Madness of Anonymous

Chapter: 11

With a muffled, crazed laugh, you lunge a clawed hand forwards intent on grabbing the pink one's neck. A sudden slam echoes around the room before a strong impact strikes you by the side and sends you through the air and into a wall. The metal exoskeleton stopped any pain or damage reaching you, harming your attacker more than you. Evidence of this being Filthy Rich, glaring at you aggressively whilst limping affected his hind legs. Standing up to your full height, you tip your head back and throw it forwards to release a sound so similar yet so different to the usual sound. Instead of being the regular sound, this one was somewhat slower with the deeper pitch resembling that of a jet engine. Spinning around, you make for the window and use your pneumatic mechanisms to throw yourself forwards in a slick pounce sending you though the window's glass and shattering the panes completely as you near the ground.

Rolling across the grass, you run in an effortless sprint across the fields of the town's outskirts before reaching your home. Slinking around your house, you enter through the backdoor and enter your basement hastily. Sliding all the individual components of the suit off, you arrange them on your workbench and step upstairs back into your living room before ascending to your vacant bedroom. You flop onto your bed and enter sleep, your body absolutely craving slumber after so much deprivation of it.

Seemingly as soon as you enter the realm of dreams, you're confronted by a familiar face.

"I think we need to speak, correct?" The lunar diarch asks, though rather rhetorically.

"No." You reply flatly, turning around and walking away.

Your soon held by an arcane blue aura, yanked backwards by an immense force. You're forcibly spun around so that your face is mere inches away from the blue fur of an enraged face. Her eyes almost completely white with only the slightest sliver of blue around pinpricked black pupils. Her eyes rapidly scan you.

"What's wrong with you?! We can forgive her for what she did, why can't you?!" She yells out strongly, tightening her grip on you.

Your blood runs cold in your veins, sound becomes dulled and distant like through a glass. The magical grip on you actually cracks before dispersing, the lunar diarch responsible for keeping it in check actually flinching before placing a hoof to head whilst wincing in pain. Your eyes stay fixed on the pained form of Luna, your fingers occasionally clenching into fists as you process what to do.

"Why would you need to forgive her for something which only affected me?" You ask quietly and coldly.

She freezes, still rubbing her head with one hoof whilst looking at you quizzically. She then sits back on her haunches and just watches you intently, her eyes squinted in concentration like she was trying to detect something. You cross your arms and close your eyes, opening them only to stare upwards at the plain black sky. Looking back down at the concentrating princess, you cough into your right fist to gain Luna's attention. You're successful.

"What?!" She snaps rudely.

"What are you doing?" You ask calmly.

"Trying to find the evil being possessing you. You would have DEFINATELY accepted her apology if you weren't being controlled." She replies smugly.

That's it. Not only does she have the gall to think that they needed to give forgiveness as well as you, despite them not being the ones almost slain and sent to a near eternity of mental agony, but now she thinks that because you don't want to forgive your would-be murder that you're not in control. Glaring down at her, you decide to show her how much control you really have. Cracking your knuckles, you put one hand behind your back which you ball into a solid fist. A sort of inky coldness smothers the forearm you're hiding, but you ignore it and swing the fist around from behind you. For a split second, you see the face of a suddenly distraught princess before her face snaps to the side from the force of the blow. A clinging, almost wet, sensation holding onto your forearm is almost overwhelming. You turn your attention from the now floored and crying princess to your right forearm.

A strange pitch black sludge roils around on your right forearm, waves in the mucky blackness rippling like dark organic tissue. The darkness drips lazily off your arm as it retreats from the limb in favour of dissipating before reaching the 'ground' of your dream. The speed of the sludge's retreat increases rapidly until it slips off in torrents, causing a pool to form as the dissipating takes too long to evaporate the sheer quantity of gloopy black. The blackness drips off to reveal an altered forearm, the limb no longer recognisable. The forearm resembles that of your suit, except with some plastic plates and fake grey fur, splattered in rotten matter and gory bodily fluids, attached to these randomly placed plates. The metal skeleton of the forearm is almost completely exposed, the metal and wiring even showing your bare arm within the cage of steel. The claw of the skeleton is even more exposed, no fur or plating concealing the mechanism for the retracting claws you had built into the suit during your second week-long self-induced solitude.

