Interloper

by Felidae0

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Dark, Alternate Universe
Length: 10068

Noun: A pony who becomes involved in a place or situation where they are not wanted or are considered not to belong. (A Steampunk alternate universe novel, and the flagship story for the Sparkyverse.)

When future generations look in their history texts, and ask "Where did it all change? What twisted the face of Equestria from the agrarian utopia it once was and into the industrial empire it has been for decades?" we will not have the answer. After all, Equestria was peaceful (relatively) for nigh upon a thousand years. There was the possibility that it had been inevitable—progress marches on, after all. "But still," they will insist. "There had to be some tiny thing, something that changed!"

One night, one very late night, Tinkertoy Smith arrived in Canterlot by train.

This is the flagship story for the Sparkyverse, an alternate universe Steampunk version of MLP: FiM. It is not necessary to read this before reading the others, but it will likely help explain some of the weirdness of that universe. (But, for simplicity, think Dishonored with Ponies.)

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-06-09 15:00:02 UTC

6.1.1

Chapter 1

What is a pony?

Ignoring all philosophy, and especially most nihilism, a Felidae Equus Sapiens is a sack full of liquids, the sacks themselves being filled with other liquids. While this normally wouldn't be an optimal state of being, it is all carefully controlled by a jellied lump of matter called the "brain'.

This is where most major religions diverge.

Still, since they can all agree on this, most can also agree that they are all cogs in something's machinations. Exactly what they are the machinations of is also up for debate, but most simply settle for "life's". Some are small cogs, like farmers and dockworkers, but none can argue that they are not important cogs, nonetheless. Some are large cogs, like the Elements of Harmony, even the Princesses themselves. Most ponies fall between these two extremes.

And some are very oddly shaped, utterly baffling historians and machinists as to how they fit the machine at all.

-Clouded Mind, Philosopher

The first thing one would notice about the stallion would be the way he walked.

The casual observer would at first believe the Earth Pony drunk, for that was how he appeared as he stumbled off the train and onto the platform at Canterlot Grand Central. Yet, if that same casual observer were to casually observe him for a decent length of time, they would note that while he moved as if never quite sure of his footing, he never actually stumbled, nor tripped on his own hooves. In fact, the Stallion deftly avoided a situational obstacle course of tired ponies, baggage carts, and assorted unpleasant sticky spots on the platform. He even wobbled slightly, before revealing it was all part of some bow-legged dance to slide past between a screaming foal and a perilously-piled partition of papers, which left both untouched.

The second thing that this hypothetical casual observer would notice would be the mechanical leg. It was a gleaming steel appendage, a fair bit bulkier than the real thing, and was alone on the stallion's body, replacing only his right hind leg. It was attached nearly seamlessly to his thigh, and only the barest rim of pinkish flesh could be seen surrounding it. Were it not for that, our casual observer would think it had been part of the Stallion for the entirety of his life, so fully was it integrated into his movements. It moved as he did, bending at the expected joints and at the exact same speed as the other, normal leg. The only thing absent was the Stallion's cutie mark on that side, with its spot on his hip replaced with a pleather tool-belt.

The final thing our so-called casual observer (for by this point, he was quite clearly staring) would have noticed would have been the hat. It was an old, brown bowler, just a few shades darker than the Stallion's own fur, and it did an adequate job covering the Stallion's messy, soot-stained, even greasy orange hair, which also extended down into a ragged beard. The hat was similarly dirty, with some spots darkened from stains, others lightened by the sun, and some bits of the brim outright charred. It seemed to be mostly aesthetic damage, however, with the worst damage having been quite clearly repaired. It, his tool-belt, and the saddle-bags on his back were the only fabric he was actually wearing.

The Stallion meandered (for that was the best way to describe his truly odd gait) over to a large desk marked “Information,” where a disinterested teenage filly was combing her mane and staring up at the ceiling. Hesitating only as long as it took to find the bell on the desk, he rang said bell, startling the filly.

"Gah! I was sitting right there, you know!" She glared at him, the comb dangling from her bangs. Her nose wrinkled as she smelled the stallion—he clearly hadn’t washed in weeks. "You didn't have to ring it, you could've just said something!"

The Stallion blinked at her. "But the bell was right there. Unrung. Practically begging to be rung, to do its job, to get your attention! Did it get your attention?"

"Yes!"

"Then it did a very good job. Good job, bell." He gave it another ring, as a reward. The filly grabbed the bell off the table and swept it past a pile of magazines into a drawer, glaring at him. As it landed inside the desk, it rang again, seemingly to taunt the filly.

"Stop that. What do you want?"

The Stallion grinned, and glanced around the station. "I would appreciate it very much if you would tell me where I am."

"...Canterlot. Who gets on a train and doesn't know where it's going?"

"I do, apparently. Thank you. Now, if you would tell me the time?"

"Uh... Five fifteen. Forty-five minutes to sunrise."

"Excellent. And the date?"

"You don't know the date?!"

"I do not. I'm horrendous at that sort of thing. Do you mind terribly?"

She only took her eyes off him for a second to check the time, but turned back around to find that the still-grinning Stallion hadn't moved an inch, yet her bell had reappeared back in its place. She stared at it, then at him, and then back at the bell. She looked back up, and hesitantly asked, "Did... Did you just..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. The date, please?"

Quietly, the filly replied. "It's now the first of the month of Earth, or it will be come sunrise. Of the year 1268, post-unification."

The Stallion nodded, and tipped his hat. "Thank you! Be well, and have a good year!" With that, he walked away, picking up a pamphlet from a nearby stand. The filly stared as he retreated, semi-staggering, into the crowd, before quietly nudging the bell as far away from herself as she could whilst keeping it on her desk. The comb, forgotten, fell out of her hair and onto the desk with a plop.

The Stallion continued, unabated, until he passed by a stand where a middle-aged Stallion wearing an apron was selling various treats and drinks. The aproned Stallion noticed the other eying his wares, and asked, "Can I help you find anything?"

The be-hatted Stallion ducked low to read the labels on a series of bottles behind glass, sitting on a shelf. "Yes, I believe you can. Do you, by any chance, have any caffeinated phosphates?"

The aproned Stallion nodded. "The entire bottom shelf should be. Choose your poison, all three bits."

"Ooh, a choice! Hmmm... The blueberry appeals to me, and I'm not entirely sure why. Three bits, yes?"

