient casualties," she prattled, "You seem to be drawn to calamities, you poor thing."

"Okay. What do you want to know?" I sighed, resigned.

"First off, what happened to the Clear Sky Bureau team that intercepted you in Storeroom 74?" her voice was business.

"Those were the ponies in the blue suits?" I looked down into the glass between my front hooves.

"Yes. You were covered in a fair amount of blood from one... Corporal Gladewind." She read his name from a clipboard, in that clipboard tone of voice. I hated it.

"He tore them apart."

"He?"

"The grey stallion with the sunrise eyes."

"One stallion killed four armed commandos with his bare hooves?"

"Yeah. He moved fast. He... you saw what was left," my voice was tin-can empty, "He had some kind of pink shield, too. They couldn't shoot him."

"A Shining Armor unit?...," she mumbled.

"He didn't hurt the three of us," my mind's trauma continued flooding out my mouth's open gate, "He called me pure. Said I would be witness to something breathtaking. He told Nurse Heartspark that she had to let him into Deep Well 2. We ran into another group of the... separatists. He killed them, too, but it gave us enough time to escape. We ended up in Deep Well 2 after all, I guess. I was pretty out of it. He made it into the control room. I took a run at him, but I passed out."

"You tried to attack him? After seeing all that?"

"It seemed like the best remaining option."

She blinked and shook her head, "Well. That's pretty brave."

"It wasn't being brave. I just had to do what I could for the kid and the nurse," I remembered the colt's words, "I owed them, I guess. Something like that. I was delirious."

We let the silence drip for a few moments. Then she went through a battery of questions, most of which I couldn't logically answer. I tried my best.

Did I touch a few artifacts? Yes.

Could I provide an accurate description of the "suspect"? Yes. I did.

Did I smash the artifact mainframe? No. It must have happened after I passed out.

What did I do to the artifact mainframe? I really couldn't tell you.

What was Nurse Heartspark doing? We were separated. I don't know.

Several more questions.

"What happened to Nurse Heartspark?" I finally thought to ask.

"Oh, she's fine. She might actually be back on duty already, pending her psychological evaluation. You've been out for three days."

"Of course," I grumbled. This was becoming a habit. "That's why they took the liberty," I said, gently rubbing the sore flesh around the metal box.

"That? Yeah. You have to be unconscious for a Generosity jack installation. It's wired into your central nervous system, silly."

"What about the colt?"

"He's fine too, last I heard. I think he's right down the hall from you."

Last she heard. She heard a lot.

Satisfied with my answers, she left with the same self-assured saunter that carried her in; after informing me that an envoy from the church would be coming this evening to escort me home. Home. 388 Broncoline Towers, Baltimare. An esoteric location that existed only as letters and digits. My excitement was tempered with a heavy dose of reticence.

The Laughter was wearing off again. I needed to check for the vial I'd stashed. Hopefully, they hadn't found it. The escort would be here before I got the chance, no doubt. The feeling of being herded was stifling.

I sat processing until Nurse Heartspark herself walked in. Her mane was braided and her tail was bound at the end in three silver bangles. She looked nothing like the matted, sweaty wreck from the basement. She looked like the well-groomed mare that fought my fire with an ice pack. Only a few well-tended stitches on the side of her face hinted at our ordeal. I’d come to vaguely associate her presence with comfort.

She wanted to know how I was doing, offering support in a teacherly tone. Everypony spoke to me like a child. It was beginning to grate on me. Finally, she wanted to know what kind of questions the vocalist posed.

"Vocalist? You mean Blueberry Syrup?" I asked.

"Of course. That's the proper term for inquisitors from the Church of the Voice. Some ponies call them something else."

"What would that be?"

"Harpies," she grinned. Her tone was familiar.

"I have a question," I grimaced.

"What's that?"

"We... knew each other before, didn't we?"

Her face took on a hint of melancholy.

"Yes, we did," she smiled.

The door slid open, and the nurse from earlier pushed the wheelchair-bound pegasus colt in.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you had company. He asked if you were awake today and wanted to come and see you," the yellow unicorn beamed.

"You're a loyal little guy, aren't you?" Nurse Heartspark winked.

"I appreciate it, kid," I smiled weakly. Then I realized, "I never asked you your name, did I?"

"It's Sirocco," he smiled.

"What possessed you to pull that lever?"

"I thought about what it would be like to be trapped in that computer, unable to get out and see your friends. So I did what the words said, so they could see each other."

I blinked at the incredulous simplicity.

"Ms. Lozenge, your escort is here," came the voice of black uniform pegasus number-two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another host of medical faces rolled by, conducting final tests and prescribing medicine. Dr. Straight scheduled me for several counseling sessions. By the time we were on the lift out, the flimsy hospital saddlebags were stuffed with papers, medical trinkets, and pill bottles.

My escort was a slate-grey pegasus with a silvery-blue mane and steel-colored eyes. Her only expression was severity. She scrutinized every door before we entered and every avenue of approach when we did. She wore an off-black cloak with wing holes; hood down and pulled around her neck.