The princess, whilst rubbing her now bruised face, looks on in abject horror at your misshapen limb. Flexing your metal-bound fingers, the retractable claws slide forwards and elongate your fingers by a few inches with razor-like steel. Bearing your clawed hand, you advance towards the princess and grab her by the fur coating the back of her neck and lift her up into the air. She begins to sob softly as you use her as a punch bag, punching her with a metallic fist over and over whilst your regular arm keeps her held off the ground. Once the princess is left as a bruised mess held aloft by your unchanged left hand, you retract your misshapen fist and let it hang by your side. She looks up at you scornfully, hooves slowly edging from her eyes as she glares intently at you. You release your grip on her, causing her to quickly gravitate towards the floor. Before she makes impact, however, you deliver a mighty kick to her chin causing her to launch off into the 'sky'.

You hazily wake up, a quick glance at your right arm proving that your dream hadn't affected it within reality. Propping yourself up with your elbows, you grunt as you leave the comfort of your bed to dress yourself. Once dressed in a plain grey t-shirt, blue jeans and your usual black socks, you head downstairs and descend further into your basement. Yawning tiredly as you work, you use screws and a screwdriver to fix the ,now complete, plastic sheets and plates to the bare metal skeleton of the suit. The cool, somewhat reflective grey plastic is placed exclusively along the arms, legs and the back of the suit with some attached to the tail. The tip of the tail, the front of the torso and the lower jaw of the suit have plates of white plastic instead of grey plates, though they retain the plastic's universal cold and clean surface and smooth texture. Despite shielding the mechanisms and skeleton well, the suit still gives a robotic and unnatural impression.

Despite this, you think that the look is perfect for the task of swiping this diary your noble friends set you. In such a technologically backwards world like this, who would want to face a robot? Satisfied, you leave the suit limply sat in the corner of your basement, but you leave slightly unnerved. It's as if its eyes actually follow you, but you know that's impossible. How can an empty suit even watch? Despite your constant self-reassuring, you leave nervously watching over your shoulder at the slumped form, its eyes black from the lack of a user's eyes to reflect.

Closing the door of your basement rather hastily, you lock it before entering your living room. Sighing, you reach down and pick up a pair of randomly strewn leather, black shoes and slip them on. Falling into your armchair, you lift up one of the books on magical mechanisms and technomancy and begin to lazily read with one arm propped up on the armrest with the side of your chin resting on its knuckles. You remain seated in the dim light of the morning streaming through your windows, your eyes sometimes gazing out the windows at the passing clouds and distant activities in the town. After a couple hours, you'd finished the somewhat thinner book and you know have more knowledge on using crystals in mechanisms. Particularly in robotics.

Lifting yourself lazily from your chair, you yawn whilst removing your pet spider from your shoulder before setting the sleeping form into his crudely made house. Walking into your kitchen, you grab an apple out of your refrigerator and begin to chew on it absent-mindedly.  Returning to your chair, you begin to drift off. Knowing that you should try and steal the diary at night, you know that sleeping away a few hours will do your sleep-deprived body some good as well as allowing you to wake up to start the theft. You immediately drift off into a dreamless sleep, vaguely wondering if the actions in your previous dream will even have repercussions.

Waking up hours later, you look up from your slumped form to the open curtains and spot the luminous pale moon hanging high in the sky, glittering stars surrounding the glowing satellite. Standing up, you run to our basement and fling open the door. Descending into the darkness, your fingers brush against the light switch, activating the dim lighting to illuminate the dingy room. The sight of your limp robotic suit makes the hairs running down your spine rise on edge, your legs feeling unusually like lead as you slowly descend the steps and traverse the stone floor. Reaching out, you nervously slip on each of the individual components of the suit, buckling them tightly to secure the suit to your body. Clicking the lower jaw around your own, you raise the upper part of the helmet above your head before drawing it onto your skull slowly. With a click, the mask's visuals activate and the suit gains full articulation.

You steps echo quietly like rapid whispers as you ascend the stairs, locking the basement as you exit. Swiftly walking through your living room, you exit out your backdoor and lock the door securely before making a move towards the train station. Thankfully, midnight train rides were a thing even in such a quiet and slow town like Ponyville. Thankfully, the only ponies nearby were those climbing into the train and a bored conductor. To be honest, you'd prefer a suit which could be transported in something inconspicuous like a briefcase, but this suit is too metallic to store easily, hence why the suit is always stored in a slumped over position. Crouching into a lower stance, you shift forwards and slip beneath the train.