"That's... Correct, yeah." The Earth Pony paid him with the last bits in his coin-purse, and he levitated a bottle of blueberry-flavored phosphates over the counter in return. The Stallion held it strangely, as if not quite sure how, before glancing back to him.

"Could you, perhaps-" The words had barely left his mouth before the cart's owner twisted the cap off with his magic. The Stallion smiled and nodded, taking a precariously-balanced swig from the glass bottle.

Nearly half said bottle was empty before the Stallion paused to breathe. The cap still levitated nearby, prompting the cart's owner to ask, "Do you mind if I keep this?"

The Stallion's smile returned. "Of course not. Recycling?"

“Well, I get a bit back for every bottle and cap…”

"Perfectly understandable. A moment?”

The stallion shotgunned the rest of the bottle, leaving only the barest dregs of liquid, and passed it back to the cart's owner, who placed it back in a crate with a clink. The Stallion smacked his lips, and nodded to the cart's owner. "Thank you. Refreshing and rejuvenating. Be well, and have a good year!" He resumed his strange walk towards the Station's doors, allowing the cart's owner to have a look at his cutie mark, as the metal leg was on the other side.

It seemed to be a simple red-handled pipe wrench, and the cart owner, who was usually a dab hoof at guessing cutie marks, had no idea what it represented.

The Stallion continued meandering in the general direction of the door. However, he was in no hurry to actually exit, as he could quite clearly see a massive crowd standing outside. He didn’t particularly like crowds. Instead, he sat on a bench near the doors, and placed his saddle-bags beside him on the bench before opening them.

Inside was a strange assortment of items. One seemed to be for carrying sets of tools, and a well-stocked medical kit. He noted a basic toolkit, a watchmaker’s kit, a lockpicking set, a collapsible ice axe, and a pair of mechanical hands. He pulled the latter out of the bag, inspecting them.

They looked familiar, to say the least. He was fairly sure he’d made them. They were designed to be worn like gloves over the hoof, and he did just that, tightening the straps. A forgotten memory rushed to the surface, and he channeled a small measure of magic through his hooves. With a hum, a pair of runes on the backs of the hands ignited, glowing a bright, magical blue before dimming.

Now that they were activated, the Stallion felt as though all was now right with the world. Something that he had not been aware was missing had been added, and he excitedly flexed his new fingers. They were just as responsive as his mechanical cal leg, working as though he’d had hands his whole life, and were just as flexible. He repeated a motion that he’d seen a Minotaur do once, cracking his metal knuckles. Or at least, going through the motion. He’d be very distressed if they cracked properly.

He reached back inside the saddle-bag, this time pulling out the ice axe. In a single, practiced motion, he flipped out the axe and hit a release button, unfolding the multi-jointed tool. It locked, now fully extended, and he inspected it. The axe was made out three lengths of what appeared to be a steel-nickel-silicon alloy, with a grip made of some sort of vulcanized rubber. The blade itself was sharp, and contrary to expectations, was not serrated forward; this was not a tool designed for utility, but instead reforged as a weapon. His inspection complete, he depressed the button again, and the ice axe folded back into itself. Nifty.

The other saddle-bag, he found, seemed to be full of personal items. This would be useful, considering how little he could remember. The first thing he pulled out was a passport, which he opened to inspect. According to it, his name was Tinkertoy Tin Smith. The name felt right, and so Tinkertoy he was. He was a resident of Equestria, and his home city had been Las Pegasus. He glanced up at the train schedule. He had, he deduced, just arrived from there on the 3:30 train.

So, he reasoned, he must have a simple case of amnesia. The cause was unknown, but already bits and pieces were coming back, so it couldn’t have been anything important. He elected to try and speed up the process by inspecting the saddle-bags further. A small box, when opened, revealed a small gold fob-watch, which was silent when he held it to his ear. He’d wind that later. Another box held three small carved bone charms, the originating species of which he couldn’t identify. A quick search on around his toolbelt found three empty three-strap assemblies, which he locked the bone charms into for good luck.

A moment later, he noted several small changes to himself; his legs had hurt slightly before, but the pain had disappeared, and he felt ready to run a kilometre. His teeth, nose, and eyes stung for a second, but it quickly passed. And finally, he felt hungry. He wasn’t sure whether the last item had anything to do with the bone charm, or whether he simply hadn’t noticed before.

He pulled out a scrapbook next. Flipping it open revealed a disappointing amount of actual daguerreotypes, but quite a lot of blank pages. He inspected one of the images, which seemed to be of him and a light-coloured pony with cotton-candy-esque hair. He wished he could recognize her. The book only had around 60 pages, of thick paper, and a grand total of twelve were actually in use. He glanced at another image which seemed to be a workshop. Likely his, but once again, he couldn’t recognize it.

With a grunt, he shoved the scrapbook back into his saddlebag, removing a notebook instead. There were four others like it in the bag, and this one seemed to be full of mechanical scribblings, diagrams for machines and equipment and armour. A quick check in the pockets of his toolbelt found a mechanical pencil, which he used to scribble a quick sentence onto the paper. The handwriting thereof was visibly identical to the writing in the book, being that of chicken-scratch, were one being generous.

Flipping through, he found another diagram, this one for the pencil he had used earlier, and several inactive arcane runes, the intent of which was unknown. Turning the page, he found what appeared to be a map of an unfamiliar town, with the labeled name having been faded, as though with age. The page opposite was in pristine condition, however, and displayed another rune; one shaped like the town, or vice versa.

He slid the notebook back into the bag, and pulled out a book that was nearly as thick as it was wide. Checking the inside of the cover revealed it as a collection of Mules Verne’s novels, which he replaced inside the bag. There were several other novels, all speculative fiction, which he left inside, and sighed. Nothing conclusive. He was an inventor, he could see that much, but any plans he’d had prior to his arrival were lost.

Well, he’d have to make the best of it. He slid the saddlebags onto his back, and began to move towards the door. As his metal hands reached the floor, they folded into fists, and locked in place, functionally becoming metal hooves, and forcing him into a monkey-like posture. There was no getting around it, he decided. Crowd or no, he would have to exit the station eventually. He pushed the door open, and the sound of a large celebration washed over him, the doors to the station likely having been enchanted to keep such noise from the street out. Lots of sun-related imagery. Equestria in general was starting to come back to him, and he realized that he did not, in fact, care about the new year. It was a hell of a time to gain amnesia, though.