"What's your name?" discomfort drove me to speak.

She said something I couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

Another throaty whisper.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that..."

"It's Murmur," she growled. She still hadn't looked at me.

The lift clanged to a halt and began rattling sideways. Her name was Murmur and she worked for the Church of Whispers. I gave up on getting anything else out of her. Fitting.

"Could we possibly stop by sub-level storage?" I inquired.

"It's still off limits."

Clangs and grinding heralded our arrival, and the doors slid open. One doctor had said I should be careful at heights while my nervous system readjusts, as I may experience mild to moderate temporary vertigo and agoraphobia.

He underestimated.

By the time we'd taken five steps onto the roof landing pad, I was a wreck. All my waking hours had been in confined space. Neat delineations of margin and area. Here, there was nothing to contain my sense. A milky-white sky loomed ominously above, oppressive in its sheer expansiveness. I felt as if, at any second, this sky would expand violently outward, drawing the atoms of my body a million different paths into infinity. Dark, burning paths. Forever.

I tried to cry out, but couldn't find the air. There was simply too much of it! My lungs didn't know what to do. The instinctual functions of my body had been overridden. The sounds and lights flowing in the the city's expanse were an overwhelming, raucous bedlam. Even clamping my eyes shut didn't help. Gone was the gentle hum of air purifiers, replaced by the whir of massive fans and the passing blur and whoosh of flying metal shapes. It all melded into what seemed like a voice. The city was screaming at me.

This must be what a newborn foal feels like, if it were pulled from its birthing tank into a fireworks show. I braced, but my hind legs gave out. I dropped heavily and awkwardly onto my plot.

Murmur turned, finally realizing she'd taken several strides alone, and raised an impassive eyebrow. I tried to focus on her to anchor myself. It didn't work. This was a new variety of terror; vast, yawning, and undefined. My stomach churned. I wished I hadn't eaten.

The door hissed behind me. Through my panic came a familiar voice, "I was hoping to catch you before you left! I had..."

Doctor Helix and Murmur exchanged glances. She gave him a "Are you going to do something about this, because I'm not?" look. He put a hoof on my shoulder. I turned my head slowly toward him. Whatever look was on my face, it made him cringe.

My half-digested cucumber sandwich splashed between his hooves.

"I... umm... I was wondering if you'd like to come back for some clinical trials. It's in regards to something that happened while you were unconscious," he shouted over the din.

"Is that it?" I groaned.

"Well, I had another question. It was along the lines of whether or not you'd like to go get a coffee some time," his words were hesitant, "Also, you've got a little...," A kerchief floated out of his pocket and dabbed my muzzle, "vomit."

I swayed woozily. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

As the initial terror cleared my senses, I was confronted with one new and more dire. We were going to fly. Murmur's ship sat at the edge of launch pad like a large black bird with a bloated stomach; white letters arching under the drastic curve of the neck-like bow: "CORVUS". A hatch on the side hissed and slid down, and we climbed inside. There were three strap-in hammock seats dangling in a wedge formation; two slightly behind either side of the center seat, which was in front of the controls; designed to hold ponies in a comfortable, hooves-forward position, as if they were standing. I refused Murmur's assistance, and (after a few acrobatic failures) managed to strap myself in.

Suspended in her seat, Murmur clacked at the panel. A cable went from the controls to her Generosity jack.

I fought a second wave of nauseous hysteria as the motors whirred to life and the ship took its first ponderous vertical wobbles. I needed to distract myself.

"It must be odd flying a ship when you have wings."

"Would you like me to carry you home instead?" she mumbled.

My stomach threatened.

"Please don't throw up in here."

"How did anypony think this was a good idea?" I shouted.

"They thought the train would be scary."

There were no windows. The front panel of the craft was one large display. Figures and images blinked around the edges of a feed of the outside. A few smaller picture-in-picture boxes lined the bottom. The main controls were two large bevels attached to her front hooves. Each careful motion changed our speed and pitch.

Trepidation finally gave way to awe after rising several stories. A vast swath of multicolored metals and lights stretched beneath us; a wide arc of shimmer, blink, and the bustle of moving minutiae. There seemed to be no true corners to anything. The architecture waved and flowed in smooth contours; ovals, spirals, peculiar turns. Each building, in and of itself, seemed strange, but together each was a note in an oddly enrapturing symphony. Genius built this.

We rounded a massive billboard suspended from the side of building: "Red Gala Appleaide; New from House Apple!"

We rose further, and I could see the clearly defined city limits in every direction. It was a circle. A rim of flashing purple lights, revealed in the dimming early evening, defined the edges. The magical barrier that rose from them shimmered in undulating, ephemeral pulses. Beyond was a muted sea of frosted white, broken by the occasional speck of color. They weren't able to build outward. They built up instead.

Murmur looked back, checking my level of panic. I think she was disappointed when she found it lacking.

“What’s out there?” I asked, gesturing at the white earth.

She gave a raised-eyebrow, sideways glance, like one gives a foal, “The Hoarfrost.”