From this position, hidden from anything's view, you retract the suit's claws and use them to hoist yourself up and hold onto the metal struts on the underbelly of one of the many train carriages. As the train's final whistle blows, the train begins to slow increase in speed as it moves down the track and out of the station. You draw yourself up more, adjusting yourself and forcing your arms among the struts. You do the same with your boots as you do with your arms, allowing you to draw closer to the carriage and remain more hidden from view. The ride is fairly boring, the suit allowing you to remain in the same position for nearly the entire ride, only moving if particular bumps in the track caused you to jolt. Once at the Canterlot City train station, you slip from the carriage and make for the alleyways. You sneak past some sort of vendor outside the station. Seeing the vendor selling confectionary, you swipe a bag of blueberry bon bons but you're almost caught by a lone patrolling guard.

"Hey!" You hear a voice yell out, rapid hoofsteps coming from behind you.

Without turning around, you sprint forwards and quickly begin to traverse the winding streets of the more slum-like regions. Hearing the echoing trots of a pony still following you, you resort to simply hiding in plain view. Quickly sliding into a nearby alleyway, you slump to the ground against the brick wall and go limp. You even close your eyes, turning the suit's fake eyes to appear as nothing but empty sockets. The bag of sweets sat beside you, your hand laying limply next to it. The clopping of hooves grows closer and closer, until you can see a thin shadow cast across the wall in front of you when you open your eyelids slightly. The sound of hooves grows quieter and quieter as the shadow moves at a gradually decreasing speed, the sound dominating the silence of the area being that of rapid and high-pitched panting. Curious, you open your eyes a slightly larger amount, just enough to take in your surroundings clearer and for your suit to not show your eyes.

The sight presented to you is that of a young pegasus foal, panting heavily and scanning the darkness of the alley. The foal, though seemingly brave and courageous, is visible torn between curiosity and fright. Moving forwards, the foal enters the alleyway and begins to search for signs of, most likely, you.

"H-hello?" Asks the foal in a noticeably female voice, the sound childish and younger than even Applejack's sister.

The filly, evident by the young female voice, spots the bag of confectionary next to you and gasps in excitement before moving towards it. Your lazily closed eyes trail the filly wherever she moves, only when she gets close do you shift your sight away. Because, as she draws close to the sugary food, a deep chuckle emanates from the alleyway's entrance. Your eyes sneakily shift towards a strange figure, though obviously pony in stature. The alleyway has a dead end composed of a brick wall, as the filly soon finds out as she backs up against it with a gasp when she sees the figure slowly stepping towards her. The figure's coat is a deep green, splattered in dirt and grime with a messy brown cloak and hood draped over the unwashed fur. The hood casts a shadow over the cruel visage of the figure, crooked yellowing teeth contorted into a wicked grin of dark glee. Prominent colours of black and purple appear beneath the fiends cruel red irises, the pupils pinpricked with madness. Greased strands of blonde hair drape down across the stallion's cunning eyes, the hair dying due to numerous diseases present within the stallion's blood.

The vile stallion makes slow deliberate steps towards the filly, like a cat who'd just trapped a mouse in its paws. A unicorn horn protrudes out of the stallion's hood, which soon glows an ethereal grey as a square of dirty rag floats out of the cloak worn by the stallion, dripping slightly with some nefarious liquid. The stallion, nor the filly, even acknowledge your presence, even as the stallion almost passes you. Before he can, however, a deep instinct flows from within you. Not only does the rather fatherly instinct surface, but also a very defensive and outraged one. As the stallion's hoof steps close to your right hand, you surge the hand forwards and grab him by the foreleg.

"What the bu- AGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" He screams, both in pain and shock as your hand compresses suddenly around his foreleg, snapping the bone like cheap plastic.

With the stallion in your death-grip, you lift yourself to your full height and lift him too. You bring him to eye-level as the suit's fake blue eyes shift. The irises and whites seem to fade into darkness before your slowly constricting pupils brighten into a luminous pale white similar to that of a very distant moon in a starless sky. Your head randomly twitches as the suit's metallic mouth opens up and releases your, now trademark, screech. The stallion shakes in horror, slamming his still functioning leg into the robotic arm keeping him aloft. Using your spare hand, you begin to strike him with punch after punch. The stallion's head snaps back over and over as blood begins to trickle down his nose as his once green fur becomes dominated by deep purple bruises and randomly slashed claw marks. The stallion quickly falls into unconscious from the onslaught, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his heart still hammers in his rib cage. Raising his mouth to your funnel-like pointed ears, you listen to his breathing before being satisfied that he is definitely still alive. You pick up his discarded rag and force it against his snout before completely bandaging his face in his entire cloak to keep the rag in place. With one hand still holding him up, you use your free arm to open one of the many scattered trash cans and begin to stuff him inside. Once secure, you slam the lid down and tip the can so that the lid is pressed between the weight of the stallion and the cobbled floor.