The party was set in a square, which the station and surrounding buildings wrapped themselves around as presentation for visitors to Canterlot, as a show of how rich and prosperous the city was. At the very center of the square, which had to be at least 40 metres wide, sat a fountain that the crowd had set the party around. The shimmering haze of a Televisual spell hovered above, like a sheet of water had frozen in mid-air. On the rim of the fountain were several large crystals, with identical clumps of wiring hooked onto key facets. They all emitted a faint hum of static, lacking any sound to transmit.

Several stages centered around the fountain, all with wildly different shows going on. There was a tan earth pony with a cat on his shoulders, as a dog rolled across the stage inside a tube like a hamster. The sign in front of his stage was labeled, “The World Famous Ponovich Comedy Pet Theatre!” Another stage had a powder blue unicorn on it, who declared, “And, if you will observe the Great and Powerful Trixie’s horn, you shall see it is un-lit!” as she made a bouquet of flowers pop out of her hoof, which she caught in her teeth. On yet another, a pony in clown makeup juggled atop a unicycle, with his own sign labeled, simply, “Ponyacci”.

Tinkertoy would watch one of the shows for a bit, then move on to another, simply trying his best to enjoy himself. He still keep out of the crowds as best he could, however. When he had seen everything there really was to see in the square, he stood, wondering where to go next.

He shivered, recalling an important fact about Canterlot; it was halfway up a mountain. Ergo, it got cold at night. So, it would be best to find a coat, or someplace coats could be bought.

Now with an objective firmly set in his mind, he set off down one of the streets exiting the square. A brightly-lit diner on a nearby corner caught his eye, the neon lights spelling out ‘Donut Joe’s Diner’. This appealed to him, and he noted its location, as well as several of the alleys surrounding it. The streets around him formed a T-junction, and he was approaching from the right top side of the T. He turned left, and trotted down the next street, where he found nothing of immediate interest.

He continued on like that for a good deal of time, simply exploring the quiet district, in which the quiet was only broken occasionally by the train rumbling by behind the buildings. eventually, he meandered out onto a bridge that crossed an artificial river, fed by an artificial water-fall above. Another facet of Canterlot seemed to form in his head, and he flipped the small tourist’s guide out of his saddle-bags to confirm it. Wiping it off whenever the spray of the water-fall spattered across it’s laminated surface, he began to read.

“Canterlot,” it read, “was initially a small mining town set up inside an old dragon’s cave by a group of particularly intrepid Unicorns. It had grown almost exponentially as soon as deposits of gold, platinum, and silver had been found inside the mountain, and the mining town, upon finding that they no longer had as much space as they needed, began expanding out, constructing a platform into the sky, and anchored to the side of Canterhorn Mountain by giant, enchanted, steel cables.

“Realizing that they’d stumbled on an architectural stroke of brilliance, they began adding more platforms, spiraling up and down the mountain simultaneously. Construction of the city as it is seen today was finally finished only a decade after the end of the Lunar Rebellion, including a massive, decadent palace that took up a platform all on it’s own at the top of the spiral, which was a gift to Princess Celestia. She took up residence immediately, and Canterlot officially became the capital of Equestria.

“Canterlot, today, consists of sixteen of these platforms, each exactly 300 metres square, and a series of rivers running down the centre of each. Intracity automotive lines connect all of the platforms via a singular track along the outside rim, as well as another line on the inside edge of the bottom three platforms, used for transporting goods and supplies to and from Canterlot. This train line also stops at the station, bringing citizens from all across the land to Canterlot, where they disembark at Flywheel Grand Central Station.”

Tinkertoy paused. That must have been the train station, then. Looking around, another structure caught his eye, reaching up from the side of the water-fall all the way up to the platform above. Embossed on the side was the designation, ‘Water-lock #16’. He skimmed back through the tourist’s guide until he found the relevant section.

“...The water-locks, allowing for easy transport from one platform to another, are a magnificently simple construction powered by the Canterhorn river itself. When used, a valve opens, flooding the chamber with water. The buoyant platform inside rises with the water, stopping at the platform above. When the opposite switch is used, the water drains, and the platform lowers with the water level. This design allows for repairs to be both easy and far and few between.

“However, unless one has an industrial transport permit, there is a fee of twenty bits for every pony on board, and fifty for every one hundred kilos of material being transported. For this reason, the city of Canterlot advises travelers to use the free intracity automotive line.”

Tinkertoy chuckled, putting the guide back in his saddlebags. Turning around, he followed the length of the river as it flowed down the platform, disappearing over one last water-fall at the end in a cloud of mist. Another, larger bridge crossed it a short distance before that, and he decided that was where he would go next.

Retreating back to the side of the bridge he had approached from, Tinkertoy began trotting along the riverside, and taking in the shops there. When the closed and dark storefronts failed to interest him, he turned to the other side, and observed the river itself. Now that he was away from the water-fall, the water had turned curiously greasy, with oil on the surface reflecting the lamplight. Little swarms of underwater creatures moved in schools, either swimming against or with the current. Occasionally, there was what appeared to be a sewer outlet from the nearby houses, interspersing the unpleasant water with much cleaner liquid, diluting the oily solution further.

Nearly midway down the platform, Tinkertoy glanced over, and found that a much larger maintenance outlet had been left open. The gate shifted slightly in the currents, which had slowed to a low depth and a slow speed. The outlet, in fact, was mostly dry; a catwalk for the tunnel workers was rusted, but above the waterline. A small staircase led up from the catwalk itself to the riverside, and another gate, presumably to keep ponies out, had been left open as well. He would have to remember this place, as poking about in there seemed like it might be interesting.

He continued down-river. When he reached the second bridge, he looked up the street that led to it, and was rewarded with another, similar view of the New Year’s party. He had returned to the square, it seemed. To his immediate interest, it appeared to have hit a crescendo, with all of the stages having gone dark to direct attention to the Televisual spell over the fountain. A rotund green unicorn wearing a cravat was making a speech in front of the fountain, and walking around it so that everypony around it could see him.

“...And let’s give another round of applause to all of tonight’s entertainment!” Hundreds of sets of hooves thudded on the cobblestones, and the performers all bowed, including the powder blue mare, who really appeared to be soaking it up. After a decent amount of time, the official-looking stallion nodded, and the applause began to die down.

