Subject 12, can you hear me?
Don’t be startled! See the sound stone above your head? That’s the blue crystal that shimmers when I talk, that’s where my voice is coming from. I know this has all been very confusing to you, but I promise that it’s all over. I’m not going to hurt you.
Liar.
I’m not going to hurt you, do you understand? I know you’re probably thinking we’re all monsters and I understand that. They did bad things to you down there, didn’t they? But you hurt ponies too. Ponies with foals and beloveds waiting for them at home. Ponies that were only doing their jobs.
Yes, yes, yes.
Please, I want to be your friend. My name is (silence, blankness, numbness, endless, cold, the fog, the fog!) and I’m an officer of Nightshade Industry’s private security service – that means I keep ponies safe. What’s your name?
Do I know? Do I?
If you don’t want to tell me that’s okay. But it’s important that you trust me. Some of my friends think you’ve been very bad and want to hurt you because of that, but I know you’re not evil, just scared and lonely. Take off your antlers and promise not to hurt anypony else and I will open this door and let you go. Doesn’t that sound nice?
Liar! A bark, a blow, a grin as
they led him into the laboratory, he realized with some bewilderment that he wasn’t afraid. Had even the most malicious growths finally died from thirst? How curious.
They escorted him to the centre of the room, those hulking brutes whose faces he saw in his dreams, their shaved manes, coats like dirt and muck, their eyes almost as empty as his own, every hair on their body he saw, night after night in every absurd little detail while even his own mother’s visage had long turned into a faceless splash of brown, these stillborn creatures that hid the weight of reality beneath a blankness that kept them dancing in circles like the gears of a machine, whom he imagined to secretly be his allies, whom he had given names, families, a past, anything to keep him occupied and for the longest time, these caretakers he had made had been his only companions beside his beloved call of freedom – until the Little Friend had first come to visit.
They strapped him down like they always did. They forced him to lower his eyes as his head was fixated like his limbs just before. He still caught a glimpse of the corpses piling up in a corner of the room: deer, sheep, buffalo, Xonans. Failed experiments. He wondered whether to pity them or envy them, but abandoned the thought when he didn’t find either in his heart. They were what they were, just as he was what he was: a fascinating specimen, a scientific breakthrough! He gasped as needles were plunged into his flesh, where did they come from?, he didn’t know, didn’t care as the gentle touch of Ledomartian steel pressed his muzzle against the metal surface beneath. The needles burned and itched, but they were nothing compared to the feeling of his antlers being pierced by something sharp and brimming with energy. A pale blue light illuminated his vision as his brain was boiled from the inside out. It was funny, he thought, they had given him that light much earlier but it had never really done anything special until now – it did produce a pretty glimmer in the darkness though, when he was alone. Funny, he thought as his body was writhing and screaming and shrieking in agony, everything was glimmering these days. He heard his friends and caretakers leave and knew he was alone, yet he still
couldn’t rest couldn’t think no time no time no space to waste enough crimes had been and he threw away and through and to they were brown and black and green and yellow but red yes all red on the inside and the metal like them red he would past he went it cracked it glimmered and ponies had stabbed him so stabbed stabbed stabbed always so stabby now he didn’t stab just looked yes and a thought made them mist all red on the inside too bad too bad but rain never fell the desert still a crack it went the Little Friend threw the blocking-blocking away into the faces of the stabbers beyond of the shooting stabbing the booming and the screaming his mind stronger than their guns they didn’t touch wouldn’t touch again their hooves on him in him a thousand spiders weaving their webs laying eggs inside his lungs a crawling hive in his memory body their hooves no one would ever touch him again and love oh love oh my beloved freedom calling bones cracked beneath and the Little Friend was talking so he laughed and laughed and laughed while
days and nights passed, his thoughts would often wander astray. There was, however, one particular notion that his mind kept returning to – whether he wished for it or not. Ledomartian scientists favoured a highly efficient approach to everything they did, he had learned as much quite early on, so why would they have given one of his predecessors the tools required to paint the image of a forest all across the walls of his cell? Surely they had not drawn these themselves! The painted trees were decidedly a break from the otherwise very appropriate layout of the room: it was tiny, barely allowing him to lie down at all, with walls, floor and ceiling made of metal, a door that was little more than a hatch through which they could throw in his fodder when it was feeding time or drag out his numb, stiffened body when it refused to move at – but no, none of those thoughts!
There was a hose in the ceiling that would spray him with water once a day – at least he assumed that it was once a day. Judging by that measure he had been in his cell for 64 days and about eight hours now. He had resented the cold showers waking him every morning at first, but had long grown to appreciate them for granting him a way to count his days and for washing away the filth that – given the miniscule size of the cell – he had no choice but to soil himself with. The water itself had a rancid smell to it, still the moments when the dirt of the night before was washed down the drain in the floor were the only times when he felt somewhat clean on the surface.