Breathing heavily within the suit, which echoes around the alley as a sound like inhales and exhales against polystyrene, you close your eyes and relax. Your heart-rate slows to a relaxed pace, your eyes opening to reveal the usual fake reflection rather than your angered ones. Hearing quiet sobbing, you turn around and find the filly crumpled into a ball on the cold ground and shivering uncontrollably with her small furred hooves covering her eyes, tears streaming from them. You're saddened by the sight, your suit somehow reflecting this by drooping the fake eyelids slightly and turning your fake ears downwards. Turning to where you were slumped earlier, you spot the bag of confectionary and walk over to it. Grasping the red and white striped bag in the metal and plastic covered fingers composing the suit's right hand, you walk over to the crying foal.

It takes a couple of minutes for her to notice your presence, but she does so by freezing up and staring up at you with frightened and tearful purple eyes. With her attention gained, you hold out the bag of sweets to her. She scans between you and the bag nervously, hesitantly reaching out but swiftly bringing the bag to her unusually fluffy chest. Come to think of it, the light grey coat which covers her whole, undeniably small body is much more fluffy than any other foal you've seen. She keeps the bag held against her chest tightly as she looks up at you with more curiosity than fear. You rotate your head slightly with a motor-like sound, directing her attention back to the bag by pointing at it crudely. She takes your direction and nervously bites down on a single sweet, but soon begins to scoff them down like she was starving. The bag quickly draws void of its contents, the filly having eaten them all as quickly as possible. She hiccups loudly, looking up and giggling sheepishly. Reaching out, you pat her on the head and scratch her behind the ear. She laughs loudly, tapping the offending hand with grey, marshmallow-like, hooves.

Slumping to the ground in a cross-legged position, you place one of your mechanical hands to your plastic and metallic chest.

"What's your name?" You ask in a voice much like a distorted and altered version of your normal one, your voice being spoken normally causing the jaws of your mask to flop up and down in a comedic excuse for lip syncing, making you seem even more of a robot.

"I'm Twinkle, sir!" She squeaks happily.

"Well, Twinkle, what are you doing all the way out here?" You ask with your suit still flopping its metal and plastic jaws up and down haphazardly.

"I saw you and wanted to know what you was." She says, rubbing her right foreleg with her left one nervously.

"Miss Twinkle, I don't think running into this place after a stranger is a good idea, do you?" You ask with your hands on your hips like a scolding parent, though your voice is playful. "Anyway, don't you have someone to be with at this moment? May be someone you ran off from to follow me?" You ask inquisitively.

She gasps before sprinting towards the exit of the alleyway, turning around to face you before leaving completely.

"I almost forgot to ask, but what is your name, sir?" She asks sweetly.

Knowing that giving your real name is probably ill-advised if you want to keep this disguise even functional, you know that a new identity would be perfect. You don't want to waste the effort of making this thing. You look over your arms before craning your head over a nearby rain water puddle, studying yourself. A light bulb goes off in your head, causing you to turn to Twinkle with a smile hidden beneath the layers of metal and plastic.

"Harold the Husky, that is my name, miss!" You reply, Twinkle giggling at you when you find yourself in a saluting pose.

Twinkle soon turns around and continues to run, leaving your sight and leaving you alone in the alleyway. Scratching your plastic coated head with your robotic fingers, toying with the metallic canine ears attached to the suit's mask. You watch your ear spring back into place in the rain water puddle. Shrugging your shoulders, you rise from the ground and begin to wander quietly down the winding streets towards the looming palace above. You curse quietly as you somehow find yourself on the street literally running down the centre of the city, crowds of technicolour ponies shifting like an ocean of various paint. You find yourself on the opposite side of the road to a store called "Donut Joe's". For some convenient reason, a royal supply carriage for transporting food is parked outside the store with random pony guards walking over to the carriage at random intervals to deposit some cakes within. Somehow, you know exactly who all these cakes will be going to, but you just can't bring yourself to think of the evidence.