“Now, as you all know, the raising of the sun is set to occur in just a couple of minutes, and we already have a televisual spell set up, as should be obvious. I ask that all of you, citizens of Platform 16, please bring your attention to the spell, and I’ll see you next year!” This was met with a small wave of chuckles, and another smattering of applause, as the stallion waddled out of the way.

Tinkertoy took a seat on a crate of phosphorescent lanterns, and settled in to watch as the spell flickered, refocusing to show a curtained balcony. A countdown began, on cards held before the spell, and the crowds in the square joined in.

“Eight!” Began the crowd, thunderously chanting the number all at once.

“Seven!”

“Six!”

“Five!”

“Four!” Even the foals were getting into it, chanting just a bit faster than all of the adults, but with just as much vigour, if not more.

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

And then something utterly failed to happen.

The curtains on the balcony remained still. As did the crowd. Not even a gust of wind blew across the square. The only thing moving was the edges of the spell, wavering as its magic fluctuated. The lanterns flickered, playing across the faces of the ponies in attendance, joined by the moonlight from above.

Distantly, somepony coughed.

And then, the curtains on the stage opened, but they didn’t open like they were supposed to; curls of night blue smoke crept out from behind, wrapping around the velvet cloth, and pulled, tearing the curtains in twain, and the remains to the floor with a clatter of the curtain-rod.

From behind the curtains emerged not Celestia, but somepony—or something—else. The blue mist was her mane, and after that display of force, she released her control, simply allowing it to float as she pleased. It began radiating outwards, the tendrils of magic exploring and poking at everything within their reach.

The mare herself seemed less a mare, and more a tear in reality. He could not see fur, only a personification of the night sky, were all of the stars to go out. Her eyes were the only spots of colour, and they were dragon’s eyes, sharp and cat-like, yet a calm cerulean. Looking closer, he realised she was wearing armour, but only in the form of hoof-boots, a moon-embossed collar, and a solid-looking helmet that covered her horn—all made of the same dark metal, which shined as though silver had turned black.

She looked around the stage, taking in the crowd of ponies beyond the spell’s visual range, and smiled before stepping forward. Her smile revealed a full, deadly set of jagged, perfect teeth… Including fangs. Her smile only broke briefly, to lick her lips using a slimy, slithering tongue that didn’t seem like it should fit in her mouth, before she stepped up to the edge of the balcony, where Celestia should have been standing.

Apparently Celestia had a speech prepared. The Mare glanced over it, still unerringly grinning, before one of the magical tendrils extending from her head grabbed and shredded it. She twisted her neck, stretching impossible muscles far further than any mare had a right to, and yawned, the edges of her mouth simply splitting further across her face instead of stopping. The exposed flesh bled black as the mare smacked her lips, and the tendrils snatched every molecule of blood out of the air, sucking them inside her scalp.

Then she spoke. And even though the mare was several kilometres away, in this ‘Ponyville’, in the valley below, every pony in the square could hear her clear as a bell, echoing from the audio crystal. The voice was like the void itself had taken form, and it spoke as though it was trying to seduce the cosmos themselves. It had just the faintest rasp, like its throat was dusty, but there was power behind the voice, and it struck pure terror into the hearts of everypony watching.

“My little ponies… How have you been? Your true queen has missed you all so, so dearly… Especially after that usurper imprisoned us.”

Her head tilted, listening to a voice in Ponyville none on the platform could hear. And then the grin returned.

“Oh, yes, pretty little Celestia… She is under my watch now. And she is still living, do not fear… I shall make her death long and excruciating, and I shall delight in every moment of it.”

Far above the square, one could see the underside of the top platform, which, it stood to reason, suspended the palace. There were quite a lot of squadrons of pegasi guards leaving, like flies all buzzing off a corpse at once, and all in the direction of the little town. Simultaneously, the Mare jerked to the side, and lightning cracked from her horn with a thunderous boom from below. She reared up onto the banisters of the balcony, as a burning corpse, with the gold and steel of his armour melting into his flesh, landed behind her. Another corpse, burning just as brightly though with less armour, fell before the spell’s vision, slamming onto the wooden floor below.

The Mare was livid now. “You dare!? I am your god! You shall not oppose me, for I am Nightmare Moon! Savour this day, foolish bastard children, for it was your last! From this point henceforth, *the night shall last forever!***” A veritable lightning storm exploded outward from the point of her horn, lightning exploding across the spell’s field of vision, before one of the bolts hit it. The spell collapsed, the extra power sending it into a feedback loop that ended with bolts—just like those that the Mare had used—crackling out of the closing singularity in fractalesque patterns and blowing up the audio crystals for good measure. To the panicked ponies in the previous party, the bolts looked like the Mare was trying to attack them through the televisual spell itself.

With a deafening, final bang that rattled the loose cobblestones, the spell finished collapsing in a shower of sparks. In the wake of the pressure wave, the ponies in the square didn’t dare move nor speak. Shock had overtaken them, and they were left blinking in the aftermath, their ears ringing. Any fire-lanterns lit for the party, as opposed to the bio-lanterns, had gone out, bathing the fountain in the centre of the square in absolute darkness.

What finally broke any suspension of disbelief that the ponies had was something simple: a foal, terrified by the scary-looking mare, began crying.

Just like that, every single pony around the fountain realized that yes, that had just happened. Celestia was missing, and this Nightmare had taken control of the sun and moon. She had already killed at least two guards, and it had only made her angry that they dared to attack. This was very, very bad.

The screaming and panicking and desperation started, a riot forming from terrified citizens going in every direction at once. Logic no longer held court in Egress Square, as logic had gone right out the window the moment the Nightmare from beyond the stars attacked. Carts full of party supplies were overturned, prismapetrol splattered when a jerry can was kicked over, and a fire soon began.

Tinkertoy had leapt atop an awning as soon as they scattered, and sat there, simply watching the commotion. On the fringes of the crowd, there was still vestiges of sanity; a mare gathering her foals, a shopkeeper barricading his door. Still, most ponies were swept up in the waves of chaos spreading outward from the square. Most of the previous occupants were simply trying to get as far away from it as possible.