"Is it everywhere?"

She said nothing.

"What's the longest sentence you've ever said?"

She might have grimaced. Maybe.

Steel-blue trains rocketed by underneath. Other machinations, some identical to ours, soared by, their undersides glowing with purple gems. We lowered towards three blue-accented orange towers arranged in a triangle. In the courtyard between them was an open patch of grass and trees; the only I'd noticed in the city. We settled gently onto a pad jutting from the tower's side.

"Do you remember your unit?"

"388," I replied.

"Do you... remember how to eat? Use a faucet?"

I unstrapped myself and climbed out.

"Wait," came her sibilant whisper, "Just plug in to the Generosity. Ask it questions."

That was probably as nice as she got. I nodded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There were thirty buttons in the lift, grouped into five clusters of six. I took the stairs. It was only three floors.

1. The numbers glared at me. I expected the door to open into an inferno, or a room full of corpses. It opened into a small but well-organized apartment. I paced carefully through, re-learning it. Sadly, I must have been quite fond of pink. My exact shade of pink. If I closed my eyes and mouth, I thought, I could stand in the middle of the room unseen. It badly needed a cleaning, which would come later. I deliberately avoided the FPU (Food Preservation Unit).

I plopped down on a massive green cushion surrounded by a semi-circular desk. Over it, suspended by a robotic arm, was a large computer screen. Right next to my face was a Generosity cable, its connector pointing like the head of a threatening black snake.

I hooked a hoof around it apprehensively. This was going to plug into my central nervous system. My brain was going to interface with the world. This was a new degree of agoraphobia. I switched on the terminal under the desk and positioned the connector next to the interface on my jack. Swallowing hard, I clicked it in.

>System: Responsive

Readouts blurred by.

>Starting Generosity Browser v15.3...
>........100%
>Remember: The Bishopric loves you.

A dazzling interface displayed across the screen, with a secondary screen overlay that displayed in my eyes. The two images coalesced to create a three dimensional effect that was momentarily disorienting. A message popped up in my periphery.

*1,518 unread messages.

Great.

The system was intuitive, and the learning curve for basic functionality was short. Most of the messages were advertisements. One sent today caught my attention:

>>From: Wonder

>>Subj: Cutie Mark Re-Assignment

>>It has come to our attention that your cutie mark was lost due to large-scale tissue damage. Per instruction from the Apothecary, we have scheduled you for mark-matrix processing. The date has been added to your calendar. Please contact me as soon as possible if rescheduling is required.

-Wonder

-Asst. Director of Cutie Mark Assignments

-Department of Destiny

"Reference; Department of Destiny."

Department beneath the Church of the Compass. Responsible for processing assignment of cutie marks. Cutie marks are generated via exposure to the Cutie Mark Assignment Matrix. Initial assignment is made on a pony's twelfth birthday. Re-assignment is mandatory if a cutie mark is lost due to cybernetic or biological modifications.

I sat in silence for a moment, staring out the window. A ship hummed by in the dark, followed by two pegasi in reflective vests. Fireflies in the night.

"Reference; the Church."

The Church is an over-arching colloquialism referencing the Church of the Solstice; the governing body of Equestria. The head of the Church is the Grand Oligarch, Prince Solstice. It contains the following major sub-churches:
>Church of the Leaf
>Church of Whispers
>Church of the Compass
>Church of the Horn
>Church of the Dragon
>Church of Joy

"Reference; Prince Solstice."

Ruler of Equestria. De-facto Sultan of Saddle Arabia. Grand Oligarch of the Church of Solstice. Only known Alicorn. Would you like to read the full article?

"No."

There was a hoof-full of messages I hadn't deleted. The subjects alluded familiarity. These were ponies I knew. Ponies I didn't know anymore. Messages beckoning reunions that would ultimately disappoint.

>>From: Breakbeat

>>Subj: Ciiiiiiiiiderrrrrrrrrrr

>>Heartspark scrolled me and said you were being released. Thanks for the heads-up, bottom-sprite! j/k. Scroll me back when you're feeling up to it. Apple Peel's even going to pick up the check. The cider will flow! =)

The camera above my terminal screen focused on me. A box popped up in my eye-display.

"You should go see them," read in large purple letters.

I tried to jerk to my hooves, but fell under the desk. The camera tracked me.

"Stop! It's okay!" scrolled in.

"Who the fuck are you? Why are you in my eye?" I cried.

Calm down! You let me out.

The artifact in the storeroom. Sirocco was a good kid. Now I wanted to wring his neck. The screen craned down like some hideous bird. I put a hoof over my eyes. Maladroitly pinned between the cushion and the wall, I groaned, "Who are you?"

My name is unimportant. I stopped by to thank you.

"You're welcome. I don't need this right now. Please go away."

My thanks is a warning. You are under surveillance. That's how I found out who you were. You should go see your friends. You should be anywhere but here right now. I don't know much else, but I'm working on it.

It was going to be a long night. Still, something was looking out for me. I had friends. The old me had friends, at least.

Small victories.