In either case.
While studying the painted forest surrounding him, he had noticed a steadily growing number of marks scarring the walls: dents that appeared to be hoof prints of ponies, antelopes or buffalo – even fox claws had tried to carve through the steel. Among the imprints were a few that fit the cloven form of his own hooves quite nicely; he avoided looking at those in particular. It was obvious that some of the former inmates of cell 12 hadn’t been quite as placid as he was, but no, such useless tantrums weren’t for him. He had always considered himself a rational person, calm and collected, and he
heard a voice trickling from the glowing stones, drip, drip, drip it went, Subject 12 is prepared, it went, we are ready to proceed, something like that, blah blah blah. At least they weren’t in the room this time. The spasms wrecking his body with pain didn’t subside in the slightest, but at least they let their machines do the stabbing this time. They had opened him up once, to see if he was red on the inside. Perhaps he was – he hadn’t really looked. It had also been worse when they had given the glimmer to him and this time he didn’t have to see their eyes either; when they had first sawed off his antlers, their looks had been the worst part: those pieces of rhinestone, burning from within, eyes that told him that they were killing themselves as much as they were killing him, those brave pioneers, his poor little murderers. Perhaps they were hiding behind that mirror to his right? Perhaps they were hiding somewhere else but surely they were hiding and watching, always watching. His muzzle was drooling all over the table beneath him and his limbs were struggling against their bonds in a dance of epileptic fervour. Funny, he thought, that was all they had in store this time?
The world imploded a moment later. The needles inside of him awakened from their slumber to flood his veins with liquid fire. The static surging through his antlers washed over his brain with the force of a crushing wave, wasting space away into an ocean of blue. He saw a screeching noise that tore at his sanity and tasted colours he never knew existed before. The familiar smell of burning flesh assaulted his ears, but it all paled compared to the feeling, that rush of magic, there was nothing like this. All of the sudden he felt like he could grasp the leylines running underneath as easily as he could sense the smell of the colour blue, and as he reached out to pluck these lines, the lines also reached out for him. More power than he could possibly imagine was poured down his mind and into his body – and all of the sudden, he knew that he wasn’t alone. There was another light nearby, and it was the one that gave him all that glimmer. He raised his head to see the Little Friend sitting right in front of him, staring back into his eyes. He smiled.
It was not before he saw the molten metal dripping from his antlers that he noticed the strangeness of his action. The clasps that had been holding him were gone, seared away by the radiance. As he lifted his limbs from piles of ash, he didn’t quite know how to react to this sudden end to his torture. Shaking the stiffness from his agonized body, he assessed the situation: at least a dozen needles were floating across the room, still pumping their venomous spit, fed by metal tubes that had bound them to the ceiling as they had been descending on him, but now they were harmless, contained, kept afloat by the golden glimmer of magic. Those were not the only things he saw. The Little Friend barked. And all of the sudden, it all came crashing down on him. His last moment of clarity bled away and
he was sputtering his name his name yes yes had to remember I was dead and me was dead but someone with his name no yes yes what had it been what was a self the lights so pretty flashed they glimmered then they spat now red on the outside they stopped him tried but spit it was he made them spit and glimmer spit and glimmer was all spit and glimmer here how curious how funny he went for a stroll and another path another door more glimmer to give more spit to wipe away to was to cleanse himself all this the world in blue crystal fire finally clean once more his beloved sang louder and louder and the song pure drove him further further like power underneath with hydrogen in his veins it could not hold him and the pressure in his body all that they had gifted him with it was too much he had to let it out he was innocent no murderer had to be done they bad he just a victim they were evil ones red evil on the inside but blue on the outside and another path and another door and cells burst open as he passed but were empty all empty death death death death glimmer spit and nothing just glimmer and spit and strangeness and the charm to bind them in abundance there were what was the price for his love for my beloved freedom took red so they would pay for him as he paid murderers monsters stabbing the forest booming the rain till it bled to death but now
the rain still fell in droplets, in streams as he flung aside another obstacle in his way. The glimmer beyond was blue, a lingering light to which the static on his antlers was a catalyst of life. The way was closed, the gates were barred and could not be broken but this room held the key, he knew, it was bound to the great gates like he was bound to his beloved. The chamber was small but full of shimmering crystals and he could smell the glimmer inside of them. He raised his hoof to hover over the panel as he sent sparks into the machine world waiting just beneath. The glimmer refused him but the Little Friend was by his side, he gave him the strength to do it. He fought the crystals with all his conviction, with all his dreams and wishes, his fear and his anger, his hatred and his hope. The Little Friend granted him power and he took it all until he could give him no more. Ever so slowly, the glimmer gave in. He destroyed its essence until there was nothing left of its former self, then formed it again in his image, with a singular purpose: set me free.