Before long, Egress Square was completely abandoned. Tinkertoy watched the last pony, the portly green one in the cravat, stumble out towards the river. With him gone, Tinkertoy dropped off the awning, and began to pick through some of the boxes. A vague memory, of a blurry… he wanted to say pink… mare, teaching him the many uses of party supplies in survival situations urged him forward.

In one box were several tins of preserved carrots, while another held fireworks. He grabbed several sparklers, a couple of rockets, and three launcher-wands. Also inside was a large box of matches, and a fire extinguisher. With a little bit of rearrangement, his ‘confiscated’ items fit into his left bag, leaving only a little space to spare. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure what he’d use fireworks for, but explosives were always good to have.

He found more food in another crate, apples and bread and the like, which he shoved into the right bag, followed by a bundle of wiring from a smashed bio-lantern. Stepping over the puddle of phosphorescent micro-organisms, which were currently eating through the scum between the cobblestones, he picked up a dropped bit-bag, putting the coins in his own. It wasn’t alone, as they were somewhat tricky to carry without pockets or wins to hide them in, and most ponies had dropped theirs by accident without even realizing it in the fracas.

After careful consideration, he decided to leave the barrel of confetti, save one of the smaller bags. If nothing else, the tiny squares of paper made good kindling. Inspecting a nearby candy cart, he briefly contemplated taking the entire chocolate cake, before deciding that he didn’t have anywhere to put it. Opening one of the boxes of chocolates revealed, bizarrely, a pineapple. He didn’t take it, however hilarious it would have been to use it for self-defence. Two coils, one of string and the other of rope, filled the empty space in the bags nicely, and he paused only to take a small assortment of tiny cobblestones that had broken off the larger ones. They went in a pocket of his tool-belt.

In his search of the square, he eventually ended up with his back to one of the side streets adjacent to the train station. He realised his mistake as soon as he heard the sword being drawn, and the tip pressed against his neck.

“Well, well, well, wot’s all this then?”

Slowly, Tinkertoy straightened back up, keeping all his hooves in plain sight, and turned around. Two constables, one a Sergeant with a short-sword leveled at him, and the other a Plain Constable with a truncheon, were both standing behind him. They looked vaguely pissed off. Constables usually did.

Tinkertoy thought he’d better say something. “Is… there a problem, Constables?”

The Sergeant nodded. Tinkertoy also noted the pistol sitting in a holster against the Constable’s barrel. “Could say that. Heard there was a riot out here. Thought we’d better wait ‘til it got a bit safer, and then we’d pop out to subdue anypony acting… unruly, s’pose you could say.”

The other nodded. “And also to discourage looters.”

“That too,” the Sergeant agreed. “So! Howsabout you just give us your saddlebags, and we’ll let this slide, savvy?”

“Oh, I’d really rather not. I’m attached to quite a lot of stuff in here. All I have, you see.” Like hell Tinkertoy was going to give them any hints he had about where to go, or who he was.

“Homeless, then?” Asked the plain Constable.

Tinkertoy tilted his head towards the station. “Just arrived from… Las Pegasus, if I recall correctly...”

The Sergeant tilted his short-sword. “Well, why don’t you just come down to our station with us, and we’ll get this all nice and cleared up, hm?”

The short-sword was being held in the Sergeant’s aura; depending on Tinkertoy’s reaction time, he could probably run faster than the Constables, and exit their levitational range. “Quick question, how old are you?”

“Eh? 58, why?” Probably a bad idea. Still, not like he had any better.

“Just needed to know how fast I should run.” And in a blink, he was galloping down the street. The constables stood there, blinking, for only a moment. And then they were galloping too, fully dedicated to chasing him down. And he had to give them credit where it was due; they were fast, even the older sergeant, considering his age. Straight down the road as he was, he’d pass the Diner from earlier. If he remembered correctly, there had been a side alley behind there.

A bright glare reflected off a nearby shop window, and Tinkertoy ducked. The spell sizzled through the space where his head had been bare moments before, it’s purpose unknown. However, it tried to compensate and circle down in front of him, only to slam into the cobbled road, and causing it to glow red-hot.

And that was frankly as close as he wanted any more of those to get.

He was still going full speed as he neared the alley, but his chest was starting to hurt, and his vision was blurring. He made a mental note to get some exercise if he wasn’t in a cell by the night’s end. He pulled as close to the wall as he could in preparation, and at the last second, leapt sideways into the alley, bouncing off the brick wall.

He felt like retching, but kept moving, hopping a dumpster full of rotten pastries and sliding across the top. Behind him, the sergeant slammed into the brick wall the same way he had, but with less success. The plain-constable managed to make it however, with only a quick glance back to make sure the sergeant was alright. Seeing that he was, the constable managed to hop the dumpster the same way Tinkertoy had… and right into the trash can he had slid into his landing spot.

A shout of “Motherbucker!” echoed from the alley as Tinkertoy ducked around another corner, coming back around to the front of the Diner. He needed a place to hide, and the still-open diner presented itself. He pushed the doors open with the of a bell, and bolted for the counter, startling the bulky stallion standing behind it.

“What in the name of Pudding-” was as far as he got before Tinkertoy hopped the divider, and ducked underneath out of sight from the door. Feeling his glare, Tinkertoy simply brought a hoof up to his lips, and made a “Shhhh…” sound.

Out of sight, the diner’s door banged open, the bell ringing again. “Buckin’ tartarus, we lost the son of a bitch.” Two pairs of hooves clopped closer to the counter. “Oi, did a brown stallion with a mechanical leg come in here?”

Tinkertoy began to sweat. He was screwed. He had no place to run, and this time he wouldn’t have the element of surprise. Though, come to think of it, he did have a lock-picking set…

“Nope. Sorry gents, last I saw of him, you were chasing him down Bobtail street.” This caused Tinkertoy to pause, half his lock-picks tasting of copper and iron on his tongue. Thankfully, he hadn’t swallowed yet.

“Dammit!”

The plain-constable.sighed. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Dad. He was just a looter anyway. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. At least we didn’t turn the corner and run into a riot, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so. Jes’ hoping it don’t start a trend, ya kenn?”

There was a chuckle from the plain-constable. “I kenn. Listen, we’ll get a doughnut, and report the all-clear back to the rest. That sound good?” A moment of silence passed. “Great. Joe, sorry about the ruckus. Can we get a couple of doughnuts, chocolate?”