Once the opportunity arises, with no eyes watching, you slide across the road and into the carriage. Shifting through the boxes of sugary foods, you seat yourself at the back of the carriage and build a wall of boxes in front of you to block you from view. Once the carriage is filled with boxes, the carriage doors are slammed shut and, after a small delay, the carriage begins to slow move down the road and towards the palace of white and gold. The looming hour-glass towers of white marble and golden roofs are passed by the carriage as the rickety gold and purple pony-drawn vehicle enters the palace grounds. The near-violent shaking of the cart causes you to thrust your arms to the sides of the inside of the cart and grab the pained wood for support. The shaking continue until it comes to a sudden halt, the carriage doors being opened and some boxes being taken from within and carried away. Nervous, you let your arms go limp and you slump backwards into the shadows of the cart. You watch as the final boxes are taken out, the stallion chef looking up at you as he lifts the final box and almost drops it in surprise.

"Hey, Guard! Come check this out!" Shouts the stallion.

You keep your eyes squinted enough to stop the suit reflecting them. The guard looks at you and shrugs his shoulders at the chef.

"Maybe it's a delivery for somewhere else in the castle, or maybe it's for someone else?" The guard asks.

"Nevermind, just bring it into the kitchen. Will sort it out in the morning, no delivery carts past this time." The chef says with certainty.

Lifted from the cart with struggling grips, the chef and guard carry you inside and set you down. You're left slumped backwards against a cupboard with your head hanging downwards. The guard looks at your limp arms and decides that they're most likely a trip hazard in their current state, causing him to lift them up and set them in your lap. The doors of the kitchen are then closed as you're left alone, your head lifting up to scan the room. Lifting yourself into a crouched stance, you sneakily walk over to the door and open it slightly, peering around the door to scan the empty hallway of marble. You begin to sneakily wander down the marble hallways across the red carpet, sometimes looking out through the stained glass windows depicting past events. You stop next to an iron gate, a sign describing the room beyond as the Canterlot Royal Archives.

Grasping the gate's handle, you open the metal gate gently with a rusty creak whispering from the metal. Entering, you slink between bookshelves and wander down the alleyway-like layout of the room. A librarian and pair of guards almost catch you, but in the dim lighting you easily slump back into the shroud of the shadows. The further you go, the older the stonework becomes until you stare at an ebony gate with a pedestal a few metres beyond it. The sign describes the older chamber as being the restricted part of the archive, the pedestal beyond displaying Celestia's diary as possibly its centre-piece. Reaching forwards, you push open the gate and quickly dive forwards and swipe the journal. Spinning on your heels, you lunge forwards and slide the gate closed before making your way to the archive's exit. Once you sneak past any passers by, you close the gate behind you and slip out an open stained window. Falling from the great height, you slide retracted claws against the smooth marble as you slip down.

Dropping into some hedges, you begin to sprint away with the diary held tightly against your chest. A sudden weight causes you to fall to the ground. Rolling over, a bat-pony mare slams her silver armoured hoof directly into the muzzle of the suit, flinching back with a pained yelp as the shockwaves fire through her leg. Thrusting a metallic hand forwards, you grab her by the muzzle and slam her face into the dirt. Leaping upwards to stand, you hold her down as you retract your right-hand's claws. Dragging the claws softly across her shoulder, the mare's face removes itself from the dirt to look at you. With this success, you grab her by her now more exposed neck and slowly choke her into unconsciousness just enough to leave no marks behind. She flops forward in a deep sleep, leaving you to lift her up and walk over to a nearby bench and lay her across it like she fell asleep. Now, when she tries to perhaps say she saw a robot leaving the palace grounds, the evidence of it being a dream will be undeniable.

With your task almost complete, you make your way towards the task's giver, Fancy Pants. Once at his mansion, you scale all the way to his bedroom and sneak inside. You see a sleeping Fancy at his desk, a quill still in his hoof. Setting the diary on his desk in plain view, you scribble a message for Fancy Pants and leave it sat on the diary to confirm the task's success. After scaling your way out of his bedroom, you walk down every possible alleyway until you reach the train station. Contorting into your earlier position beneath the train, you depart back to Ponyville. After another eventless trip, you walk carelessly across the outskirt fields of Ponyville. Reaching home, you enter through the backdoor and lock it behind you. You sure can make some very secure magical doors, only needing your confirmation for the doors to lock or open. At least you can innovate with the resources available in this world, the ponies still use keys and those doors aren't very good at repelling an invasion by Earth Ponies. You tiredly slip out the suit and leave it slumped into the basement's corner before locking the door behind you, your sleepiness overriding any sense of unease caused by your suit. Having to literally crawl upstairs, to flop onto your bed and slip out of all of your clothes except your boxers. You quickly fall asleep, your highly active state earlier draining your reserves of energy.