He trotted back into the hall where the false beloveds waited as the thunder of his apotheosis shook the room, as the gates slowly opened and the boomers behind him trembled, their broken bodies quivering at the sight of such glory. As Deep Ridge burned behind them, they stepped out into the sunlight, the sounds and the smells and the never-ending vastness of the world above the world.
They were free.
red-hot metal shook and bent.
Listen up, prisoner, I’ve tried doing this the nice way and it obviously doesn’t work. So how about this: the door you’re trying to break down right now is five inches of solid Ledomartian steel and infused with a dozen manacrystals on either side, all of the finest quality money can buy. That thing can take a direct hit from an artillery shell and I don’t care what those eggheads down there did to you, you’re not getting through here. Me and my stallions are waiting for you right here on the other side, so even if you made it to the hangar somehow, we’d gun you down before you could make another step.
Another blow. Another dent. Another blow. Another dent.
A- And even then it would be pointless. Reinforcements will be here in a few hours and when they show up they’re going to put an end to this. Just g-give up already.
Fear. My old friend.
Say something already! I- I’m not afraid of you! You won’t get through! You will be stopped!
Soon.
Listen – please! You don’t need to do this! So many friends dead... and the rest of them ran, they ran away the moment they saw what you did to the others. We’re all that is left now; we’re all alone because we couldn’t abandon our duty. Don’t you see? Our only fault is to be loyal to Nightshade! What would you tell our beloveds? That this is supposed to be the price of loyalty? Please, please don’t do this!
Stupid fool.
... Very well then. It was an honour knowing you, my little ponies. Fire at wi-
The next strike blew the door clean off its hinges and into the hangar beyond. They were waiting for him there, just as they had promised – a taste of honesty for once. They threw their glimmer at him, blue-blue as it was, but they were aiming far to high, at him. Their rain poured down to shatter against his conviction but it never came near to the furry brown shadow that whizzed past their fire and was between them before they had even noticed it. A whirring noise filled his ears as the static in the air made his fur stand on end. A riptide of blue surged through the room, followed swiftly by a telekinetic blow that hit the entire squad of guards with such vicious brutality that
only chaos remained, spinning, ripping, pulsing inside of him, evil, strange, twisted, wrong, wrong, wrong. He cried out and this time his mind was crying with him, what was him, he couldn’t know! What was his name? Who was he!? His outcry grew in force and he let it spill forth from the inside. The contents of the room spun around him, planets all and he the sun, burning brightly, burning up. Tools of science and of torture and of spit once more, the bodies of the dead, they whirled around him and he heard their panicked voices in the stone that flew past the red noise of the sirens setting off. The Little Friend didn’t flinch away from him and it felt good, so good, this quiet acceptance. But then he raised his head to the mirror, right wasn’t right, he rose to greet his own reflection. His broken form. The bad glimmer in his antlers. It wasn’t right.
His eyes weren’t brown.
He flung his head forward with a bestial howl. The mirror shattered into a million shards that gushed into the room behind and there they were howling like beasts he had known always watching but covered in shards now they were the mirror and they had to go he made them shatter into a million shards and the red washed from the mirror he turned away into the corridors where they were in his way threatened him the Little Friend was with him but still he couldn’t rest couldn’t think no time no time no space to waste.
it smashed their bones like brittle twigs. Half of them were instantly ripped apart as the shimmer hit their bodies. Their liquefied remains painted their companions in coats of red as they were slammed against walls and dormant airships like bags of gore and splintered bone, brain matter dripping from their snouts and ears. Among them stood their murderer, a little demon. He gave shrill little barks as he returned to the doorway. Such happy sounds they were.
They moved on, together.
He had not forgotten his name, he thought as he was trotting past the last of them. His name, his love and his enemies, yes yes, he remembered them well. The barks of the Little Friend, his saviour, rung in his ears – such happy sounds they were. He wondered if his beloved would still welcome him, after all that he had failed to protect her from. Still he yearned to be with her again and his hooves carried him swifter and swifter down the hangar, past the faces of so many loves that his heart didn’t know, until he was galloping down the way to the great gates that told him that his search was in vain.
No, no, no. He turned back, shivering, the fog seeping back into his mind they had stabbed-stabbed him again touched him again after all he was – no, no, she was all that mattered now, calm, you are calm and collected. He knew the voice somehow, obeyed. He turned back again. And again. There were no more happy sounds.
She was gone.