"Two chocolate, comin' right up." The pony behind the counter, ostensibly Joe, replied. Two pairs of hooves clopped on tile a short distance away, followed by the dual squeak of the vinyl seats. There was a displeased hum from directly above, and a small paper bag landed on the tile in front of Tinkertoy. "Damn, you two caught me just before we started making the doughnuts for the morning crowd. Gonna be a couple minutes."

Tinkertoy quietly grabbed the bag with his teeth, nearly choking as one of his lockpicks made it down his throat. That was gonna be fun to remove later.

"I'll go pester my cousin to get a new batch started." The Stallion's legs began moving toward the end of the counter, where a door led to what was very likely a kitchen. Tinkertoy followed as quietly as he could, staying hidden below the counter in the corner between it and the wall. When the stallion opened the door, however, it allowed a very curious sound to escape--the sound of a sobbing mare.

Concern immediately made itself evident on Joe's muzzle. "Bonnie? You alright?" Subtly, Joe motioned with his hoof that Tinkertoy should get closer.

The mare sniffled. “Y-yeah… Whatcha need, Joe?”

Tinkertoy had almost reached the door by now, crawling carefully and holding up his metal leg to prevent making noise. Joe glanced down at him, then waved him through the door. “Just need some some donuts real quick. Can ya make a batch of chocolates? We got some customers.”

Poking his head into the door, Tinkertoy’s eyes met those of a creme-coloured mare, though hers were streaked with running eye shadow. As her eyes locked onto him, they widened in clear surprise, but Tinkertoy held up a hoof to his mouth in the universal gesture for ‘shhh...’

The mare calmed slightly, and Tinkertoy managed to crawl into the room as she answered Joe. “Sure, if the gas hasn’t gone off again. Gimme a second.”

Joe nodded, and shut the door behind Tinkertoy. The muffled murmur of conversation followed, and Tinkertoy noted the door muffled sound spectacularly. “Hello!” He chirped, dropping the bag of donuts on the tiles with a ‘whap’.

“Who in Tartarus are you, and what are you doing sneaking into our kitchen?” ‘Bonnie’ was clearly having none of his shenanigans.

“Tinkertoy Smith, pleased to meet you!” He held out a mechanical hand for her to shake, but she only glared at it in distaste, then moved to him.

“By any chance, are you related to a Lyra Heartstrings?”

“Er… No…”

“Darn. That would explain a lot.” ‘Bonnie’ tentatively got to her hooves, and moved to a dry pantry, giving Tinkertoy a wide berth.

This left Tinkertoy standing awkwardly, which he decided to finish by searching for a back door. “Do you, by any chance, have a back door?”

“It’s on the other side of the diner, near the bathrooms. And you didn’t answer my question.”

Tinkertoy’s eyes moved up, as though looking at his eyelids would help. “I thought I did?”

“You told me who you are. But who are you?”

It was surprisingly easy to be intimidated by a mare rifling through a pantry. She could easily have something heavy on hoof, or sugar to throw. “I’m an inventor. I think.”

“There we go.” She backed out of the pantry, holding a bag of flour in her teeth. Setting it on the counter, she turned back to him. “You think. What does that mean? Are you not sure?”

“Well,” Tinkertoy said, moving his hoof around in a circle, like a thinking professor. “I do seem to have a spot of amnesia…”

“What, just out of nowhere? You should go to a hospital or something, not go about sneaking into late-night diners.”

“I don’t like hospitals. They’ve needles and anesthesiologists, both things which I avoid on principle.”

‘Bonnie’ upturned the bag of flour directly into a large metal bowl, skipping any measuring cup or anything of the sort. “What’s wrong with… Uh… Doctors?”

Shrugging, Tinkertoy replied, “It seems to just boil down to, ‘drink this lanthanum’, and I don’t need an anesthesiologist to tell me that.”

A quick tap of an egg on the side of the bowl sounded out, tinny and bell-like. “So, instead you decide to just wander the streets of Canterlot. That sounds suspicious to me. Like you’re some sort of sleeper cell, or something to do with that ‘Nightmare Moon’ out in the square.”

“Yes, about that, I’ve never heard of her. I feel I’m missing some context…”

“I’m not surprised.” Said the mare, stirring the bowl with a whisk held by a strap around her hoof. “I just heard of her a couple days ago, because Lyra was telling me about how another student at the Academy was ranting about a ‘Mare in the Moon’. Supposedly, the Princess had a little sister a thousand years ago who got jealous because nopony stayed up late, and went crazy and evil. Got sealed in the moon.” She paused in her stirring. “So… Yeah, her returning is pretty bad.”

As she picked up a rolling pin, Tinkertoy took a seat where ‘Bonnie’ had been sitting before, and began eating one of the donuts from the bag Joe had dropped to him. “And you think I’m a -mmf- sleeper cell for her?”

‘Bonnie’ turned around, holding the rolling pin in her hoof like a cudgel. “Are you?” The effect was ruined as she focused on the donut he was eating. ‘Wait, if we had donuts, why did he ask me to make… Ugh.” Her focus returned to the dough. “I swear, I don’t understand my cousin sometimes…”

“So, her returning is bad, you said. How bad?”

‘Bonnie’s grip slackened. “Very bad. You caught the bit about eternal night, right?”

“Something along those lines, yes.”

“Well, what do plants need to grow?”

Tinkertoy blinked. “Sunli… Ah.”

“Exactly,” the mare grimaced. “And the whole planet freezes without the sun keeping us warm.” She held up the tray of dough. “It’s the wrong season for an ice age, dangit.”

“She’s got a good sense of irony, though.” Tinkertoy said, between bites. “Longest day of the new year, being turned into the longest night?”

‘Bonnie’ humphed. “Yeah. Anyway, moment of truth here.” She twisted the knob of the oven, listening for the click-click-click of a functional oven, only to be met with silence. The tray was set on the heating element atop the oven, as ‘Bonnie’ sniffed the compartment.

With a sigh, she snapped it shut, and slumped to the tile floor. “Well, that’s it, then. We’re going to freeze to death.”

Tinkertoy finished off another donut. “Because the stove doesn’t work?”

She gave him a look as though he had just claimed the sky was made of fish. “It’s gas-heated. The whole building is. Buif the stove doesn’t work, then none of the gas is going to, meaning we have no heat.”

