“The library’s burning! I repeat, the library is burning! Send help! I repeat, send - !”
The message cut off. I breathed in and out, trying not to inhale the smoke surrounding me, trying not to panic. I turned to the nearest Assist Bot, the purple-and-green thing that had told me the message from two rooms over. “SP1K3, take a note.” The dragonoid’s pixelated eyes blinked once, and a small click turned on the microphone. “This is chief engineer Feather Pen, please send help. Golden Oak Research Center is burning. I repeat, Golden Oak Research Center, in South Canterlot, is burning. Send help. Message end.” I whinneyed, trying not to let fear into my voice. Turning away, I grabbed my bags and asked to robot, “Broadcast message to all sectors within eight miles. Repeat as necessary.” I turned and calmly picked up my bags, trying not to let my terror show. I also calmly sprinted out of my room, using magic to keep the smoke from my muzzle. A creak behind me warns me - too late - of the burning roof groaning, near collapse. This is it, this is how I die, I think.
And then comes the fire, the burning pain that rips my lungs and stretches my throat. My dying eyes, covered in ash, see the Wonderbolts swoop in to help me. They’re too late.
Death. Pain. My literal self being torn apart and reassembled.
A morbid thing to think, but the natural one. Especially when one is being turned into a robot.
No. Not a robot. An Artificial Intelligence console, a mobile one, the latest technology. Remarkable. With hooves and - wonder of wonders - a working horn, powered by arcane science. It's something out of a comic book. A shard of the Crystal Heart to keep the magic flowing through me is a small price to pay for one of Equestria's top scientists, they say. My Cutie Mark was for writing, but one needs to design to write, and I can design robots as well as anypony. They look something out of Star Mares, but they work well. It wasn't too hard to make it able to graft pony DNA into the robot console. It is painful, but it can save you, even if all your skin and most of your bones have been melted by fire.
I say this from experience, as that is what happened to me. My organs remained intact, thank Faust, and so was most my horn. The doctors are the best in Equestria. So is the science - it is my own - and Princess Celestia Herself is lending some magic to graft the DNA to the mobile AI. I can feel that I am in good hooves. The Elements of Harmony - what's left of them - are on standby in case something goes horribly wrong. It can. This is new technology being done here, turning unicorn to cyborg. I will be one of a kind. Nopony else will have the intelligence of an engineer and the ability to tap into the Net with a blink. I can scan other ponies, check if they are Changelings. I can reassemble myself if something malfunctions, if I get shot on the field. I will be the personal scientist slash guard of Princess Celestia. It is an honor.
A stream of liquid gold flows through metal veins, connecting titanium to triceps, beryllium to biceps. I breathe a sigh of relief when the Heart connects to the horn, enabling magic. I feel naked without it. My ears swivel in their sockets, catching snippets of conversation. "Can she hear us?" a doctor asks. It is Red Heart, my cortex says, connecting to the Net. She was born to be a doctor. Top of her class. Graduated at twenty. I nod in response to her question, a bone - metal alloy turning and bending at once, a wonder of science allowing the simplest of acts. Yes, I can hear you. It's an answer to my unasked question too, will I work?
My eyes switch on, seeing the faces around me. A gentle magic, reminiscent of silk, adds a small shine to my orchid chrome plating. It is Rarity, the Element of Generosity. I sit up, seeing the kind, expectant faces, those of earth ponies and alicorns alike. Do I have vocal cords? Did I forget to ask for them as I burned? I open my mouth and touch a front hoof to my neck. Princess Luna nods. "Wow." I respond. My voice is a mockery of my former one, sounding the same but tinny and distorted. In reply the nurse unscrews my neck and adjusts it a bit. Ugh. That's weird. "Thank you." I say. It sounds normal to my ears. "Thank all of you. I owe every pony in this room so, so much. I can never repay you for your help." Every mare and colt, exhausted, but happy, grins at me. I do the same. Their smiles grow, making me laugh. I can show emotion. It's a new day for science and me.
I swing my hooves to the floor and ask for a mirror, my jaw muscles and fiberglass stretching to let me speak. My tongue is still normal. Twilight Sparkle - Twilight Sparkle! - brings me one. I contain my gasp and smile instead. On the outside I am entirely robot. The only way you can see my orgins is through my horn, a normal dark purple, but crystalline at the tip and part of the side. A thin sheet of gold fuses the two further. Thank you, Princess Celestia! I grin further. I use my new, strange magic, a light silver that shines, not sparkles, to pick up a scalpel. It’s dotted with dark blood and darker oil. Both mine. I catch sight of a few other medical instruments and try not to vomit. Grease covers a tong. A small spoon has bits of copper and muscle on it. All mine. Should I be sickened or fascinated?
I turn once again to the mirror. My body is like any other mobile AI, just a plum color like my old coat. My eyes are pixelated but a jade green, like my old eyes. My mane and tail are just like my old ones, only neater and made of tiny copper wires. I turn to see my side. It has a tan scroll and a red quill painted on the side. Just like before. I am complete. The silence is not for mourning, but in joy, in seeing something so beautiful that you have nothing to say. I am what they can't say anything for.
What am I, this thing with metal on the outside and flesh on the inside? What is this thing that was once a beautiful mare, now an undying android? What is this robot with emotions, this artificial unicorn, this thing that is new and one of a kind? A robot who can love, but never be loved back?
This passage of thought takes but a split second. A drop of grease substitutes for a tear. This is not a surgery that can be reversed. No spell can undo what has been done.
No turning back.