His body quivered and he sank to the ground, the weight of his antlers suddenly too much to bear. They had stabbed him again. And at long last, the raindrops fell.
was no rain left for them no no not either or but all the desert was would be and is not his fault at all the evil stabbers glimmerers boomers so red was the blue not them but him perhaps another blue another red for them evil evil evil he earned the sky the spark the wind away the womb of them the machines he spat on them their words and their bodies beneath away away away they all were they so different he made them the same as they him how curious how funny and he stepped on and onwards they held him down so powerless glimmer on his fur but the next one was glimmer yes glimmer as well shone shook but flew not now but he kept his time and had his time a crime to have done before the wasting knew she waited had to follow past them all for one thing only it was put in way in way was bad had to go like spiders their touch he joined his Friend in harmony such harmony the glimmer would not stand in his way but yet more and glimmer-shimmer shimmer from above the words the words the voice like red rust the voice- Subject 12, can you hear me?
did not intend to abandon that now. At least he had his little friend to keep him company, so unlike most experiments he wouldn’t die alone – a privilege that he cherished. The squirrel kept slipping through the hatch every once in a while to stay and cuddle for a bit. The coils on the little one’s head left no doubt that he too was a prisoner, either escaped from his cell or allowed to roam freely. But if he had escaped, why was he still here? Why would they allow someone capable of telekinesis to just stroll around like that? And as worn-out as he looked, why didn’t he set him free as well before the both of them would starve to death?
His eyes shifted back to the painted forest. Lack of food, of course, was hardly the only thing that could lead to starvation. A total of 3612 leaves had been drawn on the blank walls, his recent counts had all yielded that number. As time had gone by, he had come to the conclusion that the forest around was really the forest within: it was a symbol for his own psyche, he knew that now. The trees were called reason, curiosity, contentment and hope, and above them shone happiness, the sun. Sad days would come and the sky would turn grey... he had always cursed the rain and sought shelter from his own tears back then. Only in Deep Ridge had he learned that the same rain that had tormented him so had been the only thing keeping the forest alive.
Beneath the hooves of the Ledomartians, it had turned to acid at first; it burned and warped the land until only black, twisted brambles remained – vile sprouts whose names were fear and hatred, loathing and self-pity. It had taken a while, but in the end the rain had ceased falling altogether. In the desert that would spread soon after, only the strongest weeds could survive.
His sanity was among those – for the moment. While he indulged in the pleasure of pretence, he didn’t delude himself: every mind could be broken. He could only hope that his body would snap before his spirit did, which would grant him a clean departure at least.
The door swung open soon after that, as always without warning. They came for him, his two dear friends, and this time he didn’t struggle. He had always considered himself a rational person, calm and collected, and he did not intend to abandon that now. As they led him into the laboratory, he realized with some bewilderment that he wasn’t afraid. Had even the most malicious growths finally died from thirst? How curious.
Floydien’s eyes flew open as he started from his sleep to nearly smash his antlers into his beloved’s brow above. As the final flaming echoes of the dreamscape lifted from his mind he gasped, then groaned. Had he fallen asleep in his seat again? And with his antlers on to boot.
The blue of night painting the world behind the windshield served to remind him where he was: east, somewhere east. They had needed to rest and he, however reluctantly, had taken them to the ground for a short night of sleep. Floydien suppressed another groan, not wanting to wake his Nancy nor the boomers in her belly. At least he hadn’t screamed this time – he knew anyone else would have. So had he, really, the first few dozen times.
His crimson eyes closed for a heartbeat, leaving only the bad glimmer to illuminate the night. After passing through the circle so many times he still felt that foolish sting of hope that perhaps this one was the last, that time would turn to a line again and that the past would stay the past. But he knew it was twisted. Irrevocably twisted.
He stretched, feeling bones crack beneath aching muscle and sweat-soaked fur. It was usually Simon who would wake him up whenever the circle turned, but the squirrel was fast asleep himself, curled up into a ball and snoring softly on the Jury’s control panel. The coils on his head sparkled faintly in the rhythm of his breaths. Floydien buried his muzzle in his hooves, allowing himself a rare moment of pain without anger. But if not Simon, who else could’ve freed him? A quick, nervous glance over his shoulder confirmed they were alone.
And how could he rest like that? They shared so many thoughts and memories, yet Simon slept beside him like a foal in the arms of her mother while he passed through the circle, over and over and over again. His little legs were kicking now and then as he gave tiny barks and squeaks. He seemed so peaceful, though he had suffered so much. And finally, as he lifted his gaze back to the windshield in front of him, Floydien’s ears caught the sound that had woken him.
It was the raindrops pattering against the Jury’s eyes outside.