“Is it a problem with the stove itself, or the pipes? And do you want a donut?” He handed her the bag as he stepped closer, inspecting the oven.

“No, I don’t want a damned donut!” She shouted, yanking it away and tossing the bag at the door, which opened just in time for Joe to catch a paper bag of donuts in the face. His horn lit and caught it on its way to the floor, and he stepped back out into the diner with a quick, “Thanks, Bonnie!”

An incredulous stare bounced from the door back to Tinkertoy, and she began shouting. “What is wrong with everypony!? We’re all going to die, and you two are just going about business as usual!”

Smiling, Tinkertoy replied, “We’re not dead yet, right? Now, these pipes, is there any way to access them?”

The mare was curled up in the fetal position on the tile floor, and Tinkertoy clearly wasn’t getting anything else out of her. Behind him, the door opened. “Alright, they’re eating the donuts. So- Bonnie? Bonnie!”

Joe galloped to her, wrapping her in a hug and glaring at Tinkertoy. “What’d you do?”

The latter shrugged. “I swear I didn’t do anything except talk to her. And eat donuts.”

Joe gave the mare a shake. “Bonnie? Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“We’re all going to die.” Bonnie sobbed. After a short pause, she added; “And I don’t know where Lyra is.”

Joe blinked at this. “What? Oh! Right, I was wondering where she was! She didn’t meet you in the square?”

“No, and she could be stuck in the academy still, or she could be in the middle of a riot, or she could’ve gotten on the tram only to have it break down and now I don’t where she is and I’m scared-”

“Shush, shush, Cuz, it’ll be okay.” Joe held her head close. “Look, we both know Lyra’s… a bit weird. Maybe she just got distracted by something. She’ll show up eventually, alright?”

‘Bonnie’ didn’t reply, simply nuzzling her cousin’s barrel. Joe sighed. “You, with the wrench cutie mark.”

Tinkertoy glanced at his flank, then back at Joe. “Yes?”

“What does that mean? Matter o’ fact, who are you?”

“Tinkertoy Smith. I fix things.” The stallion in question held out a hand for Joe to shake.

Ignoring him, Joe began muttering to himself, “Maybe that could work… If he can fix it permanent-like…” He looked back up at the stallion, who was still holding out a metal hand. “Listen, the gas pipes on this platform are finicky. I think ours have disconnected entirely. So, can you go below and try to fix it? So we don’t, you know, freeze to death?”

‘Bonnie’ whimpered as Tinkertoy replied. “Sure, I can do that. Though I need to know how to get below.”

Joe reached far to the left of the stove, and flicked a small metal hatch up with the edge of his hoof. It revealed a small, square hole with two pieces of steel rebar crossing over the centre. “That’s our grease trap; leads right into the sewers, and the pipes run through those as well.”

Tinkertoy poked the opening with his hoof. It came away greasy, and he couldn’t fit it through. “That’s an awful small entrance point.”

With a roll of his eyes, Joe clapped the hatch shut. “There’s a maintenance tunnel alongside the river. They’re doing construction, so it should be open.”

“I think I saw it earlier, yes.”

“Good.” Joe nuzzled ‘Bonnie’. “And… if you happen across Lyra, bring her back, please. Mint-green unicorn, has a lyre for a cutie mark. Got it?” At Tinkertoy’s nod, Joe motioned towards the kitchen door. “Back door’s at the other end of the counter, by the bathrooms. Careful not to let the Constables see you.” He paused, then his horn lit, opening a drawer nearby. Out floated a small, white stone, which glowed as Joe’s magic charged it.

“Last thing. This is a Luxstone. Ever seen one before?’

Tinkertoy shook his head.

“Alright. Think like a geode, but with Thaumically-activated crystals in the centre. I’m putting as many thaums of power as I can into it, and you should have about three hours of juice before it goes dark. Hopefully, you’ll be back before then.”

Tinkertoy nodded, and took the crystal when it was floated to him at head height. He slipped it into a pocket of his tool-belt, and moved to the door, peeking out of a small, foggy window set into the centre. Through it, he could see the constables thoroughly focused on their donuts, and he quietly ducked down before leaving the kitchen, under cover of the counter. He easily made it to the back door, and slipped out of it, finding himself back in the alley behind the diner. A few minutes later found him standing at the riverside again, looking down at the catwalk.

It was a bit rusty in places, but seemed to be able to support weight. He descended the metal-grilled stairs, and poked his head around the corner to look into the sewer entrance. While outside, he had the benefit of moonlight bathing the city streets in a surprisingly-bright glow. Inside the sewers, he had no such light source, save the Luxstone.

Pulling it out nearly blinded him, going from bright night to essentially staring at a gas bulb. His eyes adjusted slowly, but he studied the inside of the sewer as details came into focus, and while waiting for his eyes to adapt fully.

A stone walkway had been designed along both sides of the sewer tunnels, while putrid water flowed through the centre gulley. Long lengths of pipe followed the ceiling, re-entering and exiting the walls as needed to reach the buildings around the platform. The initial entry tunnel wasn’t long itself, only stretching five metres before meeting an intersection. Several boxy shapes could be seen at said intersection, and Tinkertoy stepped inside to investigate.

The boxy shapes turned out to be just that—large wooden crates, stamped, ‘City of Canterlot Municipal Works’. One, when pried open with the ice axe, was found to be full of bricks, while three or four more were filled with various lengths of copper piping. (He swapped out the fire extinguisher for a random assortment of those—after all, when would he need a fire extinguisher?) One, he noted, had already been smashed open, and was lying on its side. Shining the Luxstone inside found that it was meant to carry two magical floodlights, but one had been taken.

A nearby tool-bench, hastily set up, had a two maps atop it, and absolutely no tools. The two maps were, respectively, a map of the platform in detail, and a map of the sewer systems. He traced his path with a hoof. Right at the first intersection… Left at the next… Another left… And a right. The Diner was at a dead end, which made navigation simpler. He elected to bring the maps with him as he journeyed inside.

Crossing at intersections proved easy as well, as some considerate pony had taken to laying several planks of wood across each to make bridges. Admittedly, some of them creaked disconcertingly, but Tinkertoy simply moved quickly on those.

The other point of interest on the walls, beside the pipes and the moss, was the graffiti. What it was written with seemed to vary as much as the spelling thereof. In likely-stolen paint over on that wall, “PLATFORM 11’S GONE TO THE RATS”. On the ceiling, in prismapetrol, “MORE LIKE BLUNDERBOLTS”. And down at the end, Tinkertoy could just barely make out, “THE MUDLARKS KICK FLANK”.

He blinked. Who were the Mud-

At the end of the tunnel, a spotlight snapped on, and this time it did blind him for a moment. “Oi! Drop yer shite, taffer!”

“Or we’ll gut ye like a fish!” Added a mare.

Tinkertoy tried to blink away the afterimages as he held his hoof in front of his eyes. ‘Whoah whoah, hang on, let’s put a hold on the gutting! Who are you?”

“We’s the Mudlarks! There was warnin’s!”

“I must have missed them, sorry!” Damn it, he couldn’t see anything past the glare of the lamp.He could still hear, though, as sounds carried well in the stone tunnels.

“What’s with his leg?”

“Looks like metal. Betcha we could sell it for scrap.”

“Them saddlebags look full ta’ burstin’.”

“Rich ponce.”

‘I don’t want any trouble!” Tinkertoy yelped. “Just came to fix something!”

“Another engineer?” Shouted a young colt. “I thought we taught ‘em not to come in here!”

Muffled hoofsteps were slowly approaching from behind him. “Look, you’ve got bigger problems! Were any of you top-side about half an hour ago?”

“We don’t go topside, Breezie.” The voice came from directly behind him, and he spun around just in time to leap backwards, toward the light. A dangerous-looking mare wearing a ragged pair of trousers had just swung a pipe where his head had been a moment ago. She sneered at him. “And you ponces shouldn’t come down here.”

The pipe came down again, and Tinkertoy deflected it with his leg, resulting in a loud clang. With his opening, he swept the metal leg across her own, knocking her to the stone floor.

The mare looked at him with a mad grin. “Ooh, this fairie’s got teeth! I want his leg as a prize!” She leapt at him, and he just barely kept her at foreleg’s length. A pistol, like one that the guards had, flopped out of her trousers as she fell back, followed by a small shower of cartridges. Tinkertoy leapt on it, fumbling with the pistol and a hoof-full of the brass casings, barely managing to train it on her.

“Don’t move, I’ll shoot.”

The brown mare just giggled. ‘Ya think ya scare me, fairy? You’re soft! Your teeth ain’t sharp enough to-”

That was as far as she got before Tinkertoy pulled the trigger, and shot her in the elbow with a loud POP. She went down like a bridge after the supports had been cut, with an additional squeal of pain, and Tinkertoy turned back to face the spotlight, catching a crack across the shoulder from an improvised blackjack. He spat at his second assailant, and managed enough time to figure out the pistol’s mechanics before the stallion came back, stocking full of stones clenched in his teeth.

Tinkertoy used the metal hand that wasn’t holding the pistol to swipe at the stocking, and it lost momentum against his foreleg. He swore, and managed to punch the stallion in the teeth. It was weak, but it got him to drop the deadly sock. It went flying across the gulley, and the stallion leapt after it, giving Tinkertoy an opening.

“I’m not good at fighting I’m not good at fighting…” He muttered, popping the spent cartidge out and fumbling in a new one with his bruising shoulder. With a click, the gun was loaded again.

He didn’t want to outright kill a pony; he didn’t like killing, as the mare growling about her lame leg behind him could attest. But that spotlight made a target even he could hit, and even at this distance. He squinted down the barrel into the bright glare, and fired.

Even then, he nearly missed. It sparked off the side and shattered the lens, plunging the tunnel into darkness with a flurry of curses and sparks. Nopony in the tunnel could see, and a loud clatter down the corridor easily attracted the gang’s attention.

“After him!” A stallion with a lisp shouted, and they all stumbled blindly down the corridor, pushing each other out of the way, even into the gulley, to get in the lead. The lame mare used her wings to leap on a strongly-built earth pony’s back, and the group rushed the end of the corridor, more and more splitting off at various intersections as they tried to follow Tinkertoy in the dark.

About a minute later, the corridor was silent, aside from the quiet sparking from the broken floodlight. The only sound Tinkertoy could hear was that of his own breathing as he sat in the stinking, rotting water of the sewer’s gulley. He’d managed to land heavily on his his forelegs, to keep his saddle-bags above the water, but it had resulted in him getting a splash of it all over his front.

The gun, of course, had been what he had desperately tossed back to distract them. The rest of the cartridges he’d grabbed were ruined by the sewer water seeping into them, and he couldn’t find the ones he hadn’t in the dark even if he wanted to. His leg and hands would certainly need some maintenance… And he very definitely needed a bath now. Even he couldn’t stand to smell himself any more.

But both he and the contents of his saddle-bags had survived, so he didn’t much care. He gave himself a little shake, and began feeling for the edge of the gulley. As soon as he found it, he clambered out, dripping and soggy, and began rummaging through his toolbelt for the pocket he’d hidden the still-glowing Luxstone in.

The juxtaposition of bright lights and absolute darkness was beginning to play merry hell with his eyes, but he tried his best to ignore the afterimages as he made his way towards the ruined floodlight. Behind it was a small stash of supplies and a place where somepony had clearly been living, including a mostly-clean bedroll. He stole it out of spite, and continued on his way.

Another turn found him at the dead end beneath the diner, and an L-shaped pipe poking out of the wall at a clearly-wrong angle. Tinkertoy jumped at the sight, before pausing, realizing he couldn’t smell more than a faint whiff of the methane from the pipe.

he approached it to find the end plugged with a cork. Perhaps the gang had been trying to get intoxicated from the fumes? Admittedly, they couldn’t have been the smartest bunch, but still…

A quick search found a handle to cut off the flow properly, and he carefully removed the cork from the end of the pipe. When he failed to flood the tunnel with highly-flammable gas, he set about the process of repairing the pipe, and adding a label to it that said, ‘sewage’. Hopefully it would keep it from being tampered with.

This only left the question of where to go. Obviously, he couldn’t just walk out, as the gang had to have gotten wise by now. He would have to sneak out later, and hope they didn’t find him. But where to hide?

Looking up, he noticed that there were a surprising amount of pipes running along the ceiling here. Ponies didn’t usually bother to look up, and it was high enough that they would have to climb on something. He should be safe, and he could catch a quick nap… Well, it was a good thing he felt kind of tired anyway.